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Evelyn adjusts her grip on the handle of her greatsword and is surprised when she does not end up dropping the weapon on her foot. The prosthetic arm Dagna had crafted for her still appears to have a little lag, as though there’s some miscommunication between her fingers and her brain. It’s improving, though, and that realisation brings her some measure of relief.
Perhaps she’d be able to take Cassandra up on her offer if she returned to her previous combat condition. Truth be told, the thought fills her with equal parts hope and dread. Perhaps there had been part of her had which had hoped after the Inquisition was disbanded, she would finally have some well-earned rest. At her core, however, she knows she cannot shirk her duty, not to her lover, and not to Thedas.
If Cassandra – Divine Victoria – wished for Evelyn to be her Right Hand over all the other options before her, then she must be the best woman for the job. And Evelyn certainly had no desire to disappoint her lover. Not even in the bedroom, and certainly not like this.
But how could she perform adequately in her role if she could barely swing her weapon? That is why she must practice, return to her previous form. The training dummies in the courtyard at the White Spire where she has been staying, as a guest of the Templar Order, have seen better days. They look almost as dishevelled as Cassandra’s favourite dummies back in Skyhold. To think that after all this time, Evelyn misses the cloud of chaos Corypheus had cast over their lives. At least with an enemy in sight, there had been guidance. Structure.
Maker, she’d had no idea what she was doing. But then again, neither had anyone else.
Sword now hoisted in position, she runs through the motions of her usual training routine, long, lancing swipes at the dummy, as though she will be not satisfied until it is pushed off its perch entirely. Underhanded slashes, overhanded, shoulder, groin, neck. She’s finding her rhythm again, recalling the steps to an old familiar dance. Her muscles burn. She’s unfit. She’s out of practice. She’s –
“Ow! Fuck!” yells Evelyn as the sword slips through her fingers and drops onto her foot, knocking her off-balance and landing her firmly on her arse. She should have worn more heavy-duty boots today, considering what she had set out to achieve.
It’s only as she hears a woman laugh behind her does Evelyn realise she isn’t alone. Sweet Andraste, Cassandra has been watching her from the other side of the courtyard. It takes all her self-restraint not to pick up her sword, scramble to her feet, and run away like an embarrassed dog, her tail between her legs. Instead, she twists to appraise her lover properly, brow furrowing in confusion. At least Cassandra's not wearing her ceremonial vestments which Evelyn appreciates even if the strange hat had grown on her over time. In her ordinary leathers, Cassandra simply looks, well, normal, insofar as Cassandra Pentaghast could ever be merely normal, at least. Her hair, which Evelyn is so used to seeing in that braid, twisted atop her head, is down, hanging like the tail of a rat.
That, too, is endearing. Maker, is there anything she doesn’t love about this woman?
Still tending to her lightly bruised ego, Evelyn rubs at her right arm with the fingers of her prosthetic hand. It’s not the same without fingernails. “Should you be here?” she asks finally, because it looks like for once Cassandra will not be the one to break the silence. Indeed, her lover looks at her with mild amusement on her face, corners of her lips tilted up just so.
“Perhaps not,” Cassandra answers with her usual irreverence towards procedure. There’s a one-handed sword at her waist. She draws it, holds it out to Evelyn. “I was thinking that perhaps you might want to give this a try.”
Evelyn eyes the weapon dubiously. It’s not that she hasn’t been trained in single-hand combat. Of course she had. If one were to ask her parents, her skill with swords was about all she was good for. Even accidentally becoming the head of one of the world’s largest political organisations with the strength to rival nations had done little to earn their approval. You've got too big for your boots. That’s what they would say to her, if she had time for such a conversation.
An idea floats to the forefront of her mind. She finds herself nodding. “All right,” she agrees slowly, “but did you happen to bring another?”
Cassandra looks back over her shoulder, at the pack that’s sitting by the benches in the rest area under the shade of the trees. “I did. Why do you –” She cuts herself off as she answers her own question. “Ah. You think if you can defeat me in a spar you will be ready to fight once more?”
Evelyn looks askance. “You found me out, did you?” She’d been wanting to avoid this conversation, had dreaded it with every day of training. “If I’m – If I’m going to be your Right Hand, then I need to be useful.”
As soon as she says the words, she wishes she could draw them back into her lungs. Anything to erase the brief flicker of pity that crosses Cassandra’s face. She takes another step towards Evelyn, thankfully lowering the sword. Not that it wouldn't be characteristic of Cassandra to yell at her while point a weapon at her, or anyone, really. Evelyn's surprised when Cassandra barely raises her voice, although it doesn't make it any less commanding. “You are already useful to me,” Cassandra insists, looking Evelyn straight in the eyes and holding her gaze. Her stomach twists in discomfort as she bites down the impulse to start arguing. “More than useful. You know what I see when you look at you?”
She doesn't mean to say anything, knows Cassandra's question is a warning more than a request for permission. But her cheeks burn high, until she's sure that tip of her ears might combust from the discomfort of being scrutinised.
Cassandra barrels onwards, her gaze never leaving Evelyn's face. “I see a formidable woman who negotiated political alliances between a half dozen bickering states. I see a woman whose faith has never faltered, even in the face of the impossible. Most importantly, I see someone who I trust with my life, who I know has the best of interests of the world at heart. Who cares so intensely about making things right that there is no limit to her sacrifice. So tell me, Inquisitor, what more could I possibly ask of you, that you have not offered already?”
Her old title drips out of Cassandra’s mouth with a surprising amount of venom. The sides of Evelyn’s face feel as though they’re being licked by the flames of Andraste's pyre. She finds herself shrinking in towards herself, shoulders narrowing. “That’s not fair, Cass.” Her right hand forms a fist and the left soon follows. Her heart roars in her ears as she spits out, “I never had a choice.”
For the better or the worse, Cassandra has the good grace to look ashamed. It was her turn to look away, neck and torso stiffening. “I would never ask you to do anything you did not wish to do.” The words are stilted. “I simply mean to say that you should not hold yourself back because of…” she trails off, looking back at Evelyn, and there is a moment of silence where Evelyn knows exactly to what Cassandra’s alludes, but doesn’t know how to put into words.
Neither of them do.
Evelyn takes a shaky breath. “I know what I wish to achieve,” she assures Cassandra. “I simply ask you give me the space to make the decision on my own terms. And know that I will be by your side for the rest of my life, regardless of our official titles.”
Cassandra deflates at the words, withdrawing into herself like a turtle returning to its shell. “I’m sorry,” she starts. “I never meant to pressure you, or to presume. I just…” She trails off, seemingly unable to put the feeling into words.
But it’s okay, because Evelyn thinks she understands now. She bridges the gap between them and wraps her arms around her lover’s waist, and presses a kiss to her temple. “No matter where I go, or do, you’re always at the forefront of my mind.”
Cassandra chances a tiny smile. Evelyn knows she has been forgiven, and that she will forgive in turn. Their relationship will be stronger for their disagreement now. “There’s no-one else I’d rather have by my side as I change the world,” Cassandra tells her. “In whatever role you may choose.”
“Thank you,” says Evelyn. Her gaze returns to Cassandra’s pack. “So. Time to spar?”
“Always,” agrees Cassandra.