Chapter Text
The Inquisitor Vheya Lavellan had fallen for Cassandra Pentaghast.
It was entirely irresponsible. And, she had been telling herself, entirely irrational. Her first meeting with the warrior, the Chantry warrior, had taken place with Vheya in chains. The sound of her voice had first come to her in the form of a threat, her first glimpse of the woman had come at sword point. More than that, she represented an organization that had only ever inspired her with fear.
But then they had all been thrown into this battle, and Cassandra had been a steady voice among the crowd, calming her through the noise and chaos. Someone to offer her encouragement as everything else screamed in her to run, a shield to defend her on the field. Cassandra was one of the few people she had felt she could trust. Even as the woman’s prisoner, Cassandra had been protective, treating her with respect despite her grief. As her companion in the Inquisition, Cassandra was devoted. Cassandra believed in her, misplaced as Vheya might feel it was.
Common purpose had brought them together. And as time went on, despite their differences, despite good sense telling her not to, she had grown attached.
They were always beside each other on the field, and Vheya often spoke to her in Skyhold, but she… was uncertain how to ever fully give voice to those thoughts. She was uncertain if she should . The sudden transition from prisoner , to herald , to leader over the past months had not left time for the distance between them to close as she wished it could. And there were far more important matters—demons to hold back, a blighted magister to face, a world to save. And everyone was looking to her for answers—answers that were more than a foolish woman’s matters of the heart.
So she continued in her business as the Inquisitor. She appreciated the warrior’s company, cherished their conversations, even as she wished for something more. Hints of her feelings would occasionally slip into her conversations with the woman—someone had to tell her how striking she was on the field, someone had to let her know how strong she was in the face of all this chaos. Cassandra was the strongest of them all, and it hurt Vheya’s heart to see how she doubted herself. And Vheya could dream, but she was content to merely be her companion. She did not want to risk losing Cassandra’s presence in her life, not when everything else around her was uncertain, when she had no idea if Cassandra would ever feel the same.
And yet, the woman was always on her mind.
Vheya stepped out into the cool air of Skyhold’s courtyard, the early morning sun shining warmly upon her skin through the chill of the mountains, as she cast her gaze out to the familiar sight of Cassandra practicing at the training grounds against the fortress wall once more. The motions soothed her, the warrior had told her, and she wanted to stay ever-sharp.
Vheya descended down the fortress steps to approach the warrior, offering short greetings and waves to the residents of Skyhold as she passed by them. She never knew them well; they never allowed her to. She was their living symbol, their Herald of Andraste , and none of Vheya’s protests would dash the starry look in their eyes—seeming always over her, never at her. They way that they immediately parted to make way for her always unnerved her.
She was grateful for the few in their inner circle who did see her, who she could feel she could be herself around—Dorian, Cole, Solas… and Cassandra.
Talking to Cassandra always seemed to ground her again. The warrior still saw her as their Herald, yes, but with her, it did not seem to separate her from her ability to be a person , too. But it seemed Cassandra may need comfort as well, this day. As she neared, she could see a slight tremble to her limbs as she moved, and more force than usual as she struck the training dummy before her. The standard signs of a worried Cassandra dealing with a problem she couldn’t hit with a sword, making targets of the training dummies instead.
So focused that she gave no reaction to the Inquisitor’s approach.
“Something on your mind?” Vheya asked, leaning against the nearby tree
Cassandra made a noise of surprise and leaped forward with her sword, shattering the training dummy before her.
“Inquisitor!” she exclaimed, voice pitched high in embarrassment. “I did not see you approaching. I apologize, I was…” she looked embarrassed to where another piece slowly slid off of her destroyed target. “Deep in thought.”
“Did that training dummy do something to offend you?” Vheya asked lightheartedly.
“No, I just… do not know how to make sense of things.” The warrior dropped her training sword, sinking to sit on the tree stump beside it with a deep sigh. It wasn’t long before her foot started tapping again. Something really was worrying her.
“Someone… else do something to offend you?”
“No! No, far from it, I…I need to gather my thoughts.” She rose again with a noise of frustration, beginning to pace back and forth. Vheya waited patiently. Cassandra had never struggled so much to say something, not that she had seen. Finally she stopped, turning towards her. The warrior woman, always so stoic and strong, was instead wringing her hands as she breathed in to speak.
“Inquisitor, if you could… walk with me for a moment?” There was a clear note of anxiety in Cassandra’s voice.
“Of course, Cassandra. Whatever you need,” she said reassuringly. She hoped whatever it was, she could help in some way.
Vheya followed the woman through the halls of Skyhold. Unconfident was never a word Vheya would have used to describe Cassandra, but nervousness clearly showed in the way she walked, how she held herself. She wondered what it could possibly be to shake the warrior so much… as a thought began to form in her mind. Her nervousness, her reaction to the Inquisitor’s appearance…
She waited for the warrior to speak, to say anything to ease the uncomfortable silence, but she only walked tensely forward. At last, Cassandra tilted her head towards the door to the battlements, opening it and gesturing her to follow.
“I was… hoping we could speak privately,” she finally said, once they stepped back out into the open air.”
“Are we not?” Vheya responded. There had been no one else on the battlements, nor in the hallway before. But she followed, keeping her voice light, even as her heart beat faster in her chest. What could it be? What needed this much privacy, what evoked this much anxiety? What could it be but…
“Right. Of course we are,” Cassandra spoke nervously, continuing to walk forward a pace. The warrior leaned against the wall to stabilize herself as she came to a stop, breathing in before she finally spoke what was on her mind.
“The… flirting,”
Cassandra spoke, facing straight ahead, before turning to meet her gaze, a question in her eyes. “With me. I’ve… noticed it,” she said, voice uncharacteristically pitched up with nerves. Vheya’s eyes widened, breathing in sharply.
“Unless it is my imagination, which is entirely possible,” Cassandra finished in a quick ramble, breaking eye contact to stare instead at the cobbled floor, the woman waiting for her response.
“No, it's… not your imagination” she answered, hope and anxiety rising in equal parts, as she stepped closer to Cassandra, a nervous smile flashing across the inquisitor’s face. She studied Cassandra’s expression, hoping, dreaming, that she might have a chance with the warrior she had been following around for all this time. But the anxiety never faded from her face, and she instead looked… pained.
A frown began to fall over the Inquisitor’s face. She quieted herself from any further explanation, and waited for Cassandra to speak.
“Inquisitor, I hope you understand I cannot return your… affection,” Cassandra said at last.
She froze, her heart sinking as the world stilled. It suddenly seemed as if the cold of the Frostback Mountains had settled in stronger at that moment, a hollow chill creeping through her bones.
“I… I understand,” she said, looking away. She did not, but that was Cassandra’s own business. She had expected it, on some level, that this was not only irrational, but impossible. Cassandra had always been focused, guarded. She should not have expected to be past that armor. “You don’t have to say any more.”
But she wondered. Was it too early? She had not been prepared to have this conversation, not yet. Had she done something wrong? Had she not communicated right, or come off wrong, or offended her in some way? Had she misjudged her? Was it that she was simply not her type? Was it… something about her?
Had she fractured their friendship by trying?
“I… think perhaps I do ,” Cassandra responded softly. “ You are the Herald of Andraste… and my leader …” the woman paused, looking her over, a sadness in her eyes.
Vheya dropped her own gaze, tightening her left hand around the cursed mark on her palm, extinguishing the faint hint of its unnatural glow, the barrier that kept her separate from the others of Skyhold. So it was that. It was always that damned mark.
If only she had never received it… but no, she couldn’t, she knew where that future led. She had to be strong, even as every day she remained the Herald seemed to take something from her.
“And a… woman.” That final piece uttered with a finality, a promise of impossibility.
Ah .
Of course. Of course that was her luck. Even beyond every other barrier, there was simply… no way for her feelings to be returned. Her shoulders sank as the weight of resignation settled over her, that last fleeting spark of hope extinguished.
“I… I take it as a compliment, truly,” Cassandra said quickly, the woman noticing the way she had deflated. Vheya blinked, forcing herself to meet her gaze again. The woman offered her a nervous smile, searching her expression nervously as well. “I hope we can remain friends.”
“Of… of course,” she breathed, pushing past the stunned silence of her rejection. “You are one of my truest friends here. I hope never to lose that.” She hoped desperately that Cassandra meant it.
She heard a sigh of relief from the warrior. “I am glad. I’ll… be back at the training grounds, if you need me.”
Vheya nodded in response, turning her gaze back out over the walls of Skyhold. She heard the click of her boots across the stone floor of the battlements, still unsteady in her steps, stopping and starting again, as Cassandra Pentaghast turned and left.
----
It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did, Cassandra thought as her footsteps echoed down the hall. She had caught the attention of suitors before. She had never been interested, eventually breaking one man’s arm to make them stop after a particularly numerous series of attempts.
Turning them down had always been easy enough. She had never cared for them, and they cared not for her, not truly. They admired only the armor she displayed, not the heart she guarded underneath. But it had been months now that she had traveled with Vheya. She had gotten to know the real her more than most, and still…
She did care for Vheya. She admired her, and always appreciated her presence. She was a wonderful friend, quick to trust Cassandra even after their rocky start, and the woman had gained her confidence in return. It hurt her heart to see her in pain, and there was so much that troubled her, when the fate of their world rested on her. She felt guilty that this time she was the source of some of her pain.
But she was only a friend. That’s all she could be.
She wished she had at least been better with her words. But that was not Cassandra’s way. She had always been better at just breaking things, rather than talking them out. But the Inquisitor was not someone she could bear to break.
It was… not the first time a woman had approached her. Others on her travels had been infatuated with the warrior. Something about her seemed to give people the idea. But they didn’t know her. Couldn’t have. She was not just the warrior, not just the armor. Underneath, she longed for the ideal fairytale romance, of poetry and candles and flowers, of a strong man to sweep her off her feet. She wanted someone she was not just the warrior to, someone that would make her feel the way the protagonists of her favored romance novels felt.
Not that anyone ever could, one such rejected comrade had once accused her. You make an ideal no one can reach so you never have to take the risk, and present yourself so that no one could ever guess. Sounds like a good way to never have to be with anyone. Good luck, then.
But she wasn’t cold, as others had said. She did want to love. With every page of her novels she turned, she wished so badly that she could live that experience. Maybe it was unrealistic, given the life she lived, but one day, surely, someone would come. Someone with whom it would feel right. She would not settle for less.
But as she thought to her conversation with the Inquisitor, something in her had wanted to turn back. To say what, she did not know. She had to force herself to continue walking before she did something foolish.
Did the Inquisitor like her for more? She would not know. She had shut her down too quickly.
Did she want to know? Perhaps she did. She… was flattered to know her friend had thought of her that way. Surely she wanted to hear what she said to… to know what others would see. Others who were possible. Others who were not the elven woman she had traveled alongside for the past months. Certainly.
Would she have had a chance with Vheya? In the way that she wanted?
But she could not want that. Even if it weren’t for the matter of her gender, she was still the Inquisitor. She was her Herald and her leader.
Cassandra was devout; the other woman was not. Cassandra was human; Vheya a Dalish elf. Cassandra was a warrior, Vheya a mage. She could come up with any number of reasons why she shouldn’t, why the two of them would be impossible.
And yet, she had the strange thought that she could come up with even more why she would want to, if she left her mind to it.
So she simply wouldn’t let herself think about it. She returned to the training grounds, picking up her practice sword and focusing her attention on a new target. She looked regretfully to the training dummy she had shattered previously; she would have to report the damage and request a replacement. It had not been the first time she had taken out her aggravation and anxieties too harshly on the stuffed bundles of cloth.
She was disciplined; she was unwavering. These thoughts would not shake her.
And she hoped, prayed , that the Inquisitor would continue to visit her.