"Pretend you don't know this about me."

Jemima could pinpoint the conversation where she started to fall in love with Cassandra. The Seeker was exactly The Inquisitor's type physically. As Sera so eloquently put it, "she's well fit!" Plus her determination, skill and achievements made her a remarkable woman who could only be respected; however, her stoic demeanour did nothing for Jemima. At times, she wondered if The Hero of Orlais was allergic to smiling or having fun at all. That was until Cassandra was caught reading a rather fruity novel, penned by none other than Skyhold's own Master Tethras. Her initial embarrassment, and chastisement at Jemima's suggestion that she should borrow her previous copies, eventually gave way to the Seeker begging the Inquisitor to order that Varric should finish the next chapter. Her girlish enthusiasm for "smutty literature" was at complete odds with the blunt, furious, pious character portrayed to the outside world. Jemima had seen a brief glance of it and liked it. A lot.

Walking away from that conversation left Jemima blinking in astonishment. Cassandra is adorable? When did that happen?! She had thrown several light-hearted flirty comments Cassandra's way at Haven and most, but not all, seemed to have been taken well. Maybe this could be something? She turned around again to see the Right Hand of the Divine elegantly slicing a practice dummy to pieces. This time, though, with fresh eyes, rather than seeing the serious Seeker who personified duty, all she could concentrate on was the swing of her strong arms, the positioning of her agile legs, the pertness of her- no, no, enough of that chat, Trevelyan.

The Inquisitor tended to rotate the three warriors at her disposal on expeditions due to the fatigue incurred from being on the frontline. The initial jaunt to the Emerald Graves brought Cassandra, Sera and Dorian together. Over the course of this particular outing, the Seeker surprised Jemima by trading witty barbs with her best friend and entertaining Sera's monochromatic views on the world. It appeared Cassandra was the only member of the inner circle who was prepared to listen to the elf's standpoint without immediate, complete dismissal and, at one point, even admitted that she had been wrong in some of her previous conversations, offering a sincere apology. And then Sera tried to guess the colour of her underwear.

Funny, humble, compassionate, gorgeous and a force of nature. As Jemima lay next to Cassandra in their shared tent, while Sera and Dorian took their turn to keep watch, she couldn't help but stare at the Seeker, looking softer and more peaceful in sleep without her customary scowl. Her eyes traced the distinctive scar across the warrior's cheek and she longed to brush it with her fingers. She yearned to entwine those calloused fingers with her own. Her thin hair braid had fallen down her back like a rat's tail and Jemima ached to cut it off with a carving knife.

This was a revelation. Jemima had not felt this way about anyone for a long, long time.

Her first, and only, love was Zoe, the quartermaster of the Trevelyan estate. Zoe had recently completed her apprenticeship with another Marcher noble house and acquired the position whilst Jemima was away at finishing school in Tantervale, as hard as that was to believe nowadays. They met for the first time when Jemima returned home to her family to celebrate Satinalia, halfway through the final year of her studies.

After greeting her parents and siblings and sharing a family meal, the youngest Trevelyan returned to her childhood bedroom with the burning desire to cast away her formal clothes and indulge in some dual weapon training, something frowned upon as 'unladylike' where she had been cooped up for months. To her intense irritation, however, she found that all of her sparring armour in the wardrobe had been replaced by frilly dresses with varying degrees of poofiness, ranging from ruffle-tastic to full-on hedgerow skirts. Her mother's doing, no doubt. Absolutely fizzing at this, she stormed over to the Quartermaster's office to demand a new set of training gear.

Her temper dissipated immediately upon entering as she saw the slight, boyish brunette, who was rather taken aback at the abrupt intrusion. Their faces both calmed and moved into shy smiles as they were simultaneously hit by a lightning bolt of mutual attraction. Jemima had known for a few years by this point that her tastes lay with women, but she had neither admitted them to any other nor acted upon them. Nervously, but curiously, the two made their introductions.

Jemima explained her current predicament to Zoe, having to repeat a couple of things as she'd spoken far too quickly for anyone to understand. The Quartermaster was quite tickled by the noble's highly gestured version of the story, likely caused in equal measures by exasperation at her mother and excitement around this deliciously intriguing new person. When the rambling had stopped, Zoe calmly stood up, walked to the back of the storeroom and collected a box. She returned and handed it to Jemima, a cheeky grin lighting up her pale blue eyes and accentuating her delicate features. In a softy spoken voice, Zoe clarified "your mother's Lady-in-Waiting asked me to set these aside for your return. I suspect she knew what your reaction would be to the dresses." Trevelyan beamed as she opened the box to find her original outfits, then redirected the joyous smile to Zoe, who returned it in kind. They stayed like that for several moments, occasionally looking down and lightly giggling, then back up again. Maker only knows how long that excruciating scene would have gone on for if Jemima's eldest brother, James, hadn't interrupted by walking in with a requisition for a new hilt.

Over the next few days, Jemima found any excuse to go see Zoe. At one point, she even visited to see, just on the off chance, if the Malachite she accidentally sold a couple of days ago was still in storage. Of course it wasn't, but it allowed another gentle conversation with increasingly flirty undertones to take place. On Satinalia itself, the house held an enormous feast with enough food and drink for everyone, including the staff. Towards the end of the evening, all formalities were dispensed with and nobles and servants mingled as equals for one night of the year. Jemima and Zoe conversed quietly in a corner away from the main crowd, both staring longingly into each other's eyes, occasionally brushing hands when they were sure no one was looking. When it became obvious that the vast majority of the revellers had consumed far too much mulled wine to be observant, they snuck out into the gardens, found a secluded spot and kissed under the stars. It was slow and tentative, gentle and all so new, to both of them, it turned out.

They continued to meet every evening in the gardens, under the shadow of night, for clandestine kisses, and idle chats whilst being wrapped in each other's arms. Before they knew it, though, the time had come for Jemima to return to school. The tearful goodbye came with promises to write each other every day, which they both did. It made for some very confusing reading at times, however, given that there was a delay of a fortnight between the writing and receipt of these daily letters. Nevertheless, the one thing that could not be mistaken was the immense fondness that had quickly formed between the pair.

Jemima detested the finishing school she had been sentenced to attend. Etiquette lessons, dancing and flower arranging were most certainly not her thing. Her joy at completing the course ('an abject failure' - her final grade) was doubled at the prospect of being reunited with Zoe. Upon her return to Ostwick, before even going to the main keep to see her family, Jemima ran straight to the Quartermaster's office and pulled Zoe into a passionate embrace, which was fully reciprocated. After their initial euphoria had calmed down, holding each other's faces, they conspired to meet that night in the storeroom, where Zoe also kept her lodgings. There were less serious consequences to Jemima being caught sneaking out of the family home than Zoe being caught sneaking in, after all.

First, though, Jemima had to face the consequences of her diabolical report from Tantervale. The family evening meal brought wailing despair from her mother, stern words from her father, and relentless teasing from her siblings. Ordinarily, this would have made Jemima distraught, however, it all bounced off her as her mind could only think of what lay in (the) store later that night. Finally, the meal ended and the future Inquisitor made a point of leaving the table with a completely over-the-top, but perfectly executed, appreciation for the gracious hospitality bestowed upon her then excused herself. She could hear her mother's shouts in the background- "See, she does know how to act; she just chooses not to! Stubborn girl!"

Jemima's brisk walk quickened into a trot and then a jog as she crossed the courtyard towards the storeroom. Her heart was racing in anticipation, nervous excitement pumped through her veins. Looking around to ensure no one was watching, she quietly snuck through the door and crept up the stairs. Zoe's room was intimately lit up by candlelight and the Quartermaster turned from her desk when she realised Jemima had arrived. After a welcoming kiss, Zoe proceeded to pour each of them a glass of wine and moved to sit on her small wooden bed, beckoning for Jemima to join her. With shaking hands, the two of them downed their drinks within 3 glugs, then laughed when they realised the other had done exactly the same. Zoe took Jemima's glass from her and placed it and her own on the floor while remaining seated. Thinking "this is it" and mentally preparing herself, Trevelyan was disappointed when Zoe moved away and retrieved a book. Getting down on one knee in front of her paramour, she started reading a poem Jemima recognised from her literature lessons. It was not one she particularly cared for. Not wanting to spoil the moment, she patiently waited until the end, but couldn't help asking "Poetry? Really?"
Blushing and clearing her throat with a nervous cough, Zoe responded "well, ah, you see, I've never done this before. I'd heard that you're supposed to recite poetry when you want to try to get a woman into bed."
Smiling, Jemima reached over and ran her fingers through the Quartermaster's soft, short hair. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm already on your bed," Jemima stroked Zoe's warmed cheek as she looked up, "but I would very much prefer if you were to join me in it instead."

Needless to say, the young couple consummated their blossoming relationship that evening and both declared their love in the aftermath. The routine continued for several weeks- spending their nights together, Jemima sneaking back to her room in the keep at sunrise. Her siblings teased that their youngest sister was showing a never-before-seen sanguine disposition as of late, which she tried to shrug off as the joy of being home from Tantervale. She was not quite ready to announce that the cute little Quartermaster had captured her heart. Unfortunately, her temperament soon moved into more melancholic territory.

One evening, following the family meal, Lord and Lady Trevelyan requested that Jemima join them in the drawing room. Although she was desperate to get away to be with her love, Jemima realised that this could only mean a serious conversation. She was not wrong.

Her father started, holding her hands firmly but gently. "Jemima, dearest. My youngest babe. I can scarcely believe my little girl is now of an age to find her place in the world."

Uh oh.

"As is the family way, my preference would be for you to join the Chantry" he continued. "I know you are keen on your skills with the blades so you are most fortunate to have the choice between joining the Templar Order or the clergy. You're a bit old for the Templars but I'm sure I could pull a few strings to see your training accelerated. Which would you prefer?"

Visibly shocked, Jemima blurted out "NEITHER!"

"Come now child," as he put a reassuring arm around his daughter, "it is the Trevelyan way, you have always known this."

"But, Tristan and Judith are both in the Chantry. Haven't we already met their quota?!" Jemima exclaimed, throwing her father's arm away, panic taking over.

Her mother intervened. "Well, young lady, if you are so against the idea of following our family tradition, I suppose the only other alternative is to find you a suitable husband. I can send a messenger to see if Bann Armistead's middle son, Oliver, is still a bachelor," levelling a glare, "although I doubt he would be interested if he has heard about your dismal performance at Tantervale." Oliver Armistead was old enough to be Jemima's father and then some. He was also a port-pickled buffoon with personal hygiene issues, and a strange fascination of teaspoons.

Jemima, by now, was utterly incredulous. "There is even less chance of that happening! I don't want to join the Chantry. I'm not saying I don't believe in the Maker but I'm certainly not devout! I want to stay here and, and..." She tailed off as she actually had no idea what she wanted to be when she grew up, which definitely didn't feel like just now.

Confused, Lord Trevelyan calmly explained "there are no suitable positions left here, dear child. James is the heir, Tarquin is the Captain of the Guard, Tristan is away in the Ostwick Circle and Judith is the local Mother. The Chantry or marriage are your only real choices."

"No, no, no" Jemima was furiously shaking her head and grabbing her hair in frustration. "I can't leave, I need to be here."

"It's only natural to get homesick" her father soothed. "I thought you would have lost that after being away for the last year?"

"It's not that," she started weeping "I don't want to leave... her." Jemima's head sank.

"What? WHAT?! WHAT IS SHE TALKING ABOUT?" Lady Trevelyan screeched. "WHO IS THIS 'HER' AND WHY CAN'T SHE LEAVE HER?"

"Calm down, Amelia" Lord Trevelyan pleaded, noticing their daughter was extremely distressed following the sudden outburst. "It's alright, dear" putting his arm around her shaking shoulder once more. "Now, who are you referring to?"

Jemima waited until her sobbing had moved into a more steady rhythm, took a deep breath and spluttered out "Z...Zoe."

Her parents looked at each other, non-verbally asking if the other knew who she spoke of. Lord Trevelyan's eyes widened when he realised. "Zoe? You mean Miss Atkinson, the Quartermaster? Why can't you leave her?"

Jemima looked up, deliberately avoiding her mother's eyes. She tried to compose herself as she whispered "I'm in love with her."

"NOOOOOO!" Lady Trevelyan fell against the couch as if she had just been shot by a crossbow. She always did have a flair for the dramatic.

Trying his best to ignore his wife's theatrics, Lord Trevelyan softly asked "Are you sure? How long has this been going on for?"

"It's the only thing I've ever been sure of in my life" Jemima quietly replied. "She feels the same way. Since Satinalia."

Her father nodded. "Well, I'm happy for you both, however, I'm not entirely sure how we can..."

"GET OUT!" Her mother jumped up and roared. "NO CHILD OF MINE IS ONE OF...THEM! GET OUT AND DON'T COME BACK UNTIL YOU'VE SEEN SENSE!"

"Amelia! Calm yourself down, woman!" her father started. Jemima didn't hear any of the rest of their argument as she sprinted out the house and headed straight to the storeroom.

Zoe comforted her paramour, who by now was hysterical. And not in a 'ha ha' way, as you have probably realised. While Zoe rubbed Jemima's back, whose head was buried into her shoulder, she couldn't help but worry about the implications of their relationship now being known, as well as wanting to support her love. Would she be fired or arrested? Would they be forcibly separated? Would they elope? What the fuck were they going to do?

Jemima's sobbing had been so loud, neither had heard the arrival of a visitor to the loft space of the store. Looking up, Zoe jumped to her feet and squeaked "My Lord!" An act that made Jemima faceplant the straw mattress.

"Miss Atkinson. I have been hearing good things of your work recently. Do keep it up," Lord Trevelyan started formally then moved into a wry smile. "But I'm sure you're aware that I am not in the habit of visiting my staff to dish out compliments at this unholy hour. Please excuse me while I speak with my daughter."

After Zoe scurried away hurriedly, Jemima sat up on the bed and her father joined her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder in the process. "I have been thinking since our earlier discussion, my child. You are quite right that your siblings have held up their duties so we should, through sheer numbers alone, have the means to be more flexible in your choices; however, that also means that it wouldn't be fair to your brothers and sister if you were allowed to do whatever you wished. I found myself in a quandary," Jemima's head sunk, waiting on confirmation her father was going to give her no say in the matter; he continued "but then I was reminded of a conversation I had with Bann Ryecroft recently. Apparently, it has become rather popular in Fereldan for children of noble houses to be enlisted for public service. And I don't mean as officers; I mean starting as recruits. Proper grunt work. Sounded barmy to me but he said it helped boost public opinion of the family. Made them seem more relatable somehow. It wasn't something I paid much heed to but it appears that it may be a solution to our current problem." Jemima looked up reticently, not daring to show any hope just yet. "But before you think about accepting," her father held his palm up, "you should know that you would have to make certain sacrifices so your siblings are not disadvantaged by following their pre-destined paths." By this point, his daughter had shed all pretence and was waiting wide-eyed, with baited breath for the terms of her freedom.

"Firstly, you would join the Guard, and you would have to stay in one of the houses assigned for that role in the village. You could no longer live in the family home."

"I thought that was a given anyway with mother?" Jemima shrugged.

"Give her time, dear. Second, you will start as a recruit and there will be scope for promotion but you can never progress beyond the rank of Sergeant. Anything more than that could undermine Tarquin. And thirdly, due to the longer working hours of your starting rank, you would be unlikely to be able to attend as many social gatherings as you do currently."

Jemima waited for the sucker punch condition to be delivered, but it didn't come.

"Those are the terms. So, I now ask you, my child, are you prepared to give up the luxuries of your birthright in order to avoid joining the chantry and remain here?"

Jemima moved into the tiny guard house the next day and Zoe brought her belongings a few months later. They were blissfully happy for many years, and betrothed for the majority of that time. The wedding never happened, unfortunately, primarily due to Lady Trevelyan's outright refusal to publicly acknowledge the relationship. Time definitely hadn't helped in that respect. Over time, sadly, as is the way for many young couples, as they grew up, they grew apart. Although they held nothing but love for each other, resentment had started to trickle in and threatened to corrupt their love into hate if things had continued. They made the mutual, heart-breaking decision to call time on their decade-long partnership. Jemima moved back into the family home and Zoe remained in the house.

Trevelyan spent the next year in a daze. By then, she was a Sergeant, but had started to find that rank under threat due to her lack of motivation, as demonstrated by her frequently sleeping in for duties. This was mostly caused by drinking heavily both with her colleagues and on the social circuit nearly every night, but also by her no longer viewing the role as the necessary cost for her happy freedom, as she used to. Moreover, Jemima's siblings had not taken kindly to her return to the family home or her inclusion at formal events again, arguing that she now had all of the rights and none of the responsibilities they had to endure. She could acknowledge and understand that but, in truth, at that time, she just didn't give a shit about anything or anyone anymore.

After a year of grieving, Jemima started to return to herself once again. She took steps to redress her recent behaviours and threw herself back into her work, regaining her charges' respect as a result. Her social life remained busy, although she managed to curtail her drinking habits somewhat. And then there were the dalliances. A fair few at one point. None progressed beyond sating idle infatuations, however, two of them affected Jemima badly. It came to her attention that one particular seductress had only been interested in the bragging rights to be gained from 'banging the Bann's daughter,' rather than falling for Jemima's charms. She was furious that she had been toyed with in such a cynical way. When it happened a second time, rather than feeling simple anger, it cut her to the core. She was devastated that people saw her just as a title, not as a person. Was she really so devoid of personality that this was how everyone viewed her? Would she be as unpopular as a health and safety officer at the Grand Tourney were she not of noble birth? Or a hyperactive jester suffering from Tourette's in the Grand Cathedral on All Soul's Day? This crisis of confidence led Jemima to swear off all romantic entanglements until someone special, who she was sure was interested in her and not her name, came into her life.

Two more years passed and Jemima was bored out her mind. Her job could go no further, and, apart from her father, her family did not take much to do with her. She was lonely, in more ways than one. Cobwebs could have formed. She was desperate to get away and do something. It didn't matter what, just something to get away. Even though she felt like a caged beast, that alone didn't merit speaking up and asking for a new task. No, the proverbial straw was learning that Zoe had become betrothed to another. Jemima was happy for her, and Lauren seemed like a nice girl, however, she couldn't stop the wistful emotions tinged with jealousy that flooded her upon hearing the news.

She had heard rumours of a Divine Conclave taking place imminently. Maybe she could represent House Trevelyan? Father was now too elderly and frail to travel long distances and James' wife was due to drop their third child within the following couple of weeks. Surprisingly, the Bann and his heir both accepted her proposal. And thus set in motion the chain of events that led her to where she was now- creepily staring at Cassandra sleeping.

I haven't felt this strongly for anyone since Zoe. And that was so natural and obvious that there was no way it wasn't going to happen. And such a long time ago. And, Maker knows, I'm completely out of practice in this area. How do I let her know? Should I even say? She's hardly likely to be interested in me. She's way out of my league. Would it be worth the hurt?

Jemima racked her brain for a way to gain the Seeker's affections without giving the game away just yet. Do something nice for her. Something that could be taken as a friendly gesture, or maybe more, but can be downplayed if I find out I'm completely off the mark. Remembering the encounter that changed her perception, she thought she had cracked it.

The party returned to Skyhold the next day and Jemima sought out Varric immediately after debriefing the War Council on their expedition. She informed him, much to his amusement, that Cassandra was a big fan of his Swords and Shields serial and she was desperate for the next chapter to be published. The series was dead as far as Varric was concerned but he agreed to write something else up just to see Cassandra's face. Jemima was so excited she started clapping gleefully and bouncing on the spot before she caught herself and gave Varric a firm handshake instead. A wickedly cunning thought suddenly came to her in the moment.

"Actually, could I be really, really cheeky and request something in the story?" Jemima queried.

"Now now Inquisitor, you should know not to try to interfere with the author's story," Varric lectured. "Usually ends up with someone having their feelings hurt. Or demanding royalties."

"I officially disclaim any right to those if that make you happier then?" Jemima raised her eyebrows in question and the dwarf shrugged his approval. "No, I was going to ask if you could do me a favour. I don't think you actually realise just HOW big a fan Cassandra is of these books. Is there any way to maybe add in some, I don't know, subliminal suggestion?"

"Yeah? Such as?"

"Well," fighting down the blush on her face, Jemima continued "there could maybe be a romance between a red headed female rogue and a tall, dark and handsome female warrior?"

"Why are you trying to set up Cassandra with Leliana? The Spymaster's well and truly spoken for, didn't you know?"

"What? No, me!"

Varric looked at her blankly. "Uh, you're as blonde as me. In fact, I think I'm going to call you Strawberry."

"I'm not. It's just faded because I'm getting older" Jemima grumbled.

"Wait, HOLY SHIT! How did I nearly miss that?! You?! And the Seeker?! When did that happen?" Varric exclaimed, wildly gesturing his hands to his temples several times.

"Nothing's happened. I would like it to but, please, keep quiet about it. I haven't said to anyone yet. Even Dorian" the Inquisitor confided. "I'm kinda hoping that this may give Cassandra a hint or at least warm her up to the idea."

Varric crossed his arms, shook his head in bemusement and chuckled. "You do realise this is possibly the weirdest conversation I've ever had? The grumpy, stabby Seeker likes my terrible romance novels, and now you want me to write a new one, with a cameo appearance by you and her? This is such a bad idea. I absolutely have to do it! It'll take me some time though so don't expect me to just magic up a book by the time you walk over to her."

"Of course. I know it'll take a while to write, print and get the obligatory 5 star review for the front cover, don't worry about it. I'm in your debt Varric." Jemima grinned and emphatically shook the dwarf's hand before walking away. As she did, she could hear the shout behind her "That is a very dangerous statement to make, Inquisitor. Might come back to bite you in the ass one day!"

Back to the present.

Jemima moved over towards the tree at the edge of the training area and managed to find a sturdy, long stick. She gripped the end and extended her arm in an attempt to retrieve the misplaced codpiece but it was just beyond her reach. An extra handspan would do it. Jemima searched for a suitable replacement but realised there was none to be found. A sword would probably be long enough. Tentatively, she approached Cassandra, who was displaying an impressive level of focus.
Unfortunately, Jemima had noticed that as her feelings for the Seeker had grown stronger, she had become less and less composed in her company. Right, deep breath, this is professional, no need to get nervous. Here goes-

"Seeker, I apologise for disrupting you. Could I possibly borrow your sword for a moment?"

Still in her fighting stance, Cassandra cocked an eyebrow in query.

"I need it to reach something for Josephine."

The seeker begrudgingly stood down, rotated her sword and handed Jemima the hilt. The Inquisitor made her way over to the tree and struggled to balance the end of the heavy blade between her thumb, index and middle fingers as she reached for the undergarment that had become the bane of her morning. Inevitably, her grip proved too precarious and the blade fell, cleanly removing nearly a full ringlet of Jemima's curls as she dived away.

"MAKER!" Cassandra exclaimed, running towards Trevelyan. "What in Thedas were you trying to do? You nearly killed yourself!"

Jemima had instantly turned an even whiter shade of pale than normal. She picked up the severed hair and sadly patted the part of her head where it used to live. Shaking herself out of her shock, she stood up and pointed to the squirrel feeder in the tree.

Cassandra looked towards where Jemima had pointed, then turned to regard her incredulously. "What? Oh, for pity's sake." The seeker used her extra height to easily pluck the codpiece from the branch. As it slid down her sword, Jemima suddenly remembered Leliana's words and grabbed her hands over Cassandra's to force the blade to the ground, along with its passenger.

Before the Inquisitor could marvel that her hands were finally on the Seeker's, Cassandra seethed" Do NOT do that to me again!" Throwing her sword on the ground in anger, she looked ready to thoroughly admonish Jemima but stopped abruptly when she saw the offending item of clothing. "What is the..." Crossing her arms and pushing her shoulders back, scowl in place she looked at Jemima squarely. "Explain."

"Well, ah," the Inquisitor squirmed and rubbed the back of her neck, "long story short is that Cole's new word for the day is 'nutsack.'"

Cassandra let out a Disgusted Noise™.

Bashfully, the Inquisitor explained "sorry, Cole thought it was food holder for small animals but it belongs to some pompous Bastereau and Josephine needs it back to prevent a diplomatic situation. Leliana warned the interior was more deadly than raw red lyrium so I was trying to save you." Jemima rather feebly waved the insides of her wrists, adding "Yay- Heroic Inquisitor?"

"Hardly." Cassandra scoffed but a small smile appeared at the sides of her mouth. "I am glad you did not injure yourself. I would have had to fill out an accident form. It would have taken me the rest of the week."

A joke?! And I made her smile! Andraste strike me down now- it's a miracle! Jemima beamed.

The Inquisitor bent down and handed the sword back to Cassandra then retrieved her stick and hooked the thong around the end, holding it at arm's length as they walked the short distance back to the training dummies.

"Was there something you need, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked, quite obviously wishing to resume her training, now that the nonsense was finished.

But Jemima didn't want the moment to end. Not after making such a monumental breakthrough. She chucked her cargo on the floor and faced the Seeker. Her stomach felt like she had eaten a butterfly house for breakfast and she subconsciously started to wring her hands. Something I need? Ooft, if only you knew. Keep it clean, Trevelyan.

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"We must guard Skyhold carefully..."

Those eyes. I could just sink into them and swim. Well, doggy paddle anyway.

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"Treat Dorian with caution..."

I know she's badmouthing my best mate right now but, Maker, I could listen to her voice all day.

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"You know what you need to do."

I didn't even hear what she said there. I was too busy wondering what her hair would feel like just out the bath. If I ran my hand from her forehead to the back,

would it be soft and slick back or spiky and splash me?

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"Inquisitor?" Cassandra studied Jemima curiously and placed her hands on her shoulders, moving her and inspecting. "Are you quite alright? I know the blade barely missed you a few moments ago but have you sustained a recent head injury? Did you hit it when you landed after jumping away?"

Snapped out of her daze but dizzy from Lady Pentaghast's proximity, the Inquisitor spluttered "What? No. Why do you ask?"

Cassandra drew her arms back to herself, one horizontal across her waist, the other perched on top with her fist nestling underneath her chin. "Well, you've just asked me the same question four times in a row. I thought you may be suffering from a concussion."

Jemima immediately turned beetroot and stammered "I'm sorry, I just really respect your opinions, that's all. Oh, is that the time? I need to get to the War Council now."

She tripped over her feet and started walking away but then spun on her heel when she remembered what was left on the ground. It took three attempts to pick up the odious item with the stick due to her nerve-induced shaking but she eventually got everything in place and headed towards the stairs, with her arm held at a perpendicular angle.

Real smooth, Trevelyan. She smacked the side of her head with her free hand. Are you completely incapable of being anything other than the most awkward twat in all of Thedas when you fancy a woman nowadays?!