Note: I'm intentionally not describing every last detail about Tarin's looks to make it easier to project your own Inquisitor onto her.

If you're interested in her 'canon' appearance, please find a picture at relax-o-vision. tumblr tagged/ tarin-lavellan (minus the spaces)

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Her Chambers

For the second time in a little over a month Lace finds herself in front of Tarin's door, and again she's hesitating—partly because her hands are shaking and partly because her hands aren't free.

It seemed like a good idea, doing something nice for the person who went out of her way to help Lace personally. Now she worries that she may be overstepping her bounds. Perhaps all the banter and the winking and smiling is just part of the Inquisitor role Tarin takes on to remain on people's good side, keep morale up, or...

The door opens and Lace can barely keep herself from shrieking.

"I thought I heard footsteps." Tarin says. "It's good to see you." Then her eyes wander to the tray in Lace's hands. "What's that?"

Lace searches herself for some kind of self-composure. Squaring her shoulders she finally says:

"Food."

Tarin frowns but gestures for Lace to come in nonetheless.

"I meant to thank you for looking after my family, and then I remembered one of our conversations and you mentioned people offering you food... I know it was a joke, but... oh well, this is my mother's recipe."

"You cooked? For me?" Tarin sounds genuinely shocked. She looks like it, as well.

Lace's cheeks are on fire, but at least her hands have stopped trembling.

"You know how sometimes ideas sound better in your head than they look like in reality?"

And there it is again: That smile which reaches Tarin's eyes, lights up her whole face. Lace wishes she could see it more often.

With enthusiasm Tarin takes the tray from her and places it on her desk. Then she bends down to a cupboard next to her. "This is a great idea. In fact, I was hoping for an opportunity to spend some time with you." Her head and half her torso are buried in the cupboard and Lace thinks that maybe she didn't hear correctly. In any event she's uncertain how to respond, so she continues to silently hover by the stairs instead.

When Tarin emerges with two plates and a blanket she says: "You are going to eat with me, aren't you?" With a lopsided grin she adds: "I mean, you weren't going to let me dine all by myself?"

"Of course not." Lace lies. "But I don't mean to impose..."

"Nonsense." Tarin's already spreading out the blanket on the carpet. Then she sprints back to the cupboard and pulls out a wine jug. "You're not getting out of this one, Scout Harding."

Finally some of the tension in Lace's chest dissolves and she dares to leave her spot by the exit to join Tarin, who has used the three seconds in which Lace must have blanked out entirely to arrange the tray, plates, and pillows to a perfect little picnic spot. She lifts the wine jug and fills two wooden cups.

.

Approximately four hundred parsnip fritters and thirty-five filled mushrooms later, Lace lifts the cloche from a second plate.

"We haven't touched the apple tart." she says holding her belly.

Tarin snorts. "How does so much food fit into such a small person?" She's stretching her legs out, leaning back and resting on her elbows.

"Hey." Lace says, trying her best to sound offended. In hindsight perhaps she did subconsciously cook for two... or three by the looks of the left-overs.

Tarin sips from her cup. "Well, you're definitely hired."

To Lace's obvious confusion she responds: "As my personal chef, of course. I know I said I miss doing things on my own but now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it wouldn't be so bad having you deliver me food to my door every day."

Chuckling Lace retorts: "Oh, I absolutely would, but Sister Leliana would never let me. Indispensable, remember?"

"Ah, damn." Tarin laughs. She takes another sip.

"So, how's your family doing? Have you heard from them since we last spoke?"

Lace nods. "I have. They're good. Luckily you pay me enough so I can cover their expenses until they have found work in Denerim. But they're safe. That's what matters."

"Good." Tarin says, sitting up with a quiet groan, and crossing her legs. "That's good." She chews on her lower lip and idly traces the edge of her plate with her index finger before looking back up to Lace. "...and Mary?"

Mary. Right! "She's well, I think. She said she wanted to contact my parents, so I believe I will be hearing about her then."

"Good." Tarin repeats a little less enthusiastically.

An awkward silence settles between the two, but Lace is nothing if not blunt.

"We're not together." she blurts out. "We were, but that was three years ago. That's long over."

She picks up her own cup to take a big gulp before more words can fall out of her mouth, but finds it empty. Tarin lifts the jug from the blanket, tilts it apologetically.

"All out." she says. "I'll get you some water." She stands to fetch the carafe still resting on her desk, giving Lace some room to breathe.

It's a sunny afternoon, warm for Skyhold. With the light breeze coming through one open window Lace almost feels like she's back home, having a picnic on the meadow behind her parents' farm. How long has it been? A year? With the world falling apart every other day, she's barely had time to think, let alone sit down with someone and enjoy a meal. Turns out some ideas are even better realized.

"You look content." Tarin notes as she fills Lace's cup and sits back down. "I don't think I've seen you smile so much. It's like we're finally getting to know each other."

"We are, aren't we?" Lace nods. "Such a shame our encounters are usually so brief. But, you know, saving the world and all that. Busy, busy!"

Tarin looks at her for a long moment, something she seems to do quite often—long moments in which Lace has just enough time to wonder but never enough to finish a thought.

"Excuse me." Tarin clears her throat. "I'm so used to having my guard up all the time, but with you it's like... I'm getting carried away easily. It's so tempting to forget what we're up against, that I need to be bigger than myself."

Lace thinks back to their first conversation in the mountains. The image of Tarin standing tall on the top of that flight of stairs in Skyhold with her sword raised heavenward flashes through her mind. Tarin was still injured that day, but the crowd cheered. Lace cheered.

"I admit that when I came to your tent after the attack on Haven", she starts. "I wanted to see more as well."

Tarin mischievously raises her eyebrows, but Lace waves her off. "I meant that I wanted to see the Herald of Andraste. I was curious."

"So you came to stare. I know."

There is no hint of disappointment or hurt or anger in Tarin's voice, and when Lace looks up Tarin is looking her directly in the eyes and oh! She should either quit doing that or never stop again.

"...but then you saw I was smaller than you had imagined and you helped me, not the Herald but me. And you've been looking at me differently since. I understand the curiosity. I cannot even say I would behave any differently were the roles reversed. What's important is that you snapped out of it when it mattered."

Lace mirrors Tarin's warm smile.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad I didn't find what I was looking for." she says.

"So am I." Tarin says. "It feels good to have someone who genuinely cares. A friend."

She raises her cup and looks so happy that Lace can almost ignore the sting in her chest.

"To friendship." she declares.

When they say goodbye it's already dark. Tarin bends down and pulls Lace into a hug—brief but with both her arms around Lace's shoulders. The tingle of her breath will linger on Lace's neck even as she changes out of her clothes and slips under the covers of her bed.