A/N: Hello lovies! Brand spakin' new chapter for you! A bit of lighter fare this time around, a nice palette cleanser from the angst of the previous two.

Thanks to everyone who faved/followed/reviewed. I love you all!

So lots of chess in this chapter. I'll be the first to admit I know absolutely nothing about the game
(there's horses right?). Lucky for me the people of Thedas seem to play a different version of chess than we do, complete with an octagon board and weird pieces, so I was free to invent my own! So for those of you who actually play this difficult game, I apologize in advance for completely and utterly making up my own rules and pieces.

Many innumerable, insufficient thanks to JayRain this go around. She allowed me to bounce so many complicated and spoilerific ideas about this story off her and encouraged me to go with the craziness I have planned. She is so wonderfully talented and if you are ever in the mood for a story that shows the journey between two people who love each other completely and without reservation check out her fic "Fumbling Towards Who We Are," centered around Dorian and Trevelyan. It is only a few chapters in so far but it's prequel "The Magician" and the accompanying one shots "Memories of a Winter's Night" and "Carpe Noctum" really give you glimpses of where these two men are headed with each other. Her Dorian is amazing, spot on, and one of my favorites. I cannot recommend her writing enough!

Also, shepard's purse was an actual medieval treatment for the healing of wounds.

R&R lovies, reviews are like candy; so sweet and the prefect treat!

(...I'll just show myself out...)

translations:

Bastardized italian:

Mi cara: my dear

Mi regina: my queen

mi salvatora bella: my beautiful savior

Dalish:

emma shem'nan, shemlan: my revenge is swift, human.

Evanthe did not go see to her commander that night. She was exhausted in both body and spirit and her bed called to her with a tempting sweetness she found she could not ignore. It was enough to know that Cullen lived, there would be time tomorrow to see it with her own eyes. And so she pushed aside the hurt and confusion Solas had left her with and the pain and sorrow the battle had left in its wake and wearily made her way to her chambers, flopping down upon the mattress with a muffled groan. She was asleep within seconds, though she found no respite in the fade. Dreams of fallen soldiers, would-be gods, and forbidden magics chased her throughout the night, a pursuit she found she could not escape. She never woke from the nightmares, tired as she was, and was forced to relive Cullen's barely skirted death over and over. No matter how hard she fought or how fast she ran he would fall, and others would join him. Elissa, Varric, Dorian, even those who had already passed seem to die anew in her dreams. Cassandra, Josephine, craftsmen and peasants...they would litter a never ending battlefield, each of them gazing at her with dead, accusing eyes. And through it all she would hear a dark laughter echo across the landscape, a mocking of her pain that drove her to near madness. When it was only her, staring down her enemy and surrounded by corpses, Solas appeared beside her, gazing straight into the breach marked sky with sad eyes.

"The players change and yet the ending remains the same," he murmured as the approaching army bore down on them.

"What do you mean?" she asked, struggling to be heard over the howls of demons that were now but a whisper away.

"I am sorry," he answered quietly as he was gripped from behind by a monstrous red templar who began to methodically and slowly slit his neck from ear to pointed ear. "I only wanted to help, Mythal. The people...Evanthe...they needed me." Evanthe could only blink in confusion as he fell to the ground, just another pair of unseeing eyes staring at the fade drenched sky. She was still trying to figure out his cryptic words when she spied a lone woman standing calm in the center of Corypheus' army. The elder woman was smiling in the most unsettling way, dressed for battle in a studded maroon corset and shining greaves. Her hair, shock white and sculpted into dragons horns, ruffled softly in an unseen breeze, and the weight of centuries seemed to rest in her glowing amber eyes. Evanthe could only stare at this unknown and remarkable woman as she felt a blade slide deep into her belly with all the care and softness of a lover's caress. Falling to her knees she opened her mouth in a silent gasp of pain, and through it all the woman just stared, smiling, until at last Evanthe died and was wrenched back to the land of waking.

Blinking her eyes against the breached cloaked sunlight that streamed through her windows, she felt no more rested than she had the night before. If anything she felt more weary and tense. The jumbled words Solas had spoken and the appearance of the unknown woman had a weight of the portentous about them, and try as she might, Evanthe could not simply dismiss them as products of her over taxed imagination.

Pushing herself to stiff feet she glanced out the window and cursed softly. She had over slept and the sun was high in the hazy green sky, marking the morning as nothing more than memory. Hurrying to get dressed she hissed in discomfort as her tender hands protested at the harried movement. Solas might have healed the worst of it, but her palms were still aching, still healing beneath the skin. Ignoring the pain she secured her tunic and pulled on a pair of doe skin breeches before stuffing her feet into her boots and rushing out the door. Her legs carried her unerringly to the infirmary, eyes taking in the bustle of daily life that filled Skyhold's halls. It appeared as if the number of causalities had not been too great, but a pall of grief seemed to permeate the stones of the great fortress, and not a few of the people she passed looked at her with puffy and red rimmed eyes.

When she at last arrived at the infirmary she pressed her ear to the door, bracing herself for the moans of those in agony and dying. She heard nothing but tart arguments and boasting and cracked the door in confusion. Cullen was sprawled out on a cot, back resting heavily against the infirmary's wall and his torso was bare save for a bandage wound tightly against his stomach. A chess board sat in the space between his legs, the pieces only a move or two into the game. The queen sat opposite him, perched regally on the end of his pallet, her eyes contemplating her next move. Zevran relaxed languidly in a chair near by, lazily sharpening and oiling what seemed to be an endless amount of blades laid out on a nearby table. And in the midst of it all Cesare, somehow still awake and healing, flitted from patient to patient dosing out tonics and changing bandages.

"The warden's defense is such a common move," Elissa chirped with false mockery. "I expected more from a commander."

"It is unwise to provoke so early in the game, my lady," Cullen replied with a confident grin. "I'd hate to see your boasting turn to defeat."

"A queen never loses," Elissa replied coolly

"Surely a queen must lose or no one would ever win the game," Evanthe argued as she stepped through the threshold. Cullen practically bolted upright when he heard her voice, wincing as he did so, but Elissa merely shot a reproachful glare over her shoulder at the elf before turning her attention back to the board and making her move.

"If you must argue semantics," the queen grumbled. "Yes, a queen must fall, but trust me when I say it will be his and not mine."

"Evanthe, you...how are you?" Cullen asked quietly, staring at her with an intensity she did not know how to handle.

"Better than you, it would seem," she answered striding to stand before the chess board and surveying the game with a shrewd eye. "I'm not the one who got run through with a sword...nor am I the one about to be checked in seven moves." Cullen glanced down at the game board and frowned, and Evanthe could not help but laugh. "The Queen is right, commander, the warden's defense is common and easily beat."

"We'll see about that," he murmured before moving a chevalier from his infantry to flank one of the Queen's Arls.

"Herald," Cesare beckoned, tearing her attention from her game. "Have you come to tend to your hands at last? The boy, Cole, told me of their deplorable condition. It was quite stupid of you not to seek me out sooner."

"They are fine," she insisted as the healer reached for her. "Solas tended to them-"

"And did a passable, if some what barbaric job. The man is competent enough for battlefield care, but not for anything delicate or complete. Sit. It's going to take me a bit to undue some this mish mash."

"Do you ever sleep?" she asked tartly as she obeyed the command, setting herself down upon a nearby cot.

"I would if any of you lot would have the decency to stop trying to get yourselves killed for one blasted minute," the man groused as he began to work upon her hands.

"Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner is lacking?"

"I happen to agree with the man," Zevran interjected, holding a stiletto dagger up to the light. "Just look at him The poor fellow is exhausted, yes? Is it too much to ask that you stop playing at hero for one day? "

"Was that meant for me?" Evanthe asked sharply.

"No, for me," Elissa groused. "It seems Zevran here is put out at my presence on the ramparts and the resulting injury."

"You were always such a master at understatement, mi cara."

"Now the man won't leave my side!" the queen lamented, practically slamming a chess piece down on the board. "I can't even go to the privy without him being two steps behind me."

"That's...inconvenient," Evanthe hedged, amused by the two's bickering.

"You should have known better when you turned me into a glorified nanny, mi regina."

"I cannot wait until you are once again Harlow's problem and no longer mine," Elissa groused as Cullen took his turn.

"Such callousness!" the assassin cried, clutching at his chest. "You break my poor Antivan heart! Have I meant nothing to you these past months? The battles the fleeing...the long passionate nights?"

"Zevran, there were no 'passionate nights,'" Elissa remarked laughing.

"No? So it was simply my imagination? Pity, I was looking forward to rubbing it in your husbands face."

"You will do no such thing!"

"Why not?" Zevran asked quietly, turning his attention to the blade in his hand once more. "He will most likely do the same to me."

"Zevran..."Elissa sighed, leveling a tired look at the man.

"It is something we must face, mi cara, if we are to rescue them."

"There," Cesare interrupted, oblivious to the mood of the room. "Right as rain. You'll have the scars for the rest of your life, the wounds had healed too much and short of slicing you open again there is no way to erase them. But the tissues are whole, they should feel normal now. Do try not to bloody them up again."

"Thank you, Cesare," Evanthe muttered, flexing her fingers.

"Now, if that is all and there is no immanent death upon the horizon I would very much like to get some rest. Good day." The man took his leave, but not before stopping to poke around a bit at Elissa's shoulder, nodding in satisfaction when she simply smiled up at him.

"Checkmate," Cullen announced happily as the healer left and Elissa looked down upon the board in surprise

"Damnit, Zevran!" she cried. "You distracted me!"

"Si, I am quite distracting. It is part of my charm."

"Remind me why you're here," she grumbled, resetting the board and challenging the commander with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"I was waiting for the delectable herald to grace us with her presence," Zevran answered, tossing Evanthe a dagger with little care for where it landed. She caught it out of instinct, fumbling a bit in an effort not to cut herself anew.

"Me? Why?"

"It appears as if I am to be confined to bed for the next few days," Cullen answered, clearly put out at the notion. "You need someone to continue your weapons training. Zevran graciously offered."

"At your service," the elf offered with dramatic flair. "Lesson the first, mi salvatora bella; you must care for your blades, yes? A good weapon is much like a lover. If you do not give them the proper attention they will abandon you when you need them most."

"Is everything in your world related to sex?" Evanthe asked, catching a wet stone that Zevran tossed her way.

"Of course not. Somethings are related to death and dismemberment as well."

"How cheery," Evanthe muttered, watching with a studious eye as the man demonstrated how to drag a blade against the wet stone. "So you are to teach me swordplay then?"

"Dagger's actually," Cullen supplied as he made his opening gambit against the queen. "Upon further reflection I believe a sword to be too unwieldy for you. Daggers are lighter, more about speed and evasion. As a mage you should take to the discipline faster. At least I'm hoping. It's similar to staff work in a way." Evanthe shrugged in acceptance, not caring much which weapon she was trained in so long as she was trained. If nothing else the battle had served to bring that point into stark relief. If she had, perhaps, been skilled with a blade she would not have been stuck upon the ramparts and possibly could have saved Cullen from his injuries.

As Zevran began to teach her the proper way of cleaning and caring for her weapons the commander and the queen continued to battle on another on the chess board, offering quips and taunts as the game progressed. Evanthe kept one eye on their game, amused by both their styles of play. They were probably unaware of it, but each moved their pieces according to the strictures of their titles; a monarch and a commander. Elissa relied heavily upon her queen and court, sacrificing them to protect her line of infantry and even her peasants. It was the strategy of a woman who understood her duty to her people, a fierce need to protect those whom she had sworn to care for. Cullen, on the other hand, played as a soldier would; each move precise and planned out. His infantry was used heavily and he would rely only upon the court when no other choice was afforded him, but never the queen, she he protected just a fiercely as the peasants. He played knowing that a soldier was meant to give their life on the battlefield to protect those who could not protect themselves, and he knew that a Queen, no matter how head strong, deserved to be kept whole as well. Evanthe could see merit in both strategies, for each was noble in its own way, but a part of her now knew that it would matter little in the end. The peasants would fall, the infantry would battle, and one court would stand in bloody victory over another. For all that it was a game, chess was a grim reflection of how society had lived since the dawn of time.

"Mine again," Cullen declared in triumph as he advanced one of his templars catty corner to Elissa's queen.

"You take all the fun out of this, commander," she grumped, knocking over the tiny figure with an impatient flick. "I find myself weary of your constant victories."

"Then allow me to best him where you could not," Evanthe offered, setting aside the dagger she had been working upon.

"By all means, slaughter the man," Elissa encouraged, "he deserves it for being so infuriatingly good. I am sorry to say, however, that I shall be absent for your triumph. I must see to my boys. The battle...they have not adjusted well this time around, and are frightened to venture outside lest Corypheus cut them down."

"I'm sorry," Evanthe whispered, wishing there was something she could do to ease the little princes' fear.

"So am I," the Queen murmured, fisting her dove gray gown tight in her hands. "This is not the life I wanted for them. For any of us." With nothing more to say, Elissa offered a watery smile before quietly slipping out the door, Zevran a mere two feet behind her.

"Come and find me when you are ready, mi cara, there is much to learn," the assassin called out over his shoulder, rushing to keep pace with the queen. Evanthe nodded after him before turning her attention to Cullen who was studying her with a gentle smile upon his face.

"You're alive," Evanthe whispered, finally allowing herself to feel relief now that they were alone.

"I'm told you had something to do with that," he offered, smile still firmly in place but voice low and sorrowful. "What happened to your hands, Evanthe?"

"I've already gotten the lecture, Cullen," she huffed, striding to kneel before him. She could see that his wound had reopened, and a bright circle of red had begun to seep through the bandage tied about his waist. "We need to change this."

"Leave it," Cullen demanded, pushing her hands away as she made to unwind the fabric. "It was stupid Evanthe. Dangerous and reckless. You could have been killed. Moreover you disobeyed a direct order."

"And yet I wasn't killed, and I told you I'm not keen on being held down, Cullen, not even by orders and rules. I'd do it again and again if it meant the outcome remained the same. Now hold still." Slowly she began to unravel the length of linen from his body, each pass revealing more and more healing herbs packed tightly into the weave. The smell of witch hazel and shepard's purse began to assault her nose, becoming almost cloying the closer she got to the man's flesh. When she at last had freed him from his bindings, Evanthe dropped the soiled linen to the floor, and stared hard at the damage that marred the commander's flesh. It seemed much too small to have caused such chaos. A laceration of no more than four inches cut low across his belly to graze the apex of his hip, edges ragged and pink with healing. Catgut stitching held the whole thing together, though blood had begun to seep between the marks.

"I though Cesare healed you," Evanthe muttered as she readied a new bandage with herbs she found under his cot.

"He did. But he's only one man, Evanthe, and there were others besides me struck down on the battlefield. A few stitches and a bandage was all he could offer once he'd healed the worst of it."

"Still," she insisted, placing the length of linen against his wound and slowly winding it about his waist, "I'd prefer you whole. I think I would at least sleep better knowing you are up to any challenge we might face." Neither said anything more for a time, their focus directed at the redressing of near fatal wounds. When Evanthe was done with her ministrations she leaned back on her haunches and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye.

"Why me?" she heard Cullen ask, and she looked up at him with startled eyes.

"Pardon?"

"Why did you...nearly leap to your death to save me? There were plenty of men who fell before me, why did they not earn your favor?"

"Because...because I-I cannot do this without you," she stammered out, pushing herself to her feet. "You are our commander, you lead our troops. We would be lambs left to the slaughter if you were lost."

"Is that all?" he asked quietly and Evanthe froze. She knew what he was asking, knew that he was demanding a truth from her she was unsure she could voice. It seemed as if everyone wanted to know the hidden reasons behind her near suicidal attempt at rescue. Solas had known, had very nearly berated her into admitting it, and now the man in question wanted answers as well.

"I believe I am to best you at chess, commander," she offer after a time, hurrying to sit upon the edge of his bed.

"Evanthe..."

"Black or white?" She couldn't answer him, not now. Regardless of what emotions might be growing inside her, the timing was inconvenient Who knew how long she'd be in this future that was never meant to be? Any connections she made in this reality were fleeting, meaningless once she landed back from whence she came. There was no room in her life for romance now, not when the past loomed heavy on the horizon. She'd already lost one man to chasm of time, she was unwilling to lose another.

"Black," Cullen answered at last, swiveling the board around. The two began to set up their pieces in a thick silence, neither meeting the other's gaze. Evanthe took far greater care than was necessary in organizing the tiny figurines, and when it was done three precise rows of armies stood at the ready; peasants, infantry, and queen and court. Cullen waited patiently for her to stop fiddling about and move, countering her opening peasant with one of his own once she had played.

"You're quite good," she offered after a time, nodding at the board. "That warden's defense was just ruse wasn't it?"

"Of course," he snorted, moving a healer to the lower left corner of the octagon,"what fool expects to win with that?"

"She played right into your trap, it was quite sneaky of you. I didn't think you had it in you to be so underhanded."

"You will find I'm not all order and propriety, Evanthe," Cullen muttered, frowning as she placed a Teyrn near one of chevalier's. "I know quite well how to be devious."

"Something I'll be sure to keep in mind." The two played in companionable silence, each choosing to focus on the game and not what was left unsaid between them. It was a close battle, their skills and playing styles evenly matched. Cullen eventually managed to claim victory, though it had cost him nearly all of his pieces.

"I believe I may have nearly met my match," he chuckled as Evanthe gently toppled her queen over. "Fancy another go?"

"You can't be this good," Evanthe muttered sullenly as she set up another game. "No one is. You have to be cheating."

"Ah, such is the cry of the defeated," he replied smugly as he opened the new round, trying a different tactic than before. "I do not cheat, herald, merely win."

"Evanthe," she insisted automatically, eyes glued to the board. "And cockiness leads only to embarrassing downfall. This one's mine, commander, just you wait."

"It's not cockiness if you're truly that good," Cullen laughed, "and I accept your challenge. Care to make it interesting?"

"How so? Money means very little anymore, and I haven't a copper to my name."

"Winner claims a forfeit of the loser." Evanthe mulled it over in her head, hesitant only because the man was so damned talented it would take every bit of cunning she possessed to win. But pride and the need to see him humbled in defeat won out and she found herself nodding in agreement. Cullen grinned in triumph and motioned for her to make her move. Evanthe complied and the two began to play the most intense chess game of either one of their lives. Each move had to be carefully planned and thought out, there was no room for rash decision in this. Evanthe's mind spun out the possibilities of every tactic, her brain leaping two, three, five moves ahead to what Cullen could possibly have planned. It was close, so damned close, and for a moment, Evanthe was certain she was about to win. But then Cullen changed tactics, moved one peasant one square and she realized that she had been played all along. She could see the progression of his strategy, the false cover and the feinting attacks. The game had been over for seven moves ago, Evanthe just hadn't realized it.

"You sneaky little...emma shem'nan, shemlen. Don't you know its unwise to trick the dalish? This is why we don't trust humans."

"Do you concede defeat? Cullen chuckled, raising his eyebrows in an open dare.

"I conceded it seven bloody moves ago, you just didn't tell me!" she cried, trying to sounded put out, but failing miserably. She was too impressed by Cullen's skill, and the grin that she had been repressing slipped out along the corners of her mouth. "Very well, I can recognize when I'm beat, no matter how infuriatingly unfair it is. What will you have of me? I warn you I cannot cook, and I was always abysmal at crating, so there is little I can-"

"A kiss."

The word stopped Evanthe cold, and her breath hitched deep in her chest. She searched Cullen's eyes for amusement, for some small reassurance that he was teasing her, but all she found was the gaze of a patient and very interested man. There was an earnestness there, a softening of emotion, and behind it all a dangerous heat smoldered, waiting patiently for a spark to catch.

"Cullen," she protested. "I-"

"A forfeit was agreed upon...I will not force you, Evanthe, but this is what I ask of you." Words escaped her, and she could not stop her eyes from honing in on his lips. She knew that she should refuse, offer sputtering about chain of command and propriety, but instead she found herself leaning over the chess board, her knee knocking the few remaining pieces over with a quiet cacophony.

"This is foolish," she whispered, even as she crawled closer. Her knees were now pressed against his, hands fisted into the cot and holding her upright as she hovered over his hips. Cullen leaned forward helping her to close the distance, and soon they were close enough that she could count the flecks of green in hazel eyes. When he lifted a hand to tangle in her hair she swallowed hard and closed her eyes. There was still time to turn back, to pull away and offer apologies and desperate reasoning, but Evanthe felt tethered in place, unable to move, and she found herself unwilling to fight.

"Thee," Cullen breathed against her lips, and she nearly swayed upon hearing the nickname on his tongue. It seemed to make the moment even more private, an aberration of time shared only between the two of them. Evanthe forced herself closer, wanting to close that last bit of distance and feel the taste of him upon her lips.

"Herald? Commander? Are you there?" Evanthe yelped and reared back upon hearing Leliana call out for them, causing her to lose her balance and sway wildly from side to side. When she tried to steady herself she over corrected and went tumbling off the cot, taking the chess board and its pieces with her.

"Herald?" Leliana inquired, pushing open the infirmary's door and staring down at her with confused eyes.

"Yes?" she answered weakly from the floor, embarrassment causing her to blush something fierce.

"You wanted to discuss troop numbers for our upcoming journey?" the bard inquired, holding out a stack of maps and infantry lists.

"Yes!" she cried out, pushing herself upwards and refusing to even so much as glance at Cullen.

"Also, Lady Morrigan has requested an audience. I think it best-"

"Excellent!" Evanthe declared with painfully false enthusiasm. "I shall go right away. Now. Right now."

"But the deep roads-"

"Are something you and the commander are more than capable of dealing with. I leave it in your hands. Excuse me."

Evanthe fled, though she could not outrun Cullen's frustrated sigh and Leliana's questioning of her behavior. She could not believe how close she came to kissing Cullen. It was foolish, and reckless, and most of all blindly selfish. There was no happy ending to be found there, and she knew that. Dorian would eventually duplicate the amulet and send them back in time, forcing Evanthe to say goodbye to a man who would no longer exist to mourn her absence, only to greet his other self and be met with blank confusion. It was stupid for her to even consider it, but a part of her wished that Leliana had at least had the decency to knock.