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Anger flowed through her. No more mistakes, the Inquisitor said. Cassandra took another swing at the already battered training dummy. She knew that and she knew it better than anyone. Most Holy was dead because she hadn’t found him in time, and it was all her fault.
Whack. Her sword connected with the dummy again. Hawke could have changed everything, he would have changed everything. Could they not understand how much they had needed him? Could they not understand how much they still did?
“Now what has that poor dummy ever done to you?” A voice called from behind her, breaking her focus.
She sucked in a breath, her jaw tightening in frustration. Whoever that was, now was not the time. She spun around, ready to give them a piece of her mind, but the words died on her open lips.
He wasn’t an Inquisition soldier. Good armor, well-maintained. Dark, messy hair and quite the beard. His face had a pleasant shape. Quite attra—no, she pushed that thought back down. He could not be attractive, not when she recognized that scar and knew exactly who he was.
How had Varric written about it? Sharply cut across his nose, the scar was imposing, yet oddly alluring to the ladies of Kirkwall.
Hawke.
After all this time, he finally stood in front of her, arms crossed with one eyebrow slightly lifted as he sized her up. Though his eyes lingered in places they shouldn’t, as did hers.
She told herself she was simply admiring the armor’s craftsmanship, but she turned her face anyway as the heat spread over her cheeks. She made for her scabbard, laid across a nearby tree stump. With an attempt to keep her voice steady, she asked, “What do you want?”
“Heard you were looking for me, so here I am.” Her guard shot up at the tease in his voice, as she wondered what would come next.
“I am not anymore,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Why, Seeker. You chase me all over Thedas and now you don’t even want me? I’m wounded.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she reached for the scabbard. “The Inquisition needed you. Besides, you are here now.”
“So I am,” he mused, before his voice hardened into a tone that was more mockery than tease. “I admit I’m shocked you didn’t find me sooner though. Isn’t that what Seekers do?”
She pressed her lips together and slammed her sword into her scabbard. She formulated her words as slowly placed it back down onto the stump, so as not to say something she would regret. After a slow breath in and back out, she finally turned to face him. The humor that had been on his face had darkened. “I trusted Varric when he said he did not know. I should not have.”
Hawke stalked closer to her. “What did you expect? You’d kidnapped him. You imprisoned an innocent man.”
“We had to find you!”
He leaned in toward her and Cassandra found herself holding her breath. He lowered his voice as he said, “And look how well that went.”
She bared her teeth and shoved him away from her, letting out a cry of frustration. “Argh!”
Hawke’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he took another step back. Cassandra grabbed her sword and stalked off. The call of “Seeker, wait!” followed her, but she ignored him.
Cassandra had never really thought about how it might go when she finally met Hawke after all this time, but shoving him out of her way and fleeing had never been a consideration.
She also hadn’t expected him to be quite so infuriating. Or quite so attractive. Maker take him, for all she cared.
***
After their “introduction,” Cassandra decided it would be best if she avoided him. It was not difficult, at first. She steered clear of the man by paying close attention to what he was doing, easier if she knew where he was going to be in the first place. The handful of times she did encounter him, she always feigned having somewhere else to be.
He seemed somewhat disappointed in those encounters, though Cassandra convinced herself she had imagined that part. Hawke had not wanted to be found by her, and there was no reason to revisit that now. She had moved on, as had he.
Besides, as angry as she had been at Varric after finding out he’d always known where Hawke was, his parting words had stayed with her, echoing long beyond his footsteps down the stairs.
You people have done enough to him.
It shamed her to admit he was not wrong.
Avoiding Hawke became even easier when the Inquisitor left for Crestwood to meet Hawke’s Grey Warden contact, taking Hawke and Varric with him.
By the time they got back to Skyhold several weeks later, she had gone back to her usual habits and forgone her vigilance in watching for the man. One pleasant afternoon, she settled herself on her favorite stump near the training dummy with a book when her quiet was interrupted.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
She snapped the book—one that she would rather not be caught reading—shut as she glanced up to find Hawke standing in front of her. Just as he had been that first day, eyebrow cocked and all.
She slipped the book behind her, hoping he had not noticed the cover. “What?”
“You’re avoiding me,” he repeated, more slowly than the first time, rankling her pride.
Cassandra shot to her feet. “I heard you the first time!”
“Then answer me. Why?”
“I’m...not.”
“You are,” he insisted, the furrowing of his brows deepened the lines on his forehead. He was younger than her, that much she knew from Varric’s book, but in that moment, his face was that of a man who’d seen far too much.
She averted her eyes. “You were not even here.”
“Before that,” he said with a frown. “As soon as you’d see me, you’d turn the other way. Or make something up about someone needing you. Cullen might need the help, but I’m confident that’s not why.”
Heat burned against her cheeks to have been so transparent. She had not thought he noticed. “I...do not know what to say.”
“Look...” Hawke took another step closer to her and the heat in her cheeks flared, though this time it was not from embarrassment, but from the nearness of him. “We got off on the wrong foot.”
Cassandra lifted her eyebrows and he took a deep breath, as though waiting for her to say something. When she did not, he said, “Can we try starting over?”
She hesitated. The Hawke she had read about—and heard about from Varric—was always making light of the situation. But he seemed earnest, and she admitted to herself that she was intrigued by him. “All right, yes.”
A smile spread across his face, but it was short-lived, replaced instead by a mischievous smirk. She was immediately wary, wondering what he intended to do next.
“So…” He nodded at the book still sitting on the stump. Cassandra followed him gaze, inwardly cursing herself for not slipping it onto the ground behind the stump. “Poetry, huh?”
“It is not—” Hawke stepped around her to grab the book. She tried to snatch it out of his hand, but he held it up over her head. Somehow, in all her observations of the man, she’d failed to notice how tall he was. She held out a hand. “Give it back.”
He kept it where it was, flipping it open so he could read the title page. His eyes widened as he glanced down at her. “Why, Seeker. Romantic poetry? How scandalous.”
That look in his eyes told her she would never hear the end of it now. She sighed, dropping her hand. “It is light reading.” It was true, though not the lightest of her reading. Better than the latest installment of Swords and Shields she had tucked beneath her mattress. She truly would never have heard the end of that one.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Light reading?”
“A change of pace then. From the reports.”
Hawke seemed to study her for a moment as his eyes searched hers. She studied him in return, marvelling at how they were like sunlight in autumn, dancing among falling leaves. Cassandra blinked. She must be spending too much time with the poetry to come up with a description such as that.
Wordlessly, he handed her back the book. She released the breath she had not realized she was holding. “Thank you.”
“Would you join me tonight, in the tavern?” he asked, surprising her.
Something akin to butterflies started up in her stomach at why he might ask such a thing. She tried to ignore it. She should not get ideas about what Hawke might want of her, not after everything. “Why?”
Hawke shrugged. “You’re an interesting person, Seeker. I’d like to know more about you.”
She nodded once. “I’ll be there.”
“Until later then.”
The flash of another smile, the whisper of a wink, and then he was gone. Cassandra held the book to her chest as she slumped back down onto the stump, the butterflies once more taking flight within her.
***
It was not a date. She was not certain it was meant to be, but she dressed in nice clothes if it was. However, when she had arrived, Hawke was already there in the midst of a card game with Varric and a few others. Varric straightened and narrowed his eyes at her approach, but Hawke leaped up, grabbed a chair, and situated her near him.
“I am terrible at these games,” she admitted, as she lowered herself into the chair.
His eyes twinkled with mischief that had her chest aflutter once more. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
The serving woman brought her a drink as Varric dealt her in. She thought she would stay for a few rounds before making her exit, but when she tried, Hawke convinced her to stay. He was rather good at that. So she did, playing round after round, late into the night, with the small group.
She had been as terrible at the game as she promised, though they did not play for more than a handful of copper and stories. Hawke managed to pull one out of her, about the earliest days of her Seeker training, that she had not told in many years.
It was fun and comfortable, and Hawke put her at ease in a way few had ever managed before. He had asked to start over and she wondered if, perhaps, there might be more there. Friendship, if not something else.
However, that night Cassandra lay in bed with that uncomfortable realization that she wanted more. As intrigued as she was by Hawke, he was not the type for grand gestures, nor did he need to be. He was the Champion after all. Cassandra though...she wanted those grand gestures and that romance.
There was not much of a choice for her. She would settle for friendship, and she decided to leave it at that. Nothing good could come of wanting more from Hawke.
Their interactions improved in the days that followed. He had, on occasion, sought her out, and she had, on occasion, allowed him to. He was rarely alone, something she noticed more and more as the days passed, yet he still seemed...lonely. The Hawke she knew from Varric’s book had never seemed lonely, but if she were a wagering woman, she would wager that this real Hawke was.
She knew a thing or two about that.
They left for the Western Approach within the week after that night at the tavern. Going up against the Grey Wardens was no small task, and the Inquisitor wanted her at his side while he did so. She was glad that she and Hawke had made peace and a friendship that began to blossom, as the long days of travel with the small group would have been near impossible with them still at odds.
She noticed that away from the prying eyes of Skyhold, Hawke changed. He still had his cloak of humor, but he wore it less often. That world-weariness she first glimpsed at Skyhold was back, and it occupied more and more of him.
They had just left Val Royeaux behind when she discovered him sitting some distance from camp one evening. He leaned back on the soft grass and stared up at the stars unveiling themselves in the darkness of nightfall. Behind her, the others sat around the fireside, swapping stories and jokes, but Hawke made no move to join them.
She approached cautiously. “Hawke?”
He tipped his head back to look at her. “Seeker?”
“May I join you?”
There was no hesitation as he gestured for her to sit next to him, so she did, leaning back against her elbows. They sat quietly for several moments, listening to the chatter behind them. She considered that he never used her name. Not that she had ever given him leave to, she realized. “You may call me Cassandra.”
“So I finally made it to friend status then?” He lifted an eyebrow as he softly smiled.
Could she count him a friend now? She had hoped to, eventually, though it all seemed so fast. He did not seem bothered by it, and if he was not, she would not be. “If you like.”
“I do, though…” He paused, his eyes darting toward her and then quickly away again. Cassandra held her breath. The thought there could be more between them surfaced, and she quickly squashed it back down. She did not know what she wanted him to say, but her throat felt tight and her heart unexpectedly beat faster.
Hawke lowered his voice and said, “I’ll admit I’d like a great deal more than that.”
Her breath caught. “You...you do?”
He sucked in a sharp breath and abruptly pushed himself up. Cassandra followed suit, rising to a seat next to him. Had she said something wrong? “Hawke—”
“Garrett,” he interrupted, “My name is Garrett.”
He struggled with something in his pocket, finally slipping out what appeared to be a slim volume. He turned it over in his hands once, taking a deep breath, before holding it up between them. “For you.”
“What is this?” she asked. She held his gaze as she reached for it, her fingers brushing his. He held onto it a moment longer and then finally released it.
With the flick of his wrist, a mage light appeared overhead, casting a soft glow over them. Cassandra glanced back at the fire, but no one had even noticed they were missing. She flipped it open to the first poem. Heat spread over her cheeks and her eyes widened as she read. She snapped her eyes back up to Hawke.
“I found a merchant in Val Royeaux,” he said quickly, “She suggested it, said it makes a fine gift for a lady. I hope the poetry is decent, I don’t speak Orlesian.”
She could not help it, she giggled. The merchant must have had a go at him, or she thought they were...more. “It is lovely. Thank you.”
In the soft light, she watched the relief spread across his face. “Truly,” she added. He did not need to know how salacious the poetry really was. It was perfect.
Wordlessly, he leaned toward her, his eyes searching her face. As though she could not stop herself, she too leaned toward him until there was little space for any more than the breath between them. Her heart hammered in her chest as they paused there, until at last Hawke closed the space between him and pressed his lips to hers.
She did not know how long they remained like that, with their lips exploring one another, until at last—
“I knew it!” Varric’s pleased laugh came from behind them. “Did I call that or what?”
“Really, Varric?” Hawke groaned as he glared back toward his friend, before returning to Cassandra. “I’m sorry, he—”
She lifted a finger to his lips to silence him. “I am not,” she told him before leaning back in to kiss him again.