They were half-way down the stairs when, from behind her, Killeen heard de Chevin call out: "Lieutenant!"
Killeen paused. "Fel, run along to the armoury and start reconciling the inventory," she said.
"But —" the little girl started.
Killeen pursed her lips. "Are you saying that's too difficult for you?"
"No!" Fel said instantly.
"Off you go, then."
She stood watching until Fel had descended the stairs and was on her way across the courtyard before turning. "Ser Michel. I must apologise, I've been — busy."
He smiled. "Since I have only just returned from Orlais, I must honestly but alas, discourteously admit I had not noticed."
"Orlais?" Killeen said. "I thought you — that is, your circumstances."
"The Inquisitor most kindly interceded for me with Empress Celene," he said.
"Oh," Killeen said. Was Cullen right about him? "Congratulations. So you will be returning to court?"
"Not at all," de Chevin said. "The Inquisition is not a cause to join only for lack of alternatives, and not one to abandon because one can."
"Yes," Killeen said, and smiled.
"Forgive my informality, but I saw you and could not resist the opportunity — will you join me for dinner tonight?"
"I — ah —" Killeen said. "I may have — that is, there is a lot of work, at the moment."
"Of course," de Chevin said. "If you are able to join me, I will be delighted. If you are not, I will be disappointed, but I will understand. Simply send word." He bowed. "Until I see you again, Lieutenant."
Well, shit, Killeen thought as she made her way down the stairs and across to the armoury. Michel De Chevin was extremely good-looking, charming, and now apparently once again rich and titled. And he still wants to have dinner with me.
A part of her longed for the pleasant, uncomplicated company she knew the evening would bring — easy conversation, compliments, good food and wine. The alternative was whatever the mess was serving, eaten while working, bites of food in between discussions of troop movements and equipment supply.
And yet …
And yet.
When Cullen touched her hand she felt more than when Michel de Chevin kissed her lips.
De Chevin's kiss had been nice, definitely. She would not have been distressed at a repetition. But even the memory of Cullen's thumb softly stroking her palm weakened her knees and set her heart racing.
No. It would be unfair, to de Chevin, to continue to allow him to, as Leliana had said, pay court to her.
She pushed open the door of the armoury and crossed to where Fel was studying the rack of swords. "How are you going?"
"Fine! What did Ser de Chien want?"
"De Chevin," Killeen corrected. "Nothing you have to worry about."
Fel stared up at her, eyes narrow, lips tight. "I don't like him."
"You've said," Killeen said calmly. "How many of these swords are fit for purpose?"
Fel looked down at her slate, and Killeen hid a smile. Distraction achieved.
They went through the whole armoury, and as far as Killeen considered the state of the equipment confirmed her suspicions of the latest Hinterlands shipment. She sent Fel to lunch, and jogged up the stairs to Cullen's office to let him know he needed to raise the question with the other advisers.
She was both disappointed and relieved when the office was empty.
Leaving him a note, she went down to the stables to reassure Firefly she was not forgotten, and to make sure that Master Dennet's boys were exercising both Firefly and Steelheart. They were, of course: Dennet would have thrown himself off the battlements before he let a horse in his care lack for what it needed. But, like all great horsemasters, he understood the special and at time peculiar relationship between horse and rider, and bore Killeen's questions patiently.
"Tomorrow," Killeen promised her mare, and headed toward the quartermaster.
That, and the subsequent errands, kept her busy throughout much of the afternoon. The Inquisitor's work had vastly expanded the Inquisition's reach and scope — which meant vastly expanded requests for assistance, support, and aid. Killeen disposed of the ones she could, noted the ones that would need more senior approval, kept Fel from either provoking the quartermaster and his staff to actual violence, and found herself in the courtyard with no urgent tasks and a headache that promised to crush her temples, given the chance.
"All right," she said to Fel. "Time for you to learn how to keep your gear in good order."
A peaceful half-an-hour patching her arming doublet while keeping an eye on Fel's oiling of her cuirass lacing saw the ache behind her eyes recede.
"Putting children to work now, Killer?" Varric said, and Killeen looked up to see the dwarf watching Fel with a grin, Lady Cassandra beside him. "Missed a bit there, kid." He pointed.
"Stop trying to change the subject," Cassandra told him. She sounded annoyed, but then, Killeen thought, she always sounds annoyed.
"I told you, Seeker, I'm not going to give you any spoilers," Varric said, with a roll of his eyes. He sat down beside Fel and took out an apple. "Anyway, I'm busy helping the kid, here."
"I don't need help," Fel said promptly.
"See, she does not need help," Cassandra said. She sat down as well, folding her arms and looking as if little short of a trebuchet would dislodge her. "I do not believe you even know what will happen. That is why you haven't finished your book, and why you will not tell me."
"I know exactly what will happen," Varric said. "I'm a professional."
"Then prove it," Cassandra said.
Varric sighed. "All right. But don't come whining to me when you don't enjoy the finished product. Where are you up to?"
"The last chapter you wrote!" Cassandra said. "Ser Colin had just watched the woman he loves lead her forces out to face almost certain death, unable to follow because of his own duties. Did she survive? I must know."
"Of course she survived, Seeker, it's only chapter three," Varric said.
"And then what happened?" Cassandra demanded. "Did he declare his love?"
"Clearly not, or the book would be over before it began. No, once they're both safe, he —"
"I know you always use real people in your books," Killeen interrupted, "but don't you think writing about the Inquisitor is a bit of, I don't know, lese majeste or something?"
"I don't always use real people —" Varric protested as Cassandra said in surprise:
"The Inquisitor?"
"You do," Killeen said. "I recognised at least four people in Hard in Hightown."
"Shut up, Seeker," Varric said, giving Cassandra a sharp look before turning back to Killeen. "You read Hard in Hightown, Killer? What did you think?"
"I got half-way through the first one," Killeen said. "That scene where the Guards threatened to kill the Apostate's children to make him tell them where the Summoning circle was being held was ridiculous."
"Everyone's a critic," Varric muttered.
"Does Cullen know he's in your book?" Killeen asked.
"Ah, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission," Varric said dismissively.
"I'd be begging forgiveness from Kirkwall if I were you," Killeen advised. "Or possibly Rivain."
"Nah, he'll love it," Varric said with what Killeen considered to be wholly unjustified confidence. "And it's not just about him. There's also Seraphine Pontilyet, Lorian Davus, and a bad tempered literature critic called Melissandra." Cassandra glared at him. "And lots of others. But Curly's the lead. I mean, who else? It is a romance, and he's the perfect romantic lead."
"That is undeniable," Cassandra said. "Blackwall has that beard, and Dorian is altogether too full of himself."
"And my readers aren't ready for a Qunari," Varric said. "So it's got to be the tall, fair-haired —"
"Golden haired," Cassandra corrected.
"Golden-haired Commander, silhouetted against the setting sun as he grimly stares down the approaching armies of darkness." Varric chuckled. "The ladies will swoon. Especially when I spend a page-and-a-half describing the scar on his face that he got saving a little girl from demons."
Killeen frowned. "It wasn't a little girl. It was Hugh Gothering, the wine merchant in Half Moon Street. And it wasn't so much a demon as a donkey. Knocked Cullen straight into Gothering's tasting table – and the glasses on it."
"It's fiction, Killer," Varric said. "I'm going to make that horrible cloak of his sound attractive too. Especially when he shares it with the heroine to keep her warm on a long winter's night."
"It is fiction, yes, but it is based on fact," Cassandra said. "And as you know very well, Varric, readers will assume that there is some truth in it. We must be accurate."
"Still not loving this we," Varric grumbled.
"Does the Inquisitor know you're doing this?" Killeen asked.
"She's all for it," Varric said, and to Killen it sounded as if he was telling the truth.
Killeen's eyebrows went up. "And she doesn't mind that you're going to turn her into some sort of helpless maiden being rescued?"
"Nobody's going to be helpless," Varric said.
"Isn't that how romances go?" Killeen asked. "Heroes saving heroines?"
"Every woman wants to be rescued," Varric said.
Cassandra frowned thunderously. "I do not."
"Well, all right, every woman who doesn't spend her waking life in prowling the countryside in armour looking for things to stab," Varric conceded. "Which is to say, my readership." He turned to Killeen. "What about you, Killer? Wouldn't you like Curly to sweep you off your feet and carry you out of danger in his strong, manly arms?"
Killeen carefully kept her eyes on her lacing. "Have you looked at me, Varric?" she said lightly. "If Cullen tried to sweep me off my feet, he'd strain something."
"Yes, but do you want him to," Varric said, "that's the question. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it, Killer, in all these months of working right next to him every day. He's tall and handsome, you're —"
"A soldier under his command," Killeen said. "So the whole proposition is too absurd to contemplate."
"Such things happen," Cassandra said.
"Not in well run companies," Killeen said.
"Sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants, Killer," Varric said.
Killeen pushed the leather thong through another hole, extremely careful not to let it twist, said finally: "I wouldn't know." She kept her tone casual with an effort. "You should sell a lot of copies, provided Thedas isn't a howling wasteland populated by demons and slaves by the time you finish it."
"I have faith in her Inquisitorialness," Varric said.
"We shall prevail," Cassandra said with finality. "There is no other option. And then — what will happen in your book, at the end?"
"That I haven't worked out yet," Varric said.
A/N: Yes, I know that's not how the war table mission goes!
