To those who still follow this story: I'm finally back.

Over the last year and a half, this story has undergone thoughtful revision. Sorry for the absence, and thank you for your patience.

The story and characters haven't truly changed, but I've added details, or moved things around to create consistency with the future of the story. I apologize that it took me this long to update.

Summary of revisions: I now have a proper introduction. I made small edits in the middle chapters for plot and character cohesion and I added a chunk of dream content in Chapter 12, because PLOT.

I encourage you to read it again, especially if you've forgotten everything about the story, since it's taken me so damn long to come back.

But no worries if you don't reread it: you'll still follow the story. Fair warning, you might do a metaphorical double take when I introduce seemingly new content... :)

Without further ado...

A/N: There is some overlapping of time and of perspectives (Gwen and Alistair) in this chapter, differentiated by the headings. I hope you don't find it too confusing.

xXXXx

"Good morning and welcome home, Inquisitor." The Ambassador's eyes traveled up and down Gwen's body, inspecting her closely while tapping her fingers on her desk in thought.

"Thank you, Josephine," Gwen returned, arching an eyebrow at her as she walked into the vestibule leading to the War Room. She ran a hand through her damp, limp locks self-consciously and pulled her beige 'official Inquisitor under armor' straighter, attempting to smooth out its wrinkles. Turning her attention back to Josephine, she noted to herself that the woman clearly had too much time on her hands, as she had the entire contents of the pack from Crestwood laid out in neat piles on the top of her desk.

"How productive of you. What time did you wake this morning?"

"Early. But, I had an early night." With a bright, wide smile, the Antivan made a sweeping hand motion across her neat desk. "You, Lady Trevelyan, are a woman after my own heart. Well, your organizational skills, at least... These notes are so tidy, complete, and clear, that all I need to do is file them away. No paraphrasing wordy script, no deciphering illegible handwriting, and no masking the doodles in the margins! If everyone did as such, I would have twice as much time on my hands, truly. Now, if only you took the same care with your appearance."

"Perhaps I should make a decree then? Clean, concise notes and reports or the Inquisitor will give you laundry duty." Gwen laughed. "And mind your manners about the way I look. I've been on the road for a few weeks."

"If only the others would listen, I would say you should. Laundry duty would not deter some of them." The Ambassador giggled before returning to her usual noble composure. "Inquisitor, I should not have said such things about your appearance. Please accept my apology and know that I may have a solution to your state of dishevelment."

"There's really no need—"

Josephine cut her off with a disapproving hum and rose from her seat, collecting a thin pile of parchment as she came to stand in front of Gwen.

"We should begin soon, but one thing first: Would you sign these requisition forms? Above your name. You'll have to get your new recruits to sign as well. I've dated them retroactively for the sake of consistency."

Glad for the change of subject, Gwen accepted the pieces of parchment handed to her and read the top one quickly, as there were few words on the page. She'd read the form before, nine times to be precise, but the wording was slightly different.

…

10 Cloudsreach 9:41 Dragon

By formal request of the Inquisition, I hereby acquire the Grey Warden Alistair, for the duration of the expedition in the area known as Crestwood, Ferelden. At the completion of the expedition, the Inquisition will lend its own forces to the endeavors of this singular Grey Warden and his own expedition in the Western Approach.

Signed and agreed upon by,

Gwendolyn Alexandra Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, former Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle of Magi, Herald of Andraste, Leader of the Inquisition

Signed and agreed upon by,

Alistair, Grey Warden of Orlais

…

Laying the paper on the corner of the desk, she took a pen and dabbed it in an inkwell, writing her full name in a beautiful hand under her printed one. "Do you need to include all of those titles, Josephine? It makes me sound pretentious."

"It is simply a formality for clear documentation. No one will see this besides us."

Gwen looked at the parchment pertaining to Hawke and let out a short laugh. "Hawke's name is Adam?"

"It's a fine name."

"I suppose I've come to think of him by his surname only. Adam just sounds so… normal."

Trailing off, a curious Gwen peered again at Alistair's name printed on the form. "Alistair doesn't use a surname? I never even thought to ask him in our travels."

"Ah. Oddly, I could find none associated with him in his dossier. I made a note to inquire with him at the midday meeting. I can add it later to the print after his signature is written."

"Very good." The Inquisitor nodded sleepily and walked to stand next to the fireplace, resting her elbow against the mantle and leaning heavily upon it. Gazing into the fire, her thoughts slipped into the ether, due to lack of food and sleep. She snapped to the present when her stomach growled and she turned her head suddenly to the Ambassador.

Josephine laughed, motioning to the door behind her. "Go to the War Room. I have fresh fruit, hot coffee, and pastries waiting. Cullen and Leliana should be along shortly and I have a missive to write before we begin."

"Thank you." The Inquisitor bowed slightly on her way past her Ambassador and lightly plodded up the stairs on her way to the opened wicket gate.

.

Gwen's voiced echoed off the high ceilings, as she remarked on the business of Skyhold during her absence. She leaned back in her chair that sat at the head of the War table, sipping a lukewarm cup of black coffee.

"Glad to know that Harding is in position in the Western Approach. I'll take the report and examine it more thoroughly before tomorrow."

Cullen turned in his chair to Leliana. "Iron Bull and his team, they're still in Crestwood, right?"

Leliana answered, standing by the window, gazing out to the garden below. "I received a crow from Dorian two days ago: they should be en route to Skyhold as of yesterday." She gave a small sigh. "They have a prisoner in tow."

The Inquisitor stiffened her spine, bringing a hand to her forehead in embarrassment. "Dear Maker. Who?"

Turning back to the table, the Spymaster took her seat next to Cullen. "The Mayor. Apparently they unearthed some secrets he was keeping and determined that he should be tried for his crimes. I've no doubt Sera was involved."

"I'd reprimand her by pulling her off active duty, if she wasn't such a dead shot." Gwen let out a laugh.

Cullen cut in, a pleading tone to his voice. "Please. I get a shred of peace when she's away. Before she left for Crestwood, she let a half dozen mice loose in my sleeping quarters. Damnable things chewed a hole in my mattress!"

"Commander, a hole in your mattress should be the least of your concerns. You still have yet to allow the roofers to fix the giant hole in your roof, no?" Leliana spoke with a mirth in her voice.

"Yes. Ha. Ha. That dwarf came by a few weeks ago, but I couldn't focus with all the hammering and sawing, so I sent him away." Cullen sighed, rubbing his temples. "It'll get done eventually."

Josephine cleared her throat loudly, bringing them all back to the briefing. "Continuing on, lest we miss the hot breakfast entirely: where will we send the Inquisitor next?"

The Spymaster piped up again, her demeanor turning serious. "Corypheus is up to something... I agree with Gwen: we should figure out his connection to the Grey Wardens, first and foremost. That means we're heading west."

Josephine interjected, scooting to sit on the edge of her chair. "I agree… to a point, but we must also address his interest in Empress Celene. Our efforts to solidify our reputation have paid off, and this arrived days ago: an invitation from the Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons to attend the peace talks at the Winter Palace in two months." She could barely contain her glee and held up a large golden envelope, tapping it in her hand. "I haven't been to a proper ball in ages."

Gwen blanched and looked to Leliana and Cullen for support. "I don't know about a ball. I haven't been to one since I was a child and I can barely dance!"

Leliana snorted out a laugh. "It's true. I have seen you try. We'd need a month just to train her for the movements alone. Plus, she'd need to be schooled in the finer arts of the Grand Game."

"Nonsense!" The Ambassador trilled. "She's such a quick learner. A week's worth of preparation should be enough. We can begin today if you like!"

As the two other women became enamored by the new subject matter, Gwen looked helplessly to Cullen, who shrugged feebly in response.

"You're no help." She mouthed silently to Cullen. The man chuckled and grinned devilishly.

"Ladies, please." Gwen stood up with her hands in the air and the women stopped their ramblings. "Firstly, I promised Alistair our support as soon as we returned from Crestwood, so I'm inclined to head to the Western Approach before this ball. I'm not one to break a vow."

Leliana's face softened and she knowingly smiled at Gwen. "We would not ask you to break such a promise, would we Josie?"

Josephine huffed lightly. "Of course not. I suppose we will have enough time for preparations for the Ball when you return. I will begin the planning immediately and keep you to a tight schedule in that ghastly desert."

"I can live with that." Gwen responded kindly.

Cullen slowly stood beside her, giving her a wink as his voice commanded attention from all three women. "If we're finished, I'd like to have time to actually sit to eat, instead of hastily grabbing food as the dishes are being hauled away. Shall we?" He made a sweeping arm gesture to the door.

Josephine called out to Gwen. "Lady Trevelyan, before you go, I have one more thing to discuss with you, privately."

With a confused expression, Gwen consented. "Alright." She turned to the Commander and Spymaster, shrugging. "You two go ahead. We'll be behind you shortly."

As they left through a small opened wicket gate, Josephine sidled up to her Inquisitor. "One of my favorite dressing maids is up in your room waiting for you."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "It is not that bad, Josephine."

"Oh, but it is. I was not kidding earlier: you look like you fell out of bed and into the bath this morning, then put on whatever was left in a pile on your floor."

Gwen grinned sheepishly. "I was so tired from the journey! You can't blame a girl for sleeping in, can you?"

"No, but I can blame the Inquisitor. And you must stop wearing those atrocious beige pijiama. You act as if we don't give you anything else to wear; your wardrobe is full of clothing!"

Calming herself, Josephine smiled sweetly. "Now, go to your room and enjoy being pampered. Renée is incredible."

Meekly, Gwen replied. "What about breakfast?"

"I will have all of your favorites brought to you as soon as I can."

Gwen sighed and responded in a frustrated voice. "Very well."

Josephine tisked her. "You want to impress your new Grey Warden recruit, don't you?"

Before Gwen could respond to deflate the rumor, the Ambassador cut her off. "Leliana let it slip you have a bit of an infatuation, but your secret is safe with me, I promise. I can do much to help you, if you allow it." She winked kindly at Gwen and led them out of the War Room.

oOOOo

(Morning, before Breakfast)

Alistair made his way down to the dining hall, his stomach making loud complaints in the form of low growls. Gwen's snack had provided a lovely midnight meal, but by the time the sun rose, he was nearly famished.

Reaching the main hall, he saw Solas, sitting alone at one of four long tables with a book in hand. The mage was carefully sipping his tea, with a frown, and waiting patiently for the food to be brought from the kitchens. Few others gathered in the main hall; it was still early. The smell of coffee filled the room and Alistair saw a carafe and teapot sitting on a smaller table, waiting to be partaken. He walked over, filling a mug before bringing it to the table where the elf sat, absorbed in his reading.

"Good morning."

Solas lifted his eyes, nodding politely at Alistair. "And to you."

He took a silent sip from his mug. "Where is everyone?"

Dropping his book to the table ungracefully, he regarded the Warden. "Breakfast will be served shortly, after which, the crowds arrive."

Alistair took a seat across from Solas and steepled his fingers over the mug with his elbows resting casually on the table. "So… Will the rest of our companions be joining us?"

Solas' eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. The Inquisitor rushed through here some time ago. Her advisors followed several minutes after. It could be some time before they all emerge from their conference. I do not know the exact whereabouts of our rogue comrades, nor do I quite care. I'm enjoying the peaceful morning for once."

Sitting back in his chair, the warrior sighed. "I'm not used to being alone. I much prefer the noise of the Hawke and Varric to silence."

"If I were to guess, I'd say they are enjoying a liquid breakfast at the tavern across the keep; seek them there if you desire companionship." Solas lifted his book again, flipping back a page before he continued to read.

When the food came out several minutes later, the pair ate in amiable silence. Once Solas had finished, he excused himself, offering to meet Alistair once the Warden had finished his large pile of food. He pointed to the door of the rotunda before he made his quiet departure.

Alistair had just finished eating as Varric, Hawke, and a boy with a large floppy hat walked through the main doors. Waving charismatically, Varric grinned and picked up his feet quickly to greet the Warden.

"Hello there, Lover boy." He grinned as the larger man flinched.

"Varric, must you continue to use that ridiculous nickname?" Alistair warned him, but was stopped short by the young man, who tipped his head up revealing his pale face and large, searching eyes.

The boy spoke in a whisper, his voice delicate like the moaning wind. "Soft, sweet, sick music murmuring; hateful in my mind. I wish it would stop." Cole cocked his head to the side. "But the deep, dark part of him yearns for it."

"What the void?" Alistair tried to step back, but he moved stiffly, the shock paralyzing his feet.

Cole blinked slowly as his words spilled out into air between the small group. "When she nears, he pushes it away, her away, hating it, choking him, surrounding his mind as he tries to see her through thick fog."

"Kid, wait… don't read Alistair. His mind is a kind of a mess." Varric put his hand on Cole's shoulder, but the boy kept speaking as if compelled to say the words.

"A cradled lump of shiny metal, cast aside. Forged into steel and lost in the rubble remains. Lost until she found him and lost again, until she found him, the one too bright to look upon. Growing strength, now nurtured, never again to be forgotten." The words came tumbling swiftly from the blonde boy's mouth until the dwarf pulled him away and sat him down at one of the tables.

Varric walked back to Alistair, but the boy's head tilted eerily and his eyes found the Warden's.

"What is he?" Alistair croaked, still recovering from the onslaught of Cole's clairvoyant rant.

"He's just a kid." Varric snapped. "At least, he wants to be treated like one. You should ask Chuckles if you want more of an explanation than that."

The dwarf then pointed a warning finger at the Grey Warden and former Templar. "Don't bother the kid."

Still unnerved, but respecting Varric's judge of character, Alistair backed away with hands held up in submission. "I'll just... see you later."

.

Flustered, Alistair made his way quickly from the main hall to the rotunda. Upon entering the room, he spun around, his focus shifting to the dramatic paintings adorning the walls around him.

Solas noticed the Warden's entrance and rose from his desk to stand next to the man. As Alistair looked up and down, he attempted to read the pictures and create the story in his mind.

"What do you think?" The elf asked, genuinely interested in the Warden's opinion.

Still gazing at the walls, Alistair answered. "I like it."

Rolling his eyes, Solas walked away to gather a notebook and a few papers from his desk. "Usually those who critique my work are more… verbose."

"What more should I say?" Alistair strolled toward the mage and placed his hands across the width of the desk, while leaning over it.

Solas looked up, slightly irritated, his eyes making it no further than the Warden's new tunic. "Does everything escape your observation?" He gestured to the shirt.

Alistair stared down at the richly made, dark blue linen shirt, brushing away a heavy dusting of flaky crumbs from his six breakfast croissants. The shirt, along with a pair of druffalo hide leather trousers had been delivered in the morning by one of the keep's laundry maids. The Warden had been grateful, knowing his own clothes were in dire need of a good wash.

"Better?" He droned, narrowing his eyes at the elf.

"I suppose." Solas frowned, pushing the crumbs from his desk onto the floor in a single swift stroke.

"Well, I'm here to talk to you." Alistair drummed his fingers on the desk and sneered in jest at Solas. "Thank you so much, by the way, for mentioning it in front of Gwen last night. I didn't tell her you knew about the dream."

"The Inquisitor should be apprised of details of your life that may be causing you harm."

"You think these dreams are harmful?" The nearly panicked words flew out of the Warden's mouth.

"Not necessarily, but I intend to be thorough. Dreams are my specialty."

Alistair nodded glumly. "As you said."

Pointing to the door, Solas added, "Let us retreat into the gardens. I wish to hear everything about the dream and out in the open, the noises of the day will obscure prying ears." The mage's eyes shot upward into the high reaches of the rotunda and the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

Lifting his hands from the desk, Alistair followed Solas through the door which led to a spacious garden. The pair found an empty stone bench away from the bulk of the people and began their discussion.

.

In the cool morning air, Alistair retold his full dream to the best of his memory and the elf sat attentive, jotting notes as he spoke. Once finished, the man sat back against the bench and looked up to his comrade with anticipation.

Taking a breath, Solas stared out across the garden, composing his thoughts in his mind as he formed questions for the Warden. "And you're sure you shared this dream with the Inquisitor?"

"Yes, and Mihna." Alistair lowered his voice and leaned toward the elf. "They were both lucid. It did cross my mind, while dreaming, that they could be demons."

Solas narrowed his eyes, frowning. "Or spirits."

Nodding warily, he continued. "Gwen seemed to believe that she wasn't demon or spirit and I took her word; Mihna was very convincing."

"She told me she was in the Deep Roads with other Wardens: they've all heard the Calling and she intends to seek a way to end the damnable thing permanently. I only wish I knew what exactly she meant by it."

Perplexed, Solas responded. "And you've had no other contact with her through dreams or otherwise?"

The Warden ran his hand around the side of his neck in frustration, tugging on his ear absentmindedly as he began to speak. "None. I haven't seen her in person since I initially left Ferelden for Orlais after the Blight. She went to Vigil's Keep as the new Ferelden Commander of the Grey. We corresponded regularly with letters for the first year, but after Amaranthine fell, her correspondences became sparse. Something changed her that year; I know she had to choose between her people and the folk of the city, not an easy choice. I think the city is still under construction in some places."

He took a deep breath and kept speaking to the attentive elf. "The last contact I had with her was a few years ago: it was a vague letter saying she'd gone off on her own, away from the Grey Wardens, but that's it." His face became mired in thought. "I suspect now that she began to investigate the Calling."

The elf queried as he scribbled neat notes in the journal. "Have you ever shared a dream before?"

"Yes Mihna broke me out of a looping nightmare when we were stranded at Kinloch Hold during Uldred's famed usurp."

Alistair cocked his head to a confused Solas and offered a curt explanation. "There was a Sloth demon."

Nodding in understanding, Solas placed his notebook in his lap and tilted his head at Alistair. "What I find truly curious is your apparent consciousness in the Fade. The Inquisitor and Surana are mages and are always connected to it, but you… you shouldn't be able to command your dreams."

"I wouldn't call running for my life from a burning field 'commanding my dreams'." He chuckled.

Solas lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. "You understand my meaning."

"I admit that it's odd, but perhaps it's a fluke because I'm a Grey Warden."

"It is puzzling." Solas furrowed his brow in speculation. "Do you still believe that the proximity to the Inquisitor caused you to have more restful sleep?"

"Yes, but I have no real proof, just my own experiences." Alistair nodded curiously.

Pensive, Solas responded. "The Inquisitor came to me at Caer Bronach, inquiring about the mark. I admit, since then I began to notice the subtle reverberations in my own dreams."

"You think this has something to do with Gwen?" The Warden's face twisted in confusion.

"She, or rather, her mark, may be the crux of the dream sharing." Solas sighed deeply. "I have a few theories, though I would have to test them to be completely sure."

Alistair leaned forward and scooted to the edge of the stone bench they sat upon, his eyes narrowed on the mage. "Tell me."

"The mark connects her to the Fade, we know this. The veil may be thinning around her and drawing those who sleep near her deeper into the Fade. If it is true, it is... disturbing to me."

"Why?"

He sighed tensely. "It means the mark is changing, and at the very worst, beginning to destabilize."

"And that's bad, right?"

Solas nodded slowly.

The Warden's voice came out urgently. "But, you could run those tests or something to know for sure?"

Solas rolled his eyes at the his haste, but spoke in earnest. "I have methods that I could employ."

"Let me help." Alistair implored him.

"There's nothing more to be done at this junct—"

The Warden cut him off. "If this is hurting her, I need to help."

With a sympathetic tone, Solas replied calmly yet insistently, "I say again: There is nothing more that can be done at this juncture." He rose from the bench and took a short step away, turning back only to warn the Warden. "But for now, keep this between the three of us."

Alistair nodded and exhaled deeply, stiffly rising from the bench. "Of course."

xXXXx

The tenth bell sounded and Gwen was still in her quarters, being primped by the Orlesian elven maid. She scurried around the Inquisitor blending the color on the mages eyes as the impatient woman sat on a cushioned stool.

In the time it took the woman to brush and curl her hair, he had read Alistair's account of the dream twice and pondered the meaning behind it. To her surprise and relief, he'd remembered a fair portion of the dream, despite his heightened confusion while they were still in the Fade.

He did not, however, mention the one thing that cropped up in her mind while traveling: his reaction to her when she fell from the tree and landed on him. His hand touched her face, his thumb moved across her lips, and his words were soft and sweet.

A shiver passed over her, causing her shoulders to quake and she pushed the image from her mind.

"Inquisitor, relax." Renée's accented words could hardly be called a scolding, but Gwen stilled herself, apologizing quietly as the woman worked.

With eyes closed, she could do nothing but think and random thoughts flew wildly through her head, most pertaining to the Grey Warden. Desperate to move and find him, she fidgeted under the elven woman's scrutiny until she could take no more.

"Alright, I don't care what I look like, Renée. You're finished; I'm not used to sitting this long. I need to move." She kicked her legs, attempting to stop the tingling sensation.

"Patience. Just a dab more colour here." The elf muttered as she touched the brush again to Gwen's eyelid. Then she stepped back, and cocked her head, her palette of makeup still held loosely in her hand. "Parfait."

Standing up to pull off the smock she wore, Gwen caught sight of herself for the first time in a full-length mirror and froze. "You're a genius."

Turning in place to admire her backside, she smiled wickedly. She wore supple, tanned, doe-skin leggings that laced up the sides with dark cording that matched a pair of calf-high boots. A handsome deep blue, leather bodice cinched her waist and accentuated her bust, but was remarkably comfortable and allowed her to breathe. Long sleeves of cream colored cotton adorned her toned arms, and the same fabric peeked out above the bodice. A thin woven, cream-colored scarf wrapped around her neck, and her dark hair was down and done in soft ringlets. Along with darkened eyes, the same blue from her bodice touched her lids, making her sage-green eyes brighten. Her lips were pink and plump.

"I really must go, dear. But thank you."

The elf bowed as she began to tidy the mess in the room. "It was my pleasure! You may call on me anytime, Herald."

Gwen ran her hands through her hair, the feeling quite odd after so many days having it wet, braided in a tight plait, or pulled out of her face haphazardly with a leather cord. She felt liberated and beautiful.

Finding the grey woolen garment draped over the sofa, she clasped it around her neck, pulled the hood over her head. Her leather pack sat on the sofa and she lifted it over one shoulder, making sure her journal and writing supplies were inside before she stepped lightly down the stairs.

The noise of the main hall could be heard through the outer door and the Inquisitor took a deep breath before opening it slowly. She quickly made her way through the hall unnoticed and slid into her Ambassador's office.

Once safely behind the door, she removed her hood and took a timid step toward Josephine who perked up in her chair the moment the Inquisitor arrived.

"Let me look at you." The Antivan woman attempted to control the cheerfulness in her voice as she rounded her desk, her eyes locked on the Inquisitor.

"Stop staring, Josephine."

"You realize you look ravishing, right? Though personally I would have put you in something that showed a little more skin." Winking, she scooped Gwen's hands up in her own, shaking them. "I think your Grey Warden will be pleased."

The mage sighed. "He isn't mine!"

"Not yet." Josephine tilted her head, releasing the other woman's hands. "You must go show him this new you."

"Now?"

"Yes now; before the midday meeting starts. I had to move some of your appointments around your make-over and your afternoon is full. You won't get another chance to speak privately today, I'm afraid."

Gwen flushed. "I'll try to find him."

"Do, and please fill me in on the details later: I'm a hopeless romantic." The Antivan sighed deeply.

"Thank you. I couldn't have accomplished this look without you or Renée. I'm indebted to you both."

"Think nothing of it." Josephine chuckled warmly, shooing her out the door. "We were very happy to help."

Confidence renewed, the Inquisitor braved the crowds on her way to the veranda above the gardens, this time deciding to keep her hood down and greet the people with a warm smile.

.

Gwen arrived at Alistair's room and with a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

Alistair opened it immediately, looked up, and then wavered in surprise at the seemingly new woman before him. "Maker's breath."

"Good morning to you too." Gwen smiled as a blush graced her cheeks. "I came to speak with you. May I come in?"

Alistair stepped aside slowly and his eyes moved over her body appreciatively. Closing the door behind them, he stuttered. "Y-yes, of course."

Alistair walked into the spacious, low lit room behind her and watched Gwen's eyes examine its contents, her eyes resting on two large armchairs sitting before the crackling fireplace. "Can we sit?"

Still stunned, he hastily gestured to the chairs. "Of course."

Smirking coyly, Gwen teased him. "What's the matter?"

"You look different. Not a bad different, just—you look very… nice. Sorry." Flustered, Alistair shook his head, apologizing for his rambling.

"Thank you." She gestured to her attire. "This is a such a stark difference from what I looked like on the road. It'll take getting used to for me too, but I like the change."

"Yes… I like it too." Tearing his eyes from her form, he picked up a tray with tea and little cakes on it, safely distracting himself from the newly made-over Inquisitor. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely." Gwen sat, dropping her bag to the floor in front of the armchair. She pulled out her journal and his, and took a seat on the comfortable chair. "I've missed this. I feel like we haven't talked at any great length in days."

He walked around her, placing two cups of tea between them on a small table. "We've been on the road; It's not the ideal place for talking." Alistair took a seat and faced the fire.

"Agreed. Though can we talk about this?" She patted her hand on his leather-bound journal and smiled sweetly.

"You read my account of the dream."

"I did… and it was mostly congruent with my own experiences."

Confused, he furrowed his brow. "Mostly?"

"Well, there are only fragments written from your dream as a young boy."

"I can barely remember it, that's why." He took a sip of tea and added quietly, "Or I don't want to."

Gwen tilted her head, turning her attention to their journals, stacked atop her lap. "You didn't mention the part when I fell onto you in the glade either."

He hummed in thought, searching his foggy memory. "Which part?"

In a near whisper, she answered shyly. "I was on top of you and you touched me."

Alistair's eyes lost focus as he remembered her atop him, having just fallen from the tree. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ah, that."

"Why did you do it?" She asked quietly. "It was right after we decided friendship was the best course. The action seems contradictory to what you said."

After a few thought-filled moments, he sighed in truth. "You're on my mind; what more can I say? But I don't think dreams can be true evidence of contradiction, given that they're meant to be private."

"Except it wasn't private, and this is important to me."

"Why?"

With a hopeful tone, she made her statement. "We agreed to friendship, I know, but, as much as I try, I'm having trouble forgetting the kiss we shared in the cavern. Perhaps the dream means that somewhere deep inside, you're having trouble forgetting too?"

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck and quietly answered her. "I haven't forgotten it."

"Good." Eyes hopeful, she touched his hand across the table between them. "Can we have a proper discussion about what's going on between us then?"

His eyes snapped up from the flames to meet hers. Alistair pulled away from her and stood up, leaning onto the mantle. "There are a hundred reasons not to do this."

"Such as?"

"We've just met, we're colleagues... you were recently visited by an apparition of your dead lover."

"Those are fair reasons." Gwen swallowed the lump in her throat, and opened her mouth to speak softly. "Forget all of that for a moment."

Alistair furrowed his brow in question and kept his eyes locked on hers.

"There's something here. Don't you feel it?"

A sad smile crossed his lips and he rambled uncomfortably. "Yes. I… I've enjoyed your company and I will continue to do so. You're a beautiful woman, and it's been a long time since... Don't think I'm not tempted, but I'd be a fool to walk blindly into something that I can't finish. I'm not that kind of man."

The woman demanded clarification, standing to mimic his stance by the hearth. "If you feel something, then why not act—"

"You're so young."

"Now, that's a poor excuse: I'm not that much younger than you are." Gwen sighed quietly, hoping that the truth may convince him that her actions were genuine, not the result of grief or youth or delusion. Finally, she admitted what she was feeling the last few days. "Alistair, I have come to care for you."

Turning to her, he met her gaze. "I—I have enjoyed our friendship thus far, but that's all this can be." His next words came out in a near whisper. "That's all I can offer."

"But, you kissed me back."

His voice strained with remorse and he looked away from her. "I know. I'm sorry, I should've stopped it. I did stop it."

Gwen shook her head, dejected. "Why refuse this when you admit you feel something? It doesn't make sense."

"It's complicated."

Gwen reached out to touch his hand and his eyes jolted back up to her. He stepped backward slowly, but she held on, meeting his kind eyes as she spoke. "You make my heart race, Alistair. You do it when you look at me with that wrinkled brow, and when you deliver one of your stuttering statements. I want more of that feeling, if only to discover what it means."

At his insistence, he pulled his hand from her grasp. "Please, don't say things like that."

With those words, her heart fell and her head drooped, to preserve what pride she had left, she turned away from him, wondering what her next move should be. With her back to him, moments passed with only their breath and the crackling fire heard between them.

Reluctance in her voice, Gwen broke the cloak of silence. "I should have never initiated anything, and I shouldn't have come digging for more. I'm sorry, again. It's just hard to resist something so seemingly good when the rest of my world is broken."

His expression softened and curiosity set in. "What did you hope to gain from coming here?"

Meekly, she responded, "I don't rightly know. I suppose, I wanted an answer." Gwen turned to face him and met his eyes, sending him a wan smile. "I got one, even if it doesn't make sense."

He hesitantly spoke, trying to explain, unsuccessfully. "My life is… complicated. Your life is complicated. This would only serve to add to the complications."

"Maybe I want that complication, Alistair."

For a moment, they were both quiet again and Gwen's vision was fixed on the flames. When she lifted her eyes, his were there, penetrating and thoughtful. His brows came to that familiar wrinkle that sped up her heart, but his words were pained. "I can't."

"You continue to say that, but you're not explaining why." Frustrated, even a little angry at the ebb and flow of their conversation, she stomped her foot on the wooden floor.

When he didn't immediately answer, she hastily began packing her journal up, intent on leaving before they ventured into an angry conversation.

The woman made it nearly to the door when he called out to her with vigor and anger in his voice. "I can't be the man you deserve."

"What does that even mean?" Gwen rounded and laughed obnoxiously, to which he deepened his angry eyes, but their shared fitful stares where interrupted by the sounding of the eleventh bell.

"I need to clear my head before the meeting." Shaking her head at him, she turned to the door, offering a weak respite. "I think you should do the same."

.

Gwen excused herself through the main hall, flustered and embarrassed by their conversation. Truthfully, the last thing she wanted was to be left with her confused thoughts, but she wanted a quiet moment alone before facing her companions and her quarters were a perfect sanctuary.

Gwen sighed leaning against the wall in the alcove below her bedroom, her heart racing from anger or her quick escape. She thought about Alistair's words and his agitated honey-brown eyes flashed in her mind.

"Those damn eyes." She hit the wall behind her with a clenched fist and hastened up the stairs. "They're what got me into all this trouble in the first place!"

Reaching the top floor, the woman sought her desk and the comfort of sitting behind it, protected by her position. Sitting in the large cushioned chair, she noticed a package wrapped in brown paper and tied tight with string. Producing a knife from her desk drawer, she cut the ties and pulled off the stiff paper, revealing Varric's book, 'Swords and Shields'. Gazing at the cover, she lifted a cautionary eyebrow and opened the book.

Gwen walked around to sit on the sofa by her fireplace. She settled in with a blanket covering her legs and began to read. Soon she fell asleep, mimicking Cassandra with the book splayed open on her chest.