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Chapter Text

Right foot back, Cassandra. Keep your stance wide. Centered. Balanced. Remember, the blade is an extension of your arm. Now, attack!

The dummy’s cloth skin tore with a satisfying rip.

The power of your swing comes from your hips, not your arms! Again!

Another rip appeared on the dummy’s torso.

You want to stay alive? Keep your eye on the enemy. Learn his style, his weaknesses, and his strengths.

A series of blows had straw flying everywhere. She ignored it.

Be quick, be clean, and be merciful. Do not toy with the dying.

Twisting one last time, the blade came cleanly through the wood that stood for the dummy’s neck. Then, with a harsh snarl escaping her lips, she rammed the blade hilt deep through the center of the torso before the head had time to fall to the ground.

Good, Cassandra! Again!

“Someday I’ll be brave enough to ask where you learned that.”

Breathing heavy, she turned to see the Inquisitor standing placidly near the stool she kept on the practice grounds. Her arms were holding out a goblet of water and a fresh hand towel in gesture of peace.

Leaving the sword embedded in the dummy, the Seeker took the goblet first, drinking deeply and gratefully after the strains of practice.

“I would teach you, but I think it would not be as effective with your bow.” That earned her a chuckle from Lavellan. Cassandra dipped the towel into the remains of the water, sighing as the wet cloth soothed the back of her neck.

“What are you doing here, I thought you had left for the Western Approach.” She asked, closing her eyes to wipe the sweat off her temple.

“I… needed to talk to you first.” When she looked back at the elf, she noticed for the first time that the Inquisitor was nervous, holding herself as if she might shatter if spoken to the wrong way.

“What is it?” The Seeker ventured, but Lavallan’s eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

“Ellana, what’s wrong?”

Cassandra had never seen the Inquisitor so unsure of herself until this moment. She was certainly shy, instinctively wary among humans from her time with the Dalish, but could be commanding when she needed to be. She always considered the options when she was in the War Room, but almost never showed hesitance when she made a decision. The Inner Circle respected her and most of them, including Cassandra, considered her a dear friend. In battle, she was a demon. More than once she had saved the Seeker from an unseen foe or stolen the kill outright. Her knowledge and utilization of her companion’s strengths and weaknesses rivaled even Bull’s. Sera, Varric, and sometimes Cole often took into competition with the archer while they adventured across Thedas, comparing how many foes they had slain or who landed the killing blow on a dragon or giant. In one particular incident, Sera won only because the dragon they had been fighting had managed to knock the elf unconscious. The Seeker remembered how it took an intervention on Leliana’s part to stop Josephine from wiping Sera and her friends of the Red Jenny off the map.

“I…” Ellana tried, but the words died on her lips. Cassandra indicated for her to sit, thinking it would be easier if the elf didn’t have to stand.

“It’s… She…” The disappearance elf’s easy-going attitude was strange enough. It had the Seeker wondering why Lavellan was choosing to speak to her specifically instead of the Ambassador. But then it occurred to the Seeker: she wasn’t speaking to Josephine because the diplomat was source of the problem.

With this newfound conclusion, the Seeker turned to the weapon rack beside the beheaded mannequin, choosing a light rapier similar to the dual blades Lavellan favored. She turned to her friend, who own expression was a mixture of confusion and sadness, and tossed it to her.

Pulling her own sword from the practice dummy, she faced the Inquisitor, who by now was gauging the weight of the weapon in her hand.

“Let’s not talk.” The look in Ellana’s face said that she didn’t have to be told twice.

Cassandra lunged first, a horizontal swing that the elf deftly parried. The Inquisitor replied with a low swing to the legs, their blades clashing with loud pings as metal bit into metal.

She charged Ellana, attacking her midsection in a series of ruthless and strategic swings and thrusts. The elf blocked the first horizontal with her rapier, spinning out of the way of the responding thrust and brought her sword down on the exposed blade, planning on knocking the sword out of Cassandra’s hands through sheer force.

It may have worked, had the Seeker not pivoted her weapon away at the last second. Ellana’s blade whistled through open air and Cassandra’s fist connected with her jaw.

It wasn’t an especially hard punch, not by most standards, but it was enough to knock the elf off balance. Leaving her open.

The Seeker did not consider herself a woman who was easily impressed… but by the time she swung her sword toward Ellana’s exposed side, the elf had regained enough balance to evade the attack. And by the second downward swing she was already fighting back.

Ellana was fond of evading her enemy, Cassandra preferred head-on confrontation. It made them rather excellent sparring partners.

“She’s betrothed.” Ellana gasped as she blocked another swing.

“What?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed in confusion, parrying the counter attack.

“Josephine…” The sounds of their swords echoed against the walls of the courtyard, “Her parents…”

They were dancing now: parrying, swinging, stabbing, blocking, counter attacking, and evading in an intricate yet unfathomable pattern that neither of them could seem to grasp. Each combatant was so equally matched that neither noticed Sera watching from her room, Cole appearing beneath the row of mannequins, or Bull leaning against the tavern wall with an approving smile on his face.

Ellana attacked again, swinging down onto Cassandra’s right shoulder. The Seeker’s blade swung up to meet it. There was a loud screech as the swords grinded against each other, the two women’s faces inches apart.

“I don’t know what to do.” Ellana’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Don’t think. Act.” Cassandra used Ellana’s smaller frame against her. Shoving her with such a force that the elf fell to the ground.

The Seeker wasted no time, her sword instantly came down for the final blow.

It hit grass.

Ellana rolled back onto her feet, bladeless but dancing with adrenaline. Her eyes dared the Seeker to try to hit her, and Cassandra was happy to oblige.

“I’ll have to duel him.” The elf said, ducking and weaving through the assault. The elf was trying to move in, trying to minimize the potential damage by getting closer to the source, much like a groom sticks close to the rear end of a horse. After one mistimed swing, Lavellan twirled until she and the Seeker stood back to back.

Cassandra cursed under her breath, switching the sword to her dominate hand.

“Language, Seeker.” Varric was definitely beginning to rub off on her. She felt the elf tense, and ducked as a fist came toward her head. Pivoting on the balls of her feet, the sword came slicing across the Inquisitors tunic. The rasp of ripping fabric filled her ears as the elf leapt away from the Seeker.

“Do you even know how to duel?”

“No,” Ellana was examining the tear, probably contemplating how she would hide it from her advisors, “But I don’t see any way around it.”

“And what does Lady Montilyet think of this?”

Ellana looked at the ground, once again that bashful and terribly shy girl who was a long way from home.

Most of Skyhold knew that the Ambassador and Lavellan were more than just friends. The two of them could often be seen walking together along the battlements, talking and laughing well into the night in Josephine’s office, and having tea in the gardens. In the beginning of their relationship, Ellana confided her feelings in Cassandra while they were outside the fortresses walls. She told the Nevarran how she enjoyed being with Josephine, the time they shared together talking about Antiva and Ellana’s own clan. Even the very idea that the diplomat might return the elf’s sentiments had the Inquisitor grinning like a fool. Once they had acknowledged their feelings for one another, they were almost inseparable when their duties weren’t keeping them busy. When Ellana was away from Skyhold, they communicated by letters that often took weeks to deliver. And now even that form of communication had been cut off, at least in the way that Ellana was used to. One glance at the Inquisitor when she thought no one was looking was enough to tell the Seeker how devastating the separation was for her.

“Pick up your sword.”

“What?” She asked incredulously.

“Pick, up, your, sword.”

“Cassandra, I don’t feel like practicing.”

“You’re going to duel an Antivan nobleman, that’s not something best left to fate.” The hope that came into the Inquisitor’s eyes was enough to make Cassandra not regret being a romantic. Ellana picked the rapier off the ground.

“Show me your stance.” The elf obediently raised the weapon. She stood like a typical rogue: forward on the balls of her feet for evading, her shoulders loose for shooting, and her grip light for flexibility in her wrists.

“Hold your sword firmer, there won’t be any daggers.”

“Well, he is Antivan.”

“And you’re the Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition, participating in a public duel. If you die, his own fate will be sealed.” Cassandra traded her broadsword for another rapier.

“But it would be a legal victory,” Ellana said, “Josephine wouldn’t allow any harm to come to him.”

Cassandra came to stand in front of the Inquisitor, testing the rapiers weight and range in her hand.

“Inquisitor, if you think that Lady Montilyet would be doing anything less than leading the charge against him, then you don’t realize the true depths of her feelings for you.” A slight blush appeared on the elf’s cheeks at the statement. 

“Let us begin.”

Chapter Text

It would be a week before they received a response from Lord Otranto.

A week of practice. A week of loneliness.

“Don’t get distracted!” Cassandra chastised, once again disarming the Inquisitor and shoving her to the ground.

She allowed Ellana to lay there for a moment, letting her breathing return to normal. It was clear that the elf was sore from the Seeker’s unyielding training regime. The obvious stiffness in her movements was almost enough to make the Seeker feel sorry for her.

“To be honest Cassandra, I didn’t know you knew so much about dueling.” The Inquisitor said, wincing as she sat up.

“I am a Seeker of Truth,” She replied, “More than once I have been called upon to answer for the death of a nobleman’s son or daughter.”

“I thought the Seekers’ authority was above reproach… that no one questioned it.”

“How seldom does reality match the ideal.” She sighed, echoing the words she had spoken at Haven. A sadness came upon the Nevarran’s face as she remembered the standards she was held to. All that she had done… the people she had known, the mages and Templars she had incapacitated, and her investigation of Kirkwall, all that she had done was for the Chantry, for the Maker. She had once stood as the Right Hand and thought herself blessed to have the priviledge of serving the Most Holy. Her purpose had been clear; she acted as she thought would best end the conflict between mages and Templars. She was not blind though… she knew that war was coming. She received the order to reinstate the Inquisition should negotiations between the two factions fail. Justinia had hoped that the Conclave would spare the lives of innocents as well as finally opening the Chantry for reform. It had been one last chance for peace and change rather than chaos and destruction.

Now the Divine was dead… her fellow Seekers thrown to the wind.

 “We’ll find the other Seekers, Cassandra.” Ellana’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She had forgotten how intuitive her friend was… how hopeful and idealistic she remained despite all that she faced. Ever since the explosion of the Conclave, Cassandra’s faith had been tested, her actions questioned, and her intentions doubted. But here stood a person who still believed in her… a person who still believed in the purpose of the Inquisition.

Perhaps all was not lost.

“I know. But first, you need to defeat this damn Antivan.” She pulled the elf to her feet, steadying her as she adjusted to the sudden movement.

“I will not have you speak ill of Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva.” Ellana scoffed, speaking through her best, and most snobbish, Antivan accent. She couldn’t hold in the laugh once she saw Cassandra smile at the joke.

“We’ll see about that.” She tossed the fallen rapier, which the Inquisitor caught deftly.

The smiles never left their faces as they went through another match. Ellana was improving rapidly, her own determination and years of constant adaption in the wilderness helped ease her transition to the dueling style. She would stand a chance, this much the Seeker was certain. Whether she would win… that was up to the Maker.

“Ahem…”

The sound of Cullen’s throat clearing had the two distracted for a moment. Ellana recovered first, the Seeker barely blocking the swing aimed at her head. Alas, that’s where the elf’s surprise attack ended, Cassandra quickly gained the upper hand with a swift counter attack.

“What is it Cullen?” Ellana asked through clenched teeth, her tiredness getting the better of her. With her focus split between her Commander and the assault of Cassandra’s rapier, her movements became sloppy and slowed.

“I have Lord Otranto’s response, Inquisitor.”

Ellana stumbled uncharacteristically, her focus on swordplay lost completely. The Seeker couldn’t blame her, dropping her guard in an unspoken admission for them to stop the match.

Once Cullen understood that it was safe to approach the pair, he instantly brought out a scroll, stamped with the seal of House Otranto, handing it to the elf without a hint of judgement on his face.

“In addition to this, there is an envoy waiting for you by the gate.” Cullen said, “…I think it would be wise to see him immediately.” There was a vague warning in his words, causing the elf’s brow to furrow in confusion, then it dawned on her….

If Josephine found out that a messenger from her betrothed was in Skyhold, this would all be for nothing.

And the Inquisitor would have a lot of explaining to do.

Ellana quickly thanked and dismissed Cullen, breaking the wax seal and unrolling the parchment before the words had completely left her mouth. The Seeker and Commander shared a look of amusement at the elf’s eagerness before he gracefully turned away.

There was a long moment of silence as Ellana read the Antivan’s response. Cassandra sat on the stool nearby and waited patiently, letting her friend understand and digest the meaning behind the skillfully crafted words.

“He’s accepted.” She whispered, her face unreadable. Cassandra understood why the elf wanted to mask her emotions. Like most people who dueled for the first time: it was suddenly all too real. “He is waiting for me in Val Royeaux.”

“Then you must go.” Cassandra said simply. The plainness of the statement had the Inquisitor locking eyes with her. The Seeker saw the fear in her eyes. The uncertainty. The thought that Josephine would turn on her or the even more deadly idea of leaving without saying goodbye. Cassandra could only watch as the elf’s thoughts played out in her eyes, the weighing of options: backing out, living with herself afterwards, going forward, failing, dying, and losing Josephine… but also the distinct possibility of winning the woman she loved, of being happy. Slowly, the fear turned to courage, the uncertainty to conviction, and the insecurity to confidence. A dangerous smile grew on her lips.

“Go see the envoy.” Cassandra ordered, “Then come back and we’ll discuss strategy.”                                 

*          *          *

When Ellana came back, Cassandra had put away their equipment. The Seeker sat on the stool, reading one of her novels that she was so fond of. For once it wasn’t one of Varric’s titles but a book of poetry she had come across in Skyhold’s library. Normally, she was content with what books she had, but the title had intrigued her, as had the first two poems, and thus she managed to sneak it out without Leliana’s assistant noticing.

Free, her people, forged in fastness, made in 
mountains, hardy hide.
Wise in wisdom, calm in counsel, great in gifts her
grateful guests, 
Sacrificed she did to spirits, took their teachings, 
followed quests. 
Bright her axe, unbreaking crystal, stirred to flame 
when temper flies, 

“I thought strategy involved swords, not words.” The elf’s voice pierced through the rhythm of the poem, effectively ending the Seeker’s concentration. Cassandra was, however, grateful that the Inquisitor did not judge her on her reading material. The incident with Varric had been worth it for all parties: Ellana and Varric got to watch Cassandra’s reaction and the Seeker got the next edition to Swords and Shields; but ever since then, the elf made a point to never remark or joke on it at her expense. The fact the Sera still didn’t know about Cassandra’s books spoke volumes of the level of respect the woman had for her.

“We will not be fighting any longer.” The Nevarran closed the book gently, placing on the ground next to her.

“Oh?” The Inquisitor quirked an eyebrow, curiosity and surprise piquing her interest. Cassandra could practically see her declaring a holiday just to mark the occasion when the Seeker didn’t want to practice.

“No, you are tired and sore. Soon you will be heading to Val Royeaux to face a man you barely know. To continue practicing would be counter-productive.” The Seeker indicated for the Inquisitor to sit with her. The elf did so, sitting on the ground with naught a thought to the reprimand she would receive from Vivienne once the enchanter saw the dirt on her outfit.

“First, you must rest. You must be loose and fit for when you face your opponent.” The elf nodded in agreement, her expression attentive and serious.

“Remember, he knows only what he’s heard about you. He knows you are a Dalish elf, he knows your title and of the Inquisition. Most importantly, he knows of your fighting style and your inexperience with dueling and nobility. Use that. Use that to your advantage.”

“You want me to play the fool?”

“If that will make him underestimate you, then yes. He is the more experienced duelist, we want him to think he’s humoring you.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“However, he will likely have a barbed tongue suited for his station. Do not let him distract you.” The elf hadn’t thought of that, her eyes fell slightly in dejection. She hated dealing with the Game almost as much as the Seeker did.

“My advice to you would be to not speak.” Ellana looked at her incredulously, unsure if she was being insulted or humbled. Cassandra smirked at her skeptical expression.

“In dueling, actions speak louder than words.” The Seeker explained, “No one will ever recall what was said during a duel, only who won and who lost. However, that doesn’t mean an opponent can’t be provoked into a thoughtless maneuver that costs him the match. This man will try to make you act rashly. He might insult your clan or your tattoos, he might remind you of the fact that Josephine’s parents betrothed her to him rather then you.” She knew that the truth in her words hurt, so she placed a reassuring hand on Ellana’s shoulder.

“That is why you must not interact with him; to give a response will only open you up to more. Focus on his blade and where it is, on keeping balanced and upright, on learning your opponent.”

“You make it sound so easy, Cassandra.” The fear was back and, quite frankly, the Inquisitor would be a fool to feel otherwise.

“I can’t promise you a victory, Ellana. But if I am sure of one thing, it is that this duel means more to you then facing Corypheus ever could.” Cassandra stood, pulling the elf up with her. “That is why I know you won’t let him win.”

“You always were a romantic.” The elf joked half-heartedly. Cassandra smirked at the elf’s jab, but grew serious as a new wave of emotions flickered across the Inquisitors face.

“Go rest, Ellana. Plan your next expedition to the Western Approach or the campaign in Emprise Du Lion. Drink with Bull or play cards with Varric. Talk with Solas, Cole, or even Vivienne if you must.” That earned the Seeker a light smile. “But try to forget about the duel.”

“Alright, but if Madame De Fer kills me before I leave, you are to serve as my champion.” The elf was smiling in earnest now, finally relaxing after a week of stress. She felt relieved to move forward after waiting for so long. All of the speculating and practicing was finally coming to fruition.

“It would be my honor.” The Seeker replied, speaking equally in earnest as well as jest.

Chapter Text

Ellana had left just hours ago when the Seeker found herself outside the Ambassador’s door.

She had been through it many times, to go to meetings in the War Room, to deliver missives to Josephine from the field, as well as to drag the two lovers apart so they could both get work done. She hadn’t known the Ambassador personally before the Inquisition, accepting her application for the position at Leliana’s recommendation. But she learned quickly that the woman was smart, cunning, and an exceptional talent in the realm of politics and negotiation. After a time, the Seeker came to view the Antivan as pleasant company and with no small amount of respect. Cassandra was always grateful that Lady Montilyet could understand her awkward stumbling with words and answer them without a hint of condescension. More than once the Ambassador had managed to make her laugh and took pains to broaden her horizons when it came to tea, no matter how outlandish some of the combinations might be. But the Seeker also knew that the growing influence of the Inquisition was being felt throughout Thedas. It didn’t seem too big of a leap that a skilled player of the Game would be able to use that kind of power to their own benefit.

At first, Cassandra was cautious. She did, after all, like the Ambassador a great deal. Josephine’s inherent personality and refined diplomatic skills endeared her to almost everyone she met, making it difficult to picture her as just another selfish noblewoman. Cassandra’s unease grew as Ellana began a tentative, and rather unorthodox, courtship with the diplomat. As the two grew closer, the Seeker’s concern only deepened, but she remained silent for her friend’s sake. Ellana was not a fool, not as easily manipulated as one might think, but she couldn’t help who she loved anymore then Cassandra could. And Ellana loved Josephine, even the Seeker could see that.

But her doubt was still there, an angry itch at the back of her skull that compelled her to find the truth, the whole truth, and protect her friend.

With this resolve, she turned the knob and quietly entered the antechamber.

The Ambassador was sitting at her desk, writing in her swift and elegant hand only to stop every few seconds to read the correspondence she was replying to. Judging by her expression, it was either a rather complicated trade agreement or an exceptionally foolish move by a noble claiming allegiance to the Inquisition. Lady Montilyet was so focused on her task that she didn’t notice the Seeker entering her room, nearly jumping out of her chair when Cassandra closed the door loudly. Her surprise quickly turned to confusion when she read the icy demeanor emanating from the warrior.

“Seeker Pentaghast, may a help you?” Came her polite but cautious inquiry.

“I need to speak with you. Privately.” Her words came out sharper then she intended, but nonetheless the heir Montilyet gracefully stood, the trade agreement and other work forgotten, and walked around the desk, indicating for the Seeker to sit in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. Closing the other door to the War Room to honor Cassandra’s request for privacy, she joined the warrior in the opposite chair, her diplomatic mask automatically slipping into place.

“Has something happened to the Inquisitor?” She asked as she sat. The Ambassador’s tone was concerned, but her face remained composed. Her expression was calm and gentle, even curious, but contained an element of firmness and seriousness that made it almost impossible to break. Cassandra couldn’t read Josephine’s true emotions at that moment even if her life depended on it.

“No, but I have no doubt that that will not be true much longer. With Corypheus still out there…” Cassandra trailed off, letting the name hang in the air.

“Yes, but I have faith that we will be able to match him when the time comes.” Josephine’s mask didn’t falter.

The Seeker sighed, she was out of her depth and she knew it. This was Josephine’s arena, where she made the rules and controlled the flow of battle. Whereas Cassandra’s expertise involved swords and no small amount of dragon slaying, the Ambassador faced her own unique brand of enemy, the kind that valued tact, subtleness, and daring ambition over physical prowess and brute force. Like the blood sport nobles were so fond of, Cassandra was the bull: ferocious, bloodthirsty, and powerful, but Josephine was the matador: flexible, intelligent, and struck when her prey was most vulnerable.

And no one ever told the story of how the bull outsmarted the matador.

“Lady Montilyet, may I be frank?”

“Of course, you may always speak your mind with me, Cassandra.” Her expression changed from firmness to openness, seemingly genuine in its curiosity and trust. The usage of the Seekers name was not lost on her, but whether it was out of friendship or as an invitation for blackmail was another matter.

“You know that I am not well-versed in the Game you or Leliana play. I have made my stance on such matters quite clear.”

“Yes, I remember your wishes regarding your family’s connections. I can assure you that I have not made any contact with the Nevarran monarchy or any branch of the Pentaghasts that the Inquisitor herself did not order.”

“Thank you for honoring that agreement, but that is not why I am here.”

 “Oh?”

“I am here for the Inquisitor.” Cassandra said plainly, the bluntness seemed to catch Josephine off guard.

“Forgive me, but I’m not sure what you mean.” There was a sudden defensiveness in her eyes that had the Seeker teetering on the edge of fear despite herself, much a like an admiral who instinctually hesitates when faced with an oncoming storm.

“As you well know, the Inquisition now has sway over the politics of Thedas. “ Cassandra began, “Even before our intervention at the Winter Palace our voice would have held weight, but now…”

She paused, choosing her next words carefully. The Ambassador said nothing, silently bidding her to continue.

“Anyone with a close connection to the Inquisitor herself would have a particular… advantage… over those who do not.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed.

“Such an individual would have unquestioned access to the highest seats of power. They would have a direct say in the advancement of themselves and their family for decades to come.”

“I do not know what you’re implying-“

“Lady Montilyet,” Cassandra pressed, “Ellana is considered a dear friend to me. I’ve seen her choose to stay and help close the Breach when she could have run. I’ve seen her struggle to find a balance between the Chantry and her Dalish believes. I have watched her rise and fall at the hands of a man who would be Maker, and I have seen her not only return but also raise and lead an army against him. She has brought hope to many for peace and change in a world gone mad. Her actions are not to be played upon, her trust is not to be toyed with, and…” The Seeker paused, “…her feelings are not a Game.”

A heavy silence had settled over the room, their eyes locked together as each stared the other down. Cassandra had played her only card and now it was all she could do to gauge the reaction as realization dawned on the face of the Ambassador.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” she began, her face schooling itself into a stony unreadability, “My relationship with Inquisitor Lavellan remains professional during my involvement with the Game.”

“I was not questioning your professionalism.”

Josephine paused, tilting her head as if to regard the warrior for the first time. Her gaze assessing her as a wolf would a sheep, “Then what were you questioning?”

“Your intentions.” Cassandra may not be the most eloquent diplomat, she had no tricks or secrets to hold, and she loathed the playful threats and thinly-veiled insults, but she had one weapon that always helped her: the truth. Truth that extended out like her blade, as much a part of her as her faith and hair, and wielded it with a precision that put other Seekers to shame. “You are the most skilled player of the Game I have ever met… perhaps even more so then Leliana. You have been trained to see opportunity and weakness with as much calculation and ruthlessness as any warrior or mage; tell me, what benefits come with being close to someone like the Inquisitor?”

“You must think me rather low to make such an accusation.” The response was as cold as the mountainside.

“I think you are an ambitious and intelligent woman, Josephine. A woman who knows when an opportunity presents itself.” Cassandra replied, keeping calm despite the anger beginning to simmer underneath her words. “You use her.”

 “I protect her.” The Ambassador snapped like a bow whose string had bent it to the point of breaking, “The people who play the Game are selfish, greedy, and vain, they use any flaw or weakness as a means to an end. It doesn’t matter who is in the way and what is destroyed in the process, so long as they achieve what they want. And when they are not fighting amongst themselves for wealth and glory, they are seeking favors and advancement in court from those with the real power. The Inquisitor, the Empress, the Archon, the Ferelden, Nevarran, and even Antivan Monarchies… they are all open targets for anyone and everyone to attack or exploit. You honestly think me so cruel, so greedy, and so selfish as to use Ellana in this way? That I would manipulate her feelings and our relationship just to advance myself?! How dare you!”

As she spoke, any restraint or sense of propriety Josephine had was cast aside. Her voice changed from icy calm to snarling, regarding the Seeker with open disdain. Cassandra felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to prickle out of fear of the woman who had risen out of her chair, as if the mere idea of sitting across from the Seeker offended her. By the time the last words had escaped her lips, tears were brimming at the edges of her eyes in anger and betrayal, her hand moved to cover her mouth while the other wrapped around her torso. She turned away from the Seeker as she tried to rein in her emotions, standing before the flames as rigid and unmoving as a statue.

Cassandra released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

She had been wrong, so very, very wrong. The woman who stood before her no longer seemed quite so complicated, no longer so ruthless, and no longer as cold-hearted as she had seemed just moments before. She was a woman whose emotions ran deep and her convictions held absolutely. She was not like the Spymaster, whose experiences with the Game had left her cold and unfeeling, she was kind and merciful, playful and courageous in her own way… that underneath all that silk and lace there was an iron will that knew when to bend and when to stand it’s ground; so much so, that it was just as much Josephine that saved Leliana as much as Ellana. When it came to those she loved, the Seeker realized, she had no cards to play, moves to make, angles to see, or ulterior motives to speculate… because this was never a game to her. Ellana was never a game to her.

“Josephine, I-“

 “I love her.” It was said so quietly Cassandra almost didn’t hear it. The confession rendering the Nevarran speechless, not from shock but from utter relief that washed over her like rain on a hot summers day. She stood, the chair suddenly too confining.

“I…” Josephine tried to speak again. Cassandra walked to wear she stood, her confidence growing with every step, and placed her hands gently on the Antivan’s shoulders as to not scare her. Slowly, the Seeker rotated the diplomat until they stood face to face again. Tears tracks glazed the Ambassador’s cheeks and still more welled in her eyes, but no longer out of hurt but out of shock. Cassandra gently wiped the offending tears as they spilled over, causing a slight blush to appear on the other woman’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Josephine pushed away from the Seeker, still hurt from the words spoken earlier. She put distance between them and Cassandra made no move to follow, allowing the other woman the space to breathe.

The silence that followed was tense but tentatively calming, the Ambassador’s back was to the Nevarran as she tried to digest the words that had been left hanging in the air, that had forced her to fully realize the depths of her feelings for the Inquisitor.

Cassandra suddenly knew what she had to do.

“She’s dueling Lord Otranto.”

“What?” Josephine turned sharply, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Your betrothed and Ellana, they’re going to duel in Val Royeaux,”

“What?!” The Ambassador’s eyes widened as she fully comprehended the Seeker’s words, whatever anger she had been holding evaporated and turned into disbelieve, “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Cassandra lied, “Perhaps she just wants to help.”

“I told her to let me handle this!” The Ambassador was suddenly moving swiftly around her desk, stacking papers on her desk into ordered piles, signing a few that she didn’t even have to read, and then capping her inkwells.

Cassandra had to fight to keep the amusement from showing on her face, walking toward the door to leave so that she would not be involved in whatever plan had popped into the Ambassador’s head.

“Cassandra,” Her hand froze on the doorknob, she turned to face the Antivan who had stilled behind her desk. The room suddenly quiet again as they stared at each other.

“I was wrong,” The Seeker spoke after a moment, “I thought you were using her, that she was just another tool for you to use and then discard. I can see now that that was a mistake. I apologize.”

Something changed in Josephine’s eyes that Cassandra couldn’t quite guess. She seemed calmed, her shoulders relaxing in the smallest of fractions as she processed the words.

“Tell Leliana I’m going to Val Royeaux,” A small smile appeared on her lips, “That any important correspondence is to go to my aides.”

“Of course.” The Seeker bowed her head, opening the door and crossing the threshold.

“… And thank you,” She heard behind her, too quiet and soft to be about a simple runner’s task. It was Cassandra’s turn to smile.

“You’re welcome,” came her reply as she closed the door. After taking a moment to breathe deeply, she walked the short distance to the door leading to the Rookery, climbing the stairs slowly and calmly and with many ideas as to how to she was going to ensure the Inquisitor paid the debt she most surely owed the Seeker.