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It was a surprisingly pleasant morning in Skyhold. The Inquisitor had arrived home the day before in all her resplendent glory and had kicked off the night with a bang by buying a round of drinks in the 'Herald's Rest'. Of course, she hadn't known she'd bought said drinks; Sera had liberated her coin purse when Lavellan hadn't been looking. ("She gave it to me! Sort of.") It had been a good evening and now, an hour before lunch was due, Hawke had almost fully recovered from her hangover. The Maker's light was certainly shining down upon her today.
She strolled through the grounds, ostensibly on a quest to find the soldier who's shield she had inexplicably woken up next to, but in reality she had a another goal in mind. A Seeker shaped goal to be more specific. Ever since their little conversation in Crestwood, Hawke had made it her personal mission to worm her way under Cassandra's skin at least once a day. It was good for the soul. Exactly whose soul it was good for, Hawke wasn't entirely sure, but it was probably someone's.
As always, before she reached the Seeker's usual spot, she passed Iron Bull sparring with his second-in-command while the other Chargers watched on and jeered. She raised a hand towards him in a salute. He grinned and nodded his head in her direction before catching Krem's sword with his axe, causing the other man to jerk forward and drop his weapon with a resounding clang.
Hawke chuckled to herself and continued past their makeshift training ring towards the back of the tavern. It wouldn't be Hawke's preferred hang-out but she suspected that Cassandra enjoyed the privacy it afforded her.
Privacy that Hawke was now fully intent on invading.
She rounded the corner and slowed to standstill. Cassandra was not, as she had predicted, assaulting a training dummy as though it were the only thing standing between her and those little pastries she seems to enjoy so much. Indeed, there seemed to be precious little activity happening at all. Hawke cocked her head to one side and then sidled up towards the Seeker slowly.
"What are we reading?" she said, when she was finally level with her prey.
Cassandra yelped out a girlish little sound and leapt off the stool she was perched on as though Hawke had set the thing on fire. She stumbled backwards and Hawke let out a laugh and reached out to grab the woman by her breastplate.
"Steady now," said Hawke, when she was sure Cassandra was no longer in danger of falling on her rather shapely backside. "I understand you're happy to see me but let's not get carried away."
"Hawke," said Cassandra. There was a note of warning there, as always there was, but was that also a little fear Hawke could detect? "I was just..."
"Reading," Hawke observed. She tilted her head in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the cover. "Something salacious I hope." Cassandra's cheeks turned a dark shade of red.
"It is...nothing," said Cassandra, hugging the book close to her chest. "Nothing you'd be interested in, I'm certain."
"Oh come on now, Seeker. Don't be embarrassed. I thought we were-" Hawke stopped abruptly. "Is that Varric on the back of that book?" she asked, knowing the answer already. She'd recognise that glorious chest hair a mile away.
"No!" Cassandra protested vehemently. Then at Hawke's raised eyebrow she hung her head. "Yes. It is...one of his serials. Swords and Shields. The latest chapter."
Hawke paused for a moment and cast her mind back. She was sure she knew that name...but Varric wrote an awful lot of stories. It was difficult for her to keep track. For the most part she only put a special effort into remembering the tales in which she herself had the starring role.
"Swords and Shields," Hawke repeated, placing a finger to her lips as though that would make the answer come to her faster. "When you say the latest chapter, the latest chapter of how many exactly?"
Cassandra's cheeks, which had begun to regain their natural colour, turned pink again. "I do not know," she said. "A few."
Hawke laughed. One of these days she'd have to sit Cassandra down and teach her how to be a better liar. "A few?" Cassandra scowled. "Oh come on now, Seeker. Don't be angry. Why don't you sit back down and tell me all about it."
Naturally, Cassandra did no such thing and instead stood up a little straighter. She opened her mouth to reply but before she could Hawke reached forward and plucked the book from her hands. Cassandra let out a short cry of protest and made a grab for it but Hawke had already danced out her grasp with a merry laugh on her tongue.
"Ah, ah, Seeker," she said, flipping the book open and scanning down the page. "Don't want to damage it, do you?" She felt her lip curl in the corner as Cassandra watched on in mortification. "Well that's a rather creative use of a sword," said Hawke, her eye catching on a particular paragraph. "Oh wait." She paused. "Different kind of sword." Cassandra groaned.
"You cannot tell Varric. Please." Cassandra took a step forward then, her plea so earnest that Hawke almost considered agreeing to her request. Almost. "He'll be unbearable."
"I rather thought you found him unbearable on most days anyway," said Hawke. Then just because Cassandra looked so torn she handed back the offending book, which was taken with a reverence that bordered on sickening.
Cassandra sighed. "It's terrible," she admitted. "And magnificent." Hawke grinned. "And this one ends on a cliffhanger. I know Varric is working on the next one. He must be!" She paused. "You!"
"Me?"
"He loves you. You are his best friend. You could ask him to-" Cassandra stopped talking abruptly and stood up a little straighter. "If you tell him any of this I'll have your staff melted down for scraps." Then with that she turned around and stomped away. Hawke smirked after her.
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"Varric! How wonderful to see you today," said Hawke, strolling over to him with a wide grin on her face and an energy about her that he hadn't seen in a long time.
Varric put down his pen and watched Hawke through narrowed eyes. She was only this perky when she wanted something or when she wanted him to take part in something recklessly stupid with her. He wasn't sure which option he favoured.
"I already know I'm going to regret asking this, but what can I do for you, Hawke?" said Varric. He decided not to bring up that this was actually the second time they'd spoken today, having already eaten breakfast together.
Hawke clicked her tongue against her teeth and sat down on the chair across the table from him. "Can't a girl just visit an old friend without an ulterior motive?" she asked with a sparkle in her eyes. She jiggled her arm then and an apple appeared in her hand as if from nowhere. For a moment Varric thought she was going to offer it to him, but then she took a large bite.
"Some girls can," replied Varric, though he believed at that moment in time that Hawke was no such girl. "I've never met any of them."
Hawke let out a deep, resigned sigh before smiling in that much-too-innocent way she had a habit of doing when her mind had travelled down it's more sinful roads. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"
"Not usually," said Varric. "Now stop stalling."
"You drive a hard bargain," said Hawke, raising a hand to sweep back some dark hair that had fallen in front of her eyes and pausing as though she was looking for the right words. "I wanted to ask you about one of your books." Varric raised an eyebrow at that. In all the years he'd known her reading had never been anywhere close to being on the Champion's agenda. Too much too do. Too many things that needed to be set on lightning. "Swords and Shields."
If possible, his eyebrow climbed even higher. "The romance serial?"
"Yes. Apparently Cassandra is quite the fan and she's waiting for the next chapter." Hawke stopped then and looked at him expectantly while she continued to eat the apple in her hand. His brain ground to halt.
"I think I must have misheard you. It sounded like you said Cassandra read my books? The Cassandra who abducted me and interrogated me for weeks on end for information about you. That Cassandra?"
"That's the one," Hawke agreed. "Tall, usually wearing a frowny face and waving around an improbably sharp blade about at frightened recruits or bewildered Orleasian nobles."
The latter had only happened once and after the stern and very disappointed talking to she'd got from Josephine Montilyet it was unlikely to happen again. That woman wielded guilt unlike anybody else Varric had ever met. It was an impressive skill.
"That does sound like her," Varric mused. Then, "I can't believe she reads that drivel. Swords and Shields is easily the worst thing I've ever written. The last one barely made enough money to pay for the ink."
"So...that's a no on the next chapter then?" said Hawke slowly.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't say yes either."
"I just want to make sure I'm clear on this before I agree to anything," said Varric. He was wasting his breath, of course. After all that she'd done for him Hawke deserved everything it was within his power to give. "You want me to write a book for Cassandra? Not just any book though; a romance book from my worst serial."
A beat. "That's about the gist of it," said Hawke. "You really do catch on quickly."
"I wasn't blessed with just my good looks you know," said Varric with a short laugh.
"The Maker was certainly feeling generous the day you born," Hawke agreed. "The chest hair alone makes you irresistible to women. Not even I, your Champion, can defy your manly pull."
Varric chuckled. "My Champion now, is it?"
"Well if the silverite boots fit..." said Hawke. "And they do ever so well."
"All right, my Champion," said Varric with a shake of his head. "You've won me over. I'll write your book."
The smirk on Hawke's face morphed into something a little more genuine in a way that made Varric's heart hurt. It made her look younger; more like the woman Hawke had been when they'd first met. The woman she'd been before life had seen fit to take her entire family one by one and dump all it's bullshit on top of her when she was already straining under the pressure.
"Thank you. You're going to make an obsessive woman very happy," said Hawke. Varric wondered if she was talking about the Seeker or herself. "Drinks are on me tonight."
"That won't be necessary," replied Varric, "but I'd never say no to a pint if you're offering."
"Understood."
Hawke sat back in her chair then and let out a small sigh. She absentmindedly lifted the apple in her hand to her lips and took a bite.
"So," said Varric after a moment. "Are we going to talk about this huge crush you have on Cassandra or...?"
The breath Hawke sucked in then was so dramatic that she began to choke. Naturally, Varric thought, for his friend was nothing if not dramatic. He waited patiently for her breathing to even out and for the red on her cheeks to fade.
When Hawke said nothing he ploughed on, "Listen, as your friend, I feel like I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't say something. Cassandra is...dedicated. Too dedicated if you ask me. She's a Seeker and you're a mage. I just want you to bear in mind that there may come a time when she's forced to make a choice between her loyalty to you and her loyalty to the Chantry and I can't promise you're going to like the result."
He closed his mouth then and watched as Hawke digested that piece of advice. When she spoke he wasn't surprised to hear the protest.
"You don't have to worry about me, Varric. I do not have a crush on Cassandra," said Hawke. "She's far too...severe for my tastes." Well severe was a nice euphemism for grumpy, Varric would give her that.
"You know, if it wasn't for the fact that you spend at least half your day stalking the woman I might even believe that," said Varric.
"I do not-"
"Yeah, Hawke, you do," Varric interrupted. "Don't get me wrong, there are worse people you have chosen. Corypheus, if you're looking for an example. Knight Commander Meredith at a push. Corff." Hawke smirked at that. "I just want you to be careful...and maybe not forget that the Seeker spent almost a year scouring Thedas for you and it wasn't for anything good."
There was a long pause before Hawke answered. "I won't forget," she said.
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It was pitch black outside and the blacksmith was empty (though still smelled strongly of smoke and sulphur) when Hawke crept in through the unlocked door that led to Cassandra's bedroom.
A few weeks had passed and Hawke had almost forgotten about her request to Varric when he finally handed her the finished copy of 'Swords and Shields'. "I was going to ask to be there when you give her the book," he had said to her, "but being the generous friend I am, I've decided to let you do it alone."
So, after much deliberation and a small amount of cowardice she'd decided to just leave the book on Cassandra's bed and then tease her about it at a later date. She wasn't sure she could maintain her aura of aloof amusement while actually presenting the woman with a gift; not with Varric's words bouncing around her head anyway. She'd been doing her best to ignore it but it was a disaster waiting to happen, she was sure of it. Isabela would have a field day with this one if she ever found out.
Hawke clicked her tongue against her teeth in irritation with herself and raised her hand to conjure a small ball of light to illuminate her path as she began her ascent up the creaky wooden staircase.
The bedroom, if the loft could really be called that, was disappointingly sparse and devoid of any kind of personal effects beyond a few books kept in a pile beside the bed and a small bronze paperweight that upon further inspection seemed to be adorned with an embossed symbol of Andraste. Hawke ran her finger over the top of the paperweight and then discarded the trinket with a frown, instead letting her attention fall on the book on the rickety table beside the bed.
It had an all too familiar cover.
"Oh this is almost too good," she mumbled to herself, picking up a well-worn book from the bedside table. Tale of the Champion. The bookmark sticking from the top of the pages suggested that Cassandra was in the middle of re-read too. Excellent.
She was so engrossed in nosing through Cassandra's private things that it didn't even occur to her that this brief mission had already taken her several minutes longer than she'd anticipated. Not until she heard the door to the smiths being thrown open anyway.
Shit.
"Who is up there," demanded the newcomer, with a soft scrape of metal that let Hawke know the woman had drawn her weapon.
"Um..." said Hawke. She considered extinguishing her light and making a run for it but it was too late; the sound of heavy boots began to ascend the stairs towards her. In virtually no time at all Cassandra rounded the corner, sword pointed in front of her. Her eyebrows slanted inwards when she saw who it was. "I thought I saw a burglar so I came here to investigate?"
Cassandra's eyes seemed to burn with fury and for a moment Hawke felt something that she might later describe as pants-wetting terror. "Bullshit! Explain yourself," Cassandra demanded.
Well this had clearly been a mistake of epic proportion. Hawke wracked her brains for something even remotely intelligent to say but nothing was forthcoming.
"I came to drop off this," she said finally, holding out the book in her left hand. The truth felt dirty in her mouth somehow.
"The Tale of the Champion?" said Cassandra sceptically.
"Yes, the Tale of the-" She stopped. "Oops. No, although we're definitely going to talk about that in a minute." She tossed the copy of the book behind her and then held out her other hand. Idiot. "This one I mean."
Cassandra sheathed her sword and reached out for the book slowly, as though convinced she was about to be the butt of some elaborate prank. "What is it?" she asked, fingers hovering over the wad of pages. "And do not throw my books again."
"I will endeavour not to," said Hawke, a faint grin appearing on her face. "I believe it's something you've been wanting? The next chapter of Swording and Shielding."
Cassandra gasped then and grabbed the book from Hawke's hands. "Swords and Shields," she corrected, as though Hawke's mistake hadn't been entirely and obviously deliberate. "How did you..."
"Oh I can be very persuasive when the mood takes me," she said. Cassandra looked up and smiled at her. Hawke's heart skipped a beat.
"Thank you." Then she frowned. "Though that does not explain why you chose to skulk around my room in the dead of night rather than just hand this to me."
"Well..." said Hawke airily. "I thought it would be a nice surprise for you." Then at Cassandra's disbelieving expression she gestured behind her. "Or perhaps I heard the siren call of my own story and came to investigate."
Defiantly, Cassandra raised her chin. "It was research," she said, refusing to be shamed.
"I see," said Hawke with no small amount of amusement. "Research you have felt the need to continue despite spending time with me almost every day? You must know how many lies were packed into that book, assuming you can still read it around the stab wound."
"True lies," Cassandra argued. Hawke choked on a laugh. "And that is not the point."
"Well, I will bow to your superior knowledge on the subject. You are the expert on this fabled Champion after all," said Hawke. "I can see why you like her though. Strong, dashing, downright hilarious - even if I do say so myself."
There was a pause then while Cassandra watched her. It was hard not to feel like she was reading Hawke's mind. "You are trying to distract me," said Cassandra finally. "Why are you really here? You could have just given me the book tomorrow afternoon. Or over breakfast where it is all the better to embarrass me."
Hawke glanced towards the stairs but Cassandra had firmly planted herself in the only path of escape. Perhaps she could just jump out of the window? How badly did she need her legs really? Of course, if she broke all her limbs she'd stand even less of a chance of escaping the irate Seeker.
"I was worried if I let anybody else see it then they'd all want a copy," said Hawke with an apologetic smile. "Varric is running out of ink."
"Hawke."
She sighed dramatically. "Is there something about me that makes all my friends act so bizarrely when I try to give them a gift? Some sort of unintentional mind altering blood magic perhaps?"
The silence that followed that statement was almost unnerving. Cassandra stood motionless until her lip quirked into a very small smile. "You think we are friends?"
That was not what Hawke had been expecting her to say. She blinked. "Did you think I sought you out every morning just to annoy you?"
Admittedly that had been the case for several weeks until she realised that she had grown rather fond of the other woman. There was something endearing about her sincerity and fumbled social interaction.
Not to say that Hawke was doing much better herself right now on that front.
"Yes. That is exactly what I thought," said Cassandra. "Though Leliana suggested otherwise to me. I complain about you to her often." The thoughtful way she looked out the window then as she subconsciously clutched the book to her chest made Hawke wonder exactly what other observations the spymaster had made about their interactions. She had a feeling she wouldn't like them.
Time to wrap this whole sorry affair up.
"Well as flattered as I am to hear that you talk about me to your friend, all good things I assume, I think it's time I left you to your reading," she said.
It took her a moment but Cassandra stepped to the side with a brief nod of her head, allowing Hawke to edge past her and back towards the stairs. She relaxed her shoulders, however, just a fraction too soon. Before she crossed the threshold of the room Cassandra's hand shot out and caught her by the arm.
Hawke turned her head and tried to look nonchalant. "Something wrong?"
Cassandra seemed to steel herself for a moment before jerking Hawke towards her and planting a rough kiss on the corner of her mouth.
Hawke's heart jumped up to somewhere in her throat.
"Thank you," she said. If Hawke's mind had been functioning at all she'd have noticed the deep shade of red that had suffused Cassandra's entire face and crept down her neck. "For the book I mean. Thank you."
Hawke opened and closed her mouth. Then she opened it again. "No problem," she croaked.