The phone buzzes a few times before Cassandra picks it up, reaching over a pile of books on ancient Chantry artwork. The study cubicle is a mess of cluttered notes, loose pens, a battered laptop. It's been a fairly productive afternoon. For once, she doesn't feel like she's slogging through a thick patch of mud.
Cassandra swipes to unlock, expecting to see an update from the group chat with Josephine and Leliana. They've been debating over which movie to—
Hi, it's Meraad
Good to see you yesterday
How's it going?
Cassandra's mouth goes dry. She fumbles with the touchscreen.
I'm doing research at the library. How about you?
Three dots appear. She takes a swig from her water bottle.
Writing a paper at home
My eyes are glazed over. Could use some of your coffee :)
Cassandra stares at the message.
Her fingers know what they have to do. She doesn't stop them.
Are you free this Saturday night?
Meraad sets down two pints of beer. He clicks his fingers and lights the wrought-iron lantern in the middle of the table.
"You're a mage?" asks Cassandra.
He hopes she isn't put off. The old Circle towers aren't entirely in the rearview mirror. People have said some weird stuff to him on occasion.
"Yeah. It's a real timesaver, huh?" He grins and shakes his fingers out as if they were lit matches.
"Apparently so," says Cassandra, with a chuckle. She leans closer and looks up at him with interest. The Singing Maiden is full tonight, and loud.
Meraad relaxes a little.
I like your eyeliner, he nearly says, then catches himself. Is that too forward? He hasn't dated in a while.
"So, what department are you in?" he ventures.
"Religious studies. You?"
"International relations."
"Like my friend Josephine!"
"As in Montilyet?" asks Meraad, over the rim of his pint.
Cassandra nods eagerly.
"No kidding! She's fantastic. We have the same advisor." The University of the Frostbacks is the largest in the region, but that isn't saying much. They were bound to know a few of the same people. He's glad that Josephine is one of them. Her organizational skills saved half the students in their department from total collapse last semester, himself included.
Cassandra isn't finished digging yet. "Do you know Dorian Pavus, by any chance?"
Damn. Meraad jokes that those two will have a field day when they hear about this.
Cassandra flashes a sliver of a smile, and his heart does a flip.
What else does one ask on a first date? Cassandra palms her pint glass. "Are you from the area?"
"No, I'm from Ansburg. Grew up on an olive farm near the Antivan border. You're Nevarran, am I right?"
"Yes, accent and all. I haven't been back in some time." She's regretting this choice of topics already. Please don't ask about the Grand Necropolis. They always ask the same five questions about the Mortalitasi and the moaning undead.
"Whereabouts?"
"Nevarra City. It's not as interesting as they say."
Meraad shifts forward on his elbows. "Well then. Tell me something interesting instead."
"I'm ambidextrous."
Meraad wasn't expecting that. He glances at her hands. "Wow. Completely?"
"For as long as I can remember." Her mouth twists, pulling at the red scar on her cheek. There must be a story there. "Your turn."
"I, uh… I raise houseplants." Shit, that's the best he could come up with? Meraad wants to slap his forehead. Or slam it on the table. But then his horns would get stuck!
He almost misses Cassandra's question.
"What kinds?" She seems genuinely interested.
"Embrium flowers, some ferns…"
The lantern casts warm shadows across her face. He asks about the fencing tournament next month, and she's all passion.
It's getting late. The lively din of the tavern fades behind them as they wander down the narrow street. The upper stories of the half-timbered buildings form an overhang that limits the space even further. If two people walk side-by-side here, and make room for passers-by, at some point they will touch
"Sorry," says Cassandra, after her arm bumps against Meraad's. She shoves her hands into her pockets, trying to stop herself from giving into an impulse.
"No worries."
It happens again, despite their careful efforts at maintaining personal space, and they react with awkward laughter. After the third time, they stop mentioning it.
Cassandra tucks her scarf into her leather jacket and glances up at Meraad. He's wearing a peacoat that flatters his broad shoulders. His curved horns are tipped with steel that gleams in the lamplight.
"See you Tuesday?" he asks, as they reach her door.
She nods. When he offers her an embrace, she accepts, and almost can't believe the amount of warmth that envelops her. Soft muscle, overwhelming, her cheek pressed to his chest. He smells nice.
The apartment is cold, but Cassandra barely notices. She curls up in the armchair and screams into her scarf.
Meraad can't sleep. He lies in bed, thinking of smoky brown eyes, strong arms, an elusive smile. She fit perfectly against him.
He goes to the kitchen, wooden stairs creaking. Alistair is already there, polishing off a slice of cheese pizza while his mabari hound snoozes at his feet. The university logo is splashed across both his t-shirt and sweatpants, and the gel that he uses to sweep up the front of his chestnut brown hair is, sadly, giving up its day-long struggle.
"How was it? The date. " Alistair waggles his eyebrows. He bends down to give Barkspawn a scratch behind the ears, and the mabari lets out a satisfied chuff.
Meraad grabs a slice from the open box. "Good. Really good."
"Congrats," says Alistair, after finishing another bite. "Did you take my advice?"
"I don't think she's into roses. But thanks, Al."
"Any time."
A thud comes from Morrigan's room, directly upstairs. Alistair flinches like a barn cat. Meraad takes a bite of pizza and shrugs. Who knows what goes on in there. She claims it's all above-board with the local College of Enchanters (as much as she resents them), so he's decided not to pry. Come to think of it, Morrigan never actually sent Alistair a message about the rental ad. Last summer, on a day that was perilously close to the start of the semester, she just… showed up?
They're kind of an odd bunch, his housemates. Meraad feels lucky to have found them. He washes the pizza grease from his hands and decides to tell Alistair some more about Cassandra.
The old part of Haven encircles what was once the village chantry. Buildings jostle for space along the winding streets. Apartments are small. Cassandra squeezes out of hers and sets off on an early morning walk.
She reaches the lake and stops at a wooden dock scattered with pine needles. A rowboat with peeling paint knocks gently against the pilings. The water is dark beneath a layer of mist.
Cassandra sits, dangling her legs over the edge. She looks out across the lake, at the dense forest and steep foothills that surround it, and a line of poetry floats through her mind. Last night, she fell asleep re-reading an anthology that only Leliana and Josephine know is her favorite. She wonders if a third person will join them soon.
The sun warms her face. She stretches her arms over her head, then gets up and continues down the path.