Chapter Text
When the dinner ends, Cassandra is relieved, even though she knows Josephine will go on and on about the meeting and all the tedious topics discussed therein for the hours when they are back home. In spite of this, she will not be upset about recapping every single detail, since it is a completely different matter to hear it from Josephine.
As they settle on the couch in front of the fire that night, Josephine lays her head on Cassandra’s shoulder, rambling on, while Cassandra runs her fingers through Josephine’s hair and lets the sound of her voice wash over her. She tries to pay attention, but after a moment, her mind wanders off.
For a while, Josephine goes on, her voice soothing Cassandra’s thoughts. Cassandra doesn’t know how long she’s been drifting, content, before Josephine calls Cassandra’s name softly.
“My poor dear,” she smiles as she sits up to brush her hand gently across Cassandra’s cheek. “You must have been bored to death tonight.”
“The count was tedious,” Cassandra says, and gives her a tiny half-smile. “But I never get bored of seeing you in your element.”
Josephine clicks her tongue and smiles, eyes half-lidded. “So, you’ve been watching me all the evening, my lady?” she asks, tilting her head charmingly.
Cassandra reaches up and cups Josephine’s cheek, sweeping her thumb along her cheekbone. "I am always watching you,” she says softly. "You’re incredibly captivating.“
"Goodness, It is a piece of luck I do not join you on the battlefield. How short-lived you would be!” Josephine says, mirth in her voice.
Cassandra, inspired by a similar scene in one of her books, reaches for her hand, pulls it to press against her own heart. "You are always with me in battle.“
Josephine can feel the warmth radiating beneath her palm, and the thud of Cassandra’s heart that beats for her. "You…you are so sweet I find myself in lack of words,” she says, looking into her beautiful hazel eyes, and kisses her lips as sweet as her words.
Cassandra’s hand slips the back of Josephine’s neck, toys with the fine hairs there that have fallen out of her coif. When she pulls away, Cassandra’s gaze is slightly distant in thought. "I cannot recall being called sweet before. Many other things–brash and fierce and strong–but never sweet.“
"Well…that is quite a shame then,” Josephine says. “Though, you are all those other things as well,” she continues with a whisper as she runs her fingers along Cassandra’s arm.
That breaks Cassandra’s contemplation, making her look up at Josephine. She smiles at the look in her lover’s eyes, tugging her gently to lay back against her. "You flatter me, Lady Montilyet. To be called sweet by one such as you is quite the honor.“
"Well now, who’s flattering whom again?” Josephine says, smiling. She takes Cassandra’s hand and places a kiss on her knuckles. Then she closes her eyes, sighing with comfort, still holding Cassandra’s hand in hers.
Cassandra tucks her chin on the top of Josephine’s head and rubs her arm with her thumb idly. Then, almost whispering, she says in Nevarran “My heart is yours, even when I am far from you, and I carry yours with me wherever I may roam.”
Josephine makes a pleased hum. “I rarely hear you speak Nevarran,” she says, smiling. “What does it mean?”
“It’s a line from an old poem,” Cassandra says, pressing her nose to Josephine’s hair, letting the scent of whatever oil she uses to tame it wash over her. "Something a knight says to his love. You’re not often heard speaking Antivan. Do you miss it?
“Yes, I do miss it sometimes,” Josephine sighs. “What about you? Do you miss speaking Nevarran?”
“No.” She presses a kiss to the top of Josephine’s head. “The only people I would have cared to converse in with it are gone. My happiness has been in Orlesian, and in Common.” Her lips curl into a wry smile. “And frequently in silence.”
Josephine is thoughtful for a moment, absentmindedly caressing Cassandra’s knuckles with her fingers. “I understand,” she says, the silence falling between them.
For a long while, the only sound is the crackling of the fire, the wind buffeting the windows of Josephine’s room. “How many languages do you speak?” Cassandra asks, eventually. “Common, Orlesian, Antivan, obviously.”
“Well, some Tevene, also a little Rivain, as they are the neighbors to Antiva. But I’m far from being fluent in those.”
“My talented love.” Cassandra pulls her closer, and when Josephine shivers a little, reaches up to pull the blanket off the back of the couch to spread over her. “I will never understand why you don’t wear more furs. They would keep you warmer.”
Josephine lets out a small chuckle. “I suppose it has something to do with my mother…” she says, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself. “Since we were children, she always took care of that we knew the ways of fashion.” Then she turns to look at Cassandra, slightly quirking her eyebrow. “And furs…they are hardly fashionable.”
Cassandra makes a disgusted noise. “Being warm is more important than fashion. Suppose you are in the Frostbacks when a blizzard comes. Where will fashion be then? Clothes are meant for a purpose, which they either suit or do not. Like people.”
“Always so pragmatic, my love,” Josephine giggles softly.
“It is only sensible.” Though Cassandra huffs, she is not at all put out, and lets a comfortable silence fall between them again until the fire dims and they head to their bed for the night.
As they lie in bed, in the dark, Josephine shifts. “If you do not think about fashion, ever, how come you always look so good?” she asks playfully, her arm arcing over Cassandra’s waist.
Josephine has nearly always had a kind word for Cassandra, and flatters her more than is necessary, and still Cassandra blushes. “That is just your eyes,” she says with laughter in her voice. “You see what you would like to see. Every piece I wear is designed for a specific purpose, nothing more.”
Josephine chuckles. They lie in silence for a while, only hearing each other breathe. Then she moves again. “So, if I began wearing only giant furs which would hide me from view entirely, would you still find me attractive?” she asks, propping herself up a little.
“Of all the things I find attractive about you, meine zvezd,” Cassandra manages through her laughter. “Your physical beauty is far down the list.”
“Fine,” Josephine huffs–though Cassandra can hear the smile in her voice–and settles back down on her pillow. “So long as you think I’m pretty.”
Cassandra laughs again and reaches over in the darkness to tangle their fingers together, squeezing gently. “Good night, Ambassador.”
A week later, when Cassandra opens the door of Josephine’s office at lunch time, she stops dead at the doorway, staring at the sight. Josephine is dressed up all in furs and leathers, stunning like a Ferelden queen.
The look Josephine gives her–a smooth ‘Ambassador’ look paired with an undercurrent of teasing–leaves Cassandra’s mouth dry. She shuts the door behind her, but cannot force her feet to move further inside, even though her hands itch beneath her gloves. “I see you have given in to the weather,” is all she can manage. “My shins will be grateful for the reprieve from your icy feet.”
“I heard it is very fashionable in Ferelden to be dressed up according to weather,” Josephine quips, setting her quill down on the desk.
That makes Cassandra laugh genuinely, and cross the room to settle in the chair across from Josephine. “You are very interested in fashion,” she admits. “And you carry it off as well as you do anything else. Are we to be treated to this sight for the rest of winter, then?”
Josephine smiles, tilting her head as she looks at Cassandra. “Thank you,” she says. Then she leans over the table and whispers: “This is so wonderfully warm that if someone tries to put me back into those silk and satin dresses this winter, I will scream.”
As always when Josephine gifts her with her unvarnished opinions, or that hint of deviousness that makes her dark eyes sparkle, a rush of warm affection floods through Cassandra. “You will not. You will only make that disappointed face, and perhaps wave your hands around, but the effect will be the same.”
Josephine leans back on her chair. “I think you know me too well”, she says, her lips pursing. Then she stands up, piling her papers. “Time for some lunch?”
Cassandra stands with her, holding the door for her as they enter the Great Hall. Most of the population of Skyhold is there, but it’s no trouble for them to find a seat, not with Josephine’s reputation and easy smile. She seems to know something about everyone, enquiring after this woman’s son or that man’s work or this soldier’s blistered hand. Skyhold loves Josephine, and Josephine them, and Cassandra throws one of her unending prayers of thanks to the Maker for his generosity in drawing them together.