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Curves upon curves, colors blending from rose to dusk. The oils were so thick you could feel the texture of the paint. Cassandra thumbed her gauntlet, tilting her head to follow another sweeping line from the top of the tall canvas around to its edge.
There had been a time and a place where she would have collected such a piece for her own gallery. Paintings and sculptures that made her feel . Alive. Powerful.
Which was strange because she was alive and powerful. She knew that, even if the sensation of it only came in waves. Often she felt helpless. For a time, she’d felt hopeless too. Until-
“Found something you like?” The elf asked, sauntering up behind her.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. They’d accomplished their goals in Val Royeaux and couldn’t begin the journey back to Skyhold until the next morning. There was so rarely an opportunity to stand still and admire anything anymore. Cassandra glanced to where Lyanna Lavellan was standing, a riot of red curls escaping to frame her face. “I had a gallery, in Nevarra.”
“A gallery.”
“Of paintings. Like this one.”
“Like this one?”
Something about the way she said it made Cassandra twitch. “And sculptures. Bronzes and marble.”
“…what’d you have cast in bronzes and marble?” Lyanna had eschewed the Orlesian finery they’d draped her in the evening before for a simple tunic and breeches, letting her hair fall loose and wild down her back. “Sculptures like this one?” She tapped the placard next to the painting, a little smirk curling her lips. Pétales Interdits.
Cassandra sighed. “You think it’s foolish to enjoy flowers. I suppose it is.” She frowned down at the hilt of her sword. “I spent so long stepping away from the feminine to be taken seriously in my calling. I do miss some of it. Sometimes.”
Lyanna lifted her brows, glancing between Cassandra and the painting. “It’s not foolish to admire flowers.” She tucked her hands into her pockets, stepping closer so that Cassandra could nearly smell the scent of fresh grass and lavender that seemed to follow in the woman’s wake. “I’m just curious about whether you see anything else in the painting.”
“Well.” Cassandra blinked. “Of course. The strokes, for example, are extremely adept.”
Lyanna snorted, making a sound that Cassandra’s governess would’ve certainly been upset to hear. “Do tell me more about the strokes, Seeker. The painter seems very dexterous, no?”
“Obviously. And with great affection for her subject.” She frowned as Lyanna laughed. “Oil is a difficult medium; it requires a great deal of care and precision to illuminate and expose the- What exactly do you find so amusing?”
“I-“ Lyanna choked between her chuckling, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “Didn’t know you were such a patron of the arts.”
“Hmph.” Cassandra peered down at her. “You’re in one of your moods.”
“ Moods .” Lyanna narrowed her eyes, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t have moods.”
“You do . Every time I show the least vulnerability, it’s all jokes and sniggers. I have feelings, you know.”
“I didn’t-“ Lyanna huffed, rolling her eyes. “I know you have feelings. Hm.” She pressed her lips together. “I think I’ll ask the fellow out front to take this painting with me. I’ll put it in my bedchambers, in a place of honor. I do like the colors. And the texture .”
Cassandra eyed her curiously. It felt like another joke. Something at her expense. The jokes were nearly always at her expense; she was relieved she often couldn’t follow them. “As you like, Inquisitor.”
“Thank you for showing it to me.” Lyanna smiled, nudging her hip. “It’ll look perfect right above my bed.”
“It will be a pleasant sight to wake to, I’m sure,” she agreed quietly, only to be answered with another laugh. “ What ?”
“It would be,” Lyanna agreed with a cheeky half-grin. “Unless you’d like to wake to it. It would brighten up your chambers.”
“Oh.” Cassandra thumbed her hilt. “You’re very gracious, but you did mention wishing to purchase it first. If it pleases you, you should have it. You have too few pleasures as it is.”
“It’s a pleasure, certainly.” Lyanna leaned against her. “How much Orlesian do you speak, Seeker?”
“I’m Nevarran nobility.” It was odd how pleasantly the woman fit into the curve of her side, scooping under her arm as though there was nothing intimidating about a woman in full plate with the eye of the Maker emblazoned across her armor. Then again, Inquisitor Lavellan seemed to find little to be intimidated by in this world or the next. “I speak Orlesian fluently, along with Tevene and Marchtongue, and a smattering of Orzammar runic and Elvhen, besides. What has that to do with anything?”
“Why do you think the petals are forbidden?” Lyanna peered up at her, tilting her head to the side.
“Perhaps they are in the Queen’s garden.”
“Oh, do you think the Queen keeps a private garden, then?” Lyanna peered up at her curiously, biting her lip. “Keep all her precious petals from would-be pluckers?”
“Of course.” She had to remind herself that Lyanna had had limited exposure to royalty. “Every noble house has private gardens and greenhouses,” she explained patiently. “I daresay the Empress has quite a few that she keeps entirely to herself.”
“ Entirely .” Lyanna tutted, shaking her head. “Shems and their walls. You’d think they’d have learned by now that these things are far more fun with friends.”
“I think there is some measure of competition in terms of horticulture. Who can develop the finest blooms, for example, or which flowers might produce different toxins or aids-“
“Cassandra,” Lyanna lifted her brows. “…it isn’t actually a painting of a flower.”
“Pardon?”
“It isn’t a flower.”
Cassandra stared at the canvas, then back at Lyanna. “Of course it is. Some variety of orchid, I’m certain.”
Lyanna shook her head, leaning in close, her curls brushing Cassandra’s cheek as she whispered. “…it’s a painting of a woman’s bits.”
“…What bits?”
“Between her legs?”
Cassandra blinked. Then- “No, it isn’t. There’s- It’s petals.” Befuddling. The woman was befuddling, and teasing her. Why did she smell so good?
“Have you ever seen between a lady’s legs, Seeker?” Lyanna’s smirk has returned, her freckles dark against her pale skin. “Perhaps you should trust my judgement.”
“Why should-“ Cassandra felt her cheeks warm. It was a flower . Women didn’t have flowers between their legs. That was a metaphor. That was- She was certain she would have noticed if there was-
“Ohh, nice!” Sera stepped ahead of them, sniffing at the canvas. “Smells wrong. Who’d pay five hundred sovereigns for a chemical-smelling tw-“ She glanced back at them when Lyanna coughed. “What?”
“I am,” Lyanna announced proudly. “For my bedchambers.”
“You could rent a few real ones for that price,” Sera informed her with a laugh as she skipped away. “Ones that smelled proper.”
Like sweet grass and lavender and loam. Cassandra felt her heart beat too quickly. Flowers. Beautiful, multifaceted, dusky petals. She swallowed. “I didn’t realize.”
“I know you didn’t.” Lyanna touched her cheek. “It’s okay.”
Warm fingertips. Or was that her own heat blossoming in her cheeks? Lyanna had never touched her quite that way before. Always nudging or bumping or punching, not- Cassandra had stared down dragons and demons and devils in men’s clothing, but she struggled to keep her gaze even with the Inquisitor’s. “Is it?”
“Yeah.” Lyanna winked, slipping away as Sera studied them curiously, an obvious tilt to her head. “Would you like some less forbidden petals instead? I believe there’s a garden in the center of the gallery.”
“Ah.” Cassandra felt the loss like one of the unexpected punches, but straightened her shoulders. “Yes. Perhaps. If- Yes, I think so.” She wanted to look back at the soft curves again, admire the deepening currents, and let the feelings it evoked wash over her again, but the idea of doing so while they watched her made her hesitate. She could return to the forbidden petals later, when there was time and space to consider. “I’ll do that.”