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It was fairly often that Josephine fell asleep at the desk in her office, dying embers lighting the room just enough for anyone walking through to not run into any furniture.
It was one such night that the Inquisitor herself was wandering the grounds of Skyhold, coming up to the ambassador’s office after adding a few new books to the lower-level library that had just been refurbished. She cherished the few moments Josephine did not work herself into a frenzy, when the Antivan relaxed around her and they could talk openly. She was hoping this would be one such night, as they had grown rather close.
The Inquisitor quietly opened the door to the office, and when she did not hear Josphine’s friendly greeting, her eyes drifted to the slumped figure at the desk, quill still in her fingertips.
She smiled. Of course Josephine would fall asleep penning a letter, probably something telling the nobility that the Inquisition certainly was a force to be reckoned with, or perhaps another letter chastising Yvette for not attending some social function or another.
The Inquisitor made sure to keep her hand with the fade mark facing away from Josephine’s face lest the soft light it always emanated wake her, and she pulled a blanket off the nearby couch, pausing just before she would have draped it across her shoulders.
Josephine’s hair had come out of the careful braid it was usually kept in, loose waves falling across her face where strands had come loose. Her expression was peaceful, not pinched with any worry or stress like it so often was during the daytime (and the Inquisitor felt guilty at often being the cause of said stress).
Affection nearly overcame her. “I think I’m in love with you,” she whispered to herself, voice little more than a breath as not to wake Josephine, “and I’m terrified.
Her eyebrows creased for a moment, and the Inquisitor’s heart jumped into her throat. “Mm, yes?” she mumbled, voice sleep-laden. She blinked slowly, waking. “Oh my. Hello, Inquisitor.”
She swallowed, grateful for the dim light concealing the flush in her cheeks. “J-Josephine. I, uh. It’s late, you probably shouldn’t be asleep on a desk. They’re not comfortable.”
Josephine smiled up at her. “I thank you for waking me, Inquisitor. It has been a long night.” She stood, sliding the chair back in with grace (how is that even graceful? the Inquisitor noted). “I bid you goodnight, you should rest as well.”
“I should, I definitely should.” Maker’s breath, but she was gone for this woman. Words wouldn’t even come to her when they were alone sometimes. Before Josephine could leave the room, the Inquisitor hurriedly thrust the blanket out towards her. “It’s getting colder, you shouldn’t walk around without something warm.”
She took it, hand lingering on the Inquisitor’s just long enough to give it a soft squeeze. “Thank you, my lady. I hope your dreams are sweet to you.”
“And to you, Lady Montilyet.”