Goin' Courtin'

It had been a long week, and the inclement weather on the Stormcoast had made it seem even longer. Tired and with aching bones, after a short session in the War Room to bring the Counselors up to date, Cassandra was very much looking forward to a long night of sleep in her little private corner, up on the second floor of the Armoury.

Her legs were protesting having to climb the stairs to get up there, and she felt like her body weighed as much as a druffalo, and stank just as badly.

Her eyes were grateful for the dim light, and as she approached the small dining table next to her window, she let her shield and sword fall to the floor, her head wincing at the clanking noise. She took off her armour and reached for the big jug of water on top of the table. She poured a bit of it in the small ceramic basin next to it and quickly washed her face and neck. That's all she had the strength and will for at the moment.

Guided only by the light of the full moon outside and the faint warm light coming from the big forge downstairs, she walked to her bed. A simple thin mattress rolled right on the wooden planks of the floor, it looked as Spartan as she did. With a bit of effort, she found the box of matches next to her candle holder and lit up the stump.

Her eyes went wide with surprise.

Laid gently on her pillow was a marvellous, fully bloomed red rose.

Her hand involuntarily came up to her mouth and her lips opened in a smile. She let out a sigh.

The Seeker reached for the flower and picked it up, together with the small parchment that accompanied it. She started reading it out, not too loudly.

May every petal be a soft kiss, to lull you into sleep and gift you with sweet dreams.

The writing was sure and elegant, and she recognised the hand behind it immediately. Her smile got even bigger, her eyes sparkled at the light of the short candle. She brought the rose to her nose and gently inhaled the delicate scent. Her eyelids closed in a moment of bliss.

She placed the flower next to the short stool where she kept her books piled up.

She lay down and made herself comfortable, her whole body humming in pleasure, used to the hard floor beneath it. Her hand clutched the parchment and she held it to her chest. A warm smile not leaving her features, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The bright rays of the sun were shining in through the tall, glass stained windows, washing the War Room in an almost heavenly light. Slowly walking around the big table, her eyes concentrating on a few of the place holders on the weathered map, Lady Trevelyan was trying to figure out which of the many issues brought to the Inquisition's attention should take precedence today. Her hand reached for her cup and she sipped some tea, a deeply pensive look on her androgynous face. She squinted a bit as the harsh early morning light bounced off the handles of the heavy doors as they were opened by her Counselors walking in.

Josephine was the first to greet her, a typical energetic note in her voice. "Inquisitor. I see you're all dressed up and ready to work."

Cullen wasn't far behind. "No rest for the wicked, isn't that what they say?" A charming grin played on his handsome face.

His comment was immediately underlined by Leliana, in her usual no-nonsense attitude. "Never let the people know you have even one wicked bone in your body, Commander. It may lead to a proper catastrophe." The irony in her voice was only heightened by the playful smile on her lips.

As they settled around the table, ready to get down to business, the Herald couldn't help feeling thankful for the help of these very talented people. She thought that indeed the Inquisition couldn't possibly exist without them. She gave them all a genuine smile.

"Thank you for joining me so early today. We have much to discuss, especially in light of our latest finding on the Stormcoast. I know Lady Pentaghast has already given you most of the information last night, so shall we just jump to deciding what is our best course of action? The last thing we want is for Darkspawn to feel free to hop all over the place, and the Blades of Hessarian are beginning to have problems curbing the hurlocks' and genlocks' enthusiasm."

After long discussions and throwing ideas back and forth, sometimes not too kindly, the Counselors and Lady Trevelyan finally agreed on the best way to handle a few of the matters at hand.

She was lingering behind for a moment, her thoughts projected into the immediate future, the look in her eyes a bit lost into it, as the trio made their way out of the War Room.

Much to her surprise, instead of hearing the doors closing behind them, she heard steps of someone else entering the empty room.

Her face lifted from the map to see who it might be. Her expression lit up as she recognised the Seeker, approaching the table in her naturally sure strides. A warm smile curled the Herald's lips of its own volition. "Good morning, Cassandra. Did you sleep well?"

Without saying a word, Lady Pentaghast strolled around the table and walked up to her, invading her personal space in the most pleasant way. She placed her hands on Lady Trevelyan's face and gently pulled her close. Their lips met in an impossibly soft, lingering kiss. As they separated, Cassandra leaned her brow against the Herald's and spoke in a low voice, the tips of their noses caressing lightly. "I slept wonderfully, Inquisitor, thank you."

Her gloved hand slowly slid all the way down the sleeve of the Herald, leaving light goose bumps in its wake. Their fingers entwined sweetly for a brief instant.

The Seeker smiled and just as she had come into the room, she made her way out, followed by the very happy eyes of Lady Trevelyan.

"Get her a fruit basket. Everybody likes those!" Dorian's giggles sounded like a silver bell in the silence of the library.

His levity was not shared by the Inquisitor. Standing in front of one of the many shelves full of books, her eyes were roaming quickly here and there, looking for something very specific.

"Come on, Dorian! You're the best archivist we could possibly dream of, you know of every book in existence, help me out here!"

Crossing his arms on his chest and leaning against the corner of the wall, the mage was enjoying this all too much. "Oh dear. You must be really desperate to come to me for advice on courting a -woman-."

His grin betrayed a warm familiarity under the surface of light hearted mockery.

The Herald turned to look at him, doing her best impression of puppy eyes. "Pretty please...?"

He let out a huff. "All right, all right. You know I cannot refuse you anything when you ask so nicely."

He motioned with his hand for her to sit down on the large armchair placed by the window. Once she had made herself comfortable, he started talking in a seemingly very serious tone. "I hope you will remember at least one of my precious pieces of advice. So listen: first of all, not all love poetry is the same. And I am not talking just about different writing styles, I am talking about the impact it can have on the heart of the reader. It is very important when choosing a love poem, or collection thereof, to find something that can really reverberate down to the very soul of the object of your affection."

As interesting as she thought this was, Lady Trevelyan was getting a bit impatient. "Yes, yes. To all of that. But Dorian, darling, I haven't got all day."

He stared at her with fire in his eyes. "Do you want my help or not?"

She almost recoiled instinctively. "Yes. I do. I'm sorry."

He mellowed visibly. "Good, then shut up and listen. And also, that brusque attitude is ill-fitted for wooing, for it is an art that takes time and patience. If you don't have time, make time. Now let's move on."

As they entered the third shop in a row around the central market place in Val Royeaux, Sera's hands were starting to itch. "Another one? Look, I get it, you wanna spend Inquisition money. Badly. But come on, there must be some bad guys around here we can fight and kick in the rubber parts, innit? Or maybe first we can kick them, then fight them... wha'evah, let's just... -do- something!"

The Inquisitor turned to Blackwall. "Remind me please, why did I ask her to tag along?"

"Because she never fails to entertain, Lady Trevelyan." They exchanged a wily smile.

"Hey! I can hear you two smart alecs! I'm standing right next to you! And besides, for the record, she didn't ask. I volunteered." The young Elf stuck out her tongue in their general direction, causing them both to laugh.

As soon as the moment of hilarity faded, Blackwall decided to ask. "Well, she sort of has a point. What are we doing here, exactly?"

The Herald sighed and replied in a rather muted voice. "I'm looking for a book."

Her voice was so faint that both her companions drew close and muttered in unison. "What?"

She let the tension abandon her shoulders and raised her hands in an innocent gesture. "He said: 'You have to find the Carmenum di Amatus, nothing less will do!' That's what he said, and that's why we're here."

The look on Sera'a face was of pure confusion. "-Who- said that? What's this carpenter deambulatus? What's it do anyway? Andraste's tits, -try- to make sense!"

The Inquisitor let out a heavy sigh and all but yelled. "It's a book!" She was suddenly aware of the merchant's eyes on her. She stopped and regained a bit of self restraint. "It's a banned book. Of poetry. Love poetry. I need it... I want it... so I can use it to romance Lady Pentaghast. There. Happy?"

Blackwall was just staring at her, a look of understanding and camaraderie on his strong features. He nodded gravely. "Then I hope you will be successful in your endeavour. The Lady Seeker is truly an impressive woman and warrior."

Sera was silent for a few seconds, her eyes wide. Then she just started laughing breathlessly. "No!" She was slapping her knees, bent forward, trying to hold back the tears. "Inky is in luuuuurve!" She snorted not too elegantly. "And she wants to get in the Seeker's pants!"

The look on the merchant's face was quickly turning uncomfortable. The Herald gave him a timid smile as she tried to get the Elf under control. "Sera?"

More laughter.

"All right then." Lady Trevelyan swiftly stepped behind her, she put her hands on Sera's shoulders and started pushing her towards the doors, the Warden following them. Once outside she faced him, a very serious expression on her face. "Blackwall, just... just keep an eye on her until I'm done in there."

"Consider it done." There was definitely an amused smile on his face.

"So, so tell me, is it reeeaaally dirty and naughty? Is that why it's banned? And also, can I have it when you're done with it?" The young Elf just wouldn't let it rest.

There was a shadow of disappointment on the Inquisitor's face. She mumbled to herself as she tried to spur her horse to trot faster. "I should have known better... why in the Maker's name did I allow her to come along? Stupid. Now every single soul in Skyhold will know..."

Sera noticed the sad slump on Lady Trevelyan's posture. She suddenly realised she might have pushed it a bit too far. She made her horse match the Herald's pace and as they were side by side she put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. T'was but a bit of fun I was having there, yeah? I'll keep my pie-hole shut about it if it's -that- important to you."

The Herald lifted her gaze to look at her in disbelief. She couldn't help being suspicious. "Really?"

The Elf smiled genuinely at her. "Really." Then her smile turned mischievous. "At least until you -do- get in her pants." She kicked her horse's sides and it sped off at full gallop, leaving the Inquisitor with a baffled expression for a long moment.

Then she incited her own horse to run after her. "Sera! Come back here, you imp!"

Behind them, Blackwall laughed heartily. This whole thing promised to be good.