Note: Has it been about 3 years? Yes it has. I've gotten married, bought a house and lived a lot of life. Recently, I've just started writing again. Anything at all. So, I thought I would start this again and see how I do.

Assuming anyone is still reading lol.

Bell's POV

This morning's dress was especially conservative; long, somber grey sleeves with hideous fringe, my skirts had skirts.

I looked like a whale.

"Now, sweetheart," Mother preened as she slipped an ugly silver comb into my hair. "Be on your best behavior, remember your manners—"

"She's taking tea with the Grand Cleric, mother not the bloody Maker." Hawke chirped from her perch on my windowsill. Rather too chipper this morning, she was.

I stuck my tongue out when mother wasn't looking and all I got in return was a bright smile.

"Regardless," Mother continued. "It was very kind of Her Grace and Brother Vael to extend the invitation, don't you think? Alright, dear, I believe we are all set. Give me a moment and we'll be off."

I could barely breathe, mother insisted on the one-piece corset. I'd need a bloody brigade to get me out of this rubbish.

Hawke chuckled lightly. "Why the long face, love?"

"Why did I see Fenris sneaking out past my door this morning?" I retorted, pulling the horrid comb from by hair and tossing it aside.

She waved a flippant hand. "Well, he absolutely refused to slide down the—"

"I meant why."

Hawke hopped off the sill with barely a sound and shrugged. "Oh, that? We had sex."

My eyes widened like saucers, my lips flapped but nothing came out. It was suddenly quite hot in my room, I felt like fanning myself.

"I—you…huh?"

Hawke laughed and started messing around my box of combs. "Breath, love."

My eyes flickered to my closed door and I lowered my voice. "You and…I mean—you really…er, h—how, uh, was it?"

Her eyes sparkled as she held a pretty sapphire-jeweled comb to my hair.

"Absolutely magnificent." She laughed. I blushed hotly.

As she slid the comb into my hair, I nibbled on my cheek. Mother was gone, getting ready…I did have some time…

"Hawke?"

"Yes, love?"

"Promise you'll not get mad."

She smirked softly. "Cross my heart."

I eyed her wearily. "Or…hurt…anyone. Anyone at all."

"Does it count if I've got my fingers crossed?"

"No."

"Oh, well then," She smiled brightly. "I make no promises."

I sighed, fingering the sheer overcoat of my skirts. Honestly, I was happy for Hawke, for both of them…but…

There was a sort of dull aching in my chest. Like a string had been wound tightly around my heart and someone was pulling. Longing…

Lately, more and more, I found myself no longer content in reading myself to sleep, to drowning myself in pillows for warmth on cold nights. Most nights, it was that tugging in my chest that lulled me to sleep.

"Erm…what's it like?" I started, biting my lip softly. "The first time?"

Hawke tilted her head; I saw a million thoughts fly through her eyes.

She's going to dismiss me, I thought. It's what they always do. Why would Bell need to know? It's not as if it'll ever happen. Best just get back to your knitting, dear.

Flustered and utterly put out with myself, I hurried to my own rescue.

"Oh, ah…never you mi—"

"It is…odd." She interrupted; quiet and without a hint of teasing. "It can be painful but it doesn't have to be. Hypothetically…"

She leaned against my mirror and smiled. "Hypothetically, a man with experience, who knows his way around a lady, and who cares about his lady's needs…I think a man like that could make it a virtually painless and pleasurable experience. However out of practice he may be. Hypothetically, of course."

"Ah." My reflection mocked me with the very image of my apple-red cheeks. "I—I see."

"Anything else?"

I shook my head, a bit too enthusiastically. "No, no. I…mother is probably waiting for me."

The corner of her lip turned. "Sure, sister dear. Oh and do let me know how your little date goes."

I stumbled, nearly into the blighted door. "It's just tea, Hawke. Mother is probably hoping I'll join the Chantry or something."

Hawke laughed brightly. "Love, I highly doubt she wrapped you in a league of fabric because she thought Choir Boy wants to cloister you."

"Goodbye, Hawke."

I shut the door to her cackling laughter and fled downstairs. Mother, apparently, wasn't ready yet and so I sat and chatted with Orana for a time as she flitted about. Though, I found it difficult to keep up conversation.

It was not a…date. It was tea. With the Grand Cleric no less. A date was courting and flowers and soft words…

I sighed, resting my cheek on the back of my hand.

Gentle, innocent touches—

Like playing with your skirts?

No…no…not at all like…where in the Maker's creation did that come from?

Or the scarf that was left on your doorstep? The one you've got hidden from mother beneath your bed?

That was an apology…a gift. Bloody Andraste on fire, why did that little voice in my head sound like Hawke?

Those calloused archers' fingers around your waist. Warm breath on your neck, whispering in your ear.

Shut up, me. I've quite had enough of you thank you very much.

"Bell, dear, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I—are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Yes, yes. The fireplace is…yes, I'm alright." I stood and brushed the thoughts from my mind as I followed mother out onto the portico.

It had snowed again overnight. A light dusting of fresh, unsoiled white had settled over the dirty city. If only it could stay this way; the snow softened all the harshness and rock.

Mother decided to take the carriage this morning to the Chantry. Across the courtyard. The wind, she said.

It took nearly as long to fit my bustle through the door as it did to ferry us across the courtyard.

That feeling, that horrid tugging in my chest grew with every turn of the wheels. Part of me wished I'd never agreed to this…this tea. Sebastian was incredibly kind, faithful, and well spoken with a voice plucked from the Maker's Personal Reserve.

It would be a lie to say I did not find him handsome; the Maker gifted me with eyes, which was quite enough.

I had always found him handsome. Even at Chant, the first time I saw him he'd made me blush brighter than an apple amongst the snow.

And when we'd danced, I thought I might fall to pieces.

This was different.

A face was a face, and could easily be forgotten. Now, I knew him, I knew his heart. And I—I…

I wanted him; wanted to experience and live life and feel with him. Let him send shivers up my spine that I didn't have to hide. Nestle into his arms and be at peace.

I wanted him and he was not mine to have.

Andraste was his bride and his heart belonged to the Maker; I held but a piece…a small piece.

Did he know how I felt? I wondered as the carriage slowed to a stop and mother started shuffling out. Was that why he teased me so?

Was he that cruel? I had not thought so.

I tease you, Lady Bell, because you blush so beautifully that no master could capture your radiance on canvas.

Humph. It was like a game to him. Make the little virgin blush.

This morning, the Chantry was packed full. It was like that more and more lately. Whether it was fear of the Maker's wrath or fear of the Qunari, I did not know.

We took our seats and the Chant began. Mother Endra, recently promoted, spoke the Chant with grace and elegance and it was utterly boring. Her voice was dull, listless; it was as if she were reading a tick-off list for the market.

No passion. How depressingly fitting.

It was over all too soon and people were beginning to rise from their seats. Mother remained seated beside me.

"Remember, sweetheart—"

"Yes, mother. Be a lady; seen not heard."

Mother sighed. "Rein in the tongue and you will be fine."

"Lady Bell Hawke?" A young lay sister smiled demurely. "My name is Anna. Her Grace sent me to inform you that she is ready for you. If you would follow me?"

Mother patted my hand with a smile. "Have a nice time, dear."

I licked my lips while my stomach erupted into butterflies. With shaky hands, I gathered my skirts and followed Anna through the sanctuary toward the stairs. I'd never been up stairs before.

There was a barren chill to the hallway; the walls displayed nothing more than Chantry tapestries and scones, the floor bore only a worn crimson runner.

"Anna, was it?" I said softly.

"Yes, my lady."

"Oh…" I nibbled on my lip. "Bell will do just fine. How long have you been with the Chantry, if I may ask?"

Anna tilted her head with a smile. "Only just these past few months, my lady."

"Hmm." I nodded. "A—and…may I ask…why?"

For a moment, I thought I might have overstepped but the smile never fell from her lips.

"In my family," She said. "It is tradition for the youngest born to commit themselves to the service of the Maker and his Bride. It is a duty I take with pride, my lady."

"I…see…um," I knew where we were headed. The door ahead was slightly larger, slightly more ornate than the others. Her Grace's quarters. "Thank you."

"Of course, my lady." She said with a tilt of her head. "Here you are."

"Oh, erm…already?" Could a door loom? I think it could. My fingers touched the handle as if it might bite; it was cold, sharp iron.

Calm yourself, I chastised. It is only tea, remember?

And so I knocked. Perhaps they wouldn't hear me, perhaps no one was in, perhaps—

"Come in." Maker.

I opened the door but a sliver, peeking inside like a socially inept ghost. My lip was starting to hurt from being worn between my teeth. Horrible habit I'd developed.

It was his fault.

"Ah, young Lady Hawke." Her Grace's bright, elegant voice and beaming smile broke through the storm, if only for a moment. "Please, please come in. Have a seat."

Sweet Maker give me strength.