Sovia plays with her fingers, exchanging sober glances with the jug in front of her in hopes of it coming to life, animated, to tell her what to do. Unfortunately, life just doesn't seem to work that way. She reaches out, fingers tenser than they've ever been before, to grab at the handle, before bringing the jug up to her lips, and throwing the rest of the remaining liquid down her throat.

It burns just as Iron Bull had told her.

She stifles a laugh and orders another round from the nearby bartender.

"Crap." She hears her voice, but it sounds unfamiliar to her pointed ears – drunken and slurred and raw. "Where the hell's my sword?" She paws at her hip. But she can't seem to find the weapon her mother had given her when she was only a child.

"I took it away the second I smelled alcohol."

Sovia whirls around, eyes narrowed, at the large horned giant behind her, with his arms crossed and his lips spread out into a smug grin. He tips his chin forward. "Having fun, Lavellan?" He pauses, then laughs. Loudly. "That rhymes!"

"Shut up, Bull!" She spits. "Where'd ya take muh sword, huh?"

Bull chuckles and says, "I'm not telling you with that kind of slur, boss."

"Whut slur ye talking about?" Sovia stands, pauses to hold back a mini-barf, and sits back down. "Uh, as I was saying-"

"C'mon, boss, we all know what happened between you and-" A glare from Sovia causes him to stop. "-that person."

"Yeah? Well, whatever. I don't even care about whatsherface." She says sarcastically. Although it's clear, from both her voice and facial expression, that that certainly isn't the case.

Bull takes a seat behind her. The bench sinks almost half an inch from his weight. "Boss, you gotta realize the whole team's worried about you. Getting drunk is great – occasionally. But do it too many times and you become what our people call an 'Imekari'."

"Let me guess-" Sovia mumbles. "That means a drunk?"

"No." Iron Bull says. "It means a child." He grabs her recently-filled jug and places it several inches away.

"Hey!"

Bull takes her outstretched hand. "Boss, you need to talk about it."

"Talk about it?" Sovia laughs spitefully and shoots Bull a menacing look. "You're the last person I'd expect to say that."

Bull grins. "Well, we're all full of surprises." He takes a pause, and adds, "Cassandra, especially."

Sovia's glare turns cold as ice.

"We all think it's a misunderstanding, boss-"

"It's none of yur business, Bull. Neither is it any of the others'."

"We're just trying to help."

"No." Sovia snaps, standing up. Her vision blurs for a moment, but as soon as it clears, she says, "Don't butt into muh life. I had enough of that with my Dalish 'frrieends', I don't need any more harmless interruptions. Leave me and my problems to me." With a fiery finish, she whirls around and walks out of the tavern.

Bull sighs, placing a lage hand against his cheek. "Guess it's up to the others now."

Sovia makes her way to the upper levels of Skyhold. There, she hopes, she'll meet less resistence. Unfortunately, on the way up, she bumps into an overly eager Sera, who, upon bumping into the Inquisitor, seems to have dropped everything on her list to talk to her.

"There you are, Herald!" She exclaims excitedly, grinning. "Les' go for a little walk around the place, shall we? Maybe go shoot some annoying nobles who can't seem to stick up two fingers without getting all snobby about it?"

Sovia suspiciously takes a step back. Strange for Sera to recommend something. She shoots her a look. "What're ye on about, Sera?"

"We elves have to stick together, right?"

Okay. Now Sovia knows something's not right, even if she is drunk to her toes. Sera has never been in any way patriotic about her race. In fact she's downright against it. "What's goin on with you? You're never elfy!"

Sera rolls her eyes. "Well, shit, Varric – you said this'll work."

"Varric?"

Sera throws her a nervous grin. "He said being all patriotic with you would help. I suggested a hat that makes funny noises when you run, but they shot it down the second I suggested it. Bunch of no-fun goody-two-shoes who don't know how to make a girl laugh." She looks around, and smiles. "But it's not too late to have some fun! C'mon now, 'my Herald', I bet them people like Cullen won't mind a little shot in the ass to get the day going!"

Sovia feels a knot twist itself in her stomach. She's starting to think her companions have nothing better to do than to get involved in her personal life. She brushes past Sera, waving her off. "Not in the mood, Sera."

With a sigh, the smaller elven archer leans back against a nearby wooden pillar and stares as Sovia goes. She tilts her head slightly to the left, and smirks. "Good luck to Varric, I'd say. But he gave me false advice. So I don't care what happens to that nutter."

Sovia enters the Skyhold castle lobby, expecting nothing more than what she usually sees on an average non-questing day. She gets taken by surprise when Varric bounces up his seat and approaches her with Bianca unseathed.

"Snarks! Just the person I've been looking for!" He exclaims. Sovia scowls at the nickname he's given her. She'll never forget the moment he called her 'snarks' in short for snarky after witnessing her screaming episode at a young elven servant when she washed her pants wrong.

"What is it, Varric?" She mumbles, feeling the alcohol inside of her drain out like water down a pipe. "I'm kind of busy at the momen-"

"I think Bianca needs an upgrade, but I'm not sure what material best suits her shaft." He gestures to something on the crossbow's surface, and smirks up at her. "Since you're the best damn archer in this place, I'd like your opinion... What do you think?"

Even with the alcohol, it's clear that the flattery and the distraction is all part of Varric's master plan to help Sovia smoothen her relationship with the Seeker of Truth, who, at this moment, Sovia assumes is in deep, deep hiding. From her, and her companions. But all Sovia wants to do is to lie down and forget all about her troubles – it's what she's always done. And it's gotten her through most of her rejections so far anyway. Who's to say this rejection is any different?

She sighs deeply, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and emotions. With a spur, she opens her eyes and stares Varric (and his crossbow) down. "I appreciate your concern, Tethras, but it really is none of your business."

"What're you implying, madame?" He says, almost sarcastically. "I just wanna know how to make Bianca prettier."

Sovia quickly says, "Fine. Use veradium for the shaft, dragon hide for the handle. Are we done?" Without waiting for a reply, she walks past him and through the hall towards the room Solas is residing in. With luck, he isn't dragged into Varric's plan like the rest of them are. Sovia's had enough of distractions to last her a lifetime.

Merely second after she's entered the round chamber, two familiar figures emerge from the darkness to corner her at the centre of the room. Any other day and she would've given them a chance to speak their minds, but today is not any other day. One look at their faces and it's clear.

They know about Cassandra.

"Inquisitor, it would be best if-"

"I feel your pain and suffering-"

They come from both sides. So Sovia does the first thing that comes to mind; she thrusts her arms out and presses her palms against both faces, pushing them away from her. "Not today, morons."

Solas backs up, rubbing his nose, while Cole crouches away, staring up at Sovia with wide, unblinking eyes. Sovia scowls at Cole. "Cut that annoying I-know-how-you-feel shit. Even if you do, you can't... change my memories or help with your weird abilities!'

Cole tilts his head, frowning. "Do you wish to hurt her as she's hurt you?"

Sovia feels her heart drop. "No!" She hesitates, then quickly adds, "Of course not."

"But you're angry." Cole says. "Most of that anger comes from her. It's her whom you're hurting because. Why do you not wish to help yourself?"

Sovia flinches, backing away, but she bumps into Solas, who stares back at her with a more understanding expression – one that Sovia's always thought was a little too wise for comfort. "Sovia, I understand your pain but there is no need for any more misundertsandings." He offers a smile. But Sovia finds no comfort in it, despite her best efforts to. "A broken heart can only be mended with time. But companionship is an important aspect of that process. You understand that, right?"

Sovia's trying. It's not obvious, not to those who blindly follow through, but she is, even though it's slowly killing her inside to even attempt the process. Ignoring a broken heart will only fuel a future hatred. One so strong she knows it might consume her compassion whole. That's why she feels it necessary to take her anger and sorrow and despair out now on something inanimate, so that whatever stands in the way of that anger will not be tarnished by her own self-fury. That's why – the thought of her friends getting involved with her, getting involved with her inane personal affairs... She can't bear it.

She doesn't want them to witness the side of her she despises.

The last time someone's tried to harmlessly weasel their way into her affairs because they care of her, they ended up getting terribly hurt. Physically, and emotionally.

Sovia's not gonna let that happen again.

"I understand more than you realize, Solas." Her voice, hard, but not unkind, seems to have lost all traces of ever being slurred. She's sobered up. More than she ever thought possible in such a short time. "But you have to understand that nobody can deal with my problems but me." She faces Cole, who now stands upright with his hat shading the majority of his face. "You can feel, can't you? Then you know what I'm feeling right now." Cole hesitates, but says nothing. "What I need right now is conteplative silence. Not-" She pauses, then says, "-support. I need support for later. For when my walls are slowly being built back up. For when I can finally get ahold of my own anger."

Solas grabs her shoulder, and she turns around to face him. He's smiling. "We understand, Sovia. Know that we're always here for you."

She smiles, just slightly, because that's all she can offer, and makes her way up the stairs.

"Sovia!"

Sovia groans. Not again.

Dorian comes trotting up to her, smile at place, with his fingers firmly wrapped around a sharp spear-like weapon with the tip coated in toad poison. She can tell because it's glistening. And that smell- Oh she's always hated the smell of poison.

"Dorian." She comments, glancing at him shortly before attempting to get away.

But Dorian grabs her arm before she can escape. "Just the person I've been wanting to see!"

"On that," Sovia whispers, turning around. "I have no doubt."

"How do you fancy going wyvern hunting? I'm told it's quite a popular sport in the Free Marches!" He says this proudly, as if such knowledge could only be obtained by the very best. "Given that your mother was from the Free Marches, I thought it'd be an interesting sport to try, especially on this fine, young day with the beautiful sun out and the flawless sky as blue as my mother's-"

"Cut the shit, Dorian."

"Oh thank the Maker." He throws her a sarcastic grin. "Any more of that naïve talk and I might've just gone mad." He looks over her shoulder, just for a moment, but a moment is enough to divert attention. Sovia whirls around, only to be greeted with the scowling face of the only woman in Skyhold who can hold her own against every man who lives there – Vivienne.

"Inquisitor, I believe you're faced with a predicament." She stands almost painfully upright, with her face pulled into her usual nonchalant (but rather irritated) expression. She observes Dorian disdainfully, before turning back to Sovia. "Such distractions can only do harm to the Inquisition when the time comes for battle between you and the Elder One."

Sovia tries to edge away. After all, Dorian and Vivienne both seem to be more into glaring each other down than actually 'comforting' her. They've never been comfortable with each other's company to begin with.

"Excuse me, Vivienne, but I think Sovia would much rather spend her remaining time releasing her pent-up frustration than pushing it down the way snooty Orlesians do." He crosses his arms and smirks. "No wonder so many of them stand too straight with their lips pursed too tight."

Vivienne's glare intensifies almost tenfold. "I'm sure your Tevinter colleagues take your playful verbal arguments very seriously, but where I come from, we slip the venom into the bloodstream, before unsheathing a knife from our pockets." She throws him an almost poisonous smile. "Take caution in what you say next, Tevinter. Your people aren't known very kindly around the more common areas of Thedas."

Sovia watches, bewildered, as the two continue to glare each other down, with smiles curled up threateningly in a smug manner. Neither are willing to accept defeat. And clearly, neither really care that Sovia's edging away from the scene in bemusement.

She sneaks behind a few guards standing watch, and makes her way down the spiraling staircase and through another corridor, one that has a window that directly overshadows the gatehouses that keep Skyhold enclosed. With a heavy sigh, she places one foot atop the windowsill and jumps down.

She spends ten full minutes in pure, immaculate bliss. With the breeze calming her nerves like this, she finds it hard to believe she was ever tense to begin with. The thought of the rejection – It continues to burn her like nothing before. She's failing rather obviously at ignoring it. The realization that this rejection is unlike the others now floats evident in her mind. Cassandra, as a person herself, is unlike the others.

She wonders when she first actually started to fall for her.

She slowly realizes that her whole infatuation began the moment Cassandra told her of her hatred towards her during one of her rare drunken moments.

It's stupid.

To fall for someone when they're screaming their hatred towards you isn't exactly the most common way to fall in love.

But that moment – that raw moment of vulnerability and honesty – was when Sovia saw Cassandra for what she really is. A no-nonsence girl who truly does care for the greater good of the world. Even if she is a huge hardass. She's a huge hardass with a good fucking soul.

Sovia runs her fingers through her auburn hair. With a smirk, she remembers her constant attempts at flirting. And then the rejection. Her chest burns at the memory. It burns so hot, a simple touch of a finger could leave it marked.

She hears footsteps soon enough. And though she'd been expecting it, it doesn't help with her reluctance. She turns, just slightly, and watches as her last companion – Blackwall – makes his way up to her, with a hand placed on his sword, which sits dormant by his hip. His eyes are to the courtyard, but when he speaks, his voice speaks to her.

"Great day, isn't it?"

Sovia takes a full moment to respond. "It certainly is."

Blackwall inhales deeply, before exhaling in the same fashion. "I honestly think today is one of those better days. Not too hot. Not too bloody cold. The breeze helps." He chuckles slightly, and says, "A buddy of mine from the Grey Wardens would've called this place a paradise, given the things we've been through. And I quite agree. Skyhold is, pleasantly, the perfect spot to stake the Inquisition's power."

Sovia watches him carefully. He's not mentioning Cassandra. Could he truly just be up here to make idle chit-chat? "Thank the Maker we had Solas then." She says softly, following his gaze down only to watch as several medics hurry off to help their latest wounded. "After being stranded in snow for Maker knows how long, it was a relief."

"Elves aren't commonly accustomed to snow, I believe." Blackwall says.

Sovia shakes her head. "Not the Dalish at least. We're hunters. We spend the majority, if not all, our lives in the forest."

"Was it hard?" Blackwall asks, finally turning to her. "To leave?"

He looks compassionate. Understanding. Kind. Blackwall's a noble and honest man with the abilities of a beast. He's the paragon of a Grey Warden. Sovia sometimes wonders if he has a deep dark secret, because a man of his kindness and nobility can't possibly exist without a flaw.

"It was-" She looks away, tensing. "-difficult at first. Especially since it meant leaving my sisters behind."

Blackwall raised a thick black eyebrow. "I was under the impression you were an only child-"

"I am." Sovia says firmly. "But we called our younger apprentices sisters. Or the girls at least. I was their..." Sovia laughs shortly, before saying, "I guess you can say I was their role model. They followed me whenever I publically announced I was hunting. They loved watching me, mostly because my form was the best in my clan." She turns to Blackwall, slightly embarrassed. "I'm not saying this because I'm an egoistic asshole-"

"Although you quite are." Blackwall adds.

Sovia ignores him. "-I'm saying this because I worked years on my form as an archer. And I pride myself for it."

"No harm, Inquisitor." Blackwall seems to be smiling underneath that (admittedly great) black beard of his. He shifts his weight between his legs. "You weren't given a chance to say goodbye then?"

Sovia remembers the letters. Because she wasn't able to go back to her clan after being taken in by the Inquisition, she wrote letters to her sisters. To her clan. It clarrified her objective, her purpose, her reasoning, for being with the Inquisition. And they wrote back. Most of them did, anyway. Many of them were too caught up with trying to finish their trial to send a letter across Thedas to where she is. Their trial. They were turning into huntresses! Sovia remembers the relief and joy she felt after reading through those first few words.

I'm gonna be a huntress, Sovia! I'm gonna finally be somebody here!

She smiles at the memory.

"No, not properly." She says. "But I'm sure I'll see them again anyways." She takes a short pause, staring off unknowingly at the courtyard with an intensity Blackwall notices instantly. "In this world, or the next."

And then it's quiet on the wall.

Sovia realizes that it's the first conversation she's managed to go through without having to leave her companion behind, or walk away annoyed and angry. It's the first proper conversation she's had, since the rejection, that didn't make her feel like complete shit. She shakes her head at the irony. Of course, the last companion would be the one to actually help her out. Blackwall finally decides to break the silence with a loud grunt.

"Speaking of leaving, by the way," He shuffles uncomfortably, but leans forward to get a better look at Sofia's face. "You leaving the lady Seeker's rejection in such a manner was-"

"Oh come on!" Sovia exclaims, staring at Blackwall with a look of pure defeat. "You just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?"

Blackwall almost grins. And Sovia almost catches it. "Well, Inquisitor, you have to admit that the issue has been materializing around the group like wild dust and-"

"And nothing." Sovia snaps, turning away with a roll of her eyes. "You just lost my respect, Mr Blackwall."

Blackwall laughs, but makes an attempt to stop her. He speed-walks behind her, following her closely as she attempts to re-enter the castle and somehow hide herself away in her room. "Inquisitor, you must admit the situation is getting a little out of hand."

"Yeah, no thanks to people like you." Sovia responds with a quick snort.

Blackwall finally stops. Sovia stops too, at the sound of the silence. She turns around, only to face Blackwall, with his brows furrowed and his eyes focused intensely on hers.

"I can't speak from experience." He says. "But if there's anything important about a relationship, I'd say it's communication."

Sovia rolls her eyes and says, "Gee, thanks for the relationship-advice, dad."

Blackwall smiles kindly (and much to Sovia's displeasure, almost smugly). "Your avoidance of the topic only makes your longing obvious."

"My longing?" Sovia purses her lips in an attempt to look angry. But for some reason, no matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to summon up the words her mind is screaming for her to say. Because Sovia has been avoiding it. She's been avoiding talking about Cassandra and to Cassandra for days now because of what happened. It's a foolish, idiotic and childish thought, but she can't seem to shake it off. And the reason for it is obvious –

She's in love with her.

The realization hits her like a falling meteor, and she has to catch her breath to stabilize herself.

Well... Better late than never.

"Excuse me, Blackwall." She hears herself say. With a voice unlike the one she used before. "I have to go find my sword now."

And without another word, she whirls around, and saunters off. But this time, Blackwall doesn't follow. Because he understands the double-meaning in that statement. And he watches as she goes, smiling, and shaking his head.

"Ah, young love." He mumbles to himself.

The last place Sovia saw her sword was at the tavern. With Iron Bull. So she makes her way there, holding her fists by her side in balls to make sure they don't spaz out in anxiety. Upon reaching, she heads over to Bull's usual spot, only to find out he's not there. So she asks Krem where he is. And he says that Bull's currently 'unavailable for conversation'. Whatever the hell that means. But Krem did give her valuable information – the location of her sword. Apparently Bull's given the sword to somebody for an upgrade. But that can't be right. Because Sovia never asked for an upgrade.

She leaves the tavern, confused, and decides to head over to the rookery. The large, overbearingly muscular man tells her that he saw no signs of her sword, and advises her to check the undercroft, so she does. On the way there, she realizes something.

The blacksmith was smiling.

Pushing the suspicious feeling away, she makes her way to the the undercroft, and heads down to meet with the man who assumingly has her sword. Surprisingly, however, Harrit isn't there. Only one person is present in the room when she arrives. And that person happens to be the one woman she least expected to see today. It just so happens to be her very last companion.

Cassandra Pentaghast.

Sovia feels her face go void of color, and her throat go dry. But she clenches her fists tighter by her side, and takes one step at a time, towards the figure, with her back turned towards her, working on something by the weapon craft. "Cassandra?" Her voice is shaky.

The woman turns, eyes wide, face pale, and stares back at Sovia with a look she's never seen before. Not surprise, but not frustration either. In fact, it looks almost... expectant.

"Inquisitor!" She exclaims, before pausing, and saying instead, "Sovia. I was- I mean, it's good that you are here."

It doesn't make sense, does it? Or at least it wouldn't, to the unassuming listener. Sovia feels herself go cold with anxiety. "What're you doing here?" And then she realizes how stupid this sounds. This is a public undercroft. Cassandra can come here whenever the hell she wants to do whatever the hell she wants.

Cassandra turns away nervously and says, "I was... making something."

Clearly, she's uncomfortable. And Sovia knows why.

With a trembly sigh, and the regrettable decision she knows she's gonna beat herself up for tonight when she's alone in her room, she says, "You don't have to be so- so weird around me. I got the message, Cassandra, loud and clear." She pauses, before adding, "And I know it may not look like it, but I'm getting over it. It's been a weird couple of days, and I just wanna make it clear that- that it's not gonna last. I am gonna be back on my feet again. I won't be distracted by it."

But even though she says it, she knows it's not entirely true. She's falling harder than ever for the woman opposite her, for reasons she cannot even fathom. Just the sight of her face – it makes her heart yearn with longing, something she hasn't ever felt in... a long time.

Cassandra looks far from relieved at the sudden confession. In fact, she looks more disappointed than anything. She reaches out as Sovia attempts to leave. "Wait!"

Of course, Sovia's forced to stop. But she doesn't make any move to turn back either.

Was this what she wanted all along? For Cassandra to call out her name and say that her rejection had actually been a mistake? Sovia wants to laugh at herself for thinking of something so petty and foolish. But then Cassandra speaks, and all laughter disappears from her sharp mind.

"You must understand- You have to know why I did it. Why I had to do it at the time." Cassandra sounds troubled, more than anything. But she also sounds frustrated (at whom, Sovia wonders) and strangely nervous. Why would Cassandra be nervous at this? "My life has revolved around battle all my life. I grew up with the sword, I learned with the sword, I went through my hardest moments with the sword."

Sovia listens, silently, without turning around, picturing Cassandra's disturbed face scrunched up in worry and discomfort. She finds herself feeling sad, for some reason. "When I... When you told me that... that your flirting was real, I panicked. I had never been with a woman. I had never even thought of it. And I was surprised by how strongly I felt towards you. I was... uncomfortable with how strongly I felt towards you, because I was unfamiliar with it and I hadn't realized that it was something permanent. Something stronger than even my sword."

Cassandra sighs, frustrated at herself, and shakes her head. "I am no good with words. You know that. But- But I want to put my emotions into words, so that you may understand." Sovia hardly believes what she's hearing. She's in that whole phase where she thinks she might have gone unconscious and begun dreaming. She deeply hopes that isn't the case.

But Sovia's been fooled before. Not once, not even twice – but more times than she can count. She can't remember how many people – elves and humans and dwarves alike – have confessed, only to break her heart days later with the excuse that their feelings have changed in those short few hours. She isn't that naïve little girl anymore. She clenches her teeth, and turns around.

Cassandra looks distraught. For a moment, Sovia considers walking up to her and hugging her. But her better judgement gets ahold of her before she does exactly that.

"That doesn't explain your rejection, Cassandra." She feels her voice waver. And she curses herself, silently, for the exposure of weakness in such a critical moment. How will she ever face Cassandra again on the battlefield after this? "I can't- I can't believe you. Not after that. Not after what you said, and how you said it."

Cassandra's face falls. She opens her mouth to say something, but Sovia's already on her way out, her face scrunched up in an expression she dares not admit she wears. When Cassandra reahces a hand out to stop her, something behind her clatters, and she yelps out in pain, pulling her hand back to stroke the fingers that were crushed from the sudden fall of objects.

Sovia turns immediately, noticing the sound. She tries to focus on the scene, to see what had caused Cassandra pain, to figure out what exactly she herself wants (considering just the sound of Cassandra's voice managed to stop her from going further each friggin time), but her gaze is caught by something lying solemnly on the workbench behind Cassandra. Its blade looks recently polished.

"Is that my sword?" She asks, eyes widening.

Cassandra turns around to eye the weapon, before turning back to her, cheeks flaming. "Y-Yes. I, um, borrowed it. From the Iron Bull. He was showing it off at the tavern and-" She sighs, shaking her head. "I have no excuse. I wanted to have it. So that I could... upgrade it."

"Upgrade it?" Sovia asks, surprised beyond belief. She takes a step forward, and then another, to have a closer look at it. It does look newer than before. "What for? I don't even use it." And that's the truth. Sovia is an elven archer, she has no need for a warrior's sword. But she keeps it, because it's a keepsake of her mother's. Her mother, who had died when she was only a child. Her mother, who had been the clan's strongest warrior to date, even stronger than the men.

Cassandra says, "You were complaining about its blade once. You said it was starting to rust. And I knew – well, actually, we all knew – that the sword meant more to you than just a weapon of destruction. So I decided to give it a new blade."

She just... decided to give it a new blade? Sovia would laugh if she isn't so shocked.

Cassandra did this for her? Even after their whole dispute? Even after everything –the rejection and Sovia's childish act of avoiding her – she still went out of her way to get a new blade for a sword she doesn't even use?

Her heart feels tighter than it's ever been before. "Cassandra-"

"I know that you don't believe me when I say I feel something for you, Sovia." She says this softly, almost pleadingly. Her accent is – Oh shit, it's driving Sovia wild. "But I can't deny it anymore, and it doesn't matter to me if it becomes a topic for the group to discuss like scandalous gossip. I've become..." She flushes. Sovia finds the sight absolutely endearing. "...attached to you. So much so that I can't stop thinking about you. Even when my attention is drawn to more pressing matters. Like the Breach."

The thought that Sovia lurks at the back of Cassandra's mind even when she's working becomes the most unbelievable thing about her whole speech. When is Cassandra ever distracted? Especially if she's working?

"Even if you don't believe me, even if it's too late to mend the cut-" She takes the sword from behind her by the blade and hands it to Sovia. "-I wanted to do something for you. To apologize." She shakes her head. "No. I wanted to do something for you. To admit. To- To change."

This is so unlike Cassandra. Sovia's getting a huge kick out of this whole thing. She takes the sword by the handle and brings it to her face, drawing her figners across the new blade, and relishing in the feel of its touch. But the blade isn't the thing that grabs her attention the most – it's the expression Cassandra is wearing. Waiting. Expectant. Afraid. Vulnerable.

Sovia looks up at her, still in doubt. "You're serious?"

Cassandra attempts to look away, but she can't seem to be able to look any further than Sovia's pointed left ear. "I don't 'joke' about situations like these, Sovia."

Well, that certainly is self-evident. Sovia furrows her brows. "But your rejection- You said you weren't interested. You even left me without a response. I was- I mean, I thought you hated me."

Cassandra exclaims, "No! I was confused, Sovia. I was afraid and I hadn't known what you meant to me." She takes a step forward, and thankfully, Sovia doesn't back away. "If I'd've ever fallen for a woman, I would've responded differently, maybe. But I hadn't. I was unfamiliar with it all."

Sovia's grip on her sword tightens. Cassandra's face is getting closer to hers. With each breath, she feels her heartbeat quicken. "You went so far as to change the blade of my sword for me."

Cassandra eyes the sword, and then looks back up into Sovia's green orbs. "I knew you loved that sword-"

"Oh, forget about the sword!" She throws the blade down, listening to that familiar clatter of steel meeting the ground, before reaching out and grabbing Cassandra by the shoulders. Sovia's remarkably taller than your average elf, which is a huge advantage to situations like these, where the woman she's trying to get with isn't looming over her form like a giant. "You did all this for me. Do you have any idea how much I love you?" The words slip before she has a chance to stop them.

Casandra colors, and seems hesitant at the prospect of responding. But she doesn't need to. Because Sovia decides to capture the moment before it's awkwardly spoiled, by leaning forward quickly and pressing their lips together.

Oh, their first kiss was quite clumsy.

Sovia pulls away after their noses collide, and Cassandra leans her head back in discomfort as she reaches up to rub the sore spot on the bridge. They eye each other awkwardly, before chuckling, almost childishly. Sovia leans in again, and this time, when they kiss,

It's perfect.

Sovia feels every cell in her body vibrate with anticipation and joy and lust and longing and passion and every other emotion that's ever made her feel alive. Cassandra quickly wraps her arms around Sovia's waist to pull her closer, while Sovia wraps her arms around her neck. Sovia pushes her, until Cassandra's hip is pressing tightly against the edge of the workbench.

Through the gap in the door, a voice rings out, sounding amused, but quite frustrated.

"Took them long enough!" A high-pitched voice says. "Could've done without the forty hours of boring lovey-dovey bullcrap."

"Shh, don't ruin the moment, buttercup. Look at them." Another voice, male, this time, says. "They're finally talking."

The third, and last, person laughs. "Oh, I wouldn't call that 'talking' exactly. But I see where you're getting at, Varric."

"Come now, Tiny. Can't you see the conversation that's flowing through their tongues? It's an abstract work only few can appreciate." Varric says, grinning.

Bull rolls his eyes while Sera fakes gagging.

"Only someone like you would appreciate a joke like that, Varric." Bull says.

Varric shrugs, clearly proud with himself. "How'd you give the sword to Seeker anyway? I mean, it's not like she just casually finds herself in the tavern for her weekly set-up."

Bull smiles smugly. "I may have left it at the entrance of the tavern, with a viewpoint that would be absolutely clear from where Cassandra usually trains."

"She lied?" Varric gasps dramatically. "I didn't think she was capable of that."

Sera rolls her eyes and says, "You nutters are idiots. We're just staring on at two girls sucking each others faces dry and all you can talk about is boring old details?"

"She's right, y'know." Bull comments, sounding deeply amused. "I'd much rather just watch."

Varric chuckles, and says, "I didn't set this whole thing up just to watch them do it to each other in every way possible. Our jobs are done here. Let's go."

"You kidding? No way."

"Tiny-"

"Alright, alright."

They leave, with Bull and Sera both throwing one last look over their shoulders at the scene that's, evidently, starting to heat up rather intensely.

Sovia finally finds the nerve to pull Cassandra's top off. She's been working on the buckles and straps for minutes now. She's always known Cassandra had a remarkable body. She's always known it's been hidden beneath her armor for years now. To think she can finally get a taste of what's underneath – it drives her mad to the core.

But Sovia finds herself stopping before she's able to go any further.

"What?" Cassandra says, flustered. "Are we going too fast?"

That certainly is not the case.

Sovia shakes her head. "No, it's just-" She sighs. "I wanna make sure you're- you're okay with this. With all of this."

Cassandra smiles, and cups Sovia's cheek in the palm of her hand. She kisses her tenderly, softly, before whispering, "Apparently, I've been using the wrong sword all of life." She kisses her again, before pulling away, and staring deeply into dark, immersive forest green eyes. "Now, being with you, I can finally change swords. I can finally be who I am, with the sword I was always meant to hold."

Sovia smiles. That's all the confirmation she needs. She leans in, and kisses her.

The months following the final battle against the Elder One, Cassandra uses Sovia's mother's sword.

She doesn't regret changing swords at all.