Ortan Thaig was built over a river. It was odd to hear the rush of fresh water echoing so far below the earth. Logically, Eve knew that even the dwarves couldn't survive without water and so it made sense their settlements and cities would be well supplied; but after days of tramping through ruins, inhaling stone dust 'til her nostrils bled, she'd begun to imagine there was nothing but barren road beneath the earth.
The abandoned thaig still had vestiges of buildings, ghosts of the stable security its people had once known. In the center, in what might have been the town square of a surface city, a large tent stood sentinel near the remnants of smoldering coals. Isabela headed for the shelter, muttering something about gravel in her bodice. Merrill gravitated to the guttering campfire, a flick of her fingers bringing the flames to life and filling the plaza with light.
"Why set up a camp? I thought you would stay on the move tracking the wardens." Eve latched onto the thought that had been bothering her since seeing the signs of habitation. After so many weeks on the trail of her kidnapped sister, why would the Champion stop now?
"I can't. They used the river to cover their tracks. I've been trying for the last day to find the direction they went but even if I caught their trail I can't leave yet." Hawke sighed, tossing her sheathed weapons to one side, clearly familiar enough with the area to feel safe.
"Why?" Cassandra asked the second most obvious question of the day.
"Hawke, sweetness," Isabela interrupted the coming reply by emerging from the tent, "You know I love surprises, but why is there a naked woman in your bedroll?"
"She's not naked, 'Bela," the Champion felt that detail more important than the question, "And relax. She's my cousin."
"Your cousin? The Hero of Ferelden is your cousin?!" The pirate's mild jealousy transformed to disbelief.
"Yes, she – wait!" Hawke was barely keeping up with the shifting topics, "How do you know who she is?"
"How does Rivaini know anyone?" Varric contributed rhetorically, enjoying the spectacle of history and present colliding.
"Of course. A family affair. Looking to complete the collection, were you?" The Champion's rueful smile was devoid of jealousy; truthfully, she didn't even look surprised. After ten years it seemed there was nothing she didn't expect. Isabela's attempt at an apologetic expression was far too smug as she covered the space to her lover in two steps. A graceful finger traced the line of Hawke's jaw.
"Don't worry, sweet thing, she was far more interested in the songbird," Isabela crooned soothingly before a new thought struck her, "Come to think of it, so was I at the time. Are you still a biter, Leliana?"
Everyone turned to look for the bard's reaction but she was gone. She'd vanished almost as soon as the conversation began, only the fluttering tent flap indicating her path. The Hero of Ferelden lay within – apparently at least partially clothed – and while Eve was loathe to interrupt Leliana's reunion, the deepening mysteries had to be solved. Walking towards the shelter Trevelyan felt Cassandra fall into step with her, silently supporting the decision.
Pushing the flap open revealed a less-than-heartwarming scene. A knot of worry tightened in the Inquisitor's throat as she took in the pale and unconscious mage spread on the floor. Leliana knelt beside her, one hand reverentially poised just above touching the skin of her face. The redhead was at war, dueling instincts of fear and longing held her fingers paralyzed. Eve didn't even dare breathe, lest her intrusion tip the battle in the wrong direction. As she grew dangerously close to passing out, there was finally surrender; Leliana brushed the Hero's cheek with the barest stroke.
"I found her yesterday," Hawke spoke very quietly from behind the Inquisitor, "The wardens must have beat her for hours. Probably would've killed anyone else but the stubborn thing was still fighting to stay conscious when I got here."
"Why didn't she fight back? A pack of rebel wardens, that's nothing for a mage of her caliber." Cassandra voiced the same confusion Eve felt. Neither of them had ever met the Hero of Ferelden but they knew the legends. The Grey Warden that defeated Urthemiel? Not to mention Flemeth as a dragon. What threat could a desperate and injured pack of rebel wardens possibly present?
"They had hostages," Leliana spoke, voice oddly powerful in the mournful hush, "She would not raise a single spell so long as they could threaten harm to innocents."
"That's why they took Bethany," Hawke added, neither sad nor angry at such a turn of fate, "They knew we're blood. Even if Solona could sacrifice others, she wouldn't let anyone hurt her family."
"Did she," the spymaster cleared her throat, forcing the tremble of emotion out of her voice, "Did she say anything?"
"She said I couldn't follow the wardens. I think 'must not' were the words. Then she passed out and hasn't woken up since." The Champion's summary skirted irritation.
"A flare for drama does run in the family." Leliana's expression was soft as she looked down at the unconscious mage. Eve had noticed before that a warm light flooded the redhead's eyes whenever the subject of her lover came up in conversation, now it seemed to have enveloped her entire being.
There were a hundred questions lining up behind the Inquisitor's lips. Was this what Leliana had suspected all along? Why was the Hero here in the Deep Roads of Ferelden? What were the wardens after? Did they get what they wanted by beating the Warden-Commander senseless? If so, why keep Bethany or the other hostages? Why would Solona tell them not to follow the rebels?
"I think we must wait for the Hero to wake." The Inquisitor decided, turning to lead Cassandra and Hawke both out of the tent. She paused to seal the flap, granting the solemn reunion a touch of privacy. That was the only reason she caught a glimpse of Leliana pushing off her cowl and settling beside her Hero.
"Varric, have you ever set a serial down here?" Eve addressed her friend across the fire. The dwarf was rubbing Bianca down with wood polish, a gesture so tender it was nearly inappropriate to watch.
"In the Deep Roads? I'd sooner dip my dick in ink and scribble stories on a chantry wall." Varric abhorred the very thought.
"Vivid." Cassandra rolled her eyes.
The Inquisitor nodded, expecting such an answer. There couldn't be a less romantic setting in all of Thedas than the Deep Roads. She had trouble imagining even the ancient dwarves getting amorous in the dark atmosphere, let alone surfacers. Yet, the stone ruins clearly created some sort of tender ambiance; Leliana continued to hold her devoted vigil in the tent behind them and Isabela had stolen Hawke away ages ago.
"Maker's bursting balls!"
The invocation, while clearly not divine, was the nearest thing to prayer any of them could imagine from Isabela. It wasn't the first exclamation to echo off the abandoned buildings around them but the volume and vulgarity had been steadily increasing. The Inquisitor – who'd had the misfortune of once overhearing Bull and Dorian – rather than being disturbed by the performance, found herself growing impressed. The screaming alone took formidable stamina.
"Holy tits and taint – yes!"
"Is she always so loud?" Cassandra wasn't nearly as accepting as Inquisitor Trevelyan. Each curse and cry made the Seeker wince like a personal wound.
"Are you kidding? This is mild. You should've been there when we were gathering ingredients on Sundermount. These two slipped away to 'explore' and they probably were heard clear down in the elf camp." Varric chuckled as he recalled the afternoon from years before.
"Oh, was that the time they were in the graveyard?" Merrill found the string of shared memory.
"That's the one, Daisy. They just didn't know it at the time. There's a reason the spot they found was so private and peaceful, not even spiders go near elven burial grounds," the dwarf continued, settling into his natural rhythm, "And Rivaini, well, she can blaspheme louder and longer than anyone I've ever met. That sort of skill demands respect. And attention."
"Oh, when the screaming started! It was terrifying!" Merrill shuddered as if she were reliving that sunny but chilled afternoon.
"Ah! Andraste's tongue, don't stop!"
Varric waited to be sure the interruption was complete before resuming:
"We hauled our asses up there, bursting into the ruins all set to take on a dragon because there wasn't much else that could make that much noise. Found these two damn rogues both in their smalls ripping the shit out of a legion of skeletons. Isabela had literally raised the dead."
"Aveline wouldn't let me see," Merrill complained, "She said if they needed help it wouldn't be the skeletons screaming and dragged me away."
"The whole thing proved what I'd suspected all along." Varric settled towards the punchline of his story.
"That the pirate is a blasphemous whore?" Cassandra scowled as yet another loud oath scythed through the air.
"That words have power, Seeker. They're a magic all their own." The dwarf grinned.
"Shit! Hawke! Maker-fucker!"
"If words like that have magic," Cassandra fixed Varric with a glare firm enough to ignite his blood even without lyrium, "Then that woman has been an abomination all along."
Leliana had tuned out the animalistic exclamations as well as the noise of arguments from outside the tent. Within the secure confines of the canvas shelter all that existed was her and her Hero. Solona was pale, her skin ashen and marred with cuts and bruises. Hawke had clearly done what she could to heal the mage but there were limits to non-magical medicine. Merrill had done her best with the healing spells she knew but ultimately the warden would have to knit from within.
It had been so long since the bard had seen her love and yet now that she was in her presence the time all seemed to fall away. They might as well have been back at the camp in Ferelden, listening to Oghren tease Morrigan while Zevram flirted with Alistair. It was ironic, unfair even, that the bizarre needs of saving the world had thrown them together but then likewise ripped them apart. Leliana brushed a few strands of hair from Solona's face, marveling that it hadn't changed in all their years together. Perhaps it was part of being a warden, this exemption from the ravages of time?
It is the peace within her. The bard admitted to herself. She seldom pondered her own reflection, the needs of the Chantry and Inquisition had taken her far from the vanity of her youth. Yet she knew there were undoubtedly hints of lines at her eyes and brow, signs where duty and command had left their mark. The weight of decisions could be traced in the smallest creases on her face. The only lines she could find on Solona were near her lips; too much laughter.
"A jest for every insult, yes?" Leliana murmured, touching the neutral mouth and easily envisioning her smile.
This was hardly the way she'd wanted to be reunited. In moments of selfish indulgence she'd imagined a triumphal entry to Val Royeaux, the ceremony at the Grand Cathedral anointing her Divine; the Hero of Ferelden would arrive in a hail of glory and surprise, taking her rightful place beside her love. Or perhaps they would have met in secret somewhere before? Solona might have been the private escort of the Divine, the ultimate line of protection granted intimacies no one else could imagine.
Even when her imagining turned dark and fear gripped the bard, as it often did on sleepless nights, she never thought this would be the place they would find each other once more. In the deepest recesses of her mind she battled the idea that Solona could die while away on her quest, she'd never thought it would bring them together again. Certainly not like this. Leliana rested the back of her fingers against a cold cheek, wondering how much magic it took to defy death.
The spymaster found her mind drawn back to her conversation with Isabela, the absolute and adamant conviction of the sailor's words. The pirate believed completely not only in Hawke but in the fact that they would be together again. Leliana hadn't realized it at the time but she'd heard the echoes of her own faith. Her trust in the Maker, Andraste and the Chantry itself might tremble but ultimately nothing could shake her belief in the Hero of Ferelden. Solona would survive. Leliana knew this because she knew, with every sinew of her body and breath in her chest, that they would be together.
"You certainly have not made it easy," Leliana sighed, taking the Hero's hand in her own, "But I told you there was nowhere I'd rather be than at your side. Are you so determined to make me prove it?"
"Odd that Hawke doesn't make a sound." Eve muttered after yet another volley of Rivaini-accented cursing. Granted, it would be hard to be heard over Isabela's enthusiastic volume but there would usually be at least a hint of reciprocating noise. There were two possible explanations for the fact that they were continually hearing only one voice. One reason would be that there was a severe imbalance in the relationship; the Inquisitor, believing she'd gotten a fairly accurate read on the rakish Champion, doubted that to be the case. The other possible excuse was simply more puzzling.
"She does." Merrill corrected, her arms wrapped around her knees as if she'd turned the sensual sounds into a lullaby.
"You can hear her, Daisy?" Varric questioned with a trace of doubt but mostly gentle curiosity. Perhaps this had been a mystery amongst the Champion's companions for some time?
"She's very quiet. Shems wouldn't be able to hear without being close. It's really only whispers." Merrill explained, downplaying her knowledge.
"What does she say?" Eve knew that she shouldn't ask such things. She'd heard the gentle affection in Merrill's tone though, it was coupled with admiration. The secret couldn't be that shameful. They were all too intrigued now to be denied.
"Mostly it's just Isabela's name," the mage responded, eyes as far away as the attention of her ears, "The only other thing Hawke ever says is 'I love you.' She says that quite a lot."
The revelation left the companions in silence. The oaths, curses and blasphemy had been public for any audience. Merrill's disclosure was more intimate than anything Eve had expected and she dropped her eyes to the ground, angry that she'd let her curiosity intrude on something so profound.
"You know Hawke hates water?" Varric mused in the quiet, "Can't stand the ocean. Probably hates it as much as Isabela hates caves. But she went to sea with her after Kirkwall. Anything to stay together I suppose."
"And Isabela has been crawling through tunnels under tons of crushing rock for the same reason." Eve carried the thought further, understanding the unspoken sacrifices and victories. What wouldn't they do for each other?
"Andraste suck me – you're mine now!"
Cassandra let out a low growl beneath her breath and jerked to her feet, trudging away from the campfire. The contrast of devoted love with its lewd expression was a lot to handle for anyone, least of all a devoted romantic like the Seeker. Eve rose and followed the offended warrior, envious of the sincerity in those blasphemous screams.
Leliana hummed an old Orlesian song, one she'd sung to the Hero long ago around the night fire. She wiped the cold sweat off the warden's brow before moving to the next verse. It was a long song. The verses in all their variations could take as long as 3 hours to sing. A peaceful way to pass the time. Her own eyes were growing heavy, the release of fears had uncoiled tension from her muscles and it felt as though no strength was left in her body.
The bards sapphire eyes had almost closed when she saw the twitch of Solona's lids. She leaned closer. The Heros' eyes fluttered, lashes tickled by breath near her face. In a sudden burst of color the mage's eyes flew open, staring in startled surprise at her environment. Then she settled her gaze on Leliana's face; blinking once, then twice, the Hero gradually let her lids fall shut once more.
"There weren't that many of them." Solona muttered, her voice a weak rasp but buoyed by sarcasm.
"What?" Leliana squeezed her love's hand tight, stroking her face to call her back to reality. Her fingers ached to clutch the woman, to shake her awake and pull her close. The sheer discipline of keeping her touch delicate made her hands tremble.
"I can't be dead. There weren't that many." The mage clarified, still not opening her eyes. The spymaster, ignoring the burn of tears behind her eyes, couldn't fight the smile spreading across her lips. Only the Hero of Ferelden would be trying to argue with the afterlife.
"You aren't dead, Solona. Did you imagine the Maker's bosom to be so cold and dark?" Leliana softly mocked, enjoying the hesitant revelation of color that was her lover's eyes reopening in confusion.
"No. But I hardly expected to end up there," the Hero admitted, "I renounced that hope several times by praying for your bosom instead."
"You and your words." The redhead smirked, allowing the weaker woman's arms to wrap around her shoulders and pull her down for a kiss. The barest brush of soft warmth against her mouth nearly took her breath away and Solona jerked back in surprise.
"Maker- you're real! I'm alive, aren't I?" the Hero demanded, shock enlivening her every thought.
"Yes, you are. Despite your best efforts to the contrary." Leliana smiled and pressed close once more, resuming the tender assurance of their joint reality. It had been far too long since either had felt the thrill and promise of each other's touch. Time could be lost in a kiss in so many ways and right now both women surrendered themselves to the embrace, hoping to erase the years of absence and longing.
"Sacrifical sodomy goats!" Isabela's voice shattered the privacy of their moment. Leliana couldn't help herself laughing as Solona pulled back in shock.
"You brought Isabela? Seriously? I know it was fun, Leliana, but I didn't think you were that eager to recreate the experience!" the Hero groaned, her head thumping back to the floor.
"Don't worry, my love. This time I have no intentions of sharing." The wicked glint of the bard's crystalline eyes filled Solona's entire view before disappearing completely.
Inquisitor Trevelyan found Cassandra at the lower stairs of the thaig, standing at the bank of the river and watching the rushing water. The Seeker's back was turned to her, shoulders squared in military tension and arms crossed as if to defend against attack. Eve deliberately stepped loudly down the final stairs; surprising the other woman when she was in such a mood could be deadly. Cassandra didn't turn at the noise. She didn't even acknowledge her fellow warrior when she approached and stood alongside her, just continued glaring at the water.
"Are they bothering you?" Eve gently guided words into the tense silence, "If they're making too much noise I can make them stop."
"No. They are distracting," Cassandra admitted but without moving her gaze, "But it is not bothersome. I have heard worse."
"Really?" Trevelyan couldn't stop the surprised question from bursting out. She'd been in brothels and barracks and never heard anything that approached the noises of Isabela's lovemaking.
"Perhaps not worse," The Seeker amended herself with a yielding tilt of her head, "But certainly they are nothing new."
"Then what is troubling you?" Eve prodded, knowing her friend would not have abruptly left their company without good reason. Cassandra never fled others, only her own thoughts.
"The passion they share is most . . .confusing," the Nevarran gradually unwound the words of her explanation, "The intensity of their bond overwhelms everything else in their path. The pirate is a whore and the Champion a mercenary yet both have risen to the highest ideals of romance for each other. They have endured so much, risked, sacrificed; Varric himself couldn't capture their story. I -," Cassandra's eyes were like bruises with sudden emotion, "In my entire life I do not know that I have felt even a fraction of such affection."
Eve's chest felt like she'd been crushed by a swinging mace. Her lungs actually ached as she struggled for a breath. Of all the conversations she might have considered, this was not in her realm of imagination. The Inquisitor paced a few feet away, rallying her thoughts.
"But you've been in love before." She pointed out, not looking at the Seeker as she awaited the answer.
"I was with a man I loved. I am not so sure it is the same." Cassandra corrected.
"How is it different?" Eve turned and leaned against a wall, granting them both a measure of privacy in the intimacy of their subject. She knew the Seeker was a romantic, she'd never thought to find out her deeper past. The very idea of Cassandra being with someone else . . . A flare of jealousy spiked in her cheeks at the thought of this man who'd been so secret but favored.
"It simply was. We were allies, united to defend the chantry. We had adventures but our ultimate bond was our common goal. After seeing those two?" Cassandra nodded vaguely in the direction of the noisome indulgences, "They matter more to each other than any cause. It takes someone very special to have such an epic romance."
Eve's mind was spinning a million directions at once yet unified in wonder at this supernatural moment. The Maker himself had reached down and granted her a once in a lifetime chance. Sheer elation and terror wrapped around her heart as she begged everything holy that she not bugger it up.
"And you don't think someone could find you that special?" She eased the question out like a foot on fragile ice.
"Perhaps I did before. Leliana's stories of herself and her Hero; it was romantic but noble. Their love seemed reasonable, real. Such a relationship did indeed seem possible. But Hawke and Isabela – they lie closer to a form of lunacy, so much harder to imagine," Cassandra's arms dropped to her sides, shoulders surrendering though her fists still clenched, "To watch love such as that in action? It is somewhere between magic and a miracle."
Eve swallowed the lump of emotion rising in her throat and the words struggling with it. The bald simplicity of the Seeker's summation, her acceptance of something unreachable; it was all the more heartbreaking that she spoke without even a hint of sadness. It was the sheer humor of the gods that Isabela – whom Cassandra clearly felt her opposite on every level – was the one to bring all these emotions to light.
"Suppose someone did feel that way about you. Would you want to know?" Eve straightened off the wall into a military stance, instinctively bracing for injury.
"Of course. But anyone can utter words of devotion," Cassandra shrugged, "Hardly meaningful without action. It is good to be told but even more: I'd need to see."
"Fair enough," Eve licked her lips, mind narrowing down its million thoughts to only a few hundred and speeding for the right words, "So, they'd have to stick by you; always have your back no matter the danger?"
"That would be an obvious start." The Seeker agreed, the solemnity leaving her tone as she entertained Eve's rhetorical musing.
"You're more than a warrior, you're a Seeker of Truth. That's all about virtue and devotion. They'd have to be supportive and loyal, willing to trust you and help even when they don't understand everything that's happening." The words were flowing more freely now, a floodgate opened and she had only to keep from vomiting out the internal deluge.
"I suppose." Cassandra nodded, agreeing to a thought she'd clearly not considered.
"Naturally, they couldn't be intimidated by your armor, temper or honesty." Eve thought of the rage she'd seen unleashed in practice and battle, the passionate anger that gripped the woman when truth was at stake. She'd learned her fellow warrior demanded respect without craving surrender.
"I am more than those things." The Seeker let a small growl of irritation roll in her throat. How easy it was for people to only see the surface of the jaded fighter. They saw the armor and scars, the power and rank; they lost sight entirely of the woman beneath. Not that Cassandra let just anyone see her anyway.
"They would want to be everything you need. It wouldn't be enough to just be better," The Inquisitor began taking quiet steps closer to the warrior, "They'd want to be the best version of themselves because of you."
"You see why it seems so unlikely?" Cassandra shook her head, an ironic chuckle challenging the workings of fate. Could a woman of faith really be so ignorant of miracles?
"The right person would be happy to be your friend because it's what you want. Even when they want to be so much more." Eve barely had to whisper, close enough that the words tickled the Seeker's hair. Cassandra turned with start, surprised by the sudden proximity of the other woman.
"I -," the Seeker clearly didn't know her exact objection, face a picture of confusion.
"I can be more, Cassandra. Let me show you." With a final surge of adrenaline and courage Eve tilted in to press the Seeker's mouth in a kiss. The brush of contact was the faintest touch, a fleeting graze that was almost a whisper of breath as much as the caress of lips. Inquisitor Trevelyan was pulling back in nearly the same moment she'd leaned in. She fought the urge to taste her lips and savor the flavor of the kiss. She held perfectly still, waiting in paralysis for the consequences of her boldness.
"Evely-," Cassandra started to speak but Eve winced and pressed a silencing hand to her mouth.
"Please," the Inquisitor begged, "I only hear that name when I'm in trouble. Am I in trouble?"
The reality was that she might be. She'd laid her cards on the table and in both Wicked Grace and life that was no promise of victory. She held her breath, trying to read every flicker of thought and emotion in the bottomless depths of the Seeker's eyes. The crease of her brow was full of debate, her body held taut like she were balancing on the edge of a cliff. The Seeker reached up and pried the hand away from her mouth.
"In trouble? As long as I have known you, Inquisitor, you have been nothing else," Cassandra's reproachful expression abruptly softened, lacing her fingers with Eve's hand, "Show me again."
The Inquisitor wondered if she'd held her breath all this time because the room began to waver and spin, everything at the edges of her vision blurring as the Seeker moved close enough to feel every inch of her. The touch of lips sent a rush of blood through her entire body, instinctively curling every muscle until she'd wrapped the Seeker in an embrace tight enough to mold two armors into one. Fingers threading into her hair promised there would be no interruptions, no uncertain escapes or confused objections. Cassandra's kiss was flooded with words; an exchange of emotion and need neither had dared confess.
Eve clung desperately to the shreds of rational thought as her senses ran rampant; all she could manage as a coherent reaction was the fact that it was completely different from anything she'd ever felt. This bliss, with the taste and smell and touch of the Seeker overwhelming her but full of permission to drown beneath it all, this was greater than magic or miracle. She didn't know a word for it other than Cassandra.
Truly hope this chapter was the romantic culmination everyone was expecting. Three completely unique relationships but with so many similarities I dread them being repetitive. Please review!