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Josephine's favorite days were the ones where the inquisitor, her inquisitor arrived home at Skyhold. Leliana would get word when he would arrive before anyone else and would tell Josephine within the hour of knowing. Even if the message arrived in the early hours of Skyhold when the only light came from the torches on the battlements and the large moons in the sky. Leliana would wake her with the promise of her lovers return. Josephine would spend the next few days in giddy excitement, as if the herald came from the heat of the hissing wastes, or the roaring seas of the storm coast, or the dark of the deep roads specifically for her with a pressed flower in his hand and a new story to make her smile. Her days would become longer as she prepared the hold for his return.
Every time he returned, Leliana would stop by her office, or her quarters, or wherever she happened to be at the moment a smile upon her lips and a word to tease her about her love life. Josephine would blush and usher her out to get ready as quick as possible. She would rush out to the main hall of Skyhold as quick as appropriate for one of her status. And she would wait, sometimes with the other advisors, sometimes with some of the inner circle, and sometimes with guests of the inquisition. But always in the same spot, the step on the stairs where he had lifted the blade of the inquisition and promised to lift the people of Thedas to peace and order. It let her see where he would ride in on a horse as intimidating and large as the inquisitor himself. Several hands larger than any horse other than the Iron Bulls. And as he came through the gates of Skyhold people would crowd around, hoping for a blessing of some kind from the Herald of Andraste. He would look above them all, dismounting and letting the stable hands take his horse away. An occasional smile or a wave to the crowd surrounding him. The inquisitor was a sight that took her breath away every time she saw him. Large horns and two heads taller than anyone around him. Often covered in dirt or blood and yet still dignified. Agents would come forward to him as he pressed through the crowd, important or urgent news relayed and responded to. Then he would see her, and smile, like she was the sun itself and he was a man who had just emerged from the deep roads after months of searching for a way out. Yellow eyes never leaving her as he made his way up the steps three or four steps at a time arms outstretched. And he would sweep her off her feet like one of Varric's romance novels although this, she hoped, would not end in tragedy. As she was swung through the air she would fret about the dirt or blood or whatever was covering Adaar at the time and would inevitably transfer onto her own clothes. He would set her down and she would notice worsening dark circles and deeper stress lines, maybe a bruise or a cut on his face and would complain about the danger he put himself in and making her worry so. And he would just smile down at her whisper an apology, take her hands in his and bring them up to kiss them.
They would walk together to his quarters up the tower to a steaming bath that she had requested be delivered as soon as her arrived home. She would recount the events that he had missed while on his travels, though most were light hearted stories or recent gossip. As tired as he was he was listen intently asking about lord so-and-so or lady what's-her-name. As soon as the door to the tower closed behind them, he would turn and wrap her in his arms. Holding her until his exhaustion set in. Slowly they would climb the steps of the tower together. When they reached the top of the steps and entered his room, warm with the fire already burning in the fireplace, steaming water in a large tub, fresh bedding on the bed, he would take off his pack and start fishing through it. Charms and amulets fell to the ground, loose bits of armor, food, anything and everything that had been haphazardly stuffed into it. Finally he would find what he was looking for. Most often it was a pressed flower or plant that reminded Adaar of her. Elfroot, Andraste's grace, blood lotus, daisies, crystal grace, normally medicinal always perfectly pressed and with a story of how he came across it and why it reminded him of her. He would hand it to her bashful and shy, as if he were scared she'd reject the plant so carefully brought to her and by extension him. She would kiss him sweet and longing and tuck the plant away to be displayed in a proper case. Then came the process of helping him remove his armor. Large pieces of metal and leather placed carefully in the hallway outside for workers to find and take back to the armory. A soft washcloth covered in a sweet smelling oil to remove the vitaar from his face. He would bend down with his hands on her hips faces almost close enough to touch as she gently wiped it away. The next step was for him to take off his clothes as she searched for the different ointments she bought to treat the various injuries he accumulated over his adventures. Then into the tub as she tossed his dirty clothes out with his armor. She would drag a chair up and help him wash. She would sing quietly or tell him stories as she massaged floral smelling soaps and oils into his sore muscles. On good days he would be telling her stories of his adventures or struggling not to fall asleep as she helped clean him, humming along and basking in the feeling of being home with his lover. On bad days, when the memories of hurt and danger came back to him he would silently cry, over missing time with her, losing soldiers, not being human enough, too big, too scary, feeling too small, feeling too scared, or any of the hundred of hurts he could pull out of his mind. It got worse after falling into the fade, he didn't have a good day for weeks afterwards. It took even longer for the good and bad days to even out again.
Josephine always made sure his injuries were tended to, cleaned, treated, and bandaged. She would make him stand arms spread as she examined every inch of him to take account of all the injuries and treated them. Once she was satisfied with her work she would drape a soft warm blanket around his shoulders and he would wrap her up in it with him still damp with his white hair and horns dripping water down onto her. Good or bad day, he would kiss the top of her head and whisper "I don't deserve you" so quiet she had to strain to hear him. and every time she would respond
"You deserve much more than I could ever give."
"Kadan." Softly spoken, in a deep voice that she could feel rumble.
"Amore" She would respond.