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“I do not know why you are leading us this way, Taashath,” said Cassandra suspiciously. “And why you bade the others to stay behind.” He grinned a little, making sure she could not see him. Often on their expeditions away from Skyhold she still referred to him as Inquisitor when she was with the others, though all of them had teased her thoroughly by now about their relationship. Old habits seemed to die hard, which was why any time a Taashath did slip out, he cherished it.
He turned back to her, holding out a hand. He marveled sometimes at how small, yet powerful, her hands were. He suspected instead of bone and sinew she was built of iron and steel – except for the places where she was deliciously soft, of course. Her grip on his hand was welcome and more familiar every day.
“I told you,” he said, adjusting his pack with his other hand as he led them forward. “There’s some old Chantry ruins up ahead. I was thinking you might know what they are.”
“And you need your lute to investigate them, is that it?” She chuckled. “Besides, I am a warrior, not a scholar. I will be of little help.” Her eyes twinkled. It was obvious she knew he was up to something. He did not mind.
“My favorite warrior,” said Taashath. He pulled her into the shade beneath a towering pine, the green scent mingling with the brightness of crystal grace and the sharpness of embrium.
“Why have we stopped?” she asked, her voice rough and low, her lips turning up at the edges.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I needed to kiss you.” He bent to meet her, mouth opening, lips firm against hers, arms wrapping around her. It was not their first kiss, not nearly, now; but if it did not possess the excitement of the unknown, it made up for it with the pleasure of knowing the steps. They fit together better every day.
Cassandra reluctantly pulled away, trying and failing to keep the grin from her face. “Now who is the romantic?”
“What can I say?” said Taashath. “You’ve been a good influence on me. Maybe you’ll make a gentleman of me yet.”
Her giggle transformed into one of those endearing snorts as she tapped him, hard, on the shoulder. Sometimes she truly did not know her own strength. “We shall see. Come then. Where are these supposed ruins, my dear?”
“Just past these trees,” he said. He led her on the narrow path through clusters of pine and alder, until they emerged into a secluded clearing nestled against the base of a cliff. A brook flowed peacefully away from them as the low afternoon sunlight sparkled on a narrow waterfall cascading down the cliffside. It was peaceful, here; he could almost imagine this part of the Hinterlands had never known war, had never been touched.
The sound of the running water would make a lovely background accompaniment. He brought his lute down from where he had slung it over his back.
“And where are the Chantry ruins?” asked Cassandra, crossing her arms and attempting to hide the pleased look on her face.
“’Then did I see the world spread before me, sky-reaching mountains arrayed as a crown, kingdoms like jewels, glistering gemstones, strung ‘cross the earth as a necklace of pearl’,” quoted Taashath.
Cassandra went very still. “You are reading the Chant?” she asked quietly. “But you do not believe in the Maker.”
Taashath shrugged, sitting down on a wide, flat rock. She sat beside him. “I don’t, that’s true. But I’m open to learning about it. Been looking into it, since we first got to Skyhold. People might call me Inquisitor now, but I know I’m still the Herald to a lot of folks.” He leaned toward her, kissing her on the cheek. “I started reading it a little more seriously after you and I… Let’s just say that verse reminded me of this place. I thought you might like to see it.” His fingers played over the strings of his lute, simple chords as his hands warmed up. “Andraste was a song-weaver, right? I can understand that part of it.”
The way she looked at him… if he could fix that in a song, capture that beauty, that wonder, the light in her eyes… if he could get that down, he thought he could die feeling pretty damn good.