Twenty-One

Confessions of a Shifty Smuggler Type

"No. I can't do it!"

"Sure you can, Kid! All you gotta do –"

"You promised you wouldn't ask me to do it again. Last time you said it would make her happy, but she was angry. Very angry. I-I-I can't!"

The boy was pacing back and forth in the lower courtyard, hugging his elbows protectively, conflicted with his desire to help and the worrisome idea of a repeat of the last attempt. Cole had a point; it hadn't gone over too well when Varric had convinced him to do this once before, even though he'd been just as reassuring about the outcome then. "Hey, she didn't stay angry, right? You're the only one who can do it and not get caught. I need you on this!"

He shook his head in mild distress, hunching his shoulders ever further. His breath came out ragged, lips turned down in a deep frown as he turned and walked the same line for the umpteenth time. "It's her personal space, her private place. I pay the price for putting it there. It's only fair. Only fair…"

Varric stepped around the pool of mud to stop Cole in his tracks, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. "If that's the only thing holding you back, then if she asks, I'll tell her I did it and leave you out of it. I'm used to taking the punches from her, anyway."

The Kid's pale eyes widened. "You would tell a lie?"

He waved a hand dismissively, as if the accusation was no more than another buzzing fly amongst the others swarming the air near the stables. "It's not technically a lie. You're acting on my behalf, so I bear all the responsibility. Besides," he smiled encouragingly, "what I've got in store for her has to make her happy. I promise everything will be alright, Kid. I wouldn't be asking you now if I wasn't sure."

An uncomfortable moment passed as Cole stared at him, his focus boring into him as if Varric was still talking – and maybe he was in a way, if the spirit was reading his thoughts for the truth. A soldier passed and eyed the merchant prince in puzzlement, but Varric only nodded in the man's direction, wondering if he assumed the dwarf was talking to himself in full view of the keep's residents. But that was exactly why Varric needed Cole. No one would see what he was doing, becoming curious enough to pick up the items he left behind.

"Okay, Varric," Cole nodded at last in agreement. "I'll help you…"

"Good – good, Kid, that's great. Thanks, I owe you one," he sighed, relieved he wouldn't have to ask Buttercup as a backup. "Do you have a way to tell time?"

Cole's gaze shifted in uncertainty, confused by the question. "What do you want me to tell it for you?"

"Uh…" Varric raised a single brow, shaking his head to quickly dismiss the odd idea presented. "Never mind." He placed his hands on Cole's arms and turned him around, pointing at the sky in indication. "When the sun hits right about there, and you can smell supper cooking in the kitchens, that's your signal to come find me and take the stuff. Alright?"

Cole nodded in understanding, staring at the sun as if it did him no harm whatsoever to look directly at it. "What do you want me to do until then?"

"Whatever you want. Just don't tell anyone. Especially the Seeker."

"Okay." Having all the information to hand, the young spirit sidled away to once again go about his spirit business, walking up the stone steps toward the sparring yard.

At that moment, as if she had been attracted to them by merely being spoken of, Cassandra appeared on the stone landing. When she greeted Cole as they passed by one another, the boy froze in fear for a moment before quickly retreating, causing the Seeker to turn suddenly and watch him depart with haste.

"Hey, Seeker," he greeted her tenderly, wary that she might be hung over. "How's your head?"

"Ugh," she scoffed, reaching his side slowly as she cradled one temple gingerly. "It's clearly disappointed in me for drinking too much."

One of the mounts, a dracolisk, kicked out in obvious displeasure over something to do with its breakfast, and the shriek it made had the Seeker wincing, narrowing her eyes at the fiendish creature. "Sorry to hear it," Varric sympathised with a shrug. "Mine's doing alright."

"Of course it is. You didn't drink nearly as much as usual on such occasions," she readily complained, which he couldn't argue in the slightest. Her lips pursed for a moment before she lowered her arms, resting her hands on her hips. "Speaking of which, that is why I wished to speak with you."

"Oh? Come to congratulate me on my winnings last night?" He chuckled. Luckily he'd called it quits just before Ruffles mopped the floor with Curly.

The Seeker hesitated as she shook her head, unsure of herself abruptly. Realising that she'd come this far, she met his eyes and let it out. "I wanted to know whether it was possible to arrange another night in Herald's Rest. At a later date."

Feigning an injury to his chest, Varric stepped back in a mock stumble, neatly avoiding the puddle of mud behind him. "Why, Seeker, I didn't know you had it in you! You want to plan a party? I thought you left that kind of thing for Ruffles to arrange!"

Narrowing her eyes, Cassandra crossed her arms neatly over her chest. "I wanted to do something... special for the Inquisitor. I've been thinking that a celebration with her associates – friends," she quickly amended before he could do it for her, "would be appropriate after Corypheus is defeated, and… Well, I'd like you to help me arrange it." Clearly seeing the odd look plastered on his face, she took a moment to steal a deep breath and humble herself, not wanting her pride to get in the way of her request. "I don't know the first thing about planning parties, Varric, as you might have guessed. I assumed you would be the one to ask. Or should I have asked Josephine, instead?"

She'd said that as if implying a threat, and though it was weak, it still worked on him. Josephine's idea of a party would likely include a string quartet, inedible hor d'oeuvres, and enough nobility and royalty to make even the Empress blush. "Nah, Lavellan doesn't go for the types of shindigs our illustrious Ambassador hosts, so you're better off asking me. If friends, food, and fun are on the menu, I'd be more than happy to lend you a hand."

"Good." She nodded for an unnecessarily long period of time, pretending to have an interest in the day-to-day bartering taking place at the stalls rather than say anything more. But she didn't seem to want to leave quite yet, either, instead preferring to stand near him – that's how he interpreted the situation, in any case.

Disguising the smile his speculations brought forth, Varric looked up to catch her stare, a seductive glint in his eye. "Is that all you came here to say…? Or should we just forego the talking?"

She knew that look. He'd held the same flirtatious expression before she'd gone to bed last night, and the Seeker gave in just as easily now as she had then. "I have work to do, Varric," she informed him in hushed tones. "So do you. Unless you're still avoiding it."

Though her words attempted to shut him down, the tremble in her voice betrayed a certain longing for intimacy that he couldn't help but notice. "All work and no play makes Cassandra a dull girl," he smirked, taking a cursory glance at the civilians around them before inching toward her, brushing his broad shoulder against her side to steal the briefest touch of his body against her own in full daylight.

Cassandra kept her eyes averted, yet didn't take the opportunity to step away, either. "I've played with you plenty, and all it's given me is a headache," she commented dryly. "On more than one occasion."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I've given you a lot more than that…" Whether he'd subconsciously decided to see what he could get away with, or was testing her boundaries on public displays of affection, he wasn't altogether sure. All he knew was that he'd arched his neck ever so slightly, leaning his face toward her inviting chest, his smile broadening.

Fighting a vicious blush that overtook her face, she finally decided to take a small step back in retreat. "I… am needed elsewhere," Cassandra floundered, looking for an excuse to end their conversation – and whatever he was doing to her physically.

He gave Cassandra a knowing wink. "You're needed right here," he replied with a bite of his lower lip.

"Morning, you two."

Varric reflexively stepped away as he turned toward the deep barrel of a voice at his back. "Hey, Hero," he blurted, his voice pitching absurdly. Clearing his throat of the awkwardness that seemed to burrow itself there, he waved his hand before Blackwall could continue about his business. "Don't run off; I need your help with something. Hey, I'm not done with you, yet, Seeker," he grinned wryly at Cassandra, noticing her blatant steps toward the main hall.

"It will have to wait until after the war council," she called back, turning away and making for the stone steps in a rush.

Disappointed that the moment was lost, Varric gave up with a shrug and watched her go. "Alright, then! I'll be seeing you later; that's a promise!" Shaking his head with a rueful chuckle, he joined the bearded warrior as he sauntered back to the barn.

Following him inside, he waited as Blackwall checked the varnish on a rocking chair he had been busily completing for one of the elder enchanters in the mage tower in order to rest his old bones comfortably. He inspected the wood and grimaced as he pulled off a fly by the wings that had gotten its legs stuck and subsequently drowned in the drying wood stain.

"What do you need, then?" Blackwall asked curiously, side-stepping any small talk and critically eyeballing the piece for one last inspection.

With every minor step he took toward his plan, Varric's innards tied themselves in tighter and tighter knots, and now was no exception. He hadn't even begun the main part yet, which would need to be finalised before supper if he was going to get this right. Still, the finer details of his scheme had to be carried out to make room for the main event. "You know how you get all those flowers for Ruffles and put them in nice little arrangements? I've seen them on her sideboard in her office, and they catch my eye every time. It's really impressive stuff."

Somewhat bewildered for a moment, Blackwall placed his hands on his hips as he made his way over to Varric through the scattered hay. "Yes? What about them?"

The dwarf affected an embarrassed smirk. "Yeah, so… where would I go about getting my hands on some? I need about four bundles-worth, but I'm no good at the whole 'bouquet' thing. Or the hunting and gathering part."

A slow smile spread beneath the jet black beard, and he slapped Varric's back in camaraderie, walking out of the shaded barn and toward the main gate with his half-sized friend in tow behind him, the guards nodding to them as they strolled out of the fortress. "Come on. I'll show you my spot."

~oOo~

The grove just outside Skyhold appeared through the trees after a ten-minute trek through the snow, and he waved his hands as if in greeting to the evergreens, taking in a deep breath of the clean mountain air they provided. There had always been something special about the outdoors for Blackwall. Though most of the region was cloaked in thick white blankets as far as the eye could see, this area remained shielded from the worst of the elements at high altitudes, and the thin layers of ice on the nettle branches dripped cold droplets on them as the sun cleansed the area with warm, mid-morning rays. His little find sported magnificent views that even the ramparts couldn't quite achieve with their stony structures marring the grand scenery. Here, he felt most at home in himself. And it was here that he often gathered blossoming embriums, delicate crystal grace, and sweet-smelling honeysuckle for the Lady Ambassador, gifting her with a taste of the heavens that he had always cherished as much as he now cherished her from a distance.

Today, though, he shared his secret with a friend in need, graciously providing the very best Skyhold had to offer in the way of romance and nature at its most wild and beautiful.

Selecting a vine of crystal grace to start off a flattering bouquet, Blackwall took out his pocket knife and cut low on the stem to allow for finer trimming later. Varric wordlessly followed suit, flicking his own knife free as he carefully did likewise. It was a quiet moment they enjoyed, the stillness filled only by the twittering of jays and robins nesting in the trees above them, and the warrior relished the peace for what it was: a place removed from time, away from the hells looming all around daily.

"This is a cosy little spot," Varric reluctantly broke the silence while focusing on his task. "I usually stick to city streets, but I can see the appeal for a guy like you."

Blackwall approved of his friend's musings, but didn't offer a nod, too concentrated on cutting the vines. "City streets don't offer the kind of freedom a place like this does. A man can be whoever he wants out in the wilderness. Or nobody at all. He can be lord of the land, or disappear forever to live life as he sees fit, and either way the trees don't judge him. The only thing that matters is that it's up to him to decide."

After Varric's low hum of agreement, the two fell into a companionable silence once more, mindful not to gather too many flowers from the same plant as they spread out in search of complimentary wildflowers. These would surely please the Lady Seeker.

That was the reason for being out here, Blackwall assumed, and a sad smile touched his hairy lip. Here the dwarf worked in a labour of love for the woman who had captured his heart, and though he had done the same many times a week when they were stationed in Skyhold, his own feelings could never amount to more between himself and the rare Antivan jewel that was Josephine Cherette Montilyet.

It was an odd fit, Varric and Cassandra being an exclusive item. He'd always pictured the carefree roguish storyteller as the wayward lover of a variety of women, all likely attractive young villagers whom readily threw themselves at a handsome stranger in town who regaled their local tavern with tales of foreign kingdoms and the high seas. Passionate one-time romances, non-committal to the end; that was the sort of life Blackwall had envisioned Varric living to this point, and even long into his twilight years. Instead, he'd surprised everyone by falling for a singular person, one so far removed from that simple peasant lifestyle, experiencing courageous adventures the likes of which Varric had only written about in his wildest stories. Maybe that's why his friend had fallen so quickly for her: Cassandra was adventure itself, a living, breathing epic… and the thrill-chasing dwarf couldn't resist having an adventure of his very own.

"Do you think this is insane?" Varric's hoarse voice cut through his silent musings. Looking up from the honeysuckle, he caught the look on the warrior's face before he averted his eyes. Apparently their minds had wandered down the same path without knowing it. "The Seeker and me, I mean… I did some thinking after cards last night, and I didn't really have the time to think about it with a clear head until now."

Frowning, Blackwall sat near the drop-off for a moment to bind the bushel in his hands with twine. "Of course I think it's mad. We all do, a bit… What's this about? Are you getting cold feet, lad?"

"No, nothing like that, I just…" Varric rubbed at the back of his reddening neck and sighed, bringing his various cuttings over for binding as well. "The whole shitstorm with Bianca the other day kinda put a lot of things into perspective for me. I've been trying to explain to myself what's going on, but I'm stuck. I need a second opinion."

"Alright. So what you're saying is you need to get something off your chest, but because it concerns Bianca, you can't talk it over with Cassandra," he spoke plainly, pausing in his task to hear him out.

"Not yet, anyway," Varric winced, knowing how that possibly came across. He lowered himself to the soft overgrowth, one elbow propped up on a bent knee. "See, I'm a lot older than I was when Bianca and I…" It seemed he was still struggling to put a voice to his many thoughts, but the warrior waited patiently for him to extract the troubling idea from his mind. "I'm having… problems in certain areas when it comes to this stage in a relationship that I didn't have, before."

Blackwall's spine stiffened, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, the gruff sound echoing in the distance. "Oh. Right. Uh…" He hadn't envisioned their conversation leading to something so personal, not to mention intimate. "Have you tried… asking the healers for supplements, or… longer foreplay, or –"

"Andraste's ass, Hero, not that! I'm doing just fine in that arena, thanks."

He felt woozy as he released a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the bloody Maker," he leaned back, closing his eyes in a prayer of immense gratitude. "What are you on about, then? Out with it, before my mind starts picturing things it really shouldn't."

"I'm talking about… the 'L' word," Varric clarified, his shoulders sinking under a complicated emotional burden. "I can't talk to Cassandra about it because she wouldn't understand. I don't even understand. And she'd probably kick my ass for being such a damned coward… Shit, maybe I am."

A deep worry line formed between the man's black, bushy brows. "Well, don't say you love her unless you really mean it. Easy enough, right?"

He shook his head, mildly disturbed as he rubbed his weary eyes. "That's the thing: I do mean it. I'm not getting any younger, and these are some pretty dangerous times we're living in. Anything could happen. I should say what I feel while I still have the chance… But every time I try, my throat closes up with… fear, I guess is what it is."

Thoroughly surprised, Blackwall set the flowers on the ground between them and looked his friend dead in the eye. "What have you got to be afraid of, Varric? That she doesn't feel the same? I've noticed how she looks at you these days, and there's a distinct lack of murderous rage in her eyes. If that's not love, I don't know what the fuck is." He managed to draw out a slight chuckle from the dwarf, and he was glad for it. Maybe if the lad relaxed a little more, he'd find it easier to express himself.

"I know she feels the same. Hell, she's already said as much, and I've done everything but say it back." Varric hesitated, glancing quickly at the man before returning his gaze to the flowers, gesturing toward them as an example of the lengths he was going to display his affections without having to actually come out and verbally express them.

Thinking back to their conversation in the Emerald Graves, Blackwall ventured a guess as to the main concern. "Are you still worried about a relationship with the Lady Seeker on account of what your enemies might do with the information?"

"…It's a little of this, a little of that." He sat up, resting both arms on his knees as he stared out over the serene mountainside at the high peaks in the distance. "Mostly, though, the thing is… I like to think of myself as a lady's man for the most part, but that wasn't always the case." His eyes glazed over slightly, and he began to speak of things he'd kept hidden for several years. "A long time ago, when I was young and naïve about this kind of shit, Bianca was the first girl I ever had real feelings for. We'd sneak off together, doing what teenagers do when they're invincible, rebellious, and drunk off hormones. And as far as I was concerned, it was true love. So, one fateful day I just up and told her how I felt, no holds barred… and she said it back right away, not even missing a beat. We were elated. Even talked about marriage and kids and shit. It was the happiest moment of my life, up to that point."

Picking at the long grass, he threw the deep green blades aside in frustration. "And as luck would have it, the very next day, my mother got a letter from her father telling her to keep her no-good son away from his virtuous daughter. Said he'd kill me if I threw a wrench in his plans to marry Bianca off to 'Bogdan Vasca'. That was the first I'd ever heard of whatshisname, and not heeding my brother's advice, I stole away to her father's house that night and climbed up to her window. She was in turmoil. Apparently, she'd just been told about the whole thing, too… You could see it in her eyes," he said as if they were preserved perfectly in his memory, like it had only happened hours ago. "She was trapped. And we both knew it."

Blackwall listened intently, his arms folded over his chest and shaking his head at the very idea. It wasn't unheard of in some parts for parents to arrange their children's marriages for family or clan alliances, and he'd heard enough to assume that dwarven culture down in Orzimmar often dictated the same, if not more, for their own nobility. What was odd was that a family of ex-noble surfacers still insisted on living under those traditions, even when they were no longer bound by them. "Don't kids in love usually run away to be together forever when faced with something like that?"

Varric accidently let slip a rueful laugh, looking upward as if asking the Maker why he hadn't thought of that very thing. "We would have been hunted over every corner of the map. She's a Davri, a Smith Caste; I'm a Tethras, Merchant Caste. Two influential families with enough money and connections to drag us back home in less than a day after absconding with the good silver… It's an old tale: star-crossed lovers, destined to be kept apart by forces beyond their control. Those never have happy endings, but that didn't stop me from trying… Right then and there, in her father's house, I swore to Bianca that I would never leave her, no matter what her family did to me. At that, she started to cry. I thought I'd loved her before… But my love for her grew stronger then than I'd ever felt for anyone."

He looked over to Blackwall forlornly. "That is," Varric swallowed, his eyes distant, "until now."

They'd all but forgotten about their reason for being here, but the warrior felt this new revelation was more important than the floral arrangements. Coaching him forward, he asked, "So is that why you're so torn up? Because you broke your promise to Bianca?"

Varric shook his head, as if his denial surprised even him. "It'd been over between us for a long time. I was just too stubborn to see it all those years. She changed, thought she had me wrapped around her little finger." He shrugged, admitting, "The truth is, she did. She could get me to meet her wherever she wanted at the drop of a hat. But I think we both changed beyond those dumb kids we used to be. So when I told her it was over, that I'd moved on, it was like finally stating the obvious. But now that she's gone, I feel like I can't…" He shook his head again lamely. "Shit, I don't know what I feel. I'm not really used to this level of introspection. It's new to me; I usually avoid thinking about it, and I shroud it in mystery if it ever comes up, so I've never been in a position to really consider it."

Fitting the puzzle together in his mind, Blackwall began to see where his friend's worries truly laid. It wasn't the enemy looming on the horizon that troubled him, threatening to rip her from him.

Rather, it was the enemy within, the inner demons that controlled him like a hopeless marionette on tangled strings.

"It's hard for you to tell Cassandra you love her because the last time you said it to a woman, everything went from fucking magical to total shit overnight. That's why you won't let yourself say out loud that you love the Lady Seeker, even if they're your true feelings. You're afraid, Varric, that if you do, something will happen to tear you two apart, just like it did last time."

It was as if the Veil itself had lifted, and a whole other world he'd never known was revealed to him. He saw Varric's throat bob as he fought to speak, but he gave up eventually, though it was apparent by his sudden speechlessness that Blackwall had hit the target. The dwarf had never openly talked about his feelings, convincing himself that it was bad luck to ever acknowledge how much he cared for someone, or to even chase that feeling ever again.

"So… am I moving too fast with the Seeker?" Varric finally asked the man, now trusting in his ability to read the situation objectively. "Or am I just looking for shitty excuses to hold myself back so I don't get hurt?"

Sighing, Blackwall turned his body to face the dwarf, placing a hand firmly on his friend's knee as he dispensed his unique brand of advice – advice that he was so unused to giving, for rarely did anyone ask him what to do when it came to love. "I was once a young man with my whole life ahead of me, same as you, but I lost it all due to my own poor judgement. I let that consume me for years, running away from the truth and making myself out to be someone I wasn't just to convince myself and everyone else that I was better than Rainier… After I was confronted with what I had done… what I was doing to myself… I decided to not just pretend to be the man I wanted to be, but to become him. It took days in a dungeon awaiting execution for me to really look at myself and come to that bitter conclusion… These days, now that I'm a free man, I devote my time and energy toward making up for my mistakes in life."

He moved to gather the flowers in his arms. "I'm not saying that's the case for you, too, but these things do have a pattern… You don't have to stop yourself from loving someone new just because it didn't work out with Bianca, Varric. That old love is over and done with, and another one has just started. Let it be new again, and revel in all you can offer each other, come demon or darkspawn. And this time, don't let anything come between you."

Varric pressed his lips to a fine line, sighing to himself as he made to stand up again. "I should really learn to listen better. Chuckles said pretty much the same thing to me last night."

"Did he? Well then." Blackwall smiled, picking up the rest of the flowers they'd gathered before getting up. There was enough here for a few vases, and he'd have to get started on that if Varric wanted them ready for whatever he was arranging. "If Solas agrees, I can't be all wrong, then, can I?"

"You wouldn't think that old burn would screw me up as much as it did, but… yeah… Hey, good talk. Didn't even know I needed it, but I'm glad I got it off my chest." Brushing himself off, the dwarf cleared his throat and reached into his pack, taking out a quill and corked inkwell. "I'm gonna stay here for a while. You've inspired me to write a little, and this is as good a spot as any to get it down on paper before I forget. Oh, and try not to come here after sunset, Hero. I think you just showed me the perfect location for my plans for tonight."

Heeding his warning, Blackwall nodded in farewell and began to walk back through the trees before curiosity got the better of him. "…Varric," he wondered, doubling back and staring at him as he found his parchment, "I'm sure you could have opened up to anyone about this. Why did you pick me?"

The dwarf looked over him sadly for a moment, as if the sight of him provoked a bittersweet memory, but cast his eyes downward at the utensils in hand, avoiding eye contact. "Well, I trust you, just like I do all my close friends… Besides, you… remind me of a guy I used to hang around," he admitted, his voice threatening to crack under the strain. "I'd have told him, but he's not exactly around to hold my hand and help me confront shit like this, anymore."

The revelation hit Blackwall squarely in the chest. Others had noted the resemblance before, but he hadn't thought he was so similar to the Champion that it would cause Varric to treat him like his late best friend. Empathy flooded his bones as he stood leaning against an aspen, thinking of something to say in that regard that might comfort him. "I bet he'd be saying 'round about the same thing as me, if he were here now…" Nodding seriously, he added in finality, "I'm truly sorry for your loss, Varric."

Not knowing what else to do, he turned to walk back toward the gates of Skyhold, hearing his friend's hoarse voice on the breeze:

"Yeah… Me, too."

~oOo~

Cassandra Pentaghast left the war room with a foreboding sense of frustration, her nerves fraying over the continuation of further delays. After much gloating from the Ambassador and equal amounts of gritting humiliation from the Commander, once again Josephine had brought up the issue of putting forth a definitive nominee to the Grand Clerics in Val Royeaux. With each reminder the Antivan noblewoman gave the Inquisitor, the two of them grew more and more impatient with each other. Having both the Right and Left Hands of the Divine in the room at the time did nothing to alleviate the tension in the air, both Cassandra and Leliana eager to get the process started. However, Inquisitor Lavellan continued to procrastinate in her decision, pushing the glaringly important issue aside for another day.

You know why she is doing this, Cassandra thought as she exited the Ambassador's office and stepped out into the main hall, which teemed with people on the wealthier end of the spectrum of Skyhold's inhabitants, ready to pounce on Lavellan once council was dismissed. It was obvious as to why, since the Dalish had already stated her reasoning to the Seeker on her balcony nearly a week ago. She was decidedly not Andrastian, despite the public's insistent claims of her "walking in the Maker's light", and to nominate the next religious leader for a belief system she didn't subscribe to was just as absurd as allowing a serf from Tevinter to elect the next Arishok. Knowing so little about the position and its significance due to there being nothing comparable in her own paganist belief in the Elven Gods, usually anything to do with the Chantry Lavellan relegated to someone else, but this decision was left to be determined by the Inquisitor alone, and she despised having to choose between friends, potentially upsetting whomever didn't make the cut. It was not an enviable task, to be sure.

The most surprising observation upon reaching the outer staircase was how significantly daylight had waned. There were windows everywhere one turned in the War Room, but she'd kept her eyes trained on the table map for so long that she hadn't taken note of how much time had passed while discussing intel, whether it was related to reconnaissance, military strategy, or diplomatic manoeuvring. Sighing as her belly rumbled angrily with hunger pangs, Cassandra descended and made for the kitchens, deciding to take a plate of food to her room and reread the latest instalment of Swords and Shields to remove herself from the stress of once again awaiting news of her fate.

It had been quite some time since she'd cried over the last update, and she felt sometimes that her problems paled in comparison to those of the Knight-Captain and her noble plight. Yes, Cassandra had the fate of the world to contend with, but she also wasn't presented with the brutal task of killing her own lover, who had betrayed her so devastatingly. If faced with the same decision, could Cassandra bring herself to kill Varric?

She laughed audibly at that, much to the sheer surprise of the recruits passing her near the sparring pen. It must have been an unnerving sight for them, the ferocious Seeker of Truth they fearfully respected smiling to herself as she chuckled. Quickly rearranging her features to exude the type of stern seriousness they were accustomed to, she reached the kitchens and buried herself in pensive thought again. Though the idea was laughable, she believed she would have easily done so months, or even weeks ago. Now, the prospect of having to kill him was simply unthinkable. Still, it was helpful to lose herself in the drama of her favourite characters rather than face the true horrors hounding the Inquisition around every corner of Thedas.

The nug and stilton soup on offer didn't smell too appealing, nor did the roasted ram rump perk up her appetite. Somehow the cooks had gotten their hands on wyvern steaks, but the tough, black meat suddenly turned her stomach in spite of the maid's insistence that it tasted of chicken. For someone so hungry, she was being strangely picky. Pushing the main courses aside, she opted for something simpler and easily transportable: a quarter-hunk of hardy, Fereldan bread with a goat's butter spread, a cupful of carrots and peas, and half a pint of bitter beer to wash it all down. They were easy enough to carry to her chambers without much fuss.

Cradling the bread on her left arm, she hooked the cup handles to her fingers so she could take out her key. Sliding the blade into the lock mechanism below the handle, she turned it to the left –

And found, to her complete surprise, that the lock was already disengaged.

Glancing around suspiciously, Cassandra decided in an instant to play it cool. "Oh," she said aloud, solely for the purpose of convincing whomever was inside that she was none the wiser, "I must have forgotten to lock up this morning." She hadn't forgotten, and would never forget to secure her private chambers. The lockpicking thief was in for a shock if they thought they could catch her off-guard.

She turned the handle and kicked the door in, the hard wood swinging violently on its hinges before colliding with the stone wall. Expecting a cry of alarm, she instead heard nothing but the crackling of the fireplace, which she distinctly remembered snuffing out before departing at daybreak. Still anticipating trouble within, she silently inched forward, peering around the door frame and checking for anything else out of the ordinary.

The fire had greatly warmed the room from what it would customarily be at this hour, a cold and dank space in need of immediate rectification. Someone had gone to the trouble of lighting it recently to directly coincide with her return from her duties, for the flames were barely beginning to blacken the underside of the wood, yet. Cautiously curious, she closed the door in order to stop the heat from escaping and moved to stare at the fire, utterly bewildered. Who had done this? Well, whoever it was, they hadn't stayed long, nor had they disturbed the area in search of valuables, of which she had none, save those on her person. Shaking her head, she turned to place her meal on her chest of drawers –

Only to discover the most exquisite crystalline vase containing an attractive assortment of local wildflowers. "What on…" Setting her cup, mug, and bread down next to the unusual display, the pleasant fragrances graced her senses, causing her to take a deep breath involuntarily in admiration. The Seeker touched the velvety petals, thoroughly enchanted yet still somewhat on edge. Romantic or otherwise, she disliked the very idea of anyone breaking and entering her quarters.

Running her hands down the length of the eye-catching centrepiece, Cassandra caught sight of the end of a torn bit or parchment that had been placed under the vase, and she tilted it slightly to slide the note out along the desk. Carefully setting the crystal down again, she picked it up carefully, immediately recognising the unmistakable handwriting, his message written carefully in black ink.

Cassandra Allegro Portion Category Phylactory Pentaghast, also known as the sultry Seeker with terminal resting bitch-face, he began.

"Ugh," she jeered, but couldn't help the smile that enveloped her mouth. Covering it as though he was present to witness it, she stole a glance out her window to be sure he wasn't watching her before glancing back down at the note in her hand.

These are for you. Try not to be too mad about the whole "invasion of your privacy" aspect of this little romantic gesture, or you're not going to be in the proper mood for what comes next.

"What comes next?" She asked the note as if it had any ability to respond to her interrogative tone. Reading on, though, apparently he'd anticipated the question.

I bet you're wondering what the hell I'm up to. Care to go on a hunt through the keep? First, go to the spot where you first confessed your undying love for a certain charming, irresistible dwarf.

Raising her eyes, she looked around the room in confusion. She was already standing in the place where she had said that, the night before they'd left for the thaig in the Hinterlands. Remembering suddenly that she had been bathing at the time, she hurried over to the tub in the corner of her room by the fire, incapable of stifling her eagerness. Sure enough, the next note lay at the bottom of her steel tub. Cassandra knelt down to reach inside, settling against the wall with her knees tucked up as she held the parchment close to her nose.

Alright, so you didn't have to go too far for that one; fair enough. Maybe I should make this a little tougher. Before I send you out for your next clue, finish the supper you brought up to your room (Yes, I know you did, and no, I'm not spying on you, Seeker. I just know you better than you think I do.). You're going to need it if you want to keep your stamina up for the grand finale. So, put this down and eat up. The next clue is on the other side of this message.

Resisting the urge to ignore his orders and flip it over, she stood up and walked over to her dinner, taking a generous bite of bread as she stared at his words.

She'd never downed a meal so rapidly in her life.

~oOo~

His note had subsequently set her on course for the place where she'd first thrown a chair at his head, which she'd interpreted as the first floor of the armoury. Their fight over Hawke after settling in Skyhold had been so explosive that the Inquisitor herself had needed to break it up. Upon arriving, she had found yet another vase of flowers on the table, this one having consisted of blood-red embriums, with another parchment lying next to it and directing her to the most recent place she'd thrown a chair at him. Maker, she certainly had a penchant for chair-lobbing.

Trying not to race for the foyer of the main hall, she hustled up the stone staircase and passed through the towering doors, immediately turning to her right and spotting even more flowers placed on a small round end table, said chair neatly beside it along with another note waiting for her on the seat. She was joined by a curious nobleman, who happened to stumble upon the inviting piece and nosily rummaged around the table, not knowing he was watched as he plucked a single crystal grace from the vase.

"Stand back," she barked, approaching the table with soldierly haste. The Orlesian (for what else could he be with that ridiculous mask on his face) jumped in surprise and turned instantly, the delicate blue bell flower clutched against his chest in a protective gesture. Towering over him, she glared hotly, holding her hand out expectantly, and without argument he quickly handed the flower over, darting away before she could break his mask over his pompous headwear.

Stepping over to the chair, she picked up the undisturbed parchment and sat down, using a candelabra for light in the normally shadowed corner.

You seem to have a knack for remembering where you've attacked me around these parts, it read.

"How could I forget," she muttered with unbridled sarcasm, a wry smirk touching the corner of her lips.

I know, I know, I had it coming. Besides, I told you to do it, so who could blame you? Ready for the next one? Good. I made this one a bit trickier. Go to the spot where I made a fool of myself. Before you go saying that description covers every square inch of the Frostback Mountains, firstly, "haha", Seeker. And secondly, no. I'm talking about what happened right after this incident with the chair-flinging. I trust that narrows the search area down to about a mile radius. Good luck.

The ledge outside Sera's window. Placing the blue blossom back in the vase, she rushed to the doors and back down the stairs, making her way through the dwindling crowds to Herald's Rest.

The numbers outside might have been thinning, but that appeared to be purely due to the mass migration to the tavern. It had been privately rented out the previous night for their card game, so it made sense that the keep's residents would be making up for lost time. Trapped behind a large group by the door, the Seeker tried to force her way through with little to no success. Moments later, the door reopened and Dorian stepped through, his eyes widening in surprise when he found it difficult to close the door behind him.

Pressed against Cassandra, he laid a hand on her shoulder and attempted to shout over the bustling noise all around them threatening to drown out his words. "So much for a quiet drink with Bull," he lamented ruefully. "Perhaps we can make it al fresco, in light of all this." The Iron Bull could be heard from where they stood, his Chargers cheering loudly in the back corner as they were roused to another of their drunken song renditions, much to the delight of onlookers.

"I need to go up a floor," she explained. "I would usually force my way through crowds like these, but I don't wish to injure anyone!"

"Ah! Then you've come to the right international pariah! Watch with envious wonder as I cast my greatest incantation," he winked, shuffling forward and laying a hand on a pilgrim. "Pardon me, madam. May I come through?"

As soon as the Andrastian pilgrim turned to smile and move aside for the gentleman at her back, she leapt away in unconcealed fright. Those around her did likewise when shifting to see what was occurring. It was as if Cassandra had asked for a simple bridge and Dorian had parted the seas for her instead. "It's him! The necromancer from Tevinter," one of them shook at the knees. Despite the horrified reception, Dorian nodded courteously in turn as he sidled through, even complimenting a man on his knitted scarf – though knowing his true tastes, he either did so for the sake of politeness or for subtle mockery. They instantly spread as though there was a forcefield around the man, and as Cassandra followed in his wake, the opening swiftly disappeared behind her.

"Here you are, Cassandra dear. The stairs, per your request," he smirked, turning away as Bull shouted for the mage to join him.

Before she could hear Dorian moan about the lack of breathable air in the tavern, she raced up to the first floor, grumbling over having to trace the entire walkway before reaching Sera's door. Knocking insistently, she shifted her weight, waiting for an answer. Receiving none, she rapped harder on her second try. Again, nothing. Leaning over the bannister, she squinted at the people below, scanning carefully for an elf with terrible, self-styled hair.

Just then, the door opened at her back, but only a small crack. Sera looked to be severely hung over and not in the mood. "Nuh-uh. Too many folk in an' out of my room, today. Not havin' another."

"Sera, I only want to check the flowers in your room. After that, I'll leave you be."

"Check this," the archer scrunched her nose, raising her middle finger to the Seeker in defiance.

Spinning on her heel, Cassandra stormed over to a table full of tired recruits and relieved them of a wine bottle, which they barely noticed being summarily taken. Bringing it to the door, she arched a single brow. "Will this change your tune?"

"Eugh! I'll never drink again!" And with that, Sera slammed it shut in her face, the clanking of the chain audible as she slid it firmly in place.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the door. She needed that clue. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," she threatened menacingly.

"Piss off," came the flippant reply.

Fine, she thought, the hard way it is.

Borrowing a move from Varric's playbook, the Seeker turned and moved to the walkway just above the entrance, gripped the railing, and raised one foot over the bar, followed by the other. Timing her drop just as Maryden closed a song, she held tight to the upper floor as she let her legs fall, causing the crowd to cry out as she dangled above them. "Out of the way," she ordered, and luckily they had cleared the area below before she at last landed roughly on her feet, pushing a path out of Herald's Rest without preamble.

She moved past the scattered recruits fulfilling their orders to tidy up the yard and put away their equipment. It was a long way up to Sera's bayview window, and the gutter pipes were too far away to climb to the spot she needed to reach. Looking around, she spotted a flimsily constructed ladder and hoisted it up, leaning it securely against the roof. Not delaying a moment longer, Cassandra fixed her foot on the bottom rung and pulled herself up, careful to avoid the slippery moss growing on the roof tiles. How had Varric kept his balance up here? It must have taken at least half of his concentration just trying not to fall. The slope was enough to nearly send her sliding back down to the ground, and she had to grab the windowsill just to keep steady. This time, she knocked more violently, the pane rattling precariously as she did so.

The patterned, mismatched curtains parted, revealing the shocked and aggravated elf inside. "Persistent, aren't ya?!" She shouted through the glass, condensation from her breath fogging the window in front of her face. "Wot part of 'piss off' aren't you gettin'?"

Cassandra leaned against the glass like a predator in a menagerie eyeing up prey that it could not yet reach to devour. "You can keep the flowers, Sera. All I want is the note that came with them."

Pursing her full lips, Sera rolled her blue eyes and looked down at the vase of wild roses, finding and picking up a strip of parchment. "Ah, ya mean this here shite," she shouted to be heard, fiddling with the handle in an odd way before pushing the window open slightly. "'Ere. Take it and bugger off before your face gets better acquainted with my arrows!"

Victorious at last, the warrior uttered a sardonic "thank you" before the window shut behind her. Eager to read the note in hand, she buried her face in his inscription:

How much did you have to pay Buttercup to let you in? Hope she didn't ask for any sexual favours. I might get jealous – that I wasn't there to witness it. Okay, just one more to go, Seeker, and the hunt is over. You know the grove outside Skyhold? In case you're not familiar, just follow the trail of pillar candles once you reach the end of the bridge. And before you get mad, I promise I'll put them back in the chapel when I'm finished with you. P.S.: Bring a blanket or something. I'm probably freezing my ass off right now waiting for you.

Butterflies took wing in her stomach, and she tucked the note away for safe-keeping, looking over to the ladder.

At least she would have, if it were still there.

"Shit," she cursed quietly. The Commander's recruits had taken it and put it back in storage for the night. Creeping toward the edge, she tried to gauge whether jumping down was possible, but the ground looked too soft beneath her. Varric had twisted his ankle during that stunt, and sustaining an injury now wasn't an acceptable outcome.

There was muffled conversation to her right, the people blocked from view by the wall. "Over here," she called, hoping to catch their attention. "Please help!" As luck would have it, the two men popped their heads around the corner out of curiosity.

"Cass? Andraste's sake, woman, how did you get up there?!" Dorian walked around to view her on her unsteady perch, his head tilted to the side.

The Iron Bull's right eye widened just before narrowing in suspicion. "Wasn't demons, was it?"

"No," she scoffed, carefully moving toward the edge. "I'm glad I caught your attention. Help me down from this ledge."

Bull moved to stand below the rain gutters, which incidentally needed to be cleared of debris. "You're lucky, Cass; we just got out here. Dorian said he wanted to try al fresco…" His voice audibly grinned at that. She cautiously moved her boot over the side, finding purchase further down on one of his horns, and he grabbed her ankle to keep her upright as she lowered the other.

"I convinced him it was a sexual position from back home," Dorian smiled, reaching his arms up as she sat on Bull's head to help her climb down his expansive torso to the ground.

"It's not?" Bull growled heatedly. "Come on, Dorian, that shit isn't cool!"

Cassandra caught her breath for a moment, fighting her embarrassment at having been stranded on the roof, and also for being a part of such an awkward exchange. "Thank you for your assistance," she nodded gratefully.

They stared at her for a long moment, one man clearly confused by the whole situation, the other brushing his moustache to hide his twitching smirk.

"I don't want to know," Bull waved her away, seeing her readiness to leave without explanation. "You just go work whatever that is out. I need an ale."

Blushing, Cassandra nodded to each of them and backed away slowly, waiting until she had disappeared around the side of the tavern before running toward the main entrance.

What would be waiting for her at the grove? She thought of every possibility as she waited for the soldiers to let her through, her heart dancing with anticipation while watching the iron gates lift from the ground.

~oOo~

It was a clear, windless night. A chill clung to Cassandra's clothes as she stepped lightly through the trees, and the weather had fared well all day, not a flake of snow slowing her path. The candles burned steadily, their flames strong and tall, and she eyed them in fascination while following the waxy pillars as the gaps between them lessened gradually, until there were groups of two or three every metre. Her heart gripping her and her breath suspended, she was careful not to knock them over as she nudged herself slowly between the lit path and the tree. The path ended here, and she raised her chin to search the grove for him.

"'I've got a confession, Seeker,'" his raspy voice sounded from behind.

Cassandra spun instantly, her brown eyes narrowing a touch as Varric appeared from behind the tree she'd only just walked past, not noticing him silently hidden there. In his gloved hands was a small stack of unspoiled parchment, the ink from his quill the only marks upon them. "'And if we're to die tomorrow, I should probably tell you now'… The cellar was black, the air in his lungs heavy with decades-old dust, trapped behind a locked door while they hid from the city and waited for his smuggler friend to return. Victor couldn't make out the back of his hand let alone the look on Seeker Cristina's angelic face, and he swallowed hard in order to keep his words going…"

The slight glare she held fell blank as realisation dawned on her, staring in what could only be described as shock. She managed to take one step back as he moved with a sauntering gait around her, his eyes on the page. "'Cristi, the minute you walked into The Condemned Man looking for sources all those years ago, I just knew you were going to be trouble. To be perfectly honest, I thought you were bent on killing anyone who stood in your path, and I did my damnedest not to get in your way. But people named names and you tracked me down,'" Varric read on, lifting his eyes to the night before leaning toward her teasingly. "'When I heard your voice for the first time, there were stars in my eyes – mostly due to the abrupt punch in the nose, but there were… other reasons, I'd like to think.'"

Unable to process what was happening, she shoved Varric's shoulder lightly to push him away, and he grinned mischievously, stepping off to look over the side of the mountain. Then he looked back down, ready to continue. "Seeker Cristina nudged him playfully and turned away in the blackness of the Smuggler's Route, flushed at Victor's irrefutably captivating charm. 'Over time,' he whispered in her ear, 'as your little visits for information kept coming, I even started to look forward to catching up, in a twisted, masochistic sort of way.'"

She put a hand up to her mouth, shaking her head in disbelief. Rubbing at the back of her neck, she dared not interrupt his speech.

"'I developed a grudging respect for your tenacity and candour. Until you, I was so accustomed to dealing with gangs or cutthroat criminals that I'd forgotten what true goodness looked like… But I found it again, smouldering in your eyes…'" Varric turned to face Cassandra, taking a knee as he stared up at her with a glimmering hopefulness.

"You can't be serious," she nearly laughed, the amount of effort that he'd put into this evening stunning her completely.

He turned his head slightly and threw her a sidelong glance. "As I recall, your list was very specific, Seeker. It's not exactly poetry, but I've never been too good at that. Trust me, you're better off with this."

"And you think this is better than poetry?" A wry smirk crept over her lips through her flirtatious taunt.

Varric chuckled and slid a quill out from beneath his red silk sleeve. "Hold on, let me just make a quick note in the margins: Seeker Cristina was unreasonably precise about exactly how she desired to be courted –"

Scoffing, Cassandra reached forward and took the draft in her hands, turning away before he could snatch it back, but he didn't even try to reclaim it. Instead, Varric stood to his full height and stepped just behind her, pointing to the paragraph where he'd left off, and she picked it up from there.

"'I'm not confessing to the lies I've told you; Maker knows there are too many to recall in one sitting,'" Cassandra read the words of Victor, glancing up at the dwarf before leaning against the bark of an aspen tree. Yes, of course, Victor was the one saying these things to Cristina. She read him loud and clear. "'What I'm saying is that I began to see you as a friend and confidant… Someone I could trust to handle any secret I'd gathered… But there's one more secret I have to tell you…'"

Watching her as she spoke his words gently, Varric began to walk in a circle around the Seeker, but she ignored him for now. "'Cristi, you made me believe that saying and doing what's right in this world is better than just looking out for my own skin. After a life of running away from the darkness, you encouraged me to confront it with bravery. A thieving con like me could never deserve someone as incredible as you have proven yourself to be, time and time again…'"

Cassandra dropped to her knees, settling against the tree as she sat curled beneath its high branches. Her eyes cast downward, she read the last few lines slowly, taking them fully into her spirit. "'I don't expect you to hold anything but derision for me, but if we never made it through this night, I would die regretting that I never told you the truth…'" Swallowing hard, a tear nearly formed in her eye as she registered his last words, unable to read them herself, a hand covering her mouth in shocked delight.

Varric stood behind her shoulder, his hand resting near her neck as he whispered the line: "'I love you, Seeker Cristina,' Victor said, his heart racing… 'More than I ever thought myself capable of feeling again… And if you need to kill me for saying so, then do it now. At least then, I will have spent the rest of my life with the woman I adore far beyond what simple words could express…'"

The breath robbed from her momentarily, Cassandra turned her head toward him so her scar met with his stubble in a soft graze. The passage ended there, the bottom half of the parchment empty and waiting for the rest of the story. "…What does Cristina say to him in return?" She wondered, her voice rising to a girlish pitch.

Varric kept his eyes on her as she turned to face him, brows coming together thoughtfully as he met her unabashed stare. "…I don't know," he answered truthfully, shaking his head as he was unable to give her what she craved. "I didn't get that far, yet… Any suggestions?"

She had a fair idea.

Turning her body toward him, she practically threw herself in his strong arms, her fingers buried in his hair as she pulled him in for a passionate kiss. Possessing the balance of an agile dancer, he caught her without missing a beat, shifting the woman to the grass and laying her down protectively.

Leaning over her, Varric enveloped her waiting body, pulling his mouth from hers only long enough to say, "Okay, but keep in mind: The Knight-Captain's on the other side of that cellar, Seeker."

Cassandra arched her back and placed a single finger through the ring at the base of his neck, pulling him down alluringly. "If we can make it work with the Inquisitor sleeping in a lit room," she moaned through her words, kissing him desperately, "then surely they can manage in the dark."

Varric sighed tenderly, bringing his lips to rest against her warm neck, tasting the sweetness of her skin. "I like the way you think…"

~oOo~

As they lay naked together, their eyes locked on the heavens above, Varric let out a sigh of pure contentment. The clouds were moving in, low and heavy with snow ready to fall at any moment, and the peaks in the distance were beginning to disappear from sight as the moon passed behind them, darkening the landscape. His heart and soul rested her head on his arm, her body sprawled out as the sweat of their joining nearly crystallised on her body. It was a moment he would look back on for the rest of his life, wishing that it could have lasted forever…

"They will say one of two things about me," the Seeker muttered next to him, her gaze focused on the blackening sky. "That I fought at a good man's side, my prisoner turned lover. That it was meant to be, despite our initial misgivings. Or they will say I was a hopeless fan of your books, led from the path of faith by the seductive power of a smutty author."

He let out the breath of a laugh, leaning up on an elbow as he traced the graceful lines of her form with a finger. "My books aren't what anyone would call 'smutty'. Not when compared with that other trash you read. Is this your idea of pillow talk? Offering baseless criticism?"

She smiled slightly. "If you wanted sweetness and light, you picked the wrong woman."

Chuckling, he looked down, the blanket beneath them itching him, but at least protecting them from the worst the grove had to offer. "Point taken," he muttered, not bothered at all that she defied the norm.

Leaning up suddenly, Cassandra placed a hand over his abdomen possessively, Varric leaning back to give her room. Her eyes met his with a strength and surety that surprised him. "I've been with only one other man in my life…"

Swallowing hard, Varric nodded sombrely. "Galyan," he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. "I know, Seeker… Corypheus took him from you, but I'd never tell you to stop talking about him. Ever. You know that, right…?"

She refused to break her stare, her eyes softening for a split second before fixing again with determination. "…I will not let Corypheus win. I will not let him take you from me, as well."

Varric leaned back as he continued to watch her, unsure of what to say to something so powerful. The seriousness in her tone assured him, unnervingly so, that she would do anything to protect him.

And he sincerely hoped it would never come to that.

He leaned up slowly, their gazes trained on one another, and a hand lifted to touch her face, tracing the scar running vertically over her cheek and down to her jaw. Every cut, every scar, every curve and line of her captivated him, robbing the very breath from his chest. She had become his reason to fight. If there was nothing else for which to continue the struggle but her, he'd go forward… And gladly.

Reaching to his right with a hand, he found the small burlap bag within his rucksack, reached his hand inside, and gathered the gold chain in his fist, taking it out and holding it before her. "Here," Varric whispered, kissing the sweet skin of her forehead as she looked down in surprise. "I wanted you to have this…" He unclasped the gold chain and draped it around her neck, securing it for her with one neat flick of his hand.

Her mouth fell open a fraction at sight of the stunning gold, shined to a blinding sheen as it laid perfectly in the middle of her chest. "What is it?" The Seeker asked, enchanted by his gesture.

"A gift," he replied, touching the pendant affectionately. His hand drifted lower, finally resting on the curve of her hip. "This is the genuine article, Seeker. I'll tell you all about it some other time… Just know that it comes from the heart."

She shook her head wordlessly, her fingers running softly against the rays of the Andrastian sun. "Varric, I… I don't know what to say…"

There was only the slightest moment of hesitation, and Varric was sure that she would never have noticed, even had she been searching for it. His mouth dried up, forcing him to swallow as his heart began to pick up speed with every passing second.

Now was his moment of truth, and he couldn't dodge it by making it come from the mouth of another character in his story. No, this had to come from his heart for it to be perfectly understood.

"…I love you, Cassandra…"

If he had the chance to pinpoint the exact moment in time when she truly became his, it was roughly two seconds after the phrase had floated away on his gravelly voice, when she slowly processed the gravity of what he was confessing. Watching him closely to be sure of his sincerity, Cassandra took a sorely-needed breath.

"Here, tonight… I believe you."

And she moved over him, her spirit opening to him completely, their bodies joining once more as the first snow fell…