I don't own Dragon Age. Seriously, just makin' this up as I go along.

Evelyn stood and watched the bread bake, which was about as interesting as it sounds. Mia had a headache and had decided it best if she spend the day in bed. Helena took charge of the inn, which meant Evelyn was given the most menial tasks in order to keep her separate from the rest of the family. Terrin was busy in the forge and Cullen joined Branson as he re-shackled the roof before winter. Beatrix was at school and Lief played on the floor by the hearth with small iron soldiers, made by his uncle. Rosalie was nowhere to be found.

Helena was icily silent, and the air was filled with tension. When Helena suggested they take drinks to the men, Evelyn jumped and volunteered to take them alone. With a withering glare, Helena gave her a jug of water with a ladle and sent her to the roof. Free from the prison which was Helena's presence, Evelyn almost skipped down the halls and up the stairs. She found a small hatch at the end of a hallway and pushed it open with her shoulder, spilling light that blinded her temporarily.

Out on the roof, Branson and Cullen were tossing the broken clay shackles onto a tarp that was spread out on the ground below. Both had their shirts off, but only Cullen was worth looking at. The sweat on his skin and the thick hair of his chest glistened in the sun. Evelyn suddenly wondered how quickly they could sneak back into their room, how quickly her dress could come off, how long before-

"Evelyn!" Branson called. His belly was worse without a shirt, protruding forward like Mia's. His face seemed to droop under the sweat and the sun made him look like a boiled egg. He smiled at her and Evelyn held out the tray. "Thank you." He took a deep swig of water.

"Thank you, Evie." Cullen said, taking his drink. As he sipped at it, two streams trickled out of the corner of his mouth and down his cheeks, his neck, his chest. Oh sweet Maker, Evelyn thought. Cullen caught her eye and she saw a glint of mischief in her husband's eyes. He's flirting with me, the stupid oaf. She giggled and opened her mouth to say something.

"Anything else?" Branson asked, clearly dismissing her. She pursed her lips and made a move to leave.

"Brother," Cullen stopped her. "Evelyn could help us."

"A woman?" He gwuaffed. "With her… Disability?"

Evelyn stifled a sigh. Okay, she didn't have half an arm- get it, understand it, see it, process it, then get over it. If another provincial asshole pointed it out to her, she might punch him. Stepping past Cullen, she extended her hand (the one she still possessed, thank you very much). With a deep, soft breath, she concentrated and one by one the shackles of the roof began to peel upwards to the sky. They would spin a bit in the sky before they flew off the edge, down to the tarp. Evelyn flexed- it had been too long since she felt the magic move through her veins, the Fade warp around her (as Cole had told her). Like ice dripping down her spine.

Suddenly, Branson grabbed her arm and pulled her away, interrupting her flow of magic. The shackles all fell where they floated, breaking into several pieces.

"Listen here," Branson said through gritted teeth. "You can do that… That thing in private. But out here, in the open-"

"Let go of her!" Cullen growled, ripping Evelyn from his grip. Evelyn shook herself free of both men, but neither paid her much mind. The brothers glared at each other like wolves, ready to leap at the other's throat. She had been foolish, Evelyn knew. Quickly, she reopened the hatch and crawled back inside the hut. As she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the brothers slowly relax and return to work, but they did not look at each other.

Inside, Evelyn caught her breath and rubbed her temples. The Rutherfords were nothing if not… Angry. Little angry blonde children. Evelyn smiled at that mental image. As she transversed the halls, she found herself standing at the top of the stairs, holding onto her smile. She knew that Helena's gaze would wither her smile, and she couldn't bear that anymore. With as much confidence as she could muster, she hurried down the stairs and straight out the door, closing it behind her.

Outside, the sun was warm on her cheeks and she smiled into the light. Periodically, she heard the crash of the shackles her husband and Branson would throw down from the roof. Evelyn made her way to the back of the inn, where she found Alistair chewing on a branch- and chewing looked a whole lot like devouring. she squatted low and scratched him behind his ears. He whined happily and crushed more wood between his jaws.

"I would tell you to stop, but you can probably handle some wood." She sighed. In Ostwick, she could vaguely remember her uncle owning a Mabari- a mean, black thing that knocked her down whenever it got the chance. She had only been four when it had been killed on a hunting trip- the same that took her uncle. There had not been much mourning for him; he was pushing 80 and had wandering hands. Her cousin, Lord Bernard, was 50 at the time and took the title of Lord Trevelyan eagerly. Ostwick thrived under his hand. Last she had heard, his son, Lord Rickard, was now the head of their house, and lord of Ostwick. He had inherited while she was in the Circle- she hadn't seen him in many years.

"Where is your family, huh?" She asked Al. "Where's your mother and father and your brothers and sisters? Do you dream of them still?" The dog gave no reply.

Her father was still alive- still round and jovial. He had sent a few letters to Skyhold, mostly nonsense, but they made her smile. Her mother wrote too- these were normally directed to Josephine and contained political implications. Once, she had asked the ambassador to 'convey her feelings of goodwill and affection to her daughter, sometimes called the Herald of Andraste". Truthfully, that was the closest she had ever been to saying, "I love you." It is hard to love a mage.

Al's ears pricked up and a low growl was born in his throat. Evelyn looked to the trees, but could only see shadows and green. Suddenly, Al lept into a chase and disappeared into the woods, leaving Evelyn alone.

She sighed and pushed her hair back from her eyes. Even the dog could do without her. Wandering now, she made her way to the other side of the inn, where the forge was. Curiously, she crept inside.

The heat was scorching to say the least, instantly drying her eyes. The air was like a desert wind and her lungs dried up after one breath. A fire danced in the furnace, spilling orange light across the dark room, and heat waves pooled out into the air. There, in the middle of the cluttered forge, was Terrin, his shirt off and his red chest hair matted and wet with sweat. He was a mountain of a man, truly, as he pounded at a glowing lump. He didn't register Evelyn standing there so she glanced around the forge. Unlike the ones in Skyhold and Haven, which were bustling, filled to the brim with armor and weapons, and orderly to a fault, Terrin kept his forge messy and simple. Tools were scattered and piled on every flat surface, with just as many sheets of paper with sketches and orders scrawled over them in a child-like print. Pitch forks, shovels, and other farm equipment hung on the walls, along with the occasional sword and shield. One sword hung close to her, black in the glowing firelight. She reached up to touch it, and then-

"Fire." Terrin's voice was low and gruff, spitting out the two syllables like bile. Evelyn spun around to see him holding his tongs in the dying flames. For a moment, she didn't know what to do. But then Terrin turn to look at her and spat, "Fire!" And she scrambled for the pile of wood by the furnace, grabbing a piece and tossing it in. Sparks flew up, but still the flames burned low.

"No." Terrin told her. "Use magic."

Evelyn looked up at him, unsure, but Terrin's straightforward brown eyes told her, Yes. Without another word, she held out her hand and flames shot forward, burning the wood and turning the strangely shaped piece of metal a burning gold. Terrin grunted his approval and Evelyn pulled her hand back. Terrin pulled his tongs out of the flames and began pounding the piece again. After a moment, he said, "You hold it."

Again, she obeyed and gripped the tongs as tight as she could. With a huff, Terrin lifted his hammer above his head and brought it down on the glowing piece of metal, flattening it. The shock ran through Evelyn's arm and she cried out in pain.

"Hold it still." Terrin commanded her. She listened, and gritted her teeth. When he brought his hammer down again, she was ready. The shock still made her body ache, but less so. Again and again, Terrin struck the metal and Evelyn held it for him. And when he was done, she dunk the contraption into water and watched it boil.

After hours of work, Evelyn's garments had been soaked by sweat, then dried by heat, then soaked once more. Her hair was a mess and when she looked down at her hand, all she could see were blisters. Her body was more sore that she had ever been in her entire life. Yet, when she looked to Terrin, who held up the strangely shaped piece of metal they had worked on and said, "This is part of Master Dennin's wagon wheel," she smiled so broad her cheeks ached. Terrin clapped her heartily on the back, almost knocking her over, and walked with her back to the inn.

Okay. So I haven't updated in awhile. I'm a shit person, I know. Exams and everything are intense. But here you go.