In which Hawke is all of us, there are many glorious moustaches and the Inquisitor attempts to deal with Edgelord!Leliana

P.s. I have no idea how Wicked Grace works so just roll with it... PEACE

Dorian was upset. In usual circumstances, he wouldn't openly admit to being emotionally compromised. It was far easier to cover up any sense of tragedy in several layers of sarcastic remarks. However, today was proving more of a struggle.

This was, of course, because of Stroud's moustache.

It was…bold (and perhaps not necessarily in a good way). Definitely unforgettable. Every single individual hair demanded attention. And with all their powers combined, they formed a moustache of immense gravitas.

Wild, unruly. Unkempt, but in a manner that suggested this was exactly the look the proud owner was going for.

Did he use any pastes or lotions to style it? To keep it so thick and dense but soft? It definitely looked soft, at any rate. Could Dorian pretend to fall over and whip out a hand to quickly touch it? Would it feel like the wool of a soft ram or the fur of a strong, grizzly bear -?

"Stroud, are you telling me," The Inquisitor's voice cut in, "I've come all the way back to Crestwood just for you to confirm every Grey Warden in Orlais has sacked it off?"

"…Sacked what off?"

"You know," Herah replied, gesturing vaguely with a hand, "being useful."

"I…can't help but feel a little insulted," Blackwall murmured from beside the qunari, although his feelings went unnoticed as Stroud entered the fray once again.

"Well, that's hardly-" Stroud began, looking a little flustered, "Look here, the Calling isn't something you can choose to ignore. They haven't…sacked it off, as you say-"

"You simply can't ignore that moustache either," came a quiet musing from Dorian, who seemed so deep in thought he'd forgotten where he was or that other people could hear him.

A slightly awkward pause. Dorian twirling the ends of his own moustache as he eyed up Stroud's. Even Blackwall had begun to absent-mindedly stoke at his magnificent beard.

"Herah, did you mean to ask why all the Wardens are suddenly hearing the Calling now?" Hawke asked from behind the party. She was leaning against the cave wall with an amused smirk on her face. She could listen to the Inquisitor's terrible social interactions all day and never get bored.

A long-suffering sigh from Herah. She hadn't meant to ask such a question, as it turned out, because by this point she simply didn't care. Days they'd spent marching back through Crestwood to root out this Grey Warden. And here he stood. All severe and sombre and boring and…moustache-y.

Would it have killed him to crack a smile when he greeted them, mere minutes before – instead of brandishing a sword in her direction? Could he have offered to brew a spot of Elfroot tea, seeing as Herah had a bunch of them clasped lovingly in her hands? He hadn't even suggested she take a seat by the fire, so now everyone was standing awkwardly on ceremony as he garbled on and on about some kind of Calling. In fact, the situation was so dire that Herah was having flashbacks to countless similarly boring conversations with Solas about the Fade.

Why couldn't anyone in Ferelden just get to the point?

"Where do I need to go and what do I need to do?" Herah demanded frustratedly. The Elfroot in her hands were beginning to wilt which matched her current temperament perfectly.

Stroud was looking equally irritated. "What I'm trying to tell you, is that Corypheus has elicited this Calling upon the Grey Wardens. And Warden-Commander Clarel, believing the Wardens end is near, is planning to use a blood magic ritual to end all Blights before she, and the rest of the Wardens, perish."

A long pause as Herah took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and attempted to absorb this mind-numbing information as best she could. From behind her, Hawke gave a click of the tongue before delving into her own thoughts.

"…So," Dorian said, still idly playing with his moustache, "I suppose you're hearing this Calling too?"

"I am," Stroud replied gravely, "it lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire."

("That doesn't even make sense," Herah murmured to herself in agony.)

"I'm sure you know the feeling, Blackwall – was it?" Stroud continued, gesturing to the other Warden.

Everyone's gaze landed on Blackwall. Even Herah dutifully opened her eyes again to fix him with piercing stare.

An awkward clear of the throat. "Well," Blackwall began, somewhat shiftily, "I do not fear the Calling. And worrying about it only gives it power."

"…That wasn't really an answer." Herah commented suspiciously.

"Anything Corypheus does will only strengthen my resolve," Blackwall valiantly tried again.

"Not getting any less shady, Blackwall-"

"They're gathering in the Western Approach," Stroud cut in, having moved over to a battered looking table. He glanced over a map solemnly. "It's an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. Meet me there and we'll find our answers."

"You could just come back to Skyhold with us, rather than journeying there alone," Hawke suggested, "We'll need to gather supplies before we head out."

Herah glanced over her shoulder to stare at the Champion in pain. How could Hawke so whimsically suggest such a thing? Herah could barely deal with Solas at the best of times but the idea of…the two of them?! Possibly even in the same room? What if they both sat next to her at dinner or in the tavern? There'd be no end to the boring monologues-

"Yes, nobody likes to get blown up by Tevinter mages on their own!" Dorian said heartily. He seemed most upbeat at the news of Stroud's (the moustache's) company. "Best to make a group outing of it."

"That's settled then," Blackwall commented, just happy the heat was off him again, "back to Skyhold it is."

Herah was relaxing.

This was a rare occurrence due to her unfortunate position as Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste. Usually there were meetings to attend, papers to sign (after much practice her signature had finally been approved by Josephine) and arguments to sort out between Varric and Cassandra. But luckily for Herah, she'd arrived back from Crestwood so late this evening that she'd been able to sneak away to her quarters without anyone noticing.

So, here she lay. With a snoring, spindly elf beside her. In fact, Sera was particularly out for the count tonight, which Herah guessed must be due to heavy drinks with Iron Bull and the Chargers.

Still, snoring aside, Herah was able to light a candle beside the bed and flick through a few pages of Swords and Shields. The Inquisitor wasn't usually much of a reader, but Sera had left it on her desk with a heartfelt note which immediately piqued the qunari's interest.

"Buckles! [Surrounded by at least twenty hastily drawn hearts]

Crown braid. Swords and Shields. On her bed. Found it and now we've borrowed it.

Lock was easy! Inquisition needs new doors. Or new locks. Get both.

Seen her reading it when she thinks no one's looking.

Prissy pants ain't so prissy after all!"

That was all Herah needed to know she'd enjoy reading every word. And, a few pages in, she wasn't disappointed.

The book was pure filth. Smutty literature of the worst (or best) kind. She hadn't even finished the first chapter and a Guardsman was already topless.

Herah grinned mischievously to herself. There was no way the Seeker could live this down-

A quiet knock on the door. The sound of the door being opened without waiting for a reply. Feet shuffling. A head appeared from the stairs up to the Inquisitor's quarters, peering over the bannister.

An awkward pause as Herah stared at the intruder and the intruder stared at Herah.

"Is that you, Inquisitor?" The silhouette asked the Inquisitor in the Inquisitor's quarters.

"No, it's the First Enchanter." Herah whispered back.

A moment of silence. The intruder seemed more than a little confused. "…Vivenne?"

"Yes?"

"Inquisitor, are you playing tricks on me?" The voice was irritated enough for a thick Nevarran accent to become apparent.

Herah's grin broadened. For someone so clever, strong and terrifying, Cassandra Pentaghast could be remarkably gullible and, dare anyone say it, adorable sometimes. "Would I ever do such a thing to the Inquisition's own Seeker?"

"Ugh," came the infamous reply, "can you spare a moment? There's a matter that-" Here, Cassandra cut off abruptly. Her gaze had just landed on the copy of Swords and Shields that rested leisurely in Herah's hands. "Is…is that - ?!"

"It is," The Inquisitor replied amiably, "and the Guardsman is already missing his shirt."

A splutter from Cassandra that could have been a sneeze, or her body simply trying to process the situation without spontaneously combusting. Shortly followed by a soft wheezing noise.

"Are you alright, Cassandra?" Herah asked pleasantly.

"You shouldn't be reading-" The Seeker began, "You're the Inquisitor-"

"And yet I, too, enjoy getting it off to smutty books about-"

"You must come downstairs at once," Cassandra interrupted at such speed she almost tripped over her own words (and her own feet, as she sped down the stairs again), "We're meeting Cullen in the ambassador's office. Your presence is needed."

The Seeker's cheeks were burning the same colour as the tips of her ears. That was: very red indeed.

In contrast, Herah was grinning delightedly and looking very relaxed.

Cullen was glancing between the two of them confusedly. "Is…uh…everything alright?"

"Never better," The Inquisitor replied. Cassandra gave a slightly strained noise, which seemed to be an attempt at agreeing.

Sometimes it really was best not to ask. "I see. Well, we're sorry to interrupt you at this time of night, Inquisitor, but there's a serious matter that requires your…particular attention." Here, Cullen ran a hand through his hair and looked to Cassandra for help.

The Seeker was, unfortunately, in no position to be of help to anyone. Her brain was simply unequipped to deal with scenarios such as the one she'd just been thrust into. How had Herah found her book? How many other people knew? Did she and the Inquisitor really just share a moment of bonding over…smutty literature?

No amount of training had ever come close to readying her for this path. Everything she'd faced before this moment – all the battles and dragons and political turmoil – paled in comparison to locking eyes with the Herald of Andraste and hearing her say the words "I, too, enjoy getting it off to smutty books". Deliberately. Unashamedly. Proudly. The word "too" playing over and over again in Cassandra's mind. Was that really what the Inquisitor thought she, the Seeker of the Inquisition, got up to in her spare time?

Maker have mercy. Death would surely be quicker and less painful. How could she ever look Herah in the eyes again? It was an impossibility. To think of all the time she'd spent, building up a…friendship of sorts with the Inquisitor. And now they were crossing new borders. Into new horizons. Lands that Cassandra hadn't travelled before and never wanted to. Conversations about a topless Guardsman with Andraste's Chosen-

"Cassandra?" Cullen repeated, brow raised.

"I, yes, quite-" Cassandra started, before her brain had time to keep up, "greetings Cullen, Inquisitor." Here, the Seeker bowed very suddenly and awkwardly at the other two, stooping so low she almost hit Cullen in the stomach with her head. She then straightened back up with such speed it was a miracle her neck didn't snap, before proceeding to clear her throat a total of three times. A slight pause. Cullen staring in disbelief.

"I'm glad you could both make it." Cassandra finally finished, much to everyone's relief (including her own). She was wringing her wrists nervously and her cheeks had reached an entirely new level of red.

Cullen turned to the Inquisitor. "Have you broken our Seeker?" he demanded.

Herah held up her hands in innocence. "I had nothing to do with it! She's had a long day training with the soldiers from what I hear. Maybe all the loud sounds of the…swords and shields," here, Herah stared pointedly at the Seeker, "have rattled her head."

"I – no such thing – couldn't possibly-" Cassandra blustered, "I'm no stranger to hearing the sounds of swords and shields in training or battle!"

"Oh, so you're quite a regular when it comes to matters of swords and shields?" Herah asked.

"No – I – you're twisting my words!"

"It's ok, Cassandra. We all have our vices. I'm no stranger to it either, as it happens-"

"Maker's breath-"

"Sorry, just what exactly is going on here?" Cullen interrupted, gesturing between the two, "Am I missing something?"

"Well, Cullen," Herah drawled, "it all depends if you've read"-

"There are crows in the rookery," Cassandra suddenly blurted out, as if the situation was all too much for her and she had to do something – anything – to move matters forwards, "and Leliana has started speaking to them."

Stunned silence. Cullen gave a groan of exasperation, ran a hand through his hair again, and began pacing back and forth. Cassandra was breathing heavily, as though she'd just fought a war. Herah simply stared blankly at the two of them.

"I…sorry, you'll have to run that one by me again-"

"You might have noticed that since Haven, our spymaster has become a little…" Cullen trailed off.

"Edgy," Cassandra confirmed.

"For lack of a better word," Cullen agreed, "We thought at first it was just her way of grieving for the Divine but it's been weeks now and she seems to be getting worse. She refuses to come down from the rookery and there's been…rumours…of her talking to the crows."

This was too much for the Inquisitor to process at such a late hour. Or ever, for that matter. "Send Josephine to negotiate on my behalf."

"Josephine is too busy dealing with another matter. Solas and Vivienne had another heated spat about Cole. The First Enchanter almost turned Solas' eyeballs into icicles," Cullen replied.

Herah gave a heavy sigh. She turned to Cassandra and raised her brows hopefully.

"Not on your life," The Seeker refused.

The Inquisitor should have been expecting that. Well, all was not lost. She looked to Cullen and gave an encouraging smile. "Cullen, you get on with Leliana-"

"There are troops that need to be trained," The military advisor replied with a shake of the head.

Things were beginning to look bleak. Desperate even. One last try – "Hawke seems to have a nice way with words-"

"Inquisitor," Cullen said, "your words will hold greater sway over Leliana than our own. This task is for you and you alone."

A slight pause.

"And the crows," Cassandra added helpfully.

Hawke and Varric hadn't had much time to reminisce since the Champion's arrival. Luckily, they'd been given a few extra days at Skyhold before Hawke headed to the Western Approach alongside the Inquisitor. This delay was due to dubious "crow related reasons" apparently, which neither Hawke nor Varric cared to find out more about.

Especially when there were more important things to do. Like sit at the tavern getting slightly drunk.

Which is exactly what they'd done. They'd spoken about so many different topics. All their past escapades, their old friends, their new friends, the mage rebellion…and now, what had started as a wholesome conversation about the admiration Hawke had for the Inquisitors' Inner Circle, was starting to reveal itself as something…more.

"I mean, have I fallen a bit in love with the angry, muscly Seeker?" Hawke was saying over a mug of ale, "Maybe. And have I equally found myself trying not to stare in the terrifying direction of Iron Bull as he demolishes everything in his way? Perhaps."

Varric nodded in acknowledgement, "He swings an axe better than anyone."

"Do I sometimes find myself chatting to the ambassador and chief diplomat of the Inquisition for hours on end about different types of quill, just so I can gaze deeply into her eyes?" Hawke continued, with a flourish of gestures, "I don't know. Has it been unknown for me to accidentally touch Cullen's hand as we play chess? Who can say. And do I sometimes find my eyes drifting towards the First Enchanter as-"

"Hawke," Varric interrupted with a knowing grin, "are you trying to tell me you're in love with every member of the Inquisition?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny your allegations, Varric." Hawke replied brazenly, clapping a hand on the dwarf's shoulder and leaning against him, "All I'm saying is, when the lighting's right and I'm full of adrenaline after fighting a horde of demons, even your chest hair starts to look inviting."

The two burst into roars of laughter.

Cole, sat beside them, simply commented: "I love everyone too."

It had been a few days since Cullen and Cassandra's suggestion to 'deal with' Leliana. In truth, Herah Adaar wasn't exactly sure how to go about approaching the spymaster about such a delicate matter (her sanity).

So, to help her on the matter, Herah had spent two days asking members of the Inquisition for their input.

Nobody had been particularly helpful, which tragically didn't come as a great surprise to the Inquisitor. In fact, the closest to 'useful' they'd reached was an excited proposal from Sera to play pranks on Leliana until she had no choice but to vacate the rookery.

"Won't be stayin' in there once it's full of stink bombs and pie, will she?" The elf had said, eyes wide and giddy with possibilities, "No, wait – wait – wait! Better! We could replace all the crows with nugs- Shit! She likes them! Frig! New plan! Swap them with angry badgers!"

Herah dismissed the memory, as enjoyable as it was to dwell on her lover's appetite for utterly insane plans, and tried to focus on the task at hand as she began up the stairs to the rookery.

What was she going to find up there? Nobody had seen Leliana in days except for Cole, who would only feedback some nonsense about "the great game" and "turning into a fist" and "making decisions no one should, but someone has to". He'd also mentioned something about "she thinks she's a crow now", which had plummeted everyone's hopes of a successful outcome to Leliana's mental welfare.

It all sounded far too deep for Herah to comprehend. Each step seemed like a move towards an untimely demise at the hands of a bard-turned-murdery-assassin-crow-woman. Which was unfortunate, given Herah's burgeoning love for Skyhold and, dare she admit it, her inner circle of companions.

Except possibly for Solas. But "even the egg can be useful with his weird, elfy bullshit. He also brews a mean Elfroot soup…and he's surprisingly good at sewing" as Iron Bull had tactfully put it once.

In fact, Solas had just given Herah a wonderful pep talk before she began her doomed mission up to the rookery.

"Solas, Leliana's gone mad and thinks she's a crow. Any advice?" Herah had asked hopefully.

"In this particularly inane case, Inquisitor, I have no wisdom to share and simply do not care," Solas had replied matter-of-factly.

"Fantastic, thank you, Solas," Herah had replied and then been on her way.

And now here she was. The last step before she entered the Great Unknown.

The qunari peered unhappily round the doorway and into the gloom of the rookery. There was nothing to be seen. Just unending darkness.

"Leliana?" Herah called uncertainly.

A flurry of wings and a loud cawing sound. Something feathery was slamming into the Inquisitor's face. She stumbled forwards, thrashing madly at her adversary.

There was lots of screaming. Leliana's table, full of important documents and books, was sent flying into a wall. Just as Herah was about to brandish her staff and set the everything ablaze, another loud cawing noise came from the shadows ahead of her.

The crow ceased its attack and flew to its mistress, who emerged calmly into the dim light of the rookery.

"Inquisitor," Leliana greeted matter-of-factly, as if she hadn't just set an angry crow on the leader of the Inquisition at all.

"Leliana," Herah replied breathlessly, "what the shit-"

"You could have been anyone, Inquisitor. I had to act accordingly."

"I called your name-"

"A spell."

"What?"

"It could have been a spell to mimic the sound of your voice. We can't be too careful in these times."

Leliana stared at the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor stared back. The crow gave a hearty caw.

"Leliana," Herah began rather irritably, "you have to come down from the rookery."

"Impossible," the Spymaster replied, "I can find out everything from this vantage point. For example, have you seen the way Hawke looks at Josephine? The Champion has only been here a week and she's already toying with our ambassador's emotions."

The Inquisitor's mouth was hanging agape.

"My eyes and ears are everywhere," Leliana continued, "Hawke complimented Josephine's knuckles yesterday. Her knuckles. Nobody comments on such an arbitrary body part unless they want to get involved."

"Leliana-"

"I must find out if her intentions are honourable…no, there's no time." It was at this point that Leliana leant her head down to the crow, which was perched merrily on her arm, and began speaking in hushed tones.

Herah Adaar had seen a lot in her time. She'd set so many bandits on fire that the smell of burning flesh no longer bothered her. She'd been in an avalanche, recently fought a dragon, and even spoken to Solas about the Fade for four hours solid and lived to tell the tale. But absolutely nothing compared to this complete insanity.

"Leliana, what are you saying to that crow?" The qunari demanded.

"This doesn't concern you, Inquisitor!" Leliana snapped back, glaring daggers, "I'm only doing what must be done."

"Are you- please tell me you're not plotting Hawke's death-"

"There is no other way."

Right. That did it. If Herah was going to rescue Leliana's sanity then she'd have to do it by force.

"I know exactly the cure for this," the Inquisitor said solemnly as she rolled up her sleeves to show off her rather impressive guns, "and I'm going to physically drag you to it if I have to."

Solas was topless.

Not only was he topless, but he was revealing something nobody was expecting: incredibly well-defined abs.

"Well, I say…have you been working out?" Dorian asked from the other end of the table, fanning himself delightedly beside an equally topless Stroud.

"No." Came Solas' thoroughly explained answer.

The staring continued for a few moments longer (even Sera was too shocked to come up with a witty remark) before Herah slammed down a card. "Read it and weep! Leliana – hood down!"

Low grumblings from the Spymaster, sat next to the Inquisitor. With a grimace, she pulled down her hood, much to the loud celebrations from the party around her. Iron Bull had even taken to slamming his fists repeatedly on the table with such force that everyone's drinks rocketed into the air.

It had taken precisely two hours for Herah to drag Leliana down to the tavern for a game of Wicked Grace and more drinks than was strictly necessary. The Spymaster had absolutely not complied willingly at first, trying to set her small army of crows on anyone that moved. But after a lot of wrestling and hair pulling and horn tugging and punching, she'd eventually been too worn out to resist any longer, and found herself sat next to the equally dishevelled Inquisitor as the cards were dealt.

Everybody had gone out of their way to be kind to her, and remark on her hard work and cunning. Vivienne had been surprisingly sensitive (if such a word could be used to describe the First Enchanter) and looked deeply into her eyes before sitting down, asking "How are you, my dear?"

At one particularly poignant (and painfully awkward) moment, Cassandra had even attempted to check in on her. "Are you…I mean…we've all heard…after the Divine…and Haven…difficult…hasn't it been?" were the deftly chosen words from the warrior, with nervously wringing wrists and ears tinged red. Leliana had very almost smiled at that.

Then there'd been Sera. Why Herah was so enamoured with the elf, Leliana would never fully know. But she'd perhaps begun to start to understand when the blonde had given her rushed hug, then looked like she'd immediately regretted it, hurriedly given her a quick punch in the shoulder to make up for it, gawkily stood there for a few moments, said "I caught you a nug. But it escaped, didn't it? Right. On the roof I think. Cole's probably eaten it, weird one, isn't he? Can't say I didn't try. Would get you another one but I haven't got any pants left. Funny, right? Because we probably won't have any pants left… Wicked Grace, isn't it? Yeah." then scurried away to sit on the other side of Herah.

Why Sera would need to use her own pants to capture a nug, Leliana would never know. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the Spymaster had found a mystery that she didn't want to solve.

Speaking of pants-

"Vivvy… pants off!" Sera's voice demanded presently.

"In your dreams, darling," the First Enchanter replied in her usual velvety tone, "everyone knows you start with the head first." The latter part was laden with innuendo and caused complete uproar from Dorian, Iron Bull and Varric's directions. Cullen, sat near them, was hiding his reddening face in his hands as Vivienne delicately removed her hat.

"Blackwall," Herah called to the other side of the table, "you seem to be fully clothed."

"That I am," Blackwall replied pleasantly, shuffling the cards in his hands, "it'll take more than you lot to remove a single garment from my attire."

"Oh-ho, is that a challenge?" Varric asked with a grin.

"Merely a fact," Blackwall said, slapping a card onto the table, "and for your disbelief, you'll remove your jacket."

Jeers all round. The game continued.

"Why Josephine," Hawke began from the middle of the table, where she'd positioned herself expertly beside the ambassador, "what delicate…elbows you have."

Josephine was all giggles and blushes and playful swats of the hand. "I – well – how can you possibly tell such a thing when I'm wearing this dress?"

"No amount of material could ever hide such charming qualities," Hawke drawled, leaning in closer to the ambassador.

"That doesn't make sense-" Leliana began through grit teeth and a piercing glare.

"I believe it's my go to choose someone to take off their clothes next," Cole said, staring at the card he'd just placed down. "How do I choose?"

"Well," Solas began seriously, "it's an intricate decision to make, Cole, and your question is a good one-"

"Tell prissy pants to take off her top!" Sera yelled gleefully.

"We want to see the guns!" Herah demanded.

"Guns?" Cole asked, brows knit together in confusion.

"Flex 'em for us!" Iron Bull roared with another fist slam on the table, "I need to see what I'm up against next time we spar!"

"I don't think-" Cassandra said, flustered, "I believe it's Cole's choice to make and you shouldn't sway him on the matter! As Solas said, it's a very intricate decision-"

"Stop stalling, Cass," Leliana interrupted with the first smile she'd given in weeks, "I think seeing your impressive muscles would do us all a world of good."

A snort of annoyance from the warrior. She was rather beginning to regret asking Herah to bring the spymaster down from the rookery.

"Ok," Cole said finally, "if it would make everyone happy. Cassandra – can you remove your top?"

Bursts of laughter all round, save for Cassandra as she slowly began to pull off her top, muttering bitterly to herself all the while.

As whistles sounded out loudly from Sera and Herah's direction, Cullen (who was sat in only his pants opposite the Seeker) gave a sigh of relief.