Team Optimism, give me happy Solas theories and things. I'm feeling down tonight.
Fluff do?
"Scout Harding!”
Harding very, very subtly froze. Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Everyone was trying to slink away from her this morning. More than usual.
“Yes, serah?” Harding asked. Perfectly respectful, yet.
“Is there a reason you are attempting to avoid me?” Cassandra decided to try the direct approach. It worked for the Inquisitor. Why not try it?
“Er.” Harding let a noise escape before catching herself. “You, ah. When you return to Skyhold after a long mission with Her Worship, you can be. Ah.”
“Cranky and unforgiving?” Leliana finished.
Cassandra wrinkled her nose at her. She was starting to agree with Cullen: Leliana needed a bell.
“Her silence is her form of agreement,” Leliana added serenely. “Have you seen the Inquisitor?”
Harding hesitated before answering. “Her Worshipfulness was in the garden with her gentlemen, last I saw her.” And made a quick retreat into the armory before she could be interrogated further.
Cassandra huffed as the pair meandered toward the lower garden in the side courtyard. “I am neither cranky nor unforgiving.”
“Much,” Leliana corrected her. “You rode into the castle at almost dawn after a week of hard fighting along the Storm Coast. You are allowed to be cranky and unforgiving, Cassandra.”
They found Solas reading under one of the more lush trees. At first, Cassandra thought him alone, and she started turn sharply about to chase after Harding. Leliana placed a hand on her elbow.
The Inquisitor was fast asleep on Solas’ thigh, her face hidden behind her fist, and her body tucked tight against his side. Solas had one hand resting lightly in her hair, absently stroking along her ear as he read a book propped on his other raised knee.
“The Inquisitor declared that my lap was a siren, calling to her from across the castle,” Solas offered without looking up from his book nor releasing his hold on the elf in his lap. “That was several hours ago.”
Cassandra’s ears went pink. Both Solas and Lavellan were rather private individuals. “We beg your pardon--”
“Oh your gracious ladybits!” Sera sing songed. She and Dorian were traipsing down the courtyard stairs. “Time for dodge the arrows and fireballs thrown by friends not evil god shats time!”
“Inquisitor!” Cullen shouted from the upper courtyard. He and Josephine were leaning over the battlements above. “We must meet in the War Room--”
“--Dragon!” Lavellan sat up with a start. Her hair was sticking straight up on one side, and there was an impression of Solas’ belt on her cheek. “Bad dragon! Bad! No dragon biscuit! Stabby stab!”
Everyone paused. Sera cackled into her fist.
Solas leaned forward. He soothed down some of Lavellan’s wayward hair. “No dragon, emm’asha.”
“No dragon?” She parroted back. Then looked down. “Why do you have pants?” she asked in the sadest tone imaginable.
Even Cassandra cracked at that. Sera doubled over, and Dorian smacked his face with his palm. Josephine lead Cullen and the crowd above away before they could intrude further. Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra could see Leliania try to cover her own smile with her fingers.
“I believe the Inquisitor is not yet prepared for daily meetings. Let us try again on the morrow.” Leliania herded Sera and Dorian back up the stairs.
Cassandra followed but glanced over her shoulder. Solas’ ears were bright pink, the only thing visible behind his book, and Lavellan happily snuggled back down against his shoulder.
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