A/N: I know this one is highly unlikely, but hey, I'm a sap for fluffy romance. Hope you like it!

An eight-year-old with a mane of red curls in a wild mass around her head huffed irritably as she knelt in the pews of the monastery. Her mother shushed her gently without opening her eyes, also knelt in prayer. Ashlyn leaned back to look around Eleanor to her father, hoping dubiously that maybe he was done praying. He was not.

She sighed quieter, glancing to her mother to make sure she hadn't heard. The family was on their way to Redcliffe to visit the arl, as Ashlyn's mother had decided it was time to introduce her to noble society and try to get her daughter more interested in acting like what she considered to be a 'proper lady.'

Ashlyn was having none of it.

They had stopped at the monastery when they had decided to rest and graze the horses, and as Ashlyn was also not religious enough for either of her parents' taste, they had decided to bring her in to pray, hoping it would spark something. The girl glanced at both of her parents again and then to the open end of the pew on her other side. Slowly, and as carefully as possible, she crept away and out of the pew, before rushing off on silent feet through a hallway. She hid in corners when a couple of the sisters walked by, but for the most part was not disturbed.

She finally stopped when she came to a small room with a statue of Andraste in the center. What fascinated her however, was the stained glass window on the side wall, which was being hit by the light at a perfect angle. Colors painted the floor in geometric patterns, and Ashlyn stuck her arm out to watch them dance across her skin as she twisted it. She didn't step into it however, feeling too gloomy and annoyed to do so.

A little sniff escaped her. She didn't understand why her mother suddenly wanted her to act like a lady. For the most part, she always seemed so happy that Ashlyn was her own person. But then, a few weeks ago, Eleanor had made a remark about how fast her daughter was growing up, and then her smile had faded and a faraway look had crossed her face. Before she knew it they were traveling all over Ferelden, her mother was grilling her in proper etiquette, and she felt like she had met a hundred different nobles, most with children her age. A lot of them were boys in fact. Thankfully though, she remembered Arl Eamon had no children, so she wouldn't be required to pretend she wanted to play with them. Her parents kept speaking in excited – and maybe slightly concerned – whispers about their trip to Denerim, only telling her that it would be the most important part of their trip whenever she asked about it.

She sniffed again and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her new dress. This was the worst trip ever.

"Um…hello?"

The girl spun around with a little gasp, moving backwards, coincidentally into the light of the stained glass window. A sandy haired boy, perhaps a year or two older than her, was standing in the open doorway holding a broom, looking as startled as she was to see her there.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said in a rush, reaching out a hand as though to steady her, but she was too far away, and he dropped it to his side. "Uh…are you okay?" he asked when silence reigned for a moment.

She sniffed and glanced away, scratching the tip of her nose with her pinky finger. She then heard a rustle of cloth and looked back up to see the boy holding out a handkerchief. She blinked at it. "Um, here," he said awkwardly, and then continued when she only stared for another moment. "My um…well, my uncle, I guess, told me you should give one to girls when they're crying." It was a statement, but he said it like a question, obviously unsure of himself but wanting to help.

Ashlyn remembered her manners and gently took with a murmured thank you, patting her eyes with it. She recalled her mother telling her about this situation as well, and that she wasn't supposed to blow her nose in to it. She considered doing so anyway, just to spite her, but the boy seemed nice, much more so than the ones she had met lately, and decided against it.

She handed it back with a little smile that he returned, putting the handkerchief in his pocket. "I uh, don't think I've seen you here before," he said curiously.

"My family stopped here to rest the horses," she explained, and he smiled a little wider to hear her finally speak. "Mother wants me to start meeting nobles so we've been going all over…" she huffed once more, crossing her arms. "And now I have to follow all these rules and its weird, and…I just hate it."

The boy grimaced. "I know how you feel," he replied. "It wasn't really my choice to come here either."

They both stood in mutual annoyance for a moment before Ashlyn once again noticed the light dancing on the ground and turned to look at the stained glass window, seeing the actual picture for the first time.

"Who is that?" she asked, pointing to the woman depicted in it.

"That's Andraste," the boy replied, moving to stand closer. "The bride of the Maker."

"Oh," Ashlyn replied. "Mother told me about her. She led the war against the Imperium, right?" That had been the only interesting part of the story in her opinion.

"Yes, she did. This room is dedicated to her." A quick glance around showed this to be true.

Ashlyn gave a pouty scowl at the window and muttered "I bet she didn't have to act like a lady all the time."

The boy chuckled and she looked at him and grinned, and pretty soon they were laughing loudly together.

"There you are!" the worried voice of Ashlyn's mother called into the room, followed by the woman herself. The little girl stiffened, expecting Eleanor to be furious with her, but her mother only knelt and hugged her tightly. "I was so worried about you!"

Ashlyn didn't move for a moment, but then hugged her mother back fiercely, wanting to cry again and not entirely sure why. When they finally broke apart she noticed her father had followed them in and she hugged him too.

"Dear, we have company," Eleanor said when her husband rose up. He turned to see the boy that Ashlyn had been talking to.

"Oh, hello there, lad," Bryce said with an easy grin, gently clasping the little girl's shoulder. "Have you been taking care of our daughter for us?"

"Uh, yes, ser," the boy said uncertainly.

"Well, I owe you thanks then," he said, and reached his hand out to shake the blonde's, and he hastily reached up to return the gesture.

"You're welcome, ser," he said, still awkward.

"I believe the driver said we were ready to go," Eleanor said after offering the young man a smile. "We should go tell them we've found our daughter."

"I agree," Bryce replied, gently nudging the girl ahead of him. "Come along, pup."

Ashlyn turned to give the boy a smile and a wave, which he shyly returned.

"I'm glad your safe, my dear," Eleanor said after a step or two. "But please don't do that again. At least you weren't alone."

"Yes, who was that boy, pup?" Bryce asked. "Perhaps you can send him a letter to thank him, when we reach Redcliffe."

"Yes I think I – oh!" Ashlyn paused in her steps. "I never asked his name!"

They turned to look for the boy, but he had already left. A return to the room with the statue showed he was not there either.

"I wish we could stay and look for him, my dear," Eleanor said apologetically. "But we really must be leaving if we want to reach Redcliffe before nightfall."

The girl protested to no avail, and was finally ushered dejectedly out of the monastery. She took one glance back, wondering if she'd ever meet the sandy-haired boy again.

Alistair sighed in both relief and annoyance as the mage left to see the Revered Mother, shoving his way past a woman that Alistair only just noticed. Rather than introducing himself, he said sarcastically "You know, one good think about the Blight is how it brings people together." Maybe it was rude not to offer his name, but he was still irritated with the unreasonable man and wasn't feeling particularly polite.

The redhead gave a light snort, though she didn't smile. "I guess I see what you mean."

"It's like a party! We could all…stand together and hold hands! That would give the darkspawn something to think about." She raised an eyebrow, not replying. Something was very familiar about her… "Wait, we haven't met have we?" he asked. "I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"

"Am I wearing robes or wielding a staff?" she asked dryly.

"You never know, these mages sneak up on you," he chuckled, hoping to gain her amusement as well. He did not succeed.

He suddenly remembered the message Duncan had sent about his new recruit. He had mentioned he would send her to him, and that she would be easy to spot, as her hair was a very bright shade of red. That must be why she was familiar. "Wait, I do know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit! From Highever, I should have recognized you right away, I apologize."

"No harm done," she said, not meeting his eyes. He didn't think she was really listening. He mentioned that he would be accompanying her to prepare for the Joining and she seemed to come back to herself.

"A pleasure to meet you," she said, in the automatic, almost too quick way most nobles did. "My name is Ashlyn."

He recognized the name from Duncan's message, but there was still something about her that he could swear he almost remembered. He made some quip about there not being many women in the Grey Wardens, still hoping to amuse her, and again failing. However, when he asked her if she'd ever fought darkspawn, she scratched the tip of her nose with her pinky finger before replying that she had not. The gesture was maddeningly familiar and he racked his brain trying to figure out where he'd seen it before. It wasn't until they were walking back to Duncan that the memory struck him.

The girl! From the monastery! He'd only been there a few months when she and her family had visited. She'd done the same thing, scratching her nose with her pinky, a gesture he'd never seen from anyone else. But…this couldn't be her. She was the right age he supposed, but the girl had had freckles all over her face, and her red curls had been sun-streaked. This woman's – Ashlyn's – were a dark, smooth red, in big soft curls, rather than the wild mass that had haloed the little girl's head. And he'd been able to make her laugh easily then, even though she was upset.

This woman had…sadness in her eyes. Something was a touch broken. The little red head had had wide, bright, curious eyes.

No, it couldn't be her. Not that that meant he disliked her. Despite her sadness, she seemed determined and Duncan had assured him of her skill. He was looking forward to knowing her.

Weeks later, Alistair did finally make her laugh, saying that he'd been raised by dogs, and her smile was so like the girl's from the monastery he began to wonder if maybe she really was the same person. He made a mental note to ask her.

It wasn't until after they were married, nearly two years later, that they realized they had met all those years ago, under the light of a stained-glass window.

A/N: Okay, took longer than an hour! Sorry! This ended up being a much longer chapter than I thought it would be! But I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it! Next chapter will be up on Monday, but might be Monday night. I'm making the drive back to Florida on Sunday, and it is a two day drive, so if for some reason I can't upload from the hotel, that's why.

Please review, and thank you for reading! You are all fantastic!

UPDATE: Sorry guys, next chapter will be up on Tuesday instead of Monday. :/ I'm exhausted from the drive and really need to sleep. It will be a nice long chapter in exchange! Love you all!