A/N: In my humble opinion, a Dragon Age fanfic is incomplete without a sparring scene. Anyone else agree? :D

Again, I do a bit of overlapping of time. Forgive the confusion, if any.

oOOOo

Wild dreams woke Alistair, just as the dawn crept under the crack of his door. Though hungry, he waited patiently for breakfast to begin, reading the book Gwen had left him the night before.

Sitting in his armchair beside the fire, he flipped pages idly, honing in on select words, reading fragments to pass the time, and bookmarking anything that caught his interest. It was hard to read with the nagging pain in his stomach and the shrill buzz in his skull.

Amazingly, through the hunger and the Calling, an image of the sage-eyed Inquisitor, strolled across his mind and he smiled, dropping the book in his lap. His eyes glazed over, staring at the cold ash in his fireplace.

Yesterday, they'd patched up their torn friendship with humor and the promise of more, yet deep inside, he wished their relationship back to the way it was in Crestwood. He missed her, but he couldn't truly admit it to himself or her, for fear of what it could mean, so he suppressed it.

Chasing the thought from his head, he dressed in another set of clothing provided by the Inquisition, feeling less like Grey Warden with each day away from his duty.

.

After an ample early breakfast, Alistair visited the Undercroft with the intention to start working on the things he'd laid out the day prior, only to find the doors locked up tight. Agitated, he left the main hall just as more people started showing up for breakfast.

Without a solid plan for the rest of the day, the Warden found himself wandering the grounds, unknowingly making his way toward the two rogue archers he'd come to miss over the last two days.

.

Stopping at the entrance, he gazed at the sign hanging beside the door, which read "Herald's Rest", though he doubted Gwen frequented the place enough to live up to the name. He meandered through the door and found Hawke lounging at a table with Varric, shuffling cards easily, as the pair spoke in hushed tones.

Turning fresh attention to Alistair, the raven-haired rogue tilted his head. "Damn, you look like shit. Sleeping well? Any late nights... with company?"

Varric smirked, clearing his throat from sleep. "What he really means is: 'I miss you'."

Smirking at his friend, Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sleeping fine... and alone, as always."

"Shame." Hawke sent him a disapproving scowl and finished the last of his drink in one, clean swallow. "You up for a little gambling?"

"I suppose." The Warden let out a long breath and reached for one of the neighboring chairs at the table, settling in comfortable. "I might as well relax for a while."

Hawke stood up, eagerly gathering two daggers from the other side of the table. "Come on. The sparring ring will be open soon."

Alistair stayed in his seat, confused as he turned his head to follow the man. "But... you're an archer and I thought we were going to play Wicked Grace."

"The Inquisitor was right; I need to release some tension." His grin was devilish. "And I'll be taking bets while I do it. Come."

Shaking his head, the Warden slowly rose from his seat and responded, pointing to the weapons. "Are you any good with those?"

Varric chuckled his voice still gravelly. "He knows which end to hold, at least."

"I'm competent with a blade, but if you're both so certain I'm a tenderfoot, come take me," Hawke's eye narrowed and he added, "As a pair."

The dwarf and the Warden shared an amused glance and rose to follow the man out the door.

xXXXx

It was before sunrise the next morning, when Gwen found herself awake in her bed, an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Last night, she'd used her position as an excuse to skip dinner with Alistair, hoping that giving herself time and space would stave off the feelings she felt. The sting of the lie made her innards twist with guilt.

Shambling to her desk, she saw a note left upon a tray and tore the envelope open.

…

Have tea with me this afternoon? (If you can spare the time.) Alistair is joining us as well, so wear something pretty.

Lel

…

"Why even try?" Gwen groaned and tossed the note on her desk carelessly.

With forced effort, she prepared herself for the day, spending more time on her appearance than usual, as per her Spymaster and Ambassador's council. Gwen wasn't keen on the latest fashion, in fact, she never gave much thought to her attire, since nearly her entire life she wore the simple garments of the circle mage. She preferred a modest, uncomplicated look over many layers and frivolous accessories, but Josephine had made it clear that she was expected to look presentable.

The eighth bell rang in the tower and Gwen cursed from under her tunic as it caught on her head. With clothes strewn over her bed and sofa, the indecisive woman finally settled on a slim-fitted cream tunic under a silk emerald green, brocade vest with vine-etched brass buttons. She paired it with banded grey leather leggings and matching pull-on suede boots, with a higher heel than her usual stompers.

She paid very close attention to Renee's ministrations the day before, and so, with a calm hand, she applied a deep green powder to her eyes, light rouge to her cheek bones, and gloss to her lips. Brushing her hair out revealed loose waves from yesterday's curls and satisfied, she decided not to fuss with it. Proudly, she smiled to herself in the mirror, before donning her grey cloak.

Ready for the day, she braved the main hall.

.

The breakfast tables were filling and the Inquisitor panned the room for any of her recent companions. Since it was well after the eighth bell, she knew Solas would have already been there and gone, and depending on their night, Varric and Hawke might still be asleep. Her eye caught Cassandra sitting at the end of a full table with a few soldiers. The Seeker gave her curt nod before turning to speak with her company. Alistair was nowhere to be seen, and she sighed with relief.

Picking through the breakfast banquet, she filled her plate modestly, and sat alone at the end of a table. Before too long, the Quartermaster, Eustice Morris, sat next to her, remarking that the Inquisitor should not be seated alone. The energetic young man continued to speak at length for the duration of her breakfast, even as he filled his mouth with food. Gwen found it helpfully distracting to listen to him go on about his family and the love for his job.

The distraction dulled the ache in her heart, but only barely. She knew she'd see Alistair today and that the dull pain of his rejection would resound in her chest, but there was nothing to be done about it. She wasn't some lovelorn adolescent, pining for something that could never be. She was the Inquisitor, and she was going to act like a leader to these people, aching heart notwithstanding.

.

After breakfast, Gwen retreated to her work, searching the Ambassador's office in a near panic, cursing the soldiers who supposedly brought her all-important bags to their correct places on the evening she arrived home. She looked around the room, squinting her eyes for two distinctive packs.

There were a few other bags and boxes sitting upon a wide cabinet behind the Ambassador's desk yet to be sorted from her travels. Leaning on the furniture, she rummaged through the first one she could find.

Josephine entered the room with a cup of steaming tea in hand and asked the Inquisitor with a curious tone. "May I help you, my dear?"

Surprised at her sudden appearance, Gwen stood upright. "Yes. The soldiers were supposed to deliver some of my things here two nights ago. Samples for Helisma and new books for the Library."

"Ah, one moment. The soldiers put those away for safekeeping." The Ambassador placed her cup on the table and then turned to a cabinet. She opened a concealed door and pulled out two bundles. With a strained sigh, she half lifted and half dragged the bags to a place beside her desk.

"I'm sorry. I should have warned you: that one is full of books." In a swift step, she came to the other woman's rescue, lifting the heavy sack with more ease.

"Well, that was embarrassing. I rarely lift more than my clipboard on most days." She chuckled, adjusting her satin sleeves as she flitted behind her desk again. "Is there anything else you need, Inquisitor?"

"You've been most helpful, thank you."

Gwen hefted the heavier of the two bags onto her back, when Josephine called to her.

"Inquisitor."

She smiled and turned to the woman behind the desk, stopping before she reached the door. "Yes?"

"You have recreated Renee's work quite nicely." Josephine gave her a wide, approving smile.

"You flatter me." She chuckled, curtseyed with the pack still on her back, and left the room with heavy totes in tow.

.

Burdened with the two bags: one full of new books for the library and one full of samples gleaned from enemies in Crestwood, Gwen reached the door of the rotunda.

With a hopeful smile, she opened the door only to find the room empty. She passed through, gazing around for signs that Solas would soon return, before reassuring herself that eventually they would have a chance to speak before they departed for the Western Approach.

Reaching the second floor, Gwen turned her head and smiled at the space where Dorian usually stood, missing the way he made comments to her, particularly her usual homely choice of clothing. She grinned at the thought of his jaw dropping at her new stylish appearance. Striding past his nook, she came to a table, dropping the bags on its surface. With a friendly wave, she beckoned the tranquil mage to her aid.

"Hello, Helisma. I trust you've had a pleasant month." Gwen smiled at her, earning a nod from the woman. "With me gone and not throwing these scraps at you, you probably got loads of other work done."

She nodded again, answering, "Yes. I have been quite prolific since your last departure, though the work you give me is important and I do not mind its prevalence over the other things I do."

"I'm very thankful for it." Gwen opened the bag revealing pieces of fabric, blade fragments, and a dozen other odds and ends found on fallen foes. "If you have any questions about these, come find me; I'll be perusing the library." Her hand graced over a few of the pieces collected from Crestwood and the memories flooded back to her. Gwen's fingers lifted a small claw, from a wolf they had fought on their arrival to the first dreary camp. It reminded her of Alistair and she dropped it back into the bag, closing it forcefully.

Helisma broke her trance with a clear crisp voice. "I will find you, should I require information." The tranquil mage bowed slightly and turned, beginning to pull the pieces out and placing them in an orderly arrangement on the desk.

The Inquisitor then opened the bag full of books, pulling each out and stacking them on the desk neatly. The mages of Redcliffe would catalog them and shelf the books in due time. She loved these small tasks and their easy completion compared to her normal complicated Inquisitorial dealings.

Gwen took a few steps away and remembered that Fiona, the Grand Enchanter, usually worked on this level of the Rotunda. She had promised herself that she would speak with the former Grey Warden about the Calling.

"Helisma, do you know where I might find Fiona?" Gwen turned to her, peeking her head out from between the bookshelves. "She usually oversees the Mages on this level, right?"

"That is correct, Inquisitor, however, the Grand Enchanter stepped out before you arrived."

"Do you know where she might have gone?"

"Yes, she used the garden door in the Rotunda, Serah."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome, as always." Helisma bowed and turned back to her work.

The Inquisitor made for the stairs and hurried across the empty Rotunda below. Reaching the garden door, she opened it, allowing the sunshine to peek into the dark room. The feeling of warmth on her face lifted her mood and she scanned the colonnade for the small elf.

Gwen found her seated on a stone bench, a book lay open in her hands, brows furrowed and eyes scanning the pages. As Gwen approached the elf, her head popped up and her piercing eyes found their match in the Inquisitor's. The elf stood and walked toward the younger mage, tucking the book under her arm.

"Inquisitor." Fiona smiled at her, bowing her head in respect.

"Grand Enchanter." Gwen bowed in matching respect.

"Please, call me Fiona, child."

"Of course, and call me Gwen." The younger mage took a closer step to the elf. "Do you think I could speak with you… privately?"

Fiona lifted an eyebrow. "Of course, dear. I have been eager to speak with you again." She chuckled, taking a step toward a set of stairs to the battlements. "I feared you had forgotten I was here."

Gwen blushed in embarrassment; she had indeed forgotten Fiona after her initial welcome when she had first come to Skyhold.

Seeing the Inquisitor's slight discomfort, Fiona recanted with another light laugh. "Forgive me, Inquisitor, I spoke in jest. I will not—"

"No." Gwen smiled and held up her hand. "It's refreshing to have someone treat me like an equal instead of a 'blessed hero, come to save us all'." She lowered her tone, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the words.

The elder mage laughed aloud and beckoned Gwen to join her in ascending the stairs, weaving through a few people as they made their way upward. "You display modesty, but you may be surprised at the end of this how hero-like you actually are. You should not deflect the praise that is rightly given to you."

The Inquisitor sighed, admonishing herself for her unprofessionalism. "You aren't the first to scold me for my humility, Fiona. In fact, you remind me of why I wanted to speak with you in the first place." Gwen gestured to the walkway leading to the veranda above the gardens. "It would probably be best if we speak out of earshot of anyone else."

"If you think it prudent, of course."

When they reached their destination, Gwen pulled to a stop, leaning her elbows over the balustrade to gaze over the garden below.

"There's another Grey Warden in Skyhold, an ally we recruited from Crestwood."

"Ah, yes. Alistair."

Gwen tilted her head curiously to Fiona. "Do you know him from your time with the Wardens?"

The usually eloquent Grand Enchanter shook her head quickly, fumbling her words. "No, no… he joined the order long after I left. But, I like to keep myself informed of your newest recruits."

Gwen sensed her dismay and brought the conversation back. "He is precisely why I want to talk to you."

Fiona looked away, flustered. "Whatever about, dear?"

Gwen narrowed her eyes in thought. "In our travels, he and I had time to talk and he shared some news with me regarding the Grey Wardens."

The elf lowered her eyes and gripped the stone wall. A silence grew between them.

Impatiently awaiting any response, Gwen pressed her. "You did mention before that you were a Grey Warden?"

"Yes." Fiona's voice regained its composure, and she deflected the question, peering deeply into Gwen's eyes, concerned. "Something troubles you."

"It's Alistair. He's hearing the Grey Warden's Calling… prematurely. Actually, they all are. I want to know how you became immune to it. I wonder if we could help him and all the Grey Wardens hearing it."

Shock caught Fiona's eyes and she shook it away, her voice chilled as she spoke to the Inquisitor. "The method used to… cleanse me is unknown to me. I'm sorry." The last words came out in a whisper.

"Could you perhaps tell me the circumstances, just in case you overlooked something?"

"Nothing was overlooked, trust me. The Wardens at Weisshaupt performed dozens of tests on me, even tried to re-initiate me into the order, but failed." A bleak smile came to the elf's face. "I—I'm sorry."

The Inquisitor nodded glumly, seeing the pain on the woman's face. "Don't be. It was a long shot."

She turned to leave the Grand Enchanter, but the thought of Alistair and his plight shot through her mind. Gwen spun around and met her eye. "I… care about Alistair, and only want to help him. Should you think of anything that we could use—anything at all—please come find me."

.

Hood up, Gwen walked slowly back to the Rotunda, only to find it as empty as it was upon her arrival. Frustrated at Solas' absence and Fiona's lack of knowledge, she kept moving through to the main hall.

Thoughts muddied her perception and she nearly ran into a cluster of Skyhold's guests at the coffee table. From under her hood, she quietly apologized, but the words were lost as she heard shouts and cheers from outside.

Curious, she made her way to the double doors and her eyes widened at the spectacle off in the distance: two blindfolded, shirtless men, sparring in hand to hand combat and surrounded by the entire off-duty guard as well as a great portion of Skyhold's residents and visitors.

As she descended the stairs, she began to hear murmurs from the folk around her. Her heartbeat sped up as the first comment came to her ears, and her feet picked up their pace until she reached the courtyard.

"...the Commander was challenged…"

Gwen gritted her teeth in agitation. Her mind wandered to Hawke and his hateful words with Cullen the night of their arrival.

Unfortunately, due to the crowds, all visibility was lost when she hit the soft grass, so she pulled back her hood and used her prestige to gain her a pass through the people. Flowing through, she stopped to hear two of the kitchen maids speaking.

"They started this game weeks ago. Two men each must pull a slip of parchment from a helm, with an impairment written on it. It applies to both fighters. Last week Sutherland and Morris had to hop on one foot while fighting with pole arms!"

"I suppose they took away the weapons this time as a courtesy, then? Can you imagine them twirling the pikes around aimlessly?"

They laughed together and Gwen turned toward them, imploring them. "Can you tell me, who are the men?"

Bowing slightly, the women smiled and one answered her. "I don't rightly know, Herald. They say one of them is a newcomer, though."

The Inquisitor breathed out her thanks to the ladies and pushed through the crowd until she came to the front and paused, dumbfounded for a moment. Gwen nearly laughed, covering her mouth with her hand in awe. The sight before her was an unexpected one indeed.

Perched on the fence of the sparring ring was Hawke, calling out commands to a man on his side of the ring. Gwen could now see sandy-brown hair at his temples under the blindfold and immediately recognized his form as Alistair.

Standing across the ring was Rylen: a Starkhaven man with facial tattoos. Just like the rogue, he was calling out commands to the Commander of her armies: Cullen. His perfectly combed blond hair was unusually mussed by the handkerchief over his eyes.

Blinking in confusion, a flush rose to her cheeks as she watched them both, bare-chested, moving swiftly around the ring, reaching out at their handler's direction to grab at one another. Her eyes strayed to Alistair and she discreetly looked him over. She watched his quick movements, thinking to herself that without his heavy armor, he was quite nimble. A patch of light hair decorated his muscled chest and worked its way down over his taut stomach, finally disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. Fully blushing at her observation, she collected herself and focused on the fight.

The Warden crouched low and jumped out at Hawke's suggestion. Once he felt flesh, he wrapped his arms around Cullen's chest and wrestled the taller man to the ground. The Commander let out a long, pained groan when his body hit hard.

A puff of dirt was swept into the air and the crowd's cries were a mix of jeers and cheers. Gwen skirted the edge of the crowd slowly, watching Cullen twist around and attempt to remove himself from Alistair's iron grip with a well-placed elbow to the Warden's stomach. Alistair groaned, but kept his grip on the man. They rolled around like this on the ground for a few minutes with Cullen ferociously grunting while using his strong limbs to dislodge the Warden, whose grip only tightened around his opponent.

Just when Gwen thought that the situation could get no worse, it did, ten-fold.

In a sudden movement, Hawke turned his head and seeing Gwen, called out impetuously, "To the victor... a kiss! From the sweet lips of none other than the Inquisitor herself, who has come to watch the match."

A wild cheer rose up from the crowd around her, as she attempted to smile and wave the embarrassment away. Another deep blush grew over Gwen and she gazed at the men in the rink, now still on the ground at the revelation of who was before them. They rolled apart quickly and hopped to their feet. Alistair made to lift his blindfold.

"No peeking! That's immediate disqualification!" Hawke yelled at him. "Inquisitor, tell the men that you are indeed here and prove I'm not deceiving them to liven up this pitiful match."

Gwen's eyes narrowed at him and her teeth clenched in her mouth. "I'm here but—"

Boisterously, the rogue cut her off and cried out to the men, encouraging them to continue. "You heard her! Now, fight! I have money on you, Warden. He's to your left, about two paces!"

On the other side of the fence, behind Hawke, Varric shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. The Inquisitor made her way to the dwarf and summoned him away from the fray with a curl of her finger. As he complied, the crowd grew rowdy again, and their attention fell back to the fight, easing her blush away.

Her voice hissed out to him. "What the hell happened? I can't leave him unattended!"

Varric lifted his eyebrows. "Believe it or not, this wasn't all Hawke. Apparently, this game has been going on for a few weeks. Helps the recruits train and lifts morale. He just, um, urged Alistair into fighting Curly after he lost a few matches himself."

"Gambling and fighting raises spirits?" Gwen pinched her eyes shut.

A faint, trembling voice came from her other side. "It does." Cole blinked and a smile formed on his pale lips. With a slender finger, he pointed at her. "It raises yours as well. Your heart beat is swift and your face is growing red."

Thinning her lips into a smirk, she huffed out a short laugh, bringing her cold hands to her warm cheeks for a moment. "Thank you for your observations, Cole."

The young man turned his head to the men: Cullen had Alistair in a headlock and the latter had his arm around the man's back, attempting to lift the Commander up, unsuccessfully. "They both want the prize."

"Both?" Gwen's eyes darted to Cole's.

The boy nodded slowly and Varric laughed, speaking under his breath. "I knew the Warden was lying."

Strained grunts came from the pair, and Gwen glanced at the fight with a grimace, seeing Alistair being pushed into the fence with a thud. Behind her she heard a gasp and turned to find Cassandra darting toward Varric.

Sharply, she called out, pulling his shoulder around so that they stood in front of one another. "What the hell is this, Varric?!"

The dwarf clenched his jaw. "Not my doing, that's what. You'll have to wait to talk to the Commander. He sanctioned these games."

"I don't believe it." She huffed, and attempted to stride past him, but he held her wrist. She yanked it away, but he held tightly. A fire blazed in her dark eyes. "LET go of me."

"There's a lot of money riding on this game, Seeker. You can't just go in there and break it up." He smirked darkly, when she loosened up, knowing he'd won. "You'll have to wait for the winner."

"Easy, Cassandra. It's a little harmless fun." Gwen twitched her nose and tipped her chin to the fighting men. "How is the victor determined, anyway?"

Varric and Cole answered simultaneously. "First blood."

The Inquisitor's head snapped to them. "You aren't serious."

Under her breath, Cassandra sighed. "This is ridiculous."

"See that mage on the sidelines? He's a healer." The dwarf pointed to a surly looking mage with dark hair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Perhaps I should talk to Josephine about other forms of entertainment for those at Skyhold. First blood seems a little… crude and dangerous."

"I quite agree!" Cassandra added, crossing her arms.

Gwen turned back to the fight. "Thank goodness there are no weapons involved."

Varric snorted. "Yeah... Not this time."

The Inquisitor crossed her arms over her chest as she watched Cullen face his opponent, lurching forward finding purchase on Alistair's shoulder. The Warden grabbed at the Commander's thick neck, then elbowed him in the cheek. Cullen half laughed, half grunted, and then planted his palm on the man's face. Alistair struggled to pull the hand away and pivot, but he was too slow with Cullen hanging onto him.

Feeling for his target, the Commander threw a hard punch to the where he knew the Warden's face would be, the swift action releasing them both to opposite sides of the ring.

Alistair reeled back after the strike to his mouth. Growling, he lunged out across the ring unexpectedly, grabbing Cullen's shoulders and pulling him toward in for an effective head butt to the side of Cullen's face, missing his nose by mere inches. Both men, scrambled backwards and kneeled, recovering their stances a moment later.

Alistair touched his swollen lip and spat on the ground, the red apparent to all those betting against him.

Cries came from the crowd, "First blood! The Commander drew first blood!"

Hawke threw his hands in the air. "That doesn't count! It was inside his mouth!"

Rylen hopped over the fence separated the fighters, holding them apart to examine the blood. "A bit pathetic, but its first blood." He turned to the men. "It's up to the two of you though."

Cullen removed his blindfold, shook off the recent head trauma, and immediately smoothed his hair back to its usual coiffure. "I drew first blood: I won." He touched a tender bruise forming on his cheekbone.

After pulling the handkerchief from his face, Alistair's eyes narrowed at him. "If I hadn't spat on the ground, no one would have known."

"Then you should have swallowed." Cheeky, Cullen laughed, holding his arm out for Alistair to shake.

The Warden took it immediately, chuckling under his breath. "I walked right into that one, didn't I."

With similar smirks, they regarded one another for a moment before they were both handed towels, and they broke their embrace.

Cullen took the towel he was offered, dried the sweat from his face, and pulled a dark shirt over his torso.

Hawke slumped his shoulders and walked to Rylen, handing him a pouch of coins with a sneer, then made his way to the Warden, to offer his sympathy with a shrug.

Alistair wiped his mouth with the towel, eyeing the blood with annoyance, before he turned to find his shirt draped over the sparring fence. He pulled the tan colored linen tunic over his head in time to see Varric and Cole walking over to where he stood.

.

As the blow was landed moments before, and the blood from Alistair's mouth was expelled, a dread washed over Gwen. She stayed by the fence post watching the aftermath of the scene unfold, allowing Cole and Varric to walk to Alistair's side without much thought, but not daring move herself. Thankfully, the Seeker went on a rigid rant and Gwen had an excuse to stay put, making the best attempt to listen.

Inside she was fighting the yearning to run away from the whole ordeal and save herself the embarrassment of Hawke's promised prize. Vainly, she hoped that Cullen would forget rogue's words and go about his day—far away from her.

Bets began changing hands and more of the crowd shuffled toward the triumphant Commander, patting his back in approval, until he started to walk across the ring.

Leaning against the fence, Gwen's sharp eyes saw him coming long before anyone else realized where he was headed.

"Damn."

Cassandra tilted her head and paused her speech. "What's the matter?"

Dropping her forehead into her palm she mumbled. "Maker's breath, I'm going to have to kiss him. I should make Hawke kiss him, really." She chuckled to herself at the image conjured in her head.

Cassandra's brows creased in concern. "Kiss who? Did I miss something?"

"Before you arrived, Hawke offered a kiss to the winner. My kiss." An apprehensive shiver made its way through her body when she saw him closer, cutting through the crowd, but she stood tall. "I suppose it's too late to run now."

The Seeker turned to greet Cullen with pinched eyes, watching the interaction play out.

"Hello, Gwen." The Commander sauntered to a stop beside her.

She smiled kindly, looking around. A few people in the crowd become aware of where the Commander was standing.

She spoke quietly. "Congratulations on your win."

"Thank you." He smirked and took a step closer to her.

"I suppose you want your… kiss." Gwen blushed, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Cassandra broke in. "It wasn't Hawke's right to offer it!"

"She's right." His hand came to the back of his neck as he spoke, but his smile grew as his eyes stared into Gwen's.

Studying him for a long moment before answering, she considered his words and body language: there was no pressure. Cullen was putting the power in her hands.

Pushing off the fence, she bit her lip apprehensively. Her choice was made. "Knowing Hawke, it could have been far worse… it's a just simple kiss to lift morale, right? Let's get it over with."

Cullen smirked and raised an amused eyebrow at her words.

"Inquisitor—" Cassandra's tone was worrisome.

Gwen nodded with certainty. "It's all right, I promise."

Then, with a quick step into Cullen's space, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips lightly to his before he could respond. Then she backed away, with her hands held tightly behind her.

Once a safe distance apart, she dared to glance up to his face and saw a displeased expression building. Shamefully, she turned away from him, but he took a bold step and reached out to gently hold her elbow.

"Wait." His voice rose and she spun to meet him. Faces in the crowd turned to the pair and watched excitedly, whispering. "That isn't at all what I had in mind."

"O-" Her lips formed the word, but before she could complete the thought, Cullen had pulled her to him, his lips pressing firmly to hers with an untamed passion. His thumb ran along her jaw lightly, then his hand found a resting place at the back of her neck.

Gwen stiffened first and widened her eyes in surprise, then relaxed, realizing at that moment, being kissed felt good, being wanted felt great, and not being rejected felt amazing.

Against her better judgment, Gwen closed her eyes, while opening her mouth to invite him in, enjoying his fervor. Her hand touched his chest and as she did so, she felt him pull her closer, their bodies sharing his post-sparring warmth as they continued their slow movement on one another's lips. The crowd voiced their approval, but as soon as she heard it, Gwen came back down from the blissful feeling of the kiss and ended it abruptly, backing away from Cullen as the people surrounded the pair in excitement.

oOOOo

(Alistair's perspective, A few moments prior)

A crowd had gathered where Alistair, Hawke, Varric, and Cole sat on straw bales outside the Herald's Rest, obscuring the view of the rest of the courtyard. Many of the gamblers gave him a heartfelt slap on the back, wishing him better luck next time, or realizing who he was, insisted on shaking his hand and thanking him for his service to Ferelden. The sudden attention was embarrassing, yet humbling.

Touching his swollen lip, he felt the sting where his teeth hit the inside of his mouth and muttered aloud. "Tough luck, I suppose."

Hawke responded with a smirk. "You could have had him if you'd broken his nose with that head butt. Next time I'll make sure the blindfold I give you is made of sheer cloth."

"Sorry, but I'm not doing that ag—" Alistair began, but stopped short when the crowd by the ring erupted in hoots and hollers.

"He is claiming his prize." Cole droned out and pointed through the crowd.

Shit.

Standing quickly, Alistair cut his way through the mass of people and felt his heart plummet at the scene before him: Gwen in Cullen's arms and the pair locked in a passionate kiss.

Son of a bitch. He had no right!

His fists clenched tightly and his features stiffened as he watched them finish with haste, smiling at one another awkwardly as the crowd cheered around them. Fuming, Alistair stood still and people walked around him, closing his path ahead. Comments on their Commander and Herald reached his ears, which only fueled a newfound jealous anger inside.

"They make a fine pairing; wouldn't you say?" An old woman whispered to her friend, standing close by.

The friend responded, emphatically. "Oh yes, a handsome couple indeed."

The Warden again pushed through the crowd, intent on approaching them. Cullen turned his head in time to see Alistair coming towards him, the Warden's countenance severe.

Attempting to settle his dispute with the least amount of strife, Alistair closed in and growled lowly in Cullen's ear. "Commander, that was completely uncalled for."

"Relax, man." He chuckled, still high from the kiss. "Don't be a sore loser."

"You had no right to take a kiss from Gwen."

Cullen was amused and cocked his head. "Are you jealous, Warden?"

"No. It just isn't right to take something without—"

"I asked her, she consented. " The Commander turned away from the Warden and greeted a soldier warmly with a handshake, then turned back with a sly grin. "Look, we're lifting morale."

Alistair paled and released his hands to his sides, taking a few steps away from the crowd gathering around Gwen and Cullen, a shred of hurt passed through him.

How could she kiss him?

Alistair found Gwen, who met his eyes with a timid, almost embarrassed smile. His heart dropped once more and his mind reached back to the recent memory: his reluctance to kiss her in the caves and his ultimate rejection, just a day ago.

Alistair hung his head, crestfallen. I denied her, like the fool I am, that's how.

The man sighed at the sight of the Inquisitor, standing next to her Commander, and her people. She turned away from the Warden's frustrated gaze and began shaking the hands of some of the crowd. A few soldiers jested about the prospect of a winner's kiss at every bout.

Alistair watched her through the people to find her eyes again and as if willed, they darted to him. Her brows pinched apologetically and her lips thinned into a hesitant smile.

Unconsciously, he smiled back and the gesture made his heart creep slowly back up to its place.

A flicker of jealousy and want passed over him, before he squashed it down.

I'm over-reacting. I told her we couldn't begin anything... and it's better this way. This is her life, and she is absolutely radiant in it. She belongs here, beside someone else.

He suppressed the feelings, nodding to himself and taking a deep, calming breath. I'm a Grey Warden. I belong with my fellows. To live beside them, and die beside them.

And yet, a small, secret piece of his heart yearned for her, and for the chance at real romance in his life. He chided himself harshly. This is not the time. The rest of my short life needs to be lived with purpose.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. My duty is more important than my feelings.

Right? Right, of course.

Then, why am I standing here trying so hard to convince myself of it.

With a resigned sigh, aching head, and throbbing jaw, the man retreated from the sparring yard before the crowd dispersed fully, intent on making it back to his room for a moment of rest.

.

Sitting before the fire, Alistair's mind fought for control: over the Calling and over his obvious growing feelings for the extraordinary Inquisitor.

He needed a respite.

In this place, he was the extra wheel, an novelty hero from ten years ago, and it was clear that Gwen didn't need his help in her daily duties as Inquisitor. This was her domain and he, only a circumstantial companion.

He spent time with former companion Hawke, which proved a fruitless endeavor, only inviting more discord into his complicated life.

He wasn't accustomed to sitting still with nothing to do, with no companionship to dull the pain of loneliness.

Alistair was feeling lost.

Lost, but not beaten.

Fumbling over thoughts of the last two weeks, he realized he pined for them: both spending time with Gwen and their adventures. Then, he remembered the Undercroft, and the wolf pelts he'd been given the night before. Amid those thoughts, a clear idea was born.

Alistair sat straighter, then stood with a sly smile.

The sun hung high in the sky and cast a shining hue over the garden as he left his room, slamming the door behind him with a bang. Without stopping, he made a quick, deliberate path to the Undercroft, which had recently open for the craftsmen. It was there that he spent the rest of his morning and afternoon, finally content to have a task worthy of his concentration.