The weeks flew by, turning into months; her world reduced to battles and strategy meetings and yet, every night remained the same. Alone. Sleeping was becoming increasingly more difficult as the fade driven dreams became more like waking nightmares. Every night she watched one of her companions die. First it had only been Cassandra and, though that had been hard enough to watch, she had almost expected her unrequited feelings for the woman to manifest into something that would cause her pain.
Watching the seeker's death only confirmed the strong feelings that Evelyn had for the infuriating woman. Fighting beside her day by day had only solidified those feelings and magnified the respect she had for the tall warrior who continually placed herself in the path of danger for a cause she was no longer leading. In battle she was ferocious and fearless, using her shield to cut down as many enemies as her sword. The only words between them for months had been shouted battle instructions and mono-syllabics. The seeker's silence away from battle cut like a dull blade. The Inquisitor was not certain if the seeker was simply still searching for an answer or stubbornly withholding it, but not knowing was driving her mad. It was becoming harder and harder to hold her tongue when the two of them rode ahead of the rest of the party to scout ahead. Evelyn was convinced that she had not imagined the naked desire that had burned in those dark hazel eyes. Still, she thought it only fair to allow the other woman her space until she found the courage to face what she felt. Until then, it seemed, as though the only place outside of battle she would see the seeker was to witness her demise over and over again in the unwanted dreams.
Every dream thus far had been different, but they all told what would happen if she failed. The fates of her companions were unspeakable in the accuracy in which the nightmares built on their own personal fears, but paled in comparison to what would happen to all of Thedas. For probably the millionth time, she found herself wondering what sort of sick lottery she had played to have been marked as the one to save the world. She was nobody special and she found it hard to put her faith in the Maker when all she saw around her was pain and death. As a noble, she had played her part – attending to the Chantry functions in all the ways that a member of the house of Trevelyan should; but she had found the rituals tedious and boring. Never once had she felt the calmness of faith the sisters spoke of nor did she see that praying for the less fortunate brought any end to their suffering.
A sharp pain in her hand drew her attention and she looked down in disgust. Even now, away from the rifts the mark's pain was a sharp reminder of her new and unwanted role in the world. Every use has been causing it to stab at her like a knife, but feeling the pain in the safety of her quarters was new. She studied the pale green light that glowed from her palm; evidence of her connection to a place she could not begin to comprehend and wondered if it would be the mark or the demons that poured from the rifts in the sky that would kill her first. She had stubbornly hid the pain when in the field, not wanting to cause her companions concern, but it was only a matter of time before they discovered it. They could ill afford to focus their attentions on her. They were still reeling from the attack on Haven whilst unraveling Corypheus's plan, and though they had made progress, it still seemed as though there were grasping at straws in the dark.
Evelyn surveyed the stack of reports she had finished that covered her desk and the unopened missives that covered the floor beside it. She could work from dusk till dawn and barely scratch the surface, but she was finding that, despite her reservations, she liked the work. It kept her mind busy and kept unwanted thoughts about the future and her feelings for the seeker at bay. She sighed as she looked down again at the invitation to Empress Celene's ball. She may have resented the responsibility she had been thrust into but she absolutely hated the politics her position required of her. It reminded her too much of the life she had turned her back on. Though the event was months away, she knew preparations had to be made for it as well. Luckily this was something she could delegate. She was sure Josephine would relish in the opportunity to plan for a ball in Halamshiral, although the gracious ambassador was likely to see a very bad side of a Trevelyan if she attempted to force her to wear a dress for the occasion.
She looked out into the darkness that surrounded Skyhold and wondered where the evening had gone. The hour was late and she still needed to plan a mission to the Hissing Wastes. She slowly put down her pen and mentally stopped herself from starting on that particular task. Even though she dreaded the thought, she needed to try and get some sleep. She stood slowly and stretched her limbs already shedding her garments one by one before falling into the large bed. The rogue shivered as she wrapped herself in the cool sheets. She rolled to one side and stared at the empty space beside her as the burden of all that she was trying to accomplish weighed heavily on her mind. She wondered briefly if the original Inquisitor has felt the same and speculated if they had had someone else to share the weight of the title or if he/she had been as she was, utterly alone, lost in duty. Evelyn glanced again at the empty pillow next to her, sighing as she closed her eyes to claim what little sleep she could before the nightmares began.
Cassandra sipped her ale slowly, hiding her irritation as Varric's voice continued to drift over the din of the tavern. The little man infuriated her to no end, and if it weren't for the fact that she secretly enjoyed a very small portion of his writing, she would have been tempted to end his existence long before now. Had the Inquisitor not intervened on his behalf, she very well might have after she had caught him in his lies concerning the whereabouts of the Champion. She listened as he recounted a tale of how he and Hawke had single handedly vanquished the Arishok of Kirkwall and rolled her eyes. She'd heard him tell that same story a dozen different ways although all of them ended the same. She wondered again why she was wasting her nights in the tavern instead of training with her sword or mending her gear in the armory below her bed. Memories of the kiss in the training yard and the Spymaster's unwelcome invasion of the forge reminded her of why she was avoiding both those areas. It seemed one way or another that red-headed rogues were to be the bane of her existence. So far every one of them that had crossed her path had managed to get under her skin. She scowled as the memory of the last conversation she'd had with the Herald came spiraling back into her mind and she could almost hear the Inquisitor's soft voice telling Cassandra to find her when she had an answer.
An answer, Maker help her she had none that were clear. As a Seeker of Truth, Cassandra could not deny her attraction to the rogue. They had kissed twice and both times she had felt longing pulse to life in her veins. She could admit that the thought of going to bed with another woman unnerved her. She also knew that if the Inquisitor were a man she would still fight against bedding him, although perhaps not as hard as she was fighting Trevelyan. Deep down, despite her tough exterior, Cassandra yearned for romance; to be courted and wooed but she could not imagine a woman fulfilling such a traditional role. The very idea of the Herald of Andraste sending her flowers and reading her poetry was laughable at best.
That last thought left a bad taste in her mouth and Cassandra finished her ale with contempt. A part of her wanted the flirtation to continue; it had been years since anyone had paid her that sort of attention and Cassandra had not realized how much she had missed it. Such selfishness was foreign to her though and it was cruel of her to have left the matter go unresolved for as long as she had. Clearly she was too traditional and set in her ways to allow this flirtation to go any further than it had. Besides, the Inquisitor was her commander, her chosen leader and she was unwilling to cross that line, even if her body ached to know more of the woman whose kiss could set her blood aflame.
Satisfied that she had an answer to the many questions that had been uttered in the Inquisitor's quarters, Cassandra was determined that the next time she saw the Herald she would end whatever it was growing between them. The thought gave her no pleasure and, being the warrior that she was, she bit down the pang of disappointment she knew her decision would cause her. The Inquisition was far more important than her personal desires and she would no longer allow herself to be a distraction for the woman leading it. She called for a refill of her tankard and toasted to her certain misery, and the misery she would cause the unsuspecting noblewoman, before drinking deeply – silently cursing her rigid honor.
The Hissing Waste was far more vast, desolate and beautiful than Evelyn had every imagined it to be. To think she had been dreading this mission. Here the sky stayed dark and the stars mapped the party's course. The combination of starlight, white sands and the hiss of the never-ending wind was breath taking. She stole a glance at the woman beside her, appreciating her beauty as well. They had not talked in weeks and the seeker had been strangely quiet during most of the journey. True she was not one for idle chatter but even Iron Bull's teasing nature had been unable to draw her into any sort of conversation. Evelyn started to ask for the cause of the silence when the Seeker turned around, calling out to the scouts behind her.
"We will camp here for the night."
The seeker's rich tone cut through the silence like a knife and Evelyn watched as the rest of the party shrugged and began to set up camp. She found herself smiling fondly as Dorian and Iron Bull distracted her by bickered amongst themselves. They She shook her head and turned away from the activity to gaze at the stars overhead, wondering if she could recognize any of the constellations she had been taught as a child. She felt the whisper of touch on her arm and looked over to find herself falling into a familiar dark gaze as an accented voice bade her to follow. Wordlessly she obeyed, falling in step with the taller woman, curious as to what she had in mind. The walked in silence, the camp getting smaller in the distance until all that could be seen was the glow of light on the horizon. She was surprised the seeker had led her so far from the safety of camp, knowing the viciousness of the wildlife and the presence of Trevinter in this place. She watched as the warrior stopped and turned towards her, the harsh planes of her face softened in the moonlight.
Cassandra took a deep breath as the Inquisitor's bright eyes searched her face. She had promised herself that she would do this, that she would answer the young woman's questions; but here and now in this place, in this moment, her resolve faltered. The scenery here was more suited to courtship than heartbreak. She studied the younger woman in front of her, regretting what she was about to do. She cleared her throat and found her voice as the sands swirled around them.
"You told me to find you when I had my answer."
She watched as an elegant eyebrow lifted and a crooked smile twisted soft lips. The Inquisitor's voice was barely discernable over the wind, "Have you come to break my heart Cassandra?"
