A/N: Thanks again to those who have left reviews! You're all wonderful!
Chapter 7
Day 10: Day of Fear
A sky overcast by hues of white and gray
portends a very snowfell'd day
Cold and unhappy, many beseech the sun now hidden
to banish from the heavens this storm unbidden
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From beneath, the sound of heavy mallets pounding red-hot steel into shape drifted up toward Cassandra, accompanied by the billowing warmth of the forge and the idle chatter of the blacksmiths; to all of which she paid little heed. For several uninterrupted minutes now she had been staring at the few lines scrawled out in an unsure hand and blemished by mistakes and edits, wallowing in regret for recklessly blundering into something remarkably asinine given her well-known aptitudes for certain things and lack thereof for others. Her hands clasped the sides of her face and her were fingers pressed at her temples while she held her work in contempt, viewing the poem as if its mere existence was highly offensive and incorrigible.
I can't show this to Josephine, Cassandra thought within a haze of frustration where she sat surrounded by opened reference books, numerous pages with rejected attempts marring them, and a cloth thoroughly used in periodically cleaning her blackened fingertips. So much work poured into a disaster. A few full hours lost to utter failure, to embarrassment. And Josephine, a lady of such refinement and linguistic poise, should not be forced to suffer the coarse words stumbling from the tip of her quill in disgrace.
I have to start over, Cassandra resolved. This is profoundly unacceptable.
She finally removed her hands from her face, leaving behind streaks of faint, self-deprecating red where pressure had indented her skin, and she busied herself anew by reorganizing her books and pages in preparation for an entirely new trial. Previous failures were crudely stacked and set aside for later use as kindling, perhaps, save for her most recent work. That crime against art was kept within reach only in anticipation for the likelihood (which was greater than what Cassandra found reasonable) of her next attempt surpassing the last in repulsiveness.
She had dipped her quill into the inkwell and was about to apply it to her bit of parchment when she noticed a familiar voice carrying upward to her position, rising softly but significantly. Cassandra paused and migrated toward the end of her seat, peering over the wooden railing to place the floor within her sights. There Leliana stood below after having accosted one of the blacksmiths, who wiped his forehead out of fatigue before answering her inquiry. When he pointed an index finger in Cassandra's direction Leliana's sharp eyes followed and met those of the Seeker—caught investigating, but undeterred. Instead, Cassandra merely raised an unabashed brow to question the spymaster's unusual departure from her station. Though Leliana gave her nothing in the way of an interpretable response, she approached the edge of the stairs and began ascending them.
Cassandra returned her attention to the table, comprehending her environment and immediately finding the books and rhymes scattered before her too personal to be left to the mercy of Leliana's dissecting gaze. For a few seconds she fumbled about with her papers, hurriedly stacking her books atop the refuse pile and taking great care to shut her one finished (though inadequate) piece within the pages of the topmost volume. The moment she finished rearranging the table, Leliana appeared at the peak of the stairs with her hood and shoulders snow-dusted and her nose pinkened from the chill.
"I need to have a word with you," Leliana said, voice hushed for privacy as she came into the lofty alcove braced against the roof. Either she hadn't noticed Cassandra hastily reorganizing the table's surface, or she didn't much care. It was more likely the latter situation, for which Cassandra was grateful.
"Regarding what?" Cassandra asked her, arms slowly rising into a fold from where she stood at the table's side. It was an odd thing to see Leliana so suddenly, as it was far more typical for the woman to send messengers. Especially as of late. Much aligned with Josephine's account, a few full days had passed since Cassandra last saw Leliana outside her tower.
Leliana seated herself at the table while removing her hood and patting away the flakes of snow still clinging to her attire. "I'm glad to see that Josie has convinced you to let her help you," she remarked.
"Why?" Cassandra inquired. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Because I am in so desperate need of it?"
"That is precisely why," Leliana said. She calmly folded her hands onto the table as if her reply was the simplest, most universal truth that ever existed.
Cassandra glowered. "So tell me, did you come here to insult me or did you actually have a productive conversation in mind?"
"This is the conversation I had in mind. I need to confirm that you're taking her advisement seriously, and not being as stubborn as you often are."
If Cassandra might have been only somewhat irate moments before, she was now noticeably fuming. "Why are you so concerned about me?" she demanded. She had sought the answer to this baffling question for quite some time now, yearning for a response that did not entail any more of Leliana's insufferable evasiveness. "It makes no sense, to be this involved in a rival's business! What are you trying to do, Leliana? Collect information? Sabotage me while pretending to be friendly? Have the benefits of being a colleague of mine long expired?"
"Do you know why I'm so concerned?" Leliana hissed, urging Cassandra to keep her voice down. "Do you know why I suggested to Josie that you might need help?"
Cassandra was quiet for a spell. "I do not know why," she admitted. "But I certainly would not be opposed to finding out."
A highly cautious gaze was sent around, surveying their environment before motioning to Cassandra to draw closer. After she settled into the seat across from her, Leliana leaned in and spoke in a terribly low volume, "The Inquisitor plays a pretty Game," she whispered. "She's been sending letters to the Grand Clerics, Cassandra. Within those letters are threats—implicit and discreet enough to evade persecution, but obvious enough for the recipients to fully grasp the ultimatums being handed to them. Threats of completely abandoning the Chantry if a Divine other than Vivienne comes into power and rouses an uproar."
"What do you mean by abandon?" Cassandra asked, vastly interested in what Leliana had uncovered and fearing the very worst.
"Trevelyan predicts, and not without well-founded reason, that most candidates are far too polarizing to peacefully occupy the Sunburst Throne. There's going to be trouble after the Grand Consensus makes their decision. That much is nearly certain. And just who can stand against the tides, with the Templars still inaccessible as a viable force to guard the Chantry, hmm? The Orlesian army?" Leliana scoffed. "Celene would not dare expend what forces have come limping back from her civil war. She's too paranoid about those who now view Gaspard de Chalons as a martyr to risk their wounded numbers. Even if she is willing, these days it wouldn't be outrageous to say she'd heel if the Inquisitor told her to. And just what happens when the heed of the Herald, perceived to speak for Andraste herself, is ignored or dismissed?"
Cassandra constrained herself to silence, having several ideas but preferring to hear the truth outright.
An ominous darkness settled in the depths of Leliana's eyes, pooling thoughts of death and deception. "She turns her head," she answered. "She turns her head and her forces around with her, and she allows malcontents to claw away at the Chantry's embrittled walls."
"More revolts," Cassandra bitterly concluded. Out of anger she looked away and found herself unable to properly express its extent. A furious hand suddenly slammed onto the table in catharsis, and a rationalization eventually evolved on her downturned lips, "I can't believe she'd do this. It makes no sense... Trevelyan keeps the Chantry close to her heart and she would never do such a thing. She must be bluffing. Her threats are completely hollow. They must be."
"True or not," Leliana continued, "the Inquisition has enough clout in the world for any entity to take her threats seriously. Therefore the Grand Consensus is absolutely terrified of all controversial candidates aside from Vivienne. These past few days I have been working tirelessly, calling upon my contacts to find purchase in this race yet I can find next to none." Her next words were deliberate, clearly enunciated, and issued slowly, "There is little favor for me now, Cassandra. I know we don't share the same vision for the Chantry, but mine is far more similar to yours than it is to Vivienne's. You'd change things, at the very least. You see the Chantry's flaws and you strive to mend them. This opportunity, with the Chantry broken open and vulnerable—but also the most open to change—cannot be lost."
At once, Cassandra grasped the gravity of the situation, as well as why Leliana had been playing the part of a mysterious benefactor over the course of the last week or so. It had all been done out of insecurity, out of fear. Leliana, after all, was a serious threat to any competitor's campaign; striking from the shadows, from afar, in her rivals' most tender weaknesses. Trevelyan had not waited around for her championed candidate to feel the sting of Leliana's tactics, it seemed. With just a letter or two she had utterly decimated whatever preference the Grand Consensus held for Leliana, leaving in its place the immense terror of another rebellion whose looming threat was was insurmountable by any of Leliana's persuasion. After acknowledging just how badly she was wounded, Leliana forced herself to feign utmost confidence as she struggled to regain palatability, but not without first investing in what was, in her mind, the second-best alternative should she fail: Cassandra.
"Did Vivienne try to invite you on her trip?" Leliana asked Cassandra, pulling her away from her thoughts to further assess the playing field.
"She did," came her reply. "Though I declined. Just as you did, so I've heard."
"It was good that you declined." Leliana sounded mildly pleased. "Do not fall for their traps. And always assume they're traps, no matter how harmlessly they frame them." Yet again she held their surroundings under heavy scrutiny for a few moments, checking the locations of the blacksmiths and glancing out the windows. "They're preparing to leave," she informed Cassandra. "Trevelyan might come by any minute now to say farewell to you, as she did to me earlier. Not without trying to persuade me one last time into going with her, of course… But do not falter when she tries to play you. Do not stray from your own plans, and do not be too proud to go to people like Josie when confronted by something you cannot handle yourself."
Cassandra, meaning to shake her head and deny being either that prideful or helpless, was cut off by the startling austerity of Leliana's final cautioning.
"Do. Not. Let. Her. Win."
Leliana soon departed, swiftly descending the stairs and shortly thereafter spotted from the window emerging onto the snow-piled grounds. She vanished into the keep, easily slipping through strolling foot-soldiers and evading conscious notice of most witnesses to her trek.
Where she stood alone again, Cassandra's head swirled with frustration, and it all finally overflowed from her mind when she slammed the sides of her fists against the window's frame, breathing sharply and viciously and feeling alone, alone. Although Cassandra was far from alone in reality, a sense of helplessness had begun washing over her. How to contend with a woman who had entire countries at her side, she wondered? How to compete with the force Cassandra had poured her own heart into uplifting, investing as much power and influence and permanency within as possible? She detested the Inquisitor's miserly control of the board. But most of all, she detested her reckless dishonesty.
While seething, Cassandra caught sight of another figure heading toward the building. A silhouette in a coat lined with pale fur, draped over the bright glint of silverite; edges visibly softened against the backdrop of winter white. If the attire alone did not serve as an immediate indication of who it was, the haughty stride banished all lingering doubt.
Keep walking, she growled within her head. It would be best if you didn't interact with me today.
True to Leliana's perceptive warning the door below creaked open, admitted forth a burst of chilled wind, and promptly clanked shut again. Cassandra braced herself for the inevitable encounter by retaking her seat. As she awaited her guest she shut her eyes and silently sent a prayer to the Maker, humbly requesting the strength to refrain from throwing the entire table into Trevelyan's face the moment she appeared at the top of the stairs, for Cassandra believed that only an intervention of divine proportions could suppress an urge of such intensity.
Her prayer apparently did not go unanswered. The table's legs remained safely on the floor when Trevelyan came into view, flakes of half-melted snow in wind-swept hair and boots crusted with frost recently trudged through, yet still she carried about a cheery demeanor despite the unfortunate weather conditions.
"Inquisitor," Cassandra flatly greeted her.
"Cassandra, how are you today?" the Inquisitor asked her with a courteous smile, each armored step landing solidly against the floorboards as she leisurely made her way over to the table.
"Enduring," was Cassandra's muttered reply, jaw held stiffly in self-control.
"Still busy seeking the Seekers, I presume?"
"That as well."
Both the long silence extending between them and Cassandra's persistent glare alerted the Inquisitor to something being amiss. Though she possessed no knowledge of precisely what had dampened Cassandra's mood, she sought to remedy it on instinct. "I came by to let you know that if by any chance you've changed your mind, Vivienne and I can delay our trip for a few hours to allow you to prepare," Trevelyan offered.
"I'm afraid my decision stands," said Cassandra. "I haven't any time for Vivienne's games."
"Games?" the Inquisitor echoed with a laugh fringing the word. "Is that what you think this is?" She clicked her tongue. "You may be surprised to hear that I was the one who suggested inviting you and Leliana along. Vivienne thought it a splendid idea and so kindly issued the invitations for me. And you think we're trying to play games with you? That hurts no small amount, Cassandra. To watch this competition eat away at our friendship... It's awful, really. I dearly wish you could trust me."
She looked hard at her. "And I wish the very same."
Trevelyan pulled the chair out and sat down across from Cassandra, peering at her with pale eyes and addressing her with what uncannily sounded like sincerity, "I trust you, you know. I would place my very life in your hands without a second thought."
"You would not be reckless if you did. I would guard it well."
"But would you feel the same if the situation were reversed?"
"No," Cassandra replied without hesitation.
An eyebrow was raised. "Well that's certainly concerning. Especially since Frederic's heard rumors of another high dragon circling some remote hills near Lydes. When I arrive in Halamshiral I intend to ask the noble landowners if they can confirm the rumor, and if it's true, I planned on inviting you along for one more dragon hunt. What do you think? Just the two of us, perhaps, and a few archer scouts and trackers of course. What would you say to that? Cassandra Pentaghast, dragon hunter extraordinaire?"
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Are you still under the misconception that I find any glory in hunting dragons? And you've become quite confident in our slaying prowess, to cull the party size to such meager numbers. I would be careful if I were you. Many a proud hero have been lost to these creatures throughout the ages."
Trevelyan smiled and jocundly replied, "I can think of no better way to meet an end." Cassandra obviously did not find the quip particularly humorous, but Trevelyan lost no pride to her opinion. Her eyes drifted to the table in wandering curiosity, spotting the books and the few papers dissonantly jutting from their otherwise neatly-bound pages. She did not notice, but her interest in the anomaly caused Cassandra to grow rigid when Trevelyan reached over and picked up the topmost volume. She silently read the title before opening the book, flipping through numerous pages before they naturally parted to reveal the piece of paper wedged between the end of a section and the one that followed. The little poem was read aloud, causing great distress within Cassandra, who knew not whether to pretend it wasn't hers or to drastically vault herself over the table at Trevelyan.
"This vaguely sounds reminiscent of something I've read before, but can't quite place..." Trevelyan pensively commented, still holding the page between her gloved fingers. "I think I once read a similar tidbit in a children's rhyme book my mother gave me when I was a girl."
Cassandra snatched it away, made indignant by the comparison.
Surprise was etched into the Inquisitor's features at the sudden motion, but it faded when she realized the implications. "You wrote that?" she asked, highly amused.
"Don't you have a trip to disembark on?"
"You write poetry!" Trevelyan exclaimed, delighted with the revelation and succumbing to laughter. "I can't believe you're writing poetry!"
Cassandra's face was afflicted by a deep frown and reddening embarrassment on her cheeks. She began gathering up her belongings from the table while disdainfully announcing, "I'm leaving."
"Oh don't bother, I'll leave you be soon enough," Trevelyan assured her. She stood, finally managing to banish the smile from her lips. "But, however do you find the time to write these charming little things when you're so busy with the Seekers? And among other things as well?"
Arms full of books and papers, Cassandra found herself with no response at the ready.
"Ah, I suppose you already have it all figured out, don't you?" the Inquisitor assumed, genuinely expecting such of Cassandra, who had never in history been caught prioritizing pleasure over work. "Even the Book? In complete honesty, I could not have offered any advice in that decision. I know you'll open it to them, but there's no telling what will follow. All I could ever say to you would be this... Be careful, Cassandra. Whatever path you've chosen for this, be careful."
"I am aware of the situation, Inquisitor," she said. "I will handle it." Her own confidence in the words unexpectedly faltered, as if all her nerves had collectively betrayed her. Cassandra felt strange in the aftermath—something resembling fear, biting and clawing persistently at her heart. She steeled herself and swallowed the unease, although it was only a temporary solution.
"I know you will handle it," said the Inquisitor. She lifted a hand and placed it on Cassandra's shoulder, conveying the firm camaraderie she felt for her, yet unfazed by the many jagged bumps in their friendship. Then she rose from her chair, said her farewells, and departed for her trip.
A near-perfect reflection of her state before her two visitors, Cassandra sat with her hands at her head again, fingertips against her temples and her nails venturing into her hairline. She could feel the nascent throb of a headache stalking her, borne from the pressure caused by one too many things filling her mind. Producing too much noise, too much worry.
One hand left her head to reach out to her poem where Trevelyan had left it sitting atop the book once providing it refuge. She picked it up and brought herself to read it once more. A sigh was all it elicited.
Trevelyan is right, she grimly conceded to herself. I should not be wasting time on idle pleasures when I have other, more important concerns. How can I sit here as I am, writing something with no future practical use, when I could be deliberating over how to present the Book of Secrets to the Seekers, how I might react if their desires conflict with mine, and how we shall respond if we read it publicly and are met with violence?
An impulse closed her fingers around the paper, gathering it into her palm and crushing the wretched thing. She tossed it listlessly aside, but a not a minute had passed before Cassandra realized that her action had not improved her mood. Rather, she judged it to have worsened. Now a pit of sinking darkness was burrowing into her stomach, and it quickly drove her to reconsider her brash condemnation of the poem and retrieve it.
Cassandra took the crumpled paper into her hands and carefully unfolded it, smoothed it out once, but deep creases now permanently scarred its face.
It is... It is not even an acceptable product of my time, this thing. And it is not worth Josephine's time either. But I suppose I still must show her that an attempt was made, and her time not wasted utterly.
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When Cassandra set foot into Josephine's office, emerging from the grounds with no more than her usual attire to shield her from the winds and cold, the ambassador appeared happy to see her but Cassandra could only respond with the smallest of rueful smiles in return; nearly imperceptible, and possibly only existing for that fleeting moment wholly due to Josephine's pleasant reception. She was asked about the poem, inevitably, leaving Cassandra with no alternative other than reaching into a pocket to withdraw the pitifully crumpled paper and peel it open.
Josephine took it from her with a small, confused laugh, asking what happened while she rotated the paper to a legible orientation. Cassandra stood before her desk as if her stationary body were hewn from ancient mountain stone, even as Josephine read the words, found them absolutely darling, and meant to complement her. But when she looked upward, she found something visibly troubling Cassandra. The intensity of the other woman's gaze had grown from alertness into anxiety, and there was a great weariness about her—a concern of notable enormity on her shoulders, pressing downward endlessly.
She never had the chance to inquire about her ill disposition, as Cassandra spoke before she had even found the words.
"I think this arrangement may have been a mistake," she said.
Something about her statement made Josephine feel as if she had been plunged into the drifts of snow outside her window. She was bewildered. "I thought you were enthralled with this idea. You were, weren't you?"
Cassandra canted her head ever so slightly, vaguely resembling a half-executed, guilt-imbued shrug. "It's true," she admitted. "But I regret to inform you that something has changed my mind."
"I certainly respect that, but..." Josephine narrowed her eyes when a thought occurred her. When she spoke, her voice was gentle for Cassandra's sake, but her words were strung together with an underlying, disquieting tightness. "Did Inquisitor Trevelyan say anything to you?" she asked Cassandra, then motioned for her to retrieve another chair to sit with her.
An honest nod confirmed the suspicion. "A comment she made led me to this conclusion," Cassandra replied while stepping away to heed Josephine's request. She returned with one of her cushioned chairs and set it next to the front of the desk before taking a seat and resuming her elaboration. "She implied this activity would be best enjoyed after I settle all my affairs. And she was not wrong."
"No, but she wasn't right either," Josephine said. She carefully folded Cassandra's poem, this time creating more respectful creases in attempt to mask the unsightly veins of abuse. The finesse of her motions was honed sharply by an aspect of irritation; all in her hands, in assiduous knuckles eternally relied upon to channel such contempt away from her herself and into letters. "Try not to listen to her on these matters, Cassandra. She's only trying to unnerve you. You once informed me yourself that much of the future is out of your hands, and I don't think it would be fair to punish yourself for not doing something about an event that will inevitably happen with or without your consent."
Cassandra took her judgement to heart, but struggled to respond. "That itself is what troubles me," she endeavored to accurately describe what haunted her. "To find myself in the path of imminence, restrained to watch but not interfere. That I can do nothing—" She subconsciously began to wring her hands together where they previously rested motionlessly on Josephine's desk. The leather of her gloves whimpered softly as it chaffed. "—to mitigate our past crimes, our secrets, our atrocities... There must be something I can do. There must be. I only need to find it." The look she gave Josephine held a desperate resilience. A staunch defiance, lashing out against certainties and unyielding even in the face of futility. But there was pain in it, like the pain of one who stood alone holding some fortress gate shut against the attrition of an enemy battering ram, with all other allies having long fled, and showers of splinters abound... It was a sense of helplessness, although Cassandra had avoided the word as if it were blighted.
Carefully, Josephine reached out to her. She took hold of one of Cassandra's hands, braving the cold, brutal metal spines of her armored gloves to stop her from wringing her hands more. As she anticipated, Cassandra reacted with some surprise, communicated through a questioning stare. "Cassandra," Josephine said, "I know you would move mountains if it would help the Seekers redeem themselves, but at present there is no way of knowing just what the circumstance will require of you. In time the solution may become clear, but as for now, you may need to accept that there is nothing you can do but wait and see."
Cassandra's eyes were brighter and more emotive than Josephine could remember witnessing. "What a bold proposition it shall be," she quietly said, "to stand in the center of a city, reading from the Seekers' Book to the people, listening to their reviling and raving grievances, and then insisting that our Order still deserves to exist. Is it in my heart to demand so much?"
"The Seekers will not exist as they were," said Josephine. "Whatever they were in the past is sealed away in history, and their absence will make room for a better, righteous order. Your new order, as you speak of it, as you strive for. And that you would open your book and stand before the world with your heart open, denying nothing and criticizing the policy of past leaders..." She never released her hand, and fortunately Cassandra found the gesture meaningful enough to permit it. "It would be moving. I think they would admire you for it. Your honesty, your bravery, your passion for truth. No, I don't think they could rightly despise you at all."
Silence veiled them for a time. Slowly Cassandra emerged from it, bearing on her lips several kind words that made the ambassador's heart nervously leap, "You are a very lovely woman, Lady Josephine. You have already gone beyond yourself, but you must also forgive me. I don't usually permit myself to be so noticeably concerned that I find myself accepting reassurance from another. It's unbecoming of me to necessitate it."
"I will not forgive you, I think, but only because there is no trespass to forgive," said Josephine. She offered a smile before retrieving her hand at last to take Cassandra's poem and gently fold the Seeker's fingers over the maltreated work. "Promise me you won't destroy it. A poem is an invaluable thing, no matter the author or the subject."
"I give you my word," Cassandra promised. "But to be safe, perhaps it should remain in your possession." She turned her wrist over and opened her hand again, presenting the paper to Josephine and inviting her to take and keep it. After a moment's hesitation, it was lifted away from her palm with great care.
"Leliana came by a short while ago," Josephine informed her. After depositing the paper amongst her belongings, she lifted her eyes again to discover Cassandra's attentiveness. "She told me about Trevelyan's... strategy. Before she left she said she was off to tell you as well."
"Yes. I was furious. So much that I hadn't a care about whether I came off as cold toward Trevelyan when she came by."
"What do you suppose we do about it? I have several ideas. Mostly counteractive recourse, though some of it may sound borrowed from Leliana—" Josephine halted herself when she saw Cassandra's sinking expression. Ah yes, she reminded herself, not this time. Not for this one. "Or," she resumed, "we can refrain from playing the same game and merely pray the Grand Consensus values integrity over the Chantry's security..."
"I know it might not be the most expedient or prodigious course of action," Cassandra said apologetically, albeit decisively, "but I would not allow myself to stoop to Trevelyan's level. Especially not in this case."
"Did she say anything else to you this morning?" asked Josephine. "Inquisitor Trevelyan, I mean. Anything of note that might allude to any of her future plans?"
"She only happened to invite me along for another dragon hunt, should she receive credible information from the Orlesian nobility meeting in Halamshiral. Just the two of us, was her suggestion." Cassandra concluded her sentence with an exasperated roll of her eyes.
It certainly sounded like one of the Inquisitor's ideas, Josephine mused. Sometimes she wondered if Trevelyan's inclinations were a product of being the youngest of several siblings, galvanizing grand behaviors which more than often overcompensated. Always the most pious, the most glorious, the most of everything... Someday, the ambassador feared, it might all come crashing down on her head. "Just the two of you, she said?" she inquired with ample interest.
"She's been very persistent lately," Cassandra dryly confirmed. "In trying to infiltrate my good graces again, that is. I wouldn't be surprised if she starts sending me flowers. Provided we survive that dreadful dragon hunt she's proposed..."
"You're actually planning on going?"
"...Well, not precisely. Not if I can help it. I have plenty of viable excuses. But if she shows signs of wanting to go alone I won't allow it; I won't allow her to get herself killed. And so I would go with her." She lowered her voice. "Between you and me, she's far more fragile than she would openly admit. After we took down a Ferelden Frostback in the Hinterlands I had to carry her back to camp. She's... not a very good dragon slayer."
"And you are?" Josephine asked her, playfully lifting her eyebrows at the implication.
Cassandra slowly fiddled with her hands for a moment, not quite descending into her habit of wringing them, but not quite free of the automatic urge either. She ceased and gave a small shrug before tilting her chin at a vaguely proud angle. "I am a formidable warrior, if that's what you're asking."
It was, without a doubt, one of the few things the overly-modest Cassandra allowed herself to be arrogant about.
The spoke a bit more, about dragons, about those few troves of jewels sometimes found near their treacherous domiciles, and about Cassandra returning with a mindfully-selected handful specifically for Josephine if she indeed found herself playing bodyguard for Inquisitor Trevelyan. It began as a lighthearted joke. One that brought a faint, almost imperceptible dash of color to Cassandra's cheeks when she stated that she would do so, if Josephine would appreciate it, if it did not make her uncomfortable, if it—
A hand was placed upon hers once again, accompanied by the promise that anything she brought back at all, even the smallest most insignificant pebble of no remarkable luster, would be cherished always. Josephine's assertion, her touch (even through the thickness of an armored glove), and the genuine affection in her lovely eyes brought Cassandra's stumbling words to a swift end but sent her flustering to new, dizzying heights.