Part Twenty-One: True romance

Dorian is leaving the smithy when he spies Cassandra seated in her usual spot, a book perched on her knees. He can tell from the look on her face – eyes slightly widened, bottom lip drawn between her teeth – that she's reading that trash again. What's it called? Swords and Shields? A terrible name, that. A shameless bodice-ripper ought to at least have a clever title. Swords and Sheaths, perhaps. Or, for a different audience, Swords and Spears.

She's so engrossed that he manages to creep up right behind her. "What's happening now?" he asks, enjoying the way she jumps at his voice. "Is it naughty, or merely ridiculous?"

She gives him that adorable scowl. "Go away, Dorian. I have heard all I wish to from you on this subject. My reading habits are not your concern."

He ignores her, peering over her shoulder before she can twist away. "Milky white skin? It is a naughty bit!"

As he speaks, Cassandra's milky white skin is turning pink.

"Honestly, I'm disappointed in Varric. One is hard-pressed to imagine anything less romantic than milk."

"What do you know of romance, Tevinter?" she snaps.

"Very little, it's true. But I'm rather an expert on lust, and here again, milk just doesn't do the job. Foodstuffs in general have very little role in sex, in my view, but if you're going to go that route, it ought to be something warm and sensual, at least. Whiskey. Brandy. Milk chocolate, if you insist on bringing dairy into it."

She gives him a wry look. "All of which, coincidentally, could be used to describe your skin."

"I hadn't thought of that," Dorian lies, "but now that you mention it…"

"Go. Away."

"What is it you like about this rubbish, anyway?"

The adorable scowl is back. Honestly, Dorian could do this all day. "How is that of any interest to you?"

"I'm legitimately curious." Dorian folds his arms and leans against the wall. "I can see the appeal of the Knight Captain, of course. The virtuous yet sexy warrior determined to do her duty, whatever the cost. Easy to put yourself in her boots. But her paramour? He's a little… obvious, don't you think?"

He knows she'll bite. She can't resist.

She doesn't disappoint. "What do you mean, obvious?"

"The strapping, brooding alpha male. It's so overdone. If that's your thing, you might as well give Blackwall a go."

"I will not dignify that with a response." Hitching a shoulder, she adds, "And in any case, you are wrong. Theran may come across as such in the early chapters, but that is only because he has a dark past he wishes to conceal."

"Of course he does. How refreshing."

"Besides, what makes it romantic is not the characters themselves. It is the obstacles they face. The reasons why they cannot be together."

Dorian arches an eyebrow. "They seemed awfully together on the page I just saw."

"They have… lain with each other, it is true." She blushes again, but she forges ahead, warrior that she is. "But they will be forced apart, and they both know it. Powerful forces are arrayed against them. Only if their love is true, only if they fight for it, will they have a chance. That is what makes it romantic."

He snorts softly. "If that's your idea of romance, I might be living the greatest love story of all time."

"You might be," Cassandra says with a little smile.

Dorian stares. She's being sarcastic, surely? And yet the wistful look on her face would suggest otherwise. "I thought you didn't approve of my relationship with the Inquisitor."

"I did not," she says flatly. "Not at first. Though not for the reasons you suppose."

Dorian's mouth twists.

"Very well," she amends, "not only for those reasons. Your being Tevinter was a concern."

"I imagine my being a man didn't help, either."

She leaves that alone. "But I would have had reservations about the Inquisitor becoming involved with anyone. Personal relationships can be a distraction, especially if they are fraught with challenges, as yours seemed bound to be. I worried that your relationship would make it more difficult for the Inquisitor to focus on his duties. That you would demand all his attention. You do demand a lot of attention, Dorian."

He can't deny it.

"I was certain you would weaken him. Perhaps even lead him astray."

"Dear Cassandra, I do adore how direct you are."

"But I was wrong. Indeed, you have done the opposite. The Inquisitor faces many pressures. There are times when it seems they will become too much. But you are there for him. I can tell when he has spent time with you, because he is lighter. More focused. He is steadier with you than he would ever be without you, of that I am certain. You are his lover, but more than that, you are a true friend."

Vishante kaffas. This is very much not how Dorian imagined this conversation going. He's in danger of becoming quite emotional.

"Things will not be easy for you, I fear. I suspect you know that. But for now, I am glad the Inquisitor has you. Indeed, we should all be glad."

Dorian knows he should thank her, but he'll never make it through without cracking. Instead, he says, "But you still don't like me."

Either she sees through his smokescreen or she's feeling charitable, because she gives him an arch smile. "One day, perhaps, if you continue to behave yourself. Now go away. I will have to start this scene all over again, and it will soon be too dark to read." Arranging herself on her stump once again, she opens her book.

"Shall I bring you a glass of milk to help you get in the mood?"

By way of answer, she jerks her sword an inch out of its scabbard.

"Going," Dorian says airily.

He crosses paths with the Inquisitor in the main keep. "Well, now," the elf says. "Someone's had a pleasant afternoon. What's that grin all about?"

"Am I grinning?"

"From ear to ear."

"It's nothing," Dorian says. "I just read a good book, that's all. Will you be available later? I'm thinking whiskey. Or brandy. Perhaps a bit of chocolate."

"That's what you're in the mood for, is it?"

"No," Dorian says with a coy little smile. "But I'm hoping you are."