Do you tell the man you love how you found the stash of weapons hidden in the clinic? Is there a polite way to bring it up? Do you bring up the similar weapon stash at the home of a mage you've just helped flee Kirkwall under the nose of the Knight Commander? Or do you let that one slide? Or do you make assumptions? Is this what he's been trying to keep you from? Is this why he's stopped talking? Is this why he's always out working? Or do you just take the sword you've been looking for for the past week, that he knows full well about, that he's neglected to tell you he has, and go?
At first he didn't say anything because, well, she lived with that sleazy uncle and was scraping enough money together for the expedition, not to mention that she overlooked his... faults. She'd always wait until everyone was talking amongst themselves, he figured it for embarrassment, and her hand would dip into a nearby crate and he'd see her stuff trinkets and scarves and bits of tat into her pockets. She always managed to do it as if her arm was entirely detached from her body; there was no way you could tell from her face what her hand was up to and that was... intriguing. He'd found himself watching her more frequently, the way her arm would simply twist and her wrist roll back as it dipped in, her sleeve for just a moment pulling up and revealing an extra flash of skin, and the fluid motion as it returned back to her pockets as if it were nothing more nefarious than picking up a shell from the beach.
Weapons were different, whenever she came across anything of use she'd make them all stop where they were and swap the equipment about. At first he found her lack of emotional attachment strange, Merrill always welled up with tears whenever she had her staff swapped, even Aveline raised an eyebrow when that templar shield was taken from her and sold to the next merchant. She just ignored their protests, voiced or implied, and he simply handed her his old staff and accepted the new. He'd seen this kind of focus before, and you just had to trust it; when he thought about it he found it very reassuring that there was someone who was so very sure of what they were doing. By the end of the day her belt would be taught, filled with battered old daggers and swords and somehow he always managed to be the one to help carry any extra staves. They looked like a pair of refugee's trying to pawn their wares, which in a way they were. Except these things weren't theirs to sell. He really ought to have said something at the time.
She never quite lost her magpie eye, anything small shiny and portable tended to make its way to her pockets; anything large dull and cumbersome seemed to end up in his arms; all to be sold or distributed amongst their friends. She'd become reckless since the expedition, her anger and grief aimed at anything with a lock, anything with guards. She was taking on more violent jobs, throwing herself against ever more challenging opponents for no reason other than to keep busy she'd confessed to him once. But it was stealing from people's homes that made him the most uncomfortable; she went about it with no compunction, the more locks there were the more it seemed to encourage her. That and she'd been spending more time with the elf; they seemed to spend a lot of time out at night picking fights with whoever they could swing a blade at, then getting raucously drunk – the elf was a bad influence.
He found her sitting in the corner of the pub one night, alone and awfully sombre looking. He'd meant to visit Varric, but now was his chance; he could explain that stealing was wrong, that it wasn't fair that she lived in Hightown now and still stole from anyone and everyone. It wasn't right that people worked hard to buy the things she so thoughtlessly took when she could so easily afford to buy them. She wasn't a bad person, she'd understand and it would stop.
He made his way through the patrons and she looked up at him blearily as he approached. She attempted a jovial smile but failed halfway, a shallow sigh escaped from her lips, "I'm not good company tonight, the others are upstairs." He ignored her words and sat down, squeezing in between her and the wall, and suddenly was aware that this was the closest he'd ever been to her. Their arms pressed together awkwardly, looking across at her he noticed that her leather jerkin was unbuttoned, a simple linen blouse underneath it and that... he could see the top of her breasts. Blushing he flicked his eyes back up to her face and he saw the same haunted expression she'd worn the day she returned from the Dark Roads. He really ought to say something, the stealing was getting well out of hand, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything tonight, not whilst she looked like the wrong word might cause her to crumple. Their elbows rubbed together, she leant forward slightly to make room on the narrow seat, he sat back further into the corner; sitting uncomfortably wasn't going to help anyone so he shifted his hips and lifted his arm to the back of the bench; she fell in against his side so naturally that he was a little taken aback, tensing momentarily as she let out a deep sigh, rubbed her head against his feathered shoulder and settled still against him; his thoughts wildly inappropriate as the scent of rose, orange and warm leather assailed him.
"Should I go and get Fenris?"
"No... he wouldn't understand."
"Are you okay?"
"Not really."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Sit here with me for a bit?"
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and prayed that the elf wouldn't decapitate him for sitting with her like this, so very close and so very warm.
Thankfully it was Isabella who came down to the bar first. As she made her way back towards the stairs he caught her eye, she arched an eyebrow but no-one else came down into the bar that evening. He silently thanked her for being discreet and swore that he'd be kinder the next time she visited the clinic.
They sat together silently, knees pressed together, her hands laying loosely in her lap, the back of her fingers resting on his thigh, held together in their quiet corner. Eventually her breathing slowed and she slumped a little ungracefully against him; she'd fallen asleep. Looking down at her, seeing her face calmed, he smiled properly for the first time in weeks. Adjusting his position he pulled her closer, careful to keep her upright and tucked against his shoulder, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Later, when Isabella reappeared at the bar he reluctantly signalled her and extricated himself from their snug corner. He watched as she roused Hawke and guided her upstairs to a waiting bedroom before making his way out of the pub into the cold night air. He'd speak to her about the stealing tomorrow.
Except he'd heard about The Tranquil Solution the next day, and after that, who was he to judge anyone?
As soon as he lifted the lid he knew it was gone. It was the largest one he'd been able to find and its absence was obvious. He threw around for other possibilities, but he knew it must have been her. Somehow she'd been down here when he wasn't and poked around like she always does. She's stolen from me. A flash of blue panic hit him and he darted into the back room, thankfully everything was as he left it. He replaced the lid on the crate and sat on it heavily, he knew she was looking for those swords to give back to the qunari in the hope it would stave off further retribution, that it might go some way to show goodwill. She didn't understand that the qunari, like the templars viewed kindness as a weakness to be exploited. They viewed diplomacy as a vulnerability and would poke at it until you were destroyed by doing the right thing. She'd almost died for the sake of honour, and the thought of templars touching her for what he was going to do made his bile rise and burn the back of his throat. If she mentioned the sword he'd say he hadn't known what it was, or that he'd forgotten about it, or that he was looking after the crate for a friend and hadn't looked inside. Anything so she couldn't be implicated.
But now he had work to do, there was one less sword to smuggle into the gallows and he needed to find more if the mages were to stand a chance.