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“Look out!”
With a slash, then a splash, the top half of a corpse landed in the murky water at the Herald’s feet. Its rotting legs crumpled to the mud. Cassandra sheathed her sword and Wilhelm flashed her a smile as he stood, freshly picked blood lotus in hand.
"Thank you, Cassandra.”
Cassandra nodded in his direction, avoiding his gaze. His defense had improved but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t teach him to stay focused.
“‘Of course we should go in the ominous, reeking cesspool,’ says the Herald. ‘Let’s have ourselves a nice swim in the freezing bog. Perhaps wash our hair.’” Dorian never kept his comments to himself, but this time, he had a point.
"No one said you had to go in, Sparkler." Varric shouldered Bianca from the safety of the grass. "Though I'd have thought this would remind you of home. Demons, malicious spirits, walking corpses..."
"Yes, if I close my eyes, plug my nose, and pretend that this place sees the sun more than three days a year, it’s just like I’m back home," said Dorian, wringing out the back of his robes.
“I don’t care how badly Sera needs grenades.” Cassandra thrust a handful of blood lotuses into Wilhelm’s arms. “We need to move on.”
“But look how easily you handled that corpse!” He accepted the plants but kept his eyes fixed on the lotuses growing further out in the marsh.
“Just because I can handle them does not mean that I enjoy it.” At her scoff, Wilhelm turned back to her. A frown crossed his face, pulling at the faded scar that marked his lips.
He dropped his voice, brows knitted as he spoke. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Wilhelm put the clippings in his pack and his smile was back before Cassandra could process his apology. “All right, we move. Dorian, would you light the way?”
“Gladly,” Dorian replied, retrieving the torch from the dock.
The group continued along the route Scout Harding had described, sticking to land. Every few meters, Wilhelm would shoot a quick glance at a plant or a rock when he thought no one was looking.
After the fourth time, Cassandra clicked her tongue. "Do what you must."
"It's for the good of the Inquisition," he assured her, eyes lighting up. "I won’t go in the marsh." It was easy to allow him these flights of fancy when her reward was his smile. She brushed the thought aside as Wilhelm ran off.
Dorian swatted at a fly that buzzed past his face. "Don't we have people for that?"
"You wouldn't deny our Herald the pleasure of a good harvest, would you?" Varric asked with a chuckle. "And as long as he keeps his toes out of the water, he might get through this one without a scrape."
Cassandra frowned, watching Wilhelm crouch at the edge of the water. "He is getting better. I think he's learned all I can teach him."
Dorian pouted. "Does this mean you won't be needing me to hurl fireballs at him any longer?"
Wilhelm rejoined the group, a grin on his face. "You can always hurl fireballs at me, Dorian."
"Excellent. It's one of the few sources of joy in my life."
"Then far be it from me to deprive you."
Cassandra watched the exchange, relief mixing with other, less welcome emotions. If Wilhelm had feelings for Dorian, he was more than welcome to pursue them. He deserved a little happiness, and it would make everything easier and less confusing.
Training Wilhelm had given him ample opportunity to flirt with her, and inappropriate as it was, she found herself anticipating his affection and even missing his company when he was away. It was a good thing that she had no more to teach him, for no good would come from growing too attached.
She let out a grunt. It didn’t matter. His rapport with Dorian was much the same as it was with her, at least from what she witnessed. Just a few hours ago, Wilhelm had winked at the dwarven scout. Perhaps it was simply his nature, and there was nothing to read into it.
In Cassandra’s experience (both fictional and otherwise), when a man was interested, he made his intentions known. Casual flirting was a fine start, but gestures and actions meant more. Regalyan had set the bar high on all counts.
She pressed her lips together and took in a deep breath through her nose, determined not to let the pain distract her. It was duller now, but still present.
That was a long time ago, and now he’s gone.
Back in the present, Wilhelm was the Herald, and there was work to be done. To even entertain the idea was ludicrous.
"Do you have what you need?" she asked. Wilhelm met her eyes once more and spoke in a solemn voice.
"Always."
Cassandra nodded and looked away, ignoring the pull at her gut. Just words. "Then we should press on.”
"The sooner we get out of here, the better," said Dorian, wrinkling his nose. "I've had about all the undead I can take, and I have a significantly higher tolerance than most."
"For the second time today, I agree with you." Cassandra turned toward the Tevinter mage. "You should make a note of this. It may never happen again."
Varric cut in with a laugh. "Way ahead of you, Seeker. I've already alerted the Chantry and they've declared today a holiday."
"I do hope there's a parade," Dorian said. Cassandra glanced at Wilhelm just in time to see him shoot that brilliant grin her way.
“Oh, you and Dorian have more in common than you think. For example, you’re two of my favorite people.” Wilhelm finished the sentence with a wink, but Cassandra kept her expression blank. "Naturally, Varric is my favorite."
"I'm touched," Varric said, hand over his heart. "And as your favorite, may I humbly request that we keep moving before we catch something elfroot can't cure?"
Varric made an excellent point, but if Cassandra voiced her agreement, she'd never hear the end of it. Steeling herself to the cold, noxious wind, she followed Wilhelm along the path.
By the time they made the journey back to Haven, all Cassandra wanted was a warm bath. It took 30 minutes of scrubbing and soaking before the stench of mold was alleviated to her liking. Feeling clean and refreshed instead of clammy, she dried and dressed for a quick bit of sword practice before sunset.
As she approached her training dummies, something caught her eye. A flower sat at the base of the armory, tucked away from the thoroughfare. It was a dawn lotus, crisp and bright in stark contrast to the dank Fallow Mire from where it came. No one else paid it any mind.
For a moment, the clangs and shouts from Cullen’s soldiers faded as she stared at the flower. Was this a gesture? Had he kept the flower pristine for the entire journey back to Haven? Through the battle with the Avvar?
For surely it was Wilhelm. No one else noticed every flower or pruned with such care. She dared not pick it up, not with so many soldiers around.
She unsheathed her sword and slashed into the training dummy, taking a subtle look around. There was no sign of Wilhelm.
It must have been an apology for all the time in the Fallow Mire. Nothing more. A token of friendship or good will. A ”thank you” for teaching him to absorb a blow.
But if it did mean more than that…
Cassandra’s sword smashed into the dummy once more, harder this time.
No. It was impossible. Nothing but idle fantasy, brought on by rereading the best parts of Swords and Shields at camp the previous night when no one was looking.
But after the soldiers had gone to the barracks and Cullen had finally retired for the evening, Cassandra crept out to the training grounds and retrieved her dawn lotus. Tucking it behind her shield, she snuck back to her quarters.
Once she was safely on her bedroll, she withdrew the flower. It was pretty, but simple, with none of the frills of Andraste’s Grace. Sort of like Wil, she realized with a smile. The subtle fragrance bore no trace of the stench of the mire. A shiver unrelated to the night air traveled down her back and she shook her head.
No good would come from this line of thought. Still, she rummaged through her chest until she found an empty salve jar. She stood the lotus inside, then tipped her canteen into the jar, filling it halfway with water. Not a proper vase, but it would do.
A mere gesture of friendship, but still deserving of appreciation. Cassandra extinguished her candle and took one last look at the dawn lotus. The moonlight cast a blue sheen on the petals. The warmth in her chest was just relief at being back in Haven.
She shielded the flower from view with an old breastplate, just in case. Tomorrow, she’d make sure the dawn lotus received proper sunlight. Discreetly.