Josephine rubs absentmindedly at an unyielding knot between her shoulder blades as she shifts against her headboard and attempts to stifle another yawn. The low burning candle on her bedside table flickers as she works; the weak flame threatening to drown in its own melted wax, and the flitting shadows draw her eyes from the letter in her hand to the letters and missives scattered in loosely organized piles on the quilt around her. The knot refuses to give, as do the piles both here and on her desk, and she lets out a weary sigh, tries to refocus on the letter. The words had begun to blur some time ago and she has little doubt that it is closer to early morning than late night, but a few hours of lost sleep is insignificant when weighed against the sacrifices made by the other members of the Inquisition, or so she tells herself. One more dispatch, she reasons, and then she will rest.
She flinches, startled from her thoughts, when the heavy timber door to her room slams shut, followed by a hushed foreign curse. Josephine, grinning, relaxes her involuntary vice grip on the now crumpled letter, setting it aside, and lifts the candle in a vain attempt to better cast its light, "Cassandra? You're not due back until tomorrow."
"Josephine" the seeker mumbles, not without warmth, as she listlessly hobbles into the amber glow, left leg stiff and drowsy eyes all but shut. She pauses in her steps, swaying slightly, as her normally agile fingers fumble clumsily with the clasps of her breastplate.
"The Inquisitor should've camped," Josephine's grin rapidly shifts into a frown as she eyes the poorly wrapped knee, the frost glistening on bits of metal, the red stained gauntlets tucked in her belt, and finds herself torn between relief and concern, "Let me help, love. Do you need a healer?" She sets the candle down, slips out of bed, and begins to deftly unfasten the familiar remaining clasps as Cassandra's frigid fingers settle against her wrist, thumb stroking her pulse point. Cassandra presses a soft kiss across her temple as she finishes the last clasp before stepping back and shrugging out of her armor, unceremoniously lowering it to the floor. Her thick gauntlets follow, then her belt, and she stumbles to the bed, collapsing on top of the covers and papers.
Josephine drops to Cassandra's side instantly, too concerned for her to fret over the crinkled work, and looks for signs of distress, hand on her shoulder, "Cassandra?" The seeker's breathing is already deep and even under her palm and the color is rapidly returning to her cheeks in the warm room, and after studying her for a few minutes for signs of pain or discomfort and finding none Josephine lets out a sigh of relief. She slowly traces her hand from Cassandra's shoulder up her neck, cards her fingers through her short locks, unnaturally cool against her skin, and receives a low groan followed a few seconds later by a soft snore in answer.
Josephine brushes a soft, smiling kiss to Cassandra's jaw and makes her way to the foot of the bed. She loosens Cassandra's boots and gives each one a firm tug as she pulls them off, rewarded with an annoyed grunt from the head of the bed each time, before retrieving a spare blanket from the settee and draping it over her frame. Cassandra shivers at the added warmth and sinks further into the pillow, mumbling in incoherent Nevarran. Josephine rolls her eyes good naturedly because this woman in her bed is beautiful and grumpy and home and, Maker, she loves her.
She manages to tuck herself against the headboard once more, careful not to disturb the woman passed out next to her, and picks up the discarded, wrinkled letter. She is two paragraphs in from where she left off when Cassandra's arm sluggishly snakes out from under the blanket and reaches for her, searching. Josephine laughs, her chest lighter, as Cassandra wraps her fingers around her waist, makes it through another sentence before the seeker tugs, "Jose…phine…"
"Alright," Josephine combs her fingers through Cassandra's ink black strands once more, nails delicately scraping against her scalp, as she sets the letter down, snuffs out the candle, and lets herself be pulled into enveloping arms. She feels papers crinkle between them as Cassandra buries her nose in her hair, tangles their legs, arms, fingers, together, and they follow each other into sleep.