To Bright Sparky: My thoughts exactly. And thank you. I'm glad my story inspired you to come from the shadows :)

Disclaimer: I don't own DA.

Her steps reverberated lightly off the marble floors and cold stone walls as she walked through the maze of Skyhold's corridors. The closer she was, the more hesitant she grew, as she hugged the few pages to her chest anxiously. Her heart hammered against them loudly and her head was spinning.

She practically tiptoed the last few meters to the bulky door, feeling like a kid sneaking into a kitchen for a midnight snack. She'd done that a lot in the Tower and never got caught. Obviously, she lost some of her sneaking skills, because the hand that gently knocked on the door trembled slightly. She leaned closer, listening for an answer. When none come, she knocked again, her knuckles colliding with the massive wood three times with greater force than before. She bit her lip and hesitated when nothing came from within.

Her shoulders dropped, she looked sadly at the papers she held. Then she frowned, puffing her chest as she took a deep breath, and with determination she simply tried the doorknob. The door swung aside soundlessly and she sucked in the air quickly.

"Uhm...hello?" she peeked in bashfully, pushing the door as she slipped inside. Her fingers slid along the wood and lingered there for a moment as she looked around. "Wow," she mouthed, examining the bedroom with big, curious eyes.

It was the same size as hers, but seemed much more spacious anyway. Instead of large, space-consuming bookcases and wardrobes, weapon racks full of swords and spears lined walls here and there. Swords, axes and shields decorated walls instead of pictures and paintings. A massive desk stood in one corner, covered with a map of Thedas not unlike the one she'd seen in a war room. It even had the small figurines spread all over the countries. A double-edged dagger jabbed into the desk held one side of the map unrolled, a mace lay on the other. Its sharp points made a few small tears into the paper and Maya winced at the sight of them.

"I'd use books," she mumbled, pouting. She knew how much time and effort was put into drawing such a large and beautiful map and she would never destroy it so carelessly.

But the damage was done and there was nothing she could do. So instead of lamenting over it, she whirled to examine another part of the room. There was a large stone hearth with pieces of wood already placed in, ready to being ignited. Two rapiers, crossed at their halves, adorned the cold stones. In front of it was a table made of dark wood with lion paws for legs. She cocked an eyebrow at that. He sure loved the beast. A pair of seats made of the same wood stood on each side of the table, facing the fireplace. Cushioning was made of dark red cloth and looked very comfortable and inviting.

Then there was a whole part of the room hidden behind a divider. She could see the canopy of a large, queen size bed over its top. The soft fabric was in darker shade of red, just like most of the room, which seemed to be Cullen's favourite colour. It was also the colour of wealth.

She shifted her weight while looking at the divider. Eventually, respecting his privacy and suppressing her gnawing curiosity, she turned away from the divider and was about to head to the door instead. She needed to talk to Cullen, and it was obvious the advisor wasn't here at the moment. Or so she thought until she actually faced the door.

She went still when she locked her eyes with his, him standing at the threshold. He wasn't in his armour, which had made his arrival inaudible, and she was suddenly extremely glad she hadn't ventured into the private part of his bedroom. That way, when she blurted out: "I wasn't snooping!" she meant it.

He simply leaned against the doorframe with his shoulder, folding his arms. And blocking a way out, too.

She outstretched her arms, offering him the papers she was holding. From several meters away, he obviously couldn't get them. So he didn't move, just watched her wordlessly and waited for her explanation. "Josephine sends these to you. She wants the requisition orders filled in today so that she can make sure you get all the supplies you need for your trip to Val Royeaux."

Finally, he moved from the door, heading to her. She noticed there was a lion embroidered on his doublet, as he crossed the distance between them, too. "That's in four weeks," he mumbled peevishly as he snatched the papers from her hands.

"She said the order needs time to be processed and supplies to be gathered and delivered," Anastasia didn't let him brush her off. "You're the last left. Vivienne filled hers as soon as the word of the masquerade arrived two weeks ago."

"I'm not Vivienne," he snapped and disappeared behind the diviner. She could hear a rustle of the papers and a thud as he probably put them away.

"Josephine was very persistent in her request."

"I don't have time for that! I'm a head of the entire Inquisition military forces if she hasn't noticed."

Anastasia gave a lopsided smile. "She has. She offers to fill it in for you. But...you don't want her to do that, Ser, really not," she mumbled sheepishly, playing with her hands. His doublet was thrown over the top of the diviner, which startled her, and soon a sound of water splashing filled the room. When he walked back to her, he was glowering, and the roots of his hair above his forehead were damp. He was holding the papers again as he strode to his desk. He sat down behind it and reached for a quill and an ink. He paused, lifting his eyes to her, the quill half-way into the bottle.

"She told me to make sure you fill it in by staying until you're done. So that the documents don't get accidentally misplaced again. Her expression," she smiled at him, cocking her head. And for a moment, he resisted smiling, too. The innocent expression made her look incredibly young and irresistibly charming.

Then he just shook his head, closing his eyes. He pressed his fingers into them and sighed. He looked tired and she felt a pinch of guilt in her stomach. She knew he probably didn't have much of a quality sleep last night and here she was bothering him with such trivialities. She dropped her eyes. She hadn't wanted to be a witness to his suffering, but the Spirit had forced her. And once she saw him, she couldn't tear her eyes off the scene. Seeing him like that made her realize he really didn't differ from anyone else in the world. For the first time, she saw the person beneath all the armour. And all she could do was to observe while she wanted to run up to him and console him; to hug him, to stroke his hair or hold his hand, whatever would help.

"Don't loiter and light this," he tapped a tall candle with the quill, breaking her chain of thoughts. She blinked away the images of him kneeling in a pool of blood and hurried to his desk. She met his eyes for the briefest of moments when he lifted his head.

She didn't say a word, didn't do a thing, but there it was; a fluttering flame dancing above her palm. She let it slid down to her fingers, flames licking her skin hungrily, and then lit the wick with a soft touch. The small flame appeared liquid as she let it into her palm while she reached for another candle. He let her lit it as well, watching her hand, fascinated by it. Then she squeezed the fire into her palm to extinguish it and the spell was broken.

Until now he'd never seen her use fire spells before, he realized. She had used warm wind to dry their belongings after a downpour, from which she had sheltered herself with her magic as well. She had helped Dorian clear the path where dirt had slid down a hill and blocked it. She had healed many of his men without uttering a word of complaint. She had trapped their enemies in a cage made of light and scorched them with lightning springing from the crystal on top of her staff. But fire...he'd never seen her conjure fire before.

That made him sat back and she squirmed under his gaze, her hand brushing against her side like she wanted to dry it. "How did you end up in the Tower of Magi anyway?" he asked pensively. Often children burnt down a barn, a haystack or two, or hurt someone with fire, and that caused them to avoid casting fire spells for years.

She blinked, and then frowned as her lips parted in surprise. Her left hand curled around something he couldn't see, hidden in the folds of her robes. Her staff, undoubtedly. She shifted her weight and actually flinched when he rose to his feet. "I apologize, Serah," he said and pointed to the two seats in front of the fireplace.

"Do you want me to light it as well?" she asked simply, thinking it was the hearth he had pointed at. She turned to look at it and missed the way he grimaced. A mage she could be, but she was a woman and a noble on top of that all, even though she didn't act like it. Either way, leaving her standing while he was seated was incredibly ill-mannered and heartless of him as it was. Having her convinced that he didn't view her as more than a tool made him feel like a monster. It was how some of the templars treated mages in the Circle. It was how she was used to being treated.

It was how he had treated her a minute ago.

"Wait..." she drawled, turning back to him. He'd already gathered the papers, the quill and ink into his arms and was reaching to get one of the candles. She seemed baffled as his words echoed in her mind. "I don't understand."

His hand stopped half-way to the closer candle. Instead he walked around the table and took her hand to lead her to the seats. It was warm and her skin soft under his calloused palm; a hand of a mage indeed. He felt her flinch at first. To her credit, however, she didn't pull away.

While she slowly sat into the seat, he dropped the things he was holding onto the table carefully and returned to get the candle.

He put it on the table and then he noticed her face. Her lips were parted, eyes wide with fear, colour drained from her cheeks. Then she closed her mouth and looked away quickly before he could even take a breath to try to make her relax. He noticed her hand, the one he'd held, caressed the wooden armrest of the seat awkwardly. Her fingers began drawing nonsensical patterns.

He tilted his head to one side, giving her a questioning look.

"Oh," she mumbled, remembering his question. She pulled both her hands into her lap. "Well, it was nothing scandalous or violent, rest assured," she blurted out.

He hummed quietly and begun studying the blank form in front of him. She left him undisturbed, thinking that he probably considered it an answer enough. He was quiet for a few moments while writing down his needs and demands for the trip. She focused on the two rapiers above the fireplace.

Finally done with the annoying paperwork, he lifted his eyes to her, putting the quill away. She appeared to be admiring the fencing cords in front of her, but turned to him when she caught his motion. She smiled and all the awkwardness was gone from her suddenly. She'd sat back in the seat and relaxed finally. It left him wondering how they did it; how all the mages could look so innocent and inconspicuous and yet be capable of such a massive destruction he'd witnessed. Or maybe it was just her looking innocent and inconspicuous. He was sure he'd never seen her from this close either and he noticed a small dimple in her right cheek when she smiled.

"Nothing violent," he finally mused on her words. "That could be anything. What was it?"

She looked away from him, the large brown orbs widening. "Well, people didn't like me knowing their secrets," she whispered.

"You know people's secrets..." he echoed quietly, leaning a little bit closer over the small table. "What does it mean exactly?"

She looked at him with fear filling the big eyes and her hand tried to snatch the papers. He reacted with precision and speed of a seasoned warrior and trapped her hand under his. It was much smaller than his and trembling softly.

"I...cannot read minds," she stuttered and he felt her feeble effort to pull her hand away. Her nostrils flared when she realized he just wasn't going to let go. "Please, Ser, I'm not danger to anyone. I've passed my Harrowing and I cannot become an abomination."

"Anyone can become an abomination, even senior mages," he said slowly. "Even First Enchanters."

Kirkwall. He had to be referring to Kirkwall. She'd heard what happened.

"How do you get to know the secrets?" he asked quietly. "What mind trick do you use?"

"None," she shook her head. "I can't influence other people, I just...observe."

"That's not possible."

His fingers closed around her hand so now he was holding it instead of pinning it down. Her eyes dropped to them for a moment. And then her hand stilled in his and relaxed finally. "You're a templar," she whispered after a short pause. "You should know if I used a mind trick on you. You've been trained to resist such magic." She lifted her eyes to him again. The dancing flame cast moving shadows on her face.

He frowned. "On me?" he echoed soundlessly. She was right that he should have noticed such magic trying to get its hold on him. Besides, he couldn't remember being alone with her either and someone would have noticed her casting anything on him. There wasn't a chance for her to cast any spells. "You're lying."

She closed her eyes. Her free hand suddenly covered his. The touch was gentle and light when her fingers closed around his. "I am sorry," she mumbled, locking her eyes with his again. "She was beautiful. She had long, fair hair cascading down her shoulders and back in soft curls. Her eyes were kind and as blue as an ocean and her lips, they were pink and full and always smiling. She was tall and slim, gentle and loving, beautiful in the purple robes she liked to wear so often. And then...she was no more," she paused, her hand tightening around his. "Her blood was warm and slick where it touched your hands and her eyes opened as you slit her throat. But they weren't hers anymore and the demon she had fallen prey to in her Harrowing looked straight at you. Her lips curved in disdain before her face finally relaxed. Amell, you whispered, knowing she couldn't hear you anymore. The woman you loved lay dead in your arms, while others commended how flawlessly you've performed your duty. Her blood was everywhere and the carmine was all you could see as she bled."

Now it was him cringing back. He watched her finally lift the papers and rise to her feet slowly. "I am sorry. I didn't want to see it," she mumbled again and the tears in her eyes brimmed over, running down her cheeks. Her hands trembled as they held the papers gingerly. She fled his room without another word and he just stared, hearing her steps getting fainter and fainter.

His infatuation wasn't a secret. Everyone knew, even in Kirkwall. But all the rumours were about was him falling in love with a mage. No one knew her name. No one knew how she looked like. Those were details only his regular nightmares kept in his memory as if it was yesterday. Like last night. He looked at his hands as he recalled the moment when his dreams forced him to end her life again.

Well, first of two chapters that will explain my take on why the Inquisitor can close the Fade rifsts. Until the game will finaly tell us how it really is, anway.

Thank you for reading everyone!