A/N: For Bladesworn. Oh look, the What We Become mini-universe is getting all curled up together!


Cullen's carrying books.

This isn't proper Templar behavior at all- following after a mageling with his helm gone (Maker only knows where he's put it this time, Greagoir grumbles to himself), a hopeful and faintly puppyish look on his face as he cranes his neck to see better over the heavy stack of volumes in his arms.

"Where… ow," Cullen mutters as he stumbles into a chest. "Where did you want…?"

"Oh. Here, on the desk," the little apprentice says, bright-eyed and watching the boy and any minute the two of them are going to remember themselves and see him at the end of the long room—

"Thank you, Cullen. Very much." And she's smiling and Greagoir doesn't know why it's always this apprentice but if this keeps on they're going to have to have a discussion.

Cullen smiles in return—too wide, too bright, he should remember to keep his helm on if he's going to wear his heart on his face. "It's no trouble."

And then, as though all this wasn't bad enough: "Is there anything else to… um. Carry?"

"Oh." The mageling blushes, apple-cheeked. "Um. I guess I have a few boxes to move? But I can get those."

"No, I'd be… I mean, I'll get the boxes," Cullen says and that's just it.

"Cullen," Greagoir rumbles and that's nice and satisfying—Cullen visibly jumps and the mageling nearly squeaks, dropping her gaze to the floor and pretending to be invisible. "I believe you're finished here."

"Y-yes, sir. Of course." But he still glances back at her. "Library?"

She nods, a little bashful. "Library."

There's a moment of hanging silence after Cullen straightens and walks out and the mageling stands twisting her hands in anxiousness at being stuck in the same room with the Knight Commander—and then she says, "oh," and snatches up a dark-blue hair ribbon off her bed and all but scrambles out of the room, fleeing.

Greagoir counts to ten and absolutely does not entertain a daydream about strangling them both.

Or the notion that their lives are all running in circles.