Chapter Text
Having gone through her supply of books Cassandra was secretly on the prowl for something new, ideally with as much adventure as smutt but she wasn’t about to be picky when she knew her selection was limited. She walked through the library at night, hoping to be seen by as few people as possible. The Inquisitor was blissfully away on mission of a more diplomatic nature and had let Cassandra stay behind at Skyhold. Alright, more accurately she had bribed her with a bottle of Tevinter wine and convinced her that Blackwall would be just as good a protector and likely to complain less.
So, candle in one hand she let her fingers brush over the titles, immaculately organized by Era, Author, and subject matter. She found one that caught her eye ‘The Masked Menace of Markham.’ It certainly sounded like it had potential, at least for adventure, and she stifled the voice in the back of her mind that said she just wanted to read it because it was set in the Free Marches where Trevelyan was from. She grabbed a few others that caught her eye and one on Tevinter Templar Techniques, just to avoid suspicion, and made her way back to her room.
A few hours later, Cassandra was about to toss ‘The Masked Menace of Markham’ out the window or perhaps into the fire where it belonged when she came across a folded piece of paper tucked inside. Curious she opened it up, the penmanship was a bit sloppy but also seemed distinctly feminine. A faint blush crept over her when she realized it was from a journal, likely a page torn out and forgotten about.
I am putting these thoughts to paper as I can’t help but let them out somehow and I don’t yet have the confidence to say them to you in person. Maybe I never will. Maybe somehow you’ll stumble across the, but that seems as likely as me becoming the Queen of Antiva. Right, on with it then.
Her hair stuck to her face in the most unnatural of ways, she was slick with rain and mud and sweat and I couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was in the moonlight. I should have been horrified by what we were encountering out there. The undead. But it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen done before with magic. She was though. Her wraith as she cut through them infront of me, her shield taking every hit so they couldn’t get close. I was loosing arrows as quickly as I could to prevent them from getting to her and she was taking every hit she could to keep them from getting to me. It would almost be poetic if she had any idea what her voice did to me, how her eyes sent shivers through me.
The smell was enough to make even the strongest of men gag, death, disease, rotting flesh, and we were wading through it. But I could hardly spare time to think of that when her hand gently pressed against my back when I began to lose my footing. Funny, I do seem to fall for people in the oddest of places. I felt the heat rush through me at her touch though, even through our layers of leather, and she spared me a glance. Concern wrought on her face. She asked if I was alright, in that beautiful accented alto of hers. I was glad for the dark then, to hide the blush on my features. And I merely nodded my answer, not trusting my voice. She turned away from me, but the moment stayed with me. And she stayed near enough to ensure I didn’t falter. She’s always there for me to lean on.
I wish I knew why. I wish I had her unyielding faith, even when she doesn’t know what it is she has faith in. She has faith that we can do this. She has faith in me, a silly rogue from the free marches who rebelled against her parents life of soft nobility. Who was not only in the wrong place at the wrong time, but for the wrong reasons. I thought I’d sneak in and hear a bit of information I could sell. If she knew who I was, truly, would she still follow? If she knew, that I am not here to close the rift anymore, but simply to prolong our time together, would she still let me stay?
What am I even going on about.
Cassandra stood, in her room the paper clenched tightly in her hands, heart racing. Could it be, truly, that the inquisitor cared for her? Impossible. And yet. She sat back down at her desk, blushing at the way she was acting. Brows furrowed she decided to set about writing her own letter.