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It… It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this.
The Inquisition already had Orlais ready to chain it, Ferelden ready to dismantle it, but this? Antaam, eluvians, dragons, death and more death…
Adaar’s mark ripping her love apart.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Nights in Orlais, dancing and sharing kisses in moonlight. Plays Adaar is trying for Josephine's sake. Holding each other close while all they had to worry about was the political aspects. Where she and Adaar, surrounded by reuniting friends, could have a second more time.
Instead Josephine stands at the doorway of their room, watching Adaar peel off her Inquisition uniform and pull the top of her antaam-saar around her chest. A deep red against the pink, her lover’s favorite colors.
Normally, Josephine wouldn’t pay any mind to it. Adaar’s usual lack of boundaries often meant alone in their room, her love bare was a common enough sight. But now Josephine drinks everything in: the simple knots of the top that will be overlooked by Adaar’s dar-saam, the gentle way she adds her stave’s holdings, even how Adaar does her hair in a neater bun and checks if the metal caps on her horns remain.
As horrifying as this may seem, it felt... Like of Josephine just watched, maybe time would freeze. She and Adaar wouldn't be torn apart.
Again.
Years ago, against Corypheus, it was a panic. A swift kiss to her cheek before Josephine was alone. No time to think, worry. Just waiting for her lover to slay a god. Hoping, but insisting on preparing for the worst. It’s hard to tell which feels harsher now. The quick fall to waiting, or standing at the edge ready to plummet.
A soft voice, even as green flickers across the walls. “Josie?”
Josephine blinks. “Yes, my darling?”
The mark calms, and now Adaar’s face turns neutral. “Can you help me with my dar-saam?”
For a second, she nearly asks if it's the mark. Pain and confusion and fire and mana.
But it’s the look in her love’s eyes, that soft blue in agony not from pain, but sorrow. Maybe she’s taking in a final glance as well.
Funerary rites already singing in her head, of Leliana’s right of Divine allowing Adaar peace as they let her soul rest in the fade. Either the Viddasala, or the mark.
“Of course,” she responds, hoping the mourning is out of her voice. Adaar’s face crumbling isn’t a good indication.
She walks forwards anyways, nearly sitting in Adaar’s lap as she grabs the rope and begins her work. A mindful, helpless hum.
It was a simple enough task. Josephine was taught the dar-saam techniques Adaar used, the small hand moments that make it just tight enough. Something to keep her mind off stressing, to keep her head clear and prepared. But that was more for comfort, never quite for battle. That Adaar’s letting her do it now…
Trying not to think about it, close your wary eyes as the last knot is tied. Josephine pulls herself out of the way, just enough room for Adaar to flex her arms. Check and recheck.
A kiss to the forehead. “Thank you, Josie.”
“It was no problem,” she sniffles, “my love.” My love, my lady, my Asaara. Whispered on one careless breath, head held high in faux confidence.
The two remain relatively silent as Adaar applies her vitaar. Red wyvern scales against gray skin, a familiar sight. Against Corypheus, Samson, the Orlesian court, the Wardens. Yet each time Josephine sees it, literal poisoned armor, her heart melts.
That is her love.
Josephine clenches her fists, pulling at the golden gloves around her hands. She managed to find love, happiness against all odds. Assassins and duels, and what does this life could be without the pain and planned cruelty Josephine has tried so desperately to get. To finally comprehend.
Crying, she knows, must be saved until after Adaar’s through the eluvian. Has to hold herself life the Lady of House Montilyet should, will. The ambassador, chief diplomat of the Inquisition.
For both their sakes.
“How,” Adaar spins to her, placing her stave on her back, “do I look?”
“Perfect.” Without a moment’s hesitation. What good is hesitation now?
So bright and so darling.
Adaar raises a hand and waits for Josephine’s. Her right hand. “Walk me to the eluvian?” Smiling weak and strained.
And Josephine’s sure hers is just as, if not more. “Of course.”
They danced in these halls years ago. Josephine had taken Adaar’s hand just like that. Leading a dance across the stairs. They interlock their fingers, tighten their grip. It feels like Josephine is leading the dance this time.
Wide, empty palace halls. Cold and dark, with the moonlight keeping things illuminated enough. Each time they pass a window, the metal trinkets Josephine wears and the ends of Adaar’s horns catch the light. A silver sliver.
Josephine leans into Adaar’s bicep. She leans back, her lips curled into a soft smile. Just for her, just for Josie. Her Josie.
How used to that face she had gotten… For the moments when her face hardens, that mask of the Inquisitor falls over Adaar’s, it is Josephine who notices the uncanniness of the two extremes.
When they reach the ground floor, that is when Adaar turns into the dread Inquisitor. Though she continues to lean against Josephine, she straightens out. When the mark sparks, nothing waves. She only clutches her fist and allows the fade to flow through her veins. That smile unraveled, head and chin held up.
“There’s no need to put on a brave face yet,” Josephine whispers, the hypocrite she is.
We saved Ferelden, and they’re angry. We save Orlais and they’re angry!
But Adaar shakes her head, small movements. Confident in how secure she is pretending to be.
“If I appear weak, the others fall into place. You and Leliana taught me that,” she says as they cross the entrance. Wishing good nights to guards and Inquisition members alike. Unaware, unafraid. Not having to face the haunting they do. “I need to be strong for them. I need to be fine.”
A trembling admission, scared and tired. There always seemed to be bags under their eyes, Leliana noted once. Once, you couldn’t see it on the Inquisitor’s face. That you can now is less than pleasing.
That she refuses to understand that is even more so.
“I am not fine,” Josephine admits traitorously, tongue loose with her unfortunate honesty. Tightening the hold, hoping to never let go.
Life without her love, life without one of her best friends. Life and death, and even if the Inquisition wins and gets to remain another day, Adaar might not.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be.”
Something already defeated in her tone, but accepting. Readying for another storm, to stand strong against the currents again. For them, the ones Adaar loves.
Josephine kisses her bicep. Over a scar she gained fighting Venatori.
When they reach the room Cullen’s men placed the eluvian in, Adaar makes a sudden stop right outside its doorway. She doesn't have to force Josephine to stop right along with her. From her vantage point Josephine can see Cole adjusting his hat, Vivienne setting her headpiece just right, and Dorian helping the Iron Bull with his harness.
Her hand is tugged. Once, twice. She almost calls it cowardness, the fear of seeing her lover in pain while she should be comforting her.
Josephine looks up. Adaar’s eyes have a familiar glassy sheen, and her eyes shimmer like fragments of silverite.
“I love you, asala.” Whispered in a rough voice. Like a secret, just for the two of them to know. Let the world hang, if only for a second more…
Because I love you!
Now she sobs. “I love you too.”
There can’t be a kiss, not with the poison that Adaar wears. So instead, her lover pulls her close. Bracing herself against the vashoth’s chest, embraced in pure warmth and love.
Never wanting to let go. Tighter and tighter yet.
“If… If I,” Adaar starts, before shivering. Then, more stern, confident, “When I get back, I’m going to get you roses.”
It startles a small laugh out of Josephine. “Roses?”
“I said I’d get you roses or compose a ballad, but I’m not Maryden. So, roses. A garland or crown even.” A sniffle. “I’m sorry it took so long to get them.”
Josephine only buries herself deeper into her chest. Taking her heart and soul with her, protected by bone and mana. “I’ll wait as long as you need, darling.” So long as you come back.
She isn’t ready for when Adaar pulls back, when she raises her stave and gives the inner circle what could be her final command. But now it’s her turn again. To once again lead the charge.
Once again, all Josephine can do is hope and wait.
She's tired.