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"It's a nice morning," says the girl whose name Marian Hawke can't quite remember. "What if we ordered breakfast?"
Hawke blinks. It's not that she objects to mornings, so much as she objects to people being chatty with her when she's not even awake yet. "This is why you don't let them spend the night, Marian," she mutters to herself.
"What was that?" the girl asks. Danna? Davina? Something with a D, or maybe a P. Demons take breakfast, Hawke needs a tonic for her headache.
"Nothing," Hawke replies and rolls out of bed. She doesn't miss the girl's appreciative look at her bare body. "Listen, I have a lot to do today. Don't actually have time for breakfast." She pulls on her clothes, then starts working on her armor. "But feel free to stay here and have breakfast on me."
"That's no fun, Marian," the girl pouts.
"Sorry, sweets. Duty calls," she says. What she doesn't say is that if the girl had woken her up with her mouth doing anything other than talking, they'd probably still be in bed. Even with - no, especially with - the hangover she's nursing.
She double-checks for all her things and backs out the door with a wave and a smile. Downstairs, she has a quick word with the innkeeper about the breakfast and steps out into the sunshine. "Ugh," she says, shielding her eyes. Everything in Cumberland is just so...bright and shiny. At least Kirkwall has enough dirt and grime to lower the impact of the sun. She shakes her head. She's not going back to Kirkwall. At least not yet. Still, she needs to find a place to sit out this hangover in peace and quiet. Maker, what she'd give for the Chantry garden in Kirkwall.
She clenches her jaw and keeps walking. The Cumberland Chantry would do in a pinch, but it's not quite right and she's in no mood to have to dodge any well-meaning sisters. Perhaps the guard-captain on duty will let her perforate a straw dummy somewhere on the training grounds. Or let her hide in the battlements somewhere. It's worth a try, anyway. Better than standing in the sun in the middle of all this noise.
She changes direction and heads for the barracks. "Hawke," the woman at the gate says, and nods her through. The quartermaster lends her a shortbow and a quiver of arrows without a single question. (Hawke also hates Cumberland's ban on civilian weapons. It's even more irritating than the sun.)
"This is why it pays to be friendly with the Guard," Hawke says once she's well inside. And yes, she's talking to herself again. She sighs. She just needs to find a quiet place to sit for a while. Maybe find some water to drink.
The training yard is already bustling, but no one really pays her much mind when she fills a pitcher at the well. She drinks down as much as she can before she starts feeling a bit queasy, and then goes for the side door that leads up to the battlements. She knows just the spot to sit and at this time of day, it will be shaded by the tower above it.
When she gets settled, she remembers the girl in her room. She'd been good enough in bed the night before. At least, up to Hawke's drunken standards. Isabela, were she here, would laugh at the idea of "Hawke" and "standards" appearing in the same sentence. Still, she'd come hard with a mouth on her tits and fingers on her clit, so she isn't sure what else she was supposed to want from the encounter with...Darla! That was her name. Andraste's tits, Hawke is bad at this. Hopefully the girl didn't stick around for a round two. It really is too bad she'd come at Hawke all chatty. She'd much rather be in bed with a head between her legs.
Ah, well.
She plucks an arrow from her quiver and spins it idly between her fingers. She misses her own equipment, but it's locked away in a storage vault with the bulk of her belongings because Cumberland has a stick up its ass. She supposes keeping sharp on borrowed equipment is good practice. Eventually, of course, this means she'll have to actually practice instead of sulk.
She closes her eyes. Just a few more minutes of sitting. Then she'll get off her arse.
*
Eventually she makes it to the practice yards, and sinks arrow after arrow into straw men until the sun starts making its way back down. It's then she realizes that she is completely famished. Maybe she'll try the Diamond Lass tonight. Whenever Varric complained about Cumberland being boring, he never mentioned the dwarven area of the city, the Dragons' Den. Probably because his relationship with other dwarves is…fraught, and the Dragons' Den is designed to make you feel like you're underground. Still, it's definitely not boring down there. Hawke needs the right proportion of not boring to not actually dangerous, these days. It's such a disappointment. When it comes to her, most things are a disappointment anymore. She's getting used to it.
It started - no, Weisshaupt was just the latest in a long line, really. At least Weisshaupt hadn't been entirely her fault. Everything else…well.
She needs a drink. Time to visit the dwarves.
She turns in her borrowed equipment and leaves the barracks, turning in the direction of the Dragons' Den. Behind her, someone says, "Champion?" Hawke stops and sighs. The voice is familiar. She turns.
"Lady Seeker."
"What are you doing in Cumberland of all places?" Cassandra asks.
Hawke laughs and hopes it doesn't sound too bitter. "Taking a sabbatical."
"Is that so?" Cassandra says dryly.
"Mm," Hawke says. "The only people I fight now are idiots in taverns who think challenging the Champion of Kirkwall is the best idea they've ever had."
"Does this happen often?" Cassandra asks. Hawke can't quite tell if her expression is amusement or dismay.
"Often enough to be notable," Hawke replies. "What are you doing in Cumberland?"
"Meeting with the Grand Enchanter," Cassandra replies.
"And how is the lovely Fiona?" Hawke asks.
"Still trying very hard to make amends," Cassandra says with a sigh.
Hawke nods. She knows how that goes. Hopefully the Grand Enchanter is more successful than she was. "I hope I'm not keeping you from something important," Hawke says.
"Not...particularly. I'm done with what I needed to do for the day," she replIes. Hawke looks her up and down.
"Hungry?"
"I was just going to go find dinner, actually," Cassandra says.
"Want some company, Seeker?"
She smiles, and Hawke takes a step closer. "I would like that. I do not know many people here."
"I had a place in mind...you game?"
"Lead the way," Cassandra says.
Hawke smiles. She feels strangely relieved. It will be nice to spend time with someone she's familiar with. "I see they let you keep your weapons. Apparently being Champion of another city isn't enough for the city guard."
"It helps when your blade is sworn to the service of the Maker," Cassandra says dryly.
"That's all right, they let me practice in their yard and use their equipment, so I suppose I'll forgive them," she says with a smile.
"I caught the end of your practice, actually," Cassandra tells her.
"Am I keeping my form?" Hawke asks. "It's weird not having moving targets."
"Your form is quite good," Cassandra replies.
"Oh good," Hawke says. "I mean, I like to think so, but you never know." Belatedly, she shoots another look at Cassandra. The Seeker can be hard to read, and in someone else's mouth that might have been flirting. At most, she has a slight smile on her face.
Cassandra, on the surface, is not enigmatic at all. She's famously, uncomfortably blunt. But there are plenty of things she keeps beneath the surface. Hawke has spent enough time with the woman while trying to help with Corypheus and the Wardens to learn some of her tells, but not enough.
Hawke's problem - one of many - is that she likes to know things. It's a thing that has gotten her in trouble more than once, and it will again. "So, Seeker," she says. "Aside from seeing the Grand Enchanter..."
"Yes?" Cassandra replies, a delicate brow raised.
"What have you been up to?" she asks. "Anything fun since you helped save the world?"
"I've read a few good books," Cassandra says.
"Varric's been busy since he got back to Kirkwall," Hawke says proudly.
Cassandra snorts gently. "I can only imagine."
"Anyway, reading is all well and good, but surely you've seen friends or something," Hawke says.
"When I can. They have scattered far from Skyhold," Cassandra murmurs.
Hawke sighs. "I know the feeling."
"I have seen the letters you sent the Inquisitor," Cassandra replies.
"Oh?" Hawke says. "I'm sure they're rather dull reading."
"Do you not want to discuss your journey to Weisshaupt?" Cassandra asks.
"I…have a long list of things I'd rather do than that, but if you think it necessary," Hawke says.
"It is merely my curiosity," Cassandra replies, her chin jutting in a way that doesn't look much like curiosity.
"It was not a pleasant trip," Hawke tells her with a sigh. "From beginning to end."
"I suppose not." Cassandra follows docilely enough as Hawke turns into the Dragons' Den.
"I've seen enough Darkspawn to last two lifetimes and the Anderfels are the worst place I've ever been," Hawke says. "Let's leave it at that, for now." The market is closing up for the night and she can hear bargaining coming hard and fast from the few shops still open. She should have come earlier. It reminds her of home. Of course, if she really wanted to be reminded of home she could go home.
Actually, it reminds her a lot of the Merchant's Guild, which is exactly why Varric hates it, she's sure. She turns down a narrow street toward the Diamond Lass. The level of noise and the number of people around increases as they get closer. She eyes Cassandra to gauge her reaction. She seems more intrigued than anything, which Hawke counts as a win. She might be more than Hawke's initial impression of her, after all.
Cassandra stays close as they push through the crowd outside and into the tavern. They find a somewhat secluded corner table and Hawke flags down a serving girl. "Beer?" she asks Cassandra, expecting a no.
"Please," Cassandra says. "And whatever the dinner special is."
"Two," Hawke says.
Hawke studies Cassandra some more as she looks around the tavern. She's far lovelier than Hawke remembers. Maybe it's the light, or maybe Hawke had been somewhat distracted during her time with the Inquisition. Or maybe she'd let Varric's first impressions color hers. Entirely possible. It probably didn't help that Cassandra was…rather angry at Varric when she first arrived at Skyhold. She never saw the woman except when she was scowling in Varric's direction.
Hawke...is a rogue. A hired gun. Always has been, probably always will be. The Seeker is a warrior. She's actually rather breathtaking. She probably has more faith and purpose in her thumb than Hawke has in her whole body.
She realizes she's staring. Cassandra doesn't seem to notice, though, and their beer comes to distract both of them. There's something - she would be hard-pressed to call it music, precisely, but it's happening in another room of the tavern. It's more...rhythm. Hawke thinks she likes it. She lifts her crystal goblet and takes a long sip before looking at the ice rune on the side.
"This is incredible," she murmurs.
Cassandra nods. "Very clever."
"I wonder if Sandal and Bodahn know about this. They could make a fortune selling this kind of thing to rich Orlesians," Hawke says.
"And not so rich, perhaps? Everyone likes a cold drink," Cassandra replies.
"True enough," Hawke says with a smile.
"Is this your next step, Hawke? Inventing things?"
Hawke laughs. "I don't think I have the patience to invent things. I might write Bodahn about this, though. If they're still in Orlais." She sighs and takes another drink. Bodahn and Sandal planned to leave anyway, but that doesn't stop her from wishing she hadn't mucked everything up. "What's your next step, Seeker?" Hawke asks.
"You may call me Cassandra if you like," Cassandra replies.
Hawke feels more pleased at that than she probably should. "Cassandra. I'd say you could call me Marian, but so few people actually call me that, I might not answer if you said it." She grins. "Or are you just avoiding my question?"
"I am attempting to rebuild the Seekers of Truth after everything that has happened. It is...slow going," she says with a sigh. "And often frustrating."
"You look like a woman who gets results, Cassandra," Hawke tells her.
"I am," she replies bluntly. "Except when I'm not. I'm sure Varric can tell you all about that."
"He's the best at what he does," Hawke laughs. "Don't feel badly. Even the most irresistible force sometimes turns on a stone." She winks. "Yes, I did just call you irresistible."
Cassandra's mouth opens and she closes it again as her cheeks turn delightfully pink. Andraste's tits, it's adorable. Hawke practically claps in delight.
"I...thank you. I think," Cassandra finally says. She looks incredibly relieved when the serving girl brings their food.
Hawke smirks, feeling back in control of the situation. "You're ever so welcome."
They start eating, but Hawke can't stop watching Cassandra. She completely understands why Varric enjoyed goading her. She's just so earnest. Hawke can't remember the last time she herself was - if she ever was. Maybe back in Lothering before everything changed. Mostly, she had Bethany for that, though. Thank the maker Bethany is back with the Wardens in Orlais and not anywhere near Weisshaupt.
That starts her on a path of worry again, though. Cassandra gives her a concerned look. She never did have a good poker face. "Still don't want to talk about it," Hawke says.
"As you wish," Cassandra says and takes a bite of food. Hawke tries not to poke glumly at her own.
"Tell me something," Hawke asks.
"What would you like to hear?" Cassandra asks.
"Whatever you'd like to say," Hawke replies, signaling for a refill on her beer.
"Did you know there is a book about me?" she asks. Hawke shakes her head. "It is...much like The Tale of the Champion in many ways and differs in many more."
Hawke tilts her head. "Tell me more."
"I have always resented that book," she says. "What little truth it contains is couched in so much outright bullshit that I burned the copy sent to me in a fit of pique."
"You realize now I must find myself a copy."
Cassandra laughs. "I expected no less. It took meeting Varric...and you, to truly come to terms with that book."
"I don't know," Hawke grins. "I earned every pile of bullshit Varric included in the Tale of the Champion."
Cassandra smiles. "I am sure you did. And the fact that he considers you a dear friend shows in the book, despite how much he fictionalized it."
"Guess so."
"It is comforting," Cassandra says, "to know another person whose legend has become something completely separate from themselves."
Hawke laughs. "I suppose it is."
"Even I was dazzled by your legend," Cassandra says. "I should have known better."
"Disappointment, am I?" Hawke asks ruefully.
"No," Cassandra replies promptly. "Of course not. At the time, perhaps."
"Honest as ever, Lady Seeker," Hawke says and takes a swig of her drink.
"You were not what I expected and I was so angry at Varric...but when I am wrong, I try to admit that. I was wrong about you," she says.
"That's sweet, Cassandra," Hawke hums. She feels strange. Off-balance. This is not at all how she expected this to go. She thought it would be a laugh. If nothing else, a decent meal with someone she knows. She doesn't know what to do with this. Cassandra has outplayed her with sheer earnestness.
Cassandra tilts her head. "I have made you uncomfortable. I apologize."
"I'm always uncomfortable," Hawke waves a hand.
"Well, we have that in common, anyway," Cassandra says.
"But I know the remedy," Hawke grins sharply. "More drinks."
The serving girl comes with her refill; Hawke gestures for one for Cassandra and proceeds to drink half the goblet before putting it down. "A sabbatical, you called it?" Cassandra asks, eyebrow raised.
"Well, it sounds better than drunken carousing," Hawke grumbles. Cassandra...doesn't quite smile at her, but it doesn't feel like judgement, either, so Hawke will take it. "You're still here, so I assume you're joining me?"
"I enjoy your company, Hawke," Cassandra says. "And you are one of the few people currently in this city that I know and is not related to me."
"Have you...seen your family since you've been here?" Hawke asks.
"Only distant cousins," she says. "My closer relatives are in Nevarra City."
"Well, then," Hawke sighs, suddenly remembering Cassandra Pentaghast is nobility. "Another round?"
"We just got this one," Cassandra points out.
"Planning ahead," Hawke replies. She tells Cassandra a few of her more entertaining stories, and they drink their current round and the one that arrives during Hawke's account of Isabela and a hapless spice merchant.
Cassandra appears to be relaxing, which Hawke hasn't ever seen. It's fascinating. And beautiful.
That second one is going to be a problem. Though, Hawke isn't sure she's lucky enough for it to be anything other than a one-sided problem. As always, though, she's perfectly willing to press her luck.
"So, Cassandra," she says. "How long are you here for?"
"A week or two, perhaps," Cassandra replies. "And you? How long do you intend your sabbatical to last?"
"Until the thought of going home doesn't make me want to cry," Hawke replies before her brain catches up with her mouth.
Cassandra's mouth makes a silent O, then her lips tighten. "Marian -"
"Sorry, I shouldn't have…I don't want to talk about it."
"Very well," Cassandra murmurs. "If you would like to at any point, know that you are welcome to talk to me."
"Talking's not really the first thing that springs to mind," Hawke drawls.
"I…oh," Cassandra says and blushes prettily. Once again, she doesn't say no. She doesn't say yes, either, but Hawke is certain Cassandra will tell her if and when her attentions are no longer welcome.
Hawke decides more beer is required, but decides to walk over to the bar herself for a change of scenery. The amount of pretty people of all races in this tavern is quite extraordinary. Even if Cassandra turns her down, she's relatively certain she won't have to go to bed alone.
That's when she hears it, from somewhere behind her: "You're the Champion of Kirkwall," someone declares in that particular drunken tone that she despises.
She clenches her jaw and takes a deep breath through her nose. "That's me." She turns to see what she's dealing with.
He's a big guy, but she spent time sparring with Bull at Skyhold. And this guy is drunk and doesn't have horns. She's reasonably certain she can take him. She meets the bartender's eye. He looks resigned.
"Did you have any questions?" she asks amiably. "I can probably answer a few right off. Yes, the Arishok was big. Bigger than you, come to think of it. Oh, and nobody ever ran naked through the streets. Except Isabela on a bet one time." She keeps her hands loose at her sides and waits.
"An abomination killed my sister because of you," he says.
Of course. Hawke sighs. And then Cassandra is in front of her, hand on the pommel of her sword and armor shining in the light of the bar. "I am Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. Stand down."
The man snarls, but clearly the combination of sword and title is enough of a deterrent to keep him stationary. "She's no hero," he spits.
"If it were not for her, Corypheus would have been successful and every person in Thedas would be dead or in his thrall," she says, voice ringing out as the bar goes quiet. "Her help to the Inquisition was invaluable. She is absolutely a hero."
Something twists in Hawke's chest. But Cassandra doesn't flinch, and with another sour glare, the big man leaves. Hawke stares at her as the noise level rises in the room again. "I need to…I need some air," she murmurs and practically sprints to the door. She has a feeling Cassandra will follow, but she needs a moment.
The street is quieter than it was and Hawke is grateful. She walks a bit until she finds a quiet alley to duck down. It's cool and dark, too. And it doesn't even smell bad. Truly, her blessings are many. Except her hands won't stop shaking.
She'd almost have rather had the fight. At least she'd have had something to do with all the nervous energy that filled her as soon as that big arse opened his mouth. "No hero," hm. She can't even argue.
She tips her head against the stone of the building and looks up. The dwarves did their best to make it seem like the Dragons' Den is underground, but she can still see the stars.
"Hawke," Cassandra says quietly from the street. "Is it always like that?" she asks quietly as she steps into the alley.
"More or less," Hawke replies. "Hey, sometimes they're armed," she shrugs.
"And you always fight them?" she asks.
Hawke shrugs again. "Sometimes people need to hit someone. At least I can fight back."
"Still," Cassandra argues. "Do they not realize—"
"When your mother or brother are dead and there's someone you can lay the blame on, the truth doesn't much matter," Hawke interrupts and bites hard on the inside of her cheek. "So no. They don't realize. They won't."
Cassandra leans against the wall next to her and their shoulders touch. "I suppose I do understand that. Blood mages killed my brother in front of me. For a very long time, I blamed all mages for that."
"Really?" Hawke blurts.
"Yes," she replies. "I was very young, and Anthony was dear to me."
"I'm sorry," Hawke says.
"Thank you," Cassandra says. "It was so long ago, but I still have trouble speaking of it at times."
Hawke reaches out and takes her hand. "I know the feeling."
"I imagine you do," Cassandra murmurs. She squeezes Hawke's hand, but doesn't let go.
"Anyway, it happens. I don't particularly like it. Except when I do," Hawke says.
"Sometimes you just need to hit things," Cassandra replies. "I know the feeling."
Hawke nods and heaves a sigh. She doesn't want to go back in there, suddenly. "I need a change of venue."
"Did you have something particular in mind?" Cassandra asks.
"Do you mind walking with me?" she asks.
"Not at all," Cassandra replies.
"I should go pay my tab," Hawke says.
"The innkeeper asked me to tell you it was on the house," Cassandra informs her. Hawke frowns, and Cassandra chuckles. "I left a very large tip."
"Thank you," Hawke says. "I hate it when they do that." She realizes she still has Cassandra's hand and tugs experimentally. Cassandra seems willing to be tugged and they move through the streets and out the gates of the Dragons' Den. "Ideas, Seeker?" Hawke says breathlessly.
"The river path is lovely this time of evening," she suggests.
"Lead the way." The fact that she doesn't let go of Hawke's hand made her breathe a little easier. It's gone on far too long now to be anything but deliberate. Maybe she's just being...nice. Comforting. Hawke doesn't know, but whatever it is, she needs it right now.
The river, it turns out, really is beautiful. It's sufficiently distracting that Hawke lets out a breath and a lot of tension with it. Cassandra's hand is warm and comforting in hers. She squeezes it. "Thank you. For...I don't know."
"Defending your honor?" Cassandra suggests with a smile.
Hawke laughs. "Something like that."
"Keeping you company?" Cassandra suggests again.
Hawke takes a breath. "That, especially. I don't...do well. Without people. My people, I mean."
"A sabbatical with friends would be better, I can see that."
"But they're all busy. Doing the important things I can't bring myself to face anymore," Hawke says and finally moves to pull her hand away. Cassandra doesn't let go.
"You are allowed to rest, Marian," she murmurs.
"You aren't resting," Hawke points out. "Varric isn't. Even Fenris is off taking out slavers all over the place."
"I suspect you won't be able to stay idle for long, Hawke."
She doesn't say that she feels utterly useless. That she's afraid that whatever she does, she'll manage to unleash another Corypheus or start another war. "Define idle," she challenges, pushing into Cassandra's space.
"Marian," Cassandra murmurs warningly, but doesn't push her away.
"Something to say?" Hawke grins, sharp and quick.
"You are incorrigible," Cassandra says and leans in, lips pressing to the corner of Hawke's mouth.
"It's my best quality," Hawke murmurs, holding still to see what she does next.
"I suppose that's true," Cassandra says and presses their lips together. Encouraged, Hawke curls her fingers around Cassandra's collar and opens her mouth. Cassandra's free hand lands delicately on her waist and she slides her tongue over her bottom lip.
"See?" Hawke says. "Not idle. Also, this is no fun with armor on."
"Hawke," Cassandra murmurs.
Hawke pulls back her hands. "If you don't want me, just say the word." It's not like she expected this would go her way.
"Don't be ridiculous," Cassandra replies.
"Why would I ignore such an important personal skill?" Hawke smiles again, slower. "How do we decide whose room is nicer so we can go there?" she teases.
Cassandra rolls her eyes. "My room is just there," she points up the river to a building with light shining from the windows. "If yours is closer..."
"It's really not," Hawke replies. "So, does that mean..."
Cassandra huffs. "Come on, then."
Of course she's cranky about this. Hawke should have expected it. She's delighted. She lets Cassandra tug her forward, up the river path toward the inn. It's hard to keep her mouth shut, keep all her usual teasing comments inside. But she hasn't learned all of Cassandra's buttons yet.
She does remember that Varric told her Cassandra likes stories, that she liked his godawful Swords and Shields serial. This...isn't terribly romantic, not really, but maybe it can be, at least a little. Hawke really does have a fair number of very sincere compliments for this woman. And if those don't do the trick, she's very good with her mouth.
The inn is nicer than Hawke's, the taproom featuring a terrace blanketed with flowers. "Oh, it's lovely," Hawke murmurs.
"Yes," Cassandra replies.
"Did you...want another drink?" Hawke asks tentatively.
Cassandra tilts her head and gives her a look. "Is that what you want?"
Hawke doesn't actually want to be drunk for this. She shakes her head. "No. Not at all."
"Very well, Hawke. Follow me."
She follows Cassandra up two flights of stairs, growing more nervous with each step. She's done this countless times, but this feels…different. Cassandra isn't a friend like Isabela. She's still a bit of an unknown quantity. But Hawke likes her. She liked her when Varric's letters mostly consisted of complaints about her. Mostly because she's good at translating Varric's complaints. Varric liked having Cassandra to rail against because compared to everything else happening, she wasn't that bad. And then the two of genuinely became friendly (though she's pretty sure they'd both deny it) and Hawke liked her even more.
Cassandra has never blamed Hawke for disappearing off the map. Hawke thinks she understands she'd been trying to protect her city the best way she knew how. It hadn't mattered, in the end, and hindsight has always been her biggest enemy, but at the time…she sighs.
"Hawke?" Cassandra asks as she unlocks her room.
"Just thinking about what a disastrous Inquisitor I'd have been," Hawke replies flippantly.
"I'm sure Lavellan would have something to say about that," Cassandra murmurs. "I know I do. But...you're changing the subject."
"Not really," she replies with another sigh. "Just making the subject a joke instead of the alternative. As usual. I probably should have had that drink." She had just enough to make her maudlin, apparently. And overly honest.
"Come here," Cassandra says.
"I don't want to talk about this," Hawke says, stepping closer.
"You keep saying that," Cassandra says as she slides her arms around Hawke's waist. "I think you're lying."
"No I'm not," Hawke argues, squirming. Cassandra is strong, but she could probably get away. If she was really trying, which she not.
"I'm going to let you, for right now," Cassandra tells her with a slight smirk. "If you tell me what it is you do want."
Hawke presses her face into Cassandra's neck and sighs. "I want you to touch me. I want to touch you. Preferably naked."
"That would be...acceptable," Cassandra murmurs, hands finding the fastenings of Hawke's breastplate.
"There are definite advantages to going to bed with people who frequently wear armor," Hawke says with a smile.
"Yes," Cassandra agrees, humming in concentration. The brush of her fingers is doing strange things to Hawke's stomach. Thank the Maker she's only wearing her breastplate and greaves. Hawke helps with the many buckles on her leathers and Cassandra pulls them off, then her undershirt, leaving only her breast band.
Hawke puts her hands on her hips. "Your turn."
Cassandra's armor is actually quite simple for a Seeker of bloody Truth. Very finely made, but simple. It suits the woman who wears it, truly.
"Maker, you're beautiful," Hawke murmurs as she carefully removes each piece. "I was so mad at Varric for not warning me."
"What would he have said?" Cassandra asks, amused.
"I don't know, something like, 'hey Hawke, you know that woman who kidnapped and interrogated me about you? Well, she's just your type and you're going to have a helluva time keeping your eyes off her at every campfire and every time you see her at Skyhold.'" Hawke thinks her impersonation of Varric is pretty bad, but Cassandra is laughing and that's all that really matters.
"Maker preserve us," Cassandra gasps, biting back the laughter with clear effort. "That's enough of that."
Hawke grins and leans in to kiss her smile. Cassandra's clothing is soft under her fingers as she works on buttons and clasps. Hawke finally pulls her tunic over her head and skids her fingers down over Cassandra's shoulders.
The first thing she notices is that Cassandra has beautiful skin. The second is that she's not at all embarrassed by any of this, which vaguely surprises Hawke for no good reason. She traces her fingers over the swell of her breasts and reaches for the laces of her breast band. It's going to take a bit of effort to peel Cassandra's leather trousers off of her, and Hawke is impatient as a matter of course.
The breast band falls away and suddenly the trousers don't matter as much. Hawke's mouth waters. "I...you're so beautiful." She coasts her knuckles down the curves of Cassandra's breasts. There's a jagged scar that Hawke wants the story for and another that looks somewhat fresher that is relatively certain she got while they were in the fade. She kisses that one first.
"Hawke," Cassandra sighs.
"All right. Trousers off," Hawke says decisively. Cassandra pushes a hand through her hair as Hawke fusses with the ties of her trousers. She finally gets them undone and pushes them down Cassandra's thighs. "Oh," Hawke breathes when she sees that she's not wearing anything else under them. She reaches out and traces the cut of Cassandra's hip. Hawke thought she was reasonably fit. Cassandra's body is a an absolute weapon. She wants to put her mouth on every inch of it.
She pushes Cassandra back to the bed and kneels on the floor in front of her to get rid of her greaves and boots. Cassandra leans back on her elbows and watches, completely at ease. Hawke kisses the inside of her knee and tosses her armor and boots aside, tugging down her trousers the rest of the way. She runs her fingers back up bare skin, the soft insides of her thighs, which quiver a little at the touch. She bites her lip and reaches for her own trousers. If she doesn't take care of them now, she'll regret it.
When she's done, Cassandra reaches for her hips and pulls her close. Hawke sighs happily at how Cassandra's warm skin feels against hers, about how her breasts feel pressed against Cassandra's. She can't help smirking as she straddles Cassandra's thighs.
Cassandra puts her hands on Hawke's hips. "Marian," she breathes.
"Any requests?" Hawke asks, leaning down for a slow kiss.
"You seem rather eager to use your mouth," Cassandra says.
"Yes, ma'am, I am," Hawke replies.
"Then why don't you use it. However you want," Cassandra murmurs, fingers flexing on her hips.
Hawke immediately slides back, letting her mouth wander down Cassandra's throat to her chest. Cassandra's breathing is steady and Hawke resolves to change that. She takes one of Cassandra's nipples in her mouth and sucks lightly. Cassandra arches up into it, and Hawke makes a mental note. She feels the nipple tighten under her tongue. She kisses her way over and gives the other the same treatment.
"I could do this for hours," she murmurs.
Cassandra moans and Hawke smiles. She sucks harder, letting her hands start to wander. Cassandra's own hands move from Hawke's hips to her arse and up her back. Cassandra's waist is both slim and solid under Hawke's fingers.
She shifts her mouth to the underside of Cassandra's breasts, the curve of her ribs. Cassandra's fingers find their way into Hawke's hair. It's getting long now, well, longer than she's used to with it brushing her shoulders. Cassandra is rather exceedingly gentle about it. Hawke isn't sure how she manages. They're both more used to blunt force.
Hawke rests her forehead against Cassandra's side and breathes for a moment. Cassandra's fingers keep stroking through her hair. "Seeker?" Hawke murmurs against her stomach.
"Yes, Hawke?" she asks quietly.
"Just checking," Hawke sighs, lips trailing crookedly down between Cassandra's thighs. Cassandra gasps and her fingers flex in Hawke's hair, but she still doesn't pull. Hawke finds her with slow fingertips: soft black hair and softer skin, and warm. "Maker," she breathes and slides her tongue slowly and carefully over her clit.
Cassandra makes a sound that's clearly thinking about growing into a moan. Hawke licks with a bit more pressure, spreading the lips apart with one hand. She slides two fingers into Cassandra as her tongue works. She feels her tremble. It's easy to fall into a rhythm, hard to concentrate with Cassandra clutching at her, sweetly desperate. "More," she whispers.
Hawke smiles and starts sucking as she thrusts her fingers faster and harder. Each lift of Cassandra's hips feels like its own victory. She savors the heat, the taste, each moan. Hawke can tell she's getting close by the way she clenches around her fingers. She keeps sucking, keeps thrusting. She wants this first time to be fast. Next time, she'll take her time, she thinks. She'll draw it out until Cassandra is begging.
She squeezes her thighs together and wonders what Cassandra has in mind. She'll find out if she keeps her mouth on Cassandra, whose fingers are finally starting to tighten in Hawke's hair. She gasps Hawke's name, and Hawke strokes harder with her tongue and thumb. She squeezes her thighs again. She's aching and so wet and each noise Cassandra makes sends a pulse through her.
She tightens her lips on Cassandra's clit and Cassandra finally, really moans for her, throaty and loud. Hawke wants to moan too, but instead she rolls her hips and keeps sucking. Cassandra lifts her hips, pushing into Hawke's fingers. She clenches hard and Hawke moves her fingers faster. It only takes a few moments before Cassandra moans again and comes.
Hawke lets herself moan, then. She keeps licking, tongue soft and flat, until Cassandra says her name. "Marian," she murmurs.
Hawke rubs her cheek against Cassandra's thigh, then looks up at Cassandra's face. She's flushed and gorgeous, and Hawke breathes out slowly. Her fingers clench on Cassandra's knees and her stomach flutters.
"Come up here, Hawke," Cassandra orders breathily.
Hawke nods and moves up. Cassandra tugs her in for a kiss, her tongue sliding against Marian's. Her hands slide down Hawke's back, pulling her close. Hawke presses her forehead against Cassandra's jaw. "Good?" she murmurs, kissing her neck.
Cassandra laughs breathlessly. "Better than good," she replies. "You certainly are talented with your mouth, Hawke."
Hawke laughs. "I try to be multi-talented in that regard. Good for witty one-liners and giving pleasure."
Cassandra kisses her. Hawke feels calloused fingers scrape along her stomach. She tips her hips over onto the side and opens her legs as Cassandra's fingers slide down further. "What do you like, Marian?" Cassandra murmurs.
"Just you," she replies. "I'm not picky."
Cassandra's fingers tease in between her folds and rub slowly. "All right." Marian's eyes slip closed and she moans. "Like this?" Cassandra asks.
"Yes," she gasps.
Cassandra rolls her onto her back and shifts so her thigh is pressing against her hand. She smiles down at Hawke and says, "and now?"
Hawke rolls her hips. "Also good."
She pulls Cassandra down for another kiss. They kiss until Hawke pulls back to gasp for air and Cassandra kisses down her neck and over her collarbone. Hawke rolls her hips; the friction is just right. Cassandra's mouth wanders down and she sucks one of Hawke's nipples into her mouth. Hawke moans.
"This is better than I imagined," she says weakly. "Not that I - ah! - did that."
Cassandra laughs against her chest. "Somehow, I don't believe you."
"Well, you know how it is," Hawke gasps.
"I suppose I do," Cassandra murmurs and slides two fingers into Hawke. She slides them slowly in and out, sucking lightly at Hawke's other nipple.
She moans, one hand clenching in the sheets, the other on Cassandra's side. Cassandra withdraws her fingers and rocks down with her thigh again. "Maker," Hawke gasps and pushes her hips against Cassandra's thigh.
"No, not Andraste either," Cassandra laughs, licking along Hawke's jaw. "Move with me, Hawke."
Hawke wraps her arms around Cassandra's neck and hooks her ankle over Cassandra's leg. She shifts so every stroke hits her just right. Cassandra's mouth finds hers and they kiss as they move together. The closeness, the feeling of Cassandra's body against hers, are intoxicating. Hawke smooths her hands up and down Cassandra's spine, feeling lean muscles bunch and shift. Cassandra keeps her thigh firm against Hawke. She bites her lip and arches up, pressing their breasts together.
Cassandra gets a hand between them and rubs small circles over her clit. She's already so close, and Cassandra's fingers are clever and firm. Hawke gasps and whines and pushes up with her hips.
"Marian," Cassandra murmurs in her ear. "You're beautiful like this."
Hawke whines again, squeezing her eyes shut. She can't hold back. Cassandra only gets one more stroke in before she comes against her fingers, moaning into her ear. "Cass," she mumbles and her hips stutter against Cassandra's hand. She keeps rubbing until she reaches down and grabs her wrist. Her fingers gentle into slow, soft strokes and she kisses Hawke again. "Yes, Marian?" she asks.
"I'm a cuddler," she says, kissing her cheek sloppily.
Cassandra laughs. "So am I."
"Oh good," Hawke replies.
Cassandra pulls her hand out from between them and Hawke captures it lazily, sucking her fingers clean. Cassandra sucks in a breath.
"Getting you going again, Seeker?" Hawke teases.
"I can be patient," Cassandra murmurs.
Hawke laughs. "At least one of us can."
Cassandra smooths her hair out of her face. "You are so gorgeous, Marian."
She's heard it before, from lots of people. This feels...special. It's Cassandra, and she mixes authority and earnestness like few others Hawke knows. Cassandra, who Hawke developed a massive, stupid crush on while with the Inquisition. She feels giddy. Like she's back in Lothering, trying not to stare at the pretty tavern girls in their low-cut blouses.
"What are you thinking?" Cassandra murmurs.
"You're here for two weeks?" Hawke asks.
"Yes," Cassandra answers.
"Can we...can I. That is--"
"Yes, Marian," Cassandra replies. "What else are you thinking?" Cassandra's eyes sparkle.
"Lots of things," Hawke replies. "Mostly how I never really thought I'd be here, all those nights staring at you over the fire."
"Ah, yes, those," Cassandra murmurs.
"Are you saying you noticed?" Hawke asks. "And you didn't say anything?"
Cassandra looks to the side. "I may have thought you were...being protective of Varric."
"I am protective of Varric," Hawke replies promptly.
"Yes, I know," Cassandra replies. "I didn't think you were showing...romantic interest, at any rate."
"Well, I wasn't, really, just staring creepily." Hawke grins and kisses her jaw.
Cassandra laughs and kisses her. "I meanwhile was in awe of you."
Hawke shakes her head. "Varric wrote a bunch of nug shit. The real me isn't that exciting."
"Not true at all." Cassandra's hands trail over Hawke's shoulders, tickling the outer curves of her breasts. Hawke breathes out. Her instinct is to argue, but she doesn't. "You are not The Tale of the Champion, you are far more than that and it is a privilege to know you." She kisses Hawke's throat. "It's an especial privilege to have you in my bed."
Hawke swallows hard and cards her fingers through Cassandra's hair. "Okay, I can go with that," she mumbles. Cassandra kisses her again and Hawke pushes her over onto her back and curls against her side. "Snuggling now," she says.
Cassandra kisses her forehead. "Yes, Hawke."
*
Hawke startles awake from yet another bad dream, but after a week of being woken by it, Cassandra doesn't stir any more. Hawke looks toward the window of the inn.
It's still early. So early, she can tell the sun hasn't managed to push its way over the Waking Sea yet. Too early to wake up Cassandra, especially on the day she has one of her most important meetings, but too late for Hawke to fall back to sleep. Hawke slips out of bed and dresses quietly. She'll let her sleep for a while. One or the other of them has slipped out of bed early for the past two weeks. They stopped expecting - well, Hawke stopped expecting - Cassandra not to come back after the first time. She hasn't woken up with a hangover that entire time, either. Which is starting to feel a little less novel, but not much.
Doesn't mean they haven't had drinks in the evenings, it just means they've worked off the alcohol. Hawke smirks as she swings out the door toward the market.
She wishes she could have a bit of morning target practice, but that would require entirely more effort than she's willing to expend. She can do it all the time when she gets back to Kirkwall and away from stick-up-its-arse Cumberland. She misses her bow. She complains to Cassandra every day. Cassandra always just rolls her eyes and tells her to go up to the barracks already.
Hawke heads for the baker's cart as usual, but this morning there's a flower seller as a brightly colored distraction.
"Flowers, miss?" the girl asks her. "These'd make anyone's day bright, they would."
Hawke makes a considering face. "Yes, please. A nice big bunch of those." She points a bit haphazardly.
"Yes, miss," the girl replies and gathers a nice looking bouquet and wraps them in paper. Hawke hands over the silver she asks for. She buries her nose in the flowers as she walks toward the baker's cart. Cassandra will like them, she thinks.
The baker hands her a paper packet with her usual order - Hawke likes having a usual order. She'd moved out of her original inn and into Cassandra's after about two days. It feels more like she belongs there than an entire month at the other place.
Humming, she turns back to the inn. By the time she's back to the river path, the sun has peaked over the tops of the buildings. It's a good morning, she thinks. She climbs the stairs, juggling her purchases to open the door.
Cassandra lies still and quiet, still asleep. Hawke smiles. Maker, she's gorgeous. She sets the pastries down on a table and takes the flowers over to the bed.
Cassandra stirs when she sits on the edge of the bed, but doesn't wake. Hawke leans forward and brushes her lips over Cassandra's cheek. "Good morning," she murmurs quietly.
"Mmf," Cassandra says.
Hawke laughs softly. "I have something for you," she says.
Cassandra pries an eye open, and Hawke pushes the flowers closer. "Oh," Cassandra croaks and sits up, taking the flowers carefully in her hands.
"Thought you might like them," Hawke smiles.
"Marian," Cassandra murmurs. "I love them."
Hawke leans down. "Good."
Cassandra sets the flowers down carefully next to them and pulls Hawke into her arms. "Hello," she murmurs.
Hawke slides her arms around Cassandra's waist and nuzzles her cheek. "Hi yourself. Gonna get up now?"
"Yes," Cassandra replies, but doesn't move. "You could have woken me earlier," she murmurs into Hawke's hair.
Hawke shakes her head. "It's your big meeting today, yeah? You deserve a few extra minutes of sleep."
"Tonight, then."
Hawke smiles and pulls back to kiss her properly. "Of course."
"Maker forgive me for hoping it takes me a few extra days to make this agreement," Cassandra murmurs.
Hawke's stomach flutters and her breath catches in her throat. "Cassandra," she murmurs.
"Hawke?" Cassandra replies.
"I'm selfish enough to tell you that I want that too," she says, pressing her forehead to Cassandra's.
"Enough to invite me to Kirkwall, perhaps?"
Hawke takes a breath. "Yes, yes of course. I...Varric says you even know how to get to my house. Whatever is left of it, anyway."
"It's been a long time. Have you never repaired it?" Cassandra murmurs.
"I haven't been back," Hawke replies. "It...I felt..." she trails off and sighs.
"I think I understand," Cassandra replies.
"There's so much to be done," Hawke murmurs. "And I've been afraid," she admits.
"It's easy to be brave when you're facing a dragon," Cassandra murmurs. "Less so when it's thousands of people who...expect things of you."
Hawke has to laugh. "True enough, I suppose." She sighs. "I've been gone so long, what if they don't want me there anymore?"
"You are their Champion, Marian," Cassandra says. "They have not forgotten, I assure you."
"Just because you haven't..." Hawke teases. Cassandra blushes. Hawke kisses her cheeks. "You'd best get up or I'm going to make you very late."
"Very well. But we're meeting for dinner later." Cassandra stretches like a cat, then rolls out of bed.
Hawke lounges and smirks while she watches her gather clothing. It's definitely too early to say all the things running through Hawke's head. Instead, she enjoys the sight of Cassandra putting on her armor and sorting out her hair. When Cassandra tucks a silky red blossom behind her ear, Hawke smiles. She rolls off the bed and moves in for a kiss.
"Keeping that in for your meeting?"
"I think I will," Cassandra replies with a smile. "Put the others in water for me? I don't want them to wilt."
"Sure, Seeker," Hawke replies.
Cassandra leans in and kisses her again. "Dinner," she murmurs when she pulls back.
"I'll be waiting," Hawke says.
Cassandra pulls away with clear reluctance. "Have a good day, Hawke."
Hawke thinks she really will. Cassandra slips out the door and Hawke sits down at the desk. She takes a sheet of parchment out and starts a letter to Varric. She can hear his laugh in her head as she addresses it. Still, she thinks he'll be happy she's finally coming home. Maybe happy enough to clear the vermin out of her house. That would be an unforgettable welcome, if he's not.
Whatever happens, she feels pretty good about the future for the first time in a long time.