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Fjalar Cadash burried his face against Cassandra’s throat and inhaled deeply. It had been such a long, horrendous day with the judgment of Tom Rainier but here, now, as he was lying with his lady on her bedroll in the room she had made for herself in Skyhold’s armory, he finally felt like as if he could relax. For the coming hours, the only thing that mattered would be the two of them.
Nuzzling the spot below his lady’s ear, Fjalar pressed a soft kiss against her skin. He stroke it with his tongue tip; he knew it was a sensitive spot for her. But the low moan of encouragement he expected never came, and instead Cassandra pushed him until he rolled off her and sat with a puzzled expression.
“I’m not in the mood tonight,” she explained stiffly. To further her point, she picked up a book – the Inquisitor recognized the cover of the last Swords and Shields – and began to read, pointedly ignoring him.
Fjalar wasn’t certain what he had done to deserve the cold shoulder this time, but he nodded eventually. “Alright.” After a short hesitation, he decided to simply lie down by his lady’s side: he could use some extra sleep, and there was something soothing in the sound of pages being turned. No mention Cassandra had the cutest habit to bite on her lower lip whenever she was reading a romantic scene in a book, and Swords and Shields was filled with it.
However, they way she suddenly stiffed stopped him half-way. “Actually, it has been some time now since the workers started to work on the stained-glass windows you got from Serault. They must be done by now, so maybe you should give your room a new try,” she coldly announced without looking at him.
The Inquisitor blinked, his confusion reaching a new height. Cass and he had used the replacement of the windows in his room as their favorite pretext for spending their nights together in the armory. The lie was so obvious that it had become something of a running joke at Skyhold; Josephine and Leliana, in particular, took a lot of fun out of telling him every morning that the works in his room had been delayed again due to whatever reasons they could come up with, the sillier the better. Now, it didn’t feel funny anymore.
“W-wait, you’re kicking me out?” He swallowed, his throat dry and parched. “What did I do wrong, Cass? My lady?”
“I think you know the answer already,” Cassandra snapped. “If not, you’ll have until tomorrow to figure it out. Good night, Fjalar.”
He wanted to protest, to argue, but Cass now had that hard look on her face, the one she got when she was seething with anger in the inside and on the edge from hitting something. Maybe it was better to beat a retreat after all; Fjalar awkwardly got up, grabbed his boots and glows and put them on. He gave his lady a last sad, longing look, wished her a good sleep in a whisper and walked down the stairs, out of the armory.
Nights in Skyhold were cold. Even the place’s micro-climate could nothing against the biting winds which came from the mountains, though they weren’t as bad as the ones howling in the valley. Fjalar suppressed a shiver and adjusted his scarf. Music and laughs came from the tavern, and for a moment he was tempted to go there, to drown his disappointment in a mug of ale while listening to Cabot’s wise advices about love, women and the virtues of celibacy. But the dwarf shook his head and headed to the main building instead. What if he tried to do some paperwork, or read a book before finally catching that good night of sleep? He hadn’t begun the fourth chapter of Swords and Shield yet…
He had settled his minds on reading and was on his way to his quarters when sobs caught his attention. They seemed to come from Josephine’s desk and for an instant Fjalar’s blood froze – was Josie hurt? It wasn’t another assassin from the House of Repose, was it? Had they not gotten the note that their bloody contract was now void? – before he almost kicked the door open.
Inside Josephine jumped on her chair. “Inquisitor?” she stammered, before diverting her face. Fjalar caught the sight of a silk handkerchief disappearing in the sleeve of her dress.
“I heard crying,” he explained sheepishly, his ears turning scarlet and hot, “and for a moment I feared someone had hurt you, so…”
“So you decided to come in and save me?” Josephine finally looked at him; her eyes were red and swollen from too many tears shed, and the smile she gave him was thin and frail. “You’re too kind, my lord.”
“I doubt the door is sharing your opinion,” he muttered. When she laughed, if only weakly, he walked to her desk. “What are you still doing here? The sun is long gone, shouldn’t be you off to your room?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Josephine answered. “Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra right now?”
For a moment Fjalar didn’t answer. “It was decided we would sleep in our respective rooms for tonight,” he eventually said. He had a taste of ashes in his mouth.
“She’s not taking the reveal of Ser Blackwall’s true identity well, I take it?”
“No, no she’s not,” the Inquisitor grimaced, while slapping himself hard in the inside. Now every piece of the puzzle fell in place. How could he be so bloody blind? Cass and Blackwall were actually closer friends than he and the (false) Warden had ever been, and if judging Thom Rainier had been an ordeal for him, the Maker only knew how his lady had felt about the whole mess. And Josephine! He had caught a few times Blackwall, Varric and Bull discussing the former’s feelings for the head diplomat of the Inquisition. On his daily trips to the war room, he had also often heard Josie’s discussions with her assistant about gifts she got from a ‘mysterious’ admirer… Stupid, stupid boy! What kind of friend are you? “You’re not either, are you?” he asked nervously.
The smile did not falter but Fjalar couldn’t miss the look of pain and sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t a pleasant surprise,” Josephine admitted, always a professional, “and some of the alliances we built with the Orlesian nobility are now…”
“I couldn’t give less a shit about those alliances,” he interrupted her. In other circumstances, the look she gave him would have been funny. Not tonight. “I’m asking you as Josephine Cherette Montilyet, not as my chief of diplomacy.” He took a sharp breath. “Are you holding up alright, Josie?”
The thin, frail smile fell down. “It hurts,” Josephine whispered and for a moment, her eyes watered again. “I’m so angry and disappointed. With Rainier, with myself. We were…” She let out a brief, broken laugh. “It was not like between you and Cassandra. For us, it was ‘la splendeur des cœurs perdus’: love acknowledged but never consummated, even if we yearned for it.” She lowered her eyes. “And I yearned for it so much. I knew nothing could ever come out from our story – I was a lady of noble birth and he was a Warden – but I wanted more. No matter how devoted I was to our exchange of courteous gifts, I wished that someday he would hold me.” A spasm of grief twisted her features. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. The man I fell for was nothing but a lie, a killer wearing someone else’s name, and-and I do not want to bother you further, Inquisitor. I’m grateful you took the time to listen to my senseless rambling. I will head to my room now and try to catch some sleep.”
It was physically painful to watch Josephine repress her feelings like that. Gently, Fjalar put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Or we could go to my room, and we could continue this conversation around a drink,” he offered. “It seems to me you could use a little more rambling, and I don’t mind listening. I have a bottle of Vint-9 Rowan’s Rose waiting to be shared. What do you think?”
But Josephine was already back in her role as an ambassador, her red eyes narrowed at him. “Shouldn’t you keep this bottle as an offering of peace for Cassandra, my lord? No mention it would be considered improper for me to join your quarters at nights. Just imagine the rumors, if it was known.”
“She would actually prefer flowers.” He thought of the armory, of Cass reading her book alone by the candlelight and his throat clenched painfully. “I have to apologize to her,” he whispered.
“You go do that,” Josephine nodded, “and I’m going to bed”. She forced herself to smile, pushed her shoulders back and tilted her chin up. “It really helped to talk, Fjalar, so thank you. You’re a sweetheart.”
“I’m an idiot,” he countered with a pale smile, “but if you feel better even by a little, then I’m glad. I’ll see you tomorrow, lady Montilyet.”
“And I’ll see you tomorrow, lord Inquisitor Cadash.
They exchanged a nod and Fjalar left the room. Rather than taking the direction of his quarters, he headed to the door leading to the garden. The place was empty except for the fireflies, flying rapidly in the night. “I’ll have to bring Cass here,” the dwarf smiled, “maybe for a nocturnal picnic?” But it was a thought for later. He walked to the flowerpots and let out a relieved breath when he spotted what he was looking for: crystal graces flowers, swinging softly in the wind. Fjalar carefully picked up three of them, looked at the fireflies one last time and hurried back to the armory. But the candlelight was gone and when he pushed carefully the door open, he heard nothing but silence.
“My lady?” he called softly, but no answer came from upstairs. No boots either, which was kind of a relief.
The moonlight shone through the window, casting a dim glow around but it was enough for him to climb the stairs up with the grace of a cat. Cassandra was curled up in her bedroll, eyes closed, breathing evenly, her face softened and untroubled in dreams. It was tempting, so tempting to lay by her side and to wake her up with kisses and caresses, but instead Fjalar left the flowers on the endtable, just by the pile of her favorite books. “I love you, lady Cassandra. Please forgive me,” he whispered before he made his way out of the armory once again.
By the time he finally reached his quarters, Fjalar was too tired to actually make sense of the words written in Swords and Shields. He managed to go through only a few pages before he dropped the book and closed his eyes to sleep. But as he did so the discussion with Josephine returned to his mind and he laid there for a while, trying to think of the best way to fix most things for as many people as possible. He hadn’t come with anything satisfying when sleep finally caught up with him.
He awoke in the morning with the feeling of strong, calloused hands on his hips and the wet, warm heat of a mouth around his shaft. The Inquisitor moaned, forced his eyes open and gazed down at Cassandra’s beautiful face. “Love?” he asked sleepily.
She hummed an acknowledgment, but rather than releasing him she kept sucking, working her lips up and down in long, slow strokes. The fog in his mind was starting to clear enough for him to bring a hand to the back on her head and run his fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp; in return, one hand moved to his balls, to caress them gently. Fjalar’s hips jerked in response. “Damn, that’s quite a way to start the day,” he groaned, his voice now hoarse with desire.
Cassandra let go of his manhood, much to his dismay, but the smile on her face lessened his disappointment. “I found the flowers,” she purred, “so I wanted to apologize, too.” Slowly, she kissed her way up his stomach and across his chest to take his lips in hers passionately.
“I think we should apologize to each other more a lot more often,” Fjalar purred back when they broke the kiss. He pressed his nose against hers gently, serious now. “I should have realized sooner. I am a complete moron.”
“Maybe, but you’re mine.” Cassandra closed her eyes and sighed softly. “And really I’m no better. My anger wasn’t against you, Fjalar, and I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
“It’s not like you didn’t have reasons,” he countered. “I am the one who passed the judgment. I allowed Rainier to stay within the Inquisition. It hurt you, and Josephine, and apparently the Orlesian nobility as well.” Fjalar closed his eyes and snorted. “Not that I care about the latter, mind you.”
“Don’t you?”
“I’m mostly worried about the amount of additional work it’ll mean for Josephine, actually.” The dwarf tilted his head for looking at Cassandra.
“How does she feel?” she asked, before hugging him tightly. She curled against his side, rested her head on his shoulder, and Fjalar ran a hand up and down her arm.
“She’s sad and angry. She told me she had fallen in love with a lie.” The dwarf let out a heavy breath. “Maybe I’ve done a mistake by keeping the man with us. Actually, back when I was sitting on the throne… for a moment I toyed with the idea to make him join the Grey Wardens. I was thinking ‘If he wants so hard to be one, fine! Let him be!’” A grimace twisted his mouth. “Yet I changed my mind.”
“Why? It would have been the perfect solution. A liar and murderer joining other liars and murderers.” The sudden edge in his lady’s voice was sharper than a dragonbone blade. Fjalar pressed a kiss against her temple; she let out a disgusted sound.
“It would have been, yes. Expect I had the Wardens exiled from South Thedas after Adamant.”
“Do not tell me you’re having regrets about your decision?” Cassandra sounded incredulous, but Fjalar shook his head.
“Oh, I don’t. The Blight is no excuse to justify the atrocities they have committed, they deserve their punishment – though I feel bad for Loghain; the man is a decent fellow, sound of judgment, and I’ve seen how affected he was by Hawke’s death. No, the exile of the Wardens would have meant leaving Rainier to wander on his own until his arrival to Weisshaupt, and it’s a long and dangerous trip. And what if he had been captured for interrogation by the Venatori or the Red Templars on his way there? He’s part of my inner circle, and while I want to believe he would have never divulged anything that would put the Inquisition at risk on his own, there is nothing he would be able to do against blood magic.”
“I suppose it makes sense,” Cassandra admitted reluctantly, her brow furrowed. “Keeping the Inquisition’s secrets safe at any costs, even if it means keeping Rainier with us….”
“I could have executed him, too, but after all the favors we had to spend to save him from the noose, it just…it just felt like a waste of resources.” The Inquisitor half-closed his eyes. “Besides, for all his lies and crimes the man shed his blood fighting by our side, for the Inquisition, and never complained once. That only would earn him some leniency, I suppose?”
Cassandra let out another disgusted noise. “From me he’ll get none. I will not object on him travelling with us if it is your choice, but I will not address him and I expect him not to speak to me at all. If he ever does, I won’t answer for the consequences.”
Fjalar buried his nose in her hair. “You hate him now, I take it?”
“He’s not worth my hate,” Cassandra corrected him, “such a feeling I keep for Corypheus. I’m just…” She frowned, apparently trying to put her feelings into words. “…furious. Utterly furious. The man lied to us for months without batting an eyelid. And I trusted him. I sparred with him every morning, I told him about Anthony, I was thankful for his kind words after the death of Daniel.” Her face fell and her voice lowered. “I saw nothing, Fjalar. When he refused to tell me about how he had joined the Wardens, I should have realized something was off, but I didn’t. Instead I swallowed his lies like I had swallowed Varric’s. What a Seeker of Truth I am…”
The dwarf tightened his embrace around her. He didn’t like where this discussion was going. “It’s okay, Cass. Leliana didn’t see through his lies either. None of us did.”
“Leliana always had a blind spot for the Wardens. What was my excuse?”
“Now that we know the truth, it is tempting to lay the blame on yourself. But my lady, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Cassandra looked up at him. Her lips trembled a little. “When you told me I could recreate the Seekers of Truth into something of worth, I believed you. But now…”
“Now, believe me again. I meant what I told you that day, and I’m meaning what I’m saying right now. You are not to blame, Cassandra.”
They gazed at each other for a long moment before she returned his embrace and buried her face against his beard. They remained like this for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s company in a tender, comfortable silence. Eventually it was Cassandra who broke the quietness, rising on an elbow as she looked around. She seemed to feel better, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. “The work on your windows is really done,” she noticed. “The skills of the glassworkers of Serrault are really unmatched: the colors are beautiful.”
And they were. The sun was shining through the stained-glass windows, projecting bright pictures on the walls around. But Fjalar shook his head.
“I still prefer sleeping in the armory, I admit.” He sighed. “And we now need to find a new excuse to why I’ll spend my nights there with you.”
His lady frowned thoughtfully for a moment, before her eyes flickered down his body, and when their gazes met again, there was a smile on her lips which was mischievous enough to make Fjalar’s blood simmer with anticipation and harden him again. She brought her mouth to his ear and whispered, “Would a broken bed do?”
“I don’t know, Cass, it’s a dwarven bed – designed to last for centuries, at the very least.” He sucked in a breath when her hand closed around his length.
“But we can still give it our best try, yes?”
He kissed her, long and deep and hungrily. “We can, my lady, we definitely can.”