Well this fic got persistent, so I'm adding more to it. A romantic ficklet. I changed the name of our protagonist (I realized Mia was Cullen's sister's name. Can't go reusing names in this kind of fandom).

Haylee woke alone. There was a frightening moment when she didn't know where she was. Sitting up quickly wasn't possible, and she winced when she tried. Weak muscles were no match for the numerous blankets that covered her. With enough shifting, she managed to free her head from its confines and saw she was on a cot in a mountain camp. Last night's events struck her all at once: the attack on Haven, the flight into the mountains, staying behind for the Herald and then traversing the mountain path with her hand grasped in his. The woman sought her own palm beneath the covers, massaging her hand at the memory, almost feeling the prickling, strange energy of the mark he bore. The man himself—the Herald—was nowhere in sight.

She straightened up with some effort. More of the blankets fell away, and the cold air slipped in to touch her skin. Her ascent was noticed. Mother Giselle herself appeared, strange enough for so elderly a Chantry woman. "It is alright, my child. You are safe."

Haylee shifted, seating herself properly with the blankets tucked around her. "I…Where are we?" She couldn't even begin to guess which of the mountain peaks around them bore names.

"Safe. And for now, that is enough." Mother Giselle replied gently. She touched the young woman's shoulder. "Rest. There is talk of traveling on. But not so soon that you need rise."

Haylee accepted the instruction, then gathered her courage to ask after— "The Herald. Is he…?" None of the other cots around her were occupied.

The Mother nodded. "He lives. You bore the journey more heavily than he did. Rest. While you have the time." The Mother saw she was given food and warmer garb, then went to attend the others who had borne injuries during the flight from Haven.

Haylee did as she'd been told and tried to rest. Warm food and some winter clothing helped, but there was no sleep to be had. Instead, she watched the camp itself. The people had fled with little more than what they had time to snatch up. There were grave markers beyond the perimeter, just visible through the tents: resting places for those who had passed in the night. Thank the Maker they were few. And those who did live? There was loss. But also a resolve and sense of hope in how they went about their tasks. How could that be? Were the people of Haven so steadfast? Was the Inquisition? They seemed to possess a divine spark she couldn't understand. And just sitting here, Haylee felt out of place.

It was a few hours, but gradually the camp was dismantled and the 'talk of moving on' became action. Haylee was on her feet by then, lending help where she could. And with that, the Inquisition set out for…somewhere.

The Herald led them. Alive, well and determined. Haylee realized he was why the people remained strong despite the loss of Haven. The way everyone talked about him, how could it be anything else? They were convinced it was another miracle of Andraste. Despite the destruction of Haven and the army of Templars set against them, and the appearance of an Archdemon, he had somehow been delivered once again from what had been certain doom. How could he have survived such a thing unless Andraste herself was watching over him? And now he was leading them through the mountains. To where? No one knew. And yet the Inquisition followed without hesitation.

And of all that was said about the Herald, not one person mentioned him returning with anyone else. For a moment, she felt a little hurt, but brushed the thought away just as quickly. What did it matter that he'd come back with someone else? The Herald's survival was what mattered. The fact that he was still here to lead them was what mattered. Not the little 'no one' who'd come long. Haylee wasn't so sure she wanted people to know what she'd done, anyway. She'd stayed behind without any plan or equipment or anything. It had been very foolish. If not for the Herald, Haylee would have frozen to death alone on the mountain.

And the Herald himself? He seemed well. The fact that he kept ahead of the procession, apparently scouting himself rather than entrusting it to Inquisition members, proved it.

On that first evening, when everyone had settled down and the camp was recast, he passed by where Haylee was helping to mend what garments they'd retained. He was a striking man, The Herald. Of course she noticed his passing. And, for a moment, when he turned in her direction, she thought he'd recognized her in turn. Her heart leapt to her throat, desperately unsure what to say after what had happened on the mountain. But his eyes rested on her for only a fleeting glance before drifting on, intent on wherever he was going. Despite herself, Haylee deflated.

She shouldn't have felt denied. She shouldn't have expected any recognition, even from him. Perhaps especially from him. Their vision had been blocked by blinding snow most of the time. She'd been wearing her hood close against the frigid wind. He'd been exhausted and then very focused on making it up the mountain. All of which were perfectly good reasons for him to not remember her face in the slightest.

And even if he did, why should he have thought she'd actually waited for him? More than likely, it would have appeared that she'd gotten separated or left behind and found him by mistake. At which point, it was clear enough that he'd been the one to save her. Which he had, of course. What did it matter that she'd stayed behind? It didn't. In fact, she was lucky to come out of this invisible. What would she even do with the recognition if she received any?

...but that glance without acknowledgment did stick with her for a while.

XXX

The Inquisition's faith was rewarded. Through the mountains, with nothing but the unseen to guide him, the Herald of Andraste delivered his people to a new home: Skyhold. A mighty fortress set into the mountain, solid and imposing, large enough to house not only the Inquisition that was, but what it would become. Maker's breath, even lost in the wilderness, the Herald guided them true. Surely he must be touched by something divine. There was not a dissent spoken throughout the whole Inquisition.

This was where they would stand, rooted, against their enemy. This was where they would grow, thrive and fight back. Within a week of discovery, the first pilgrims began to arrive, people from the surrounding region. It wouldn't be long before word spread and more would come from further. The Inquisition was no longer an upstart group of misfits and malcontents, as had been rumored. They had closed the Breach and discovered a great enemy. The catastrophe at Haven had changed the Inquisition, even unto itself. They were more than what they were. The next step was to name a singular leader that would serve as the guiding light behind them. And truly, there as only one possible candidate.

The Inquisition, as it stood, gathered in the courtyard of Skyhold castle as Sister Leliana and Seeker Cassandra, the Hands of the late Divine Justinia, presented to them the Herald of Andraste, their hero and deliverer, now to be their Inquisitor. It was a great gathering of people. More than Haylee was comfortable with, even if their attention was directed singularly upward. But this was a monumental event, one she would regret not witnessing. So she tucked herself near the gate at the back of the crowd to watch.

To the Herald, the Hands of the Divine offered a mighty blade, symbol of Inquisition leadership. Haylee watched as he lifted it from Sister Leliana's hands, holding it before him reverently. Or some might describe it as reverently. At the back of the crowd, Haylee wondered if it he might be…uncertain?

Anyone else would call such thoughts blasphemous. She didn't mean to doubt him. It wasn't even doubt, really. It was concern. This was such a great responsibility and she remembered what he'd looked like kneeling in the snow on the mountain, replete with despair. Whatever anyone else said about him being touched by Andraste, she remembered him then: a mortal man. And she thought this was asking a great deal of him, no matter what god had a hand on his shoulder.

But he could do it. Haylee believed that, just like everyone else here, even if she saw him differently than they did. He could lead them. And they would follow.

Words were passed up above. Whatever was said, Seeker Cassandra stepped up to the lip of the stone and called down. "Have our people been told?"

The Inquisition's Antivan ambassador answered from somewhere toward the crowd's front, "They have. And soon, the world."

The Seeker continued, "Commander, will they follow."

Up at the front of the crowd, also hidden from Haylee's sight, the Commander shouted, asking of the people, "Inquisition, will you follow?" The people yelled, raising their fists in assertion. "Will you fight?" A louder response. "Will we triumph?" The outcry rose from every mouth.

The man standing above them looked down, taking in the entire crowd laid before him, the people calling on him, all the way to the very back where Haylee stood. She squinted, but there was no telling how this outpour of support was affecting him.

With the declaration of the people came the declaration they had gathered to hear. "Your leader. Your Herald. Your Inquisitor!" Maker's breath, the cheers! They were like a battle cry that shook the stronghold down to its foundations. Haylee was half tempted to clap her hands over her ears.

The Herald remained standing there, the blade of the Inquisition still grasped at his side and the wave of sound rising to bolster him. He was supposed to respond, wasn't he? Say something? Do something? Maybe the intensity of the people was a bit much for him, too.

The seconds ticked by, the crowd kept cheering and the Herald held, looking out over them all. Then he clenched his left hand and stabbed the blade skyward. The Inquisition roared in response and Haylee really did have to cover her ears. She couldn't take much more of this. It was a very impressive display. An open acceptance of leadership by their Herald and an undaunted declaration of strength from the Inquisition who would follow him. All wonderfully appropriate.

…but too loud for her. There couldn't be much more to happen here, so Haylee slipped around the back of the crowd and back to the keep without anyone really noticing, satisfied with her day's experiences.

XXX

There was so much to do. Impressive as Skyhold was, it had been empty for years. There was collapsed stonework all over. An entire overpass lay in rubble between the front gate and the stables. Sections of the walls had fallen away. The Great Hall was a clutter of rotted wooden benches that needed to be cleared out. Every third window was broken to some degree. Not to mention the layer of dust that covered everything.

Haylee and all others were in a constant movement, trying to clear away a hundred years' worth of neglect. Move this, clear that, mop here, clean there, fetch oil, hang these, polish those. Not to mention all the normal matters like watering the laborers, ensuring there were meals at regular times of the day, that laundry was done, and that latrines were clean. Haylee had served a few years as a maid, and then there was her time in Haven attending to the growing encampment of soldiers. This was a combination of both, to the extreme. But the time and effort were worthwhile. After a week, the larger areas had been cleared. After two, the main areas looked almost presentable. And every one of them felt a rush of pride that they'd been a part of it.

But it was all exhausting. Each night, Haylee could barely manage to eat what she was given, crawl into her tent and collapse in her bedroll. Especially today. There would, apparently, be nobility arriving within days. Which meant that the Great Hall had needed to be cleaned from top to bottom. A small army of servants, Haylee among them, had taken to the space with buckets and brushes, giving it the first proper scrubbing it had had in ages. Haylee's hands were sore and rough, she had blisters, two of which had popped already. All she wanted to do was go to bed.

Except, when she reached the place where her tent had been erected, she found the area empty of tents and the informal seating arrangement now occupied by off duty soldiers. Where had—?

Maker's breath, she'd forgotten. The servants had their own quarters now, set up even before the visitor's wing of the castle. Couldn't have the castle servants still sleeping outside where visiting nobility could see them and think Skyhold barbaric. Maker's breath, she barely had the strength to stay on her feet, how was she supposed to find these new quarters? It was…by the kitchens, she thought. All the way down the stairs and across the courtyard. Maker, that seemed like such a long way. But there would be a bed at the end.

Haylee let out a long sigh and started the walk. She passed one of the crate and stool arrangements just as two of those seated stood up. Haylee's foot caught on something and she stumbled. A pair of hands darted out and took her by the shoulders before she could collide with the owner—and all at once Haylee found herself staring up into familiar eyes: hazel with green starbursts around the center. She froze, the breath caught in her lungs. The Inquisitor!

The world went still, Haylee leaning heavily on the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor holding her up, their eyes locked, unblinking, the familiar energy of his Mark singing against her shoulder. She…she shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be…touching him. She was no one. And he was the Herald of Andraste. But she couldn't seem to move or look away. And nor could he.

The moment was disturbed when a towering grey figure appeared over the Inquisitor's shoulder. Haylee's gaze flitted to him in shock. The huge qunari warrior, the Iron Bull. Maker, how exhausted must she be to have even considered passing so close to him!

The qunari grinned down over the Inquisitor's shoulder at her. "Hey there. What's your name?" His voice was low, but not nearly as frightening as she'd expected. And very…suggestive. He didn't look at her lecherously, as some men tended to. It was more that his eye held an ever-present invitation, one that Haylee was most certainly not going to take him up on. Many women about the Inquisition had spoken of…'spending time' with him. But she couldn't even imagine it. He was just so…big!

Haylee opened her mouth, but when nothing came out she closed it again. The Iron Bull just chuckled. "Kinda shy, huh? Don't you worry," and he reached up to tap the horns, "These are just to scare the bad guys." Her head jerked up and down in response. And he grinned. "And this here's Grim. Doesn't talk much. But he's a real gentleman."

Haylee looked back at the Inquisitor to find he hadn't taken his eyes off her. And, despite her best intentions, she couldn't help but be caught again herself. He had very beautiful eyes…

The Iron Bull gave the Inquisitor a shove. "You gonna let her up there, Grim?"

The shove put the Inquisitor off balance and he half-stumbled, which allowed Haylee to get her feet under her. Though he still held her shoulders. And her hands remained braced against his chest—

She dropped them, suddenly able to act on her self-consciousness. After a few seconds—and with some hesitation—the Inquisitor let his fall as well.

The Iron Bull wouldn't let them list into awkward silence again. "So where you off to?"

This time Haylee managed a word. "Bed." Maker, had she really just said that to him?

The alluring grin intensified. "You want some company? Like I said: Grim, here. Real gentleman." The Inquisitor finally tore his eyes from Haylee to shoot a furious glare at the qunari.

Haylee took this chance to step away. "N-no. Thank you. I should be—Good night."

She did a hasty bow and fled around them, getting to the stair and down it as fast as possible. She got across the courtyard to the kitchen, and a little turned around once beyond, but ultimately found the servants' quarters and the bed she'd been assigned. Haylee hastily changed out of her day-wear, and wasn't satisfied with her escape until she had burrowed under the covers with them pulled over her head.

In spite of her exhaustion, Haylee stayed awake for a long while. What plagued her thoughts was not finding the Inquisitor mingling unnoticed amongst the Inquisition soldiers, nor the Iron Bull introducing him as 'Grim', nor the Iron Bull shamelessly offering the Inquisitor as a bedmate. No, what kept Haylee awake was how the Inquisitor had looked at her. His eyes, bright and deep, looking at her and seeing her. And maybe even…recognizing her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more certain Haylee was that he had.

In all the time since Haven's fall, no one had spoken a word of Haylee's involvement with the Herald's return. She'd accepted that her actions—foolish and rash as they had been—would be forgotten.

But no. The way he'd looked at her, he remembered. No matter that she was invisible to all others, the Herald of Andraste remembered her from that night. And Haylee had no idea what would come of it.

As my dear beta, Breather, has told me, brave wallflowers need love, too.