"Interesting," Blackwall says, examining the idol. "Here I thought all the Old Gods were male."

The Goddess of Mysteries, if this really her in human form, glares down at us from her stone plinth. I can understand why her ancient worshipers were demoralized.

I search my memories, the books I'd been pouring over on Josephine's suggestion surfacing like apples in a rain barrel. "Urthemiel too. Or at least, there's debate. Some sources claim her empirically the Goddess of Beauty, but the rest of what we have on Tevinter religion makes no mention of such a deviation."

"It makes no sense for them to be male to begin with," Cassandra says, the turn of her shoulders making it very clear she's talking to me and not Blackwall. "All high dragons are female. The males are drakes, which would make far less intimidating archdemons."

"You would know," Bull elbows into her rib. "Pentaghast."

She scoffs. "If we have found all there is to discover here, I will wait at the entrance."

She doesn't say it, but the cave unsettles her. It unnerves me as well, with it's winding but uniform shape, as though made by a giant worm. Bare roots dangle white from the ceiling, and the smell of deep mushrooms pervades even after a day out in the desert.

"I'll join you," I say, and immediately get a wink from Bull. I roll my eyes.

Blackwall stands to follow, but Bull tells him, "man, you humans. Leave it to you guys to take the only ancient dragon you're sure is a woman and give her tits."

"Blame Tevinter, not me," Blackwall laughs, and Bull launches into a distracting conversation where they can both talk about how much they hate Vints.

The air on the surface is refreshing. If I had to live in a place like this, I would burrow deep underground where it's cool in the day and comfortable at night, only venturing when I got sick of eating fungus and bugs. Maybe that's what the original builders of these tunnels were thinking.

"A pleasant night," I say, untethering the horses.

"Indeed." She pats her Fereldan Forder which, to my knowledge, she has not named.

Any other words I had been meaning to say die on my lips, the sands with their black abyss beyond expanding in front of me in judgment. I can see the trail we've taken from the south, the pits where we fought the dragon just yesterday.

"I never said," inspiration strikes me, "but you did fine work against the dragon yesterday."

"Thank you Inquisitor," she says warmly. "You did amazing as well. That attack on its back leg in particular, I think you shattered at first blow. It may have saved us being crushed more than once."

I can't help but puff up at the compliment. Flattery usually isn't my waekness, but from Cassandra it feels impactful, especially if she thinks well on my skills. I have to consciously tamp down my ego enough to say, "You were the one who got the finishing blow. It was truly spectacular. I would have never thought to climb on its neck in order to get under the jaw."

"It is an old trick," she says, as sure of herself as ever. "Old, and dangerous, which is why it has fallen out of favor. But-" Now she furrows her bow, that certainty gone. "But I saw you take a blast of fire. I reasoned we needed to end the fight soon, if we were going to take you to a healer in time."

I remember that, the last few scurrying minutes of battle. I compulsively run my fingers through my hair, absently noting how long I've let it get. "Oh, right. You needn't have worried, Blackwall took the jet for me."

"I see that now." The corners of her mouth turn down. "But at the time I was…worried."

"Ah." Is that meant to be taken the way I think it is? I remember Bull's words, and try to find the perfect thing to say. "Thank you Cassandra, you are-" awe-inspiring, gorgeous, majestic, enviable, "-a dependable friend."

I can see the flicker of disappointment, the moons reflected in her eyes as the small hope crescent of hope disappears. "Of course. You are a good man Inquisitor, one I would follow to the end of the world."

The hush falls over us. Somewhere under the moons, a hare's scream is cut short as some predator of the night finds its breakfast. From inside the cave, we must look like another pair of idols, frozen in stone and dark against a glowing backdrop. I feel like I've failed at something, but certainly if it had been worth pursuing, it would have been easier to say, right?

At least the silence isn't awkward. It is companionable, even. That is something I definitely don't want to lose, Cassandra's company as valued as Blackwall's or Bull's (even as irritating as the latter can be.)

"I feel I should ask," I say, in lieu of the other two arriving so we can be on our way, "is the Iron Bull actually bothering you? Sometimes it is hard to tell."

"Me?" she says. "I should ask that to you. I could hear your argument from the other side of camp last night."

"We weren't arguing." The familiar frustration rises up. "I just don't understand how anyone lived that way, even formally. Take the Aqun-Athlok practice, for instance. It is so…counterintuitive."

"I suppose it makes sense, in a Qunari sort of way," she muses. "They assign every other aspect of their peoples lives, why stop there?"

"But Krem wasn't assigned anything!" I throw my hands up in the air. "He chose to live like he does." I feel like I'm throwing a fit, even if there's only Cassandra around to see. I pull my arms back down, and instead fold them over my chest. "I just don't understand why, if they had the chance, anyone would choose to be a man."

She looks at me, and I'm suddenly rather self-conscious. Gone is her cautious optimism, instead replaced with concern.

"Sorry," I mumble. "Was that an odd thing to say? I mean, certainly you feel that way, right?"

"I don't know," she says, face still taut with worry. "I'd never really considered it."

"No?" That, somehow, surprises me the most. "Not at all?"

"Not at all," she affirms.

I suddenly don't feel in the mood to argue anymore. I struggle to say something, anything, that will make this conversation stop exuding its unbearable overtones, but I am saved the feat by the arrival of Blackwall and Bull, laughing at something or another. Bull gets one look at the several feet between us and shoots me a sympathetic look.

"Well!" I say, a little too loudly on the deserted precipice. "Lets be off then! Another hour to the next camp, and we all want our beauty sleep."

It is stilted and awkward, and even Blackwall seems to be catching on, looking between Cassandra and I as the wheels turn in his head.

No one has moved. "Come on then!" I hop on Doms. "No time like the present." Then I steer her to the north, not checking to see if the others are following.