#ser maurevar carver | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sapphim · 2 years

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So! I've been talking a bit about malcolm and his relationships with his kids, and I received a question about what carver had said about malcolm that I was referring to. Which got some great responses! But as I promised I would, I've collected some direct text from the in game dialogue and codex, and world of thedas about carver that I feel is illuminating in that regard, with some extra concerning leandra/bethany/hawke where I felt like it.

Prologue

Carver's codex entry if he died in the prologue:

Carver grew up surrounded by magic he couldn't truly understand. He cared deeply for his family, but sometimes felt like the stupidest person in the room. Carver foundered in Lothering, caught between the gifts of his apostate sister, Bethany, and the growing skill of his more focused sibling, Hawke. But even as Carver groused about his lot, he remained dedicated to protecting those he loved. He didn't think twice about sacrificing himself to save his mother during the flight from the darkspawn, and although Carver struggled to find his way in life, there is gratification in knowing his death had purpose.

Act 1

Carver's codex entry if he survived the prologue:

Strong and strapping, Carver is a skilled warrior set on proving himself, although it's not always clear who he is trying to impress. The son and sibling of mages, he grew up surrounded by magic he couldn't truly understand—and he feels like something was expected that he could never deliver. He cares deeply for his family, but sometimes feels like the stupidest person in the room. Carver foundered in Lothering. He blamed his lack of direction on not wanting to draw attention to his family of apostates at home. After his father died, he started down a military path; however, the Blight and rout at Ostagar ended this career almost before it could start. While he knows that swift flight was the only reasonable course in the face of the darkspawn advance, he almost would rather have stood and fought. Doomed though the effort was, facing the horde had purpose—something Carver had been searching for.

Birthright

Hawke: [Be happy for Mother.] You could slap on a smile for a few days. For her sake. Carver: She's not interested in what I think. She wants to provide for us, and you're making sure it happens.

Hawke: [No one is holding you back.] The "second child" act is getting pretty stale, Brother. Carver: Try it from this side, always running after you. Or taking care of Mother while you mark your territory. Hawke: That's enough, Carver. Carver: Even back home, what could I be? The lone blade in a house of mages? If I excelled, it brought too much attention.

Hawke: [You're being an ass.] You hating everything I do is really losing its charm. Carver: Sure, make light. Why take anything seriously? You're the eldest, you lead by default. Hawke: I don't see you taking the reins. Carver: When should I do that? When I'm following you around, or when I'm caring for Mother while you tame mighty Kirkwall?

Hawke: Well, good talk. Carver: [Sister./Brother.] Carver: I feel… I don't know. It's like Mother, taking everything out on us. She was just scared. Carver: I don't have a place in the life she is trying to bring back. Carver: I'm here if you need me, but I must find my own way.

Family History

Carver: These are by Father? Are you sure they aren't meant for you? I bet another mage could get more out of them.

Hawke: [Ser Maurevar was a good one.] Father must have felt he was worth honoring. Carver: A man who let him look ahead, and a name that would always mean "skill thoughtfully applied." Hawke: Seems like he thought it held some promise. Carver: Not a link back, but how to go forward. That's what I was to him. Carver: I… don't know what to say. Except… thank you.

Carver: I wonder how it compares to yours. Hawke: I'm sure someone thought far too long about my name. Point is, this was a swordsman. Carver: A man who let him look ahead. It would always mean "skill thoughtfully applied." Carver: Not exactly "master of all blades," but… Father actually thought there was worth to a swordsman. Carver: Thank you, [Sister/Brother]. It's… a connection I didn't think was there.

Legacy - Malcolm's Will

Malcolm: I may have left the Circle, but I took a vow. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base. Carver: "That which is best in me." Father used to say that, didn't he? To you and Bethany? Carver: She never felt like she could live up to him.

Carver: Father didn't want a child with magic? He got that one wrong twice over. [Act 2, friendly Carver] Carver: He sure didn't show any regret back home. The attention he gave you and Bethany… Carver: Well, I guess he figured the worst that could happen to me was tripping on my sword. Hawke: [He had confidence in you.] He knew you didn't need protecting. You were the strongest of us. Carver: Sure, it's easy to believe that now. But I think… I just wanted to help. [Act 1] Carver: He can't have meant it. You and Bethany, you were his favorites. Weren't you? A: Hawke: [You know that's not true.] You can't believe that. Carver: Maybe not. But you had your little guild and I didn't really meet the requirements. Hawke: [No we weren't. Grow up.] Only relative to his disappointment for you. Of course we weren't his favorites! Carver: All right, all right, but you did have your little mage guild. Carver: I suppose he knew it would be dangerous for you. That templars were the least of the problems. Carver: Bethany didn't like it. Did you know? She wished she was "normal." Like me. B: Hawke: [We should have been.] The amount of complaining you do, I wouldn't have blamed him. Carver: It wasn't easy being outside your little guild, you know! Carver: And no, inside was probably no better. But even if father didn't want you to have magic, you still had that connection. Carver: I was always outside. Hawke: [You were free.] Right, outside with the dog. But you had no leash. Not like we did.

Hawke: [Why did you join the templars?] Carver, shouldn't all this make you want to, I don't know, offer a reason for joining the order? Carver: I have to defend the one moment I stopped waiting and did something? Hawke: If you wanted to spite me… [friendly] Carver: I'd hoped those wounds were at least scabbed. It wasn't you. It never was. [rival] Carver: No! See, right there is the problem. For the longest time, I thought it was you, but it wasn't. Carver: We spent so long running, and why? Because of magic, the Blight, money, and abuses. Carver: Well I'm no mage, I'm no Warden, and you didn't need me. But maybe… maybe there's one thing I can do. [Family history completed] Carver: Father believed in a templar. Why can't I? [else] Carver: For more than me. And you.

Bethany: Do you remember when Carver ran away and enlisted in King Cailan's army at fifteen? Hawke: He came clanking back in so much armor he could barely lift his legs. Bethany: Father didn't know whether to burst with pride or lock him in the cellar.

Legacy - Post Plot

Hawke: You never liked that he spent so much time with Bethany and I, but it wasn't all bad. Carver: He started training me too, best he could. Then I picked up some things from those soldiers who came through. Carver: Remember when I beat him? Took the blade clean away. Hawke: He was holding back. Carver: On magic? Sure, but not the blade. After that… well, he knew I could handle the house while he was off with you. Templar Carver: Another way you take after him, if I remember correctly.

Hawke: You know, I don't think we had it that bad. For a while. A short while. Carver: I think I blinked and missed it.

Bethany: You know, as much as he had to spend time training me, he was so proud of you and Carver. Bethany: His little soldiers. Bethany: His scoundrel and his soldier.

World of Thedas

I'll end with some excerpts from his WOTv2 entry.

Said he wanted to protect his family. That someone had to, because his father had died and, well, you know how the Champion turned out. Carver took it real serious, and I could tell he was hiding some family shame…. Carver said his father taught what he could, but he'd mostly watched mercs sparring when he was young, then aped it with whatever wooden waster he could get. I knew how it was, I did my time with a stick or two. That's what you do when you're on your own for lack of money or interest. Or whatever concerned a father like his…. We were far back from the named companies, supporting the "glory" of their charge or whatever. So far afield, I barely heard the call to attack. Not Carver, though. He ran as fast as he could, and damned if he didn't cut a wedge in the horde. A few of us kep the 'spawn off his flanks and used him as a spear… I never heard a retreat, but I heard the yelling when the royal colors went down. And then the Wardens, too. And I thought we were done without them. But not the Hawke boy. The more ground we lost, the harder he swung that plank of a sword of his. He was shouting that we had to win, that it was to keep our homes safe. I swear he was crying when we finally tackled him… It took three of us to drag him to cover. I had to slap him back to his senses, to make him see that killing five or ten more 'spawn wouldn't matter. The wall was on us, and dying there wasn't going to help anyone. I said if he wanted to do his family good, he'd get them safe. This wasn't his failure….

#da2 #dragon age 2 #carver hawke #canonical texts #hawkeposting

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enby-hawke · 4 years

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Chapter 4- For I Have Sinned

Summary: The Betrothal Ball is here. Leandra just needs to play her part, but when she realized the man of her dreams has been invited and is determined to sweep her off her feet, can she remember her lines, or will she go off-script with Malcolm and her heart?

Word Count: 9374

Follow on A03

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“Is it too late to cancel?” Leandra looked at a face that barely looked like hers staring back through her vanity mirror as Mara tied her hair in a long flowing braid. The dress fit perfectly to every measured curve and spilled onto the floor in a pleat of red layered cloth, too constricting and snug, like the cage Leandra had been put in.

Mara had some bobby pins stuffed in her mouth as she secured Leandra’s flowing locks into the complicated hairstyle, but she paused to look at Leandra in the mirror and took them out to say. “It’s never too late.”

The thought fluttered in her mind like a butterfly about to take flight but she captured it in her hands and crushed it. “No, I’m being silly,” Leandra almost shook her head before she was reminded it was full of pins.

“Well,” Mara tutted as she wove more hair, “don’t say I never tried to talk sense into you.”

Before Leandra could ask her what that meant, her mother barged into the door, her face contorted in rage. “Why isn’t she ready, you lazy girl?”

“She’s almost, Messere,” Mara kept her eyes on her work, her voice measured in patience.

“Mother,” Leandra said in a warning voice, her eyes glued to her mirror to not ruin Mara’s hard work, “we’d be ready faster with fewer interruptions,” but her mother kept a level glare at Mara as if she was a stray cat that was brought into her home and scratching up her furniture. Mara paid no mind, humming to herself as she continued to plait Leandra’s hair.

“Have her ready in 5 minutes! Luna De Luca is ready for the interview and I need her to be perfect.”

There was that word again. Perfect. The perfect lady, daughter, scholar, musician, hostess, wife. The list of things Leandra had to be perfect at was longer than her dress. In less than five minutes she would meet Guillaume and they would talk about their love together. Leandra felt like she was running through her lines as if she were in a play, remembering the right times to laugh, to remember to bring the crinkle in her eyes to make her smile seem more genuine. She would have to part from Mara for the interview but she could return to her side for a little while until she accompanied Guillaume to the feast and she found herself counting down the seconds when she’d be reunited again. But then she thought of her brother and Mara, and how eventually things would all change like they were changing now, and Leandra found that time was slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Mother,” Leandra brought a practiced smile to her lips offering peace. “Everything will be fine. I’ll be down very soon.”

Her mother tucked up her chin, satisfied, and then carefully closed the door.

“At least you don’t have to eat with her tonight,” Mara broke the silence.

Leandra laughed in relief. “Soon dinner will be just a day I schedule on my calendar.” A silver lining, if nothing else.

Mara finished her braid and tied it expertly with a ribbon and then placed both of her hands on Leandra’s puffy shoulders. “No matter what happens, I got your back.” She squeezed comfortingly, Leandra’s tight shoulders relaxing. “You leave Guillaume at the altar, I’ve got a bottle of champagne waiting.”

Mara always knew what to say and it took all of Leandra’s power to not tear up and smudge her eye makeup. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“The night’s still young,” Mara shrugged. “Maybe you find an elf side piece, instead.”

Leandra laughed in surprise before she caught herself and covered her mouth. “Mara,” she shook her head.

Mara smiled and took her hand, helping her up so her skirt stayed smooth. Leandra took a deep breath. Her costume was on, she just needed to play her part well, but she found herself reluctant to let go of Mara’s hand as her nerves started to get to her.

“You look beautiful,” Mara smiled sadly.

Leandra’s eyes swept over her straightened hair and down Mara’s red cocktail dress that was simple but she looked just as radiant. “So do you.”

“You save that flirting for your fiance,” Mara chuckled, squeezing her hand.

“Right,” Leandra said in clipped words. “You’re right behind me?”

Mara smiled her signature grin. “Always.”

Malcolm snored into the stretched dining table in the corner of the Viscount’s palace where the mages were usually seated. His mind fumbled through the Fade as he plucked random strings for the terror demon’s presence. Unsurprisingly, nothing useful echoed back. Little curious wisps were starting to crowd him as he worked, speaking amongst themselves in a chatter too quick to be understood as a wet smacking sound filled the Fade air.

He agreed to one memory, the one with his mother that was already taken, but thankfully the spirit was already greedy for another helping and he was greedily slurping bowl after bowl of noodles as Malcolm worked.

“So you say taste is a sensation of the organ called a” sluurp, “tongue and that sensation can cause you to feel emotions good or bad?” Scholar scooped up a pile of heaping noodles with a slurping smack.

“That’s right,” Malcolm said with gritted teeth as he counted his breaths so they were even and shallow. He plucked the Fade string, listening. “That’s all it is. Now, will you give me a hand?”

The spirit waved its arm splattering sauce and one of the wisps turned into a grasping phantom hand, offering its help with wriggling fingers.

Malcolm sighed. “Finding this terror demon is going to take a while.”

The wisps gasped and blinked out of sight, the hand trembling and fading from view. The spirit placed the noodles back in their bowl as if they were suddenly unappetizing. “You’ll summon it thinking like that.”

Malcolm perked up. Finally, he was getting somewhere. “Is that how I find it? I summon it to me?”

“You don’t want to catch one of its eyes,” the Scholar spoke in a hushed whisper. “You must clear your thoughts so it does not find a crack to hide in.”

Malcolm shook off the worry. “Not unlike any other demon.”

“Zelophehad is not just any demon,” the Scholar hissed. “He is part of the essence of reality. Where fear lives he rises.”

A beat of worry washed through Malcolm at the finality of what Scholar seemed to be saying, but Malcolm clenched down his nerves. “Every demon has a weakness.”

“Zelophehad has none,” the spirit snapped. “So stop these silly notions of getting yourself killed and answer my next question. What is a tongue? I don’t have one.”

Malcolm sighed in disbelief and turned back around. ”I need to get back to work.”

“What work is that?”

“Am I talking to a broken record?” Malcolm found the irritation crawling up his spine. “If I’m going to find the fucking thing, I need a lead, a trail, a hole, something!”

“Why don’t you just ask?” the spirit cocked his head, tentatively slurping on one noodle.

If Malcolm could have gotten away with strangling the spirit he would. He snapped his golden eyes up in annoyance. “Haven’t I been asking?”

“Why would you ask me? I’m not the one who has the knowledge you’re seeking.” The spirit tipped the bowl back, gobbling up a huge bite.

Malcolm looked at the spirit, a clue clicking into place. “Who would I ask?”

The spirit pointed down next to Malcolm’s foot with a wet finger. “This pebble has been saying it was stepped on by Zelophehad.”

Malcolm cocked his head curiously at the pebble, picked it up, and brought it to his ear.

The voice was not a voice, more of a feeling. The thoughts of the spirit were too foreign to seem like words but Malcolm felt a sensation of dread that locked in his bones as the creature caressed the pebble, how it did all it could to maintain its shape as the demon studied it with one of its many eyes, and how Zelophehad slipped by not noticing it like most of the demons of the Fade. It had been there recently. The emotion was fresh and he found a chip of fear seeding inside him. Was the creature watching again?

“Don’t feed it!” Scholar hissed his warning again. “He’s probably listening for his name.”

“I don’t understand. Where is it?”

The pebble’s answer was empty. The spirit slurped a wet unending noodle. “I guess that’s all it had to say.”

Malcolm found himself irritated and flung the pebble off in the distance so it skipped against the ground with a soft clatter. “How is that supposed to help me?”

“You are a very stupid creature,” the spirit shook his head. “It’s like you don’t hear what anyone’s saying.”

That’s when a jab to Malcolm’s side plummeted his soul back into his body.

Malcolm jerked awake, Taylor’s full lips pursed in annoyance as she glared at Malcolm. “The Lord and Lady are about to be introduced and your snore was echoing through the chamber.”

Malcolm yawned and sleepily laid down his head in his arms. “Wake me up when it’s my turn.”

A strong hand jerked Malcolm to the back of his seat and Malcolm looked up and glared, a set of warm twinkling brown eyes against dark umber skin stared down at him placing a plate of sweet distractions in front of him. “You’re probably just grumpy cause you’re hungry,” the templar’s ceremonial armor gleamed in the traditional candlelight, making him look twice the size that he was.

Malcolm didn’t wait to dig into the pile of assorted sweets cakes, finding that Scholar was already sniffing. “Well, I’m not going to say no to free food,” he said with his mouth already stuffed. He could feel Scholar’s satisfied hum at the back of his mind as he ate.

Taylor flickered her eyes up to Carver in gratitude as she reached over to pick at Malcolm’s pile of sweets. “You’re a saint, Ser Maurevar.”

Carver wrinkled up his nose at his first name. “How many times do I have to tell you, Taylor. Just call me Carver.”

Taylor wiped her mouth of icing, bowing her head in apology too quickly. “Forgive me. I forget.”

Taylor had a healthy respect for templars, or maybe fear was the better word, but Carver and Malcolm had been friends since Malcolm was a boy and she knew that Carver was different. Maurevar Carver was the fifth son from a line of loyal nobles in Kirkwall, but he had not a hint of arrogance. Carver was well-liked even among mages. His family came from a line of templars which would make one think Carver would be rather conservative, but he had idealistic ideas of what it meant to be a protector of mages and beacon against the dangers of magic. While most templar children learned prejudice very young, Carver found himself talking to the mages, getting to know their anxieties and fears, and thought it his duty to make the transition into the Circle as easy for each mage as possible.

After a string of escape attempts in Ferelden’s Circle, the Chantry deemed Malcolm too dangerous and they shipped him to Kirkwall where he didn’t know the culture, had a funny accent and knew no one close enough to escape. Malcolm had given up any notion of freedom for a long time and receded into himself, talking to no one, and only sleeping. Carver sat with him every day in silence as he meditated, ignoring Malcolm’s barbs until Carver replied to a quip that made Malcolm laugh. Malcolm still didn’t trust him, until he took the blame for a punch that Malcolm threw at a templar bully before Malcolm knew how to corral his Ferelden temper. Matthew swore up and down that it was Malcolm who threw the punch but Carver claimed that it was Matthew’s cowardice choosing an easier target than a noble’s son. It was one word against another and the matter was quickly swept under the rug. Malcolm was blown away, unsure why Carver would turn against his templar brother, but Carver told Malcolm he didn’t do it for him. He had been planning to punch Matthew for a long time, and Malcolm was only kind enough to let him take credit.

When the Knight Commander realized that Carver could corral Malcolm somewhat, the two were forced together, Carver Malcolm’s keeper, albeit a very lax one. In fact, it wasn’t abnormal for Carver to look the other way so Malcolm could sometimes slip into Kirkwall just for a taste of what the city was like. Malcolm remembered his first time as a young teenager getting lost in the crowd in a Lowtown market, how he was just another face in the sea of traffic, how he didn’t watch over his shoulder like he was a bomb waiting to explode. He remembered how nervous he was in Carver’s borrowed clothes, way too big for him so he had to roll up the sleeves and legs to accommodate. He ate street food with his pickpocketed change, dropped bread crumbs off the docks and into the ocean for fish to gobble up, got splashed by a taxi cab, and was yelled at by some half-clothed sex workers when he accidentally walked into a brothel. He was completely out of his element and yet when he snuck back in through the secret passage that connected Kirkwall’s Circle to the mainland, he ached what most people took for granted. A family. A job. The freedom to walk the streets. A place in society.

He would have to convince Carver to let him out sometime tonight, though he had no idea how he was going to do it, yet. But he knew Carver wasn’t the type of soul to let him suffer and maybe with some puppy eyes and some undignified whining Carver would cave and let him go to a real party tonight. Carver might even finally take the stick out of his ass and join him.

The screens embedded on the tables started up in a projection of light as it displayed a flamboyantly dressed red-haired noble who was so thin the wind looked like it could blow him away from the balcony he was broadcasting from. He waved to the crowd of waiting faces and they all rose except for Malcolm who propped his head in hand bored, as he munched on his sweetcakes. The noble’s pale skin was crisp on the projection, his full groomed beard and mustache like a silky animal had taken hold of his face.

“Good Ladies and Lords of Kirkwall!” his voice echoed out on the speakers so he seemed to come from everywhere. “It is my pride and duty to announce the joining of my own house and that of the esteemed Amell’s, who has been an anchor in Kirkwall since Garahel beat back the Blight.” He puffed up his chest proudly, placing a delicate hand over his heart. “My own esteemed house has both roots in Kirkwall and Orlais…”

Malcolm rolled his eyes as the Lord droned on about his family’s history. “Yeah, yeah. I need a house the size of my ego and servants to wipe my ass.”

Taylor and the other mages shushed him harshly while Carver shook his head in a chuckle.

Malcolm shoved the sweets aside to Taylor and collapsed his head back down on the table with an exaggerated yawn as the noble droned on. He figured he could at least sleep through the speeches, but two fingers pinched his ear and yanked him up to his feet. He found Enchanter Jakoby glaring in warning to pay attention with the silent gesture of his fingers and Malcolm sulked in place.

A couple in matching lavish red and gold outfits joined either side of Lord de Lancet. “We are blessed with the fact that this is not just a fortunate match for our families, but a love match as well, and we wish to share in the bounty of the Maker’s blessing with you all tonight.”

The woman stepped forward with a smile of pure confidence as she gazed over the crowd as if she was among friends. “Please allow me to thank you all to celebrate my engagement, tonight.”

Malcolm’s ears twitched as his eyes shot up to the screen in recognition of the woman’s voice. His heart sped up at the sound, his eyes widening as her stunning smile stared back at him from the screen. His jaw grew slack as he stared at her, not quite comprehending that she was really in front of him, but his heart soon twisted in jealousy as he saw her fingers intertwined with a handsome red-headed man with a ridiculously large handlebar mustache.

“She certainly didn’t act engaged,” Malcolm blurted out before he could stop himself, earning confused stares from the other mages at the table.

“You know her?” Taylor asked with a thin raised eyebrow.

“No, he doesn’t,” Arth snarled quickly.

“Enchanters, hush,” the teacher whispered in a warning.

Malcolm quickly held his head, ignoring the rest of his welcome speech as he realized in a panic that the show that he planned to embarrass Enchanter Jakoby tonight was not going to work. He leaned over to Taylor, his eyes wide in panic as he whispered. “Taylor, give me some ideas. Something cooler than fireworks or juggling fire.” One of the other mages shot him a glare.

Taylor’s lips pulled into a satisfied smirk. “It’s not my fault you spent the evening making stupid puns to go with card tricks.” It was Malcolm’s idea that now didn’t seem that brilliant. He knew that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him to blow everyone away with a display of his powers so he couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than fumbling through normal stupid card tricks that he could barely pull off. But now he was staring at perhaps the only girl he had ever wanted to impress and his panicked mind was drawing blanks.

“And now to bless our union the Circle has sent its finest enchanters to entertain us with a magical display,” Leandra turned and motioned gracefully down to the mage’s table as she rehearsed, the cameras turned to superimpose the enchanters who all puffed up their chests in their dress clothes except for Malcolm who was holding his head in panic. Leandra’s eyes slid across the mages with a serene smile until her eyes landed on Malcolm and her face suddenly went red. Her voice suddenly seemed caught in her throat, the palace echoing in silence as they watched Malcolm mutter to himself.

“Um…” Leandra suddenly couldn’t remember the words of her speech as Malcolm noticed the silence dragging on and he looked up to see her staring down at him from the balcony as if she couldn’t believe he was real. The silence was growing uncomfortable as they stared at each other across the room and soon Guillaume stepped forward to pick up the speech.

“Please do not let us keep you waiting much longer. I’m sure you’re all starving,” the crowd chuckled at Guillaume’s natural charisma and Malcolm found irritation creeping up his spine as they briefly met eyes as the lord passed over each mage in an inspection. “We cannot wait to see the performances you have all prepared for us tonight. Do be seated and enjoy the meals our families finest chefs have prepared.”

As a chorus of shuffling seats adjusting to people’s weight, Taylor leaned over to Malcolm with curiosity, finding a soft satisfied smile on his lips. “She seemed to recognize you.”

“She did, didn’t she?” Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like his heart was soaring with what could only be described as hope.

Taylor looked like she wanted to ask more but she didn’t get the chance before Enchanter Jakoby was motioning for her to come to the dance floor to begin her performance. She fluffed her hair, in a twisted half-do, and adjusted her dress, the cut, and design marking her as a mage saying, “Well I guess I have to show why I’m the top of the class.”

“Only cause I don’t give a shit,” Malcolm snarked but Taylor relaxed her shoulders as Carver handed her a staff. Arth’s glare could set Malcolm’s hair aflame.

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Carver smiled brightly, his soft dark bangs falling out of his ponytail.

Taylor ducked her head, a small satisfied smile settled on her lips as she took the staff and balanced it in her hands.

Then the lights dimmed on the ballroom floor as Taylor stepped out onto it holding out her staff level and with an expert grip. She stared up onto the main balcony where the main couple was on display. “Lady Amell, Lord Du Lancet,” her voice was not a shout but it boomed across the ballroom. She bowed her head so her fluffy hair bobbed. “Allow me to show you the wonders of the Fade.”

She waved her staff opening a giant portal in the middle of the ballroom, a shimmering green hue cloaked the room with light, and in the center of a mist showed in the distance the far off gates of the Black City. The nobles chattered as Enchanter Jakoby puffed up in pride. Even Malcolm widened his eyes at the sight, impressed she managed to pull off such a feat. “Fear not,” her voice echoed. “This is just a window into the Fade, not a true portal. You are all perfectly safe.”

The nobles all whispered amongst each other as wisps and spirits peeked through the curious portal making more faint of heart to gasp if one ventured too close. Malcolm felt for a moment a pang of unease as his mind continued to draw blanks. His competitors had all had a whole month to prepare and he had had an evening to which he had successfully wasted. Still, he could do better than some window. He just wasn’t sure what that was yet.

As the portal closed and the lights in the room turned to normal, Taylor bowed, carefully returned her staff to Carver, and then returned to the table with a rather smug smirk. “Think you can beat that, losers?”

Arth met her smug grin with one of his own, clutching a terracotta planter filled with soil. “Don’t worry. I’ll remind everyone of class.”

Taylor rolled her eyes, slinking down in her seat to find Malcolm still staring at Leandra, who seemed to be glancing back at him every few seconds. Taylor looked between the two of them in open confusion. “So I noticed the whole time I was casting she seemed keener to pay attention to you. Mind telling me how you know each other?”

Malcolm couldn’t keep the grin off of his face, but he shrugged off Taylor’s question as nonchalantly as he could. “It’s not that interesting of a story.”

Taylor shook her head, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure she’s already sick of you.”

Am I hallucinating? Leandra tried to pay attention to the next mage who had dragged a pot to the middle of the dance floor and was trying to grow a seed into a tree, but her attention was much more focused on the elven mage seated far behind him. It didn’t help that growing a seed was a slow and dull process of just watching streams of green light glow into the pot. The little seed seemed to resist the magic, and for a long time, nothing happened until a little string of green poked out of the bud, fighting every spurt with an agonizingly slow wiggle. Leandra found her eyes sliding away from the show and back to the impossible dream man. She couldn’t mistake him for anyone else. He had the same messy curls, dark freckled skin, and even from the distance, his bright golden eyes flashed with the same mischief. But how was he even here? Her mind had made him up? Didn’t she?

After ten minutes and the sprout was only a few inches long, Leandra found a yawn caught in her throat that she caught with her hand. Her eyes flung in alarm to Guillaume who was thankfully more interested in his dish of lobster.

Leandra tried her best to calm herself down, and focus on the show. The mage’s blond bangs were starting to stick to his forehead in exertion, his hold on his staff shaky, but the little sapling stayed depressingly small. Pay attention, she kept scolding herself, but her eyes kept betraying her, sliding away from the man’s performance to meet the elf’s golden eyes. He smiled, noticing that she was staring again, and winked.

She blushed, mortified at having been caught, and dropped her eyes back to her lobster that had been barely touched. Suddenly she felt a hand cover her clenched fork. She looked up to meet Guillaume’s kind brown eyes. “Are you alright, dear?”

Leandra’s throat tightened, ashamed that she had been shamelessly ogling another man when her fiance was eating right beside her. “I’m perfect,” she flashed a smile that was strained but Guillaume didn’t seem to notice at all.

He squeezed her hand in a friendly gesture. “I’ve been counting down the days for this,” he said as leaned over to kiss her chastely on the cheek.

Leandra stiffened at the gesture, but accepted it, not able to resist comparing how she was feeling now to the kiss she experienced with that mysterious man sitting in the audience. But that couldn’t have been real. She scolded herself for getting her feelings in shambles over an event that didn’t happen and held onto Guillaume’s hand.

Guillaume’s eyes spelled mischief tonight. “Why don’t you and I get lost during the dance?” Leandra found herself coaching her smile, but her stomach was dropping as he bent over to whisper in her ear, “I’ve packed a wonderful spread on my yacht, all your favorites. We can watch the moon on the ocean and celebrate tonight.”

Leandra found herself panicking at the implication of the word celebrate. She had let Guillaume assume that she would listen to her parents and wait until marriage, but she also hadn’t told him that his feelings weren’t mutual. Or maybe they were and she was just confused. Leandra was quickly becoming aware that her smile was growing unnatural and that she was expected to say something, but the warring parts of her mind could not come up with a coherent response that would please Guillaume and get her out of this. “That’s…” she paused, trying to find an eloquent phrase, but instead she ended with, “nice.”

Guillaume laughed, patting her hand. “And they say you’re the conversationalist.”

Leandra stuffed a bite of lobster into her mouth to avoid having to say more. Guillaume this time seemed to notice her hesitation. “You don’t have to be so nervous that things are changing. The way we’re great together, that will never change.”

An array of polite claps burst around her saved her from her answer and she eagerly joined in to see the blond mage dragging a meager sapling the size of a shrub off the ballroom floor with some difficulty.

That’s when the dream man sauntered past him to the middle of the dance floor, staring at her like she was the only thing that existed. He held no staff in his hands, but he walked with a confidence that told everyone he didn’t need it. He kept his gaze on her as he placed a hand over his chest, his curls falling into his golden eyes as he bowed slightly. “Leandra Amell, a gift to bless your union.” He cupped his hands and a ball of flame danced in his hands, orange and bright, bathing his skin in amber. He smirked, his voice taking on an almost sarcastic tone as he said, “May your love burn ever brighter.”

Suddenly the flames shot up to the ceiling seeming to take a life of their own. Everyone gasped as two giant wings spread across the dance floor bringing with it a heat that burst across the palace. A giant bird formed in the flames, with a craning neck and huge eagle-like wings. It soared around the ceiling in a lazy circle, leaving in its wake an aura of stars that streaked from its streaming tail. The bird’s wings flapped mightily, leaving gusts of heated wind as it flew up to the balcony to meet Leandra. Her eyes widened, reflecting the bright light of the flames as the bird circled her, leaving twinkling dust of starlight snowing down. Leandra’s eyes sparkled, standing up to reach up to the specks of light that danced around her, begging her to reach out and touch. She couldn’t resist reaching out to see what the magic felt like for herself. Something inside her recognized the scent of it, the feel of it, the caress of it. The light popped against her skin and fingertips, blooms of roses of all colors blossoming where they landed. Leandra cupped her hands to find a bouquet made of unheated firelight had gathered, dancing around her fingertips. On instinct, she brought them to her nose to inhale, and the bouquet dispersed into a cluster of butterflies taking with them the scent of thick rain. She followed the butterflies back up to the phoenix which had perched near her, its heat like a furnace as it stared at her with molten eyes. The creature blinked and then took off back towards the ceiling, crashing against it into a display of fireworks that rained down all around the audience. As everyone stared at the show above Leandra stared back down at the man bathed in sparks staring back with a yearning so deep it left her breathless.

“Malcolm,” she whispered, his name echoing from somewhere deep inside her.

“Well done, Ser!” Guillaume joined Leandra on his feet as he led the audience in a wild burst of applause.

Leandra’s eyes were wide, her face flushed as she stared back down at the impossible man with the impossible magic. He smirked at her as if he had already figured her out, but she felt she was clueless. Her logical side told her there was no way they could have met before now, that dreams are just dreams and yet his face looked like comfort, like home and his lips-

A hand squeezing hers reminded her of who she belonged to and her face burned as she guiltily looked up at Guillaume who seemed to be beaming from the show. “Wasn’t that wonderful, Leandra?”

“Truly breathtaking,” Leandra found herself saying. Though she should have been looking at her fiance’ she found her eyes shooting back towards Malcolm who was staring at Guillaume and her intertwined fingers with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. Somehow she felt like she had been caught cheating and she dropped Guillaume’s hand without thinking, but Guillaume was busy applauding and joining in the crowd’s cheer for an encore. Malcolm ignored the call of the crowd, only winking at Leandra before he returned back to the table with his fellow mages and took his seat, his eyes never seeming to leave her.

The rest of the performances seemed so much duller in comparison. One of the mages summoned a storm cloud that made an awful mess of snow on the dance floor and required some cleanup before the other mage could juggle his ball of flame. The man himself had quite a talent of making the flame dance, but even as he threw the flame up into the air to turn it into a display of fireworks it didn’t quite leave as big of an impression as the live dancing phoenix that left a trail of starlight. It was so difficult to pay attention, especially when Malcolm seemed eager to keep it. She found her careful smile almost melt into inopportune giggles at his exceedingly goofy faces.

Then it was finally time for Guillaume to lead her on the dance floor for the first dance. She found herself coaching herself through the steps as she struggled to keep up her smile in Guillaume’s arms. She was keenly aware that a pair of golden eyes were watching her with the rest of the audience, and every time she accidentally met them she’d find herself breathless all over again. She felt dizzy with the confusion and had to excuse herself after the dance ended. Guillaume, ever the gentleman, went to fetch some lemon water as Leandra waited by her parents and the Du Lancets, trying to outbrag each other on how much they spent on the ball. That’s when Mara showed up, dragging a reluctant Gamlen on her arm.

Leandra smiled brightly as she noticed that Mara and Gamlen wore matching outfits of royal red, Gamlen in a fitted suit that made his shoulders look broader than they were, and Mara in her cocktail dress. Leandra’s noble friend’s raised their eyebrows in interest at the outfits but in respect for Leandra said nothing to Mara as she approached, but it didn’t take long for Leandra’s parents to stare pointedly at the way Gamlen and Mara were openly holding hands.

“Congratulations!” Mara threw one of her arms around Leandra, not caring at the pointed way people were staring and Leandra returned the hug gracious, thankful even to have Mara there. Mara pulled away with a teasing smirk. “Should I get you a drink or is that too soon?”

“Lord Du Lancet is already fetching the lady a drink,” Dulci Du Mortain, one of Leandra’s Orlesian friends piped up, looking down at Mara through her nose as if Mara had a ghastly stain on her dress.

“Well good thing his lordship’s not so lazy to always fetch the servants to do it,” Mara laughed easily to which Leandra joined in until she realized her noble friends nor Gamlen were laughing.

Lady Crawford, one of Leandra’s more conservative friends sniffed sharply, suppressing the glare in her light blue eyes with some difficulty. Her thin brown eyebrows knitted together in what could be a frown if one were rude enough to point it out. “Is it not an honor to serve your betters?”

Mara bit down a laugh and what she wanted to say when Leandra’s pleading eyes asked her not to make more trouble which only made Lady Crawford’s face redden under her makeup.

“What Mara means to say is while it is always an honor to serve the Great Houses, self-sufficiency can be an admirable trait.” Leandra smiled brightly, hoping the olive branch would be enough to keep the peace.

Gamlen snorted to which Mara grinned wider and Leandra shot them both a glare.

Lady Crawford thinned her smile at Leandra and then glanced at Lady Dulci and the others with a wry chuckle. “Diplomatically put, dear.”

Leandra swallowed down the internal sigh that was fighting in her throat. She didn’t need another petty battle with Lady Crawford or any of her noble friends, especially since these ladies were all expected to be her bridesmaids together. Mara had gotten the coveted spot of maid of honor, to which Leandra quickly realized her other friends hadn’t quite forgiven her for, but rather than take their grievances up with Leandra, they sniped at Mara, hoping that perhaps eventually her parents would step in and force the matter.

Mara, however, was understandably just as petty. She openly leaned on Leandra’s arm, daring the other ladies to say something about it. “Leandra, I hate to be rude, but I have some major maid of honor details for your ears only.”

Leandra’s eyes darted to Lady Crawford, Lady Du Mortain, and the others who exchanged jealous glares. Lady Du Mortain put a hand over her mouth, averting her eyes with a reddening face. “Is his Lordship not entitled to the lady’s time tonight?”

Leandra’s throat tightened, feeling trapped by the expectations that were set.

“I believe his lordship can speak for himself,” Guillaume said from behind them all the authority he could muster. They all turned as he took Leandra’s other side offering a glass of water with a kind smile to which she quickly used to unstick her throat. “I wish no more of the lady’s time than she wishes to give to me. If her attention is needed elsewhere, I cannot be so selfish as to monopolize her.”

The other ladies swooned at Guillaume’s words, Lady Dulci fanning herself. She knew the kiss would come next so Leandra leaned in offering her cheek to accept the gesture. As Guillaume’s warm lips and scruffy mustache grazed her skin she withheld a shudder, her gaze wandering until it was pulled up into an alcove where Malcolm was perched. Her cheeks flooded as Malcolm’s eyes darkened at Guillaume kissing her, and he crooked a finger in a motion for her to follow him. She found her eyes being glued to his back as he disappeared off onto a dark balcony, far above the crowd gathered on the dance floor below.

Leandra passed her water to a passing server and grabbed Mara’s hand. “Thank you everyone but I believe I do have some maid of honor business to discuss.”

Mara was halfway pulling Leandra away when two figures stopped them. Both of Leandra’s parents were glaring at Mara with a fury that Leandra had never seen before. “Leandra,” her mother tapped her heel. “Can this business not wait until tomorrow? You’re expected on the dance floor.”

Guillaume stepped forward with an easy smile. “It is no problem, my Lord and Lady. Please allow Leandra this privacy.”

Leandra shot a grateful smile to Guillaume as both of her parents seemed to struggle with this new playbook. Finally, her mother nodded and said, “But please do remember to behave. There are cameras everywhere.” She pointedly looked at Mara as she said this and then turned her glare at Gamlen. “And do we have something to talk about, young man?” Her mother was pointedly staring between Mara and Gamlen’s matching outfits.

Gamlen swallowed what looked like fear and he stepped forward. “Mom? Dad? Can we talk somewhere private?”

Leandra’s friends were suddenly whispering amongst themselves in a renewed interest. Her parents seemed to notice the gossip that was already started to spread and was already marching Gamlen somewhere else, most likely somewhere sound-proof. Mara and Leandra quickly ditched the whispering crowd, Leandra cringing that her family was once again the subject for gossip tonight. It would have always been, but she was quickly getting a headache thinking about all of the thinly veiled insults she would have to wade through tonight about Gamlen and Mara’s obvious public stance. Leandra told herself it was just gossip and that a few snide comments were nothing to get emotional over, but she felt a knot quickly forming in her gut as she thought of the social dragging that she was surely in for.

She was busy wondering what Guillaume’s stance would be on Mara and Gamlen’s relationship when Mara pulled her over to a dark corner and immediately clonked Leandra on the head with her next question. “So who is that hunky elf that keeps undressing you with his eyes?”

Leandra’s face burned at the question, not able to meet Mara’s scrutinizing gaze but this she could answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

“You so do know him!” Mara argued, giving her a playful push. “That magic show was something else and you can hardly keep your eyes off him. Seriously, school girl vibes. So just tell me the juicy details already! Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

“I didn’t- I mean I did, but it wasn’t real, but-” Leandra buried her face in her hands. Still, if Mara noticed her ogling Malcolm, then who else did? “This is all impossible!”

“What is?” Mara pulled Leandra’s hands away from her face so she could look straight into her eyes.

Leandra found that being stared at so closely by Mara was making it difficult to think clearly. She felt mad telling the truth but she always told Mara the truth so she finally dared to say it aloud. “He’s the same man I kissed in that dream, but he’s real somehow and I think I’m going crazy.”

She thought Mara would laugh at her but instead, Mara opened her mouth and closed it. “Like one of Andraste’s prophecies?”

Leandra tilted her head at her friend, somewhat grateful to be believed but also not sure what that would even mean. “You think this is what it is?”

Mara cupped Leandra’s cheeks, staring at her with a seriousness that was hardly like her. “If the Maker is sending you visions about that man, don’t you think you should at least meet him?”

Leandra laughed like it was a joke until she realized Mara was serious. And then her voice took on a high pitched tone as she quickly spiraled into a panic about what that could mean. “I’m engaged! This is my betrothal ball! I can’t!”

“You’re right,” Mara said with an annoyed frown. “Your parents are obviously of higher authority than the Maker.”

Leandra froze at this new thought. Was this truly the Maker’s hand guiding her? Would she always regret not taking this chance?

Before Mara could calm Leandra’s brand new panic, she tapped Leandra and pointed to a tall brown templar with a silky ponytail approaching them both with intent. Leandra recognized him immediately as Knight-Captain Maurevar Carver, though she had only recognized him from newspaper clippings and his family’s reputation. Though he was wearing heavy templar armor, he held himself with a nobleman’s grace. He bowed deeply in respect, his eyes full of apology.

“Pardon me if this is a bad time. I mean to only offer my sincere congratulations.”

Leandra smiled and curtsied politely. “My deepest thanks, Lord Carver.” The Carvers were a house of good reputation that her family had always done their best to keep on good terms with though from what she knew of Maurevar himself was surprisingly little. There were rumors about him being at odds with his family but if true, they put up very good appearances.

“May I have the honor of shaking your hand, my lady?” Carver bowed humbly, offering a downturned palm.

Leandra offered her hand, finding nothing odd about the gesture until she felt a small scrap of paper being slipped in her hand.

The templar bowed his head and smiled with mischief, but said nothing else but, “Thank you for your time, my lady. Good night.”

“What was that about?” Mara stared off at the templar in confusion as Leandra unfolded the scrap of paper with haste.

On what was no doubt a piece of stationery stolen from the Viscount’s office in sloppy scrawl wrote, “Why be bored over there when you can have fun dancing with me?”

She had no doubt who this was from and from the gleam in Mara’s eyes she didn’t need briefing either. “You’re so going!”

Leandra gaped at her friend as if she was growing a new head. “How would I manage that? With my parents and Guillaume, there’s no way I can escape for more than a dance.”

Mara’s cat eyes gleamed as she shrugged. “So you disappear for just one dance? I’ll cover for you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Leandra didn’t want to give voice to that line of thought, the much more alluring idea of a chance to speak with the man that had plagued most of her waking thoughts too tempting to be denied. “I’ll go,” Leandra said before she could change her mind, but she quickly raised a finger to clarify, “but only to tell him nothing can happen.”

The way Mara smiled told Leandra that she wasn’t quite as believable as she sounded. Still, she had to convince herself at least.

“You barely tasted anything tonight,” the pesky demon floated in Malcolm’s vision.

That wasn’t true. Malcolm was more than full, not only having had a scrumptious dinner of fresh lobster but he had grabbed at least one sample from every type of tray, but still, the gluttonous demon was not happy.

Malcolm stared off into the lit maze garden that overtook the city block, a silly thing to have in a place with as little space as Kirkwall, and yet Malcolm couldn’t find it in him to complain. The demon hunt had been put far out of his mind, his only thought was if Leandra was coming.

Did she remember the dream? Was she staring for a different reason? Or was she just pulled to him the same way he felt pulled to her? Malcolm leaned over the edge, peering into the garden below and enjoying the feeling of vertigo rush to his head, whatever it took to remind him he was here and alive and not some trick of the Fade. He was unsure whether Carver had been able to deliver the message, or if he had if Leandra would even respond. He had to admit it did already drive him a little crazy knowing she already belonged to another man, but he knew he wasn’t imagining this spark between them.

He wasn’t even sure what it all meant, yet. He just couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, and how he wanted those lips to be sighing his name, and every stolen glance his way encouraged him. When she looked at him, he felt like everything else in the world ceased to matter, and though he felt like he should be worried about this obsession he felt, he would do nothing to stop it. He wondered what it would take to bring another smile to her lips, to hear her laugh once again. He wanted to know everything about her joys, her fears, her troubles, her comforts. He recognized a fake smile when he saw one. He had to put a few on for Charlie and Carver and in the Circle, a good fake smile was as good as armor. She seemed so restrained from the determined fiery woman he met in her dream and he longed to know what it would take to bring that side of her out again. However, Scholar was not happy with this new development and would not leave him alone.

“Could you grab at least one more shrimp puff?”

Malcolm was sick of shrimp puffs. “Just grab another one from my memories,” he grumbled.

“But they taste better fresh,” the spirit whined. It floated to the edge where the balcony opened back into the palace, layers of red cloth framing the sides.

Malcolm patted his belly. “You feel this?”

Scholar patted his stomach curiously. “It’s a kind of nice feeling.”

Malcolm was astonished by that. A nice full belly full of actual warm food. He hadn’t had that in a while. “Well, it means nothing more can go in. I’m meeting a girl soon so I’ve been real nice considering how much I’m having to suck my gut right now.”

Scholar looked at Malcolm’s belly with what looked like a deep frown. “Why are you doing that? Let it out. It doesn’t like that.”

Malcolm suddenly wondered if his breath would be bad from all the different food he ate. He meant to pace himself, but when everything tasted so good, it was hard to say no to another bite. He grabbed a sprig of mint from the empty platter he grabbed from a waiter and shoved it into his mouth chewing. He had already had 2 sprigs but he figured another one couldn’t hurt. As he chewed he glared at the spirit. “Now scat already. I did what you wanted.”

“But you still haven’t told me what a tongue is?”

“I said it’s something mortals have.”

“That doesn’t explain anything. Some demons have tongues, too.”

“Then ask a demon. I’m not a teacher.” Malcolm swallowed the mint, hoping it would soothe his gut.

“But a demon might warp me?” The spirit quivered at the thought.

“Not my problem. Now, will you scat already?”

It put its red phantom hands on its skeleton wraith thighs and huffed again. “Fine, stupid mortal. You win. If you teach me all I need to know for my quest of knowledge I will aid you with knowledge about Zelophehad, though it will surely lead to your death.”

Malcolm perked up, snapping his eyes up to the wraith. “You’ll help me find it?”

The demon shook his head. “No. If I tell you where it is before you’re ready you will die for sure. But I will help you get stronger so you may idiotically seek it on your own.”

Malcolm widened his eyes seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. “When do we start?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder to see Leandra who was staring at him in open confusion and he realized he had been speaking to Scholar aloud. He lost grip of the railing and almost tumbled off the ledge before he caught himself, but Leandra still screamed and rushed up to him and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him over the balcony so he rolled on top of her. They both groaned, having hit the ground hard and Malcolm was very aware that his body was pressed against hers, so soft and foreign his body just responded on its own. His face burned as he realized that she had felt his hardness form on her thigh and he scrambled off her before she could make sense of what happened. Still from the redness on her face, she surely felt it and he was utterly mortified.

Scholar sniffed in between Leandra and Malcolm, curious about the concoction of emotions brewing. “What is this?” Scholar seemed entranced.

“Apologies, my lady,” Malcolm bowed his head, trying to ignore Scholar, but he was so sure that he had just blown it. “I should not have put you in this position.” Why did his body have to have such a strong reaction to her? Other girls had moved his loins, but he had always found with some mental discipline he could somewhat control his reactions. With Leandra, he felt off-kilter, like every part of her set him alight. His thoughts were in a blender, churning chaotically as he tried to figure out a way to rectify the situation.

Leandra shyly looked away. “No need to apologize, it was an accident.”

You are more gracious than most.” Malcolm found none of the confidence he had earlier in his presence, especially when the fresh memory of her body made his own body betray him still.

They kept themselves turned away from each other as they adjusted their clothes to be presentable again. Malcolm gritted his teeth using magic to force enough blood away from the member, the pain of sensation helping to soften as he got up. He offered his hand, hoping she couldn’t see.

“A most curious reaction,” Scholar plucked at Leandra as she took Malcolm’s hand and pulled herself up. “Are you going to taste her next?”

Malcolm’s anger spiked so sharply the spirit recoiled. “If I have to tell you to scat again the deal is off!”

The spirit scurried from the emotion like it was being chased by a whip. Malcolm relaxed his shoulders, realizing the buzzing was fading from his mind when he realized that Leandra had frozen at the expression on his face.

“Have I offended you, Ser?” she dropped her hand and looked down shyly.

Malcolm kicked himself. “No, not at all.” He found himself stumbling for any explanation that could explain his rude expression. “I guess I’m just surprised you came,” He immediately kicked himself again as her expression bloomed with guilt.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted.

Malcolm tried not to let himself be disappointed by that. He knew there must be a million things holding her back while he had absolutely nothing to lose. He knew he was on borrowed time with her, but he was greedy for every second. “Still, the fact that you did?” he took one step forward offering his hand once more with the swell of the music, “does this mean you’ve come to dance?”

Her eyes seemed entranced by his hand, her hand reaching up on its own but she curled her fingers away.

“You know I’m engaged, though…” She seemed torn by the implication of taking his hand meant.

Malcolm smiled, knowing that would be her answer. “And I ask for nothing you would not give freely.”

She bit her lip at that. “I wish I was free to give more.”

Malcolm’s smile widened, encouraged by that, and re-offered his hand. “Who says you’re not.”

She laughed, the sound easing his nerves, and finally took his hand. He pulled her in close swaying to a slower version to the beat of the waltz. “You’re a very dangerous man to talk to.”

She looked more beautiful than she remembered, her skin softer than possible. She was nestled so close, her body cradled against him like it was meant to be folded there. Every brush of her skin was a cruel reminder of how easily she set him aflame and he struggled to concentrate. He wanted to know if she burned just as much for him if his closeness was a terrible temptation like hers was. For now, though, he could be content to just hold her, humming along to the tune until he spun her around and led her in a waltz across the balcony. Her eyes gazed deeply in wonder, and Malcolm could feel himself falling in the stars reflecting at him. She was magic itself, lighting him up in a warm glow that illuminated them both as they danced, little wisps of light following in mimicking swirls.

His fingers were hyper-aware of where he was holding the small of her back, where he had placed his hand on her waist, and suddenly he understood the appeal of dancing. His feet and hips moved in a rhythm of their own not in time with any current dance but Leandra seemed to be able to follow the steps on instinct. Her eyes kept darting down to his lips every time he leaned in close and he was having fun making her red teasing her. Still, it was only madness he could resist for so long. The need to taste her again thrummed in every part of his body.

“Would it be awful if I asked to kiss you, again?” Malcolm found himself asking. “Being an engaged woman at all.”

“Again?” Leandra froze and blushed from her ears to her shoulders. Malcolm smiled as she looked at him in puzzlement, trying and failing to place him. “I-I’m an engaged woman. You shouldn’t ask!”

Malcolm was unable to keep from smirking at her fluster. “But still I did. Do you protest?”

“I should,” she blushed, ducking her head, but her voice sounded frail and unconvincing. Still, Malcolm let the disappointment show on his face but respectfully added more distance.

“Terribly sorry to tempt you,” he apologized truly, seeming to accept her answer easily. “I won’t pester you for more than a dance.”

This time the disappointment on Leandra’s face was clear. She choked on her words, hesitating, but she inched closer so they were pressed back up each other and said, “Well you can pester me for a little more than that.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened. “You might want to be careful, my lady,” he took her chin gently, enough so that she could resist but instead her whole body lit up in anticipation, her pupils dilating and her skin goosepimpling at his touch. He lowered his lips, his words a hum. “I can be quite a pest.”

But before their lips could touch screams echoed across the palace halls stopping the party short.

#leandra x malcolm #malcolm hawke #leandra amell #da fic #dragon age #my writing #I couldn't wait to get to this chapter #so fun

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