"Lily, I'll require a bath and then you have the evening to yourself."

"Do you...require nothing else, miss?"

"No-don't give me that look!"

"I did no such thing. It is simply...you have that air about you."

"In this case, ignorance is best."

"Shall I bring up a box of rags for a bed and a bowl of water?"

"You know me too well, Lily."

/*/

I've nearly made it back to my quarters with my spoils when a figure intercepts me in the center of the throne room. In a nightdress and robe, I almost don't recognize the First Enchanter, but her proud shoulders are near impossible to mistake, even in such dim lighting.

"You cannot keep such a thing, darling."

"Excuse me?"

"A puppy will not be beneficial to your image."

I look from her, to the puppy, then back. "But it's a fierce war beast!"

"No," Vivienne shakes her head, regarding the small mabari in my arms with scornful eyes. "It is a mongrel that will make you appear weak to any who see it."

"It will make me appear human. The loyalty of a dog can be just as inspiring as any low cut robe."

One delicate eyebrow raises, acknowledging the slight but not reacting. "Very well, my dear. Dote on it if you must."

As Vivienne floats away on her air of self-importance that I'm still not sure I trust, the puppy in my arms stirs, blinking up with bleary, youthful eyes. I scratch it behind the ears, and it yawns, capturing and suckling the end of my finger, whining slightly.

The promise of Mabari puppies had been the highlight of my week amongst the chaotic construction and repairs being made to Skyhold. A million things demanded my attention, and I couldn't leave for I was still healing and expecting a guest any day now: a friend of Varric's whom he has yet to name, but seems to place Cassandra on edge. Today was occupied by the repair of Skyhold's main gate, where I could actually be useful because none of the soldiers were small enough to squirm up into the inner-workings of the mechanical bits, and I happened to be the perfect size. Some minor acrobatics later, and the gate could be raised and lowered without so much as a creak.

This evening, the puppies had been declared old enough to begin training. I waited until nightfall, dismissed Lily after my bath, and snuck into the stables-damp hair, nightgown and all-to lift one of the young mabari. I'd almost chosen a strong looking pup with confident eyes and thick shoulders, but then a whimper scattered some hay and I had found what must be the runt of the litter, terrified beyond all belief and looking underfed. I'd sympathized and tucked the puppy to my chest.

"Let's get you some food, sweet thing." I coo, quickly scurrying through the main hall and down the stairs that lead to the gallery. No servants linger in the drab room, and I find none past the door and in the kitchens. I allow the puppy to waddle around on the ground, setting about the task of locating where Cook hides the leftovers from dinner. Tonight had been roast and stew, or so I'd heard from Sera and Bull. To repair the gate took longer than anticipated, carrying on well past dinner.

In a short while I have the stew warming by the hearth and I've sat on the counter, the mabari in front of me, whimpering. "Come, you need to eat, bae-bae." I hold a piece of roast out, close enough so the pup will see it, but far enough so it will have to come closer if it wants the morsel.

The puppy whines, stops, then takes a little step forward. I extend my hand a bit more. This gesture seems to encourage him, so he comes forward on another waddle, and I bring the meat closer. Proceeding like this, a full two minutes pass before the mabari and I meet in the middle. His soft tongue laps out and gobbles the meat, then he pads the rest of the distance and curls into my lap, looking up expectantly with intelligent eyes.

"That was impressive."

I jump at the voice, nearly startling the mabari. At the door to the kitchen stands Cullen, smiling.

"Maker, Commander! You can't sneak up on someone like that."

"Only you, it seems." He chuckles, then walks over to examine the dog. "Is this one of the hounds the Kennel-Master has been cultivating for weeks now?"

"Maybe." I grin. "This one is the runt of the litter, I believe. He was not being cared for properly."

"And you've gained his trust so quickly?"

At that, I merely shrug. "Meeting in the middle tends to garner trust much quicker than if you make someone come to you. The same applies to mabari, it would seem."

"You plan on keeping it?"

"I will not have him cast out merely for being small."

"And have you thought of a name?"

"Actually, yes." I pull more roast from behind me and scatter the chunks across the counter. The mambari yips and scrambles towards the food. My legs now free, I slide off the counter and adjust my nightgown. I stoop to retrieve some of the dinnerware, but a strong hand suddenly intercepts and captures two bowls from the shelf. Feeling slighted in a juvenile way, I frown at Cullen. "May I help you?"

"I'm afraid I missed supper as well." He explains, turning towards the hearth. When the fire light curls into his hair, I notice the shine and realize it must be damp. "Allow me, if you will."

Absently I fidget with my own wet hair, the short red locks pulled back into a tight bun. "Why were you absent from the dinner table?" When he sighs and drops his head in frustration, I laugh. "Oh, they can't be that bad!"

"You're serious, aren't you?" He scoffs, ladling stew into our bowls. Although his posture is tense, Cullen smiles in such a friendly, grateful manner that I cannot help but feel eager to connect through our conversation. "The recruits we've received have been nothing but trouble from the beginning. Maker only knows how he does it, but there is this one young man who always-always-finds a way to shirk his obligations and spend time with the maids. It is a miracle of the worst kind!"

I laugh as he gives me a bowl of stew and we both perch on the counter. "Perhaps you should consider handing him to Leliana. It sounds like this young man has a talent worth exploiting."

"Charming a maid out of her decency is not a talent."

"But avoiding your piercing gaze is." I tease.

With a spoonful of stew in hand, he pauses to consider this, then agrees. "Perhaps. I will speak with her. Anyway," The puppy, having eaten his fill of roast, pads over and lays between me and Cullen, looking sated and sleepy. "What have you decided to name him?"

"Huh?"

"The mabari." Cullen scratches the dog's ears.

"Oh. Da'mi." I answer.

"Is that...elvish?"

I nod with a mouthful of stew. "It means 'little blade'. A term of endearment, really, but..."

"It fits him." Cullen reassures my choice with a smile. "Are you fluent?"

I shake my head. "No one is-not even the Dalish. They merely flaunt the language more than most."

"Inquisitor-"

I raise an eyebrow at Cullen to correct his address.

"Hollyn." He sets his empty bowl to the side. "I haven't known very many Dalish, but those I have always refer to the Dalish as..." Cullen struggles for a word.

I roll my eyes, annoyed at the topic. "'Their people'?" I suggest. He nods. "They are not my people. I was not an outsider amongst them, but I will never be considered a true Dalish."

The words come out harsher than intended, and Cullen fidgets. "I apologize. I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's fine. The Dalish were simply my mother's people, and never mine." I twine my fingers through the necklace hanging just inside my nightgown. "I didn't like the way they treated all elves as one, big conglomerate with an obligation to our past, and those who ignore that obligation are lesser beings."

"Hm...I didn't know you were so bitter about this." Cullen crosses his legs under himself, completely sat on the counter now. His blunt observation is surprising, but I don't feel slighted in the least. "You say the Dalish accepted you, though?"

"Yes." I release my necklace. "Quite readily, in fact. They...there was an empty role no one else could fill. I performed the clan's rights, earned their trust and was accepted. I still remember the day they gave me the vallaslin..." I look up from the memory. Cullen is utterly confused-brow furrowed, mouth hovering in thought-and trying poorly to hide it.

"Hm..." He mumbles, as if unsure whether or not he may ask a question.

I take a guess at his inquiry and stand, brushing away a few loose strands of hair from the back of my neck. The skin is slightly raised where my tattoos begin, swirling across my shoulders and disappearing underneath the nightgown. "The face tattoos you see on other Dalish? Those are their vallaslin, or 'blood writing'. It shows they are an adult within the clan. Most receive designs according to their occupation and the god associated with it." Glancing over my shoulder, I give Cullen a honest smile. "You have questions. Do not be hesitant to ask."

Cullen, now pulled from the reverie that my vallaslin has somehow put him in, runs a hand through his hair and shuffles off the counter, gathering our bowls. I let my hair fall back down and scoop up Da'mi, cradling the small animal in my arms and afraid that somehow I had crossed an unseen line of his, ignoring the fact that it was my vallaslin being shown.

"I assume yours are not traditional?"

"You mean since the tattoos are on my back? You'd be correct." Scratching Da'mi behind the ears, I consider how to explain this a vaguely as possible. "Since I was not one of the clan, but I was required to have them to fulfil my role, the Keeper thought of something that kept all parties content: the vallaslin was to be placed upon my shoulders, back, and torso, completely avoiding the face."

"And its meaning?"

The corners of my mouth lift at his question. "To quote the Keeper: 'for she will be a bridge between two worlds: a middle amongst two extremes, both in her power and in her body.'"

"Because you are human and elf." Cullen interprets, having placed our bowls away and coming to stand in front of me, busying his hands with Da'mi.

"Among other things...yes."

We remain in silence, both obviously unsure how to continue. I had bared my blood writing to him, after all, and although he can never fully understand the gravity of something I'd done so casually, there is a spark in his golden eyes that suggests maybe-just maybe-he feels the weight of that singular action as heavily as I do.

If I was still among the Dalish and the Keeper found out I had shown any part of my Vallaslin to a 'shem', I would most likely be driven from the Clan, whether or not they needed me. The markings tracing my back are to show my heritage among 'my people', meant as a symbol of pride. In the eyes of the Dalish, this morsel of their history is meant only for elves, to be kept and hoarded as one would hoard treasure or food.

Even as I was meant to be a bridge between humans and elves, the Dalish tried their hardest to make me 'theirs'. I could not speak to 'shems'; I was never meant to leave the camp; and that which they had bestowed unto me-the vallaslin- was to never be laid under human eyes, for the tattoos-and the skin they lay in-belongs to 'the eyes of the people'. To muddle an already sullied bloodline would be adding further insult to my heritage.

But there is something freeing in knowing that a pair of golden eyes has seen even a part of the vallaslin: this promise that someone else etched into my flesh years ago. Even still, perhaps I have fulfilled the oath; have become a bridge, but not in the way the Keeper envisioned.

"I like to think I am doing what the Maker intended when these," I gesture my head back. "Were given to me. The Keeper will not be pleased, but...I am."

"Regardless, they are beautiful, Hollyn." Cullen says absently, not really understanding the words until they leave his mouth, which hangs open after the last syllable, shocked.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued to poke the line between us just a bit. "'Beautiful', hm?"

The blush that lights his cheeks is endearing as he looks anywhere but me. "Um...I suppose not just...Maker, it is getting late, is it not? Forgive me for keeping you, Inquisitor."

I smile and shake my head, stepping towards the kitchen door. "I suppose I can. Goodnight, Commander."