A/N: I am a mess. I just started a new DA:I playthrough and for some reason Cassandra breathlessly intoning "I will go with her" when they're going to appeal to the Chantry in Val Royeaux gave me Emotions, and since then I have been sitting here writing this. It may need a little more proofreading, but for the moment I need a break from it haha. Some of the dialogue is lifted and/or paraphrased from various iterations of Cassandra's romance scenes. I hope you will enjoy, and perhaps share your thoughts!
It began as real, honest loathing.
She had never trusted shemlen, much as her clan liked to play nice with them. Elves weren't people to them, she could feel it when they looked at her, and she was sure nothing good would come of humouring them.
Sure enough, they'd sent her here to play nice, and she'd woken from a half-remembered horror aching all over, feeling sick, like something wrong flowed and crackled through her veins—hands chained to the ground and a shem warrior knocking her about.
Tell me why we shouldn't kill you.
We need her, Cassandra.
To the Void with both of them, she'd thought.
Cassandra Pentaghast was the sort of person who was very devoted to her ideals, and Elonaya had never held any great love for those sorts of people, either. The Inquisition was full of them, and this had isolated her nearly as much as being a Dalish away from her clan.
She'd practically flung herself at every elf she'd encountered and received little more than cool detachment from most. The city elf Sera boasted of her hatred for elves, and chided Elonaya for being too 'elfy', whatever that meant, and the strange mage Solas had no obvious affinity—was neither city elf nor Dalish, but something else entirely, though she'd yet to put her finger on just what that could be.
In the end, the only real sympathy she'd been offered after the trauma that had ultimately reshaped the course of her entire existence had been from a surfacer dwarf, of all people, and she was later embarrassed to remember that she hadn't quite known how to accept the gesture at the time.
She would have liked to avoid Seeker Pentaghast in those early days, but it quickly became clear that she simply could not afford to. Now that Elonaya was a symbol of something Cassandra believed in, Cassandra swore to protect her, sometimes several times a day. On top of that, Cassandra was an uncommonly good warrior. Elonaya would not have done well to go wandering about without her help.
Still they traveled together in tense silence. Sometimes Elonaya's shoulders ached just from the effort of hating Cassandra and all she stood for. Varric, the dwarf, was a talker, and tried to break the tension every few hours by offering someone a seemingly innocuous question, but invariably only a few words were exchanged before they fell silent once more, and no one was much happier for having spoken at all.
One night, though, when they'd been trudging through the Hinterlands for what seemed an eternity and finally found a safe enough place to make camp, Cassandra had approached her with a log for the fire in her hands and some kind of hesitant intention upon her immutably stern features.
"It...occurs to me," said Cassandra as she added the log to the fire, "...I don't know much about you."
Just now? she'd wanted to snap, or, it occurs to me, too. But something about Cassandra's surprising awkwardness had given her pause.
She loathed it—did not like to show a drop of mercy to people who didn't deserve it—but lately she'd found herself with the horrible desire to act with compassion for people who would happily have slain her a few weeks prior. It was something about the way they looked at her, now that she was their Herald of Andraste. The world was becoming such a bleak and frightening place, and they looked to her with something like hope drowning in desperation.
It turned her stomach, for what could she do in the end but disappoint them all? She was not holy or even particularly gifted. But somehow she could not bring herself to let them down. Not as long as she could help it.
"Well..." she ran a hand through her hair uncomfortably. "What would you know of me?"
Cassandra sat, eyes downcast. "I'm...not sure. Where are you from?"
Elonaya almost laughed. You don't even know that? she wanted to say, but bit this back, too. She'd already decided to give this conversation a chance. "Dalish clans don't really stay in one place for long," she said, unable to keep a slight edge from her voice. Cassandra was not a Templar, technically, but she might as well have been. "But mostly the Free Marches."
"Oh... I...didn't think your people roamed that far north. Clearly I'm mistaken."
There was one thing Elonaya could say in Cassandra's favour, albeit very grudgingly at the time. For all her devotion to her questionable ideals, she was quick to admit when she had been wrong, or even when she had doubts about her course of action.
"I'm told some members of your clan might still be alive," said Cassandra, and again something that shouldn't have meant anything felt a bit like a punch to the gut. Some. Might. "Do you intend to go back?"
Elonaya felt sick to her stomach, suddenly overwhelmed by the past she'd been ignoring for weeks. None of your business, she wanted to snap, but held her tongue yet again. She could now clearly see something her Keeper had warned her about time and time again, something she'd always coldly disregarded: Cassandra was legitimately trying to be civil to her, and she was reacting with anger Cassandra had no way of understanding.
"That's..." she began, slowly. "...a bit complicated."
"Oh?"
"Before I left..." Elonaya frowned, dug her fingernails into her knees. "...another mage was discovered among our people. That's one too many. She is...permitted to stay with her family, so long as I am gone. So, if I were to return..."
She could feel Cassandra's eyes on her, burning, horrified.
Elonaya looked up to meet her gaze. "Nothing so horrific as whatever you're thinking," she said, with the ghost of a smile. "Only that she'd have to be traded to another clan. She's so young yet, and I..." she averted her eyes again, dug the toe of her boot into the ground. "I'm not certain I'd make a very good Keeper, anyway."
Cassandra was silent for a moment, and Elonaya was left to contemplate the weight of the words she'd barely even had time to process internally before she'd spoken them aloud.
"I am...sorry to hear that, my Lady Herald."
Elonaya ran her hand through her hair, jarred from her depressing reverie. "You could call me by my name, you know. Since you've decided to treat me like a person."
This she had been unable to bite back, but surprisingly, Cassandra did not take offense. "I...confess I know only your clan name, Lady Lavellan."
"Elonaya." She looked up to meet Cassandra's tentative gaze, and Cassandra awarded her a small, nearly imperceptible smile.
"Elonaya," Cassandra echoed, and Elonaya's heart fluttered unhelpfully.
After that, it was something like distant respect, coloured with a hazy sort of something else, which Elonaya was hesitant to admit to even in the privacy of her own mind. Out of necessity and a love for tradition, the Dalish had strict rules on love and courtship. Though many found their way around such rules, and though one might expect Elonaya to do the same simply out of a healthy distaste for authority, the truth was that no one had ever particularly struck her fancy. Looking at Cassandra, of all people—a human, a fearsome warrior, and a woman who would happily have killed her on sight—and feeling...whatever this feeling might be...was uniquely terrifying, and Elonaya did her best to ignore it.
She chalked it up to a troubled misunderstanding of her own heart. Because Elonaya felt so alone here, and because Cassandra had been so cold to her, and was suddenly so intent upon being marginally pleasant, she'd mixed up her emotions in her head. Nothing more.
And if, perhaps, sometimes she had accidentally blurted out something she hadn't been able to keep inside ("You're kind of a force of nature, aren't you?" A scowl. "You flatter me.", or "I think you're rather delightful, actually." A crack in the voice? "I object. There is nothing delightful about me."), well, there was only so quickly she could counteract a lifetime of unhelpful reactionary behaviour.
But she'd never dreamed that her tragic attraction could possibly matter to Cassandra—never even caught a glimpse of what might appeal to Cassandra aside from swinging a sword, for that was how she seemed to spend all of her time, on duty or off. Then, one day, she'd come across Cassandra reading a book, and Cassandra had been so enthralled by it that she hadn't noticed Elonaya's approach.
"Good book?"
Cassandra had jumped. Staggered backward. Hidden the book behind her back. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Elonaya raised her eyebrows. "Are you...blushing?"
Cassandra was mortified. "What would I have to blush about?"
"You tell me."
"It's of no interest to you, I'm certain," said Cassandra sternly, but if Elonaya's curiosity hadn't been piqued already, now she was practically ravenous for more information. Cassandra kept up her customary grave expression for a full minute before she relented with a sigh. "It's a book."
"I can see that," said Elonaya, but when Cassandra finally continued, the truth was so much better than she could have imagined.
"It's...Varric wrote it," Cassandra continued, slowly. Varric, whom she had also chained up in a dungeon for questioning! Varric, who she'd just a few days prior been ready to murder with her bare hands for keeping Hawke from her! "Swords and Shields, it's called."
"So, you like to read," Elonaya pressed.
"It's frivolous," Cassandra snapped. "There are more important things to do."
"That's just her favourite." This from the Tevinter mage Dorian, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, no doubt lured by the promise of mockery.
"Nobody asked you, Tevinter!" Cassandra pointed at him accusatorily, a clear warning, but Dorian was utterly unconcerned.
"Couldn't finish the last one you lent me. I actually feel dumber for having tried." And then he was gone, and Cassandra was beside herself.
"It's literature...smutty literature," she confessed at last.
It was all Elonaya could do to keep her jaw from dropping.
"Whatever you do, don't tell Varric!" Cassandra begged.
"Maybe I should read that book," Elonaya muttered before she could catch herself.
"You? No!"
Elonaya raised her chin in a challenge. "Why not me?"
"You're...you're the Inquisitor!" Cassandra gesticulated wildly.
"Right."
"They're terrible," Cassandra shook her head, clutched the book to her chest. "And magnificent," she breathed, reverent.
And Elonaya was horribly captivated all over again.
"And this one ends in a cliffhanger! And I know Varric is working on..." she stopped herself, then the light went out in her eyes and she glared like they were enemies again. "Pretend you don't know this about me," she said, flatly, then stormed off into the courtyard.
Elonaya located Varric in Skyhold's tavern.
"Bit early, isn't it?" she greeted him.
"Well, when you barely sleep, who can say?" Varric replied good-naturedly and raised his mug in her direction. "Need something?"
Elonaya sat. "It's...more of a personal favour," she began, unable to keep a smile from her face.
Varric folded his hands on the table. "I'm listening."
"Cassandra is interested in the next chapter of Swords and Shields."
At first, Varric's expression didn't change. "I must have heard that wrong."
Elonaya shook her head.
After that, it was...warm. Hesitant, strange, and surprising, but decidedly warm.
"So," said Elonaya one night on the Storm Coast as she stoked the campfire with her magic. "Cassandra Pentaghast has a secret love of romance novels."
Cassandra glared at her, but there was no malice in it anymore. "Have you stayed up so late simply to mock me?"
"No," said Elonaya. "It was just surprising, is all." Then, added, before she could think better of it, "One wonders what this reveals about the mysterious love life of the famous lady Seeker."
Cassandra scoffed. "Nothing," she said firmly. Then, almost an afterthought, "Or...more than it should, possibly. It's been said that I hold up romantic ideals as a way of protecting myself from...real intimacy."
"Do you think that's true?"
Cassandra rested her chin on her hand. "Perhaps," she said. "I prefer to think that I haven't found the right person."
Elonaya averted her eyes, focused her attention on the ebb and flow of the fire. "So, you've never...I don't know, loved anyone?"
Cassandra was silent for what felt like an eternity, so long that Elonaya began to wonder if she would answer at all, and felt foolish for having asked.
"There was someone, once."
Elonaya raised her eyebrows. "Only once?" she said aloud, before she could think better of it. The Dalish had all these absurdly strict rules about courting, and they still found all manner of ways around them. She'd always heard humans were far freer in their affections.
Fortunately, Cassandra did not take offense. She nodded solemnly. "Only once," she said. "Even then, it was...I don't know."
"What?"
Cassandra gave her a sidelong glance, then returned her attention to the fire. "It feels...a bit cruel to speak ill of him now. He died at the Conclave. A good man. A mage, no less," she laughed humourlessly. 'But no man has ever quite lived up to my expectations."
There was some hidden meaning in the words, something Elonaya was missing. Cassandra looked deeply troubled, and would not quite meet her eyes.
Elonaya fidgeted idly with a loose bit of fabric on the knee of her breeches. "I confess I don't know much about romance," she said slowly. "But I do..." she glanced up, found that she had Cassandra's full, rapt attention, dark eyes practically looking right through her, and Elonaya had to avert her eyes to continue, for she felt her words catch in her throat at the sight. "I do think...you're right...to be discerning." She licked her lips, found that her mouth had run suddenly dry. "Anyone would be lucky to have your attention."
Cassandra was eerily silent for a moment, but Elonaya did not dare meet her gaze just now. She felt raw, exposed in a way she never had before.
"Thank you," said Cassandra.
Elonaya shrugged, ran her hand through her hair.
After another long silence, Cassandra continued, so quietly the wind could have drowned out her voice. "I know what people see," she said. "I am a warrior. I am...blunt and difficult, and self-righteous. But my heart lies beneath all that. It yearns for..." she sighed heavily. "...for things I cannot have."
Then, quite suddenly for something that had seemed to build so abstrusely, it had come crashing down.
Cassandra was pacing, shoulders tense, eyes downcast, hands uncommonly fidgety. She was silent for several minutes, even though she was the one who had brought Elonaya up here to the ramparts to speak privately. "The...flirting. With me. I have...noticed it. Unless it is my imagination, which is entirely possible."
Elonaya was stricken speechless. She felt her palms sweat and the tips of her ears flush hot. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it, she wanted to stutter out, but swallowed the impulse. "Oh?" she offered, instead.
Cassandra looked up at her at last, and Elonaya felt a lump form in her throat. "Is it?" she pressed. "My imagination?"
Elonaya shook her head. She did not trust her voice. A horrible mixture of pride and insecurity were warring inside her, and she had no idea which would reign in the end.
"You're the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste..." said Cassandra. "And my leader...and..." she averted her gaze "And a woman."
As it turned out, pride showed itself first. "And an elf. And a mage. And a non-believer," Elonaya supplied, sounding much calmer, and a fair bit colder than she felt. "I wonder, which one of those is the biggest problem for you?"
Internally, she admonished herself relentlessly. What kind of game did she think she was playing at? She should have gone with her first impulse, apologized profusely for even daring to entertain such a delusion, and dropped the matter as soon as it had begun. It was pure, possibly self-destructive recklessness that made her challenge Cassandra, a visceral reaction to the unreadably conflicted look in her eyes.
"It's not...that's not..." Cassandra was stammering, shaking her head, and backing away. "I hope you understand, I cannot..."
Elonaya felt a horrible churning in her stomach, felt like the exposed skin of her face must be red. Perhaps she'd brought it on herself, pressing the issue when Cassandra was trying to let her down gently, but there was something infinitely more humiliating about this display, and it rendered Elonaya even more prideful. She held her chin high. "Tact isn't your strong point, Cassandra," she said unkindly. "Perhaps you ought to finish saying whatever it is you're dancing around and be done with it."
Usually barbs like that rolled right off of Cassandra, but this one, for some reason, did not. She looked as though someone had stricken her—no, not that...she didn't look angry or vengeful. She looked as though her feelings had been hurt. Elonaya had never seen anything even resembling that circumstance on her. She regretted her words immediately, but held her ground, waited, feigned coldness.
Now Cassandra's eyes were downcast and stormy, like the first day Elonaya had seen her, marching forward despite knowing she was surrounded by people who hated her, because she knew she had to.
"I'm afraid I'm not sure what I mean to say," she said quietly. "Perhaps it is simpler than I have made it out to be in my mind. It cannot be, much as..." her frown deepened, and she shook her head. "Much as I wish it could," she finished cryptically, then turned and disappeared back into the fortress.
"You're staring. It's the chest hair, isn't it?"
Elonaya dragged her palm over her forehead, tried to call on some of that reckless courage that had so easily caused her to ruin everything hours earlier. "You...write...things, yeah?"
Varric awarded her a look of incredulity before he replied. "That...is a rough start. Something on your mind?"
Elonaya rested her head in her hands. "I don't even know where to start," she said. "And I don't want to trouble you with what might well be nothing, but there's no one else I can really talk to..."
"You know we're friends, right?" said Varric with a shrug. "If you need something, all you have to do is ask."
Elonaya looked up, suddenly feeling the full weight of the past few months as though it literally rested upon her shoulders. Friends. The word sounded so foreign to her. Friends were what her clanmates called lethal'len, but that felt deeply personal, and utterly divorced from this place and everyone in it. Elonaya had been so othered by her Dalish origins, even by fellow elves, and had been put on a pedestal as some kind of holy symbol by everyone else. Though she had taken note of Varric's insistence upon treating her like a person, she had never felt quite secure enough in this knowledge to count him as a friend.
"Thank you, Varric," was all she managed to say aloud.
Varric smiled, somewhat bemusedly, and inclined his head. "Now, you were saying?"
Elonaya ran her hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. "I may have sort of...accidentally...developed...feelings."
When she failed to continue, Varric chuckled. "Story of my life. Any particular variety?"
Elonaya covered her eyes. "For Cassandra."
Varric choked on his drink.
"I gotta tell you, Inquisitor," he said, still sputtering, "I think I could've helped you out with wooing literally anyone else."
This amused Elonaya enough to distract her momentarily from her woes. "Oh, come on. Anyone?"
Varric's response was a cocky grin and a raise of his chin. "Try me."
Elonaya wrinkled her nose and thought of her companions. "The Iron Bull," she tried.
Varric scoffed. "Easy. Take him dragon hunting. And probably be down for some kinky shit. Come on, give me a real challenge."
"Okay...Solas."
"Likes the Fade, old elf shit, and feeling smart. Just fucking listen to him yammer without falling asleep, or even with falling asleep, simple. Next!"
Elonaya laughed, and the sound and the feel of it surprised her. She hadn't really laughed in what seemed a lifetime. "How about...the Champion of Kirkwall!"
"Hawke?" Varric shook his head. "Oh, she'd be all over you given the chance, Inquisitor—you wouldn't even have to try."
Elonaya ordered a beer, even though she wasn't normally much of a drinker, and she took a long, strangely fulfilling gulp from it once it had arrived.
"But the Seeker..." Varric said slowly. "She's kind of a wild card from my perspective. If I'd had to guess a week ago I'd have said she wasn't interested in people, period. I mean, who'd have guessed she had a soft spot for poorly-written romance novels?"
Elonaya bit the inside of her cheek for a moment before she decided to share the precise nature of her confusion. "She sort of...turned me down. And the sensible part of me knows that should be the end of it. But it was strange, like she didn't want to."
Varric scratched his chin contemplatively, took a long sip of his own ale. "I'll have you know this was not a topic I ever in my life considered needing to devote any thought to."
Elonaya gave him a little bow and a flourish of her hand. "I have become very good at getting into surprising kinds of trouble."
Varric sighed deeply, took another drink. "All right. Bear with me here. She's a strong character, right? Has this image of herself she likes to project, and then this secret inner world where she fantasizes about...I don't know, poetry and flowers or some shit." He sighed again, leaned back in his chair and looked up at the tavern's haphazardly patched-up ceiling. "I'm thinking maybe you're already on the right track—that the poetry and flowers thing seems like maybe it's a front, too, right?"
Elonaya contemplated her drink, nodded slowly. "Something like that, yeah."
Varric rested his elbows on the table. "Look, I don't know much about real relationships. I just write them and don't follow my own advice. But maybe..." he shook his head, disbelieving of his own words. "Maybe the Seeker just wants to be treated like a real person. Same as anyone with a legend hanging over her head."
But in the end, it was little more than chance. One wrong move, one different choice, and it might have gone unspoken between them forever.
"Falling back!"
She'd heard Cassandra cry out, but the battle was almost finished. Just a few more blasts and...! The rift was clear. She held out her hand, guided less by any real knowledge she possessed and more by the dark magic the mark on her palm always sputtered, and twisted and pulled the rift closed.
It had been a particularly rough fight, and everyone was looking a little worse for wear. The Terrors, they were called, those were the worst. They'd jump out of nowhere with their razor-sharp talons and stab you right in the—
Cassandra was still on the ground, on her knees, hunched over and clutching her abdomen. Elonaya rushed over to help her, but she wasn't much of a healer, and Solas and Vivienne had stayed behind for this trip. Cassandra would have to wait until they got back to Skyhold to receive any proper care.
They made camp for the evening right where the rift had been a moment prior, and everyone retreated to their tents to rest rather quickly. Elonaya made a fire, then helped Cassandra remove her heavy armour so she could get a better crack at the Terror's damage.
"It really isn't necessary, I will be fine," Cassandra protested when Elonaya asked her to sit and lean back, but Elonaya knew well enough by now that her words were a feeble front.
"Of course you'll be fine, but wouldn't it be better if you didn't spend the rest of the journey in pain?"
Cassandra made a noise of disapproval in response, but had no further argument to offer.
Elonaya peeled Cassandra's blood-soaked tunic away from her skin and cleaned the wound, was surprised by how easily she fell back into something she hadn't done since she'd left the Dalish. "You're in good hands," she said quietly while she worked. "I've been trying to learn better healing magic, but with my clan, this sort of thing was much more my strong point."
She secured some bandages over the wound in Cassandra's side from a little kit she'd forgotten she had in her pack, and looked up to find Cassandra staring at her. That unreadable, deeply conflicted look was back in her eyes, the one Elonaya hadn't seen since the day Cassandra had rejected her for something she hadn't even fully acknowledged.
Cassandra reached up and touched the right side of Elonaya's face, the side with more unmarked skin than vallaslin, but it was the vines of blood writing that her fingers traced. Elonaya froze, wide-eyed, feeling suddenly hot and cold all at once.
"What about you?" Cassandra asked, as though some conversation were occurring inside her mind, and Elonaya were just now privy to it.
"Hm?" Elonaya faintly realized she still had the hem of Cassandra's bloodstained tunic clutched between her fingers, but could not will herself to move, or even exhale.
"Have you ever loved anyone?"
Elonaya reached out and smoothed Cassandra's hair. It was still wet, whether from the constant rain of from sweat was difficult to tell, but surprisingly soft. Elonaya shook her head, felt surprising tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and swallowed hard in an effort to keep them at bay. "Not til now," she said, so quietly the raging storm around them almost drowned it out entirely.
Cassandra pushed herself upright, slowly and stiffly, and Elonaya was sure she would drag herself to her feet just to retire to her tent without another word. Her dark eyes seemed somehow to be burning, reflecting the flickering campfire, and she wore that same troubled expression that Elonaya could not read and could not ignore and could not erase from her dreams.
Cassandra laced her fingers through Elonaya's hair (also wet, and coarse and matted from the dreadful weather), rested her hand at the base of Elonaya's neck, and pulled her into a kiss.
Everything went dim. The storm seemed a distant, hushed sound, the warmth of the campfire suddenly overwhelming. Elonaya grasped Cassandra by the shoulders as though she might fall without them, though they were already sitting on the ground, and was captivated by the feeling of hard muscle beneath her fingers.
The kiss ended almost as soon as it had begun, and Elonaya was left breathless, unable or unwilling to meet Cassandra's eyes. They remained not a breath apart for what seemed an eternity. Elonaya's thoughts were in an unintelligible whirl, her throat felt tight with unshed tears, and her heart and the hand that held the Anchor both hurt overwhelmingly.
She had the distinct sensation that this was a singular moment, unlikely ever to occur again, and unthinkable to continue once they were back in their right minds and clean clothes and comfortable beds. Cassandra had turned her down already, and Elonaya had pushed her too far even then. She was unable to reconcile that conversation with this one, or indeed any conversation with any other between them, and for the moment, for whatever time they had, she did not wish to try.
Elonaya balled her marked hand into a fist and wrapped her arms about Cassandra's neck, all but dragging her into another kiss. Cassandra made a small noise, something between a groan and a whimper, and in turn wrapped her arms about Elonaya's waist. Their kisses were clumsy and hard and deep and passionate, and all of Thedas might well have fallen into the Void around them for all they knew, or for all they cared.
There was no telling how long they stayed like that, arms wrapped about each other, lost in countless kisses. Elonaya's muscles began to ache from the cold, and she was sure Cassandra's abdominal wound was not taking kindly to their position, but even when at last they broke apart for a moment to breathe, foreheads still touching, eyes half-closed, almost panting, neither of them was particularly willing to move. Once they moved, the moment was over.
"We should...probably...get some rest," Elonaya murmured reluctantly. She felt Cassandra's hands smoothing her hair, and her shiver had nothing to do with the cold.
"Probably," Cassandra agreed.
With agonizing slowness, they broke apart. Everything still felt dim and vague, and there was at once a heaviness and a lightness in Elonaya's heart that she could not reconcile. Elonaya helped Cassandra to stand, and together they walked the handful of steps towards their tents as though it were an arduous journey, arms linked gently, each of them with their eyes decidedly downcast.
Elonaya looked up at last, and Cassandra met her gaze with those dark, burning eyes, and an entirely new and equally indiscernible expression. She looked...younger, somehow, in that moment, and not quite as impossibly tired as usual. For the second time in the extent of their acquaintance, Cassandra awarded Elonaya the tiniest of smiles, and Elonaya felt that she might just let the world burn around her if only she could stay in this moment for awhile longer.
"Is this the end?" she wondered, unable to stop herself, unable to look away or to live another moment not knowing.
Cassandra's brow furrowed further. "I...did you mean what you said?"
Elonaya nodded solemnly. She felt in that moment that she had never meant anything more than to say that she had never loved anyone until now.
"Then..." Cassandra averted her eyes for a moment, took Elonaya's hands between hers. "Perhaps...that is to say, I hope...it can be the beginning."