The Stars Are in Her Eyes.

Curse Euphemia Amell and her lovely, infectious, delightfully easy smile. She’s caught him off guard again — she’s been doing that a lot lately and with too little effort. He wonders if she can see the answer of a grin in his ‘colors and shapes,’ or if she knows that his groan of protest conceals a genuine chuckle. Knowing her, she can probably hear it. Curse her twice. 

“Terrible.” He irons the smile out from all but his eyes, but his voice is too warm to sound even slightly reproachful. “Where’s a Fade demon when you need one? I’d make any deal to purge that joke from my memory.” 

And just when he’s finally managed to tame his mirth, she finds a new way to disarm him. “You ‘absorb the knowledge.’” he repeats, wondering. But there’s no way he can turn that sentence in his mind to make it logically consistent; either she’s said utter nonsense or she’s said something beyond extraordinary. It wouldn’t be the first time, either way. 

“Sorry?”

        She can’t, but oh she wishes she could. She imagines he has a wonderful smile. The Inquisitor’s constant remarks about how gorgeous he is doesn’t help that image, of course, but Euphemia is choosing to believe Owen. Besides, he is not the worst looking set of blotches and splashes of colour. His remark makes her snicker to herself, hands continuing to move across page after page.

        “I could arrange a meeting, if you like. You would be surprised how many of them are eager to speak with me.” No he wouldn’t, and she makes it a point to flick her eyes up at him, smiling still. “I’m joking.”

        His baffled response makes her laugh, and Euphy finally moves hands away from the book in front of her, holding them out instead to Owen. “I know, it sounds crazy, but due to my connection with the Fade, I can sort of...sense things, I suppose. I can’t read minds or tell the future, but I can read the essence of different things. With books, I’m able to pick up on what that book is meant to be about, what the author put into it. It can get a little fuzzy sometimes, depending on how the Author was feeling while writing it, but it’s better than nothing.” She waves her fingers back towards herself, motioning for him to give her his hands.

    He thought he might have seen her scurry into solitude.  After a few minutes, and after managing to loose the nobles’ hold on him, he decides to follow her. 

 ❝ Evening, ❞ he greets pleasantly, offering a small and unnoticed smile. His gaze shifts to the plants and flowers around her hiding place. It made Skyhold’s garden seem insignificant in splendor, though Halamshiral would never be as peaceful as home. 

 ❝ Are you alright? ❞ 

          It was him, and knowing that helped the Warden-Commander relax some, shoulder posture softening and her grip on the edge of the bench loosening. The singing continues, but it is softer, now that she has a distraction.

          “Good evening yourself.” She greets back, smiling in return. She wishes she could see what his smile looks like, curiosity causing a quiet ache. It’s been years since the feeling has emerged, but Euphemia chooses to ignore it. His question causes her to glance to the side, eyes lingering on a flower. Or at least, she assumes it’s a flower, based off the blob of soft blue in her vision.

A STORM RAGES AT HER FINGER TIPS || ACCEPTING

     Training alone wasn’t unheard of for the Warden-Commander, given that normally she was travelling by herself. In Skyhold though, there were plenty of people jumping at the chance to train with the Hero of Ferelden; it was flattering, but exhausting, to say the least. She had finally managed to find some time to herself though, secluded in a small grove near the hold. Away from onlookers, or at least, she thought.

      Her movements were fluid, like what was moving and flipping her staff was nothing more than a strong breeze. It was like watching someone dance, her steps graceful and her attacks striking the large boulder she was using as a target in tandem with her spins and twirls. The brisk nature of her movements left leaves and snow being kicked up around her while lightning danced up slim arms, reflecting in pale eyes. It was as beautiful as it was deadly.

     The sound of a branch cracking was enough to alert her of someone’s presence, and Euphemia spun once more, pointing her staff at the possible attacker. Thankfully, it was just Owen, and thankfully for Owen she had enough control to avoid electrocuting him. Panting softly, the Warden-Commander stood up straight, moving hair out of her face and offering an almost sheepish expression.

       “Your form is quite good.” The comment was spoken simply, the Warden-Commander standing off to the side, seemingly watching as the Inquisitor trained with her staff. When she had arrived at that spot was a mystery, Euphemia rather quiet and stealthy for someone who could hardly see. She offered Sidri a smile, pale eyes staring through.

         “Inquisitor Lucretia, yes? I wanted to apologise for the rather abrupt introduction in Crestwood. My name is Euphemia Amell, but you may simply call me Euphemia. I’m afraid I don’t take to formal titles quite as well as some.” She greeted the Inquisitor with a warm smile and polite bow of her head, before straightening once again. It had been quite some time since Euphemia had needed to get involved with a real war, the last being the Blight. It was exciting, although the news of the Grey Wardens vanishing and being controlled by Corypheus was anything but.

 ❝ It may happen sooner than I anticipate, ❞ he replies, solemn were it not for the slight grin upon his features. The commander does his best to avoid too eager at the idea of going to the yard together, yet he finds himself painfully obvious nonetheless.  ❝ You needn’t assist me at all. I just thought that, perhaps, you might accompany me to the tavern afterwards. I could use company outside of… my men, that is. They seem to enjoy trying to get me drunk. ❞ 

   Cullen eyes her carefully,  ❝ You were fortunate in that respect. ❞ 

   The words hung audibly in the air like a heavy fog before he cleared his throat and the mist dispersed. He wasn’t going to talk of the events in the Circle Tower if he could help it.  

 ❝ It’s nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. ❞

            “Well when it does happen, take solace in knowing I won’t notice.” A joke at her quote-unquote disability, something Euphemia has grown rather known for doing. She travels across and down the battlements with Cullen, standing close but keeping a comfortable distance; the last thing either of them needs is to take a stumble down the steps. She chuckles airily at Cullen’s comment about the tavern, nodding. “I would love to join you then. I’m afraid I can’t drink very much, always goes right to my head, so you needn’t worry.” Although, she does find the idea of Cullen drunk to be quite humorous.

            His words do nothing to the smile on her face, instead causing her to let pale, ghostly eyes fall on him as they reach the grounds of Skyhold. “And I can say the same for you.” They are both worthy fighters, and even in the Circle, under the watchful eye of the Chantry and Templars, Euphemia was a force to be reckoned with. Over the years, she has only gotten stronger, but she’s not so arrogant to think Cullen couldn’t get the upper hand against her in a fight.