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“A cache?”
“Yes, not far from here. I don’t suppose you might join me?”
Cassandra frowned. “I don’t see why our scouts couldn’t just deliver it. Does this really require the personal attention of the Inquisitor?”
Wil mirrored her expression. Was her response was a diversionary tactic, or did she really think he was too busy to help?
“They have duties, too.” He relaxed into a smile. “Besides, I like getting my hands dirty. If I let the Inquisition do everything for me, I’d get bored.”
“I cannot imagine your life ever being boring. But you do have a point.” The tension left her shoulders, and she picked up her shield. “Very well, I will accompany you. Shall I get Dorian and Varric?”
“I think you and I can handle it.”
Cassandra met his smile with skepticism. “Wilhelm,” his name was still tight on her lips, “what are you really trying to accomplish?”
“Fetching a cache,” he repeated. “Why? Did you have something else in mind?”
A flush tinged her cheeks and she looked away. “Certainly not.”
Wil sheathed his daggers and grinned. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m open to suggestions.” He decided not to mention his delight at finding the latest issue of Swords & Shields back in his quarters, tucked in between intimate items of his clothing. Topping that without getting his hands cut off was going to be difficult.
They kept quiet along the way, sticking to the shadows to avoid engaging any of the surrounding fauna. Wil hopped over roots and dashed between vines, grinning at each telltale swish of Cassandra’s sword. He glanced over his shoulder as she slashed through a thick vine, pushing branches out of the way with her free hand.
He paused, putting a hand on his hip. “What did the forest ever do to you?”
“You forget that not all of us are as lithe as you are,” she said once she caught up to him.
Wil raised a brow and smiled. “You certainly look lithe to me.”
That blush on her cheeks was just from exertion. “That is—I meant you could have chosen a less treacherous path. I understand your reasoning, but at this point, I would prefer the giants. Anything would be less insulting than being felled by a tree trunk.”
“Perhaps for you. I’d love to watch you take down a giant, but you’d be taking me back to Skyhold in pieces.” Images flooded his brain; Cassandra ramming a giant with her shield, throwing her head back to shout in triumph while giant blood spurted into the air as proof of her expert swordsmanship. He flexed his knuckles and focused on her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “So long as you watch from a safe distance, you will be fine.”
Wil laughed. “Don’t be so sure. I’d probably get so distracted that a bear would come along and maul me.”
“And whose fault would that be?” She shook her head, but the beginnings of a smile curled her lips. “Have I taught you nothing?”
“I’m a weak man,” he said with a shrug. He turned to press on before she could respond. “We’re almost there. Lace said our people are posted just beyond that arch.”
Cassandra sighed. “Lead the way.”
As he neared the arch, his heart jumped at a flash of red. Rashvine! Adan’s notes called out for rashvine for a few different potions and tonics.
“Where are you going?" She clicked her tongue. "Wait. Don’t tell me. We’re harvesting herbs.”
“You know me so well.” Wil grinned, keeping his back to her. “I’ll just be a second.” He pulled his shears out of his pouch and snipped the long vines, coiling them around his gloved hands.
“You’re just lucky I’m here to fend off the bears,” she said. He tucked his shears and the rashvine into his satchel and turned to face her.
“Believe me, I never take your presence for granted.”
She froze for a moment, only blinking, then proceeded through the arch. “I see our scouts up ahead.”
“Lead the way,” Wil replied. He followed her across the clearing, scratching idly at his wrist as best as he could through his gloves. Two scouts patrolled a small area of the ruins.
“…and if he hadn’t walked in right then, I would have—” The taller of the scouts stopped mid-sentence, jumping at the sight of Wil. Wil smiled at them as if he hadn’t noticed.
“At ease, Scout…?”
“Moret, Ser—Inquisitor.”
Wil turned to the other scout, still rubbing at his wrist.
“Scout Paisley, Inquisitor. We’ve collected some runes from the area. Harding said you might be interested.”
“Good work,” Wil said, trying to make his gritted teeth look like a grin. His wrist would not let up. Giving into temptation, he pulled off his gloves to scratch and rub in earnest. Sweet relief… It must have been a heat rash; his hands were sticky with sweat, and he waved them in the air to try to cool them down. “I’ll take them back to camp.”
Both scouts stared at him, mouths agape. He would have to make a point of meeting more of his people if they were going to treat him this way.
“Inquisitor, your hands,” Moret stammered.
Wil looked down and paled at the angry blisters he found on his skin, which was damp with pus, not sweat. Patches as red as the rashvine he had just picked littered his wrist and hands, multiplying before his eyes.
Gloves were all well and good unless they weren’t long enough to tuck into a coat. Even a strip of exposed skin was risky when it came to rashvine, and rubbing must have spread the oil from the leaves. Wil could have kicked himself, but the burning sensation was punishment enough.
“Wil!” Cassandra yelped, her eyes going wide when she saw his hands.
“One of these days, you’re going to call me that when I haven’t made a fool of myself.” He made to grab for his salve, but stopped when he remembered it was tucked underneath a wad of rashvine.
“I save it for special occasions,” she said, rifling through her bag. “Let me help you.” She pulled out a tincture and grabbed his hand, yanking him forward. Wil hissed in pain, but she was too focused to notice. She turned his hand over and straightened his wrist, pulling a blister open.
Wil nearly bit down on his tongue. “Fasta vass!”
“Learned that one from Dorian?” Cassandra didn’t bat an eye as she opened the vial.
“I don’t take the Maker’s name in vain,” he grunted. The tincture hit his wrist like a dagger, stinging worse than the blister, and he cried out. “But I’m beginning to see the appeal.”
Cassandra took his other hand, tipping the remaining liquid onto his fingertips. Still reeling from the pain, all Wil could do was wince as she turned to the scouts.
“Do you have bandages?”
Paisley nodded and produced some gauze with shaking hands. “Elfroot-infused, Seeker.”
Cassandra took it and wrapped it around Wil’s wrist, pulling so tight he wondered if she was preparing a tourniquet for amputation. Might hurt less, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. At least Cassandra’s solid grip on his hands kept him steady.
When he opened his eyes, Cassandra was finished, bandages inelegantly wrapped around his swollen hands.
“It will have to do for now. Dorian may have a potion for this. You should seek him out when we get back to camp.” She wiped her gloved hands on her handkerchief and tucked it into the belt of her armor. “And whatever you do, don’t touch anything.”
Wil nodded. His hands were too sore to disobey.
“The runes, Seeker?” asked Paisley, holding out a sack. Cassandra huffed.
“I’ll take them.” She heaved the bag over her shoulder. Wil and the scouts exchanged shaky salutes, and he and Cassandra set off for camp.
Once the burning eased into a pounding throb, Wil spoke. “I think I made quite the impression on them.”
“They will not forget meeting you, that much is certain.” Silence fell again as they walked the path Cassandra had cut.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
She did not answer right away. “First aid has never been my strong suit. But I have heard horror stories about rashes left untreated. I would rather you didn’t lose your hands.”
Wil held up his marked hand, careful not to move his fingers. “Oh, the mark.” Cassandra stopped, turning to face him.
“I didn’t mean—I wasn’t thinking of—”
Wil’s pained smile silenced her. “I know. But I do wonder if this will affect the mark.”
“Let us hope we don’t come across any more rifts before we return to Skyhold,” she said. They were nearing camp when Cassandra spoke again, hesitation in her voice. “How will you read? I saw that you brought the book I lent you.”
It was the first time she had mentioned their arrangement since she caught him with her book. Wil grinned at her. “That would be a problem, if I hadn’t already finished it.”
Her little laugh pushed the pain far from his mind.
After the second day of resting, Wil wished he had brought more books. Turning pages had to be less torturous than boredom.
Daggers were off-limits until his sores closed, but no one could stop him from picking up a pen. There was nothing else for him to do while the others were out saving the world without him.
Using his left hand to place the pen in his right, Wil shifted it until he found the position that pulled at the bandages the least. With a loose grip, he gritted his teeth and put pen to paper.
Lady Cassandra,
I apologize for my lack of creativity in returning your book. Proprietary precluded any of the scenarios I had in mind, though I will say that my favorite idea drew inspiration from the marked page. Should you ever desire such impropriety on my part you need only ask, but until such a time, I will limit my flirtations to only those which bring that delightful shade of peach to your lovely countenance.
Few things in my life have brought me greater pleasure than sharing this terrible, wonderful series with you. If you wish to discuss these works in greater detail, I encourage you to bring your inquiry to my quarters at Skyhold. I am eternally at your disposal, and I know you know the way in.
Yours,
Wil
He folded the letter, smoothing the crease with his forearm, and tucked it into the proper page. But something was missing.
As he headed for the supply crates, officers and scouts avoided his eyes, afraid to tell him (yet again) that there was nothing he could help with.
A specimen of Arbor Blessing, so lovely that he had wrapped it for protection after collecting it, sat atop the crate. He retrieved it, narrowing his eyes at the pouch of rashvine, double bagged and set apart from the other materials.
Back in the tent, he coiled the length of vine atop Cassandra’s book and placed it behind her bedroll. Much better.
With a sigh, he looked down at his hands. Maybe he could kill some time pouring through the spoils from the Venatori camp his party had raided without him yesterday. There had to be some serviceable gloves in there.