Josephine had offered a chance for Trevelyan to specialise his magical talent; for him to hone it into a refined, powerful force to slay his enemies. And so, Dane pondered Commander Helaine's parting words as he wandered back towards the great hall, books from his quarters heavy in his arms.
The now appointed Inquisitor would be lying if he said the Commander's description of the Knight-Enchanter did not appeal to a small, hidden desire inside him. Some primal instinct within that demanded he lead, that he command. He had been content to follow in his journey to seal the Breach so far, but the events of Haven had shaken him. Corypheus would not, could not be struck down by a sheep in Inquisitor's clothing.
Dane had spoken with Solas about his knowledge of the Fade in days past, listening to the quiet Elven man's patient explanations on how to master his Anchor's power. While fascinating, and powerful; in a wild, untamed sort of way, mastering the Anchor seemed too much like what the Elder One sought.
Dorian had been delighted to share his knowledge on necromancy with the Inquisitor instead. The discussion had begun most proper and instructional, Dorian complimenting Dane's knack for reanimation; his way with the spirits of the Fade. It soon delved into drunken theatrics as the night turned into the grey-streaked skies before dawn, and the bottle of brandy the Inquisitor had brought seemed to vanish in front of their eyes. They had both forgotten most of the discussion by the following morning.
And now, Trevelyan found himself drifting up the flight of steps to Vivienne's balcony. Dane envied the way she could stride into any skirmish, spirit blade dancing and slicing through any and all who dared challenge her. Somehow, she always came out flawless; not a scratch or bruise on her ebony skin.
He crested the top of the steps, tapping his knuckles on the balustrade to alert her to his presence. Vivienne turned from her perch on the windswept balcony, a warmth in her smile that made Dane suspicious.
Since the First Enchanter's arrival, the pair had not exactly 'got on'. She seemed to disagree with the Inquisitor on a fundamental level; whether on the freedom of mages, who he chose to keep company with, even the pair of boots he might have selected to wear that morning.
"Inquisitor. What can I do for you?"
"Good morning, Madame de Fer." Dane replied, making sure his smile was polite and his bow was deep. "I wondered if I might ask your advice on the way of the Knight-Enchanter."
"Of course, darling. You are considering joining our ranks, yes? You should be commended. So few have the discipline necessary to even attempt it."
Dane nodded in thanks, taking the last few steps to be at her side on the balcony. From this spot, he could see all the comings and goings below. Scout Harding lead in a muddied and dragging bunch of soldiers through the gate, Iron Bull and his chargers patrolled the ramparts, and Cassandra was in her usual position; assaulting a fresh selection of wooden dummies. She seemed not to have noticed Cole watching her from nearby.
"I had a feeling there was steel beneath that soft exterior of yours." Vivienne stated, turning from the balcony and heading towards her dresser.
Dane didn't answer. He watched as she retrieved a leather-bound tome from a collection of expensive looking books, no doubt carted to Skyhold from her Orlesian holdings. She sauntered back towards him, book outstretched, clasped between long, elegant fingers.
He accepted the tome, running his hand along the pages. They were lined with gold. 'Why am I not surprised..'
"Thank you, Vivienne."
The First Enchanter smiled at him once more, returning to her spot on the balcony. She watched the people below, miniscule, ant-like as they scurried. Trevelyan left in the moments that followed; as quiet and careful as a feline.
Vivienne did not notice the return of the Circle tomes until later that evening. Her eyes softened as they flitted across the note the Inquisitor had attached.
'I saved these from that merry band of malcontents. -Dane.'
The Fallow Mire was a miserable, dreary place. 'And they won't let me forget it.' The Inquisitor sighed, hearing Sera curse as loud as elvenly possible when her boot got caught in another patch of grey sludge.
"Why- the FRIG-," Sera shouted, between attempts at unsticking herself from the ground. "Did you bring me here, Lordy?!"
He turned around from his spot at the head of the party, trudging to where Sera was stuck and heaving her from the mud in one swift movement. The elf was light in his arms, although she wriggled more than enough to make up for it.
"Because I know just how much you enjoy the Maker's incredible feats of nature."
His sarcastic reply earned a smack around the ears from Sera and a scowl from Cassandra. 'Note to self, do not joke about the Maker in Cassandra's presence.'
"We should probably try to stay quiet, Inquisitor. I don't like the look of the water 'round here."
Dane nodded in agreement at Blackwall's observation, examining the bloated corpses that floated in the ponds around them. The resident Warden had alerted the Inquisitor to signs of a plague when they first entered the swamp. Homes they had passed boarded up from the outside; the sweet stench of rot and decay leaking from under doorways.
Cassandra stood a few metres away from the others, arms folded and an annoyed grimace on her face. Dane couldn't help the grin that pulled at his lips as his gaze settled on her features. A strand of her sopping wet hair had settled on her forehead, the tips of them dripping into her lashes.
"What?" She asked, her eyes narrowing as the Inquisitor approached her. He looked far too innocent for her liking; hands clasped behind his back and a deliberate slowness in his stride.
The Inquisitor shrugged, stepping close enough so he was on the verge of invading her personal space. He raised his marked hand to eye level, gesturing to her forehead.
"May I?" Blackwall's warning of quiet prompted a fully-fledged smirk to his face as he whispered.
Cassandra opened her mouth to ask, only to gape like a fish when Dane touched his hand to her forehead, sweeping the troublesome lock of hair out of her eyes with a touch far gentler than she expected. He stared at her with that goofy smile, his hand still close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his fingertips.
Before she could truly process what had happened, perhaps smack his hand away, the Inquisitor turned and strode off, resuming his argument with Sera about just why they had to venture out into this "shite-hole of a place".
"After you, Lady Seeker."
Cassandra whirled at Blackwall's polite gesture, waiting for the warrior to resume their march. The Warden hid a knowing smile underneath that glorious beard of his, flicking his eyes between the Herald and herself.
"Thank you." Cassandra muttered, stomping ahead and trying very hard not to trace her fingers along where the Inquisitor had touched.
Both the Seeker and the Warden remained quiet for the rest of the journey, exchanging looks as Dane and Sera babbled on about anything and everything, only with lowered voices. The discussion continued late into that evening, as Blackwall served up a hearty broth from the campfire pot.
"I don't think so," Dane mumbled between swallows of his piping hot dinner. "Baron Plucky could just whisk him away. Easy."
Sera shovelled down her own bowl of stew with nary a pause between mouthfuls. Blackwall shook his head at her antics. The elf managed to eat twice as much as everyone else, quick enough for the food to not even burn her on the way down.
"Schmooples is fast though, and smart. I caught him nickin' one of Solas's teabags the other day. Bet that pissed him right off." Sera cackled, huddling against the Inquisitor for warmth.
Blackwall ate his own meal with slow spoonfuls, savouring the rich and meaty taste of venison. The Grey Warden had spent much of his life on the road; used to catching and preparing his meals over hot coals. Dane had given him, or rather insisted that he have cooking duty.
The Inquisitor had warned everyone in no uncertain terms that he would burn anything handed to him, Sera would chuck in any and every spice in existence, and Cassandra would hunt down a dragon for them to eat. Sera had laughed and agreed, and the Seeker had simply rolled her eyes.
'The Inquisitor and the Seeker..' Blackwall wondered, looking up from his weathered hands. He had been one of the last to know about the Herald's blatant infatuation with the woman, overhearing Dorian and Varric casting a bet on how long it would take for Trevelyan to muster up the courage and kiss her.
Cassandra sat across from Dane and Sera, stirring her stew around in a distracted manner. The Warden followed her gaze, realising she watched the pair from the corner of her eye. The two were still carrying on in muted glee, now arguing over who would win between Leliana's rather exotic pets. Dane laughed when Sera making a smart comment that the bird would probably nest on "Solas's shiny friggin' head."
Now that he was aware of the Inquisitor's longing for Cassandra, Blackwall had noticed all the things Dane did for her in their tedious traversal of the Mire.
The Inquisitor would wait and reach to help her across any difficult patches of land; even though she ignored his chivalrous gesture each time, insisting she was capable of walking herself, thank you very much. Sera never failed to take her place; leaping into Dane's arms and almost bowling him over on more than one occasion.
He always made sure Cassandra was the first to eat, handing her his bowl if Blackwall served him first. The lovesick man had even collected a small bouquet of pink and violet wildflowers, presenting it on top of the Seeker's pack when he thought no-one was watching.
The Warden realised the Seeker was looking at them with what he could only guess to be envy. Not a word anyone would associate with the fierce looking woman very often, and yet, Cassandra had the sharp glint in her eye that betrayed what she thought.
Sera had finished her meal first; to nobody's surprise, and now rested her head on Dane's lap, examining his marked hand with a look torn between awe and disgust. The Inquisitor seemed to be oblivious to how they might appear to anyone watching, his naivety plain as day.
"That was amazing, Blackwall." Dane announced, a contented smile stretching his cheeks as he set his bowl aside, leaning back against a damp log.
"It's nothing, Inquisitor. I'm happy to do it."
"Well good, cause I'm not." Sera quipped, firing a wicked grin in his direction.
Blackwall chuckled, his deep laughter rolling in the air as he collected their bowls to wash-up. Cassandra waved the Warden off as he walked past, taking a slow bite of her dinner at last.
"So, Seeker Pentaghast," Dane greeted, his voice lilting across the campfire. She paused mid-chew of her meal, eying the Inquisitor.
"Yes?"
"Who do you think would win? Baron Plucky, or Schmooples the.. Third, is it?"
"The Second." Cassandra corrected, fighting a smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.
"My mistake. So which one? Sera and I are at a bit of an impasse."
"Imp-ass!" Sera giggled, snatching the Inquisitor's jacket to drape around her shoulders.
Cassandra watched as the elf snuggled into Dane's coat, settling back in his lap and promptly falling asleep. The Seeker's smile faded and something in the her chest twinged when he moved to accommodate her, letting her use his arm as a pillow. The hurt sensation surprised Cassandra, bringing up feelings she had tried so hard to quash in the past.
"Well?" Sera asked, cracking open a bleary eye. "She just doesn't want to hurt your pride, Lordy. We all know it's Schmooples."
"I do not care for such frivolous ideas." Cassandra sniffed, looking away from the pair and attempting to focus on the food in front of her.
"Told you." Sera mumbled smugly.
Dane stared at Cassandra through the crackling flames between them, noticing the sour look that had descended on her face. 'What did I say?' He thought with a frown, his hand scratching at his stubble of its own accord.
"Are you going to grow that out?"
Dane blinked up at Blackwall as he returned to his spot by the fire, placing the clean bowls back inside his rucksack.
"Pardon?"
"Your beard." The Warden gestured.
Dane twisted his mouth in thought; stilling the movements of his fingers. It had been growing longer with each passing day, much to Josephine's chagrin back in Skyhold. "You cannot meet the nobility with that.. fluff on your face, Inquisitor!" She had exclaimed. The Inquisitor had feigned being wounded, insisting his stubble was manly, not fluffy.
"I think so. I look about twelve summers old if I don't."
Blackwall laughed at that, a proper laugh that resonated through their small campsite.
"What do you think, Seeker?" Dane questioned, looking at her with that charming grin he wore in her direction all too often.
Cassandra regarded the Inquisitor for a long moment, sweeping her gaze over his face.
He had high cheekbones and a strong jaw, dusted with fine black hairs that he now asked her about. Her gaze brushed over his eyes. They were as blue as the eastern glaciers; and something seemed to simmer in them as she met his gaze.
The Inquisitor looked strong, beard or no.
"I like it as it is now, Inquisitor."
Dane felt his chest swell with pride as the Seeker stood, drifting away to the stream to wash her own bowl. Sera peeked at Blackwall, meeting the Warden's gaze. The pair exchanged a knowing look, being sure to hide their smiles before Cassandra returned.
[A.N] Thank you to all readers, reviewers, etc! [/A.N]