Work Text:
Quinn Trevelyan made his way across his room, kicking his shoes off as he went, unbuttoning his doublet. It had been a long day of trade negotiations with Josephine and Leliana. Cullen was mercifully busy or the meetings would have lasted even longer. The Inquisition was trudging along through Venatori, red templars, and very thick foliage from the reports coming out of the Emerald Grove. Quinn would have to pack soon. He shuffled through the papers on his desk in a cursory look that had no intention of turning into any actual work, reading over the intro to a letter from Bull as he worked the fiddly pearl buttons on his shirt, but stopped his progress disrobing when he realized there was another object that didn’t belong.
Dried flowers on his desk. Skyhold’s gardens have many beautiful blooms, but dried flowers make most sense for a keepsake. On closer inspection the flower meanings show through - aster and camelia were safe symbols of love he was familiar with, but didn’t geraniums have some other messy meaning? Maybe his beloved didn’t intend to call him a fool. Or perhaps she did. That would likely be in line with the Seeker’s thoughts on him.
A little chuckle escaped from beneath his mustache and he looked around for a note. Nothing made itself known on a glance over his desk. He even opened the drawers and searched the floor in case it had been tucked away or scattered in a breeze. Nothing.
He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. It was getting a bit long and beginning to fall into his eyes. He always enjoyed looking after his personal grooming, but some things tend to get away from you while you’re commanding a whole new force of power in the region and locked in a military campaign against an undead magister. Things like haircuts and spending time with his lover tended to fall to the back burner as the mountain of paperwork grew.
But Quinn always was good at avoiding paperwork. The flowers were as good an excuse as any he would have thought up to change into something comfortable and go visit his love. A fresh shirt was needed at minimum and he added a few extra pieces of flair - a silk cravat, a velvet vest with intricate stitching left unbuttoned for a rakish look, and less comfortable shoes simply because they make his calves look amazing. A bit extravagant, but not obviously so to most outside observers.
Cassandra would notice. He was counting on that. She was raised in the courts with an eye for detail and hidden meanings. The blacksmithy was empty upon his inspection, even the rafters where Cassandra squatted, unable to leave her soldier days behind her even after her days by the side of the Divine. If anything, Cassandra’s faith propelled her to further sacrifice her comfort to allow spaces rooms with real beds for Josephine’s important guests.
Quinn finally found her on the second floor of Herald’s Rest, peering down over the crowd with unseeing eyes as she nursed her drink in silence. Quinn slid in next to her at the table so as not to obscure the place on the wall she was staring intently.
“Inquisitor,” Cassandra greeted him when his movement in her periphery broke her concentration. She raised her mug slightly in welcome, but the scowl was still etched into her sharp features.
“Trying to burn a hole in the bar with your gaze? Or is there someone down there I need to banish?” The teasing jokes lept from Quinn’s mouth before he could consider it. Her serious expression always drew him to tease her. Perhaps he was the fool afterall, to tease the mighty warrior with the terrifying scowl like a pesky crow pulling the tail feathers on an eagle.
Cassandra’s eyebrows pinched together even further for a brief moment before relaxing with a calculated calm. Her voice began as manufactured politeness, but ended with a genuine warmth. “I was simply lost in thought. What brings you to the tavern this evening?”
Quinn settled into that warmth. He couldn’t help the way he leaned in as she relaxed into his presence. “I came to see my favorite person. I had a feeling you might be thinking of me. By your expression I should probably apologize though.”
His smirk pulls a quirk of a smile from Cassandra’s lips. “You have done nothing to merit apology.”
“I’m sure this won’t suffice to equal your thoughtfulness, but I pulled a bloom in answer as I came. ” Quinn produced a flower from behind his back with a flourish.
A single red rose, just beginning to open. Obvious romance, no hidden meanings there. Cassandra smiled warm and genuine as she carefully took the rose from his fingers, mindful of the thorns. She brought the bud to her nose and breathed in the delicate scent. “It’s lovely, thank you.”
Her gaze lingered over his a moment before taking his hand. Her expression remained curious, the joy of romance coloring her cheeks. “I’m not sure what you mean by needing to answer me though, I’m sure I never asked you for a beautiful rose.”
A lump of lead, heavy and cold, filled Quinn’s stomach. She must not have sent him the dried flowers. He could puzzle that mystery later. Nevertheless, she deserved roses and chocolates and jewelry and romance just like in her novels. Quinn couldn’t have her thinking otherwise. “You never asked directly, but I thought you deserved an answer.” A wink to seal the deal and there was that lovely, rare blush again.
Cassandra hid her smile behind the red petals, pretending to smell it again. “You never cease to surprise me.”
Quinn kissed the back of her hand with a sweeping gesture that made her scoff to cover a giggle. “And I endeavor to continue.”
Their conversation drifted slowly into their duties and upcoming tasks as it inevitably did in those days of the Inquisition, but as they left the bar later that evening Quinn couldn’t help but think of the dried blooms that awaited his return. Perhaps he was reading too much into a random bouquet from a visiting ambassador, but he couldn’t shake the rankling feeling that perhaps he was the fool they thought him to be.