He is waiting in her quarters, standing on the balcony, hands clasped behind his back. He knows the way she walks, he knows the scent of her perfume from across the room, he knows it’s her. He takes his mask and helmet off as she approaches, turning towards her. He sets the metal down on the railing and runs his hand through his hair. ( in truth, it is getting almost as long as hers. ) 

“Ma belle.” First it had been ‘my lady’, then ‘Herald’, then ‘Inquisitor’, then ‘cherie’, now ‘ma belle’, whispered low and reverential. His demeanor must have been serious enough to give her pause, because she does not approach for a kiss in greeting- instead freezing by the glass doors of her balcony. ( How did they get to this point? Greeting with kisses and endless nights tangled up? He spends more time with her than his men, a fact they do not let him forget. )

How could he begin? 

He must, regardless. He is a Chevalier, not a snake hiding under a rock. He will not be a viper at court, using her to play the Game- - because she would never use him. ( Maker, what did he do right to deserve her? Perhaps it’s a punishment- - the fear he lives in for her now, how each wound on her alabaster skin is a knife to his heart, the jealousy that consumes him when he sees her Commander leaning forward to tell her something. Torture, worse than he could have imagined. )

He must do this, or he could never live with himself.

( At Halamshiral, before they were presented at court, he caught her left hand in his and slid a ring on her finger. A large, deep purple stone surrounded by diamonds. ‘Only for tonight, to show them that you are with me, so I do not have to kill every man who looks at you.’ Oh, how he still wanted to. )

“This arrangement- -” Them, bound together by their parents, that they had no say in. “Does not have to go forward.” Grim, his gaze straightforward and looking slightly past her. “You could have any man you’d wish; the wishes of your family do not need to guide you anymore. You are the most powerful woman in Thedas; an arrangement made before you became thus does not hold you any longer.” 

This is worse than Adamant, than facing Gaspard at Halamshiral, than lying in the hot sun of the Western Approach with blood filling his lungs and waiting for death to finally take him. Releasing her from whatever imagined bond of duty their parents imposed upon them- - and risking losing her, having her choose someone else. It would destroy him, well and truly, but he could only accept it.

She must, he must- - he would not keep her if she did not want him. She was worth so much more than that. ( In truth, so much more than he could ever give her. But he’d give her all she could ever ask for him or die trying. )

“Say the word, and we can call it off. My men and I will stay until the endeavor is finished, you do not need worrying about losing our might. But I will not hold you to a bond you do not choose yourself, cherie. I love you too much to ever do so.” 

An easy arrangement, two disgraceful, disobedient children of high birth- - he never expected to love her. He wasn’t supposed to, and yet- -