Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everly came awake gradually, stirring under the pile of furs that took up most of the bed. One eye cracked open, than the other, her vision slowly coming to focus on the first light of dawn rising over the Frostbacks. The doors to the balcony were wide open, as usual, and she could see the dark outlines of the peaks against purple sky. A cool breeze swept through the room. She inhaled deeply, hoping the bracing mountain air would chase the fatigue from her body.

A shiver snaked down her back, but she forced herself to sit up, wiping at bleary eyes. She was never an early riser; the running joke among her advisors was that it was impossible to get an audience with the Inquisitor before mid-morning. And on the rare occasions that did happen, her responses were limited to monosyllabic grunts. In fact, she was half-tempted to fall back into bed and huddle under the thick furs until Josephine found her. But then she remembered a boastful promise, and felt a surge of renewed determination.

Everly pushed off the bed and set to work dressing herself, pulling on her leathers and boots, then strapped her bow and quiver to her back and crept down the stairs. Although the main hall was deserted at this early hour, the fireplaces were still roaring--Everly always wondered how that was accomplished, and whether it was due to some magic she wasn’t aware of. After a brief moment of appreciation, she darted past the dining tables and silently exited the hall, bounding down the stairs to the main courtyard. The morning was crisp and clear, and the first rays of sunlight were beginning to cut across the sky. It would be a bright red dawn.

Everly smiled. She’d be lucky today.

A quick detour lead to the kitchen, where she strutted past the food stores to the butchering station. Reaching up, pulled down the small folding sled that hung on the wall behind an array of hatchets and knives. She maneuvered it over her shoulder, careful to avoid her bow, then headed out towards the main gate. The courtyard was empty, save for a few guards posted on the battlements, and she was just about to call up to the guardhouse when a familiar voice stopped her cold.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Everly tried to fight her smile, but it was no use. Already the grin was spreading, so wide across her face she was sure one day it would just split in half. She had always hated the reaction, frustrated that she should lose all control over such simple a gesture. Also, she remained convinced it made her look like a complete idiot. Although recent events had made her feel slightly less self conscious. Biting her lip slightly, she spun around on her heel.

There was never a moment where Cassandra didn’t look stunning.

The Seeker stood with her hip cocked, hands crossed and lightly resting on the pommel of her sword. Even though her stance was relaxed, the power in her form was evident: all broad shoulders and tightly coiled muscle, always ready to move with a strong grace few realized she possessed. Her armor, polished and sharp, gleamed in the early morning light. The sight was awe-inspiring. Everly hoped she would never tire of it.

Cassandra arched a suspicious brow, and Everly quickly bowed in greeting, still smiling.

“Will I ever be free of you, Seeker?”

Cassandra inclined her chin ever so slightly. “Is that what you wish, Inquisitor?”

“Never.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched, and Everly brightened even more. The Seeker never smiled, at least not fully. Instead she fixed everyone and everything with the same hard glare, hazel eyes as impenetrable as her armor. But Everly had quickly learned that the key to deciphering Cassandra’s mood was her mouth, not her eyes. From the varying depths of her frown, or how tightly her lips were pressed together, or the rare moment the right corner curled softly--always more than the left side, a result of whatever weapon that had sliced her from ear to chin. Those tiny cues all conveyed different degrees of anger, frustration, surprise, and in Everly's case, bemusement and affection.

“I am glad we are in agreement, then.” Cassandra shifted and crossed her arms. “You’re not supposed to wander about by yourself. As you know.”

Everly made a face. Technically, that was true. Upon their arrival at Skyhold, it had been decided among her advisors that she would not leave the fortress without an escort. At first, it had been easy enough to comply with, but now she chafed under the restriction.

“I gave instructions to bait the deer herd that’s been moving through to the south. I was going to check them."

“We have plenty of meat stores for the winter.”

“Yes, but as I recall you prefer venison.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched again and for the briefest of moments, it looked as if she was biting back a smile. Everly took a step forward, suddenly aware they were still in full view of the guards manning the gate.

“Would you care to join me? For security purposes, of course,” she said.

The Seeker rolled her eyes, then uncrossed her arms. Everly spun around and lead them out of the main gate, across the bridge that spanned the chasm the fortress had been built over. They entered the forest quietly and turned right, heading down a path that was easily concealed from anyone who didn’t already know it existed. As they moved deeper into the woods and out of sight from Skyhold, Everly felt Cassandra relax behind her ever so slightly.

It had been nearly a month since the night in the garden.

Everly could recall every single day since that evening with startling clarity, each one bringing something new and wonderful with it. Her mind held a constant litany of firsts, a list she kept referring to in wonder. There was the first kiss, of course. But then there was the first time she had taken Cassandra’s hand, on a brief walk through the courtyard after dark. The first time Cassandra had ran her fingers through Everly's hair. The first time they shared a bedroll together, during the expedition to the Exalted Plains, when Everly had woken in the night to find Cassandra curled up next to her, arm draped over her waist.

As if reading her thoughts, Cassandra snaked an arm around Everly's waist, pulling her backwards to plant a kiss on her temple. “I enjoyed your company last night,” she murmured against Everly's ear. “You...did not have to leave.”

Everly blushed. Their routine had managed to remain mostly undisturbed, even as her duties increased as the Inquisition grew in size and influence, and last night Everly had again found herself in the forge. They had split a bottle of strong ale and she had nearly fallen asleep in with her head in Cassandra’s lap, as Cassandra read aloud from her latest novel. It was ridiculous, of course, completely overwrought and dramatic, but she could listen to Cassandra’s voice for hours.

“I snore, remember?”

“I remember.” Cassandra's hand trailed across Everly's stomach and up her side. Everly tensed until she realized what Cassandra was searching for. Her coat of mail, still too heavy for her liking, had been left lying in a heap at the foot of her bed.

Everly chuckled. “Deer don’t shoot arrows, Cass."

Cassandra made a disgruntled noise and let her hand fall. They continued forward.

Ahead the woods thinned out, and they emerged into a small grove of birch and pine trees. The bushes and brambles they had navigated through disappeared completely, leaving only a ground layer of soft moss, grasses, and pine needles. The canopy overhead was dense enough to block the wind but still allowed sunlight through, and beams of light filtered down to the undergrowth below. Abruptly, Everly realized that Cassandra was no longer beside her. She turned back to find Cassandra looking up at the canopy as she walked. Cassandra’s face had softened, the hard line of her jaw relaxed, taken aback by an unexpected moment of serenity. The effect was striking. Everly quickly looked away, afraid she would be caught staring.

When they reached the edge of the grove and stepped back into deeper forest, Everly crouched down. While the nights had grown longer and cooler, the frost had not yet set in and the ground was just pliable enough for the deer to leave tracks. There was an array of hoofprints at her feet, pointing in the direction of the grain feeder that had been built weeks ago. Pleased at the signs of activity, Everly looked over her shoulder and pressed a finger to her lips. She silently drew an arrow from her quiver, nocking it without looking. Cassandra nodded and gripped her sword to prevent it from banging against her hip.

Everly turned back and took one step--only for the silence to be shattered by the snap of a twig. She whirled around to see Cassandra slowly lift her boot and scowl at the offending stick, as if it had deliberately positioned itself beneath her heel. Everly put her finger to her lips again, more emphatically this time, and the scowl was immediately aimed in her direction. She shook her head, grinning wildly as she returned her attention to the trail in front of her. It truly was a rare occurrence where Cassandra’s sheer physicality was a hindrance rather than an advantage.

Moving through the thick undergrowth was slow going, made even more so since Everly wasn't used to navigating the terrain with someone else. She could feel Cassandra’s presence just behind her, mimicking her steps in a deliberate and thoughtful manner. Everly knew the effort it was taking for the Seeker to restrain from impatiently charging through the brambles and bushes.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to test Cassandra for too long. A small clearing came into view and Everly's hand snapped up, halting their approach. Through the low-hanging branches was the gentle movement of several light brown coats, blending in against the fall colors. Three deer stood in the clearing: two does and a buck, the latter only a year or so old, judging by the small set of four-point antlers. He stood broadside to Everly, gazing in the opposite direction as the two females ate placidly next to him, picking at the pile of corn and grain at their hooves.

In one smooth motion Everly dropped to her knee and silently drew her bow back to her chin. She steadied her breathing, inhaling deeply then forcing the air out evenly through pursed lips. She heard Cassandra shift behind her, the familiar creak of leather and softly clinking metal filling her with reassurance.

The moment came. Her lungs emptied. With her last breath, her fingers relaxed and the arrow flew.

The buck jumped into the air, kicked once, then fell dead. The two does disappeared, bounding away through the undergrowth. Everly felt the weight of a gauntleted hand on her shoulder and a gentle squeeze.

“Nicely done.”

Everly felt a burst of pride, but was immediately up and approaching the buck with a purpose. She paused only to poke at one black, unblinking eye with the tip of her bow. With the death confirmed, she dropped back down to her knees and stripped off her gloves. A blade was produced from the sheath strapped to her thigh, different than the daggers she carried into battle; smaller and with a thicker handle, but no less sharp. It pierced the hide easily as Trevelyan made a long slit from the hindlegs to the throat, then began pulling back the skin, exposing the muscle layer underneath. Next, she flipped the blade around in her fingers, pointing it upwards, and started cutting through the muscle, using the fingers of her free hand to pull the layer away and ensure the organs were not punctured.

There was a small noise, almost a gentle chuckle, as Cassandra moved to stand beside her “You are remarkably proficient at this,” the Seeker said, appraising Trevelyan's work.

Trevelyan shrugged as she continued working through the carcass, cutting the windpipe and esophagus in two, then pulling down hard to free the entrails down to the buck’s midsection. “I got my first deer when I was six. My father showed me how to dress it, right then and there. Both Robb and Brayden couldn’t handle doing it until they were much older.” She allowed herself a small laugh. “He would tease them about it for years. He loved that story.”

“How is your father?”

Trevelyan’s hands stilled.

The last update from Bradyn had been more of the same. Their father was dying, his body now wasting away as fast as his mind. The fact that it was his intellect to go first had always struck Trevelyan as a form of an insult; his broad shoulders and muscular hands remaining intact even as he began faltering.

It had been simple at first, occasionally forgetting a name here or a chore there, so insidious that it was barely noticeable. But then came the mood swings, the complete disorientation, and the violent outbursts, made only more terrifying by the large frame he could no longer control. Eventually those episodes ceased altogether, along with most forms of communication, and now Bann Sandor Trevelyan was confined to his room. Destined to live out the rest of his days staring blankly out a window, looking over his family’s estate with dull, unseeing eyes.

Trevelyan glanced at Cassandra out of the corner of her eye, then returned to her project. The knife sliced through the layer of tissue that held the entrails to the ribs, perhaps more forcefully than was necessary.

“The bad days outnumber the good, as it has been for a while now,” she said. “The problem is our uncle. He started sniffing around the estate as soon as Father fell ill, claiming some nonsense about an improper bequest generations ago. Father probably could have strengthened his position had he remarried, but he never did. Stubborn old fool.”

She said it affectionately, with no real malice. Truth be told, she was pleased her father had never married any of the women he had courted over the years. Sadly, they all seemed too interested in wealth and the Trevelyan name, and exhibited little to no desire in being a parent to three rambunctious children.

A few more flicks with the blade, and the rest of the entrails came free.

“I did not mean to upset you.”

Trevelyan turned her head, seeing Cassandra’s eyes wide with concern. She stood and pulled a rag out of a side pocket to wipe off her hands. Despite the invasiveness of the procedure, there was only a thin layer of blood on her fingers. “You didn’t upset me. It was kind of you to ask.”

“Oh.” Cassandra’s weight shifted and she appeared surprised by the compliment. “I am glad I did so, then.”

Trevelyan grinned at the awkward reply. For all of the Seeker’s confidence and raw power on the battlefield, she could be adorably inept at personal interactions. Of course, Trevelyan valued her life, so she would never say such a thing to Cassandra’s face. Instead, she just unpacked the sled and gestured for Cassandra to assist.

They loaded up the buck carcass quickly, each grabbing the end of the rope and began dragging it back through where they came. The buck was surprisingly heavy and the ground was uneven beneath them, but they made short work of the journey, mostly due to Cassandra. Trevelyan was positive that the Seeker could have easily slung the deer over her shoulders and marched it back to Skyhold with barely a labored breath.

The sun was high in the sky when they reached the fortress’s bridge, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out across the back of her neck. Their pace slowed as they approached the gate, and Trevelyan knew it was not due to fatigue. The air shifted between them and she could feel Cassandra tense up again; out of the corner of her eye she saw the Seeker’s jaw tighten and her mouth purse together in a thin line. Trevelyan sighed inwardly, saddened at the transformation. It was a unspoken arrangement that they would keep the nature of their relationship to themselves for as long as possible. Although, considering how incessant the rumor mongering could be, both inside the Inquisition and externally, Trevelyan wondered how long it would remain a secret.

Trevelyan had no time to consider the matter further. The instant the drawbridge touched down, she was immediately accosted by all manner of well-wishers. Skyhold was bustling, everyone now awake and plunging headfirst into the day, and the courtyard was full of people on their way to morning chores. They all stopped to greet the Inquisitor and congratulate her on another fine trophy. Some even hung off the stairways and battlements, invoking Andraste’s blessings upon her as she passed by.

She ground her teeth. The endless fawning could be too much at times, equal parts grating and exhausting. But still, she raised her hand and acknowledged each and every one, thanking them for their kindness and wishing them all a pleasant day. Cassandra met her fair share of greetings as well, almost as robustly celebrated as the Inquisitor.

Trevelyan slowly extricated herself from the crowds and began making her way through the main courtyard. The buck carcass had already been swept away to the butcher and the gathering of people had begun to thin out. It was mid-morning now. The tranquility of being alone in the forest with Cassandra already seemed so far away, despite being less than an hour ago. The familiar tension between her shoulder blades began to grow as she thought about all she needed to attend to. Her advisors were surely gathered at the war table, with a list of things to attend to as long as Cullen’s arm. Trevelyan felt Cassandra fall into step beside her without a word, maintaining a respectable distance, and was briefly comforted by the Seeker’s presence.

“Inquisitor?”

A voice called out just as they reached the foot of the main stairs, and both Trevelyan and Cassandra spun around in unison. Varric stood behind them, with the look of a man who wanted to be anywhere else but there. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, and nervously scrubbed at the back of his neck. His eyes flicked from Trevelyan to Cassandra, then back again.

“Yes?” Trevelyan frowned at the dwarf’s uncharacteristic behavior.

“There’s, uh...there’s someone here you ought to meet.”

“What?’

Her expression changed from suspicion into outright befuddlement, as she had no idea who Varric could possibly be referring to. The confusion worsened when she realized Varric was no longer looking at her, but at Cassandra, almost wincing as if he expected to be hit. The Seeker’s jaw had begun twitching manically and both her hands were balled into fists. She spoke through clenched teeth.

“What.”

***

“How pissed is she?”

“Pretty fucking pissed, Varric!”

Trevelyan shot a glare at the dwarf as she paced across the battlements, running both hands through her thick hair and muttering when it just fell back into her eyes. Varric, for his part, at least appeared somewhat remorseful, if not quite apologetic.

“What did she expect me to do? Did she actually think I would tell her where Hawke was? She’s my friend. Those people have done enough to her.” Varric planted both feet and crossed his arms defiantly. Trevelyan sighed and dropped her hands to her waist, turning her head to look out across the courtyard, towards the training area. She was convinced the sound of metal striking wood could be heard all through Skyhold.

“Go easy on her. She was trying to do the right thing, just like you.”

Varric snorted. “Make sure to tell her that.”

“I will,” said Trevelyan. “When she’s ready to hear it.” She turned a glare on him for added emphasis, and to disguise the fact that she didn’t know exactly when she’d be informing Cassandra of this.

In her experience, Cassandra’s temper was the equivalent of throwing dried leaves on a fire--igniting instantly and spectacularly, but just as quickly burning itself out. However this time it was a long, sustained eruption, and Trevelyan had arrived just in time to see Cassandra actually take a swing at the dwarf. Luckily, her intervention had prevented any further violence, but she was still surprised Varric had emerged from the yelling unscathed. Trevelyan sighed again. Collateral damage was not an uncommon occurrence when the Seeker was raging, and she hoped Cassandra’s anger would not be turned on her. As it were, she felt a distinct twinge of sympathy for the practice dummies.

Varric cocked his head, eyeing the Inquisitor curiously. “You two have really hit it off, haven't you?”

Trevelyan stiffened. He was far too observant for his own good, and while that was a necessary skill for a writer, she wished he would turn his scrutiny elsewhere.

“We understand each other. That’s all.” Her reply was short and clipped, hoping to end this particular line of questioning.

Varric smiled up at her, not quite believing. “Sure. Whatever you say, Your Worship.”

Trevelyan scowled at him, then began walking towards the other end of the battlement. “Or would you prefer that I don’t intervene at all? I could easily let you solve this one alone. And I doubt she’ll only stab a book this time.”

“Fine,” Varric groaned. “Just do me a favor and remind her that she can’t get the next chapter of Swords & Shields if she kills me.”

Trevelyan chuckled. “Now that would be the real tragedy,” she said, as they finally approached the bored-looking figure leaning easily against the wall of the guardhouse.

She was larger than expected, and although Trevelyan had gotten quite used to most warriors being bigger than her, it was unusual for a rogue to have that kind of size. The realization was particularly grating. The vicious daggers strapped to her back and spiky armor struck a dramatic silhouette, and the--blood? tattoo?-- streaked across her face actually made her look even more menacing. Trevelyan could easily picture her running head-first into battle, as Varric had gleefully depicted in his novel. She also couldn’t decide which bothered her more: the fact that Hawke was clearly the inspiration for the charming rogue in the Swords & Shields, or that Cassandra had read Tales of the Champion just as often as the romance serial.

Hawke straightened as they came closer and greeted Varric with a loud clap on the shoulder, smiling widely. Her brown eyes were bright and flecked with gold, sparkling mischievously in the midday sun.

“That was the Seeker you told me about?” Hawke’s tone was a mix of incredulity and appreciation. She shook her head. “I’m surprised to see you still intact.”

“Cassandra’s a real sweetheart, once you get to know her,” Varric said dryly. “You should introduce yourself. She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” A thoughtful look crossed the Champion’s face. “Perhaps I shall. You know how I feel about brunettes.”

Trevelyan’s jaw tightened and she fought to keep her expression neutral as she stepped forward. “I believe there are more pressing matters at hand,” she said, trying to hold back the growl that was rumbling up from back of her throat. She shot a look at Hawke, then Varric.

“Of course, introductions are needed. How thoughtless of me.” Varric made a grandiose gesture in Trevelyan’s direction. “Hawke, meet the Inquisitor.”

Her hand was lost in an enthusiastic grip before she knew what had even happened. Hawke’s smile was all teeth, bright white and perfectly aligned, and Trevelyan wondered how many people she’d been able to bend to her will with that look.

“A pleasure,” The Champion said. The smile turned wicked. “Thought you’d be taller, though.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Trevelyan yanked her hand free, then cocked an eyebrow as she readjusted her glove. “Varric said you fought Corypheus before ?”

Hawke cast a sidelong glance at the dwarf. “All business, that one, eh?” she said. Varric just shrugged. Hawke turned back to Trevelyan, and her face hardened.

“Yes, fought and killed him. The grey wardens were holding him, but he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them. He got into their minds. If the wardens have disappeared, the same thing could be happening again.”

“Wait, back up.” Trevelyan held up her hands, palms out. “You say you killed him? Pardon me, but he appeared very much alive when he attacked me with a dragon.”

Hawke bristled. “When the fight was done, he was dead on the ground. I saw it myself, and I don’t give a damn what anyone else says about it. Maybe the Blight brought him back, or it was old Tevinter magic. Either way, he was dead.”

Trevelyan eyes narrowed. She had heard many stories from Kirkwall about its Champion, but none of what she had been told lead her to believe that Hawke was a liar. A trouble-maker, yes, but not an outright fabricator. Stretching the truth seemed to be solely Varric’s vocation.

“Very well,” Trevelyan said. “If the wardens are under Corypheus’s control again, is there a way to free them?”

“It’s...possible.” Hawke sighed heavily, sounding like she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. “But we need to know more. I have a friend in the wardens; he was investigating something for me and the last time we spoke he was concerned about corruption in the ranks. And I think possible mind control at the hand of a demented Tevinter magister would count as corruption, no?”

Trevelyan stiffened.

She had been ten, maybe eleven, when she first heard news of refugees flowing into the Free Marches, running from the horrors of the Blight. Convinced that Ostwick would be overrun within a matter of weeks, she suffered from vivid nightmares every night, until her father sat her down and told her of the Grey Wardens. He had spent weeks spinning tales, telling reassuring stories of an order that was devoted to the cause of protecting all people from darkspawn, fearlessly facing death when the time came.

She clung to those tales like a lifeline, believing fervently that her family would be saved by the revered order. It was only when she had grown older that she realized her father’s accounts were not quite accurate, and that black and white heroism actually existed more in shades of gray. Still, it had been difficult to shake her childhood idealization, and the thought that Corypheus had somehow compromised the Wardens left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Where is your friend now?” she asked.

“He’s hiding out in an old smugglers cave near Crestwood. Name’s Stroud. ”

“Well, he sure picked a lovely spot to camp,” Trevelyan said, recalling earlier reports of a large fade rift beneath Crestwood lake and a rampaging dragon in the area. It certainly wasn’t going to be an easy expedition. Her eyes flicked over to Varric, then back to Hawke. “It’s worth a try. We’ll make plans to depart as soon as possible. I appreciate the help.”

Hawke nodded. “I’m doing this for myself as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. This time, I’ll make sure he stays dead.”

“That makes two of us,” Trevelyan said.

“Excellent.” The perfect smile appeared again, and suddenly the Champion looked as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Now where can a girl get a drink around here? And that Seeker --Cassandra, did you say? Is she--”

“I’ll show you to the bar,” Varric said quickly, stepping between Hawke and Trevelyan. He began ushering the Champion away before Trevelyan could say anything. She was suddenly grateful for his intervention. There was no way Hawke could have known, of course--Varric probably had just told her of the Seeker’s love for his novels. Trevelyan was not the jealous type, but she was overwhelmed by the desire to lay claim to Cassandra publicly, especially in the presence of the renowned Champion of Kirkwall.

She fixed a dark glare on Hawke’s retreating back, watching them both until they descended the battlements and disappeared out of sight. Eventually, her ire faded away. Alone for the first time since early morning, she let out a heavy sigh, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. She stood with her hands on her hips for a long moment, gazing out over the mountains.

And she had been having such a nice day, too.

***

By her estimation, Trevelyan had been pacing around the giant oak tree for a better part of an hour now, circling the trunk so many times the grass was beginning to wear away beneath her boots. Her eyes flicked towards the line of candles illuminating the path into the grove, then to the fire she had built, then to the bedroll she had not-so-subtly laid out next to it.

Oh, Maker, this was a terrible idea.

She hadn’t really expected to go through with it today, of all days, when Cassandra was still so clearly upset about Hawke’s appearance at Skyhold and Varric’s obvious deception. Trevelyan had assumed she would eventually calm down, but as the hours passed it became clear the Seeker had no intention of letting the matter go. Trevelyan had never seen Cassandra that angry before--her lips were pressed together so tightly her entire mouth had practically disappeared, and a vein in her forehead throbbed visibly. For a brief moment, Trevelyan had thought she would be able to disarm Cassandra with a few lighthearted comments, but when she tried, hazel eyes flashed at her dangerously. She immediately scurried off, resolving to just give Cassandra a wide berth and hope for the best.

But then the decision had been to set out for Crestwood the very next day, and the candles had arrived later than expected from Val Royeaux (and, if she was being honest, didn’t look nearly as “romantic” as advertised) and she was forced into action. It was only going to get colder in the Frostbacks with each day, and by the time they returned from Crestwood she could miss her opportunity.

So she had thrown caution to the wind, leaving a note above the forge for Cassandra to find and sneaking out of the fortress undetected. Trevelyan thought that in the very least, they would benefit from some time outside of Skyhold, especially since Varric and Hawke appeared committed to a raucous reunion and had taken over the tavern, along with Bull and all of the Chargers. The party would undoubtedly go on all night, heedless of the expedition planned for the next morning.

Trevelyan continued to pace, each passing moment feeling like agony. Maybe Cassandra’s duties had gone on later than usual, or maybe she was still so blinded by anger she had missed seeing the note altogether. Or maybe she had simply decided not to come. Trevelyan mused over that last option, chewing on the bottom of her lip. If that was the case, she would just have to pack everything up again and sneak back into Skyhold. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except that Cassandra would no doubt find her and demand to know what the cryptic letter was all about and didn’t she just tell her not to wander off alone and where in Maker’s name did all those candles come from?

She sighed and leaned against the trunk of the oak, then slowly slid down to a crouch. There was a soft thump beside her, and Trevelyan glanced down to to see that her journal had fallen out of her pocket. She began flipping through it, the small book opening as if by habit to a the middle section, where the binding had been cracked from use. Trevelyan could barely read her own handwriting anymore, the poem had been so hastily scribbled weeks ago, but it no longer mattered. She had committed it to memory almost immediately after she had found it, reading each stanza over and over again whenever she had a free moment.

There was a slight rustle of leaves, the gentle snap of a twig, and Trevelyan was on her feet. She peered around the massive truck at the path she had illuminated. The dense birch and pine canopy blocked the wind completely and each one of the candles had stayed lit, protected from the breeze. The sounds grew louder and Trevelyan saw the outline of a shadow approach. Her heart stomach lurched and she ducked back behind the tree.

“Everly?”

She leaned her forehead against the tree trunk, exhaling slowly to steady herself. Then she forced a smile across her face and stepped out into the open. Cassandra’s hand instantly flew to her sword and her entire body froze. Her mouth was still pressed into a thin line, but it softened ever so slightly as Trevelyan emerged. The hazel eyes remained hard, though, as she favored Trevelyan with a suspicious look. Trevelyan took another breath and cleared her throat.

Light, so low in the vale
You flash and lighten afar,
For this is the golden morning of love,
And you are his morning star.
Flash, I am coming, I come,
By meadow and stile and wood,
Oh, lighten into my eyes and heart,
Into my heart and my blood!

Cassandra’s eyes widened and her hand fell. Trevelyan began circling the Seeker as she recited the poem, sweeping her arms theatrically and gazing upwards at the canopy .

Heart, are you great enough
For a love that never tires?
O' heart, are you great enough for love?
I have heard of thorns and briers,
Over the meadow and stiles,
Over the world to the end of it
Flash for a million miles.

She finished with a flourish and bowed deeply, as if she was on a stage at the Grand Royeaux Theater itself. She swept back up, still smiling, but her expression quickly fell. Cassandra stood before her stoically, with her arms crossed, arching a brow. Trevelyan felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of panic, wondering if she had completely misjudged the entire situation. She clasped her hands behind her back firmly, her nails digging into the leather palms of her gloves, and started fumbling for the words to apologize for being so forward.

Then Cassandra punched her in the shoulder.

“You cannot be serious,” the Seeker said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Of all the poems, you pick that one?”

Trevelyan’s grin returned in full force as she massaged her shoulder. “Would you like a different one? I memorized a few other selections.”

Cassandra didn’t answer. Instead she took a tentative a step forward, glancing around at the fire and the candles before slowly reaching for Trevelyan’s hand. “You did this all...for me?” She looked away, almost shyly, her voice soft and disbelieving. Trevelyan swallowed hard.

“Yes.”

Their gazes met. Cassandra’s eyes turned dark, in a way Trevelyan had never seen before, and suddenly all the air was rushing out of her lungs and she felt lightheaded. Then Cassandra’s hands were on her, digging into the front of her scout coat, and Trevelyan let out a yelp as she was pulled down to the bedroll.

***

All that was left of the fire was coals.

Trevelyan lazily watched the glow of the embers as they burned themselves down, the occasional flame still catching and briefly lighting the area near the bedroll. She would have thought she was dreaming, trapped in the Fade somewhere, almost afraid to believe it had actually happened, but her loose, sated body and bruised lips told her it was real.

Cassandra’s head was resting on Trevelyan’s shoulder, a strong arm tossed lazily across her chest. Trevelyan kept her right arm wrapped around her, barely able to reach across the broad expanse of the Seeker’s muscular back. The Anchor remained safely tucked away behind her head.

Trevelyan trailed her fingertips over warm skin, feeling the hard muscles beneath and lightly tracing the lines of each scar she found. Cassandra’s body was peppered with them; various burns and cuts and puncture wounds that were almost too many to count. Yet Trevelyan had been determined to map them all with her mouth and hands, much to Cassandra’s surprise and eventual delight. She silently marveled at each once she catalogued, amazed at all that the Seeker had endured. And yet, despite how divergent their paths had been, somehow amidst chaos and destruction they had been brought together.

Cassandra stirred, reaching across and pressing her hand against the patches of twisted skin on Trevelyan's ribs, from where the arrows had pierced her side in the Mire. Trevelyan hardly had any scars, and felt oddly embarrassed by that fact, but it was soon forgotten as Cassandra raised her head to press her lips against Trevelyan’s jaw.

“We should return soon.”

Cassandra’s voice was still thick and heavy, the accented words falling from her mouth like honey. A shiver went down Trevelyan’s spine. She ran her fingers up Cassandra’s neck and through her hair, brushing aside the braid that had become undone earlier. She smiled at the low, pleased rumble in Cassandra’s chest.

“You move first,” she murmured into Cassandra’s hair.

“Hmph.”

Cassandra straightened and rose up onto her arm, propping her head against her palm. She slowly drew her other hand across Trevelyan’s chest, lightly grazing over her breast before reaching up to cup the side of her face. She pulled them into a deep kiss, hard and yet somehow tender at the same time. Trevelyan responded immediately, deepening the kiss and tightening her arm around Cassandra’s waist. Without thinking, brought her left hand out from behind her head to reach for the back of Cassandra’s neck. She caught herself before she made contact and quickly pulled back, balling her hand into a fist. Cassandra felt the movement and broke away, turning her head to see Trevelyan keeping her hand off to the side. She looked back down.

“You know it does not bother me.”

Trevelyan sighed and glanced over Cassandra’s shoulder at the dying coals. Her reticence was difficult to explain. She had gotten used to the Anchor's constant presence--even if it still hurt on occasion when she encountered a rift--but there was something unsettling about actually touching Cassandra’s skin with the magic, even though she knew the Seeker had already felt its energy multiple times. She had kept her hand hidden away during their lovemaking, either tucking it underneath the small pillow or grasping the corner of the bedroll. It wasn’t a part of her, not really; it was something that had been burned into her without her consent and that she could barely control.

To prove her point, Cassandra reached for Trevelyan's hand, pulling it towards her as she rolled onto her back. Trevelyan followed, laying on her side and watching as Cassandra examined her hand. The mark was as dormant as it had ever been, its presence only given away by the shimmer just below her skin. Cassandra’s fingertips brushed against her palm, as fearless in this as she was with everything else.

“It frightens me,” Trevelyan whispered.

“I know.” Their fingers laced together and Cassandra gently squeezed her hand. “I wish I could do more to comfort you.”

“You do more than enough.”

Cassandra sighed, moving so that they would face each other, deliberately placing Trevelyan's hand on her hip. Her brows knitted together as a thoughtful look crossed her face.

“They will say one of two things about me. That I stood by the Inquisitor's side--her lover, her protector--and that it was meant to be. Or that I was lead from the path of faith by the wiles of a madwoman.”

Trevelyan chuckled. “I’ve already been called worse than that. But I think it matters most what you believe.”

“Indeed.” Cassandra took another breath. “Beyond anything else, beyond what people say...I believe you are capable of anything. And I believe that to be true whether or not you have the Anchor. That is what frightens me.”

The guard behind her eyes fell, and for the first time Trevelyan saw a breadth of emotion that was only hinted at previously. Cassandra, the truest servant of faith she had ever met, actually believed in her, implicitly and without question. It filled her with both a sense of pride and complete terror. How was that even possible? Trevelyan couldn’t believe she had done anything to earn that level of devotion. She was practically a nobody, her only asset a name whose power was rapidly depleting each day her father grew sicker, thrown by sheer luck into the middle of events she was expected to control and a host of problems she only pretended to know how to solve.

There was one reason, and one reason only, she had made it this far.

Cassandra’s hand, callused and scarred, brushed across her face with an impossibly light touch. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Trevelyan glanced away briefly, almost undone, and swallowed hard. When she looked back into Cassandra’s eyes she almost couldn’t speak.

“Because you make me feel like I can do anything.”

The look was back again, the same one she had been greeted with when the Seeker first stepped into the grove: eyes wide at first, disbelieving, then narrowing into outright skepticism. But then Cassandra’s face broke out into a full smile, broad and dazzling, and Trevelyan swore to the Maker that there had never been anything more beautiful. She was still smiling as she pulled Trevelyan into another kiss.

“Flatterer.”

Chapter Text

Trevelyan landed on her hands and knees, hard. The impact sent a jolt through her spine and the air rushed out of her lungs. She gasped, trying to inhale, but in the back of her throat all she tasted was sulfur and dank water, like she had just emerged from a noxious swamp. A dry, hacking cough tore from her upper chest. After an agonizing breath, the rest of her surroundings came into focus. Rough stone beneath her palm, the weight of her bow and quiver across her back, the hard leather of her greaves biting into her knees. The air was beginning to smell sweeter, less foul; her vision stopped swimming.

She looked up from where she had fallen, green light emanating from the rift so brightly it was nearly blinding. All around her were the sounds of battle; the clashing of metal on metal and the howl of demons, as both Inquisition forces and the Grey Wardens fought through what remained of Adamant. The din drove out the voice in her head, words dripping with disdain that meant to pierce her to her core.

Now you have seen everything, the voice said. You know that you are a fraud. And now your Seeker knows it, too.

Squinting in the light, she saw Cassandra on the other side of the rift. The Seeker had fallen out of the Fade on far side of the courtyard, and was immediately cornered by two wraiths, who just as quickly met their respective ends. Vivienne appeared next to her with a flash, flying out of the rift as if launched and executing a neat roll when she struck the ground. Hawke and Varric were the last ones to come through, Hawke clutching the back of Varric’s collar in a death grip and throwing him as far from the rift as she could. Almost simultaneously, the Champion drew her daggers, landed on both feet, then spun around to face the massive Pride demon that had followed her.

The demon laughed. Although Nightmare had not followed them, its presence was impossible to shake. Trevelyan grit her teeth as she felt the voice fill her head again, the same mocking tone that had haunted her in the Fade. She shook her head violently, as if she could physically rid it from her mind.

You are nothing. You mean nothing. They are wrong to follow you.

A roar cut through the courtyard of the fortress, although it wasn’t the same as Cassandra’s battle cry, as Trevelyan would have expected. Hawke launched herself wildly at the demon, hacking at its legs in an attempt to stagger it. The demon laughed again, louder this time, then activated its guard. The Champion was blasted backwards, tumbling across the hard stone. She rolled once, then dug her bootheels into the hard surface and found just enough purchase to stop her slide. Hawke ran towards the demon again. Trevelyan saw Cassandra do the same, attacking the demon from the opposite side, charging forward and bashing her shield against the demon’s guard with a mighty, righteous yell.

Trevelyan pulled herself to her feet, shaking the fog from her head, then began running towards the rift. Wraiths and lesser terror demons were spilling out from the rift, flooding the battlefield. The Anchor began to flare, surging energy climbing all the way up her arm to her shoulder, and she planted herself directly in front of the rift and raised her hand.

The effect was immediate. Bright light shot out of her palm and struck the center of the rift. The rift itself began to swirl, twisting in on itself in mid air, a sucking maelstrom that began pulling demons back into the Fade. The pride demon roared in defiance, then turned to face Trevelyan. The mark burned as energy continued pouring out of her hand, and Trevelyan looked directly at the demon, meeting seven red eyes boring straight through her. Nightmare’s voice filled her head once more.

You will fail.

You will fail her.

Trevelyan grimaced as she fought to control the rift. Searing pain shot through the length of arm. It was as if every nerve ending had been lit aflame, but she ignored it as she focused all her might, all her being, on sealing the rift and shutting the voice away for good.

The demon laughed.

Trevelyan clenched her fist.

A bright flash of light, a loud crack of thunder, and the rift was gone.

Trevelyan stood in the center of the courtyard, chest heaving, sparks still crackling from her left hand. Inquisition soldiers and the last few Wardens slowly began to recover as they realized the battle was over. They began walking towards the Inquisitor in groups, a low murmur moving through the crowd as a few of them gestured at her glowing hand. None of them had ever seen her close a rift before.

“You bastard!”

Hawke pushed through the crowd and was on Trevelyan in an instant, brown eyes smoldering in anger. Blood and ichor had splashed across her face and her lips were curled back in a snarl. “Why didn’t you let me stay?” she demanded. “It should have been me!”

Trevelyan’s entire arm was still burning, and the pain served to fuel her own anger. “I made a decision. Deal with it,” she said through clenched teeth, stepping forward so that their chest plates bumped together. Hawke was taller and broader, but Trevelyan didn’t care. She jerked her chin up at the Champion and snarled back, daring Hawke to act.

“You fucking--”

Hawke was cut off when a heavy, gauntleted hand came down on her shoulder and yanked her away from Trevelyan. Cassandra stepped between them, sword still drawn.

“You forget yourself, Champion.” The Seeker’s voice was even and measured, but still tinged with a sharp edge. It was the only warning Hawke was going to receive. The Champion sputtered in response, cursing incoherently a few more times before turning away. Varric appeared at her side and placed a hand on her arm, as her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Where’s Stroud?” called someone, indistinguishable in the assembled group of soldiers gathered around her. Trevelyan’s jaw twitched. She clambered up onto the pile of debris that was once the fortress’s upper walkway, destroyed by Clarel’s last, desperate spell in an attempt to defeat Corypheus’s dragon. Trevelyan surveyed what was left of the fortress and the venerated order that once inhabited it. All she saw was waste.

“Warden Stroud is dead because of your idiocy,” she said, lifting her voice so that it echoed against the crumbled stone walls. “He alone stood against Corypheus’s madness. If not for him, you’d all be dead or slaves to the Blight. And you repaid him by branding him a traitor!”

The surviving wardens, a handful at most, shifted uncomfortably and remained silent. After a long moment, one stepped forward. Even though he still wore his helm, Trevelyan could see he wasn’t much older than her. Wide, frightened eyes stared up at her and the griffin on his breastplate was tarnished and dull.

“Inquisitor, we have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?” he asked, failing to mask the tremble in his voice.

Trevelyan gazed out over the courtyard, clenching her fists, and looked at each and every warden. She thought of the stories her father would tell, how she had so eagerly believed his tales of epic and selfless heroism. Frustration mixed with anger bubbled in her chest, burning the back of her throat like bile. Her hand throbbed. It took a moment before she could speak.

“You join the Inquisition and do whatever you can to help.” Even as she said the words, ostensibly granting reprieve, her lips curled back into a snarl. “I was raised to believe the wardens were a force for good. Stroud died to defend that belief. I will give you all one final chance to prove it. Do not disappoint me.”

The moment she finished speaking, Vivienne let out a derisive laugh. “Are you flinging these fools at demons now? Couldn’t you just use rocks?” she said, voice loud enough to project over the crowd of people.

Trevelyan’s fists clenched tighter and more sparks flew from the Anchor. “My decision is final, Enchanter.”

The warden spokesman quickly took another step forward, eager to accept Trevelyan’s offer before there was further debate. “Thank you, Your Worship,” he said, bowing deeply. “We will not fail you.”

“For your sakes, I pray not.”

Just over her shoulder, Trevelyan heard a low growl of discontent. There was no question who it belonged to. Her mouth stretched into a grimace as she hopped down from the pile of stone. Deliberately ignoring Cassandra for a moment, she turned to the highest ranking Inquisition soldier she could see--a corporal named Perry--and told him to inform Cullen that they should prepare to move out. The corporal nodded instantly and scurried away before she was even done speaking.

Trevelyan turned and walked towards the wrecked battlements, out of earshot from the soldiers in the courtyard. Heavy footfalls followed her the entire way. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Varric still talking to Hawke, who seemed beyond reassurance. Vivienne was keeping her distance from everyone. Trevelyan sighed and braced herself .

“How you could you do that? After everything they’ve done!”

Cassandra was a tower of barely-controlled anger, cheeks still flushed from the rush of battle and her dark eyes flashing. Immediately, Trevelyan’s body betrayed her, and a distinct burst of heat blossomed in her abdomen. Cassandra was, without a doubt, the most striking woman she had ever seen, and that effect was only exacerbated when the Seeker was angry. It reminded Trevelyan of the moment they had first met, when Cassandra had barreled through the dungeon door at Haven and she had been rendered utterly speechless at the sight. Trevelyan had to force the thought out of her mind.

She didn’t answer right away, instead leading them farther away so they would stay out of earshot. “They deserve another chance,” Trevelyan finally said, after they had taken several more steps.

“‘Another chance.’” Cassandra snorted. “They’re still vulnerable to Corypheus’s influence. How do you know it won’t happen again?”

Trevelyan threw up her hands. “I guess I don’t. But we’re not in a position to turn down fighters for the Inquisition. They can still serve.”

“And you’re willing to take that chance?”

“Yes.”

“But--”

“This is my decision!” Trevelyan snapped, voice carrying over the wrecked fortress. The pain in her hand had migrated up her arm and shoulder, and was slowly inching across the back of her neck. More soldiers turned their attention towards them, and Trevelyan could feel the weight of their curious gazes. Suddenly, all the burdens she had struggled to carry crashed down at her feet. She knew what was expected of her--of the Herald--and bitterness rose in her throat. Surely she would prevent Corypheus’s influence from spreading further. Surely she would heal the sky and turn chaos into order. Surely she would save them all. After all, she had been chosen.

But, as it turned out, she hadn’t been chosen at all.

Trevelyan stepped towards Cassandra, challenging her in the same way as Hawke, their size difference exacerbated by the Seeker’s heavy boots and armor. Words flew out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying, shooting like arrows aimed at the nearest target.

“If you’re going to task me with making every single decision in Thedas, then I damn well won’t be questioned.” She jabbed a finger at the flaming eye on Cassandra’s breastplate. “And if you or Hawke or Vivienne have a problem with it, then find someone else.”

Cassandra’s mouth opened, as if she was about to reply, but quickly snapped shut. Then her eyes widened, and for a split second, Trevelyan saw them soften and turn sad. The Seeker turned and walked away without a word.

Trevelyan sighed and ran her right hand through her hair. She shook her left hand several times, rapidly opening and closing her fist. The Anchor continued to burn.

***

The small pond reflected the moonlight like a mirror, illuminating the entire clearing. Trevelyan crouched at the edge of the water, staring unblinking at the dark, placid surface. Her gloves, chest plate, and weapons were all tossed aside; she was clad from the waist up only in an undershirt and mail, which she desperately wished to be free of but knew better than to remove completely.

Her hand ached from the burn of the mark, so much so that she could barely move her fingers. The hours of travel on horseback had done nothing but exacerbate the discomfort, as she gripped the reins of her mount and breathed through clenched teeth. At first, she had hoped that perhaps there were rifts at Adamant she had forgotten to close, or some nearby that were just out of sight. But the longer they traveled without seeing any, the more her concern rose. The Anchor had never been this active before.

Trevelyan took a deep breath, then plunged her left hand into the water, leaning over so she could submerge her entire forearm. They were in the last days of fall, and the water was cold enough to almost numb her fingers. She watched as the green flame smoldered under the water, contrasting with the reflection of the moon. She had hoped the water would extinguish the flame, just like any other fire, but the fact that the mark remained active just reminded her of how unnatural the magic was. Slowly, the pain began to subside, and she kept her hand under until she could no longer feel her fingertips. Then she lowered her other hand into the water, cupped them together, and splashed water over her face.

The freezing water hit like a slap, stinging her cheeks and ears. She did it several more times, ignoring the pinpricks of pain in her fingertips, until her entire head and neck was soaked. Tiny rivulets ran down her forehead and she just sat in a crouch with her head down, water steadily dripping from her nose.

Alone for the first time since leaving Adamant, everything that occurred that day came up at her in a rush. Her vision began swimming and she fought back a wave of nausea. After a few breaths, she moved, crawling back to her chestplate and digging into the breast pocket, pulling out her journal. She untied the bundle and flipped to a blank pages, hands trembling, heedless of the drops of water blurring her earlier entries. The moonlight gave her just enough light to write. Even though so much had happened, there was one truth that she couldn’t escape.

I was not touched by Andraste.

Trevelyan stared at the words, made in an uncharacteristically messy scrawl. She had never been particularly devout and could never quite believe that it was Andraste Herself that had touched her in the Fade. The title of Herald had been uncomfortable to bear at first, but she gradually became accustomed to it, even if she didn’t fully ascribe to the tale that had been told. Being Herald--and later, Inquisitor--afforded her the influence needed to affect change in Thedas. She had meant every word she said during her coronation at Skyhold. And she had remained steadfast in that commitment.

But the truth was much more simple and cruel.

It had been a mistake. An accident. She had taken a wrong turn, had wandered into a room where she wasn't supposed to be. That was all there was to it.

Knowing that fact brought on a feeling of disappointment she wasn’t prepared for, but then she wondered if it even mattered. People were going to believe whatever they wanted, no matter the truth of what really occurred. True power lies wherever people believe it lies. No more, no less. That was a lesson she had learned quickly, and it was a truth just as cold as the Anchor’s true origin.

But it did matter, at least to one person.

Trevelyan’s chest tightened. Cassandra had very obviously been avoiding her since their argument, and Trevelyan hadn’t pressed the matter. The Seeker had spent most of the ride out of sight, focusing instead on bringing up the rear and ensuring the party wasn’t stretched too thin. She rode forward only a handful of times, to relay information or discuss possible camping options, and each time her anger was still palpable. When they finally stopped to make camp, Trevelyan had set off to inspect the soldiers and circle around the site, leaving Cassandra to set up their tent alone.

In truth, Trevelyan was terrified. She honestly regretted their argument earlier, and would gladly (and repeatedly) apologize for being so angry. But a part of her couldn’t even look at Cassandra, let alone speak, unable to bear the thought of her disappointment. Cassandra had been the first one to believe in her, so fervently and thoroughly that it was nearly overwhelming. And through the strength of the Seeker’s faith, maybe Trevelyan had started to believe, too. Except that it was all a lie.

Trevelyan sighed and packed up her journal, hands trembling from the cold. The pain had subsided enough that a small amount of movement returned to her fingers, and she had enough dexterity tuck the book away with only a minimal amount of frustration. She stood and gathered her things, strapping on her chest plate and tossing her quiver and bow across her shoulder. Her gloves went on last, wincing slightly as the tight leather compressed her hand.

The camp was only a few yards away, and the flicker of fire mixed with moonlight reflected off the trees surrounding the small clearing. Trevelyan cast a hasty glance overhead. Shadows danced among the bare branches, creating oblong shapes that looked like they were moving. She lowered her eyes and kept them forward as she walked back to the camp, nodding at the guard posted at the eastern corner.

The fire was raging, far bigger than it probably needed to be, but Trevelyan was grateful for the excess. Shivering sightly from the cold water, she gravitated towards it and stood in front of the flames Her undershirt began to warm. Idly, she wished the warmth was coming from Cassandra’s body pressed against hers. The Seeker’s skin was always impossibly hot.

“You okay, Quiz?”

Trevelyan’s head snapped up. Varric was sitting just to her right, Hawke at his side. She had been too engrossed in her thoughts to notice them when she approached. Even though they were in the relative safety of the camp, it was still an inexcusable lapse. Mentally chastising herself, Trevelyan set her shoulders and clasped her hands behind her back, mostly to prevent her from fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Of course. Just a bit tired.”

Varric nodded thoughtfully. Hawke looked up from whatever she was holding in her lap, then exchanged glances with the dwarf.

“I apologize for earlier,” she said to Trevelyan, looking a bit sullen. “It’s just that--”

“No need.” Trevelyan held up her right hand. “I understand. It was unsettling for everyone. Stroud was a brave man.” She paused. “I’m sorry it happened that way.”

“Me too.” Hawke eyes darted away, staring at a far-off point beyond the fire, then turned back to her lap. A large journal was splayed open across her thighs, and on a mostly blank page was what looked to be the start of a letter. Hawke tore the page from the book, crumpled it, then tossed it in the fire.

“Alright, Varric. Help me write this. We have to make it extra dirty, too.” Hawke waggled her eyebrows devilishly, as if her and Trevelyan’s brief exchange had never even occurred. She handed the book over to the dwarf, who sighed dramatically. Trevelyan managed a small grin, but returned her gaze to the fire. Cold was settling into her bones now, despite the raging flames, but she still felt rooted in place. Nightmare’s words still echoed within her.

...you will fail her.

“The Seeker was looking for you earlier,” Varric said suddenly, as if it were an afterthought.

Trevelyan sighed. “Was she angry? Or just mad?”

Hawke snorted. “What’s the difference?”

“‘Angry’ usually involves stabbing,” Varric answered. “‘Mad’ is a typical Tuesday.”

The Champion let out a chuckle and shot Trevelyan an appreciative wink. “And I thought Bela was a handful.”

It took Trevelyan a moment’s thought before she realized who Hawke was talking about. Isabela--pirate, smuggler, rogue, self-proclaimed Queen of the Eastern Seas. It had been awhile since Trevelyan had read Tales of The Champion, but somehow she was fairly certain Cassandra would not have taken kindly to any comparisons between the two.

“I don’t know what you mean by that. There’s nothing going on,” Trevelyan said quickly, issuing the knee-jerk denial that had become her usual response.

Varric gave her a familiar skeptical look. “Sure. And you made me write an entire book for her for no reason.”

“A whole book?” Hawke asked. “Now that’s some romantic shit.”

“We’re just friends. Romance had nothing to do with it.”

Hawke held up both hands in a placating gesture. “All I’m saying is that friends don’t usually stare at each other’s asses all damn day.”

Trevelyan’s jaw tightened and she reached up to massage her temple. She decided it was best not to address it. “Goodnight,” she said, not waiting for a reply. She started walking towards the tent that was set out further away than the others.

As Inquisitor, she did take advantage of a few of the luxuries afforded to her, but that was mostly when she was at Skyhold. While on expeditions, Trevelyan firmly refused any additional amenities that Inquisition soldiers didn’t already have, much to Josephine’s chagrin. The only exception was her tent, which was slightly bigger than the rest of her companions’, but did not bear any sort of notable markings or insignia. It was large enough to accommodate all of her gear as well as a small table and chair, to allow her a private space to manage her correspondence. And, of course, there was more than enough room for two people.

The thick, heavy flaps at the entrance were tightly sealed, tied together with a mean-looking and entirely unnecessary double knot. Trevelyan muttered to herself as her fingernails dug into the leather straps. After fair amount of time, during which a certain Seeker’s point had been emphatically proven, she finally loosened them enough to enter the tent.

Cassandra was curled up in the bedroll, facing away from the Inquisitor. Her breathing was deep and steady, yet there was still tension in the air. Trevelyan waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she was heartened to see that, in the very least, their bedrolls had been pushed together.

Trevelyan slowly stripped off her armor and boots, moving as silently as possible. The gloves came off last. The Anchor seemed to have finally quieted, and as she tested her hand again, Trevelyan was relieved to find that most of the pain had subsided as well. Even though, she sat quietly at the foot of her bedroll, hands in her lap, and stared blankly ahead. Cool night air drifted into the tent and snaked down her spine. Her shivering increased.

Cassandra shifted beside her and Trevelyan stiffened. Fingertips gently brushed down her back.

“I’m sorry.” Trevelyan swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean to get angry at you.”

“No, I should be the one to apologize. I should have handled myself better.” An edge of frustration was still present in Cassandra’s tone, yet she spoke softly. Her fingers continued to trail over Trevelyan’s spine.

“Yes, but your opinion matters more to me than anyone else.” Trevelyan bit down on her lip, hard. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me? How could--wait, why are you wet?” Cassandra’s hand jerked away.

“I was down by the pond.”

“And you decided to go for a swim?”

Cassandra let out an aggravated noise, then Trevelyan was struck upside the head with a thick tunic. She immediately recognized it as the one Cassandra preferred to sleep in. Trevelyan stripped off her top and pulled the tunic over her head, inhaling deeply. She was met with the the smell of fresh cedar and pine from the bedroll, intermingled with the spicy scent of Cassandra’s skin. The shirt was big even for Cassandra, and the wide collar almost slipped off Trevelyan’s shoulder. Trevelyan pulled it tighter around her.

Cassandra rolled over and fished another tunic out of her satchel with a snap so loud Trevelyan almost flinched. She yanked it on then sat up, stretching one long leg out in front of her. Trevelyan could feel the heat radiating off her, the strength evident in her muscular frame even as she was relaxed.

They sat together in silence for several long breaths. Trevelyan could tell that Cassandra was musing over something, and she preferred to wait until the Seeker spoke.

“You think I’m disappointed in you because of what the spirit in the Fade told us?”

Trevelyan started fiddling with the frayed hem of Cassandra’s tunic, bunched up comically at her waist. The tunic had to be ancient; it was riddled with holes and tears along the seams. Her thumb found one of the larger ones and she began worrying at it. “Why wouldn’t you be? I wasn’t touched by Andraste. Everything you thought--everything you believed about me is wrong.”

Cassandra didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached up and placed her hand in between Trevelyan’s shoulder blades. She pressed firmly, yet still gently, and in spite of herself Trevelyan felt the tension in her back ebb.

“Really? Everything?

A hint of amusement creeped into Cassandra’s voice. Trevelyan huffed in frustration and kept looking straight ahead. “I got lost, Cass. I had no idea where I was suppose to be. I stumbled into that room by complete accident. I took a damn wrong turn, and now I’m here. I’m not special. I wasn’t chosen for anything.”

“Perhaps. Or was it providence?” Cassandra’s hand slid up Trevelyan’s neck and began threading through her hair. “You were right where you needed to be, at exactly the right time. It was a blessing you interrupted Corypheus when you did, whether you think it was by accident or not.”

“But--”

“I’m not finished.” Cassandra brought both hands to Trevelyan’s face, gently turning her head so they were finally facing each other. “You have grown into a tremendous leader, Everly. And with each day that goes by, I have no doubt that you were meant to do this. And I was meant to stand by you, even if we do disagree from time to time.”

Trevelyan let out a long, shaky breath. “You mean that?”

Cassandra drew them closer, so their foreheads were touching, and gently stroked Trevelyan’s cheeks with her thumbs. “My faith is not placed lightly. I told you before I believed in you and nothing can ever change that.” She thought for a moment. “Unless you develop a sudden affinity for Orlesian cheeses.”

Trevelyan couldn’t help but grin. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that…”

“Get out of my tent.”

Trevelyan laughed as Cassandra playfully shoved her away. She fell back on the bedroll, propping herself up on her elbows. The impact sent a jolt down her left arm but she ignored the pain. The tension in her chest and back began to slowly unwind, and she felt like she could breathe again. Cassandra threw a leg over Trevelyan to straddle her, thighs pressing together. She caught Trevelyan’s chin with a single finger and lifted her head so their gazes met.

A glint of moonlight filtered through the tent, casting just enough light so that Trevelyan could make out the lines of Cassandra’s face. The sharp angle of her jaw had softened, and flecks of gold that peppered her eyes shone like stars. She bent forward and brushed her lips against Trevelyan’s, the corner of her mouth curling into a lopsided smile. Cassandra whispered softly and Trevelyan shuddered as the words washed over her. She swore she would remember them for the rest of her days.

“You are so much more than I ever could have imagined.”

Chapter Text

Cassandra burst through the war room doors more forcefully than she intended. A new merchant had requested permission to set up in Skyhold’s lower courtyard, and apparently she had been the closest senior member of the Inquisition to handle it. After refusing his proffered wares several times over--she had no need for a blue silk scarf, no matter what Dorian said--she had missed the start of the daily advisory meeting. Although she abhorred being tardy, at least the interruption had reduced the time she was now required to participate.

At the start, she had enjoyed the strategy sessions. Discussing troop movements, planning scouting expeditions, reviewing the reports from Leliana's network of spies--those were all tasks she particularly well-suited for. However, as the Inquisition's sphere of influence grew, more and more of their work was now dedicated to political matters. The Inquisitor spent most of the meetings discussing frivolous topics like which invitations to decline and why, what letters to respond to and how, and whether her intervention (or lack thereof) would exacerbate some decades-long feud between two noble houses trying to claw back to relevancy.

Cassandra hated it. Cullen did, too. Most of those meetings were spent with them exchanging exasperated sighs, while the Inquisitor bickered with Josephine over the right course of action. Leliana usually stayed off to the side, composing orders for her agents and interjecting only to break any ties.

Thinking of Everly brought the hint of a smile to Cassandra’s face. The Inquisitor hated politics but was an inexhaustible debater, and peppered Josephine question upon question, demanding to know who exactly they were discussing and why she should care. Cassandra couldn’t help but be amused in those moments. Everly always bounced around the room while she spoke, unable to contain her exuberance when she made a well-argued point. Josephine was a fierce opponent, though, and never backed down from the energetic onslaught. Their verbal sparring was often a highlight of Cassandra’s day, even if the content itself bored her to tears. But as entertaining as it was, as time went on more of Everly’s debates were borne of frustration, not playfulness, and the line of her jaw grew harder despite her smile.

The first thing Cassandra saw when she arrived was Everly, perched on the war table. She was crouched on the east end, one knee jutting out towards the Storm Coast, the other pointing at the Fallow Mire. Her heels nearly grazed a bottle of wine set off to the side, left over from yesterday’s session. The sight was ridiculous, but sadly not uncommon. What was uncommon, however, was the attention the Inquisitor fixed on Cullen.

“I don’t see the issue,” Everly said evenly. Grey eyes flicked over to Cassandra but then quickly returned to Cullen. She shuffled the stack of letters in her hands.

A flustered look crossed Cullen’s face. Cassandra approached the table, swallowing her usual order to get off the damn furniture. She clasped her hands behind her back and arched a brow. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“I just didn’t realize you were conducting barracks inspections, that’s all,” Cullen said.

Cassandra cocked her head. “Barracks inspect--?” She froze before she could finish her sentence. A hot blush began working its way up to her face and she was immediately grateful for the high collar of her breastplate.

That had been Everly’s doing. Cassandra still had no idea how she had managed to coax her into the barracks that day. All she knew was that suddenly Everly’s mouth was on hers, soft yet insistent, and a pair of strong hands were tugging at her belt as she was being backed onto an empty bunk. Afterwards, Cassandra had emerged lightheaded and on shaky legs. The rest of her day had gone by in a haze.

She exacted her revenge several days later. The Inquisitor had been darting back and forth across the training yard and upper courtyard all morning, seemingly determined to be in all areas of Skyhold at once, and the sight drove Cassandra to distraction. Finally, she had taken matters into her own hands. During Everly’s next lap, Cassandra had snatched her by the collar and yanked her into the barracks. In one smooth motion, Cassandra had lifted Everly onto the nearest window sill and slid her hand down the front of Everly’s breeches. Within seconds, Everly had buried her face in Cassandra’s neck, trying to bite back her moans.

Cassandra wasn’t completely sure who started it the third time.

Or the fourth.

“Yes, I’ve been told you started inspecting the troops’ quarters regularly.” Cullen frowned. “I wish you would have told me. Those are my soldiers.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to respond, but thankfully Everly interjected before she was forced to fabricate something.

“That was my fault,” Everly said. “Since we have so many more new recruits, I thought it would be prudent, but I didn’t wish to add to your duties. I’m sorry. You should have been informed.”

Cullen appeared taken aback by the Inquisitor’s admission. “It’s not a problem, Inquisitor. I can have Rylen schedule regular inspections. There’s no need to bother the Seeker.”

Everly nodded and glanced over at Cassandra again. She looked down at the reports in her hands, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. Cassandra exhaled, then joined Cullen at the west end of the war table, deliberately placing herself as far away from the Inquisitor as possible. Cassandra fought back a surge of guilt as she looked at the guileless commander. She despised the deception surrounding their relationship, even though she knew it was necessary at times. Although it wouldn’t have been needed if they weren’t being so indulgent with their public displays. As thrilling as the rendezvous were, they were completely inappropriate. Cassandra made a note to discuss that with Everly later.

Josephine had been prowling off to the side, hovering near the war table like a mountain lion quietly stalking its prey. As soon as Cullen finished speaking, she pounced. “Orlais,” was all she said, planting herself at the Inquisitor’s right knee.

Everly made a face.

“You know the political situation there is tenuous,” Josephine continued. “We ignore it at our peril.”

“Fine.” The Inquisitor grudgingly stood and jumped off the table, nearly kicking over several of Cullen’s miniature trebuchets. Still holding the letters in one hand, she walked over to the middle of the table and stared at the map of empire. She sighed. “What’s the latest?”

“Celene is holding Gaspard’s forces at bay, but just barely,” Josephine said. “A group of elves continue to sabotage both sides to draw out the conflict. Celene will be holding peace talks under the auspices of a grand masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there. It is a perfect place for an assassin to hide.”

Everly frowned. “We’ve sent word, yes? Warned her?”

“I’ve sent messages to the Empress, but it is impossible to know if she’s received them.”

“What do you advise, then?” Everly’s frown deepened, and the expression on her face suggested she already knew the answer. Cassandra choked back a groan.

“I can arrange for an invitation to the ball.” Josephine’s dark brown eyes flicked over to Cassandra for a moment, then back to the Inquisitor. She jabbed her quill in Everly’s direction, obviously brooking no argument. “We must reach the Empress before the assassin can, and aid in the peace talks as much as we are able. If the empire falls, the resulting chaos will only benefit Corypheus.”

Everly sighed. She looked over at the other end of the war table, past Cassandra and Cullen to lock eyes with Leliana. The spymaster stepped away from the wall and silently moved forward.

“The Grand Game is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “But, like any battle, you can train for it. We will ensure you are prepared. That we all are prepared.”

Cullen stiffened. He looked over at Cassandra, panic in his eyes at his implied fate. “All?”

Leliana didn’t hesitate. “Yes, all. Certainly the Court will expect all of the highest-ranking members of the Inquisition to attend. To only send a small delegation would be seen as an insult.” Her eyes twinkled in delight. “Therein lies your first lesson, commander: never be afraid to kiss a little ass.”

Everly snickered, earning a smile and a wink from the spymaster. Cullen grumbled something under his breath, too low for Cassandra to hear, but she was sure she echoed his sentiment. A scowl darkened her face. Even though Divine Justinia had never asked her Right Hand to involve herself in that arena, Cassandra had spent more than enough time in Orlais to despise the Game. As the Left Hand, though, Leliana had played with relish. Despite Leliana’s impenetrable mask, Cassandra felt a slight thrum of excitement run through the spymaster at the mention of the masquerade.

“Alright.” The Inquisitor gave Josephine a single nod.

“Excellent.” Josephine made a note on her parchment with a flick of her wrist and a pleased look. “I will make preparations immediately.”

The rest of the meeting continued much as Cassandra had anticipated. Josephine wrung out several more victories, successfully convincing the Inquisitor to hold two more formal dinners within the next month to appease several arls that Cassandra had never even heard of--Everly acquiesced far too easily on that one, she thought. Immediately after that, though, Everly refused Josephine’s request to mediate a dispute involving the livestock of three banns and loudly turned down yet another offer of marriage. Cassandra had to hide her smile.

Their debates carried on for most of the morning, punctuated by dramatic twirls of Josephine’s pen, and Everly alternating between sitting and standing on the war table. At one point, she started pacing, stalking from east to west even as Cullen was trying to lay out more miniatures. Cassandra watched Cullen grow more with more flustered with each pass Everly made, and finally took pity on him. She jerked her head once, sharply. Everly dismounted, never breaking her train of thought.

Morning stretched into afternoon, food and wine was brought and cleared, and finally the meeting started drawing to a close. Cassandra had spent a majority of the time discussing training and recruitment--the young Sutherland boy and his crew seemed promising, although she didn’t quite trust any of them yet--but as the day wore on her interest waned. Her back ached from the hard chair she had been sitting on, and her shoulders and arms were uncomfortably tight from inactivity. She longed to return to the training yard for another session before dinner. Then, perhaps, steal a moment or two with Everly. Her gaze lingered on the Inquisitor, whose pacing had finally ceased and was now rubbing tiredly at one eye with the heel of her hand. A burst of sheer affection filled her chest, and Cassandra had to remind herself to stay seated.

“Inquisitor, there is one more item before we adjourn.” Josephine said, casting a glance at Leliana. “It is something of a personal matter.”

“Yeah?” Everly wiped at her eyes again and placed both hands on her hips, waiting. Something in Josephine’s voice made Cassandra sit up straighter. There was a a hesitancy, almost timidness, that she had never before heard from the ambassador. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.

“Unfortunately it appears to be fairly serious.” Josephine handed the Inquisitor a small dispatch.

Almost immediately, a previously unseen muscle in her jaw began pulsating. A hush fell over the entire room. Cassandra rose from her chair. In two long strides she was next to Everly, brows knitted together in concern. Anger radiated off her, so powerful it was nearly overwhelming, and Cassandra almost had to take a step back.

“What is it?” she asked, very softly.

Everly's eyes were stone. She thrust the letter into the her hands and stalked over to the window, staring out over the courtyard with her fists clenched at her sides. Cassandra skimmed the crumpled parchment. It was from Everly’s oldest brother, Robb. She raised a brow. From what she knew, the siblings had barely communicated since Everly had been named Inquisitor. Apparently he was writing with an emergency; their uncle, Horace, had finally made a move on their family’s estate and actually established settlements on the far corners of the property, obviously intending to encroach upon the Trevelyan family’s acreage. The settlements were guarded by armed militiamen. A bold and offensive strategy, obviously intended to provoke a response from Robb, the young man tasked with caring for an infirm father while also defending his family’s land and honor. Cassandra felt a pang of sympathy, followed by a stab of outrage on Everly’s behalf.

“Have you found it yet?” Everly had started pacing again, but this time her movements were frantic and uncontrolled. She stomped back and forth in front of the window, entire body shaking.

Leliana shook her head. “I’m sorry, my agents have been unable to locate the deed to the estate. It’s possible it was lost in the Blight. We are still looking.” She took a breath before continuing. “Unfortunately, though, it may not matter. The records we did find indicate that Horace Trevelyan’s grandfather recorded the conveyance before any other member of your immediate family and--”

“I don’t care. He knows it’s not his land.”

“That may be true--”

“Send a squad.”

Everyone froze.

“I - I don’t believe that is wise, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, exchanging a worried glance with Leliana before looking over at Cassandra for assistance. Her fingers quivered ever so slightly. “We’ve already dealt with numerous issues with your extended family, and sending soldiers could potentially be viewed as an occupying force--”

“Bullshit!” Trevelyan whipped around. Her lips were curled back in a snarl, her face flushed. The Anchor sparked to life, spitting green fire from her palm. She jabbed a glowing finger directly at Cullen. “You send in as many soldiers as you need to get them the hell off my father’s property. Now. And you tell that son of a bitch that if he ever tries this again, I will gut him like a deer.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Cassandra couldn’t be sure if it originated with her or another one of the advisors. Although she had only known Everly a few months, Cassandra had never thought her capable of such a display. Any semblance of her usual good cheer had completely evaporated, replaced by a wild, unchecked ferocity. Every muscle was coiled, tense, as if Everly was ready to pound someone with her bare hands. Grey eyes burning like searing coals.

“We’re done,” she said. She continued to pace, fists clenched at her sides.

Josephine opened her mouth to protest, exchanging looks with Cullen, who appeared utterly baffled as to how to proceed. Leliana began ushering them out of the room, both not before locking eyes with Cassandra. The soft click of the door closing was somehow impossibly loud, cutting through the stillness of the room.

Cassandra wondered how it must look to the other advisors, her alone with the Inquisitor, but almost immediately put the thought aside. She would not let Everly face this alone. She took a deep breath, then approached slowly, as if she were contending with a wounded animal. Everly’s shaking had increased as continued to pace, the Anchor crackling and hissing in shared fury.

Words had never come easily to Cassandra, and she couldn’t even begin to think of what to possibly say. For now, she did the only thing she could do. Cassandra took one step, planting herself in Everly’s path, then reached out and placed a firm hand on Everly’s chest, stopping her momentum.

Everly’s fists came up automatically, but Cassandra stood firm. Everly heaved a sigh and dropped her hands, her shoulders slumping forward. The trembling ceased. Cassandra pressed into Everly’s chest, ragged breathing steadying beneath her hand.

A long moment passed. With anyone else, it would have been too long, the silence and inactivity testing Cassandra’s patience. But now she was content to wait, feeling Everly’s chest rise and fall. She didn’t move, and Everly didn’t push her away.

“That estate has been in my father’s side of the family for generations.” Everly finally said. She avoided Cassandra’s eyes, turning her head to look out the window. “There’s always been fighting over it. I’m not even sure why. My uncle seems to think that he was cheated out of an inheritance somewhere. My father always managed to keep him at bay, though. I don’t know how. But then he got sick, and...and it was just Robb and I...and...”

A sad, broken sound slipped passed Everly’s lips. But she continued. “The last time I spoke to my father was just before I left for the Conclave. He called me by my mother’s name. He couldn’t remember ever having a daughter. I had to tell him she was dead two times. Two.” Everly swiped roughly at her face. “Do you know what it’s like to break a man’s heart over and over again? To be anyone but the person he wants most to see?”

The question hung in the air between them.

Cassandra had no answer.

Finally, Everly turned. Her cheeks wet with tears, grey eyes filled with grief. “You told me once you wondered how you were going to be remembered. I think I’ve already been forgotten.”

Cassandra’s heart nearly wrenched itself from her chest. Tears pricked at the corners of her own eyes, and she swallowed thickly. Her hand slid up Everly’s neck, tangling her fingers in the thick mop of hair, then pulled.

The harsh angles of her armor made a proper embrace difficult, but Cassandra tried anyway. She kept one hand on the back of Everly’s head while her other arm wrapped around her waist. She lowered her head, mouth grazing the curve of Everly’s ear. “You are not forgotten,” she whispered fiercely, not knowing what else to say, other than to instinctively fight against the hopelessness in Everly’s voice. “He will know of all you’ve done. He will. And you will tell him yourself when this is all over.”

Everly nodded quietly, leaning into the embrace. She wrapped both arms around Cassandra’s waist and tucked herself in further, her forehead thumping softly against Cassandra’s armored shoulder. Cassandra continued to stroke her hair.

“What would he say to you if he was here now?” Cassandra murmured, kissing the side of Everly’s head.

Everly let out a long, shaky breath. “He would tell me to keep my release soft when I shoot my bow. He would remind me to keep my heels down when I ride. That I’m too thin and I need to eat more.” Her voice was muffled against Cassandra’s chest. "That all we have in this world is our name and our word. And to comb my damn hair, for Maker’s sake.”

Cassandra chuckled. Amazing how well a parent knew their child. “That all sounds like good advice.”

“Yes, it is.” A pause. Cassandra felt the beginnings of Everly’s smile, even as her face remained tucked away. “He’d also tell me to watch out for tall, dangerous brunettes founding heretical organizations.”

Cassandra arched a brow as Everly raised her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glistening, but as Cassandra suspected, the smile had returned--lopsided and playful.

“Alas,” Cassandra said dryly. “If only he had been able to intervene.”

“I wouldn’t have listened anyway.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. She gently brushed her thumb across Everly’s cheek, wiping away the last of her tears. Everly caught Cassandra’s hand and turned to lightly kiss her palm. It was a simple gesture, yet somehow almost painfully romantic. Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat. Everly’s smile brightened even more, though Cassandra saw a hint of uncharacteristic shyness behind her eyes.

“Look! It’s snowing!”

Everly abruptly jumped back and spun around. She pointed. Cassandra looked out across Skyhold’s upper courtyard. Thick, heavy flakes were drifting through the sky, slowly covering the grounds in a dusting of white.

“Indeed.” Cassandra moved over to pull Everly into her once more, looping her arms around Everly’s waist and hugging her from behind. Everly made a small noise, one Cassandra had come to recognize as one she only made when particularly content. Cassandra rested her chin on Everly’s shoulder and sighed. There was still much to do, and there would no doubt be questions about Everly’s earlier outburst, but that could all wait for now. Together they watched the snow fall.

***

Cassandra had never been one for frivolities. Growing up, Uncle Vestalus held little interests outside of corpses, which also extended to his young wards. Although the necropolis she was raised in was elaborately furnished, most of the ornamentation were for the benefit of the dead, not the living. As a result it was dreadfully dull, with little to engage a young girl and her brother. So she had learned to make do with what she entertainment she did have--her studies, books, training with Anthony. When she joined the Seekers and decided her life would be one of service, there was hardly room for anything else. She quickly found that the sparse, austere existence suited her, and she began to pride herself on the outright shunning of everything but the most basic comforts. Being surrounded by the excessiveness of Orlesians also made that decision much easier.

But, Maker help her, did she ever love a bath.

She let out a contented sigh and leaned back against the warm marble. The tub itself was massive and could comfortably accommodate two people--three if the parties were being creative--and she could easily stretch out to her full height. Cassandra had noticed the tub immediately the first night she had spent in the Inquisitor’s quarters. When she had mentioned it to Everly the next morning, al she had received was a broad smile in response.

The salts and fragrances and crafted soaps appeared soon after, arriving in droves from Val Royeaux. There were now all manner of products to choose from, arranged neatly on a bookshelf near the tub. Everly kept adding to the collection, too, even though there was no way Cassandra would have the time to use them all. Cassandra wondered when someone would realize how much of the Inquisition’s coin was being spent on such silly things. Certainly it had to be excessive enough for Josephine to notice. Everly seemed unconcerned about both the cost and whatever rumors were springing up around her perceived bathing habits. All she appeared interested in was indulging Cassandra as much as possible, even though allowing her unfettered access to the Inquisitor’s private bath would cause other, more problematic rumors to spread.

As a matter of fact, Everly spent a great deal of time indulging her. The bath, fresh-cut flowers on her pillow, overly dramatic poetry recitations--the gestures were becoming too numerous to count. It seemed impossible all that could be for her and her alone. Everly expected nothing in return, either. All it took was a laugh and a soft smile, and Everly’s entire face would brighten so earnestly Cassandra could hardly look at her.

In all her life she had never felt so cared for. It was wondrous and amazing and frightening all at once.

Cassandra sighed again, silently celebrating as the knots in her shoulders and back began to loosen. Winter had arrived, and along with it the increased tightness in her joints that always accompanied colder weather. The expedition to re-take Suledin Keep in the Emprise du Lion hadn’t helped matters. The cold never really bothered her--it was a nuisance more than anything, especially when the frost made her sword stick in its sheath--but the freezing wind and snow had been brutal. She had actually been relieved to face the heat generated when Ishmael shifted into a rage demon.

The journey back to Skyhold had been just as taxing. Everly hated the cold, and it hadn’t taken long for the chill to settle into her bones. She had huddled under two massive scarves wrapped around her head and neck, hands shivering as she clenched at the reins of her mount. Soon it was obvious that the weather had also frayed her temper. On the second day, Sera and Iron Bull had made it a game to list all the ways in which one could warm up in this weather, and instead of laughing or even joining in, Everly had whipped around in her saddle and snapped at them both. Sera had nearly fallen off her horse.

In their tent later that evening, Cassandra had put one of Sera’s ideas to good use. It had successfully warmed both Everly’s body and her mood. But while Cassandra never mentioned the outburst, Sera had eyed Everly warily the rest of the ride back to Skyhold.

Cassandra’s gaze drifted towards the half-open door, and just beyond that, the figure sitting at a desk near the fireplace. Everly had been working steadily since Cassandra arrived, and most likely had started well before then. Quill in hand, she frowned intently at the correspondence in front of her, head hunched over so far her nose nearly grazed the parchment. A smudge of ink was visible on her chin. Cassandra couldn’t help but smile; Everly always frowned deeply whenever she wrote, whether it was a formal report or her small journal. She also always managed to get ink all over herself.

The massive desk was piled high with crumpled parchments and wax-sealed letters yet to be opened. A pile of dense-looking volumes were neatly stacked on the floor. Occasionally, Everly would pause and reach down to pull one of the books onto her lap with a sigh, flipping through pages so old and dried Cassandra could hear them crackling from across the room. When she found what she was looking for, Everly made a small noise of satisfaction, then went right back to her notes.

The routine occurred no less than four times, fatigue clearly building with each motion. Everly’s gloves were off, and the Anchor glowed gently as she worked. Cassandra watched as Everly’s fingers began twitching, almost by their own accord. Everly let out a hiss and clenched her fist rapidly, still focused on her work. Cassandra’s smile fell.

She pushed herself over to the other end of the tub, creating a gentle wake in the lavender-scented water. Folding her arms on the top of the edge, she rested her chin on top of her hands and tried to ignore the concern twisting in her stomach.

“The water is getting cold.” she called out, trying to inject a hint of playfulness in her tone. As much as she was capable of, anyway.

Everly didn’t look up. “I can have more brought up.”

Cassandra scowled. She tapped her index finger. “Are my attempts at romantic overtures truly that ineffective?”

“What?” Everly raised her head, blinking innocently.

“Get in here.”

“Oh.” Everly’s eyes widened, then she ducked her chin and blushed. She pushed back from the desk and bent down to untie her boots. Cassandra slid back to the opposite end of the tub, pushing the rest of her worry away. She instead watched as Everly stood and came around the desk, hunger now coiling within her. As they locked eyes, Everly grinned and slowly began undoing the top two buttons of her jacket. Cassandra raised her chin in a silent challenge, but had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

Suddenly, Everly stopped. Her fingers grazed over the next button, grin widening dangerously. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, then she sat bolt upright and raised a finger in warning.

“Don’t you even--”

But it was too late.

With two quick strides Everly closed the distance between them. In one motion she planted a hand on the side of the tub and vaulted in, landing with a splash. Water surged over the edge in a giant wave, splattering over the floor and into Cassandra’s face.

“You fool!” Cassandra spat, wiping at her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Proving that your romantic overtures are very much appreciated.” Everly laughed; a rough, low sound from the back of her throat that Cassandra didn’t know she could make. Cassandra swallowed. Everly pressed into her, pushing her back against the tub. A gasp slipped passed Cassandra’s lips as her breasts brushed against the rough material of Everly’s jacket.

“There are...other ways of doing that.” Cassandra said hoarsely.

“And what would the Seeker prefer? Poetry, perhaps?” Everly gripped the lip of the tub with her left hand and pressed even closer, keeping Cassandra pinned. Even though Cassandra could easily push her away, she was too distracted by Everly’s thigh sliding between her legs. With her other hand, she caught Cassandra’s face and tipped her chin upwards slightly. Her gaze was soft, her breath warm against Cassandra’s cheek. She began to speak.

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart thundered in her chest. Everly just grinned, as if she had planned this all along, in the same infuriating manner that never failed to both aggravate and charm her at once. And there was only one way to deal with it.

She gripped the front of Everly’s jacket with both hands and pulled her in. Their lips met. The kiss was slow and deep, but quickly intensified. Heat blossomed in Cassandra’s lower belly, turning into a distinct ache.

“Take this off.” Cassandra pulled back to snarl against Everly’s mouth. Hands shaking, eyes blown wide with desire, Everly fumbled at the buttons haplessly with slick fingers. Cassandra watched until she could no longer contain herself, finally grabbing Everly’s collar and ripping the jacket off. Buttons flew across the room. Everly yelped in surprise, but her grin immediately returned as she pulled the mangled garment over her head and tossed it onto the floor.

Skin finally touching, they pressed even closer, and Cassandra wrapped her arms tightly around Everly’s shoulders. Everly’s hand slid to the base of Cassandra’s neck, then clutched at her hair and tugged, pulling Cassandra’s head back. Everly dragged her mouth down Cassandra’s neck, grazing the tender skin with her teeth. Cassandra’s hips bucked. Everly’s grip loosened and her hand moved again, this time dipping into the water to brush against the inside of Cassandra’s thigh. Cassandra moaned again and arched her back, urging Everly to move higher.

“Inquisitor?”

Cassandra’s eyes snapped open and she swallowed a growl. Everly’s head fell forward in defeat, landing on Cassandra’s shoulder. She gasped for air, trembling in Cassandra’s arms. Josephine’s lilting, apologetic voice filtered into the room.

“Inquisitor? I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have just one item that needs your attention.”

“I swear Corypheus himself had better be in the kitchen.” Everly grumbled against Cassandra’s neck, then raised her head to bark over her shoulder at the half-open door. “In a moment!” When she turned back, the apology already on her lips, Cassandra reached out and cupped her cheek.

“It’s alright.” She swiped Everly's chin with her thumb, wiping away the smudge of ink. Then she pushed her away. “Go.”

Everly caught Cassandra’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

With that, Everly jumped out of the tub and stripped out of her soaked breeches. She reached for a nearby towel that was far too small to cover her properly, holding it in front of her and giving Cassandra a full view of her ass as she sauntered out of the room. Cassandra had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud as Josephine’s shocked yell echoed through the entire quarters. It was followed immediately by Everly demanding in an overly haughty voice that whatever the ambassador brought had better be good.

Cassandra leaned back, resting her head on the edge of the tub. She gazed up at the ceiling and sighed. Then she smiled.

Chapter Text

Cold rain pelted Everly’s face. Steady, unrelenting streams of water ran down her neck and back, seeping into the creases of her leathers, all the way through to her mail. The metal links were freezing against her tunic, so much so they might as well be touching bare skin. She suppressed a moan and shot a look upwards, as if glaring at the overcast sky would be enough to stop the incessant rain. Nothing happened. Sighing, she turned back to her companions and tried very hard not to pout.

“I don’t want to stay back.”

Beside her, Cassandra shifted. Metal clanged gently as she drew her shield off her shoulder. As usual, she was undaunted by both the elements and Everly’s griping. Her short bangs were plastered to her forehead and water dripped from her nose, but her jaw was set and gaze hard. “It is safer, Inquisitor. You know that.”

“But--”

Before Everly could protest again--and as if to prove Cassandra’s point--she was interrupted by a deafening roar.

The expedition to the Storm Coast was deep into its third week. A contingent of Red Templars had taken a Dwarven port on the western coast. Once the Inquisition forces had breached the small stronghold, Everly had lead the final assault through the deep, twisting series of caverns, ferreting out the remaining Templars. It was not necessarily Everly’s favorite way to spend an afternoon, but at least the expedition freed her from Skyhold and Josephine’s maniacal preparations for the ball at Halamshiral.

Also, King Alistair would consider ridding the shores of his land of the Templar presence a personal favor, one that Everly was more than happy to oblige. As much as she detested politics, she was not that bull-headed; it was within everyone’s best interest to not piss off the king of Ferelden. Plus, she liked him. They had yet to officially meet, but corresponded a few times. The letter he had sent requesting the Inquisition’s help in ferreting out a group of Venatori by using “pointy swords.” His reply after Everly had done so was just as entertaining; his sheer thrill at being back in battle again clearly evident. It sounded like such opportunities were rare for the king.

When they cleared the stronghold and emerged at the shoreline of a small inlet, Everly honestly thought she had imagined the roar. But then it sounded a second time, carried over the wind from the island just in front of them, and that was all there was to it. Bull was off like a shot, faster than Everly had ever seen him move, barrelling through the waist-high water with a deranged yell. Dorian had cursed loudly in Tevene and covered his face with his hand. Cassandra just sighed and pointed to the small boat beached right next to them. They had finally caught up to him just as he reached the island, and Everly had somehow maneuvered him behind a rocky outcropping. She had wanted to discuss tactics among the group, but hadn’t anticipated that such tactics enatiled her staying behind. She wondered if this was how King Alistair felt.

“Those teeny arrows aren’t going to help you much, boss.” Bull gestured to the quiver slung across her back.

“Wait! Dagna gave me a rune!” Everly patted the pockets of her breeches, searching for the small, flat stone, meant to be added to the tip of her bow.

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Or perhaps it is still on your desk, under two weeks’ worth of unread field reports. Exactly where you were told not to leave it.”

“Shit,” Everly said.

She looked over at Dorian for support, but he didn’t appear inclined to advocate on her behalf. He was just as miserable as Everly. His hair was drenched and slicked back, rivulets of water running down his face and pouring from his mustache. He remained uncharacteristically quiet, staring just over the rocky outcropping with a grimly determined look.

Everly wrapped her arms around herself and suppressed a shiver. She frowned. “So I’m just supposed to sit here until you get back?”

“Don’t pout. It’s unbecoming.” Cassandra didn’t even bother looking up from inspecting her shield.

“I’m not--!”

“Kaffas, can we just get this over with?” Dorian snapped, twirling his stave in one hand and slamming it into the ground. Magic swirled in the air, emanating from a sparkling rune set deeply into the head of the staff. Despite the soaking rain, the hairs on the back of Everly’s neck stood on end.

“Oh hell yes.” Bull was practically vibrating in anticipation. His lips pulled back into a wide, toothy grin and a feral look came over him. Yet he gripped his two-handed axe loosely, almost gently, his entire frame coiled but still in control. “What do you say, Seeker? Is your heart pumping yet? Breathing a little faster?”

“Hardly. Sorry to disappoint.” Cassandra calmly drew her sword from its sheath. Although the Seeker was attempting nonchalance, Everly could practically taste her excitement. Hazel eyes flashed dangerously. Disappointment rolled over Everly again, as she imagined the spectacle of Cassandra facing off with a dragon. The thought almost made her blush.

“Vinsomer?” Bull asked.

Cassandra stood from her crouch and peered over the outcropping. “Yes. Female, if I’m not mistaken. It is not breeding season, so there should be no dragonlings.”

“Good. Let’s move fast and get in close. We need to hobble her, and quickly,” Dorian said. He waved his hand over the tip of his stave and it immediately began to glow.

“Agreed.” Bull said, then paused for a moment before adding: “Oh, and watch for that electric discharge.”

Everly almost choked. “Wait what--”

“She’s down! Now!”

On Cassandra’s order, the three of them scrambled up the outcropping without so much as a glance back. Everly followed, climbing up enough to poke her head over the edge and watch as they barreled down into the small valley below. She couldn’t even see or hear the Vinsomer.

“Have fun without me!” she yelled.

The only response she got was more rain in her eyes. Grumbling, she hopped back down, swiping at her face with both hands.

The wind kicked up again, now a near-constant howl. Rain dripped down the back of her neck. Everly paced in her spot behind the outcropping, stomping her boots in the mud so hard it splattered across the front of her breeches. She stopped, let out a frustrated huff, then for the sheer hell of it, jumped straight up and slammed both feet into the mud. The wet squelching sound was supremely satisfying. And so she did it twice more. Soon her ankles were covered in mud.

Her boots were new; thick, hardy leather that Harrit himself had treated with oil to keep the water out. Stomping around in the muck was a good test of their capabilities, and she was more than pleased. It was also just enough of a distraction to keep her from thinking too much--about Cassandra, about missing the damn dragon fight, the requisitions needed at the camp, the work waiting for her when they returned to Skyhold. A familiar anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach. The first two fingers on her left hand began to twitch. The Anchor tingled slightly in her glove, but had remained quiet for most of the day.

She did not want to think about how rare that was becoming.

The wind shifted, and Everly’s ears pricked up. An enraged, defiant roar shattered the sky above. Everly ran back to the outcropping and peered over again, eyes wide, but the boulders and thick trees still blocked her view. Carried over the wind came another sound, one that Everly had come to know as well as her own heartbeat. It was Cassandra. The war cry cut through the wind and rain and trees, as if the Maker Himself was being called down upon them. The first time she had heard Cassandra make that noise, deep in the throes of battle, she had stopped dead in her tracks and just stared.

“Fuck it.”

Everly hauled herself over the outcropping and took off.

It only took three strides before she slipped on a rock and landed hard on her backside. She began sliding down the hill to the valley below, tree branches whipping into her face as she skidded across slimy, moss-covered rocks. Everly fought to steady herself, reaching out to grasp helplessly at slick rock and gnarled tree roots twisted deep into the mud. When she reached the base of the hill she finally managed to get her feet underneath her again. Small cuts stung her cheeks and the bottoms of her breeches were soaked through with muck, which she was fairly certain gave the impression that she had just shit her pants. Grumbling to herself, Everly swiped at her face, then shielded her eyes as she peered through the rain.

The Vinsomer was huge. At least the size of Corypheus’s dragon, if not bigger, though Everly had no other experience to go by. What she did know, though, was that the dragon was magnificent. Her scales shimmered in the rain and reflected the skies above, the dreary, grey overcast suddenly bright and vibrant as she moved. Gold eyes swept the area in front of her, lips curling back to reveal teeth the size of Everly’s forearm as she snarled at the figure dancing around her left front claw. Everly blinked, realizing it was Bull. He was dwarfed by the Vinsomer, looking nothing more like a fly buzzing around a horse.

As if to prove that point, the dragon hit him with an annoyed swipe. Bull went sprawling head over feet. She let out a triumphant roar, and Everly’s stomach dropped.

“Fuck, fuck,fuck!” she hissed.

Bull had rolled over but hadn’t found his feet yet. A flash of bright red appeared over the dragon’s shoulder; Everly assumed it was Dorian but she couldn’t see him. Nor Cassandra.

Panic threatened to overtake her, but she shoved it aside. She unslung her bow and nocked two arrows, comforted by their familiarity despite Bull’s earlier advice. After letting out a long, deep breath, Everly bolted from the cover of the treeline and tore across the open area. A grouping of several boulders were only a few yards away, just large enough to offer cover. The dragon’s head snapped back in her direction, tracking her approach. The golden eyes narrowed and her mouth opened. A steady blue blossomed deep in her throat and the air in the entire valley started crackling. Everly skidded to a stop. Fired.

And missed.

“Fuck!”

She threw herself behind the boulder just as heat unlike anything she’d felt before blasted above her. It was a cold fire, searing yet freezing at the same time, blistering the skin on the back of her neck. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, and rain fell on her face again. The dragon roared, but almost immediately it turned into a sound of anguish.

Everly popped to her feet, chest heaving, and saw the dragon twisted around on herself, aiming her breath at something near her hindquarters. Steel flashed, shining despite the overcast sky. Cassandra was slashing fearlessly at the dragon’s back leg, her sword hacking through thick scales. Her cry rose up in answer to the Vinsomer, equally raw and powerful.

Unsure of what to do, Everly ran back towards the trees. She needed to reassess and try not to make a further mess of things. But just as she darted out from behind the boulder, the dragon cut her off. The beast drew up, beating her wings with a mighty flourish, creating a maelstrom that swept up everything in its perimeter. Howling wind caught Everly in its grip, stealing her breath and yanking her backwards. The vortex swirled around her, dragging Everly across wet grass before lifting her up and slamming her into the ground. Her skull hit rock with a sharp crack.

For a moment, all Everly knew was blackness. Slowly her senses came back and she managed to lift her head. She swiped at her forehead, dazed, and pushed the hair out of her eyes. Blood was smeared across the back of her glove. Her head throbbed as squinted into the rain.

Her vision swam; at first she could only make out blurs of motion. The Vinsomer appeared to be hobbled. Or, at least, seemed to be slowing down, even as she raged at the two figures underneath her. Cassandra and Bull moved as though dancing, mirroring each other’s movements, darting in and out as they attacked the dragon’s front legs. Dorian appeared out of nowhere, casting barriers over the two warriors and throwing enough spells to keep the dragon off balance. Twice the Vinsomer leveled a blast of energy at him, and both times he dodged narrowly out of the way, cold fire licking at his cloak.

Everly hauled herself to her feet. Her bow was still slung across her back, but her quiver was cracked and hung off her shoulder. Arrows were scattered over the entire clearing. Her dagger was still strapped securely to her lower back, her smaller hunting knife around her thigh. Neither would do her much good. She threw off her broken quiver and snatched up two arrows, clamping them between her teeth. And then she took off.

Jagged hills surrounded the clearing, jutting up into the sky, their surfaces sheared away by wind and rain to expose the bedrock underneath. Everly ran towards the tallest formation. Vaguely, she heard her name being called, but it was drowned out almost immediately by the Vinsomer’s scream. She swore she felt the dragon’s eyes on her, watching as she ran across the open clearing. Everly cringed but didn’t look, her eyes fixed ahead of her even as she expected the dragon to level her with one breath. When she reached the rock face, she tore off her gloves and started to climb.

She moved as fast as she could, digging her fingers and toes into the slippery crevices, contending with the rain sending tiny streams of water dribbling down the rock face. The Anchor flared to life and glowed against the stone. Everly hoped it wouldn’t attract the dragon’s attention; surely she would take flight at any moment, and if that happened Everly had no idea how they were expected to fight her. She reached the top and hauled herself onto the ledge.

The Vinsomer whirled around beneath her, a twisting tornado of motion nearly twenty feet below. Everly couldn’t see Cassandra or Bull, and barely caught a glimpse of Dorian as he dodged yet another blast. She took a moment to gauge the distance, adjusted the arrows in her mouth, then leapt.

She was in midair before she realized how terrible an idea it was.

Everly landed hard on the Vinsomer’s back, narrowly missing impaling herself on the sharp spikes that ran along its spine. The thick scales of the dragon’s hide tore open her palms as she tried to steady herself. The dragon kicked and bucked, and Everly clutched at the spikes to keep from falling off. She found her footing and began working her way towards the head, moving hand over hand, the dragon’s roars becoming even more deafening.

The spikes became smaller as they neared the base of the Vinsomer’s neck, then disappeared completely to allow Everly a landing spot. She threw herself onto the dragon’s neck, wrapping her arms and legs around and clinging tightly as the dragon swung its head around to snap at Bull and then Cassandra. Blood seeped from her hands and she felt the scales cut into her breeches. Her teeth clamped down so hard the arrows shafts began to splinter in her mouth.

Yes, this was definitely a bad idea.

She started scooting her way up the dragon’s neck, not exactly sure what the hell she was trying to accomplish, aside from assuring that Cassandra was going to be very, very pissed. In a sudden act of betrayal, the Anchor chose that very moment to flare brightly. Fade-green energy lit up her hand and entire forearm. The display was immediately followed by a stream of the most intensely colorful Nevarran curses Everly had ever heard, bellowed so loudly that for an instant the Vinsomer was drowned out.

The dragon paused for a split second, as if offended by Cassandra’s outburst. Then her neck straightened out and she lowered her head to focus on a target directly in front of her--giving Everly the opportunity she needed.

She sat up and in one motion, unslung her bow and nocked both arrows. All her father’s lessons about shooting from a horse came back to her at once. She dug her heels and knees into the dragon’s neck, tensing her legs and core to stay upright. Her shoulders and hands, though, remained relaxed and her release was soft. Always soft.

The arrows struck the base of the Vinsomer’s skull. Unlike her earlier attempt, she was close enough now that they penetrated the dragon’s thick scales. It sent the Vinsomer into a rage. She whipped her head around in a futile attempt to dislodge the arrows. Everly’s attempt at keeping her grip was also similarly futile: one breath and she was airborne again, tossed easily from her perch. She struck the ground hard, just as before, and pain blossomed again in her skull. AIr rushed out of her lungs. She rolled weakly onto her side, gasping for breath, and found herself looking into golden eyes. The dragon was mere feet away, so close Everly felt steaming hot breath wash over her. A wall of gleaming white teeth opened.

Then the sky tore.

A dark green vortex erupted above the dragon. Everly’s left hand moved of its own accord, pulled skyward as the rift opened wider. Fade magic spilled out over the dragon and swirled around her legs and wings. Everly heard a loud howl of anguish and wondered for a moment if it was coming from her.

Green tendrils wrapped around the Vinsomer and began to pull, as if trying to draw her into the Fade. The same tendrils snaked over Everly’s own arm, and she felt herself being drawn towards the rift. She dug her heels into the ground and tried to yank her hand back, eyes widening in terror. The rift kept its hold on both her and the dragon. Everly gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the power surging around her. Like at Adamant, she twisted her left hand and curled her fingers in. With a shout, she closed her fist and the rift collapsed.

The Vinsomer swayed, dazed from the ordeal. Everly tried to stand, to get up and run, but her legs wouldn’t listen. Her head throbbed as she fought back waves of nausea. The Anchor was wild, still spitting green fire, and she had no idea how to make it stop. The dragon’s gaze sharpened on Everly, recognizing the source of her aggravation.

Just as she scrambled to her feet, a spell blasted the side of the Vinsomer’s head. Then Cassandra appeared out of nowhere, vaulting onto the dragon’s neck--Everly caught a glimpse of her blood-smeared armor, her lips curled back in a feral snarl. Without hesitation, Cassandra drove her sword two-handed through the base of the Vinsomer’s skull. The dragon seized, claws digging into the damp earth, mouth opening in one last, anguished scream. Then she collapsed.

Everly slumped to the ground, eyes wide in amazement. She swallowed hard as Cassandra slid off the dragon and sheathed her sword in one graceful motion. Cassandra immediately advanced on her, wearing a look Everly had come to know well: a specific cross between anger, pride, and worry. Everly offered a weak smile, even through her splitting headache.

“Did you see the size of that thing?”

Cassandra kneeled next to her, rather unamused. “What the hell were you thinking?” she growled, teeth clenched.

“Just trying to impress you.” Everly’s smile widened, a brief memory returning to her of when Cassandra dug her out of the snow after Corypheus’s attack on Haven. If anything, though, the joke made Cassandra’s mood worse. Dark eyes roved over Everly critically, coming to rest on her left hand. Cassandra reached for Everly’s hand and gently turned it over to examine her palm. At her touch, the Anchor quieted, drawing back in on itself and returning to a calm dark green, shimmering under the cuts across Everly’s skin.

“I’ve never seen you open a rift that large before,” Cassandra said. “Are you alright?”

Everly pulled her hand away and flexed her fingers. A distinct throb was making its way up her forearm. “I’m fine,” she said quickly.

Cassandra pursed her lips in obvious disbelief. Everly braced herself, preparing for a sharp retort, but none came. Cassandra’s eyes softened and she placed her hand on Everly’s shoulder, squeezing tight, almost to the point of discomfort. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Everly’s, holding them together in a moment of stillness. Everly sighed, weariness finally starting to take hold.

“That. Was. Awesome!” Bull charged out from behind the Vinsomer wearing a mad grin, like he just hadn’t just been beaten all to hell. “I could have had her, though--I knew your blood was up, Seeker! What a blow!”

Cassandra stood and brushed off her breeches. Her cheeks flushed. “You will just have to move faster next time.” She started dragging Bull away. “Come, we must return to camp and send people to harvest the beast.”

Everly just nodded and watched as Cassandra walked away. She wiped her forehead, then turned back to the dragon corpse laid out in front of her. Dorian was hacking away at the dragon’s mouth, trying to yank out one of its teeth. Everly had no idea why the hell he was doing that, but couldn’t bring herself to care. She flopped onto her back and looked up at the grey sky, feeling the rain on her face.

***

As soon as the sun went down, the rain turned into sleet. The Driftwood Margin camp had been established in a small grove, with the hope that the surrounding landscape would provide some cover for the Inquisition’s forces. The storm, however, was more determined than any natural barriers and battered the tents and caravans relentlessly. Even after her inept encounter with the Vinsomer, Everly had still insisted braving the weather like everyone else and took her turn standing watch, ensuring the fires remained lit. It also gave her an excuse to move around to keep avoiding the requisitions officer, a tenacious bastard who, after appearing at Everly’s side holding fresh breeches and gloves, proceeded to follow her around for at least another hour.

By the time her watch was over, she was soaked through and miserable. Her head was still pounding, the cuts on her hands stung, and she was covered in aching, tender bruises. When she entered her tent, she was shivering so much her teeth chattered. She stripped as quickly as she could, wincing with each motion, then dove into the bedroll.

Cassandra was awake, but her grumble was brief when Everly’s ice cold feet brushed against her legs. Everly took that as an invitation and she burrowed deeper, grateful for the warmth, laying her head on Cassandra’s shoulder. She let out a content sigh.

Rain pelted the tent, the wind rising up every so often in a howl that rattled the entire structure. It was oddly soothing; the rain had a steady, relentless rhythm that somehow matched the rise and fall of Cassandra’s chest. Eventually, both the wind and her headache began to fade, and Everly found herself slipping into sleep.

Just before she drifted off, a noise broke the stillness. Her head jerked up and she frowned into the darkness of their tent. She heard it again, then gasped when she realized exactly what kind of noise it was and where exactly it was coming from. Cassandra’s exasperated sigh confirmed her findings.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Everly pushed herself up onto her elbow and gaped in the direction of Bull’s tent.

“Unfortunately not. They’ve been at it all damn night.” Weariness seeped into Cassandra’s voice in manner Everly had rarely heard. At that moment, though, she was more concerned with Cassandra’s apathy at such a shattering discovery.

“B-but--what? How? I--”

“Darling, if you don’t know how by now, I’m not going to explain it to you.”

“That’s not what I meant, dammit!” Everly huffed. “I just didn’t know they were a thing, that’s all.”

Cassandra pulled away. Everly could barely make out the outline of her face in the pitch black tent. “Truly? It’s been going on for weeks now. Maybe even months.”

“Really?”

Even in the dark, Everly felt Cassandra’s eyes roll. “Sweet Andraste, do you not pay attention? Why do you think Dorian was cutting out that dragon’s tooth? Qunari consider it a token of affection.”

“I’m quite busy, I’ll have you know.” Everly thought a moment. “Wait, how do you know all this?”

“Bull told me,” Cassandra replied as if it were obvious.

Everly climbed on top of Cassandra, planting both hands on either side of her head, the headache and the cuts on her hand and the freezing cold all now forgotten. “Did Bull share any other qunari customs I should be aware of? Perhaps my lady wants a token of her own? It’s settled, then, I shall bring you the finest--”

“Hush.” Cassandra pressed her fingers to Everly’s lips. “What I want is for you to stop throwing yourself at dragons with reckless abandon.” She paused. “Please.”

All Everly could do was nod and settle silently back into their embrace.

The wind finally quieted, along with the noises from the other tent, leaving only the sound of the sleet against canvas. Eventually, that softened as well, and all that was left was Cassandra’s gentle breathing. Everly waited for sleep to come for them both, but it never did. Something was keeping Cassandra awake.

Cassandra started out low, speaking so quiet it was almost imperceptible over the soft rain. Everly had to strain to hear, and it took several moments before she realized who Cassandra was talking about. She dared not move, even as a slight hitch formed in Cassandra’s voice.

Everly never knew how Anthony had died. She had asked about him only once, during that first real conversation around the fire months ago, and Cassandra’s reaction told her it was a subject never to be broached again. So Everly had never asked. And Cassandra never spoke of it. Until now.

Cassandra told the story in a detached, stark manner that was almost poetic. A brief history of the Pentaghast family and their prowess as dragon hunters and Anthony’s desire to follow in that profession. His little sister, always tagging along, eager to learn as he did. The moderate fame and success that drew the attention of the group of blood mages, and Anthony’s refusal to help them. The way the blade glinted in the sunlight. The sound of his head as it struck the ground and rolled towards Cassandra’s feet. That same blade slicing across her face, splitting her cheek from ear to chin. And her profound luck that the apostates had no further use or desire for a young, defenseless girl.

And there it was. Cassandra laid everything out in the same way it occurred: brutal, straight-forward. Merciless. Not as an attempt to gain sympathy or pity, but a recounting of simple facts. Everly’s heart broke not only at the horror of it, but the dispassionate way in which Cassandra spoke. She didn’t realize her fingers were digging into Cassandra’s shoulder until Cassandra had reached up and squeezed her hand.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” It was all Everly could think of to say.

“It was a long time ago,” Cassandra answered quietly.

Everly had expected Cassandra’s frame to be taut beneath her, muscles straining with repressed anger, but that wasn’t the case. Cassandra was at ease, almost languid, and in the stillness of the tent, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off her. Everly wondered when the last time Cassandra spoke about her brother’s death--or if she ever had.

“Did you ever think you would find them? The apostates?”

“For a while, yes. The anger of a grieving child. It took me a long time to let that anger go, well after my uncle had sent me to the Seekers.” Cassandra’s voice remained low. “But I did. Eventually.”

“Why did Vestalus send you to the Seekers and not the Templars?”

“I am not certain. I never really asked. I assumed he thought the Seekers were a better match, or that they would provide a better education. Or maybe it had to do with my lineage, that I could carry on the family name in some regard. Woman Seekers of Truth are, unfortunately, still rare.” Cassandra paused there, and Everly sensed there was something else on her mind.

Everly traced light circles on Cassandra’s chest, right above her heart, waiting.

“I think, perhaps, he also did not want me taking lyrium.”

That made a kind of awful sense. Everly saw the effects the withdrawal was having on Cullen, and even though he seemed to be improving daily it would always be a constant struggle. Her thoughts turned to her brother. Brayden had been born to soldier, and there had never been a question about his future occupation. Everly remembered actually being jealous when he joined the Templars; not only was he proudly carrying on the family tradition of service, but doing so with a clarity of purpose Everly herself never possessed. And yet, there had been no mention of lyrium. She wondered if Brayden was hurting now, in the same excruciating way Cullen was.

And there was a burst of guilt that she had a brother to worry about at all.

She burrowed into the crook of Cassandra’s neck and reached up to cup her jaw. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, but I wanted you to know.” Cassandra’s voice was soft against her brow, her fingers now gently threading through Everly’s hair. “I don’t know why...I just did.”

“You don’t have to explain. I will always listen. You don’t have to carry that by yourself anymore.”

The fingers in Everly’s hair tightened their grip. “He would have liked you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Everly smiled against Cassandra’s neck.

“It was.”

Cassandra lowered her head to find Everly’s lips. The kiss started out gentle but soon deepened, as Cassandra grazed her teeth against Everly’s bottom lip. In the back of her mind she wondered if this was nothing more than a distraction, that speaking about Anthony was just too much to bear, but she decided it didn’t matter. She would be whatever Cassandra needed her to be.

Cassandra shifted and threw Everly onto her back with comical ease. Everly swallowed her gasp, a quip about Bull’s earlier comment about Cassandra’s blood rising dying on her lips. She clutched at the back of Cassandra’s head, hard enough to dislodge the braid pinned at the base of her neck. Her other hand dug into Cassandra’s shoulder blade, nails finding purchase in warm skin. Heat rolled off Cassandra in waves and Everly welcomed it. Pain, loneliness, anger--she would take it all, freeing Cassandra from those burdens and instead replacing them with the one thing Everly had to offer, yet dare not say out loud.

Suddenly Cassandra broke the kiss. Everly froze, absurdly wondering if Cassandra had somehow read her thoughts. Even in the dark Cassandra’s gaze was impossibly fierce, as if she were looking right through her. Color rose in Everly’s cheeks and her heart slammed into her ribs, but she didn’t look away. Cassandra opened her mouth to speak.

Then there was a burst of blinding green light and all Everly knew was pain.

***

The fresco was breathtaking.

Everly knew Solas had been working on the piece ever since they arrived at Skyhold but had yet to actually see it. The descriptions hardly did it justice. Tall, bold colors filled the rotunda from floor to ceiling, depicting the history of the Inquisition--the explosion at the Conclave, Thereinfal Redoubt, the attack on Haven--it was all there, the images so vibrant they leapt off the stone. Everly stared, transfixed. Memories rushed back, and suddenly she was reliving it all with striking clarity. She felt Envy’s eyes boring into her again, and heard the howl of wolves as she climbed out of the wreckage of Haven. A chill went down her spine. She wondered if Solas had used some kind of magic on the piece.

A jolt of pain brought her to the present and she inhaled sharply.

“Felt that?” Solas glanced up from examining her palm and arched a brow.

Everly scowled. “Yes.”

The elf’s only reply was a soft hum of interest as he continued prodding at Everly’s hand. She was seated backwards in a chair, arm extended towards him, left palm turned skyward and fingers splayed open. The ball of her foot bounced relentlessly on the floor. The Anchor continued to pulse.

Behind her, agitated footfalls started up again. Cassandra had been pacing the entire time Everly had been confined to the chair, stalking the length of the rotunda and pausing only to offer impatient sighs. Solas had mostly ignored Cassandra, but as time passed, Everly could see that his patience was wearing thin.

Solas pressed his fingers into the Anchor again, releasing a small plume of sparks. Everly hissed. Just over her shoulder, she heard a soft, warning growl. Solas made no acknowledgment.

“You say this has been going on since Adamant?” he asked.

At the mention of the fortress, Everly heard another discontented growl. She sighed. “Yes.”

Solas pushed back the sleeve of Everly 's tunic to her elbow. The veins in her forearm were bright green and pulsing in rhythm with the Anchor. Solas’s long fingers trailed up her arm, tracing the lines of magic just beneath her skin. Cassandra began pacing even faster.

“Interesting.” Solas stood and walked over to the nearby bookcase, crossing his arms as he perused the titles. Everly twisted around in her seat. Cassandra was glaring at the back of Solas’s head, jaw twitching, hand clasped around the pommel of her sword.

“Cass. Please,” Everly whispered.

Cassandra’s eyes flashed and Everly met her gaze with a silent plea. Cassandra finally took up position near the door, leaning against the wall but still tapping her foot.

“I must admit, I am surprised at this.” Solas returned to the table, open book in hand. “I was not expecting this magic to be so corrosive.”

“I thought you were the resident expert,” Cassandra spat.

Solas sighed, as if he was dealing with a particularly ungrateful child. “I made no assertions as to my knowledge regarding the Anchor, Seeker. I merely said I believed the artifact that the Inquisitor came in contact with was elvhen.” He looked down at the volume, slowly turning a page. “You are not the only one concerned about the Inquisitor. We are all invested in her well-being.”

Cassandra huffed again, but fell silent after that. Everly squirmed in her seat, trying to twist around to look at Cassandra, but Solas gently pulled her back.

“Just a few more moments,” he said. “You have also been able to open much larger rifts ever since the attack on Haven, yes?”

Everly nodded. “Yes, but I don’t like to do it.”

“Why?”

Everly squirmed again, uncomfortable at the thought. “Because whenever I do it…” she paused, chewing on her lip as she tried to put the experience into words. “It’s like I’m being pulled into the Fade, but it feels different It’s more like I’m in a dream and I can’t wake up. Like reality is slipping away from me.”

Solas nodded thoughtfully. “This magic is difficult to understand, even more so to control. Especially for one such as yourself. You should do only what you are capable of, no more.”

Everly went to speak, but stopped herself. She understood that he was just trying to help--and that she had gone to him--but she wasn’t finding any of this particularly useful. It was difficult to define her capabilities when the Anchor had always roared to life on its own. There was hardly any manner of control to it; all she had to do was stand under a rift and raise her hand. Once the rift was sealed, the Anchor would fall dormant again, save for the soft green glow she had become accustomed to. Now its behavior was wild and unpredictable, flaring even when she was at rest and raging dangerously in combat. It was even seeping into her veins like a living creature. And, of course, the pain.

“Why does it keep hurting?” she asked softly.

Solas’s eyes were kind, but there was no comfort in his gaze. “I cannot say, Inquisitor. I will have to continue with my research. In the meantime, I will brew several potions to ease the discomfort.”

Everly muttered a quiet thanks and pull on her gloves, ignoring the Anchor’s sharp stab of protest. She left the rotunda with Cassandra on her heels, striding purposefully across the main hall to her quarters, head high and shoulders back. Eyes followed her every moment, as always. People looked up from their mugs of ale or paused in their conversations to watch the Inquisitor pass, gazing at her with the same outright admiration that she would never be comfortable with.

Behind her, she felt Cassandra’s irritation grow. Everly didn’t have to turn around to know that Cassandra’s jaw would be set and her eyes would be flashing with a fire that only appeared when she was particularly angry about something. True to her suspicions, the moment the door closed behind them Cassandra was making her feelings known.

“Since Adamant? Adamant?” she seethed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Everly trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. She didn’t bother to turn around. “Because it doesn’t make a damn difference.” Solas had no answers for her. Neither did Dorian with his endless research, nor Vivienne with her alchemy. All they could offer was sympathetic looks and more foul potions to choke down, all while her hand burned from the inside out.

“You don’t know that,” Cassandra said. “The potions help, do they not? And there are still days where it’s not active at all.”

Everly spun around when she reached the top of the stairs and planted both feet. Cassandra nearly plowed into her and grasped the rail for support, standing on the lower step.

“That’s not the point! It’s just…” Everly trailed off, suddenly feeling very tired. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, her left hand stiff at her side. “Can we please not talk about it right now? There’s nothing to be done.”

Everly braced herself for an argument, but instead the tension in the space between them dissipated. Strong fingers gently circled around her left hand, heedless of the untamed energy. Everly opened her eyes.

“I will not lose you to this.” Cassandra gazed at her intensely, wearing a look of sheer determination that Everly knew had been the undoing of greater men and women. Yet Cassandra’s touch was impossibly light, almost delicate, as she stroked the back of Everly ’s hand.

“You can’t protect me from everything, Cass.”

“Perhaps. But I can try.”

Everly looked away, almost undone by hazel eyes, but then Cassandra’s arms were around her waist, drawing her closer. She reached for the back of Cassandra’s neck and pulled her in, hugging her tightly. Soft lips brushed the side of her neck and jaw as Cassandra murmured something Everly couldn’t quite hear. But it didn’t matter. Just the sound of her voice, her presence, was enough to finally send the pain in her hand receding into the background. She pitched forward slightly, leaning deeper into their embrace.

A long moment passed before Cassandra finally moved, turning her head and pulling back just enough to find Everly ’s lips.

“I should go,” Cassandra whispered.

Everly managed a dry chuckle. “I suppose it wouldn’t look too good if I convinced you to stay.”

“It would not take much to convince me.” The corner of Cassandra's mouth curled up into a half-smile. “I will return when the main hall is not so crowded.”

Everly nodded as Cassandra gave her hand one last squeeze before turning away. Cassandra paused at the base of the step, cast one last glance back at her, then disappeared through the doorway.

Everly sighed and looked down at the Anchor. She clenched her fist, biting back tears.

Chapter Text

Cassandra woke at the first blue light of dawn, eyes sweeping the room.  The doors that lead out onto the Inquisitor’s private balcony were tightly sealed; just through the glass panes, the craggy outline of the Frostbacks was coming into view.  Messy piles of scrolls and parchment littered the ornate desk, along with the remains of several candles burnt down so low that wax had dripped onto the floor. Several logs smoldered in the fireplace, surrounded by mounds of ash.  All evidence of yet another late night. 

Everly was fast asleep, curled up with her head on Cassandra’s shoulder, heavy furs pulled up all the way up to her chin.  Winter had arrived at Skyhold with a fury. The bitter cold seeped into every corner of the room, and despite the thick bedcovers Everly clung to Cassandra for warmth.  Searching beneath the blankets, Cassandra found Everly’s left hand and gently pulled it out to examine her palm.   

The Anchor sparked immediately at her touch, but then quieted.  Cassandra scowled and the magic receded further, leaving behind only the usual dark green shimmer.  Cassandra glared a moment longer for good measure, then tucked the Anchor away again. She sighed. Everly, of course, hadn’t moved.  While at Skyhold, she always dove into sleep like she did everything else--recklessly and with no half-measures--and Cassandra would be surprised if she stirred before midday.  

Cassandra’s eyes fell on the overflowing desk and her chest ached.  The reason Everly slept so hard was the hours that she kept. Even when the rest of the fortress had finally quieted and Cassandra could make her way to the Inquisitor's quarters without being seen, Everly  was always at that desk, working steadily. Cassandra would have to pry her away, ignoring the ink smudges on her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes.   

She pressed her lips to Everly’s brow and ran her fingers through the wild brown hair.  Briefly, she debated staying. More than once Cassandra had drifted off only to be awoken by sleepy kisses pressed to her jaw and a light touch grazing her hip.  When that happened, it was almost embarrassing how quickly the want and need coiled at the base of her spine. But late mornings invariably lead to more questions, as her absence from the training yard would surely be noted.  All it took was an observant servant or two witnessing her slipping from the Inquisitor’s quarters for rumors to explode.  

She kissed Everly again, then slid away.  Snatching up the nearest article of clothing from the floor, she found herself with her own breeches but Everly’s tunic.  It stretched tightly over her arms and shoulders, but would do for now. Plus, Everly was always making off with her shirts.  She walked over to the fireplace and silently added several logs and kindling.  Once the fire was burning steadily, she headed over to the balcony and stepped outside.      

Cold air slapped her in the face, chasing the rest of the weariness from her body.  Freezing stone bit into her bare fit. She exhaled deeply, watching the plume of steam dissipate the early morning light.  Cassandra did that three more times, emptying her lungs in long, steady breaths. Then she pitched forward into a handstand. 

The routine was the same each day, designed to keep her loose and limber.  Brute strength had never been an issue, even when she was young, but as the years passed Cassandra came to understand that flexibility and balance was key.  Lifting a sword with one hand was a fruitless gesture if her back was too tight to swing it properly. It was a lesson that had become even more obvious recently, evidenced by the twinge she felt whenever she dismounted after riding all day and the stiffness in her neck that greeted her most mornings.  

Cassandra breathed out again, body trembling as she fought to keep herself upright.  Slowly, she widened her legs and shifted her weight to stand on her left hand, right arm reaching for the back of her thigh.  She held the pose for three breaths, then switched hands, gradually bringing her left arm to the sky. Her shoulders and wrists began to burn, a welcome contrast to the cold stone on the balcony.  She focused on the surge of heat. Sweat pricked at the back of her neck. Both hands went back to the ground, then she began began lowering her legs, tucking her knees tightly into her chest. Another breath and then her legs shot behind her, toes catching on the stone just as she arched her back and pushed up, broadening her chest and gazing out over the mountains. 

She repeated the sequence several more times, each iteration with added complexity.  Soon her entire body was alight, muscles burning at the exertion. When she reached her usual amount of repetitions, she sat back on her heels and let out a long, satisfied sigh.  

The cold surrounded her, but she paid it no mind.  Cassandra turned her focus inward, envisioning a small ball of light in the center of her chest.  She concentrated on the light and watched as it expanded within her. Warmth filled her entire body, spilling all the way down to her toes like she had been dipped into a warm bath.  The light moved outward, wrapping around her, protecting her from the cold.  

She began to chant.  

The devotionals were as much a part of her day as her training regimens, or eating, or breathing.  Although she had been tested these past months, her faith remained strong. She was filled with the light of the Maker Himself, shielded from those who would do her harm.  As Cassandra chanted, her thoughts drifted back to the bed she had just left, and she allowed herself a small smile. Warmth blossomed in her chest again, even stronger this time.  

But then the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.  Cassandra opened her eyes and spun around into a crouch. She peered through the glass doors.  A dark figure slowly crested the top of the stairs and moved towards the bed. Everly was curled up  underneath a mess of blankets and furs, the only clue to her presence a wild tuft of hair on the corner of a pillow.  As the figure moved closer Cassandra saw the sigil of the Inquisition across their breastplate. A dagger gleamed in the firelight. 

Cassandra was moving before she even realized it.  She pushed through the door and bolted into the bedroom, bare feet silent on the cold stone.  Two strides and she was at full speed. A third and she had reached the attacker. They turned just as Cassandra left the ground, eyes widening in dawning horror.  

A feral roar tore from her throat as they collided.  Pain shot down Cassandra’s shoulder as she struck the hard metal of their breastplate.  They crashed into the bedside table, sending candles and books and papers flying. She drove them both towards the floor, landing with her full weight on the attacker’s ribs.  The table shattered beneath him. Vaguely she heard a frightened yelp from somewhere over on the other side of the bed, followed by a thump, but she ignored it. Cassandra twisted the dagger from the attacker’s grip, sending it clattering across the stone.  She felt a strangled wheeze beneath her and she tore the helm off with both hands, throwing it across the room. It hit the opposite wall and tumbled down the stairs.  

Then she smashed her fist into his face.      

Blood gushed from the attacker’s mouth and spilled out onto the floor.  She didn’t stop. She did it again, and again and again until his entire jaw gave way and he fell slack underneath her.    

Cassandra stood, chest heaving, blood dripping from her knuckles.  A foul, acrid taste rose in the back of her throat and an ache began forming at the base of her skull.  She looked down at the man, sprawled around the splintered remains of the table. Blood pooled steadily beneath him.  It took her a moment to realize what she was tasting.  

Lyrium.  Red lyrium.

A rustle of movement came from the other side of the room.  Everly was stark naked, bow fully drawn back and pointed directly at the attacker’s head.  Her grey eyes were blown wide and still glassy from sleep, yet her mouth pressed into a thin, determined line.  

“What the fuck. ”  Everly’s jaw twitched, the muscles in her neck and shoulders trembling.  Her fingers remained steady on the bowstring, eyes locked on the crumpled form in the corner.  

Cassandra stepped forward, hand out, cupping the arrow with her palm.  Silently, she pushed the bow towards the ground. They both fell with a clatter.  Everly still wasn’t looking at Cassandra. Furs littered the floor near the bed, thrown off in panic.  Cassandra grabbed the closest one, wrapped it tightly around Everly’s shoulders and drew her in.

“Are you alright?  Darling, look at me.  Are you hurt?” Cassandra clasped Everly’s face with both hands, desperately searching.  The glazed look finally drained from Everly’s eyes. She shook her head. The only visible sign of injury was a welt steadily growing just above her brow--she must have struck her head when she fell out of bed--but other than that she appeared unharmed.  Overwhelmed with relief, Cassandra pulled her into a crushing hug. Everly let out a trembling sigh and buried her face in Cassandra’s neck.              

“Inquisitor?”

Cassandra turned at the sound of Josephine’s voice.  The ambassador was at the top of the stairs, mouth agape.  She was already dressed for the day, shimmering in her usual gold and lace, obviously on the way to her office.  Her eyes widened in shock. “I-I heard a commotion, are you--Cassandra, what happened?”

“Get Leliana.  Please.” 

Josephine dropped her writing tablet and disappeared in a blur of ruffled finery.  Painfully aware of their state of undress, Cassandra released Everly and began searching near the bed.  She came up with Everly’s breeches and handed them to her. Everly stepped into them wordlessly, still shaking.  She drew the fur tighter over her shoulders. Cassandra’s own hands trembled as she pulled on her boots. She was about to peel off the tight tunic to give to Everly, but stopped when she realized there was blood splattered across the front.    

Josephine was swifter than Cassandra had ever given her credit for.  In the blink of an eye she had returned, this time with Leliana and a single guard in tow.  The spymaster took everything in with one grim look, pale blue eyes darkening. She arched a brow in Cassandra’s direction and went to examine the prone figure in the corner.  Josephine darted over to Everly’s side.       

“Are you hurt, Inquisitor?”  Josephine hands went towards Everly’s face. Cassandra grimaced, realizing she had accidentally smeared blood across Everly’s cheeks. 

“I’m fine.” Everly stepped back from Josephine’s touch.  “Cassandra stopped him.”   

Cassandra stalked over to the balcony and threw the door shut with a resounding slam.  “Do you know him?” she asked. 

  Leliana frowned at what remained of the attacker’s face.  Underneath the pulpy mass, it was unclear whether it belonged to a man or woman.  “They’re barely alive, let alone recognizable. But I believe it’s one of Cullen’s newer recruits.  Part of the group that arrived about a month ago.” She looked up at the guard who had accompanied her.  “Fetch the commander, if you would.”  

The guard nodded and darted down the stairs, armor clanging.  Leliana sighed. “I meant quietly,” she muttered.  

Josephine continued to fret over the Inquisitor, steering her towards the bed.  Everly tried to push her away, insisting that she was fine. Cassandra was heartened by her slight scowl, the color finally returning to Everly’s face.  She turned back to the mountains, fists clenched, trying to quell the anger steadily building within her.  

“Cassandra…?”  

Leliana had risen from her crouch and carefully approached, raising one hand, as if to keep Cassandra in place.  But it was too late. By the time the door opened and Cassandra caught sight of a disheveled blonde head coming up the stairs, her relief had bled away completely, replaced by sheer rage.     

A confused look came over Cullen’s face as he tried to make sense of the scene.  Three additional guards hovered anxiously behind him.    

“Wha--”

He didn’t get a chance to finish.  Cassandra grabbed his collar and shoved him against the wall, bloodied hands twisting his tunic and jamming it into his throat.     

“Do you just let anyone walk into Skyhold?” Cassandra snarled.  “She could have been killed!”  

Cullen only managed an indignant sputter, his reply choked off.  Although they stood at the same height and he had regained most of his mass, he could not budge her.  The guardsmen stood frozen next to him.  

Leliana finally placed her hand on Cassandra’s shoulder.  “The Inquisitor was attacked this morning.”  

Cullen’s eyes widened.  He clasped Cassandra’s wrists and finally managed to break her grip.  Cassandra stomped away, still glaring at him. Rubbing at his neck, Cullen returned the look, then knelt down by the body.  “Maker’s breath, it’s Jean.”

Leliana pursed her lips.  “How can you even tell?” 

“Those are his boots.” 

“He must have walked right in through the main hall,”  Josephine said.

“Of course he did.  And why would anyone stop him when he’s in our armor?” Cassandra snapped. 

Cullen spun around and jabbed a finger at her.  “If you think--” 

“If I think what?”  Cassandra was moving again, fists clenched, suppressing the urge to throw him down the stairs.

“Will everyone just shut up, please?”

The tinge of exhaustion in Everly’s voice was enough to cut through Cassandra’s haze of anger.  She turned. Everly was sitting on the bed next to Josephine, but had drawn herself up and puffed out her chest.  Her back straight, her chin high--looking completely unfazed by the attempt on her life. Cassandra’s heart twisted at the display.     

“What’s this? An assassination attempt? Delightful!” 

Vivienne appeared at the top of the stairs, as if arriving at a particularly exclusive ball.  Her dressing gown swept elegantly as she took her own turn at examining the scene. Immaculate heels clacked loudly against the stone.    

Everly made a face.  “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Unfortunately, my dear, the commander and his soldiers are not as stealthy as you would think.  You can hear them clanking about all through Skyhold.” Vivienne’s eyes fell on Cassandra and she raised a cool brow.  “Are you bathing in the blood of your enemies now? That’s a touch dramatic, even for you.”    

Cassandra looked down at the bloody tunic and dirty breeches.  The knuckles of her left hand were bruised and starting to swell.  Her shoulder ached from where she had thrown herself into Everly’s attacker, and just being in the presence of red lyrium was making her head throb.  She scrubbed at her face and turned to look out through the balcony doors. All she could do was grind her teeth in response. 

Someone snapped their fingers behind her.  “Get him cleaned up and take him down to the dungeon.  Have the surgeon look at him there. We can question him later,” Leliana ordered.  

“Are you sure that’s wise?”  Vivienne asked. “There’s already been a fair amount of attention drawn to the Inquisitor’s quarters this morning.  Dragging him out in front of everyone will raise questions as to how he got in in the first place.” 

“No.  Let them see.”  

Cassandra slowly turned away from the doors.  Everyone was looking at the Inquisitor, each with varying degrees of surprise.  As ridiculous as she could be, Everly was not usually one for grand displays of power, and certainly not one so grotesque.  But her grey eyes were cold and steadfast, not diminished in the least by the blanket still clutched around her.    

“I’m serious,” Everly said.  “Parade him up and down the main hall for everyone to see.  Show them all what happens when I’m threatened.”    

Vivienne and Leliana exchanged a glance.  Something almost like approval passed between them.  

“Very well.” Leliana nodded at the guards.  The first two took one of his arms, and one grabbed his legs as they maneuvered him out of the room, blood dripping in a trail behind them. 

“The news will spread quickly,” Josephine said, lost in her thoughts.  Cassandra could see the wheels turning in the ambassador’s head, scheming a thousand different ways to turn the situation into an advantage.  “Perhaps we can use this to draw out any other members of a conspiracy, if one exists.”

“He could have been sent to infiltrate us and gain access to the Inquisitor,” Leliana agreed.  “Or he could just as easily been a lone actor. We’ll know more once we can talk to him, if he can even speak.”  She shot a look at Cassandra, eyes twinkling ever so briefly. “We are all grateful for your intervention, Cassandra, but sometimes I wish you’d show just a bit more restraint.”

“Had I my sword, you would be interrogating body parts.” 

“Lucky for him you did not.”  Vivienne inclined her chin, the faint hint of a smile crossed her face.  Suddenly, Cassandra was struck by the uncomfortable feeling that she had somehow been caught in a trap.  “Your presence was quite fortuitous, wouldn’t you say?  How is it that you came to be in the Inquisitor’s quarters at such an hour?”

The air rushed out of the room.  Almost in unison, Josephine and Cullen looked from Cassandra to Everly, then back again.  Cassandra began fumbling for a response, but there was hardly any way to deny it. The ill-fitting tunic, her armor and sword neatly stacked near the bed, Everly ’s state of undress--it all spoke to one very specific set of intentions.  

Josephine cleared her throat and kept her face neutral, even though the observant ambassador could have clearly guessed what was going on the first moment she had arrived.  Leliana likewise remained silent. Meanwhile Cullen just scratched wearily at the stubble on his chin and stared at the wall.      

A hot blush crawled up Cassandra’s neck.  This was hardly the time or place to discuss the nature of her and Everly’s relationship.  She rubbed at her face again, the pounding in her head getting worse.       

But then she found Everly’s eyes from across the room.  Despite the awkwardness, Everly was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the whole world.  Everything else melted away, and for a moment, they were the only two people in all of Skyhold. 

“Is this going to be a problem?”  Everly stared at each person in turn, looking for a challenge.  None came. “Good. Now can someone come clean this up?”

Josephine looked as if she were about to squeal with excitement.  She jumped up from the bed, yet managed to temper her enthusiasm enough to respond.  “Yes, of course. I’ll also have some hot bathwater sent up.”  

Gathering herself, she turned to leave, pushing Cullen towards the stairs and ignoring his confused protests.  Vivienne followed silently, wearing a smug look of victory. Cassandra scowled at the Enchanter’s back.

“Cassandra.” Leliana appeared in front of her.  “You should leave as well. We need to be mindful of appearances, for now.  Put your armor on.”

Leliana spoke matter-of-factly but Cassandra still recoiled.  She looked over at Everly, who gave a slight nod. Numbly, she changed out of the bloody tunic and strapped on her breastplate, finding some comfort in the familiar movements.  Everly silently padded over to her. After the last buckle was fastened, Cassandra pulled her in and lowered her head to press their foreheads together. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Cass. I’ll find you later.” 

Cassandra brushed her lips against Everly’s brow, then turned away.  Leliana joined her and they walked down the stairs together, exiting the Inquisitor’s quarters just as two stewards rushed through the door carrying buckets of steaming water.  Cassandra exhaled when they stepped out into the main hall, her headache finally receding.  

Leliana fell into stride beside her, smiling as broadly as Cassandra had ever seen her.  Cassandra shot her a look. “What?”

The smile grew.  

“I so do enjoy being right.” 

***

The blade gleamed dangerously in the firelight.  Cassandra frowned as she ran the oiled cloth over the newly-forged steel.  On the bench in front of her was its mate, also fresh from the forge and worked over with her whetstone.  Cassandra had commissioned the twin dagger set from Harritt several weeks ago, and the blacksmith had truly outdone himself.  The steel was a rich blue, the double edges coming to a sharp, wicked point, the handles set to her exact specifications. They were perfectly balanced.  Cassandra could not have been more pleased, but had left the finishing work for herself.

The daggers were originally meant to be a gift, but the events of that morning accelerated her timeline.  Everly had a habit of grabbing whatever knives were available in the armory, without regard to type, and promptly losing them when they were on expeditions.  It took Cassandra several weeks to determine that is was more than simple carelessness; rather, Everly never found a set that felt comfortable in her hands. She carried her hunting knife, of course, but it was too small to be fit for battle.  And while Everly preferred her bow, there were plenty of occasions where close quarters fighting was necessary.    

Cassandra’s frown deepened.  Completing the blades was fine, painstaking work she usually did not have the patience for.  Today she was grateful for the distraction. After her session in the training yard she had retreated to the forge, where she sat quietly in a corner and listened to the  blacksmiths laugh and joke as they pounded hammers across metal. One by one they finished their work and left for the day, barely giving her a glance. Soon she was alone with nothing but the sound of wood crackling in the fire.  

She stared at the blade, watching the flames dance across the steel.  The weapon the Templar had intended to use wasn’t nearly as finely crafted as the one she held, but it would have done the job.  She thought about how that knife had caught just enough of the dim morning light, how close it came to Everly’s neck. How easily it would have cut through the soft skin.  How a geyser of bright red blood would have spilled across the sheets.

Cassandra’s fist slammed into the table.  Pain shot up her arm instantly. Her hand had been bandaged all day, swollen from shattering the Templar’s face.  Unleashing a violent Nevarran epithet that would have made her uncle’s hair stand on end, she stood and stalked over to the fireplace.

“Ah. Here you are.” 

Leliana stood at the entrance to the forge, head cocked and favoring her with a knowing look.  In her distraction, Cassandra hadn’t even heard the door open. She grumbled under breath and turned back to the fire, propping her uninjured hand on her hip.  Leliana’s footfalls whispered over the floor as she approached.   

“You missed the meeting this afternoon,” Leliana said. 

“There was nothing I could have contributed.”

“The Inquisitor thought the opposite.  We sent a runner.” 

“I’m aware.” 

As instructed, the boy had found her that afternoon in the training yard, demolishing training dummies with even more fervor than usual.  If the note had been written by Everly, Cassandra imagined it would have been harder to ignore. As it were, the summons was in Josephine’s hand and she felt no guilt as she tossed it onto the ground and sent the boy away.  

Leliana stood on the other side of the fireplace.  “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Cassandra asked. 

“Brooding.”

“I’m not--” 

Cool blue eyes stared back at her, cutting off protest.  Leliana inclined her chin to look up at the taller woman, unfazed by their size difference.  “She’s fine, Cassandra.”

Cassandra shifted.  Helplessness twisted in her gut.  “But what if I hadn’t been there?” she said hoarsely.  

“But you were .” Leliana shook her head.  “You cannot dwell on what might have been.  It will be the end of you. You’re alive, Everly is alive--that is all that matters.” 

Cassandra jerked at the sound of Everly’s name, not used to hearing it in the lilting tones of Leliana’s accent.  She swallowed thickly. “I know you’re right but...I can think of little else.”

“Yes, it’s dreadful when the woman you love is tasked with saving the world.” 

Cassandra’s mouth opened, but she snapped it shut quickly.  For the second time that day, a telltale blush blossomed in her cheeks.  

Leliana’s smile widened, she thankfully did not press the issue.  “As much as I enjoy it, I did not come here to tease you. I went down to the dungeon earlier to visit our guest.  I was surprised to see that I was not his only visitor today.” She paused. “You’ve not done that in quite some time.” 

Clearing her throat, Cassandra once again stared into the fire.  

There was no point in denying it, especially to Leliana--they each knew exactly what the other had been capable of in their service to the Divine.  Cassandra had quickly learned not to be surprised by the extent of Leliana’s ruthlessness, while Leliana has been a rare witness to all that the temper of a Seeker of Truth could wrought.

“I did not intend to,” Cassandra said softly.  “I did not know it could happen with red lyrium.” 

After she had sent the runner away, she tried to return to her training regimine, but to little avail.  Which each strike her anger only grew, until she found herself descending the damp, mossy steps that lead to the bowels of the ancient fortress.  The Templar--Jean--had been treated by the surgeon and appeared to be resting comfortably, all things considered. He stirred when she approached, slowly opening the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.  His breath came out in a strangled wheeze.  

Cassandra didn’t know what she had expected.  Any form of apology or genuflection was clearly beyond his condition.  All he did was stare back at her with his one eye, peering out from underneath the bloody, broken mass that was his face. Seeing him did nothing to quell her rage.  Her hands balled into fists so tight the blunt of her nails cut into skin. She thought again of what had almost been taken from her, how close he had come, and then suddenly fire was in her eyes and the dungeon was filled with his screams.  

The skill had always come easily to her.  Far too easily. After her vigil she could set lyrium alight with only the simplest thought.  Her instructors always said it was the anger that made it easy, that acted as the accelerant when she set fire to the blood of men twice her size.  They would collapse only after a few moments, eyes bleeding, skin blistered and split open like a hog on a spit. Casandra suppressed a shudder.  

Leliana’s gaze turned sympathetic.  “What happened?”

“I do not know.” Cassandra suddenly felt very tired. “He did nothing to provoke me.  He couldn’t even speak. But even as he laid there, it came over me...I stopped as soon as I realized it.  And then sent for the surgeon as I left. Will he live?”

“By some miracle, yes, but he will still need to be judged.  Although considering how much the Inquisitor hates sitting on that throne, he’ll be fully recovered before she gets around to it.” 

“Judgment will come as swiftly as she deems.  Such is her right.”      

Dealing judgment had always been Cassandra’s most terrible gift--rage that blinded her so completely all that was left were ashes.  She knew it suited her; she thrived in the chaos of battle and this was just one more tool in her arsenal. But sometimes it was just too horrific to be comfortable with.  In her mind, there was still a difference between running a man through and setting him on fire from the inside out. She was grateful that Everly did not hold such anger within her. 

The door banged open, this time without the slightest consideration for stealth or quiet.  Everly bounded into the forge, cheeks flushed from the cold, clutching a bottle of ale. She skidded to a stop when she saw Leliana. 

“I just wanted to, um, ask about--you know, I can come back--”  Everly stammered.    

“Please, Inquisitor, you don’t have to make any excuses.  Especially since you’re so awful at it.” Leliana laughed gently, then gave one last look at Cassandra.  “I will take my leave.” 

Everly nodded as Leliana exited the forge, holding the bottle behind her back until the spymaster closed the door.  Once they were alone, Everly plopped onto the table, planting her feet on the bench Cassandra had just been sitting on.  At first glance she appeared somewhat subdued, but that lopsided smile still shone.   

“From Cabot.”  Everly waved the bottle at Cassandra, then put it down next to her.  “His newest brew. He claims it’s as sweet as a summerwine, but strong enough to curl a qunari’s horns.”  

“He said the same thing about the last batch.”  Cassandra caught Everly’s chin and turned her head, examining the welt above her left eye.  It wasn’t as swollen as she thought it would be, but was still large enough to suggest a hard fall.  “How are you?”

“Fine, aside from the fact that I spent the entire day going over new security arrangements with Cullen.”  Everly rolled her eyes. “I was so bored I nearly chewed my own arm off. You’re supposed to save me when he starts ranting, remember?”

It wasn’t meant as a chastise, but the hint of disappointment was still there.  “I’m sorry,” Cassandra said.  

“Cullen’s posting guards at my door now, day and night.  Only an elite few have the assignment. No one is allowed in or out without an escort.”  Everly’s grin widened. “Except you, of course.” 

“What?”

“I made it clear that you may come and go as you please.  That it was vital for the Inquisition as a whole for you to have unfettered access to a private bath.”  

Strong hands found Cassandra’s waist, tugging her closer.  She allowed herself to be pulled in, Everly’s fingers tracing a familiar pattern over the scar that curved around her left hip.  Years ago, a group of bandits had stumbled into her camp, and she and her fellow Seeker had fought them off in nothing but their tunics.  Through sheer luck, one of the bandits had swung wildly with their dagger and sliced through Cassandra’s side. Of all the scars that marked her body, that was Everly’s favorite.  She refused to tell Cassandra why.   

“And what about appearances?” Cassandra’s voice caught in her throat as  Everly’s thumb pressed into her hip.  

“Let them talk.  There’s already so many stories about me hardly anyone knows what’s true anymore.”  Suddenly Everly snatched her hands away, eyes wide. “Is that okay? I’m sorry, we should have talked about that before I said something to Cullen--Sweet Andraste, we’ve never even talked about any of this, I--” 

“There is nothing to discuss.”  

Everly stared back, still panicked.  “You’re sure?”

This time, Cassandra used a more persuasive method. It was also the most efficient way of soothing Everly’s anxiety.  

The kiss was deep and unhurried, and finally Cassandra’s tension drained away.  Somehow, despite the excellent distraction, her thoughts drifted back to Leliana.  Her friend was right--had always been right, since the conversation in the library months ago, when Cassandra had first struggled to voice her feelings.  The conversation that had led to that night in the garden and a bold first kiss. Now she was in the center of a story she never thought she would find herself in.   Leliana’s words echoed in the back of her head.  

Why should you not receive that which is the Maker’s greatest gift of all?     

Someone had tried to take that from her, but they were not the first person to try, and they certainly would not be the last.  What mattered was that she and Everly were both here, both alive. The Maker had blessed her with that.  

When they parted, Everly looked dazed, much like she had after that kiss in the garden.  Cassandra thought her heart would burst.  

“I have something for you.” Cassandra cleared her throat and playfully shoved Everly over, reaching for the daggers she was damn near sitting on.  “Hopefully you won’t lose these ones, too.” 

Everly’s face lit up as she tested the weight and balance.  She twirled them in her hands with obvious delight, and couldn’t restrain herself from cocking her arm back.  Rolling her eyes, Cassandra caught Everly’s hand before she could throw the dagger into the nearest beam.  

“These are amazing ,” Everly gushed.

“I thought perhaps something with a thinner handle would serve you well.”  She gave Everly the matching scabbards, attached to a dark, rich leather belt stamped with the Inquisition’s sigil.  “Keep them with you, even here at Skyhold. Please.”   

Everly squeezed her hand and gave her a solemn look.  “I will, I promise. Thank you.” She jumped to her feet and strapped on the belt, adjusting the daggers so they sat on her hips just right.  She placed both fists on her hips and struck a pose. “How do I look?” Everly gazed off into the distance, now towering over Cassandra from her standing position on the bench.     

Cassandra snorted but still couldn’t stop the corner of her mouth quirking up into a smile.  Instead of answering, she grabbed the front of Everly’s coat and yanked her off the bench and over Cassandra’s shoulder.  

Everly yelped in outrage.  “Cas- san- dra! What the hell??” 

Cassandra laughed as Everly kicked and squirmed and protested, all to no avail.  She kept one arm clamped one arm across Everly’s waist and proceeded to march them both up the stairs to her bedroll, only pausing long enough to snatch the bottle of ale off the table.  Yes, Leliana had been right, and Cassandra would have to endure her quiet smugness for Maker knows how long. But she didn’t have to admit that quite yet.  

Chapter Text

Cassandra knew she was failing at hiding her discomfort, but had long ago ceased to care.  She leaned against the brightly varnished banister at the top of the stairs, eyes sweeping across the ballroom floor below her.  The bejeweled masks and gowns that filled the room shined so obscenely her head was starting to ache.    Gilded ornamentation surrounded her, from the intricate molding along the ceiling to the gold serving platters.  The Winter Palace was nothing but a monument to garish, flaunted wealth.  She hated every part of it. 

The jacket was stifling.  Cassandra tugged irritably at her collar.  She didn’t know whose idea it had been for them all to wear matching suits--probably Josephine’s--but the material was too heavy and the color too bright.  Additionally, somewhere along the line an error had been made with her measurements, and her jacket ended up too tight across her shoulders, limiting her range of motion.  The dagger strapped to her lower back was almost out of reach.  Part of her wanted to just tear it out from under her suit and brandish it openly.  After all, if people were going to look, she might as well give them something to look at . 

They were all on display, Cassandra knew, and even though she didn’t agree with the importance of the event she understood it.  Yet she was unable to shake off the open stares and barely concealed laughter sent in her direction.  She ground her teeth.  It was all so petty.  There was no reason she should be singled out when all of the Inquisition was dressed in the same manner.  Even Vivienne.  Vivienne! Surely if the ball’s attendees were so intent on mocking her appearance, they should do the same to the Enchanter.  

Cassandra swallowed an indignant sigh and focused on the level overlooking the dance floor.  She had spent the majority of the evening rooted in one spot, not wanting to draw any attention to herself than absolutely necessary, even though it hindered her main goal: keeping an eye on Everly.  On the other side of the staircase, near the overflowing buffet table, she finally caught a glimpse of a bright red jacket and blue sash.  

Unlike Cassandra, the Inquisitor exhibited no such discomfort with her outfit.  She wore the dress uniform with a natural ease that was as envious as it was handsome.  Everly was encircled by a gaggle of Orlesian baronesses, nodding intently at whatever the closest one was saying.  When she finished, Everly flashed a winning smile and said something in response.  The group erupted in laughter, and the baroness who had just been talking eased closer and placed her hand on Everly’s arm. 

The banister creaked in protest under Cassandra’s hand.  She watched as Everly gave another smile, more subdued this time, and slid away from the baroness’s reach.  The subtle rejection was cushioned by another joke and soon the women were all laughing again. Despite the lightheartedness of the interaction, Cassandra recognized the tension in Everly’s shoulders even from across the room.  Everly turned her head and their eyes met.  Cassandra favored her with a small smile.  Everly beamed, her face nearly as bright as the masks surrounding her, and returned to the conversation.  The baroness shot a dark look across the room.  Cassandra responded with a look of her own.    

Thankfully, another group of nobles swept into the fray, this time led by a large, gregarious comte whose bellowing voice Cassandra was sure could be heard throughout the whole damn palace.  The comte stepped in front of Everly and the baroness, completely obscuring them both from view.  When he moved again the Inquisitor was gone. 

Cassandra forced herself to relax her grip on the innocent banister.  Everly had most likely gotten dragged into yet another pointless conversation, or had managed to slip away to a secluded corner and eavesdrop on unsuspecting guests.  It had been the part of the evening Everly was looking forward to most, almost jumping up and down in glee when Leliana had made the request of her.  With nothing else to occupy her at the moment, Cassandra crossed her arms and heaved a bored sigh.  

The last time she had been forced to attend one of these things was back when she was still a girl in Nevarra.  While Divine Justinia had been gracious and never required her attendance at such functions, Cassandra’s uncle Vestulus had spent her entire childhood convinced that she should be married off like a proper lady.  He hosted ball after ball in an attempt to find a suitor.  She rebelled furiously at his machinations, refusing outright to go and when she did, scowling at anyone who dared approach her.  Anthony eventually had to play the mediator between the two, usually winning Cassandra extra fighting or riding lessons in exchange for an honest effort at socializing.  Her brother was the only one who truly understood how awful those events were for her, how much she hated being shoved into a dress and paraded around, forced to talk to boys who had no interest in her as a person.  Especially when she was nearly a head taller than most of them.

Cassandra attended her last ball when she was twelve.  A charming, strapping blond boy had cajoled her into taking a walk outside, then promptly stuck his hand down the front of  her dress and tried to kiss her.  Cassandra snapped his wrist like a dried twig.  Vestalus had been mortified; not only was the boy a fine match, he also was a member of a prominent branch of the Van Markum family that wielded enough political influence to make things difficult for Vestalus at court.  Anthony was furious and immediately defended Cassandra to their uncle, arguing that the boy had brought it on himself.  Later that night, brother and sister had laughed at both their uncle’s horrified reaction and the way the Van Markum boy’s had squealed as he ran away. 

Cassandra chuckled to herself.  She ought to tell Everly that story. 

“What’s so funny?”

As if materializing out of thin air, Everly appeared in front of her looking slightly disheveled.  The blue sash across her chest was slightly askew and her cheeks were flushed.  Her hair remained unmarred, though--the usually wild mop had been cut and lacquered into submission by the same product Cullen used.  She was holding a small plate of cheese and trying to appear utterly innocent.  

“I’ll tell you later.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed as Everly popped several pieces into her mouth. “You’re not supposed to be eating.”          

“I’m starving,” Everly said. “And Vivienne says it’s rude not to eat.” 

“Vivienne is not in danger of being poisoned.” 

Everly arched a brow. “You sure about that?”

Cassandra decided not to argue the point.  She reached around and plucked a dead leaf out from the back of Everly’s collar.  “What the--?

“Oh! I climbed a trellis.”  Everly said, stuffing more cheese into her mouth. 

Cassandra deposited the leaf on a passing servant’s tray.  “Why in Andraste’s name would you do that?”

“Because I had to get to the upper level, obviously.  I was looking around.  Leliana says we all need to be on alert for threats to the Empress.”  Everly’s brow furrowed, as it did whenever she was especially bothered by something.  “I don’t like any of this.”

Cassandra pressed her lips together.  “It’s Orlais, darling.  There’s nothing to like.” 

Everly snickered, but quickly fell silent.  A comtesse was approaching, garishly dressed even by Orelasian standards and followed by a flock of lesser hangers-on, who were very obviously looking at Cassandra and laughing amongst themselves.  Cassandra deliberately turned her back to them.  She had a fair idea of what they were saying, and it wasn’t anything she hadn’t already heard.  Everly’s ears, however, were too sharp to miss the details.  She tensed, grey eyes turning fierce.  

Cassandra took a step closer, lowering her voice.   “Everly.  Let it be.” 

“Comtesse Delphine!”  Everly slipped around Cassandra and stood in front of the countess, bowing deeply while still balancing her plate of cheese in her palm.  “So lovely to finally meet you.”

Delphine was taken aback by the elaborate greeting, but seemed to recover at Everly’s most charming smile.  “Yes, Inquisitor...how lovely, indeed..  I see the stories about you hardly do you justice.”  The comtesse batted her eyelashes as her ladies tittered to each other and offered Everly her hand. Cassandra rolled her eyes. 

“Likewise, madame.”  Everly brushed her lips across the back of the comptesse's gloved hand, speaking loud enough so that everyone in earshot could hear.  “I am so pleased you could make it, considering your delicate condition.  I trust the travel from Alyons was not too taxing?”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd.  Delphine pulled her hand back abruptly and almost touched her stomach, but stopped herself just in time.  Her ladies gasped in unison.  Cassandra realized that the elaborate detailing of Delphine’s ball gown was meant not only for show, but also designed in such a way that her secret could easily be concealed.  

“Please pass along my congratulations to your husband,” Everly continued.  “I was not aware he had returned from his posting in the Exalted Plains.” 

The comtesse sputtered for a moment, then composed herself and managed a thin smile.  She snapped at her ladies and walked away, holding her chin high in an attempt to salvage what dignity she could.  Everly turned back to Cassandra triumphantly.

Cassandra held back her smile, but could not deny the burst of warmth in her chest.  Not that she needed defending from the likes of that comtesse, of course.  “Was that really necessary?”

“Very much so.”  Everly balanced her plate on the banister Cassandra was just leaning on and brushed off her hands.  She had eschewed gloves for the evening, shrewdly leaving the Anchor exposed for all attendees to see, and her left palm glowed a soft emerald green.  “Now, with that out of the way, can I interest you in a dance?”

The reply was automatic.  For a crazed moment, it wasn’t Everly asking but another nameless suitor, only approaching her because they were forced to, or using the promise of a dance to mock her yet again.  

“No.”

“I see.” 

The unguarded disappointment in Everly’s eyes left her scrambling for a better excuse.  “That is, I don’t believe it wise to draw attention to us.  Right now,” Cassandra added quickly.  

Everly nodded thoughtfully.  The Anchor sparked, and she clasped her hands behind her back.  “Have I ever told you about my parents?  I don’t think I did.”  Without waiting for Cassandra to answer, she launched into a story.  “One day, when my father was sixteen, he went to the Ostwick docks for the afternoon.  He watched as a fishing vessel ship came into port, coming in to sell its catch at the market.  It was crewed by some of the most skilled sailors he had ever seen.  And standing on the main deck, yelling orders to the crew, was--as he later told me--the most incredible woman he had ever seen.  He went back nearly every day for a month.  Finally one day my mother called down to him and said he could keep staring, or come on board and actually learn something.”

Everly smiled as she spoke, clearly fond of the tale.  “And so he did.  They sailed together for five years before returning to Ostwick.  My brother was born on that ship during a summer squall.  When they got back, my grandfather was furious.  But, by then, he couldn’t really say much.” 

“That sounds quite romantic, actually,” Cassandra said.

“Exactly! Robb was the same.  He met his wife Siobhan when she was competing at archery tourneys all over the Marches.  He carried supplies and equipment for her as they went from competition to competition, even though he was supposed to be betrothed to some Cousland girl.  And I’m pretty sure Brayden wanted to marry the neighbor boy by the time he was twelve.

“The point is, I come from a family of impulsive, headstrong romantics.  And when I tell them that I attended an absurd, elaborate ball with the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas, they damn sure will have expected me to dance with her.”

Cassandra bit her bottom lip.  Never before had anyone been able to lay her open with nothing but a few words.  Everly continued to gaze at her, still smiling, and Cassandra realized it wasn’t just what had been said, but how she had said it: with such utter confidence, as if it were a fact no one would dare argue.  She reached for Everly’s hand.  

“Inquisitor.”  Josephine appeared out of nowhere, nodding politely to several guests as she weaved her way over.  She wore a dazzling smile and her uniform was impeccable, but as she came closer Cassandra saw something dangerous in the ambassador’s eyes.  “I saw you speaking to Comtesse Delphine earlier and she left looking a bit flustered.  You didn’t happen to upset her, did you?”  

Everly shrugged.  “I merely offered my congratulations on her wonderful news.”  

The close approximation of a scowl crossed Josephine’s face, but it was quickly hidden.  Josephine forced her smile wider and spoke through clenched teeth.  “I thought we had discussed the sensitivity of that particular piece of news.” 

“She deserved it.” Everly scooped up her plate from the banister.  “Cheese?”

Josephine snatched it away.  “Stop eating.  Go talk to people.  Have you met Marquis Corentin yet?”

“No.”  Everly’s eyes wistfully followed her cheese as a server whisked it away. 

“He’s in the courtyard.  Remember, we need his support for the campaign in Emprise du Lion, so stroke his ego a bit.” 

“But I--” 

“Go.” Josephine shooed her away.  Everly cast a quick, sullen look in Cassandra’s direction, then headed off towards the ornate double glass doors that lead out to the enclosed courtyard.  The ambassador set her gaze on Cassandra.  “Could you at least try to be social?”

Cassandra glared at her.  

“Josephine, dear, a word?”  Vivienne swept into view, somehow managing to make the Inquisition uniform look impossibly elegant.  “Are you aware that Dorian has apparently captivated a group near the East Wing?  I believe I overheard him saying something about a Tevinter scarf dance.”

“Oh, no.”  Josephine’s eyes widened and she was off like a flash, striding through the ballroom at a tightly controlled run.  Dorian had explained the entire ritual in excruciating detail one night at Herald’s Rest, while Cassandra was trapped between Bull and Varric.  She hoped Josephine interrupted him before he got to the part when he took his pants off.

Vivienne clicked her tongue.  “She really should relax.  Dorian’s acting rather subdued, all things considered.  The night is going quite well.”

“Quite.”  Out of habit, Cassandra scanned the ballroom again, catching only a brief glimpse of Everly, once again surrounded by a large crowd.  Her eyes tracked across the entire room until they came back to Vivienne.  The Enchanter was favoring her with a kind look, one Cassandra had never received from her before.  

“It’s difficult, is it not? Watching the vultures descend,” Vivienne said, almost wistfully.  “Everyone wanted a piece of Bastian.  And they will want a piece of the Inquisitor, too.”

Crossing her arms, Cassandra glanced away.  Everly was lost somewhere among the glitter and gold.  “She’s good at it, though.  The politics.  The Game.  She claims to hate all of it, but I don’t think she does.”  

Vivienne gave a tilt of her head.  “The Inquisitor has a deft touch, to be sure.  The Game comes naturally to her.  Bastian was like that.  I used to hate it, like you.”

Cassandra cast a skeptical look out of the corner of her eye.  She and Vivienne rarely conversed, and when they did it certainly was not about such personal matters.  Plus Cassandra still held a grudge against her for drawing attention to her and Everly’s relationship so needlessly.  And yet, the Enchanter appeared sincere. 

“You got used to it, I assume,” Cassandra said. 

Vivienne nodded.  “I did.  Although I must admit, it saddens me that the Game was not what it once was.  The players are no longer as adept as they were when I was younger.  Too caught up in petty squabbles and old grudges to recognize new opportunities.  To recognize where true influence lies.” 

The words hung purposefully in the air.  Cassandra was reminded why she did not enjoy speaking to Vivienne.  The Enchanter had never been shy about the fact that she had her own agenda, and thus far that agenda happened to align with that of the Inquisition.  Cassandra wondered how long that would continue to be the case--and what would happen when those two paths diverged.   

“Speak plainly, Enchanter.” 

“If one were trying to gain favor with the Inquisition, they would do well to stop following at the Inquisitor's heels.  They should talk to you.” 

“I’d rather they didn’t,” Cassandra said with a snort.  

Ignoring her, Vivienne continued.  “It’s so obvious I’m really quite disappointed with this whole affair.  The Inquisitor clearly adores you.  She can’t stop looking in your direction.  Anyone paying attention should realize it is you they need to win over, not her.”  She paused for a moment, arching her brow, giving Cassandra a cool look.  “You truly don’t understand the power you wield.  And perhaps you will grow even more powerful still.” 

“If I wanted to hear vaguely ominous premonitions I would have remained at Skyhold with Solas.” 

Vivienne laughed and clapped her hands together.  “Oh, Cassandra, you are a delight.  You truly haven’t heard?” 

“Heard what.” 

“The College of Clerics is finally convening to elect a new Divine.  It will still take some time to come to a unanimous decision, of course, but rumor has it there is near consensus on the candidates.”

There was no point in asking where or how Vivienne was privy to such information.  “W-who are the candidates?”  When she didn’t receive an answer right away, Cassandra’s heart clenched.

Vivienne’s smile turned dangerous.  “Your reputation precedes you.  Justinia is well remembered and both of her Hands are still renowned for their devotion to her.”  

Cassandra could barely choke out the words.  “Leliana and...me?”  

“That’s what I hear, anyway.”  Vivienne patted her arm.  “But I wouldn’t put too much stock in stories, darling.  You know how fickle the College can be.  Next thing you know, they’ll be discussing putting a mage on the Sunburst Throne.” 

“Have they?”

Vivienne cocked her head, smile growing.  “You should really try to socialize a bit more.  I know Josephine would appreciate it.”  And then she walked away.   

Applause broke out on the dance floor below.  Cassandra turned to see Everly dancing with Grand Duchess Florianne.  Eager onlookers hurried over in their glittering masks, rewarding each movement with gasps of delight.  The dance was beautiful, with Everly effortlessly leading Florianne across the floor, never missing a step even as they were speaking to each other.  It ended when Everly spun the duchess out in a twirl, then brought her back in for a dramatic dip.  The crowd applauded again.  Everly bowed in Florianne’s direction, then looked up.      

Cassandra couldn’t bear to look at her for more than a breath.  Mind reeling, she abandoned her station at the top of the stairs and made her way towards the balcony.  A servant passed, holding a tray of gold-rimmed flutes filled with champagne.  She snatched a glass off the tray and downed the contents in one gulp, as she stepped through the doors and into the cold night air.  

***

Traipsing about the Royal Wing was not how Cassandra expected to spend part of her evening, but she was grateful for the distraction.  And, had to admit it was more interesting than what she had been doing.  

Everly’s persistent snooping--Cassandra refused to call it espionage , no matter how many times Everly insisted-- had yielded surprising results, but did not make the decision of who to support any easier.  Cassandra was still inclined to think that Gaspard was the right choice to rule.  Although, finding the naked soldier tied to Celene’s bed and learning of Gaspard’s plans for a surprise attack during peace talks had certainly colored her opinion.  But Celene could hardly be trusted, and even Briala appeared to have her own agenda.  The whole endeavor was beginning to feel like a waste of time, each path leading towards chaos in its own way, which was exactly what Corypheus wanted.  It almost made Cassandra throw up her hands and start marching back to Skyhold by herself. 

“This way,” Everly whispered, leading them away from the Empresses’ chambers.  Dorian was right beside her, with Vivienne next to him.  Cassandra had positioned herself at the rear of the group, watching warily as they made their way through the wing.  Although she wasn’t sure exactly why, Cassandra felt better keeping Vivienne in view.  Being in back had also spared her a full look at the guard splayed out across the bed.  She only wished she was armed with more than just her dagger.   

“Now, my dear Quiz, not that I mind committing some light blackmail, but shouldn’t we make our way back?” Dorian asked.  “I’m sure our absence has been noted.”

“Just a few more minutes,” Everly said. 

Dorian huffed.  “Do you even know what you’re doing?  How do you know this isn’t some elaborate trap?”

“Of course I know what I’m doing.  I’m the Inquisitor.” 

“Oh really?”  Dorian continued.  “Because from where I’m standing, it looks to me like you’ve just been fiddling with little statutes and making eyes at Cassandra all night--” 

Vivienne cut him off with a sigh.  “Dorian is right. We should return to the ballroom.”

Cassandra glared at the back of Dorian’s head but remained silent.        

“Just a little longer!”  Everly chirped.  The twisting corridor opened into a formal dining room that had been sealed off for repairs, but apparently forgotten.   Rickety scaffolding leaned heavily against the high walls, and the coverings draped over long-abandoned tables and chairs were thick with dust.  Everly stopped.  A lone lantern was burning in the corner, casting just enough light to make out footsteps across the dirty stone.  Pointing at the ground, Everly turned back to her companions, but before she could speak her left hand ignited.  

She immediately dropped to her knee.  Clutching at her wrist, Everly only managed to grunt out a single word.  “Rift.”

Instantly Cassandra was in motion.  She tore off her jacket, finally grateful to be free, and threw it onto a covered chair.  A plume of dust shot into the air.  She raced over to the scaffold on the far side of the room, climbing up to reach a crest hanging on the wall.  The head of a lion in mid-roar stared back at her; behind it a gold banner with two crossed rapiers.  Cassandra pulled the crest off the wall and jumped down.  She grasped one of the rapiers and yanked it side to side, breaking it free of its molding.  It was hardly fit for a battle, but still better than nothing.  With another heave, she freed the second one.  

Everly had found her feet and was struggling out of her own jacket, wearing an annoyed grimace.  Her annoyance grew when Cassandra handed her the second rapier.  “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?  Poke a demon in the eye?”

“Then I suggest you close the rift quickly then,” Cassandra snapped, producing the dagger that had been strapped to her lower back.  “The three of us will provide cover for you.”

Dorian’s eyes went from the broken crest, to Cassandra’s dagger, then to Everly.  “You’re a lucky woman.” 

Even through the pain, Everly blushed.  

“Shall we?”  Vivienne had also removed her jacket, but had folded it neatly and placed on top of Cassandra’s, protecting it from the dust.  Blue magic swirled around her fingertips.  Dorian clapped his hands together twice and red energy instantly sparked in his palms.  Three different colors now illuminated the room, lighting the path of the footsteps leading towards a door in the far corner of the room.     

They entered a small courtyard.  The rift glowed in the center, surrounded by a dozen armored Orlesian soldiers.  Florianne stood on the level above looking down on them, leaning forward coquettishly with both hands placed just so upon rail in front of her.  

“Inquisitor, how good of you to walk into my trap so willingly.  And you brought guests, no less,” the duchess crooned.   

“What did I tell you?” Dorian said.  “Did I not very clearly say the word ‘trap’?”

Everly elbowed him then stepped forward, brandishing the dull, dusty rapier.  “I was hoping for a nice betrayal, Duchess.  Frankly this party was getting rather boring.” 

Florianne laughed.  “I do enjoy you.  It saddens me that we find ourselves at odds.”

“We don’t have to be.  Give up your game and you won’t be humiliated.  Or killed.” 

“Were it that easy, Inquisitor.”  Florianne sauntered across the upper level, fingers trailing across the iron rail.  “Corypheus insisted that the empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.” 

The tip of Everly’s blade lowered.  “Corypheus?  How is he involved in this?”

“Celene’s death will be a stepping stone to a better world!”  Florianne’s eyes gleamed behind her silver mask.  “Corypheus will enter the Black City and claim the godhood waiting for him.  We will cast down your useless Maker and usher in a united world, guided--” 

“You know what?  Forget I asked.”  Everly clenched her left fist, sending magic crackling up her forearm.  The rift hissed in response.  A low moan seeped through the courtyard, the demons barely held at bay calling for their release.  A few soldiers exchanged nervous looks.  

Florianne stopped moving, bristling noticeably.  “Flippant, even in the face of death.”  She snapped at the assembled troops.  “Kill her and bring me the marked hand.  It will make a fine gift for the master.” 

In unison, half of the soldiers raised their bows, their other comrades drawing swords to presumably finish what the archers started.  Cassandra gripped her weapons.  For the briefest of moments, she caught Everly’s gaze.  She nodded.  Everly’s hand moved.  

A bright flash, and the rift was open. 

The soldier to Cassandra’s immediate right was the first to fall.  Blinded by the green light from the Fade, he staggered and met Cassandra’s dagger with his throat.  Cassandra dove forward into a tight roll, arrows zipping past her head, then set her feet and launched herself at the next closest soldier, blade first.  The rapier was too dull to truly be effective, but sheer strength combined with her momentum was enough to force the blade between the joints of his armor covering his ribs.  Once more, Cassandra’s dagger slashed through soft flesh, then she bent to retrieve the soldier’s sword and shield.  

A warm aura enveloped her, and she immediately stiffened.  She had only fought beside a handful of times, and whenever she felt that magic barrier she had to resist the urge to use her own training to cut the link running to the Fade.  Cassandra pivoted on the ball of her foot and ducked behind her shield.  An arrow bounced harmlessly off the barrier. 

Dorian was next to her, magic surrounding them both, cutting down several wraiths with a swath of flame.  Vivienne was on the other side of the rift doing the same, taking on her own small hoard of demons.  Just to her right was Everly, down on one knee next to a dead archer, encased in Vivienne’s barrier.  She had abandoned her sword and taken up the soldier’s bow, letting loose arrow after arrow with deadly precision, cutting down the soldiers out of Cassandra’s reach.  A screaming wraith tottered into view, Everly’s rapier impaled in its face.  

Cassandra bashed her shield into the next closest soldier then ran him through, yelling over the sound of clashing metal for Everly to close the rift.  Another flash lit up the courtyard.  Cassandra whirled around, the soldier slumped at her feet.     

Everly stood just below the closed rift, chest heaving, magic still writhing around her left forearm.  The sleeve of her tunic hung in scorched tatters, burned away from the discharge of energy.  She faced the remaining soldiers with a snarl--three archers and a swordsman.  Her fist clenched.  In unison, they dropped their weapons and backed away.  One of them raised his hands in surrender.  With a wave of his arm, Dorian knocked them off their feet.  

“Now, be good boys and stay,” he said.   

“We need to get back to the ballroom,” Everly gasped.  She was trembling and taking such huge gulps of air it looked as if she was about to pass out.  Cassandra frowned at Everly’s smoldering sleeve; she had never seen the Anchor burn through clothes before.  But then they were on the move, running back through the Royal Wing the same way they came, and again Cassandra was forced to set aside her worry.  

They burst back into the ballroom, only to be met by another retinue of fully armored soldiers.  At the far corner of the room, Celene looked down on them, displeasure radiating clearly despite her mask.  Florianne stood on the level just below the empress, and appeared to have been pleading something before she was interrupted by their arrival.  

“Inquisitor, what is the meaning of this?”  Celene demanded.  

Everly smiled and began pulling on her jacket, hiding her burnt sleeve.  Cassandra was surprised she even had the presence of mind to grab it on the mad dash back to the ballroom.  “I apologize for the disturbance, Your Radiance.  With your permission, I will be more than happy to explain.” 

Celene crossed her arms irritably but favored them with a sharp nod.  Anchor still sparking, Everly quickly buttoned her jacket and smoothed down her hair.  

“What the hell are you doing now?” Dorian asked. 

“I have no idea.”  Everly muttered, turning to Cassandra.  “How do I look?”

The walls of Cassandra’s throat closed in.  Everly’s cheeks were flushed from battle and her hair slightly mussed, but her eyes shone.  Her smile was easy and confident, and she stood tall in her uniform, accentuating deceptively strong shoulders and arms earned from a lifetime of archery and climbing.  Cassandra tentatively reached out and brushed a strand of hair off Everly’s forehead, then adjusted her collar.  The Anchor quieted.    

“You look perfect,” she said quietly.  

And with that, Everly winked and turned to face the crowd.

***

The comte had something in his teeth. 

Cassandra was fairly certain it was a piece of lettuce.  Or parsley.  She stared at it the entire time he was talking, but was no closer to solving the mystery.  Considering the comte’s massive girth, she was grateful it wasn’t something more grotesque, like an entire turkey leg or lamb shank.  

After finally acquiescing to multiple requests to socialize, she had found herself cornered by the comte for the better part of an hour.  He had introduced himself loudly, announcing to all in earshot that they were actually cousins--five times removed, of course.  Cassandra didn’t recognize his name or his face, and just nodded politely as he launched into a soliloquy about, of all things, soup.    

The comte seemed to be the only person at the ball not interested in rehashing the events of the evening.  Everly had put on a magnificent performance; laying out the evidence of Florianne’s treason with such eloquence and precision the entire crowd was eating out of her hand.  There was no doubt as to the Duchess’s guilt when she finished.  And when the time came she showed mercy, ordering Florianne to be taken into custody when she could have requested execution on the spot.  Miraculously, that just endeared her to the normally blood-thirsty Orlesians even more.  Everly had then spoken privately to both Celene and Briala, after which the Empress declared triumphantly that a new day had come for all of Orlais.  With Briala at her side. 

A shot of pride raced through Cassandra as she thought again about that moment--Everly beaming as Celene heaped praise upon her, the entire ballroom applauding wildly.  It was nothing less than a resounding victory for the Inquisition.  

And yet, they were all still stuck at the ball.  While the comte blocked most of her view, she could still see Cullen trapped near an alcove, being pawed by the same group of young, eligible women that had been harassing him all night.  Josephine seemed to have finally relaxed, sipping on a glass of champagne and taking to an obviously charming baron.  Leliana was perched nearby, eyeing both the baron and Vivienne, who was entertaining a sparkling group that Cassandra didn’t recognize, but was surely significant.  Dorian, however, had disappeared earlier, most likely off conducting his promised dance lessons.  Everly was probably very close behind him.       

Cassandra grabbed another champagne off a passing tray and muttered something in response to whatever the comte had just said. 

“You can’t be serious!”  The comte sputtered, puffing up his enormous, round chest.  

Cassandra blinked. “What?”

“Carrots and celery are just a base of a soup, my dear, you add the chicken after... ”

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of red and a familiar gait.  “Excuse me, Your Lordship.”  Cassandra handed him the empty flute and began walking towards the balcony doors.  

Everly was leaning against the balcony rail at the farthest point away from the door.  If not for the glow of the Anchor, Cassandra may not have even seen her.  She was staring fiercely at her green palm, the fingers of her other hand hovering just over her skin, seemingly unbothered by the sheer amount of energy the Anchor had discharged earlier.  When Everly straightened, Cassandra saw that she had been writing on a scrap of parchment cupped in her palm.  Josephine had expressly--and with good reason--forbade her from bringing the small journal she wrote in daily.  As with a fair amount of things Everly did, Cassandra didn’t want to know how she had managed to scrounge writing materials.  

“Working on your memoir, Inquisitor?”

Everly smiled as she tucked the parchment into her breast pocket.  “Hardly, Seeker.  Merely a tally of all the lives I will have Josephine ruin after tonight.”  She gave an exaggerated bow.  “My apologies, but I ran out of room before I could compose a sonnet worthy of you.” 

“Then I shall expect two when we return to Skyhold.”  Cassandra tried to return Everly’s smile, but found herself faltering.  The awful, sinking feeling she had been fighting since her conversation with Vivienne threatened to overtake her the longer she met Everly’s gaze.  And the fact that Everly immediately noticed somehow made it even worse.  

“Cass?  What’s wrong?”  Everly tucked her left hand into her trouser pocket and reached out with her right to touch Cassandra’s forearm.    

“Nothing,” Cassandra replied quickly.  Standing under the soft lamplight, the concern in Everly’s expression shone clearly.  It made Cassandra’s heart ache.  She cupped Everly’s face with one hand and peered into grey eyes, Vivienne’s words still haunting her.  If only she knew what the Maker wished.  How could He see fit to bless her with something so amazing, only to take it away a moment later?  Surely He would not be so cruel.   

But that could wait.  There was still work to do.  And the only thing that was true for certain about what Vivienne had told her was that it would take the College quite a while before they came to any decision.  There was no point in worrying Everly over something that may not even come to pass.  She had time.  They had time.      

Cassandra brushed her thumb across Everly’s cheek, then pulled her in.  “You did so well,” she whispered against her ear.  

A long, heavy sigh came in response.  Everly leaned into the embrace, hugging tightly as she buried her face deeper into Cassandra’s shoulder.  She started trembling.  At first Cassandra thought Everly was cold, but she realized it was fatigue and anxiety finally crashing down.  Cassandra knew that Everly was replaying the entire evening in her head, running through every interaction, critiquing what she did and said.  On multiple occasions, Cassandra had tried to convince Everly that such harsh criticisms were unnecessary, yet Everly was still beholden to the pressure she put upon herself to perform.  But as far as Cassandra was concerned, Everly had been born to do this.

A loud, demanding voice echoed from the ballroom, asking for the  Inquisitor and demanding an audience.  Everly tensed.  Cassandra glanced back towards the balcony doors, then at the trellis right behind them.  It climbed the entire side of the palace, leading to another smaller balcony one story above.  She unwound Everly’s arms from her waist and pulled her towards the trellis.  

“Come on,” she said.   

Everly’s eyes widened at first, then her entire face lit up.  Darting ahead, she reached the trellis first and started climbing up and away from the sounds of the ball.  The trellis creaked every time Cassandra herself climbed higher, but held fast.  When she reached the next balcony, Everly was already there, eagerly pulling her up and over the balustrade.  

Both the balcony and the adjacent room was dark, the upper level cut off from the ball below.  Cassandra grabbed Everly’s hand again and together they burst through the doors into the empty hallway.  She almost broke into a run, suddenly delirious with freedom, tugging Everly along as she led them down the hallway, bypassing the party, the looks, the laughter, Vivienne’s machinations.  Everly’s bright laugh echoed off the high ceilings, spurring her on even more.  

They darted down the staircase that opened into the wing where the Inquisition’s sleeping quarters were held.  Instead of bearing right, towards the two guards posted outside the Inquisitor’s room, Cassandra steered them left and through the nearest unlocked door.  The room wasn’t as big as the one assigned to Everly, but the fire was lit, it was warm, and there was a bed.  The moment the door shut behind them, Cassandra had Everly pressed up against it with a fierce kiss. 

“Who’s--who’s room is this?”  Everly gasped, fingers flying across the buttons of Cassandra’s jacket.  

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra spotted a fur-lined cape and a familiar pair of boots by the bedside table, and was hit by a brief stab of regret.  Cullen already was having a difficult evening.  But when she looked back at Everly, at soft grey eyes, at a beaming smile, at wild hair that had finally broken free from its styled prison, she felt nothing but victory.

“I will make it up to Cullen,” Cassandra said quickly, throwing her jacket on the floor.  In one easy motion, she lifted Everly up and wrapped her legs around her waist.  

“Don’t think this makes it up to me.” Everly grinned against Cassandra’s lips as she was carried over to the bed.  “You still owe me a dance, Seeker.”