Author's Note: Hello all! This is part one of what will be a 2 part story (second chapter forthcoming). This mini-fic was a birthday prompt from Kateriel79, who has allowed me the pleasure of being her beta, and who is a fantastic friend, and a badass to group with on Elder Scrolls Online. She asked me to write a story about Cassandra, who, in Dragon Age:Inquisition, turns down the advances of a female Inquisitor. Kat asked to see a story where Cassandra realizes that was a mistake. As for what ensues thereafter, well…you'll have to wait for part 2. In any case, I hope you enjoy part one. Happy Birthday, Kat!

Bright Blessings,

~Raven Sinead

Cassandra Pentaghast

I stared at the letter in my hand, wishing it to be untrue. It simply could not be. I had watched her fight through fire and storm, face demons from the heart of the Fade, and close the rifts Corypheus had torn in the world. None other had that power. None other could come away from such supernatural destruction unscathed. No one but her, Rulien Trevelyan.

I stood at her side and watched her bring down demons, human and otherwise. I fought alongside her and we brought down dragons from the sky. We fought the Red Templars, searched for and found one another through the rips in time made by Alexius, the mad magister of Redcliffe. Through it all, I never saw her bleed. Even after the sacking of Haven, she had emerged from the blizzard, battered and exhausted…but whole. Whole enough to lead us to Skyhold, our fortress that now seemed as a home to me.

Is it home because she made it such a thing, I wondered. Or is it home because it is the sole place in which I have spent half a year; the place I now return to at the end of my mission? A place where I have a room that is mine, a dedicated space in which I am free to be and do whatever I wish…something I have never possessed?

I shook my head, clearing it of the thoughts that would do nothing but distract me from the horrible truth. I was not a woman who shrank from horrific news; not a woman who fled into the recesses of my mind to escape unpleasant realities. I was Cassandra Pentaghast, the Hero of Val Royeaux, the Right Hand of two Divines, Seeker of Truth, and a leader of the Inquisition. If I shrank away from the missive I held in my hands, I would be a coward, and I would and could be no such thing.

I fixed my eyes to the letter, written in Vivienne's elegant calligraphy, forcing myself to read the entirety of it, though my throat tightened with each and every successive word.

Cassandra,

Rulien asked me to notify you in this letter of what has transpired. We ran afoul of a powerful dragon in Crestwood. The locals warned us of it and told us of the destruction it had caused and Rulien, attempting to garner favor for the Inquisition, set out with myself, Blackwall, and Cole to slay it. We were successful in dispatching the creature, but after Rulien struck the killing blow, the dragon lashed out in its death throes, and its talons raked her across the back. She is badly injured. I have no knowledge of healing, but have managed to keep the bleeding slowed, and Scout Harding used her field medic's training to do what she was able. There was no competent healer in all of Crestwood. At the time I send this falcon, we are two hours from Skyhold. Please locate Dorian and the surgeon, and have a room prepared for Rulien's treatment. I know I do not have to ask for your discretion. The Inquisition does not need to see their champion brought low.

~Vivienne de Fer

Ice gripped my heart. I began walking to Dorian's quarters, struggling to control my pace, to keep it even, steady, and slow. My nails cut into my palms as I clenched my fists, fighting to rein myself in. I wanted to run through the fortress, summoning help with a shout, preparing for this as I would prepare for war. But I could not. Vivienne, much as I loathed the idea, was right. The people of Skyhold thought Rulien blessed by the Maker. They called her the Herald of Andraste…a prophet returned to lead Thedas out of the darkness.

And what do you think of her, Cassandra? Do you truly believe that she is the Herald of Andraste? You know that she was not brought back from the dead in the blizzard. She told you so herself, and, while Rulien is many things, she is not a liar. She simply, somehow, survived. Will she survive this? Will I?

There was another question burning in my mind like a guiding beacon. I did not know if I had the strength to ask it. I fought to ignore it as I prepared my room for Rulien. I had sequestered myself in the farthest part of Skyhold, away from all the hustle and bustle and…people. I craved peace with a desperate hunger, and had managed to carve my quarters out in a silent place. I knew, from many wounds and illnesses, that quiet was necessary for healing. Rulien would have none of that in her rooms. She would hear all of the voices in Skyhold…most of whom would clamor for her, needing her.

And she would push herself beyond her limits, because that was what she did. That was what I lov…admired about her. The last woman I knew with such determination, purity, and desire to aid others weaker or less fortunate was the Divine Justinia. While Rulien lacked Justinia's wisdom, borne of age and mistakes, she possessed all of the other qualities which made the Divine…divine.

I stoked the fire in my room, building it high so that it would be warm. Even though it was now midsummer, Skyhold remained cold in the height of the mountains. Rulien would be chilled from blood loss. She would need the warmth. Dorian had told me as much when I summoned him. The surgeon seconded the opinion, though she followed it with a warning not to keep the room so warm for too long, lest it allow infection to persist.

I avoided the question hovering in my mind as I stripped the sheets from my bed, replaced them with clean ones, and moved my bed closer to the fire. I moved the two furniture stands beside it for the healers to place their tools within close reach. My heart continued to race in my chest as I went to the medical storeroom, gathering what I knew would be needed. I collected rolls of bandaging and the poultices whose smells I knew all too well, from when my many wounds had been treated over the years.

I have bathed with Rulien, my thoughts continued. She does not have a single scar on her body. She is flawless and beautiful, protected in battle by the spirits, or perhaps by the Maker. Perhaps by Andraste. Now this…I remember my first scars…my hand found its way to my thigh, where an enemy's sword had cut deep. I remembered falling into the river and being swept away by the current. I remembered Galyan pulling me from the water, taking my weight, helping me limp to safety and shelter.

He pressed a leaf of elfroot against the wound. His warm hand on my freezing skin felt like nothing ever had before. Right. Perfect. Blessed. Then, he used his magic to close my wound. Will it be so easy for Dorian? I have watched men and women be ripped apart by dragons…the wounds are not small, nor are they easily mended. Maker, protect her. Please, please…I do not know what I shall do if she should…

I reined in my thoughts with an immediacy and sharpness that almost stopped my beating heart. The question rang inside my mind again, like a clarion bell. This time, I could not stop it. Each word hammered through my body like a blacksmith folding the steel of a sword.

Why do I care so very much? Why do I feel that I will die if I do not see her again? If I do not touch her again? If I never again feel the warmth of her embrace?

My throat tightened and ice constricted my heart. I was Cassandra Pentaghast. I feared nothing. I feared neither demon nor dragon nor spectre nor magister. I had crossed deserts with bleeding feet. I had faced armies with no weapon but my voice and my resolve. I had stood in the presence of the damned and the divine. But this, I feared. This moment and this possibility had me transfixed; terrified. This moment haunted me like the ghost of a death yet to come.

And memory returned. Memory of an immutable past, a moment I could not change, and words I could not take back. I could stop the recollection no more than I could block an avalanche with my hand. I was helpless before it…helpless and afraid.

"You've no idea how much it pleases me to see you this way." Rulien speaks, shattering the quiet of the evening.

I stand at the top of Skyhold's highest tower, looking out onto the snowcapped peaks, searching for quiet, peace, and a place of serene, calm contemplation. My mind is still reeling, attempting to come to terms with what we experienced in Redcliffe. I can still feel the echoes of red lyrium infection, melodies on the edge of sound, whispering in the back of my mind. I shudder at the insidious whispers, even though I know they are no longer real. They are remnants of a year of horror and pain. A year that will no longer exist. Rulien has changed that. She has changed so many things…

…but not that, Cassandra. Even she cannot change what is at the core of you. Who you truly are.

I turn and look into Rulien's deep, dark eyes. They are such a rare color, an obsidian so dark that you cannot see her pupil. There are many who are unnerved by her raven gaze. I am not among them, for her eyes are not bleak, not dark. They are filled with ever present emotion. She is a passionate woman, and her passion bleeds into all that she does. Her eyes dance with laughter, for, while she can be grave in moments that call for it, her humor is wicked and sharp. She dances with abandon and laughs with ease. She has a kinship with the strange elf, Sera, that I do not understand, but their love of jesting and pranking has become legendary in Skyhold. When the two of them are together, mischief is ever afoot. However, she can speak with the eloquence of Josephine, outfox Cullen in tactics, and sneak up on Leliana, a feat that I thought none could accomplish.

She is a remarkable woman, worthy of lov…admiration.

"To see me what way?" I ask, facing her and shrugging my shoulders, lifting my palms so that she can see my hands are empty. "I am as I have always been."

"Yes." Rulien nods. "And that is what I find so pleasing." She smiles and it is the blinding light of the midday sun gleaming off of the purity of the snow. "What I saw in…in Redcliffe…in the time that might have been…it showed me things that I have attempted to deny, but I do not feel that I can deny them any longer."

"Oh?" I inquire, arching a single eyebrow.

"Yes." Rulien's eyes look away from me, her face is downcast, her expression serious, no longer smiling. "I have known this for quite some time…perhaps since the first time I met you, when you accused me of murder and threatened to kill me." Her eyes burn into mine now, a black fire so powerful it can sear the soul. "I have known of this and said nothing, for I am afraid. Redcliffe, however, erased that fear. The knowledge that swept over me was so powerful and forceful that I realize how pathetic and small my fear is, and that I must conquer it, even if my entreaty counts for nothing."

My heart trips in my chest at the tone of her voice. I have heard these low, dulcet, timorous notes before. I have shivered in the ecstasy of this melody before, given into it and danced to the tune that no one heard but me and the music's creator. I do not know if I can hear this song again. I know for certain that I cannot dance to it.

"Go on." My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, as though it is another woman speaking, while the true me stands locked behind bars, screaming for me to listen, to truly give heed. I do not know if I can, for if this confession of hers is what I think, then I know what my answer must be.

"Cassandra, you are…" Rulien pauses, straightens her shoulders, corrects her stance, projecting an image of power and confidence, "…you are all that I have dreamed. There is a strength in you that calls to me; that I wish to embrace and know in an intimate fashion. There is also an artist, a poet's soul locked within the body of a warrior. I've seen you reading Varric's books and," She smiles as my face flushes with shame, "…and I have wanted to discuss them with you so many times, for they are my guilty pleasure as well. I have dreamed of us sitting before the fire, you lying on the bearskin rug with your head in my lap as I read to you and we lose ourselves in the worlds he creates. When we celebrate our victories, I want to take your hand and dance with you. I want to capture your every smile in my memory, and I want the joyous dance before others to turn into a private dance, one where we are alone, unclothed, sharing and rejoicing in one another. I almost lost you in Redcliffe, Cassandra, and I can no longer hold my peace. I am in love with you, Seeker. I am in love with you and here I stand, holding out my heart to you, begging you to find it acceptable."

I stare at her in shock and terror, watching as she extends her arm out, her palm open, begging me to fill it with my own hand. To entrust my heart to her, as she is entrusting hers to me. My blood roars through my veins as the words I have always longed to fear fall from the lips of someone whom I cannot be with. My heart is crying. This is everything that I have always wanted, that my dreams have formed and taunted me with, a beautiful confession, an outpouring of the soul. The promise of love from the lips of a person who does not need my strength, who does not lust after my power, but who simply wants to be with me at their side because their heart craves mine.

This is so horribly askew! How can this be happening!? This is not right! Oh, Maker, I do not want to hurt her but we…we do not align! I am not…I cannot…why can she not be a man!? What cruel design of fate dictates that the person standing before me be something that I do not want!? Why is everything that I desire locked within the body of a woman!?

"Will you not answer me, Cassandra?" Rulien's voice trembles and the hand she extends to me shakes. "Will you be cruel and turn your back? I have seen the way you look at me. In Redcliffe, when I found you in that…that cell, your eyes caught fire and pierced me through. I do not claim to be able to read the souls of people, but I know what I saw."

I know what you saw too. I remember how my heart leapt and rejoiced. I remember how I ached to touch you, and how that ache bewildered me, for it felt so very foreign and so very wrong.

"I love you, Cassandra." She speaks the words again and my heart swells in my chest. Even though we felt strongly for each other, Galyan never said that he loved me. And I…I could not find the courage to speak of my feelings to him. I have the courage now, but I do not wish to speak. "Please, break my heart or seal my dreams, but do not leave me here alone. I beg of you, do not leave me here alone."

I reach out and take her hand, folding her fingers back into her palm and withdrawing my hand. "I cannot do this, Rulien." I tell her, watching the stars in her obsidian eyes blink out and fade away, swallowed by the black. "I do not feel as you feel. I cannot…I cannot grant you what you ask."

This place is no longer peaceful for me. All of the serenity has fled. My mind is now chaos. The melody of red lyrium is dashed against the stones, replaced by the wailing of a heart that wants to go back, to undo my words, but my mind is firm. My mind is made up. I cannot love her. There is simply no possible way it could ever happen. She is the bravest heart, most brilliant mind, and brightest soul I have ever known, but I cannot love her. Not in the body that she inhabits. I want desire. I want physical connection. I want to touch and be touched and be made love to and make love.

"Cassandra?" She stays me a moment more with her words. "Cassandra, is it because I am a woman?"

My lips feel as though they have been sewn shut. I want to lie to her, but I am a Seeker of Truth and a paragon of the same. I cannot lie to her, even though I want to do nothing more. Her sex is not her inadequacy. It is cruel to tell her that she is all that I desire, in every way but one. But truth is often cruel, therefore, I am often cruel.

"Yes, Rulien." The bitter words leave my lips and I shudder at their taste.

"I…I see." She murmurs, but her words echo, a blow to my heart and soul and psyche.

"Cassandra!" I heard my name and looked up, stunned to see Dorian standing before me. "Thank the bloody Maker. I've been yelling at you for an hour." He hyperbolizes. "They're here, and we need your assistance."

I could not hide anything now. We ran through the corridors and halls of Skyhold. With every step, my fear grew. I had watched my brother's head cleaved from his shoulders. I watched friends and brothers and sisters die in combat. I walked through the aftermath of the massacre at Kirkwall. I had taken numerous wounds, and bore the scars to prove it. I knew personal illness and injury intimately. Suffering was an old companion.

What I did not do was attend a healing. I always looked away when the healers stitched my skin. I allowed them to use herbs and medicines to lull me to and lock me in sleep after they cleaned and treated the wounds. I avoided the healing tent on the battlefield, and stayed well away from the clinic at Skyhold. My skill lay in the drawing of blood. I could handle the sight of it flowing from my enemy's injuries. I could stand the smell of it on the battlefield. But I could not bear the sight of my friends and companions injured. I could not endure their cries of pain…seeing the mighty brought low reminded me of my own frailty, and it terrified me. My mission was to protect and defend. I could not do that if I focused on my own weaknesses, and the best way I had found to lose that focus was to leave healing to the healers.

But this was too close to me. Rulien was…special. She was my friend, my confidant. I trusted her with my life. I gave her my secrets and she kept them safe. We shared the same guilty pleasure in the writings of Varric Tethras…he had finished a story just for me…at Rulien's request. It benefited her…but she did not do it for herself. She did it for me. To please me. To make me happy.

We reached the door and Dorian put a hand on my shoulder. I turned to face him, noticing that, in spite of the impeccable waxing of his moustache, it was turned down at the corners in a frown. The expression did not become the roguish man's face, but I understood why he wore it.

"The wounds look worse than they actually are." He informed me. "But Rulien's a mess. She's still conscious, and in a lot of pain."

"Then why am I here?" I asked, attempting to keep my voice even and steady. "Do you not need space and silence for your work?"

"Most of the time, yes." Dorian flashed a smile. "But when the patient refuses to be healed before, and I quote, 'Cass…here…please…', the healer mage runs to find the Seeker."

She…she asked for me? Why? I have already told her that we can be nothing more than friends, and she has accepted that and moved forward.

Dorian opened the door and, timid, I entered. Rulien lay upon the bed, on her stomach. Her face was turned towards the fire. Bile rose in my throat as I moved closer and saw the wounds made by the dragon's talons. Four large lashes gaped open across her back. Shards of the torn metal from her backplate protruded from the wounds like miniature swords. Blood oozed in rivulets down her sides, staining the fresh sheets. I moved around the bed, struggling to focus on other details. I couldn't.

A sheen of sweat covered her entire body and her skin was as pale as bleached bone. I could hear her rasping, labored breathing as I moved closer and knelt down in front of her. My hand trembled as I reached out and tucked a strand of lank, sweat-soaked hair behind her ear. I pressed the backs of my fingers against her head, wincing at the heat of her skin. It was a three day ride to Crestwood. I wondered how long she had burned with fever. Rulien's eyes flashed to mine and my heart cracked as I saw the pain and exhaustion in them. She shivered with chills, curled into herself, and moaned with the pain of it. In spite of that, she straightened, trying to move closer to me.

"Cassie." She mumbled, calling me a derivative of my name that I'd not heard since Antony was alive. "Glad you're…here."

Do not die, Rulien. I pleaded with her inside my mind. I dare not think of a world without you in it. I dare not think of an Inquisition without its Inquisitor…its Herald. But you are so much more than that, Rulien. You are so much more than a mere Inquisitor.

"There is nowhere else I would rather be." I told her, shocked to find that the words were true.

"The journey has been difficult for her." Vivienne murmured to Dorian and the surgeon. "But we could not stay in the damp of Crestwood, not without a competent healer there. We thought it best to bring her back here, rather than hope for the best in the humidity and constant rain."

Dorian nodded his approval, and the surgeon set straight to work. "We have to get those metal fragments out of the wounds, then clean them, then…then magic. Those gashes are so wide that stitching isn't a viable option."

The mage knelt beside the surgeon, sparing a concerned glance at Rulien. His eyes empathized with the pain she was about to endure. He reached out and grasped Rulien's hand, apologizing for the discomfort he caused her as he grasped my hand, joining it with hers.

"She needs your strength and comfort now." He said to me. "Can you be there for her?"

"I can." I replied, pleased that I kept my voice from shivering, even over just two words. I could be strong for her, here. I could comfort her, here.

I could not be there for her, as Dorian put it, in the way Rulien desired. It simply could not be.

But why not, Cassandra?

The thought struck me, for the first time, as Rulien's grasp on my hand tightened. The surgeon and Dorian washed their hands, exchanged a look of grim agreement, and set to the task of removing the metal shards from Rulien's skin. I flinched as she cried out in pain, wishing nothing more than to be able to take it from her and bear it for her.

Did she not suffer enough on the journey from Crestwood back to Skyhold? Every jolt of the horse, every movement…is there no way to mitigate her suffering? Must she be kept awake?

I knew the reality of the situation, having been there myself more than I wanted to remember. Every healer had forced me to remain awake through the debriding and cleansing of the wound. It was necessary in case complications arose, for if they drugged me to sleep, or induced sleep by magic, the chances of the patient slipping into a coma were too high. The necessity was brutal but it was, indeed, a necessity.

"Soon you can sleep, Rulien." Dorian promised her and I wanted to cry at the desperate noise of relief that passed from her lips.

I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of her torn open, bleeding, in so much pain. I had known that manner of pain, so deep and terrible that I prayed to die in order to be free of it. I never wanted such a thing to touch her. She had endured so much already. The mark on her hand, which I knew pained her when she closed a rift, the stress and worry of carrying the Inquisition on her shoulders, and the knowledge of an enemy so great and powerful we did not know if anyone mortal might could fell him…no one could bear that alone.

And alone is what I have caused her to be, I realized as her hand tightened around mine, followed by a shriek of pain that caused my very soul to bleed. My heart ached within my chest. I thought she would turn her eyes to another, her affections to another. There are so many among us who could and would love her and care for her and fulfill her needs. But she keeps to herself. She denies the affections of those who would grant them to her. Why does she do so? I do not understand her. I do not understand this. Surely she is not…waiting and hoping for me?

Do not be ridiculous, Cassandra. I chastised myself. You think too highly of yourself. Rulien must simply not be interested in the others. Someone will come along who will love her and care for her as she deserves to be loved.

Rulien's cries ceased and I opened my eyes, watching Dorian pour healing magic into the grievous wounds on her back. The Inquisitor groaned and her eyes fluttered shut as she received respite from the pain at last. The healer frowned and looked up to the surgeon, then to me.

"She will have to be healed in stages." He informed us. "And the wounds, ragged as they are and left untreated for so long, are going to leave terrible scars. There is nothing I can do to avoid that. However, we have to think of what to tell the people. Knowing their Inquisitor is here, and not seeing her, will begin to start rumors."

"I will speak to Leliana on the matter." I told him, watching the crease in his brow ease. "She will know what to do."

"Of course." He smiled, a bit of his rakish self reappearing. "Our spymaster can conceal the truth from anyone, even us."

I frowned at his statement, though I knew he did not mean the words how I interpreted them. He was right, however. We would need to pacify the people so that rumors did not begin and cause worry. Rulien would require at least a week to recover, if not more.

"She can stay in my quarters." I told the mage. "It is quiet and there is little foot traffic. I will occupy her room until she is well."

Dorian nodded again, agreeing with me before setting to the task of placing poultices on the wounds, to draw out infection and reduce swelling, then bandaging them. The sight of so much blood, away from the field of battle, reminded me of Antony's death. My throat tightened; I felt shaky and nauseated. I needed fresh air, and time and space to think. I excused myself from the room. There was nothing that I could do for her now. She needed rest and healers, not someone who surely caused her heart to ache…someone she could not have, and might still desire.

No. I needed to be as far away from her as possible. It did not matter that she said she was glad of my presence. Those words were surely spoken from pain, fever, and exhaustion. She would know better than to believe that I could comfort her, once she was well. However, I no longer knew if I could convince myself of the things my mind told me. Her words, cracked and broken, still echoed in my ears, followed by the cries of pain. My hand still ached from where she had gripped it in the throes of agony, clinging to me to alleviate her pain…and it had felt…

No, Cassandra. I bit down on my thoughts, attempting to tear them to pieces. But I could not stop them. It felt right. Her hand in mine felt right. Natural. As if it were meant to be. As if made to fit.

I ran up the stairs to Rulien's room, pouring cold water from the pitcher into a basin and splashing my face, attempting to wash away the thoughts I did not want to face. They were too unsettling. I was not often wrong, but now I felt as though I had…done something irreparable. That I might have…in denying her…made a mistake.

I sat on the edge of Rulien's bed, near the pillows. They smelled like her: cedar chips and petrichor. A smell of clean, good things. A smell of comfort and of home. I rested my elbows on my knees and buried my head in my hands. It was late. I was worried about Rulien, about her recovery. I knew what it was like to heal alone…Rulien was fierce in her independence. She would deny help and company, even if she needed and craved it. There were others who would offer such things willingly, but she would turn them away. She wanted no one to see her weak; I had seen her turn away help even when she neared exhausted collapse.

Cassie…glad you're…here.

Her words echoed in my hearing and I did not know what to do. I was exhausted. The falcon had arrived late and Rulien and the others even later. The sun would rise soon. I needed to sleep, but my mind would not let me rest. I needed a distraction. I glanced to her nightstand, smiling as I saw a copy of Varric's book. I had the same volume in my chambers, but had forgotten to bring it with me.

I lay back on Rulien's pillow, inhaling cedar and petrichor once again, feeling my body relax at the familiar, pleasant aroma. I reached for Varric's book, opening it to the page I had left off on. A piece of folded parchment dropped from the pages of the book. I set the volume aside and picked up the parchment, thinking it nothing but a page marker until I saw ink stains on it. My mind was too fogged to protest, so I unfolded the parchment, reading the Inquisitor's small, careful script.

My love is the River,

ever constant ever strong.

Vibrant, powerful,

rich and full of life…

full of life

forged by tears.

My love flows

a singular direction

with purpose, passion,

and grace.

My love is comfort, wild and free,

perfect peace, serenity,

alas she flows, so swift and wild,

she flows away from me.

I travel alongside

my love,

prayer present on my lips.

Dear Maker, listen, listen please,

I beg for there to be

a bend within the river

that brings my love

to me.

There were tears in my eyes and my cheeks were wet. I did not realize it until I set the parchment aside and felt them on my skin. The book forgotten, I turned on my side, buried my face in the pillow that smelled of her, and I wept. I wept for new knowledge, new understanding, new comprehension.

I wept for my mistake.