Work Text:
13th month
Cassidhe Lavellan was not young. She didn’t irresponsibly frolic through the woods while the hahren chased after her, trees rustling as she went. Not that she ever did that (much).
Though, really, courting wasn’t that different.
A promise here, a kiss there, a manhunt to bring him back at all costs.
Typical relationship, right? (If one half was a liar and the other half a savior.)
The moment the two beings of legend- the Herald of Andraste and the Dread Wolf- locked eyes, for the first time in months, was the moment she came to regret that manhunt bit. (But not really)
She took a gradual step forward, “Vhenan, what have you done?”
————–
11th month
The dark room was suddenly lit in parts by the light from the main hall filling the dank workshop. She didn’t turn from her work to see who’d interrupted her this time. It was always the same person; she didn’t need to guess.
“You know, Inquisitor, I’d think the people would want a good look at their savior every once in a while."
Varric’s voice always sounded easy going, though a slight strain on certain syllables suggested pain. The man was stressed- and with good reason.
He’d been through enough. (But somehow he always kept coming back.)
Her hand racked through the curls on her head. "Varric, didn’t you say you wanted to go back to Kirkwall? Help rebuild et cetera, et cetera?"
"But then I’d miss the pity party going on down here,” He chuckled, but she turned away from her latest trap or newest gadget to look at him. He swallowed. “Cogs, he’d want you to move on.”
She forced a smile (the one that seemed to shout, “i’m screaming inside but i’d rather you didn’t know,”) and ignored his discomfort, “Aren’t I? Varric, look at me, moving on.” She gestured toward the spare parts and nuts and bolts covering the table.
————–
6th month
Her hand brushed his on the way to retrieving the wrench on the workstation’s table. She held back a gasp at the contact, grabbing the wrench with more force than intended and almost hitting herself in the face with its end.
In the dim lighting, she wasn’t sure if his hand lingered or if it was her imagination. But she smiled for it and resumed her tinkering.
She was being ridiculous.
He was ridiculous.
They were both adults, her past 30 and he far more so. This was an adult companionship. Adult. (No, not that kind of adult.) She reminded herself to act like it.
————–
-3rd month / 3 months prior to the 1st month
(Not that it matters at all, considering they now lie dead in Wycome.)
“Keeper,” Cassidhe’s eyebrows furrowed, “Must Eleyna and Talon be so…lacking in discretion?” The lovebirds, meanwhile, were cuddling by the aravel, giggling loud between kisses.
Keeper Deshana’s eyebrows lifted, a sign that Cassidhe was amusing her (or maybe annoying her). “I seem to remember you were quite affectionate in your own dalliances once."
She smiled at the memory. "I’ve learned better though,” She said, finally.
“Perhaps,” The Keeper clucked her tongue, “You’d be surprised, however, how tricky love can be.”
————–
3rd month
“There, there,” He whispered, voice soft and gentle like a sigh, allowing himself to be hugged and to hug her in turn. And she? She clutched at him, the front- the false smile and forced laughter- melting before him, her friend, her..something.
Her tears streamed down her face, staining his robes, as she sputtered to apologize. For what she wasn’t sure. Getting her clan killed was the obvious suspect. Maybe just for uselessly crying over it. Or maybe getting his robes soaked.
“Hush,” He told her, in that same tone, “You have nothing to apologize for."
————–
8th month
"You are not,” Solas admitted, “what I expected.”
The sunlight outside streamed through the window as they stepped out onto the balcony.
She smirked, “Sorry to disappoint. Any reason in particular?”
“You show a wisdom I have not seen since-” He hesitated, and she moved closer (out of curiosity, she claimed) “-since my deepest journeys into the Fade."
"If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours,” Solas asked, “Have I misjudged them?”
————–
1st month
“What’s your problem with the Dalish?” Cassidhe bristled at his condemnation. “Allergic to halla?"
"They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times,” He replied. (Definitely allergic to halla)
“Oh? But you know the truth, right?” She shot back, sarcasm laced with amusement.
“While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not.”
She straightened, swallowing her pride, “If we’ve done you a disservice, I would set that right.”
The Inquisitor would never forget the look on his face, the sheer surprise in his eyes. She wanted to never stop surprising him.
(He wanted to never stop being surprised.)
(It worked out.)
————–
2nd month
“Solas!” She called out from in front, “Wall of Fire please! Straight ahead!”
“But-” She was right in front of him, he almost said.
“Solas!”
“Right away,” He grunted, casting it anyways.
She flipped backwards into the air, the charging enemies engulfed in the flames in her stead. She drew an arrow and aimed at another enemy’s head.
And she definitely didn’t let herself be distracted by the breathless “Marvelous,” that came from Solas’s lips.
————–
7th month
He held his hand out to her. “Dance with me.”
She smiled, and she set her hand on his.
And they danced. That was when she was certain she loved him, but she couldn’t fathom how she reached that conclusion.
Not everything is about the “how,” her Keeper would have said, Sometimes the destination is the most important part.
(Sometimes it isn’t, she thought.)
She looked into his eyes, and he twirled her, perfectly in sync with the beat.
(Sometimes it is, though.)
————–
9th month
“You’re perfect the way you are,” He promised her. (He lied.)
And they kissed.
(Because they were both liars.)
————–
“It’s perfectly alright to cry,” He told her once, “even if you think it a terrible burden."
She wanted to ask him then if he ever felt like he had no right to cry, but she decided at long last to leave it be.
————–
She tried to think about all the discussions they’d had, all the laughs they shared. (All the stolen moments in her workshop.)
But all she could think about was that she was wasting time. Lives were being lost. All because she was lingering on hurt feelings rather than dealing with the ancient darkspawn calling himself a god.
————–
Cole made her a hat. "Because you looked sad,” The spirit explained, “And there’s a lot of leftover leather.”
“Thank you, Cole,” She replied with a smile.
“It wasn’t your fault,” He told her.
She didn’t believe him, but she nodded.
————–
“You really don’t let anyone see under that polite mask you wear, do you?” She snapped, later, having enough of trying to understand. She had it. Cassidhe was done with “understanding.”
He looked away. “You saw more than most.”
(Somehow, she didn’t doubt that.)
————–
10th month
She stood there, at her balcony, repeating the same phrase over and over (and over and over…) in her mind.
“No matter what comes, I want you to know what we had was real.”
“Liar,” She tried to smile. How could it have been “real?” He left. Great loves of legend weren’t supposed to leave.
Cassidhe looked at the breachless sky and invoked the name of the Dread Wolf without irony.
(She didn’t know.)
————–
12th month
A soft rap at the door to her workshop made her ears perk up. Leliana never interrupted her, unless it was important.
Her knocking was always the same rhythm. Gentle. Clever.
“Come in,” the Inquisitor called out. The door slowly opened.
“I have news,” her Spymaster announced in that familiar Orlesian lilt, “of Solas. Whispers, really. But it’s something to look into.”
“I should move on,” Cassidhe announced, echoing Varric’s sentiments, “Stop chasing after a ghost.”
Leliana frowned, “I’ll leave the report here.” The spymaster set the papers on top of the table, and she turned to leave.
Before she closed the door, Cassidhe was already on the second page.