#dragonagealtpair

“Inquisitor!” Ellana turned her head when she heard Scout Harding call out. Ready for a report, she froze when she spotted him following closely behind Harding. Bram out in the field of battle stopped her heart - the Professor had easily admitted he had no experience with a blade and had stayed safely out of the way when they stumbled across dangers in the jungle surrounding their camps. He was eager, enthusiastic, but never boasted about fighting skills.

“Harding,” Ellana gave a nod but her eyes fixed solely on Bram, who looked a little queasy upon seeing the bodies of Avvar afield before him. “Bram,” her tone shifted, dropped lower as she reached for his hands on instinct, “what are you doing here?”

“I...I came to...Maker have mercy, did you see that dragon?” Wide-eyed and apparently overwhelmed, Bram glanced to the sky where Hakkon had flown over only minutes before back to Ellana. “You’re covered in blood,” he murmured, concern taking over as his hand brushed against her cheek. It came back red in her vision as she shook her head at his worried look. “Are you hurt?”

“Not mine,” Ellana replied quickly, shivering against his touch, her heart pounding in her ears. They had been so chaste, so incredibly slow with their relationship. How silly, she thought, that all he had to do was touch her and she felt like her heart was ready to fly out of her chest. “I mean, probably not all of it’s mine.” She had taken a few hits but the cold was the worst part. Even with her frost magic abilities, nothing could have prepared her for the wintry chill that surrounded the cavern below the fort.

“I have to fight a dragon,” she murmured, turning into his touch when his hand rested against her cheek once again. “Won’t be the first time.” She had fought and killed so many dragons before - celebrated, she thought, over her prowess against the beasts of the regions. But she felt a tremor of nerves run through her, a surge of uncertainty.

“Right,” Bram replied breathlessly, “of course, is there anything I can-” But he stopped, his eyes on her lips, closer than they’d been before.

Ellana wondered, briefly, what it would be like to kiss him. Her last first kiss had been hasty, clumsy and each after rushed and colored with what Ellana had assumed was passion. Her memories painted a far better picture of her last relationship but she didn’t know what Solas had intended with each kiss he gave her and each he took willingly. Their last kiss had been in the glade, soft and tender and Ellana had almost missed the grief that crossed his features only after.

But he wasn’t Solas. Bram looked at her and Ellana wanted nothing more than to grab his shirt, tug him forward and kiss him.

Take happiness where you can, Inquisitor. The world will take the rest.

“Inquisitor, we must go!” Cassandra was shouting from ahead. Her companions were ready to take their swords against a beast and there she was, mooning over a boy like a lovesick girl.

The moment felt lost as she sighed. “I should-” But she stopped, her words cut off when two fingers tilted her chin upwards. His mouth was soft, warm against hers. He made no demands and, while there was urgency to the moment, he did not push. The world slowed, stopped and for a moment it was just the pair of them. Ellana molded her mouth against his, a soft sigh escaping when they parted. It was nice, comforting, soothing; like she’d found herself home after weeks afield.

“Be careful,” He breathed when he pulled away, their foreheads touching. His nose brushed tenderly against hers, affection nearly melting Ellana right then and there. If she didn’t have to leave, she wouldn’t have. She would have grounded herself in that moment, lost in the firm embrace of someone she cared about more dearly than she had ever anticipated.

“I’ll come back,” Ellana swallowed hard as she pulled away gingerly from his close embrace. “Go to the village, stay there, help in case anything-” In case anything goes wrong. But that was a last-case scenario. Ellana tried to give him a reassuring smile but he looked nervously on. “I’ll come back,” She added, a little more feeling to her tone.

She gave him one last peck, standing on tiptoe before she pulled away completely. His hand lingered at her waist but he wouldn’t tether her from her duty. Instead she heard the soft sigh leave his body, hearing rather than seeing the slight deflate.

She didn’t have to turn around to know he was watching her, would watch her until they were out of sight. The taste of him lingered on her lips - warm, a hint of sweet and spice that she couldn’t place and she felt light as they hurried to the shoreline.

Being with clan Lavellan had helped more than Ellana had anticipated. Being among those she had spent her life with, who knew her before she had been Inquisitor Lavellan, soothing an ache that she didn’t realize was there. Sorrow was still an ever-present weight on her chest but being with her people healed heal her slowly.

“You look beautiful, da’len,” Her mother carefully braided in the last of the flowers into Ellana’s hair. Glancing up in the mirror before her, Ellana caught a soft, wistfulness in her mother’s expression, the low light catching the lines of Sylaise’s markings along her face.

“Thank you, mamae,” Ellana reached for her mother’s hand, squeezing it gently with her own. “Don’t start crying,” She added with a rough laugh, seeing a brightness in her mother’s eyes. “If you start, I won’t be able to stop.”

Her mother laughed, dabbing at her eyes, giving her daughter a watery smile. “Alright, alright, little one.”

Ellana wanted to argue that she was no longer little, that she had grown up. But the evidence of that was clear to anyone who looked upon the former First. Ellana was no longer the girl who had left her clan for the Conclave all those years ago. Bare-faced (finally without shame), scarred and pieced back together, Ellana sat before the mirror grown in ways she could never have expected.

Her gaze slid to the prosthetic Dagna had gifted her upon her arrival to Wycome. Crafted from wood, held together by runes and strummed to life with her own magic, Ellana had been overwhelmed at the thoughtful gift. There were still kinks to work out, things to tweak and adjust, but Ellana appreciated it nonetheless. She’d worn it the last two days, trying not to focus on how clunky it felt, assuring herself that she’d adjust to it eventually. She thought about wearing it tonight but Ellana set that thought aside easily.

Instead, she stood, smoothing out the creases along her pale silver gown, catching one last look in the mirror. Blonde hair tucked away in intricately braided sections, flowers in warm summer colors woven into her hair and Ellana felt strangely at peace. She had experienced loss, yes, but her gaze shifted, each step moving her forward to the future.

He stood beneath the vhenadal, waiting for her. His hands clasped behind his back, fidgeting as she watched him a moment before she stepped into view. Any nerves she felt left the moment Bram’s gaze met hers. His mouth opened, a soft ‘o’ as  he let out a swift exhale.

There were so many things she could focus on: the glimmering lights that had been magicked into the trees, her clan, the faces of the Inquisition and his family with their eyes on her, the soft glow of the sunset. But her gaze stayed on him, regal in the colors of his family, kilted like the rest of the men from Starkhaven, his ginger curls tamed if only for the moment.

Despite all the hurt and the pain and misery she had endured, Ellana’s heart felt lighter than it had in so long. She didn’t worry about the future, didn’t wallow on the past, let go of the weight she carried and only took one step after the other towards Bram.

He knew he’d been giving Cassandra a hard time. He’d decided to hold a grudge about the interrogation and he hadn’t let it go. He’d needled her and knocked back more than one perfectly reasonable overture she’d made. Yes, he’d been petty and selfish but she’d had him captured and dragged into an interrogation, dammit! She’d stabbed him in the book even!

He sighed and squared his shoulders. It had to be done, there was no help for it. His conscience had been nagging at him for days and yes, perhaps waiting until the Inquisitor was gone and thus unable to run interference or save his sorry arse was a bit stupid of him but he was a big boy. He could do this without needing a protector.

He pushed the door open and walked it. At this time of the evening, the smiths had packed up and left so it was refreshingly quiet in here… at least until he realised he could hear a low, familiar voice cursing from up above. He made his way up to the balcony and saw Cassandra sitting at the table there, a pen clutched in her left hand and a very frustrated expression on her face.

“Didn’t know you were a lefty.”

Cassandra gasped and gave a start at the sound of his voice and then she levelled a scowl at him that would have made a braver – or perhaps smarter – person than Varric step backwards.

“What do you want, Varric?”

Her voice was flat and unfriendly and Varric almost gave it up then and there but then he remembered his determination to at least try and settle things between them and he instead stepped forward towards the table.

“Anything I can help with?” He grinned, knowing he was probably taking his life in his hands with that action. “I do have a way with words, you know.”

He let his grin widen at the suspicious look the Seeker gave him then she sighed. “I… do not.”

She hesitated again and Varric closed the gap between them and looked down at what she was writing. It looked like a report of some description, though who she could be reporting to was beyond him.

“It is everything I can remember of the attack on Haven,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Someday people are going to ask what happened and they should have a clear and unbiased record. But I have no great skill with writing. It is flat and tedious.”

“Come now, Seeker,” Varric said reaching out for the report and tugging it out of her grip with a deft flick. “It can’t be that bad.” He read the first couple of paragraphs. “Alright, maybe it is.”

Cassandra gave what he thought was an irritated sigh but when he risked a look at her, she seemed more defeated than anything else… and oddly enough, faintly amused. Though he was pretty sure he must be imagining that last bit.

“Look, it’s not unsalvageable,” he said. “Budge up.”

She gave him another of those narrow suspicious looks then she shifted over on the bench and he sat down next to her.

“Your problem is you get a bit ‘and then, and then, and then’, which even in a report gets boring,” he said, picking up a pen and a new piece of paper. “You’ve got to… change it up a bit.”

“I’m writing a report, not a story,” Cassandra objected.

“A report is a story,” Varric replied. “Just one told a bit more formally.” He grinned at her. “And with a little less exaggeration.”

“Hmph,” she said, giving him another of those narrow-eyed looks that seemed to hold hints of amusement in it but then she gestured for him to continue.

Varric leaned over and began scrawling sentences down. “I mean, you’ve got a great grasp of the details… hell, half of this stuff I didn’t even notice and I was there… you’ve just got to let it flow.”

Cassandra leaned in close and started reading what he was writing over his shoulder. He quickly became aware that the steely Seeker was… wearing some sort of perfume? He blinked at the thought and then pushed it aside. It didn’t seem likely but there was a very pleasant scent coming from her that he quickly decided he’d better not like too much.

“That isn’t what happened!” Cassandra objected and Varric dragged his mind away from trying to figure out what the scent was that Cassandra was wearing and back to what he was writing.

“I get a little carried away sometimes,” he chuckled. “I just can’t leave a good story alone.”

<><><><> The darkspawn hordes did not make that an easy deal to keep. Fortunately he'd gotten really good at ducking, and whoever designed  the Grey Warden armor understood how to protect a mage without overburdening them. Jowan dodged another axe swing and petrified the hurlock responsible with a wave of his hand. He yelped and ducked again as another hurlock appeared, swinging wildly, and let the brute's momentum shatter its own comrade. And so it went. As they fought for the square, the Alienage, the market, Fort Drakon itself. Every battle was a flurry of dodging, spells, and prayers for enough rest he didn't exhaust himself entirely before they faced the archdemon(assuming Riordan's plan even worked). Regardless, he was beginning to feel it by the time they stood outside Drakon's gates. Marta was also looking slightly winded, and Leliana had already been forced to refill her quiver with arrows scrounged off dead archers at least twice now. We can do this, he told himself, but that got a little harder to believe when they found Riordan's body in the prison courtyard. <><><><> Progress through Fort Drakon itself felt measurable in inches for how long each advancement took. But finally they emerged onto the roof. "Well, this is one way to feel tiny," Alistair remarked glibly as they stared at the wounded and raging archdemon. "And we have to kill it," Marta snarked back. "Let's get on that shall we?" There was something significant about the looks she gave Alistair and Jowan that made Leliana feel profoundly left out. But she shook off the sensation and charged in with the others, determined to do her part--even if she wasn't a Grey Warden. And, as it turned out, her focusing on crowd control--picking off the darkspawn that filtered up to the roof--allowed the Wardens to concentrate on the dragon. They did their work well, and it was obvious the archdemon knew it was in dire straits. The bellow it unleashed rattled the stones, and a fresh flood of darkspawn poured onto the roof. Even with the help of the dwarven warriors who had joined them, there were just too many. Leliana was just a little rushed, her aim just a little off in her haste. And the genlock she'd been targeting swung true, its serrated blade gouging deep into her side. <><><><>   Jowan heard her cry out and instinctively swiveled in her direction. Leliana was clutching her side, her face white, as a genlock hauled back its bloody sword for another swing.

It didn't get the chance; he made sure of that. In fact his aim was good enough--or lucky enough--the stonefist he cast had probably made pulp of the thing's skull.

Leliana looked his way, her grateful smile morphing into fear as she did. "Watch out!"

He spun to see a shriek lunging at Marta's unprotected back. Even as he raised his hand and froze it mid-leap, another one appeared out of nowhere and knocked him to the ground, its bladed fist sinking into his shoulder up to the knuckles.

At least it's the left one, was all he could think as his free arm instinctively came up to protect his face. Lightning coursed from his fingers, followed by fire, as he fought his way free. The shriek's twitching corpse tumbled off him, the blade doing yet more damage on the way out of his shoulder.

Marta appeared and offered him a hand up-"Thanks"-even as she turned to holler at Alistair, "Go, now!”

The warrior nodded and charged toward the archdemon, roaring a battle cry. Jowan frowned, blinking away spots. "Wait, won't he-"

"Just wait," Marta cut him off, jaw tense as she watched.

The archdemon lowered its head to belch fire at the charging Warden, but Alistair dodged to the side and dragged his blade down its neck as he ran. The star-metal blade cut easily through even dragon scales, and the archdemon fell. With a last ringing cry, Alistair spun the blade to be point down and drove it into the dragon's skull.

The result could only be called a delayed explosion, a few seconds passing before a brilliant purple-lit shockwave flared out from the dead dragon and knocked everyone on the roof  off their feet. Jowan, of course, landed hard on his bad shoulder and couldn't stop the groaned curse as he rolled over to get back to his feet. Marta stood as well, hand resting on his shoulder in a silent check that he was--mostly--alright.

Which he was, but- "I'm going to need you two t' explain that to me," he mumbled, good hand pointing shakily to where Alistair was getting to his feet, still very much alive. "But later," he amended, "first I need to talk to Leli..." He didn’t see her. "...ana..." Why couldn't he see her; she'd been right there. He started toward where he'd last seen her, gait slightly unsteady as his shoulder began to throb. "Leliana?!"

Dazed mutterings in Orlesian answered him as she clumsily made it to her knees. "J-Jowan..."

And Jowan's heart lodged in his throat as he hurried across the remaining distance between them. Without her hand in the way, he could see the full extent of the gash in her side. "No, no, no, no..."

He hastily---roughly--knelt next to her, left hand managing to curve against her jaw as his right pressed against the wound.

"It's not... that bad," she mumbled, even as her head lolled and her skin went clammy under his touch.

"And I'm next in line for the Sunburst Throne," Jowan snarked to cover his rising dread as he poured all his remaining energy, every last bit of mana he had left, into healing the wound. (Healing had never been a strong suit of his) I can't lose you, not now. His heart rate began to slow as her breathing even out. "Don't ever do that again. Getting grievously injured is my thing, remember?"

Leliana laughed giddily, resting her forehead against his shoulder--the good one, fortunately--as her color started to return. "Maybe I figured it was my turn, no?"

He tipped her chin up so she'd meet his eyes. "Well, I hereby absolve you of having to take a turn ever again. " He pressed a kiss to her forehead, heedless of the grime. "I don't... I can't lose you, Lel. Ever."

She grinned and threw her arms around his neck in a gloriously tight hug, whispering "Same," as she kissed him on the cheek.

<><><><>

Getting down from Fort Drakon's tower proved almost as arduous as getting up it had, given the state the two of them were in. But they were still alive, and that was a feat in and of itself.

"You should let someone take care of that shoulder," Leliana said, grimacing slightly as Jowan helped her around the last of the debris between them and the palace gates.

He blushed a little and cleared his throat. "I was figuring we could patch each other up while we had that talk."

"Ah." She pretended to mull it over as they followed the others inside the palace. "I like this plan quite a lot."

"I thought you might," Jowan replied with a boyish grin, squeezing her hand.

<><><><>

And so they did; after getting themselves the necessary supplies and locking the door. Both of them eased out of armor that had begun to stick, and then Jowan very gingerly pulled off his shirt and Leliana rolled her up and tucked it under he breastband.

"So," she began, wringing out a towel to start cleaning off his shoulder, "where do we start?"

"With me apologizing for kissing you out of the blue," Jowan said hesitantly, his fingers tracing lightly over the pink skin of where her wound had been. I did better than I thought. He sucked in a sharp breath as the water dripped over the hole through his shoulder.

"It was hardly out of the blue," Leliana protested, carefully cleaning the wound before she began stitching it closed. "Not with what almost happened after we killed Marjolaine."

"Good point," he admitted. "And I don't think I can do much more for your side, actually. You might ask Wynne to double-check it, but I think it's healed."

"Mm." She tugged her shirt free, letting the material fall to drape over her midriff again. "What you said on Fort Drakon, about not wanting to lose me... you meant that."

"It was can't lose you, and with all my heart." He paused, bit his lip. "You're the first person to make me feel... good enough. Like my mistakes aren't all that define me, and you're kind and thoughtful and sweet and you want to help... Are you really surprised that I'm falling in love with you?"

The words slipped out far more easily than Jowan had anticipated, and he heard Leliana's breath catch, her hands pausing briefly as she moved to stitch the back part of his shoulder wound, before, cautiously, "You... you love me?"

He winced, and not just from the sensation of the needle and thread tugging at his skin. "Yes. But if you don't feel the same way, say the word and I'll vanish to the opposite end of Thedas if you want." That really was much more likely; she'd noticed his growing feelings--he was lousy at hiding them--and was trying to let him down as gently as possible. That was when he noticed she was giggling as she finished the stitches. "What?"

Leliana sighed as she cut off the thread and circled back in front of him. "Jowan, you wonderful idiot, I said 'Same' up there for a reason. The last thing I want  you to do is go away. That would make it ever so much harder to do this."

And with that, she leaned forward, braced one hand against the arm of his chair, and kissed him.

"Oh," was all Jowan could say when she pulled away for breath.

"Have I made myself clear?" Leliana whispered mischievously, combing her fingers through his hair.

"Uh-huh,"he mumbled, head still spinning as he leaned forward to kiss her back.

"Just to make sure," she said when they parted for air, "I love you, too. But I should probably finish with your shoulder before we forget ourselves, no?"

It was a good point, and Jowan reluctantly nodded assent. But neither of them stopped smiling like idiots for the duration of the evening.

Mahanon waved to a couple of the men working in a nearby field and received a cheerful greeting in response. Cullen’s plan had worked wonderfully, helped by the aid that he had received from Cassandra and Leliana… or rather, Divine Victoria. Even Empress Celene had donated money and resources when Cullen had made it clear that the place was open to all Templars, not just Fereldan ones.

 As he continued to ride, a large Mabari came bursting out of the bushes beside the path and started gambolling around beside his horse. Thankfully, his horse was well used to such antics and well trained to not throw his rider, back from when Mahanon had been getting by with just the one hand before Dagna presented him with the most astonishing prosthetic he’d ever seen, and simply snorted at the dog.

“Well, hello, Cailan.”

The dog’s name had come as an accident during Cullen and Alistair’s reunion. Alistair had jokingly called the dog Cailan, saying their personalities were very much alike, and the Mabari had latched onto the name, much to Cullen’s chagrin. Not that Fereldans found the idea of naming a Mabari hound after their late king to be offensive. In fact, everyone had been roundly approving from what Mahanon had seen. Fereldans and their dogs, he’d never seen anything like it.

“So, has Cullen been looking after himself?”

Cailan whined then whuffed approvingly and looked so smugly satisfied that Mahanon had to laugh.

“All your doing, eh?”

The Mabari puffed out his chest and gave a happy bark then he made that peculiar little whine-bark combination that he only did for one person.

“Samson helped then?”

Cailan grumbled and huffed and Mahanon laughed again. The Mabari had never been quite sure whether he approved of Samson or not. The former leader of the Red Templars was a changed man these days. Withdrawal from the red lyrium, especially given the epic amounts Samson had been consuming, had been nothing short of hellish. Mahanon hadn’t always been sure that Samson wanted to succeed but Cullen had wanted him to succeed and Samson had a strange soft spot for Cullen that he refused to explain. Mahanon was, however, fairly sure that Samson had knuckled down and endured the withdrawal not for his own sake but for Cullen’s and had truly expected the attempt to kill him.

But he’d survived and as he’d slowly recovered, Mahanon began to see the man that Cullen had spoken of from Kirkwall. The rough around the edges but decent man who had slipped love letters from a mage to their lover, who had woken up a traumatised young man from his nightmares and talked about anything and nothing until he could sleep again, who had been prepared to speak out against Meredith and the Chantry even if it cost him almost everything. But now that he was past the worst of the withdrawal, Samson had essentially become Cullen’s second in command and a friendship had grown between the two men that hadn’t been possible before.

And the man in question was now striding towards him from across the field. Mahanon slowed his horse to allow Samson to catch up.

“So this is what got the mangy mutt’s attention,” the former Templar grumbled, giving Mahanon a nod of greeting as he fell into step beside the former Inquisitor.

Cailan gave a mock-growl and Mahanon laughed. “Yes, it is. How are things around here, Samson?”

Samson shrugged. “About the same as always except himself has a cold.”

Mahanon frowned. “It’s not the right time of the year for that, is it?”

“Not really.” Samson snorted and looked fondly amused. “One of the lads got into a lather on a bad night and took it in his head to go running out into the rain then the idiot tripped and fell into the pond. Cullen went after him and got soaked to the skin. Of course the damn fool put everyone else’s health ahead of his own so now he’s got a cold for his troubles.” He paused and snorted. “It’s just a cold. Nothing serious. He’s just being grouchy about it.”

“You’re mother-henning him, aren’t you?” Mahanon asked with open amusement.

Samson looked offended. “Me? Perish the thought.”

Mahanon laughed. He was. Samson absolutely was mother-henning Cullen to the point of ridiculousness. He’d seen him do it before and he suspected that in some ways, when he looked at Cullen, Samson always saw the traumatised twenty year old who had arrived in Kirkwall and ended up rooming with him for a time.

“How goes the wolf hunt?” Samson asked, deftly changing the subject.

Mahanon snickered at the term Samson always used. The former Templar been let in on the secret after he’d passed through the worst of the withdrawal and rather staunchly taken up a position as Cullen’s right hand. It saved a lot of trouble having to explain Mahanon’s frequent absences and even Cullen’s occasional absence as well.

“As well as can be expected,” he replied then he grimaced. “I think we’re going to have to relocate though. Every sign points to Solas moving north and settling there for whatever reason.”

“How far north?”

“Tevinter.”

Samson was silent for a moment as he contemplated that. “I can look after the place. I know how to run it just as well as Cullen does. I may not have his tender touch but there are a couple of lads who could do with a bit more responsibility who can handle the touchy-feely stuff.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions there,” Mahanon said with a raised eyebrow.

Samson made a rude noise. “He’s not going to let you go off gallivanting around when he can actually accompany you this time. And if he didn’t go with you, I’d give him a boot up his arse and make him.” He fixed one gimlet eye on Mahanon. “And don’t even try to say that you don’t want him there with you.”

Mahanon smiled. “Alright, I won’t. And you’re right. I do want him with me.”

“We’ll sort it out.” Samson made a contemplative sound. “Huh. So this is what it feels like to not be an arse. It’s a bit of alright.”

Mahanon could help but laugh. “Yeah, it’s not too bad.”

Samson grinned briefly at him then gave the horse a swat on the rump that spurred it into a canter.

“Go see your man,” he bellowed. “And keep the stubborn bugger in bed, will you? He’s driving me up the wall!”

“We would have matched just a few days ago,” Bram teased her gently, wiping a smudge of grime from one of her cheeks. She gave a small snort, holding her arm out to him. The first time he’d attempted to take her armor off, he had fumbled a little more, uncertain which buckles connected to which piece. Bram, however, was a quick study, making quicker work of it each time he had the opportunity. She didn’t miss the concerned expression that continued to show on his face at each splattered blood stain or the wincing when he brushed against a particularly sore point.

“You really took a beating,” He murmured, careful when his hands reached to smooth a section of hair away from her face. “Where does it hurt the most?”

“Everywhere,” Ellana answered honestly as he tugged on her sleeve, helping her slip out of her leathers. She let out a soft sigh, happy when all that remained was her tunic up top. “Wait,” she murmured when he knelt before her, his fingers working on the laces of her boots, “I can do that.”

“Are you sure?” His hands stilled at her command though, glancing up with a crooked little smile. “I am already down here.”

“Let me sit down first,” Ellana shuffled away from him, settling gingerly down onto the couch. Bram didn’t waste any time as he worked the laces apart, gently tugging each boot from her foot in turn. The relief was evident on her features as she wiggled her toes gratefully. “I’ve forgotten how tiring traveling can be,” She murmured, giving an appreciative sigh when his thumbs pressed along the arch of her left foot. “I’ve gotten too used to being here or in Val Royeaux.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Bram countered with a little smile, moving to firmly run his fingers along her other foot. Not a true massage but a promise for something far better later. “Are there rifts below the surface?” He paused, adding after a moment, “Do you think there’s room for rifts to open so far beneath the surface? Does lyrium affect the probability of anything tearing apart down there?”

Ellana considered this thoughtfully, glancing over her shoulder when a knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts. Hot water, which she was grateful Cassandra had promised to send up, poured swiftly into the tub by the fire.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the mining operation they have below ground has something to do with no rifts appearing,” Ellana postured, taking Bram’s waiting hands so he could pull her back to her feet. “I don’t know the basic principle of why dwarves don’t have magic but there could be something to be said about the fade, rich in magic and dreaming, being the last thing to appear down there.”

Bram laughed as he helped her out of her clothes. There was something tender and intimate about his touch; it wasn’t sexual in nature but his hands slid along her skin, as though he was checking to make sure she was still in one piece. She knew it wasn’t easy for him, knowing the dangers she put herself in on a daily basis in the field. She always came back, though, she made a point never to promise it but she always came home again.

“Will you join me?” She asked as he helped her into the tub, hissing as the hot water seeped into her skin. It felt glorious and she knew she’d need to give herself a good scrubbing to rid herself of dirt, grime and lyrium dust that clung to her skin.

“I was thinking I’d get your hair instead,” Bram pressed a kiss to the side of her neck as he knelt by the side of the tub. He was firm, tender with his touch as his fingers pushed into the muscles along her neck. She wasn’t too bruised there (but he kept a safe distance from the darker bruises forming) as his fingers worked into the knots.