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"Who would you watch for from the battlements all night?"
Margitte managed to shrug off the smiles and the silly swooping sensation in her stomach for several weeks. It was simply being around a new group of people, she told herself. It was exciting. Her life before the Conclave and the Inquisition had consisted of only two groups of people: those she lived and studied with in the Circle and the birth family who wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.
So many of the people who now surrounded her were so…beyond her comprehension. Vivienne was the epitome of class and grace. Cassandra could probably stare down Corypheus and win. Cole defied all she had been taught about spirits. Dorian defied all she had been taught about the capabilities of facial hair. Leliana had fought in the Fifth Blight alongside the now Queen Cousland.
Sometimes she sat up half the night and cried because they were all so lovely and talented and she was just…Margitte.
It was different with Varric though. When he wandered into the garden where she was tending to her plants, she didn’t stiffen and turn away in terror and awe. She liked his stories about Kirkwall and his crossbow and the woman called Hawke who kept very much to herself despite multiple attempts to talk.
"How do you know you love someone, Varric?" she’d asked one brisk afternoon over a pot of elf root seedlings.
”What?” he’d chuckled. She did not miss the edge of nervousness to his voice.
"Haven’t you ever been in love? How did you know?"
She didn’t think she’d ever truly been in love, not really. There were boys and girls back in the Circle she’d admired—some she’d even kissed. But none of them had given her the feeling that grew in the pit of her belly whenever she watched Cullen walk across the courtyard and raise a hand to wave at her.
"I’m not really the person to ask, Static," Varric replied, referring to her by his nickname born of her affinity for magical electricity. "But I know someone you can ask. Just don’t tell her I sent you."
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It was nearing five in the morning when Margitte shook the sleep from her eyes and thanked the bewildered Inquisition scout she’d asked to wake her at such an early hour. With only slippers and a fur-lined robe to cover her sleep clothes, she crept out into the crisp morning air.
She found her sitting exactly where and how Varric had said she’d be. Molly Hawke’s chestnut hair was swept back into a sloppy bun. One hand held her cloak tight around her shoulders and the other kept her staff from rolling off her lap. She’d wedged herself in between two of the posts on the battlement to create a cozy little alcove to observe from.
"You aren’t afraid you’ll fall?" Margitte asked.
“Andraste’s tits!" Molly shrieked. Her hand let her cloak fall behind her as she grabbed at her chest in shock. "I didn’t…Inquisitor, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you approach."
"No, I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you."
Molly’s gaze turned back out to the sweeping mountain view that lay before her. The first beams of the morning sun began to hit her face.
"How can I help you?"
"May I ask you a question?"
"Of course…Margitte, is it?"
"Yes."
"Of course, Margitte."
"How do you know you love someone?"
Hawke gave her an incredulous glance as she reached back for the cloak she had dropped.
"You came out here just before sunrise to ask me how you know you love somebody?"
"Yes. I thought you could help."
"That’s an…awfully complicated question."
"Will you try?"
Molly opened her mouth to speak when a low whistle sounded in the still morning air.
"SOMEONE AT THE GATES!" a guardsman yelled from below. A horn blew.
"Who—?" Margitte started to say, but when she turned it was to find Molly already out of her watch post and scrambling down the steps into the courtyard.
"Hey, wait!"
Margitte followed after her, barely able to keep up. She saw Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana emerge from Skyhold’s main entrance, in various states of disarray and consciousness, but all with weapons ready.
"Let them in!" Molly demanded. Her hair had come loose in her run.
"Who is it, guardsman?" Cullen yelled down from the steps.
"It’s…" The guardsman hesitated. "It’s elves, ser."
"Elves?"
"Let them in!" Molly demanded again.
The guard looked over to the clustered Inquisition advisors for what to do. In his hesitation, Hawke acted.
She grabbed the wooden slats barring the front gate and threw them to the ground. When the guard made a move to stop her, Margitte found her voice.
"Let her!" she called. She tried to ignore Cassandra’s stare of disbelief as the poor man who simply thought he’d be having a simple night watch duty floundered on what action to take. It was enough time.
Molly threw open the front gate with obvious effort, and the growing rays of morning sun came blazing through it. Margitte raised a hand to shield her eyes.
In between where Skyhold began and the mountain path ended, two women with the sun in their hair met.
Molly picked up the stranger and pulled her into a hug. It was an elf.
Margitte suddenly understood.
This was Merrill.
“Ma’salath, you made it,” Molly sobbed. “I sent the crows weeks ago—I was so afraid—”
"We made it," Merrill told her. "I’m here."
She kissed Hawke, arms flung around the Champion’s neck and Molly’s hands in her hair.
Molly had been waiting up all night for her.
Margitte looked back at her advisors, who had been joined by Varric, Cole, and Josephine. Cullen’s stern expression fell as he met her eyes. He smiled.
And with that smile, she understood.
Only Cole heard Varric say “I told you she could answer better than I ever could.”