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They’re back at the high lake in the hinterlands where they met Blackwall, following up on a rumor Aedren heard in Redcliffe. A very peculiar rumor about a benevolent spirit of the lake.
“What do you think, Seeker? It’s a great story,” Varric asks as they pick their way along the shoreline.
“I am not one to believe in fairy tales,” Cassandra replies, head high.
“But it’s a romance! The lonely spirit of the lake asks for one small gift: beautiful flowers from the shore of its own lake,” he picks a lotus blossom from the gravel and presents it to her.
Cassandra rolls her eyes, but takes the flower anyway. It has a spongy stem and deep crimson blooms, nearly purple with how dark they are. “I don’t see why the spirit can’t get a flower for itself if it does live in the lake, the flowers would be right there all the time.”
“That’s a good point,” Aedren chimes in, “why not a flower from some far off desert. We could bring it some… deathroot or something else ominous.”
“Hoity-toity plant putting on airs. It’s not actually blood, it’s just red. It’s not even poison,” Sera grouses.
“I bet it has some myth attached. Blood lotus probably only grows where blood has been spilled. Especially the blood of young maidens or something right?” Aedren jokes.
“Oh yeah, young maiden’s first blood,” Sera cackles.
“You’re all missing the point,” Varric huffs. “The spirit wanting nothing more than the flower of it’s own lakeshore—yearning for something so close. It can’t reach out and pick the flower itself. That’s the tragedy a beautiful romance is built on.”
Cassandra scoffs, “not all romance needs a great tragedy.”
“Ah, but a kiss is so much sweeter if there’s something in the way. What if the Knight Captain and the Guardsman met each other, made out and ran off together on page 5 of Swords & Shields? What would the rest of the novel be about? Just running across the countryside happily in love? No one wants to read that.”
Cassandra scowls down at him. “Real life isn’t always like a novel.”
“Ah, but it’s great when it is,” he smiles with a satisfied look. A beat later he screws up his face and corrects himself, “except when it isn’t.”
“What kind of spirit did the rumor mill say this was?” Cassandra asks the group at large, still very skeptical.
“Um, courage? No, valor. Something noble and gallant like that,” Aedren says over her shoulder. “Anybody got some?”
“Yeah, plenty,” Sera calls back to them with a snort from ahead near a little stream that flows into the lake. The water is crystal clear and sparkling in the sun. The short plants push up through the rocky soil and bloom right above the surface.
“Some over here too,” Varric says, holding a few stems and keeping his feet out of the marshy edges of the lake.
“Great, let’s see what this favor is all about,” Aedren says, accepting flowers from both of them and making her way around the edge of the lake.
“Do you really believe in this story?” Cassandra asks her.
“Why not? It’s worth a try. It wasn’t far out of our way.” Aedren is always going ‘not far out of the way’ to look at this or that thing, or ‘just one more cave’, and ‘what’s behind that rise?’ and they’re all used to going along with it by now. She’s curious and thorough and it’s often slow work with extra conflict, but it’s also how they’ve built up the resources of the Inquisition.
It’s not how Cassandra would lead, too nitpicky and cautious. The Inquisitor is always taking the most circuitous path in hopes she will discover something interesting. Cassandra would rather get the big picture, find the objective and walk straight toward it.
When they reach the small wooden pier Aedren hands Cassandra the plants. “You should do it.”
“What? Why?” she asks, dumbfounded.
“You’re the most courageous person I know. It should be you.” Aedren looks at her with confidence, not a hint of teasing.
“But you’re the Inquisitor,” Cassandra splutters. Aedren’s words are slow to sink in. “Thank you for your kind words, but I can’t…”
“Come on, Seeker, the princess from a far off land bringing flowers to the spirit. The story writes itself,” Varric encourages her.
She squints at him. “I—”
“Besides, spirits like to meet someone who exhibits their traits, don’t they?” Aedren looks over at Sera for support.
“Don’t look at me.” Sera has kept thoroughly to the land end of the pier. “It’s all mumbo jumbo.”
Aedren rolls her eyes and holds the flowers out to Cassandra. “Just try! We don’t even know if it will work.”
“Fine.” She takes the slightly manhandled flowers and steps to the end of the pier. Wooden boards creak under her feet and she lays the blood lotus in the bowl at the edge of the water. Nothing happens for a moment and she’s a little disappointed, though she doesn’t know what she expected to happen.
Then the flowers disappear as if they sunk straight through the bowl, through the wooden platform and into the lake. Cassandra takes a step back and light shimmers in the bowl like water and begins to swirl upward to form a long object, jutting toward her. The light congeals into a solid form and she realizes it’s the hilt of a sword.
“Pull it out!” Aedren calls from behind her, startling her out of her reverie.
“Heh, yeah that—” Sera starts to retort, but she’s cut off with Aedren’s elbow, “what?”
“We’re having a magical moment right now,” Aedren stage whispers.
“Go on,” Varric talks over them, ignoring their antics. He points at the sword with a stupid grin and it’s exactly what she needs to make herself grab the hilt of the sword and pull it up out of the lake, dripping bright in the sunbeams.
The sword feels hefty, but well balanced and the guard fits snug against her hand. She swings it experimentally and it practically sings through the air, cutting an arc of silver and sending a haze of droplets out over the water. She feels like she just walked out of a dream, but the dream walked out with her.
Varric laughs a bright joyful sound. “Looks like it was meant to be!”
Cassandra isn’t one to believe in fate, but she wasn’t one to believe in favors from lake spirits before this either. She turns to Aedren with a bright look of wonder, “did you know?”
“About the sword? Nope.” She peers in the bowl. “Oh, you missed something. Whoa cool belt. Check this out.” She shows it to them, but only Sera is really looking.
Cassandra turns the sword in her hand, admiring it from different angles.
“That sword is tailor made for you,” Varric says. “I bet if someone else had placed those flowers it would have been something else.”
“You think?” Sera sounds a little disappointed.
“That would make the best story. The princess brings flowers to the lonely spirit who gives her her own heart’s desire.” He bats his eyelashes at her. “In this case, a big sword to slash down her enemies.”
She always hated when people would call her a princess, but pulling a magical sword from a lake changes the circumstances a bit. Cassandra keeps an eye on the sword, peeking back down at it as if it might disappear. “I desire other things, you know.”
“Oh do go on,” Varric prompts her.
She narrows her eyes.
“Or don’t. Maybe later!” He chuckles. “You should let me write your story. Can you imagine?” He sweeps a hand like he’s drawing back a curtain on a scene. “Mothers reading to their kids about the princess who pulled a sword from a lake and how she helped save the world!”
She can’t help the smile that plays across her face. “A children’s book?”
“Yeah, I heard the market is great right now.” Varric grins.
“Of course you did.” Cassandra laughs. She doesn’t have anywhere to put the sword yet. It’s longer than hers, she’ll need a new sheath.
“Right this way, princess,” Varric offers in his gravely voice and holds out a hand.
It’s absurd and undignified and absolutely childish. She takes it and lets him escort her off the pier.