A/N: Herein lies my contribution to this delightful small-cult ship. And of course, since it's post-game this fic will be riddled with spoilers.

(Extended Summary): This spans the single month between the defeat of Corypheus and the ascension of Divine Victoria. Cassandra feels that she is most appropriate for the position but is extremely reluctant to participate in the politicking and showboating. She would much rather leave fate in the hands of the Maker, but at the same time, she has never been a woman of inaction and cannot bear to sit idle when the Inquisitor begins supporting a certain candidate solely for personal gain. Everyone knows that Orlesians love a good show, and Josephine knows exactly how to give Cassandra a fighting chance at winning the race.

For those familiar with my writing, I'm very fond of starting chapters with articles/missives/private correspondences between characters, so you'll see that here as well (it'll exclusively be items written by the characters in this case).

Rating: Currently T, may change.

DAYS OF SUN

Chapter 1

Day 1: Day of Wrath

To all Grand Clerics, both official and provisional, whom the Grand Consensus presently comprises,

I am pleased to hear that the Inquisition's victory against the ancient Magister Corypheus has mitigated unease in Val Royeaux for the time being. It has been, from our humble beginning, in the Inquisition's utmost interest to restore an orderly and functional platform from which the Chantry can rebuild itself. It is my sincerest hope that the next Divine shall be as glorious as all her predecessors; but certainly, a choice so imperative cannot be made lightly. A monumental responsibility lies upon the shoulders of the Grand Consensus—a weight so immense as to rival the world's.

It may be of some consolation to know that the Inquisition shall likely relinquish independence, partially, to the next Divine when the time comes (for the ultimate objective of this organization has been completed, leaving it with few tasks other than occupying what would otherwise be a power vacuum). Our forces may be at the Chantry's disposal if our original purpose, in legitimate permutations, continues to be relevant and necessary, whether repurposed for restoration efforts or new-era reform. Regardless of precise direction we would serve as a most effective ally, as per usual.

I felt it proper of me to inform the current leaders of the Chantry of the Inquisition's position and concerns. If the next Divine should, by a regrettable twist of fate, be received adversely by existing governments or informal factions, the Inquisition would like to provide unwavering support against these bodies if they grow hostile. For the Chantry, in its wounded state, cannot be abandoned during a time most vital to its recovery and especially not with the many malcontented entities, displaced by the wars and drifting about like treacherous flotsam and jetsam, raging against the Chantry with brandished arms. It would be a strange and truly dismal future indeed if the Inquisition found itself for some reason unable to ally with the next Divine in the face of such terrible circumstances.

However, I harbor little or no fear of this coming to pass, for the members of this Grand Consensus are a reasonable body who have successfully guided the Chantry through its darkest times in centuries, and will similarly exercise this good judgment during the selection of the next Divine.

Cordially,

Lady Antonia Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and Inquisitor

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The iron war hammer swung, heavy and toilsome as it broke through weak air and slammed against the metal shield with a resounding bang. Heels dug into the dirt, twisted and anchored—uprooting sparse bits of grass and grinding pebble-debris deeper into the packed earth. The blow, that might have contained enough force to shatter the knees of a giant if aimed so, was endured. A strained grunt was issued past gritted teeth and two breaths, drawn in quick succession, passed a flare of nostrils and into waiting lungs. With no small amount of strength summoned by heated muscles, the maul was propelled from the shield's face and forcefully thrown back toward its master.

The act was repeated again, and again; and each time the fierce sounds erupting behind barred teeth, like brief snarls, climbed in volume until they straddled the point of shouting. Before long the defender had become the attacker, driving the maul-wielder further back with every blow and subsequent retaliation.

"Again," was Cassandra's growled resolution each time.

As she commanded, metal boomed against metal anew but locked, drawing her and the Iron Bull into a deadlock of sheer will. Dirt churned beneath boots, stamped and pounded flat by steps taken in rushing advances, only to be pushed back over the same ground in return. The maul's shaft slammed into the shield's face, braced against it, and threatened to overwhelm the human fighting against the crushing pressure. Just a quick relent followed—a small space created between shield and maul, then a sudden thrust of the shield forward to eliminate that expanse. It ended with a staggering impact, another shout, and a succession of aggressive shield-bashing which evoked the destructive attrition of a battering ram. Metal shrieked, and pain blossomed wildly in limbs and joints.

A clever shift in footing was all it took to send the Qunari stumbling forward for loss of Cassandra's shield, which had acted as a stabilizing purchase for all his focused might. The Iron Bull quickly recovered and regained his stance, but the time had finally come to disengage. Their shoulders equally heaved with fatigue, arms still raised in boasted resilience. The great eye wrought into the center of Cassandra's shield bore new dents but it had not yielded to the day's punishment—it still stared outward with implied omnipotence, gleaming sharply in the sunlight, and as scrupulous and composed as it was when leaving the forge red-hot.

"So," Bull said, slight exhaustion fringing his voice. He plunged the lozenge pommel of the war hammer into the ground and leaned against the now-vertical beam it provided. "Care for another round? I could call a couple of my Chargers over. They could use the practice."

Without regarding him, Cassandra withdrew her arm from her shield's enarmes and propped it against her leg before removing one of her gloves. She ran the back of her bared hand across her forehead, wiping at a delicate sheen of sweat that had gathered there. A few lingering pants escaped her lips as stamina gradually returned to her muscles. "Your Chargers are formidable," she breathlessly said, pulling the glove back on. Her fingers slipped into their spiked sheaths. "But I would not wish to injure them with my selfishness."

He laughed. "Oh, they can take quite a beating. Even if you are spitting fire like a dragon today."

She turned her eyes upon him, but eventually averted them once again. "I thank you for your time, Bull. It is convenient that the Qunari find… catharsis to be a healthy activity."

The Iron Bull interpreted the response as words of parting. He yanked the end of the maul from the ground again, hoisted it over his shoulder, and said to Cassandra, "Any time. Always appreciate having comrades willing to beat the shit out of each other when needed."

He departed, heading back toward the tavern. Cassandra heard, but paid little heed, to the sound of Sera's voice shouting down something from the second-floor window, and the Iron Bull's reply. She was currently too preoccupied; rolling her shoulder back several times to assuage the dull throb acquired from meeting so many taxing blows in rapid succession and returning them with equal force.

Though her sword had been drawn throughout the entire exchange, she had refrained from striking with it even in the spirit of practice. Cassandra spun the blade in her hand twice before executing a deliberate slash through the air as if an invisible enemy stood before her, then another, and once more—although not intending for her idle rehearsal to serve as anything other than a distraction for herself.

Her mind was heavy. And the only treatment to such an affliction—one that ever yielded any results—was raw, responsive action. Yet little could be done. The Inquisitor had made a decision at last and there was no contesting it beyond criticism, as much as she wished to. For as long as Trevelyan sat upon the Inquisition's throne, her whim, to the extent of plausibility, was unequivocally supported by thousands. Such was the power of the one who had steered the world away from the brink of a limitless abyss; virtually unchecked by the southern crowns of Thedas, and free to ordain as she pleased.

While Cassandra respected the Inquisitor, there were times not dissimilar to these when she greatly disapproved of her actions. Trevelyan's support of Vivienne—regardless of the discretion under which it was carried out—was almost offensively transparent if it attempted to conceal ulterior motive. In light of Madame de Fer's interest in the position, it was not unreasonable in the slightest to suspect that this had been a major ambition of hers upon first joining the Inquisition.

But a passionate lover of the Chantry and its traditions, as Lady Trevelyan was, could never be so keen on placing a mage on the Sunburst Throne unless said mage had brought temptation to the table. What was it, Cassandra wondered? What compelled the Inquisitor to make so unorthodox and reckless a move? To gamble the very stability of the organized religion she held so dearly to her heart... What more in the way of power and influence could Madame Vivienne possibly offer Trevelyan to adamantly commit her to this potential Divine?

Cassandra crossly sheathed her sword, halting her own thoughts for fear of reigniting her frustration when hours had just been spent dousing it. After lifting her shield she oriented herself in the direction of her quarters, but paused at the base of the gray stone stairway with one foot poised on the first step when she heard a peculiar noise. She turned to peer over her shoulder after a moment's hesitation spent deciding whether the sound was negligible, and scanned the visible grounds for the source. Groups of soldiers, scouts, and non-combatants were milling about as usual, but none were overly conspicuous. Slowly she returned her attention to the steps, but was only able to ascend several more before the sound reached her notice again. This time, however, the origin was more accurately isolated.

Several swift paces were taken to the edge of the staircase where she looked downward. Almost immediately, no less than four female recruits of ambiguous branch scattered and stumbled amongst one another after emerging from the thin brush growing against the wall. Among them was a novitiate scout of Leliana's, who donned her hood as she fled to conceal her identity.

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Cassandra continued on.

This had happened once before; a small flock of recruits shadowing her at some distance as she tread away from the training grounds, attempting to remain undetected but ultimately failing when their giggling compromised their position. Cassandra believed she had solved the problem after the first offense by having turned on her heel, taking several aggressive steps in their direction, and delivering a menacing glare with a hand harmlessly (but expressively) lain upon her sword, but that had apparently not been the case. While she was willing to let them escape without reprimand that time, today Cassandra was much less inclined to grant them further lenience. To serially and openly ridicule a superior officer, whether that officer was part of their specific branch or not, was simply unacceptable. The time had come to inform their commanders.

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After depositing her shield in her quarters Cassandra disembarked for the throne room, and from there, made her way up the spiraling tower and through its candlelit shadows to accost Leliana. No one intercepted her. She passed the small library and its quiet readers, placed her feet on the final flight of stairs, and at their peak found the spymaster with her scouts and ravens as usual. They drifted away from the earshot of others when Cassandra requested a quick word.

"They are not making good use of their spare time," Cassandra explained, pausing to dust off a black feather from her shoulder after a raven fluttered by them in search of a roosting spot. "I might be doing them an undeserved kindness by letting you issue a warning first, because I am very intent on confronting them personally should this continue."

"What are they doing, exactly?" Leliana inquired, appearing invested in the problem. While she was not as stringent about regulations as Cassandra was, she would not tolerate shameless insubordination. The Inquisition was a formal, competent entity now, and its forces were expected to behave accordingly.

"They have been following me around the grounds, particularly when I am training. Whispering amongst each other and giggling until I scatter them. I'm not sure what they are saying about me, but I doubt it's pleasant. Perhaps they find my demeanor humorous, or less accommodating than what they'd expect. It does not matter. I am not an object for their amusement and I will put an end to it if you do not."

A strange expression lit Leliana's features, effectively puzzling Cassandra. And when she laughed with some restraint, as if she had rather not but merely could not contain the reaction, Cassandra developed a distinct frown.

"I suppose you find me humorous as well?" she acridly demanded.

"At this moment I do," Leliana confessed, finally managing to stifle her amusement. "Cassandra, I don't quite know how to tell you this, but I don't think they're laughing at you."

"Well that is certainly difficult to believe, given the fact that I just heard them not ten minutes ago—"

"They are fawning over you, Cassandra," the spymaster said outright. Her words instantly transmuted Cassandra's displeasure into further confusion, then brought forth obvious surprise.

An embarrassed, confounded silence took hold of the Seeker, and it soon crumbled into an inelegant denial, "Th-That is absurd. No normal person follows another around, laughing behind their back and calls it..." She fumed at the look Leliana's face still maintained. "Either way, tell them to keep away from me unless they have something constructive to ask of me. I am still not here for anyone's amusement, even if their intentions are benign."

"Very well," Leliana agreed, a smile still quirking her lips. "I'll keep an eye out for your admirers and have a word with them privately." She momentarily transferred her attention to a few notes on the table behind her, gathered them into her hands, shuffled through them, and retrieved one in particular before motioning a runner over to prepare a raven for its deliverance. She looked back at Cassandra when they were alone again and lowered her voice. "How are you handling the Inquisitor's decision?"

Cassandra pivoted her upper body toward the mullioned window, which granted an excellent survey of the grounds below. "I'm sure you were an audience to that question's answer already."

"Well yes, but I'd also rather hear what you'd like to say about it personally."

"...I am utterly baffled by it," the Seeker confessed after some pensive consideration, resting her forearms on the stone shelf beneath the window. "It was an obvious grab for power of some sort. What could be gained by reinstating the failed institutions exactly as they were, but in this case tipping the scales in favor of the opposite side? This decision will turn the Chantry on its head and there will be further war. After all we struggled to put an end to the chaos, Trevelyan seems to have acquired a taste for blood and battle, if her interests aren't power or wealth. And I think they are."

"You also want the position for yourself, do you not?"

Cassandra blinked and turned her head in Leliana's direction. "I... I suppose I do. I was initially adverse to the idea, but time has completely changed my stance." She pushed herself away from the window. "But it no longer matters. The Inquisitor has committed herself to a candidate, and I will not pursue it further. I would make better use of my time preparing for the inevitable backlash."

"Really?" Leliana raised an inquiring eyebrow. "You would give up so quickly?"

"I am not actually conceding," Cassandra clarified. "I am recognizing my position in the matter and acting accordingly. So many powers of Thedas have been swayed by the Inquisition, and they will bend to Trevelyan's pressure. As I see it, my most potent chance of being placed upon the Sunburst Throne lied in the Inquisitor's hands, and by extension, the Maker's. I'm not precisely a palatable candidate, Leliana." Frustration lightly coated her words. The acceptance of her unfortunate disadvantage had not come easily indeed.

Leliana surprised her with an unanticipated expression of disapproval. "So that's it then?" she hissed, doing her best to keep their conversation safe from prying ears. "Walk away without putting up a fight? What's wrong with you?"

Cassandra's eyebrows arched downward sharply at the criticism, daring Leliana to start an argument.

"Honestly, I've never once seen you back down from anything," she pressed. "Why now, why this? You're quitting before this has even truly begun!"

"Well what in Andraste's name would you have of me?" Cassandra demanded. "Weren't you vying for the position as well? What could you possibly gain by hounding me?"

Leliana folded her arms, heavily exhaled, and briefly glanced over her shoulder to ensure their privacy. "I am keeping Divine Justinia in mind," she solemnly said.

"I know she favored you," Cassandra stated with little inflection.

"That isn't the point. Divine Justinia, above all things, wanted what was best for Thedas. But she did not survive to see what profound effects the Inquisition had on the world. Things have changed, Cassandra. The wars have shuffled power and eliminated entities that once existed. The same pieces are not in play anymore, and many of those that remain have been moved clear across the board. I would do Justinia no favors by removing you from the equation."

"But do you realize what I would have to do in order to hoist myself above the Inquisitor's influence without publicly declaring myself and looking like a fool?" Cassandra asked. It was not a rhetorical question. She waited for an honest answer, and when she received none, she continued. "I am not a diplomat, Leliana, nor am I the master of a well-connected network. My past achievements and merit alone lay spread out for the Grand Consensus to review, and they will either choose me based upon them, or they will not. Either the Maker shall have me, or He will not. Anything I do now would be disingenuous vaunting and I will not participate in something so hollow."

"So your alternative is to stand back and watch others occupy all the niches you might have filled well? Demonstrating your competence is not a flaw in morality or character, Cassandra. If you do not make yourself visible, who will judge you? If you do not show the Maker that you are passionate and determined, how could He choose you?"

Cassandra intensely eyed Leliana, lips drawn into a thin line by the ferocity of her silence. The spymaster's argument had pierced her like a halberd. For the duration of their pause, only the soft flurry of beaten wings and the scratching of talons when they secured a grip on the rafters filled the air.

"I... I will think on it," Cassandra decided at length. She rubbed at the back of her neck with a hand, growing increasingly uncomfortable with each passing second. "I have absolutely no idea how I would go about making myself more 'compelling', but..." Suddenly she trailed off, finding herself harboring immense dislike for her own words and ending the thought with the finality of a guillotine, "As I said, I will think on it."

She excused herself from Leliana's company after muttering something about wanting to bathe and vanished down the stairwell, deeply immersed in thought.