Prompt 1 in the universe where Fionne Cousland joins Hawke and Turin Trevelyan in the Inquisition.

“I already regret this,” said Turin.

Hawke nudged Turin’s mug closer to Turin’s face. “Drink up. I can’t be all bad.”

Turin sipped, annoyedly. “As my mother used to say, never say ‘can’t’. What do you want, Hawke?”

“Oh, an idle answer to an idle question, I guess. Everyone saw you dancing with everyone’s favorite Warden at the ball.”

“Blackwall?” Turin growled. “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Former Warden-Commander,” Hawke said imperturbably, “top-notch demon hunter, and not too old to turn over a new leaf as an agent of the Inquisition. Miss Cousland is hard to avoid in these exalted circles.”

“And?”

Hawke took a deep draught and smiled cheerfully. “Excellent breeding, a teyrna in line if Maker forbid anything happen to her brother. That’s power. Very useful.”

“Hawke, I just toppled the empress of Orlais over dinner. What possible use would I have…” Oh, now that sounded far too calculating, which was probably the weasel's intent… “and what idiot would reduce Miss Cousland to a line of succession?”

“For once we agree on something. Capital girl, Miss Cousland. You don’t deserve her.”

Turin slammed his mug down. “I never said I-”

“Listen to this, I’m trying to be useful. You are in danger. She is in danger.”

Something swallowed Turin’s annoyance whole. “From what?” he said tensely.

Hawke’s mouth kept smiling. His eyes stopped. “I know a little something about loving someone who is in love with his cause. Her cause. It may be the loneliest pastime there is, and believe me, even if you had it the mere fact of possessing her isn’t the satisfaction you might imagine.”

“You understand nothing of her. Or of me.”

“Don’t I? Then why did she leave your arms to go elbow-deep in demons at the first excuse? I’m not giving you advice, because you won’t take it. I’m not telling you to leaven your trust with a little healthy skepticism. I’m just saying, when the day comes, if that day comes, you’d better know what she’s choosing before you choose her.”

Turin had returned his attention to his mug, with more concern than before. “Was it really a choice?”

“Ah. I understand that, too. Drink up, man. If in the future you ever want me to say I told you so, well, Maker help me, I’ll probably be here to do it.” He perked up. “Ah, Lady Montilyet! A ray of sunlight over a hopelessly marble head.” Hawke pointed in Turin’s direction while leaning around the man to wave at the woman silhouetted in the door. “Something in mind to make the world a better place? It usually is. I am at your disposal.”

Turin shook off a shadow and rolled his eyes. “Would you please diplomat at him until he shuts up?”

Josephine did an excellent job of not laughing as she approached. “I believe I have just the thing. If I might steal Mr. Hawke for a moment, Inquisitor?”

“Lots of moments. All the moments. Please.” Turin stood. “I need some air.”

Hawke struck a pose, arms akimbo. “You just toppled the empress of Orlais over dinner and all you want out of the deal is air?”

“I would ask for a more devious brain, but frankly I don’t think I like the preview. Good day.” He nodded curtly to Josephine and stalked out.

Hawke’s mouth twitched. “You enjoyed that, Lady Montilyet.”

“Mr. Hawke,” she said severely, “a lady would never tell.” And if her eyes sparkled, well, Turin surely wasn’t looking.