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I.
Ariadne sits in Josephine’s office, on the little ledge along the wall, and listens to the ambassador discuss politics. Though Cora only pulled her into the politics and details of her own game a few months before Ariadne left for Kirkwall, it’s a familiar topic and strangely comforting, even if the players are different. Josephine’s voice is smooth and calming, like the ocean sun on a midsummer’s day, and Ariadne can almost forget that they’re in a windowless stone room inside a Chantry high in the Frostbacks.
Almost. The room is dark and claustrophobic, and she counts no fewer than five spiders crawling up the rough stone walls. The urge to point her finger and shoot fiery sparks at them until they burn to a crisp and fall to the floor is strong, but she resists. The spiders aren’t anywhere near her, and Josephine doesn’t seem like someone who’s prone to screeching about spiders (unless they are very big, or in her hair, and these are neither), so she leaves them to their crawling.
She effortlessly dodges Josephine’s question about templars - my Circle’s First Enchanter and Knight Commander were very protective, it’s an evasion, and an obvious one, but Josephine does not pry - and tells what she knows of the truth about her family. She researched it for one of Bertram’s lessons when she was a teenager. There were noble Trevelyans in the Free Marches, but they fell from grace years before she was born.
She suggests Josephine look to the Circle - or what’s left of it - and passes along six names: three First Enchanters, and three Knight Commanders. They’re scattered to the wind now, certainly, if they even made it out alive, but they were leaders and had influence; though their plans for rebellion are long shattered by an explosion in a Chantry, the Inquisition could use what remnants they can find. After a moment’s hesitation, she gives Josephine a few more names, less for the Inquisition and more for herself.
Cullen told her about Ostwick, but the last he heard was a year and a half ago. She’s not heard a thing about Wycome, nor found anyone who has. All she can do is hope.
Josephine seems to catch the quiet shake in Ariadne’s voice when she speaks the names of her friends, and she looks up from writing to give her a soft smile. “I will do what I can,” she promises, and that is all Ariadne can ask of her.
II.
Josephine’s reading from her board as she walks into her office and makes it all the way to her desk before Ariadne fidgets enough that her armor clanks, drawing Josephine out of her focus. She stops, blinks, and carefully sets her board and lit candle down on her desk. “Lady Trevelyan, this is…unexpected,” she says, tilting her head at Ariadne sitting beside the fire. “Was there anything you needed?”
“I’m hiding from Solas,” Ariadne says, a little sheepish. She’s a grown woman who shouldn’t still be hiding from people who argue with her; but Solas was persistent, and the urge to light his pants on fire was rapidly growing too strong to ignore, and so she left to hide. There are loads of places in Haven that she could hide without truly hiding, places that make far more sense than her ambassador’s office: her cabin, sparring with the soldiers, the corner of the Chantry with Vivienne, in the tavern with Sera, any number of places that Solas wouldn’t dare tread his bare toes to find her.
But she’s chosen here, with Josephine. There’s a gentle tug in her chest, a tug she’s only felt once before and when she was much younger - a tug that pulls her closer and closer to Josephine each day.
She’s been choosing Josephine’s office quite a bit lately.
Josephine’s face remains expressionless, but she lifts an eyebrow. “Should I ask why?”
Slowly, Ariadne exhales. “He is…vocally unhappy that I conscripted the mages. I told him that if he wants differently, he should figure out how to take the Mark for himself. Then he can be Herald of Andraste, and everyone will care what he thinks.”
Mirth begins to creep across Josephine’s face and she bites her lip, keeping a grin from turning into a smile. “I doubt he appreciated that sentiment.”
“He started cursing in elvhen. I gather we will not become friends.” She quirks an eyebrow, sporting a small grin of her own. She is not disappointed with this fact, the undeniable reality that she and Solas will never venture beyond mostly civil in public. An unpleasant itch starts between her shoulders every time they speak.
Josephine allows the grin to grow into a full smile as she sits down behind her desk. “It is good that you have other friends, then.”
Josephine’s smile is a balm for the itch, and though she abandoned Solas for Josephine’s office hours ago, Ariadne’s shoulders finally begin to relax.
She hesitates, and then leaps. “You should count yourself among them, Ambassador Montilyet.”
The tug pulls a little stronger when Josephine looks up at her, and all her ambassadorial masks are gone. It’s only Josephine, with warm brown eyes and a soft smile.
“I do,” she says.
III.
Ariadne bends down and brushes her lips against Josephine’s. The kiss is quick, fleeting, but long enough for Ariadne to learn that Josephine’s lip balm tastes of apples and cloves, that Josephine makes a quiet squeak when she’s surprised, and that she would very much like to kiss Josephine again.
She isn’t entirely sure what possessed her to kiss her ambassador - with the door open, no less. While she trudges through the Fallow Mire, listening to Dorian complain about Southerners and their aptly-named geography, she tries to figure it out. It’s only when her boot sticks so firmly in the muck that she nearly sprawls face-first into the murky, undead-filled swamp that she gives up.
Bull catches her, his hand on her shoulder, with a “You okay, boss?”
She nods, because she is, she’s just distracted. She bends down, grasps the top of her boot with both hands, and yanks. Her foot comes free with a squelch, and she miraculously doesn’t lose her balance and sprawl ass-first into the murky, undead-filled swamp. Bull helps with that, too, and he stares at her, his eye squinting in a way she’s come to understand means I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but you’re thinking about it too hard.
She kissed Josephine because she wanted to. It is as simple as that.
When they return, and she’s had a proper bath and ensured that no more swamp exists beneath her fingernails or between her toes, she knocks on Josephine’s door. She enters when Josephine acknowledges her, and pushes the door shut behind her.
Josephine looks up from writing her letter, and a smile dances at the corner of her lips. Any thoughts Ariadne had about apologizing for the kiss disappear when the smile grows a little, and she sees the sparkle in Josephine’s eyes.
“Hi,” Ariadne says.
“Hello,” Josephine says. She caps her inkwell and rises from her desk to stand in front of Ariadne.
Ariadne knows that this isn’t like the Circle - finding closets, pretending to study in the other’s room before lights out, holding hands below the table and hoping no one notices. There’s an order to these things, an order to someone like Josephine Montilyet. An order that involves proper courtship, public announcements, and possibly a letter to her father before even a hand is held.
But Josephine hesitantly reaches up and curls her hand around the back of Ariadne’s neck. She lifts up on her toes and presses her lips to Ariadne’s.
Ariadne smiles into the kiss and settles her arms around Josephine’s waist.
There may be an order to these things, but it seems neither of them are interested.
IV.
Josephine pulls her behind a column, into an empty alcove, away from the frightened crowd gathered in the Chantry. She cups Ariadne’s cheek, and brushes away a smudge of soot with her thumb. “Please be safe,” she whispers. She stands on her toes and kisses Ariadne’s cheek, and sets her heels on the floor again.
With a nod, she steps away, intending to let Ariadne return to the business of the dragon and red templars outside. But Ariadne’s hand catches hers, and tugs her back behind the column into a fierce, desperate hug. Ariadne’s embrace is warm and soft, even with her metal armor between them. As Josephine wraps her own arms around Ariadne’s waist, she tries not to think about the reasons for why Ariadne smells like scorched earth, or why the back of her armor is tacky with drying blood that isn’t hers.
And then suddenly Ariadne’s lips are on hers, a deep kiss, a passionate kiss, an I have to fight a dragon but I’ll still be worried about you walking away in the snow kiss. Josephine returns the kiss with everything she has inside of her, and prays to the Maker that this won’t be the last time.
When they pull away, they’re both breathless.
“You too,” Ariadne whispers.
V.
Ariadne returns from the Western Approach mildly sunburnt. “It’s not as bad as it was,” she says, when Josephine lightly coasts a finger across her bare arm in concern.
Josephine well knows that there’s a week and a half of travel between the Western Approach and Skyhold; if her skin is still this pink after ten days, she imagines Ariadne looked something not dissimilar to a tomato when they started back. She doesn’t say so, though, only smiles and nods and carefully rests her head on Ariadne’s shoulder.
The garden is mostly empty this time of day, when the sun starts to dip below the mountains and the light turns dusky purple and the air chills just a little too much. But Ariadne is warm enough beside her, and she rests her arm around Josephine’s shoulders. There’s still business to attend to, visiting ambassadors and nobility that expect an audience with the Inquisitor at dinner, but for now they have this moment to themselves.
Josephine closes her eyes, and settles closer into Ariadne’s side. She feels Ariadne’s lips on her forehead, and smiles. What she feels for the woman beside her could fill ten of Varric’s novels, though they’ve only known each other a few short months; a new chapter begins nearly every day, with words even stronger and more passionate than yesterday’s.
After dinner, and after dessert and drinks and seemingly-endless political discussions, Ariadne catches Josephine on the stairs, when Josephine’s on her way up to her own room. She startles at the hand on her elbow - she’ll never understand how someone as tall as Ariadne makes so little noise. Ariadne’s apology takes the form of a small smile.
“I was wondering,” she says, and then pauses and steps aside, allowing Leliana to pass. She watches the stairs even after Leliana has turned a corner, and waits a few more minutes once they’re alone again.
Josephine can’t hold back her smile at Ariadne’s caution - Inquisitor or no, Leliana would not hesitate to throw her off the roof if she said or did anything untoward.
“I was wondering,” she continues quietly, “if you would perhaps…join me. In my quarters. Tonight.” She makes a face at how awkward her words come out, and it only makes Josephine’s heart grow even fonder.
“I would love to,” she says. A thousand and one reasons not to immediately fill her mind, but she pushes them all aside.
She wants to spend the night with Ariadne, and that is what matters.
VI.
Ariadne braces her arms, hovering over Josephine. Her hair falls in a curtain of red around them as she smiles down at her lover, naked and eager below her. They’ve been sleeping together for two months now, and the tug is even more urgent, more of a pull, nearly dragging her as she runs and tries to keep up with her heart. She slides her bare leg against Josephine’s.
Josephine reaches up and tucks Ariadne’s hair back behind her ear. Her fingertips are electric on Ariadne’s skin, and Ariadne turns her head, presses a kiss against Josephine’s palm. Slowly, she lowers herself down; her own breath hitches when her nipples brush against Josephine’s breasts. Josephine arches up to meet her, but Ariadne stills, holding herself just out of reach - she pauses with their lips only a breath apart.
A moment passes, and she ducks her head, claiming Josephine’s lips in a passionate kiss.
She feels more than hears Josephine’s moan, and she smiles as she deepens the kiss. Josephine’s hips press up into hers and Ariadne slides one hand across Josephine’s soft stomach, past the curve of her hips, down between her legs - she’s been teasing Josephine long enough tonight.
The words are there, right there: I love you. They’re on her lips as she kisses Josephine, on her fingertips as she slides them through short curls to Josephine’s center, on her hand as she cups Josephine’s cheek. Every inch of her skin that touches Josephine sings with I love you.
But she doesn’t say them. It’s been years since she felt this way and she’s terrified beyond words. It’s a good terrified, not at all like what she felt in the Fade, but it is enough to keep the words where they are.
So she makes love to Josephine, shows the I love you with her body, and doesn’t say anything - for now.
VII.
Josephine asks, and Ariadne tells her of what happened at Ostwick.
She feels scratched raw afterward, hurting from old, poorly-healed wounds scraped open again. She shivers, fragile as she’s ever been, like if the wind blows just the wrong way, she’ll shatter into pieces.
But Josephine’s arms are warm around her, strong and solid for her. Ariadne leans into Josephine’s caring embrace, rests her head on Josephine’s shoulder, and lets herself be held.
VIII.
Josephine asks, and Ariadne tells her of what happened at Ostwick.
The only thing she wants to do, the only thing she can do, is hold Ariadne tight, and so she does. Ariadne’s breath shakes and Josephine hugs her even tighter. She cannot erase the pain Ariadne feels, cannot make it go away, cannot make it have never happened, though she so desperately wants to.
This is not a moment for words - and Josephine has none, not for this, none that would not sound hollow even though she means them with all her heart - and so she presses a kiss to Ariadne’s temple, and hopes that her arms are enough.
IX.
What she’ll remember later is not the roar of the crowd, or the excited tension in the air, or even Lord Otranto’s face as he recognized he was tangling with genuine love.
What she’ll remember later is Ariadne’s face as she caught the rapier: a slow, confident smirk as she realized that her opponent had not done his own research, that he was giving a blade to a woman who’s been a full Knight Enchanter for nearly the last decade. She’ll remember Ariadne’s squared shoulders and the way she attacked - quick and decisive, action instead of reaction.
She’ll remember that Ariadne did this for her, that she was willing to fight a stranger in public, willing to risk harm to herself, for the right to stand by her side. She’ll remember the way Ariadne cast the rapier aside afterward, clattering forgotten on the stones, and strode toward her to kiss her, in front of everyone, passionate and full of love. She’ll remember dipping backward just a little, and not being afraid or the least bit off-balance; she’ll remember Ariadne’s arm strong and steady around her waist.
Josephine won’t remember being angry or worried or a little embarrassed.
She’ll remember Ariadne’s smile when she picked her up and twirled her around, and how right this all felt.
X.
Corypheus is slain and the Breach is sealed, for good this time.
They’ve long abandoned the party downstairs for the privacy of Ariadne’s quarters. Their own celebration was far more intimate and private, full of quiet kisses and soft caresses as they undressed each other, whispers of love and joy against their skin as they tumbled into the unmade bed. Ariadne traced paths between the delicate freckles on Josephine’s arms, and Josephine mapped the lines of Ariadne’s long legs, and they made love slowly, without any ounce of the urgency once brought on by the end of the world on the horizon.
And now, wrapped in blankets, they sit cuddled together on the balcony, watching the sun rise. Wind blows through their tousled hair and across their bare shoulders, but Ariadne strengthens her warming spell and neither of them are cold.
“I love you,” Ariadne whispers as the sun finally crests over the mountains. It isn’t the first time she’s said it, but it feels no less perfect than when she’d first said the three words aloud to Josephine. She hugs Josephine tighter, and brushes a gentle kiss against her shoulder.
Josephine smiles and rests her hands atop Ariadne’s clasped across her stomach. She rubs her thumb across the back of Ariadne’s hand and turns her head for a kiss. “I love you, too.”