My vexating Warden called to me from the shadow of her walkway in the library, though I did not answer. I was well hidden, and even if she had seen me I doubt she would have spoken unless I answered. There had been an undeclared agreement between we two, though at times I wondered how well she had intended to keep to her promise.

I crept along the walls in the dark, following my Warden as I once had - creeping along the shadows to follow her wake as a predator to its prey. I had very few times in the past months to exercise my formerly accustomed movements, though it felt entirely natural as I followed her private motions through the library. She spent the first half of the evening replacing books in a slight huff - an obviously familiar duty she missed performing. I offered silent condolences.

As the hour grew late and the sun began to set, I found my interest returning to the templar I knew to be her lover. She had never spoken much of him, but I had picked up enough from hushed conversation and glances to understand. Unfamiliar jealousy had prickled my skin, and I had barely excused myself from the conversation before embedding a much-loved dagger into a crack in the stone wall. A true shame, considering it had been a gift from Isthalla.

Possession had locked my mind in a vice all evening, something entirely unbecoming of one such as myself. I had no reason for petty jealousy, or anger for that matter. I was not unfamiliar to sharing my affections, and nor was I at one point beyond considering it with my fiery leader. Though in that moment I had laid eyes on her supposed templar - my fingers ached to bury a knife in his throat. I needed to think.

I had left her alone for quite a few hours. It was dark now and I had given myself ample time to consider what it was that frustrated me so - I had come to a conclusion of apologizing to my dearest Isthalla for my behavior. Only a child cries over a treasure that does not belong to him, after all. As fine a jewel as she was.

I had prepared the dry smile on my face and reached for the door when I heard a loud shift of a table. I caught onto the fringes of a conversation - Isthalla's whisper pleading with the voice of another. A man. My gut turned again in that old-familiar way I hated, and I froze there on the threshold as I watched her sink into his arms through the crack of the door. If jealousy hadn't been the culprit of my ache before, it now roiled within me with the fury of a descending wolf. My hand shook on the door, and I had barely yanked it away before I heard her murmur his name.

Halfway had I made it down the hall before a shout resounded from that accursed room and I watched him stumble from the entryway, hand over his chest, and make down the other hallway. He barely managed to make it to the staircase before buckling over his knees, then lumbering his way up as a drunken man would. Alone.

I found a wicked opportunity present itself in that moment. Seized by my anger, I strode after him once I was certain Isthalla would not exit the library as well - silently avoiding the guards - and ascended to the restricted templar's dormitory.

I found him hunched over his knees in private lodgings separate from the crowded bunks of the dormitory - though small - obviously belonging to himself. As the Captain I imagined he had many other perks not including private meetings with the leader of the Grey Wardens. I gritted my teeth and slipped into the room unnoticed, choosing to perch across the opposite side of the room where he would not see me.

I could sense how fast his heart beat from the ragged breath of his mouth. My fingers twitched over the hilt of my weapon as I was reminded he had placed such filthy lips to Isthalla, and once again felt my fingers itch to slit his throat. Remove his presence, if only for the abhorring nature that it imposed.

I had already conjured my idea of escape, and a note I might leave her before my absence - should she ever forgive me - and readied my weapon to end the wretched man's life. I had taken a single step into the light from his window when I paused. His shoulders began to quake, and his head dipped low as he began to weep in what he assumed was a private space. My hand paused, held by the look I had witnessed in my Warden's eyes when she met him again. Life had bloomed within her like a fiery phoenix rising from the ashes. Breathless and beautiful, she had grasped this weak man and held him with a bare affection even a blind man could see. It was then I realized I could not do what my desperate fingers ached for - if only for her sake.

Frustration drew me back with the weight of stone. I fell into the shadows again, my jaw gritted, and slipped away before I could witness any further the degrading state of her chosen beloved. I would not feel pity for him, but the idea of suffering her tears was enough to stop me. I had fallen deep and far indeed to let someone reach so easily under my skin that I should stay my hand for their hidden lover. Taliesen would laugh, were he here. Call me a weak and pitiless fool for love. A familiar path I cared not to venture further down.

I found her still in the library - a slight unsettled - but masked as easily as I was when we exchanged ill smiles. My heart was roaring, my skin burning, and my head thundering with many dark thoughts. We exchanged meaningless pleasantries and conversation - she easily avoiding the topic of her former meeting with her templar lover. Nor the abrupt separation that had followed. There had never been a clear definition of what "we" implied, but suddenly it felt so terribly empty and I couldn't find myself further from her in that moment.

In my malcontent and frustration, I grabbed her from the chair - a fine and treacherous smile on my face - and held my Warden in my arms. I didn't care that her hands and neediness had been for him, only that I now possessed her. I would provide comfort when needed, and a warm body should she feel cold. Pleasure and safety for when she wanted it.

It became my necessity to kiss away every thought of him, wipe her skin clean with my mouth and hands, and contain all that was my vicious vixen in the poison of our love. I had no qualms against offending the library's sanctity, and neither did it seem my Warden minded. I threw her upon the table, knocking over most of the books in the process, and made passionate love to her under the light of a single candle. If only to warm her for a moment.

If only to feel needed again.