Notes:
Josie's age is (according to her writer) somewhere between 27 and 29, so I placed her neatly in the middle. The age of the Inquisitor, however, is purely my own headcanon. I also took some liberties with a cutscene and had the Inquisitor return to Skyhold while wearing armor, because I cannot find a logical explanation for a stop on the way to change.

Chapter warnings:
Still one for angst, but much less so than in c1.

In Joy

Skyhold still bustles, but now, in the reddening light and elongating shadows of a late afternoon, it's a very different type of bustle. Since the news of their victory (staggering, breathtaking, impossible) first arrived, it has spread within the castle like a wildfire in a windstorm, and the excitement is bouncing back and forth between the walls, infecting everyone and creating an atmosphere that's a world apart from just a few, short hours ago.

Skyhold is thrumming, and even the icy winds of the Frostbacks are useless against the warm smiles that now rest on every face. There are chants sung to the Maker, praises offered to the Dalish pantheon even from those who don't follow them, templars and mages are toasting each other and it's a whirling, wonderful vortex of life and unity.

Leliana's opinion is that it'll last precisely long enough for the novelty to wear off, and though Josephine isn't inexperienced enough to think that she's wrong, there is still... something. A niggle in the back of her mind that tells her that even if this fresh, rushing exultation won't last, they have still laid the foundation of something that may just end up revolutionizing Thedas. She could be wrong, of course, and perhaps she is, but there's little point in worrying over such things in their infancy.

She does need to occupy herself somehow until the Inquisitor and her party return, but she feels entirely too light to focus on her usual tasks, and truthfully isn't in the mood to join the remainder of the inner circle at the large table in the inn where Iron Bull is playing host. Mostly, she wants peace; ideally of the kind that comes part and parcel with Ellana herself. She, however, isn't expected to return until well after nightfall, so for now Josephine settles for the next best thing, and makes her way up the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters.

The large room is quiet, though it does hold evidence of someone other than its inhabitant having been here by way of the large, wooden tub that – while still empty – has been placed in front of the dimly glowing embers in the fireplace. The large windows, too, are open just enough to stir the air and bring in the scents of snow and cold, and Josephine surveys it with a small nod; satisfied that the fire will be stoked and buckets of water brought up to warm by it when the outlying watch reports that the Inquisitor is in sight.

As per her own request, of course.

There is still... some small amount of unrest inside of her. Some minuscule part that doesn't fully dare believe that Ellana is safe until she sees it with her own eyes, but at least waiting for that has grown infinitely easier. Breathing has grown infinitely easier, and she does just that as she seats herself on the sofa; slowly and deeply as she presses her face into her hands and just... prays. For a little while.

Defeating Corypheus was so unlikely, but the entire time she's spent with the Inquisition has been little else but a long series of almost hilariously unlikely events, not the least of which was falling in love with a Dalish elf. By all rights, the cruel rumors of 'savagery and brutality' should have cautioned Josephine into keeping her distance – they certainly did for the better part of their people for a good while – but rumors rarely have much to do with truth, and much like kindness, cruelty is anything but limited to species or race.

How many of those rumors will continue to be vanquished by the light of reality? And what will the outcome be, politically, for all those others whose ears are shaped like Ellana's?

Josephine certainly looks forward to finding out, and chuckles softly at the thought as she settles back into the sofa while her hand drops to the side of her own hip; just over the small space between the cushions. The familiar pattern of the fabric is enough to make her fingers twitch in remembrance, and there's the faint, phantom warmth of long fingers slipping between her own, of softness and strength against her skin, of an idle, silly conversation about the difference in skin tones. About bronze and... Hm.

"Copper?"

"While you certainly do glitter in the firelight, my darling, it is hardly in that color."

"Spoilsport."

"I resent that!"

Laughter. Lips. Love. The curve of a smile against her own mouth.

"Ivory, then?"

It really is ridiculous how a mere memory can make her heart flutter in her chest, especially when she thought herself to have outgrown this... this positively adolescent giddiness by the time she reached her twentieth year; let alone her 28th. Given Ellana's bare 22 years, however, perhaps it was to be expected.

Only the sudden darkening of the room draws Josephine from her thoughts, and a glance towards the windows tells her that the sun has dipped behind the mountains far sooner than she expected. Maker, there are things she needs to oversee even now, and she really didn't intend to sit here and daydream for as long as she apparently has. When she moves to rise, however, there is the crinkle of paper below her hand, and she pauses for only a bare instant before sinking back into the softness and slipping a folded sheet free from between the cushions.

Josephine,

Since I've started this over more times than I care to admit, let me first say that I have a whole new respect for what your position entails. Most think that words and writing are easy, because what could be simpler than putting your own thoughts to paper? I used to think that. I don't anymore. This is [an unusually large space, as if there was a long pause here] incredibly difficult.

(And no; not just because my hand is cramping.)

Ellana has wonderful assets ("And breast-ets," Sera had cheerfully interjected once; passing by during a tour she'd been giving to some visiting nobles. "Go you, Ruffles."), but fine penmanship, Josephine decides with a smile, isn't one of them. It isn't a matter of vocabulary or literacy – Ellana is easily one of the most eloquent people in the hold and seems to have a natural gift for language – but rather, she thinks as she tilts the paper towards the fluttering glow of the fireplace and studies the uneven lines (several of them have been done twice when the pen ran out of ink), it is a matter of practice, or the lack of it. The Dalish pass on their wisdom through spoken words rather than written ones, and a warrior has little use for calligraphy in the midst of battle.

And yet, here is a full page in Ellana's careful hand; imperfect, hesitant, and above all, honest.

Creators willing, you either won't find this at all because I get to it first, or you'll read it only after hearing that Corypheus has fallen. After learning that I haven't failed everyone and, with any luck, that the price of victory wasn't my life. But if I did or if it was, I'm sorry. I can at least say that my intention was anything but that. I don't want to die, but no one gets to choose when their time comes; we can only fight against it with all we have.

If what I had wasn't sufficient, you've taught me enough about human politics to know that my words hold weight; that they will probably only hold more with me gone, especially in this way. You'll find several documents written and signed by me hidden in that crest of yours - there's a clasp below the left-hand side of the motto (and it was there when I found it, so not a word). I tried to think of everything but that wouldn't fit and time is short, so I can only hope that what I've put there is enough for you, Leliana and Cullen to keep the Inquisition strong.

The paragraph immediately below that has been rubbed out to obscure its contents, but Josephine wasn't a bard – however briefly – for nothing, and it takes little more than holding the paper at various angles to find one that lets the glow from the fireplace reveal the words.

Some part of me wonders if maybe [another long space, and a crinkle in the paper as if from a tight grip; the ink has even run some from what could be a harsh exhale] my passing now wouldn't be the better option for you, in the long run. Kick me for saying so if you wish-

"Oh, I will," Josephine murmurs. "You are entirely too stubborn, my love."

- but you know there's truth to it. I'm no noble. I'm not even human. What in creation does a Dalish elf of unknown blood have to offer the heir to a line as old as yours? I can't even give you children of your blood to continue that line. I wish I could; I wish I could be everything that you deserve, but I can't, and so I should rightly withdraw and allow you to find someone who can. That choice, however, is yours. It always was, and I swear that I'll do everything in my power to keep Corypheus from taking that choice away from you.

Would it be melodramatic of me to say that I'm doing this more for you than for Thedas? Probably. But it wouldn't exactly be a lie.

I love you. Always.

Ellana

Outside, there is a series of whistles ringing between the mountaintops; far away, at first, as it travels from one watchpost to the next, and then close and sharp as it reaches – and is repeated by – the guard posted at the Skyhold bridge. One short, one long (riders), one long, calm note (friends), and finally, the high, soaring pitch of an eagle's cry that the soldiers insisted on assigning to their Inquisitor alone.

Josephine knows that even at a gallop, reaching the castle from the outer watch will take well over half an hour, so she doesn't rush to rise. Instead, she takes the time to wipe her eyes and dry her cheeks, and only then stands with a slow, shuddering breath; carefully folding the letter back up and placing it safely in a pocket by her waist.

Ellana is coming home, and Josephine is going to kick her. Though she'll be nice and not do so in front of company.

xXxXx

Josephine wonders, somewhere in the back of her mind, if there is some cosmic significance to how all the truly emotional moments in her recent life seem to take place in firelight. Of course, she doesn't know why that would be the case and it's entirely possible that it's only because all those moments seem to involve Ellana, but she needs to focus on something other than the strengthening sound of hoofbeats, and that's as good a topic as any.

Leliana would never let her live it down if she lost her self-control enough to go sprinting down the stairs and through the courtyard; especially not in front of all these people.

The murmur of the crowd rises as the volume of the hoofbeats does, echoing in the cavernous gatehouse, and then the cheers begin. Those who hold torches lift them high, those who hold weapons raise them in a wave of shimmering metal, and there's a roar of a thousand voices ringing from ancient stone to ancient stone in a symphony of pride and welcome that sends chills shooting from the top of Josephine's head and down the length of her spine.

When the riders enter the courtyard proper, the roar only grows louder; aided now by the beating of swords against shields and the heavy stomp of numerous feet, and Josephine performs a quick headcount and breathes a soft sigh of relief when the number is exactly what it's supposed to be. The torchlight seems to intensify there, at the main gate; reflecting off of weapons and shields and polished armor and gleaming helmets and then – when one helmet in particular is removed – off of pale, mussed hair and a tired, but proud grin.

A warrior, Josephine thinks as she watches Ellana dismount (and sends Leliana a look for the hand that's now holding onto the back of her belt, because honestly; she hasn't even moved). But also a woman, clear in how gauntleted hands help an obviously weakened Morrigan to the ground before handing her over to the healers.

Above all else, a legend, she muses, and smiles when Iron Bull breaks through the crowd and Ellana ends up laughingly stumbling a few steps thanks to his exuberant, congratulatory clout to her shoulder. And she doesn't even realize it, does she?

Time is displaying another one of its peculiarities now; moving at once both breathlessly fast and achingly slow as Ellana moves through the parting mass under her own power. She's relieved of her sword and shield and helmet by starry-eyed, beaming pages and stablehands, and seems, more than anything, a little bemused at all the fuss. And no, Josephine decides; Ellana really has no idea what she means to all these people, what a symbol she's become, or how she's written herself into their hearts with the smallest of words and the simplest of actions.

Perhaps, in a few hundred years, the Herald of Andraste that became the Savior of Thedas (entirely without anyone purposely starting that, too) will hold a place in lore and legend next to Andraste herself. Josephine can almost see the scripture come to life before her eyes.

Fear ye not the Darkness, for I shall be your Light. Fear ye not the storm, for I shall be your shelter. Tell me of your burdens that I may lift them off you, for my blade is sharp and my soul is just, and all of Thedas I c-

"Stop waxing poetic, Josie," comes the low murmur by her ear; barely even audible under the cheers. "Your knight is approaching."

Josephine only barely manages to suppress the startled cough, though there's no stopping the deep flush from rushing up her neck. Maker, but she had to do that, didn't she? "Leliana."

"Shh." The hand that was holding onto her belt lets go, and instead gives her back a little pat before retreating entirely. "Just enjoy the moment."

Sound advice, really, and there are a lot of moments to enjoy. There's the one where the clouds part with uncanny timing and a beam of moonlight bathes Ellana at the exact second that she starts ascending the stairs; coloring both her hair and eyes and armor a pale, ethereal silver that all but glows in the darkness and sends a series of gasps through the crowd. There's the one a few seconds later where a sharp cry of 'Go get her, Inky!' just makes Ellana stop and turn midway through a step, and Josephine nearly has to bite her lip through to keep from laughing, because Maker, what a blush.

"Don't squeeze too hard," Ellana cautions in a whisper once she's reached the little plateau and they're breathing the same air. "You'll get poked."

Another bit of sound advice, Josephine considers, and then thoroughly ignores it in favor of embracing her as tightly as she possibly can; prickly armor or not. There's a gentle huff of laughter next to her ear at that, followed by the tender folding of long arms around her back and gloved fingers pressing against her skin, and she draws in a long breath full of leather and metal and pitch and Ellana; only scarcely aware of the cheers or Cullen's low chuckle, or anything that isn't the sturdy body in her arms or the whisper-soft touch of lips to her cheek.

"How long of a reprieve do I get before the party starts?"

The question comes shortly after they've entered the great hall, and Josephine muffles a chuckle as she walks. "I think you'll find that the party started quite a while ago, Your Worship," she responds; including the title in deference to the people already dotted around the tables. "But I have arranged for a bath to be waiting for you in your quarters, and I'll wager that you can take an hour or so to enjoy it."

"Hm." Those pale eyes are flitting around the cavernous hall; seeing much, and probably missing little. "I don't suppose you could arrange for your sparkling company as well, Lady Ambassador?"

Tempting. Veeery tempting. However. "Not at this time, Inquisitor," she negates regretfully, and then, since they've passed the tables and have some small measure of privacy: "I think you and I are both aware that if I were to join you now, neither of us would end up attending the celebration."

"I fail to see a problem with that," Ellana tells her, and though she's smiling, there's a quiet exhaustion in her eyes. "I'd much rather be alone with you."

"I know," Josephine promises, and gentles her expression while briefly letting her fingers circle a gauntleted wrist. "As would I. But there are so many people who wish to congratulate you and to know that you're safe, as well as several friends who would probably appreciate the chance to speak with you before you retire for the evening. Please don't deny them that."

"Mmph." There's a sigh and the faintest hint of a scowl, and when Ellana's eyes close for a brief moment, the signs of fatigue are so painfully obvious that Josephine is all of five heartbeats away from telling the world to go hang itself and locking the both of them away for however long is necessary. When they open again, however, there's a fresh look of determination in them; a new supply of energy from whatever stores Ellana is drawing on. "I see your point," comes the quiet admission, along with a wry smile. "But only for you, Josephine."

"Then I count myself both flattered and grateful." The closest torch is guttering and dying, and she takes advantage of the additional darkness to rise up – since Ellana is standing on the first step leading up to the platform that holds the throne – and let their lips brush lightly. "Enjoy your respite, my love. I'll be here when you return."

"That's hardly incentive to take my time," is the return murmur, with gloved fingers settling on the back of her neck and the scent of the other woman suddenly so close and so concentrated that it almost makes Josephine's head swim.

"Nor is the thought of you in the bath particularly conductive to clear and reasoned thought for me," she breathes, and folds her hands in front of herself instead of wondering how, exactly, one would go about unclasping that armor. "Do go, please, before I change my mind and let you drag me off."

And with a thoroughly amused lift of her eyebrows and a little bow, Ellana does. Though she does also halt at the door to her own quarters for several heartbeats; one hand on the handle and the other one held to her out in wordless invitation.

Brat, Josephine mouths at her, and gives her head a fond little shake at the crooked grin and the faint shrug she gets in reply before that door finally opens, and then closes once more.

"Ah! My Lady Ambassador!"

Duty first, Josephine reminds herself, and takes a long, silent breath before turning. "A pleasure, Your Lordship. How may I be of assistance?"

Only a few more hours.

xXxXx

Of course, those 'few more hours' end up extending into an almost obscene amount of time that sees the candles replaced at least twice while the celebration lengthens. Josephine can hardly blame the revelers; it's been a long, dark time for all involved, and it's predictable that everyone wants some small sliver of the Inquisitor's attention while the glory of her victory is as fresh as it comes. Damned if it isn't impractical though, since Ellana left for the temple well before sunrise, and as such has now been up for over a full day.

Several of them have been up for the same amount of time, of course, but she's quite certain that only a scarce few spent a good amount of that time engaged in face-to-face battle with a god. If Josephine herself is this tired, she can only imagine how exhausted the Inquisitor must be, and so she's kept her in her peripheral vision throughout the night. There has been several times where Ellana has looked to be on the verge of collapse – several times where Josephine has started off in her direction for that very reason – but it's always been followed by a moment of quiet resistance; a brief closing of those eyes, and somehow, there's always been a little more strength for her to draw on, after that. Another supply of energy from those unknown reserves that she manages to dip into, somehow.

Now, however, the hall is emptying at long last, and Josephine makes her excuses when she catches sight of the Inquisitor heading up those few steps again. It doesn't take much; she doubts that the baron she's been talking to is even sober enough to realize who she is at this point, and while his aide could undoubtedly have helped with that, last she saw that young man he was sound asleep beneath one of the tables; curled around a wineskin.

"May I join you?" she questions when she manages to catch those eyes; not that she's expecting the answer to be anything but a 'yes', but asking is the polite thing to do, after all.

The reply isn't a verbal one. It is, in fact, little more than twinkling eyes half-hidden behind fire-gilded hair, than bare hands catching her own and tugging, than a smile, and a quietly opening door, and the shift from an echoing, torch-lit hall to a peaceful, shadowy stairway while her stomach gives a pleasant, little flip. There's a slight spin when they clear the doorway, and she only barely sees the door close halfway on its own because there's a cool wall behind her and a warm body gently pressing her against it and, and...

And oh, Maker, this kiss. The sweetest kiss she could ever imagine, with the incredible softness of fine hairs between her fingers, the secure hold of strong, slender arms around her and the rush of warm breathing against her skin. With the dizzying closeness of soft curves, the lingering scents of spices and pitch and woodsmoke, and the wine-tinged sweetness of Ellana's breath in her mouth.

"Now that-" is the whisper against her lips when they finally part. "- was worth waiting to get you alone for."

Josephine giggles before she can catch herself, and then clears her throat and feels the flush crawl up her neck, even though the look in those eyes is nothing but completely and utterly charmed. "You do realize-" she comments a little breathlessly. "- that we aren't truly alone until that door is shut?"

Ellana blinks once, twice in confusion, and then – after turning her head and giving the intruding sliver of light a glare as if it personally insulted her – reluctantly disengages.

Josephine leans against the wall with her arms crossed, and - once the door has closed fully and she's managed to catch her breath somewhat - places a swift, well-aimed kick to Ellana's rump with the sole of her shoe. Not hard, of course; barely a tap, but enough for the younger woman to feel it, and for those blue eyes to widen as Ellana spins on her heel.

"What was that for?!"

"That-" She fishes out the letter and holds it up between two fingers. "- was for thinking that you are anything other than everything I could have ever dreamed of."

"Ah." A hot flush that's strong enough to be visible even in the low light, and a duck of the pale head. "I should've figured you'd be able to read that part." She doesn't seem surprised that Josephine found the letter, but she did spend a good amount of time alone in her own quarters earlier, and so, of course, would have had the chance to check for it. "Are you mad at me?"

"What?" The question catches her so off-guard that she actually just freezes in place on her way up the stairs, and since Ellana manages to take a few more before she notices, Josephine ends up looking up at her for once, when she turns. "Why in the world would I be angry with you?"

"I'm... not sure," in a mumble that's halfway a question, and in the shadows, she can only barely see the motion of long fingers combing through fair hair, and make out the small, uncertain shuffle of booted feet. "I mean, you did kick my ass. Literally." A faint smile. "But- I don't know. You'd tell me if you were, right?"

Sometimes, Josephine reflects, it's so easy to see nothing but the Herald, or the Inquisitor, or the Savior; to see only the confidence of a woman who wields a blade like a master, or the poise and might of one of the most powerful, political figures in Thedas. So simple to see only that, and to forget that behind the courage, the strong shoulders and the quiet nobility, there is a person like anyone else; young, a little shy, a little nervous, and clearly more than a little unsure in what's possibly her first, truly serious foray into matters of the heart.

"I would," she promises, and climbs the few steps needed for her to catch a few, unruly locks of soft hair on her own fingers and gently guide them back into place behind a pointed ear. Ellana quite literally shivers at her touch, and when there's the softness of a smooth cheek under her hand and the warmth of calloused fingers curling around her wrist, Josephine reminds herself to remember both the person and the uncertainty, because there are no walls behind those eyes, and she could scald this woman with simple words. "And I'm not angry, my darling. Merely relived, and thankful-" A pause; filled with the softness of those lips and the slow glide of a light touch from her wrist, up along her arm, over her shoulder and into the fine hairs at the base of her skull. "- and very, very blessed."

"And maybe a little overtired," is the murmured addition; accompanied by smiling eyes when Josephine gives a surprised, little laugh.

"That too," she allows with a dip of her head, and lets those fingers twine with her own as they proceed up the stairs, side by side. "I wanted to catch you-" she begins when they reach the top of the tower and step into the pale, morning sunlight, and then stops herself and tries to think of a phrasing – of a sentence – as Ellana leads her across the floors and onto the balcony. "The celebrations appear to be winding down with the sunrise."

A change of subject. A retreat, somewhat, because she can't quite find the words to explain that while she wants, she doesn't expect. So she backs off, just a fraction, and settles her hands on the stone railing; considering, still, but also taking in the majestic view and the gold-painted mountaintops, and how, she realizes suddenly, the dawn has truly come.

"I've never witnessed such a lovely sight," she breathes, and only turns her head when there is the warmth of a hand beside hers. The golden light is painting that face; spilling over fair hair that moves gently in the breeze, casting soft shadows over that nose and those lips, and glittering in the fine, almost invisible hairs on Ellana's cheek.

And those eyes are smiling directly into her own. "Nor I."

Two words. Two short, simple words, and her heart is beating against her ribcage in maddening, exulted flutters that steal the breath from her lungs. Honest, straightforward and so, so effortless, and she idly reflects that there's probably luck to be found in the fact that Ellana is usually fairly sparse with her speech. Josephine doubts that she would survive if she was a chatterbox.

"Sometimes," she sighs. "Your words are so sweet they ache."

"That's love," Ellana tells her.

"That's you," Josephine corrects, and catches those hands in her own as they face each other in the light of a new day, and a new world. "It's been good to have this celebration, free of what the future holds." It is, as she knows well, only a momentary respite from the demands of Thedas; from the rifts that still need sealing, from the work of cleaning up after wars and demons and deceit, and from the fresh weight that will undoubtedly fall squarely on the shoulders of the young woman before her. "Whatever awaits us," she promises softly. "I know only one thing; I would never have you face it alone."

"Fitting," is the answer, with one hand snaking free to cup her cheek instead, and a warm forehead touching against her own. "Because I wouldn't want to do this without you."

Their words feel strangely like vows, some part of her muses as they kiss softly amidst cold breezes and slowly strengthening light. But really, she's getting ahead of herself. It's far to soon to even think in such terms.

"Would you be terribly disappointed if I said I needed to sleep?" Ellana wonders a few moments later, with one hand rubbing at the back of her neck and the other keeping a loose hold of Josephine's own. "I really don't think I have enough energy left to..." Pause, and the catch of a lower lip between even teeth. "Uh..." There's a hint of extra color blooming in her cheeks, and her gaze drops to the floor of the balcony before lifting again in supplication. "Um..."

"'Perform', I believe, is the word the soldiers use," Josephine supplies dryly, and then has to swiftly hide her smile behind one hand because Ellana's entire face turns a brilliant enough red to rival that of a sunset; all in the span of a single heartbeat.

"Ah..." A short, helpless laugh, and the heel of a palm pressing against a flushed forehead. "Yeah. That." There's a long pause as Ellana settles her elbows on the railing and scrubs her hands over her face, and when Josephine can't quite manage to hold back a chuckle, there's a half-hearted glare aimed her way from between two fingers. "Ye Gods and little fishes." That in a mutter, and then Ellana drops her hands and studies her. "Would you? Be disappointed?"

"Never." It's the easiest answer she's ever given to anything, and it falls from her lips without hesitation as she leans on the railing as well, with the warmth of another body at her side and – after a moment – the slight weight of a head resting against her own. "Would you mind terribly if I slept here, regardless?"

"Of course not." The reply sounds mildly astonished that she'd even ask. "Isn't that why you took that drawer?"

"Which drawer?"

A drawer in Ellana's quarters, as it turns out; filled with neatly folded clothing and sashes and Maker knows what else, all unmistakably hers. Not all of her things, obviously, but enough to spend a night – possibly more – without having to retrieve or send for anything from her own quarters.

"I didn't-" Josephine is frankly feeling a little off balance. "I mean, if this is acceptable to you, then of course I- but-" She sighs, and settles a plainly confused glance on Ellana, who's leaning against the wall on one shoulder a few feet away, with her arms crossed, her legs folded at the ankles and an expression of polite interest on her face. "This isn't my doing."

"Huh," is the sole reply, accompanied by a faint furrow between the golden brows.

Both of them study the open drawer for several moments, and then, Josephine assumes from the way they manage to look up and raise an eyebrow at each other at the exact same time, come to the same conclusion.

And Ellana laughs. "I was wondering what it'd take for me to earn Leliana's approval," she comments with a shake of her head, and then frowns. "Actually, remind me to ask her exactly what I did, because I still don't have a clue, and I'd honestly like to know."

Josephine chuckles in wry agreement, and takes a moment to run the tips of her fingers over the contents of the drawer. Even some of her nightclothes have been sorted in here, she discovers, though when she goes to retrieve them, there is the soft sound of footsteps, and then a hand covering her own.

"I don't suppose you'd agree to sleep in the nude?" is the question when their eyes meet. "Not th- I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine. I just..." A frustrated sigh. "I'd really like to have you as close as possible. If that's okay."

If that's okay. Josephine mainly wonders how on earth it could be anything but, though her only outward reply is a brief press of her lips to a faintly pink-tinged cheek, and a soft: "Of course."

It's... almost awkward; the low sounds of two pairs of feet and the quiet shuffling as they both divest themselves of their clothing. Almost, but not quite, because the air between them is filled with a gentle sort of curiosity rather than the weight of sensual anticipation, and it probably doesn't hurt that Ellana treats at least her own nudity with about as much fanfare as she would a passing cloud.

Not that she has the faintest thing to be embarrassed about, Josephine considers, and has to remind herself to take a breath when Ellana crouches in front of the fireplace in nothing but her breeches; stoking the embers and adding logs until the crackling flames are sending reddish flickers of light over the gentle dips and curves of her exposed shoulders.

And speaking of which... "Do I want to know why – or rather how – you are so evenly tanned?"

A turn of the pale head until Ellana's profile is clearly outlined against the fire, and a smirk. "Oh, I doubt it," is the amused reply. "But I'll tell you anyway, if you want."

Josephine weighs the potential headache that information could cause against the amount of energy she herself has left, and decides to err on the side of caution. "Another time, perhaps," she sighs, and unhooks the last clasp that lets her remove her dress. Behind her, there's the muted thump of what's probably Ellana's breeches bring dropped somewhere, followed by the soft patter of bare feet against stone.

"Tunics and pants are where it's at," Ellana whispers against the shell of her ear, and then kisses the skin just behind it. "So much faster and easier than dresses."

"You're welcome to assist me, if you wish," Josephine offers.

"Nuh-uh," comes the drawl from behind her; a little softer as those footsteps move further away. "I'm taking notes."

"Notes?"

"Notes." There's the soft sound of skin against fabric, and a glance over her shoulder tells her that Ellana has slipped under the covers and is now resting the side of her head in one hand as she watches. "Though with all the clasps and buckles you seem to favor, I should probably be drawing diagrams."

"Tch." Josephine rolls her eyes at the gentle tease, and lifts one foot onto a chair to remove the lone stocking that – aside from her smalls and her breast bindings – is the only item of clothing keeping her from being completely bare. That done, she straightens, and reaches behind her head to loosen the clips and ties binding her hair with a few, practiced motions that soon has the loose waves falling into place at the middle of her back. She doesn't turn until she's fully exposed to the slowly warming air, and that's probably a good thing since the look that's facing her is so heavily lidded and intent that her heart skips three beats in a row.

"You know..." Ellana takes a breath and wets her lips, and the hand that isn't supporting her head is flexing slowly against the top of the covers. "If there's one thing I regret about defeating Corypheus earlier, it's the fact that I can't beat him up again now."

"Flatterer," Josephine accuses warmly, and smiles when she slides into the bed and is immediately immersed in warm skin and soft lips, and the tickling glide of Ellana's hair against her chest as the younger woman hovers over her.

"It's not flattery if it's true," is the murmur against her mouth when they part, and while the look in those blue eyes is admittedly a little frustrated, it's also undeniably warm and not just a little wryly amused. "Later?" Ellana sighs.

"Later," she smiles, and draws her in for another, light kiss as their legs twine. "Sleep, my love. It's been a long day."