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The first time he catches her at it, they are still at Haven. She’s alone in the war room when he arrives, poring over a stack of reports almost as tall as she is. Her lips move around words and he wonders if she’s reading the missives out loud. Then his ears pick up a slight tune. Is she reciting a chant? No, that wouldn’t make sense. She’s admitted, repeatedly, to being unsure of her own faith. Then he catches the words.
“I have run through the fields of pa-in and sighs. I have fought to see the o-other side”
She’s singing to herself.
He’s heard tales and read reports of her charging headlong into a platoon of bandits and battling spiders as big as Iron Bull. She is strong and sure on the battlefield and her confidence as a strategist and leader grows by the day. No one would describe her as soft. Half the time he forgets she’s even a woman. She is just the Herald. Sexless.
Who would have thought she sang? Somehow, it makes her more human. Less like Andraste reborn.
She’s not singing loud enough for him to tell if she’s any good but still, he smiles. He hides it quickly, realizing he should probably announce himself instead of standing here staring at her without her knowledge.
He clears his throat loudly and the music immediately cuts off. She looks up, startled like a fennec in the brush, and her cheeks flood with unconscious embarrassment. She hides it well though. She’s learning.
“Commander.” She greets, her voice clear. “Excellent timing. Take a look at this report from Scout Harding would you?”
He makes his way around to her side of the table. “Of course Herald.”
---
The second time he catches her at it they are at Skyhold, she has returned from death a second time, and he definitely never forgets she is a woman.
In fact, it seems to be the only thing he can think about in her presence ever since she stammered her relief for his survival. In the war room, in the practice courts, when she’s leaning in the doorway of his tower, his eyes rake over her body, imagining…things. Things that good little Chantry boys should not be imagining about their commanding officer.
She has…changed him.
If only she felt the same way.
He is wandering the halls, trying to acquaint himself with the maze that is Skyhold keep, when he hears it. It is faint at first but, ever curious, he follows the sound until it grows louder. He comes to what appears to be a bathing chamber, the room filled with steam, deliciously warm after the cold air of the mountains. The voice is loud now and…he recognizes it.
It is the newly-crowned Inquisitor.
He gulps, his cheeks flaming. She must be bathing. Bathing and singing. He knows this song, a bawdy one about Templar Knight-Captain Mattias and his sword. She is singing it at the top of her lungs.
She is terrible.
She hits maybe one true note in five and no wonder she didn’t sing after Haven fell. He thought she must not know the song, or maybe she was so exhausted and shell-shocked that she couldn’t remember the words, but now he wonders if her truly awful voice is the real reason.
He bites back a chuckle at the sheer ridiculousness of it.
When she comes to the crescendo, about Knight-Captain Mattias, after a long battle, returning his sword to Catherine’s Cleft at the top of the mountain, he does not expect her to replace Mattias’ name…with his.
“…and that was how Knight-Captain Cu-u-llen met his end!” Her voice warbles on his name, the high note hanging in the muggy air.
He chokes.
And she hears him.
The song cuts off sharply, the splashes of water coming to an end. “Hello? Is someone there?”
He beats a hasty retreat, managing to duck out of the room right before her head peeks around the partition. He doesn’t stop walking until he is safely back inside his tower. He shuts the door behind him, slumping against the stone wall and breathing heavily, his whole body aflame.
“Andraste preserve me.”
---
The third time he hears her sing, they are tangled together in his sheets on the upper level of his tower. He is splayed on his back, happy and sated, a lazy arm wrapped loosely around her waist. She leans over him, twirling circles in the spray of blonde hair on his chest.
They are both bare, skin pressed against skin. Her hair hangs loose from its usual tight bindings, framing her face. Her purple eyes are dark with satisfaction and contentment. She hums quietly to herself, interspersing a word here and there.
He smiles up at her. Her eyes brighten and she grins back, but doesn’t stop her song. He loves that she trusts him enough to do this in front of him now. She doesn’t sing in front of anyone. She loves to sing but she’s a realist about her talent at it and so she cuts herself off when there is even the remotest chance someone might hear her. But for him, she sings, completely at ease. He loves it.
Maybe it would be better to say he loves her.
“I think I fell in love with you the first time I caught you singing.” He tells her.
She rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “Of course you did.”
He runs his hand up her back, tangling it loosely in her hair. He tugs teasingly. “Are you calling me a liar my lady?”
She smirks. “Maker forbid.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Flaterrer.” She accuses, still unconvinced.
“Goddess.” He counters. He uses his hold on her hair to pull her down for a lingering kiss.
He will convince her one day. And she will sing for him. But not right now.
Right now they have more interesting things to do with their mouths.