#davalentines

This letter should find you before nightfall on Hearts' Day at the latest. If it comes earlier, that's more than fine by me. Just read this whenever you have time.

Weisshaupt's coming along. Everything had better be going fine at Skyhold. Whenever we leave that place I feel like it's going to disappear in a snowstorm by the time I'm back, and now I'm just thinking of how you'd rip it down if you got one more letter from a noble you thought was mocking you. Maybe you've just set up a permanent settlement on the tavern roof with Sera. That'd do both of you good. Popular destination for the bold and endearing.

Since your last letter, I wasn't sure how you were. You've always got a lot on your plate, but if things are getting to be too much, everyone's got open ears for you. If it's a lot, you can confide one thing per person. The commander would have good advice if you think you're reaching capacity, Sera sucks up all the bad energy in a room just by opening her mouth, and Cole can... well, you could probably go to him about anything, if you'd like.

You make me want to be a better man. I know you say I already am, so maybe wanting to be something starts you on your way to it as long as you're making the right choices. You feel the same sometimes — I know you do. With this mantle on your shoulders... You start things. You do things, you say things, and it's for others first, not yourself. I hope when you're alone, you know you've always been somebody. Not just now. If I might be presumptuous — I don't know if you've ever been as important to a single person as much as you are to me, in the way you are to me. And every day, I'll try to be worthy of bearing a love for someone so significant.

To The Inquisitor; the Herald of Andraste ex officio:

Hopefully that salutation will deter anyone thinking to peek in on a racy love letter. This week, you have decided to brave the Wastes, merciless as they are, without a support mage present. I will not hold a grudge. You may never return at all, having been swallowed whole by a bloodthirsty Varghest for your foolishness. I will not hold a grudge. Instead I will dutifully keep you informed:

Instigating a ruckus over the arrow tournament, Sera was ejected from the inn twice. Leliana's crows are no less cacophonic than when you left. Sweet nothings and gifts have been exchanged all week, leading up to Hearts' Day, a Fereldan custom. You are missing it, vhenan. The wind itself is warm. And the infirmary you set plans for has been coming along with due efficiency.

Unlike that of many raised to a status such as yours, the determination in you is not blighted with destruction. Your will is separate from your position and from any magical or physical prowess. It is a will of the self, formed from hardship, as well as your actions during respites. The world has set a hard grip on your spirit; like the blood beneath a bruise, it will continue to flush brighter. You will endure a great deal, and that strength will not cost you your self. Let this knowledge bolster you through anything unexpected.

I have forsaken journeys through the Fade for dreams of you. Return soon, please.

I've been walking the halls convinced that I will turn a corner and be set upon by a delivery boy brandishing flowers. Last Hearts' Day was surprising enough, and you were present for that. Regardless, I wish you were still here now. I would not like to be surprised on Hearts' Day without you beside me to shove, and I do not like the idea of not hearing from you at all. You can see how these things conflict, can't you. I talked you into going on this excavation at all, and then you did not take me with you.

I have never met anyone like you in all my life. I believe you may even be more than what I have made of you. You celebrate a love for me that I've realise I should harbour towards myself, as well. I once thought it necessary to be so hard on myself. I did not enjoy it, but when has duty ever been enjoyable? But there is a duty to oneself. Wearing oneself thin starves the soul we owe to the Maker. There's less pressure upon me to hasten toward my goals, to hurt myself and ignore it. Each day is an accomplishment in itself if we keep our goals in sight and in mind.

Spending my evenings with you after days filled with work is the only pleasure I would never feel guilty for. So I will see to my duties, and hope for the moon to linger in the sky on the night of your return.

— Cassandra

[The letter is lightly scented with marjoram and sweetberry perfume, and has been clipped to an stack of confidential papers.] 

Happy Hearts’ Day to the fine Inquisitor. ❤  At least I do hope this is delivered on time. 

In most well-educated circles, you do not strike through words in a letter. You draft the letter many times before you write it, down to the very flourishes of your cursive, so that the one you write is perfect. Not doing so could lose you your fingers in Orlais. If any mistake is made, you get fresh vellum and begin again. Oh, you cannot imagine the amount of vellum I have discarded today. I thought I would be experienced enough to be well-suited to writing love letters, but it seems my experience extends only to forgeries!

Here is what you’re missing: for today I had personally ordered the finest wine in all Orlais, a platter of local delicacies from each of our Holds, five thick cashmere quilts, and at Leliana's suggestion, a basket of nugs. (You can guess which is a jest, but you will be wrong.) I write this to you with a full stomach and warm toes. 

There is such strength in being compassionate not only for cases of emotional barter. I had not been too confident in this until I met you. You are brave in your affection, and I always expect it to have some ramifications, but any are yet to appear. I will always be by your side, for the Inquisition, for my gratitude, and also for myself  — I am very greedy about you! To a flaw, I should think. 

Truly, it is such a pity we can’t spend Hearts’ Day together — but in Antiva we celebrate Hearts’ Day in Justinian, so I’m not as heartbroken as you expect me to be. 12 Justinian, to be precise.

[The letter has been folded over several times and wrapped in leather to keep it dry.]

Hey, kadan. Sorry I can't be there for Hearts' Day - we got four leagues into the Coast before I realised: "well, shit." Giving this to Stitches - he's got the longest legs - and hitting him on the ass so hard he'll be giving this to you cross-eyed. But, on time. Do you even celebrate this? Ah, fuck it if you don't. You can throw this out and yell at me later. 

Everyone sends their regards and all. Krem told me to tell you hey from him specifically. So, picture him, lying out on a bench, waving a small bottle and going "Chief! Me too. By name." Little bit slurred. We weren't getting drunk on the job, promise. Just getting drunk with loot from the job.

I'm not there to loosen you up for the next while, so you look after yourself. Waste time. You're fucking indestructible, boss. Doesn't mean you can't make yourself a blanket fort at the end of a hard day. Yeah, I know you do that. Of course I know you do that. I do that.  

I used to... click into gear. A lot. Even with you, but you get that. After we fucked up Corypheus, I thought, I can say or do anything and compromise nothing. Tal-Vashoth make their own consequences. Now I'm thinking it's got to do with being in a good place. The Inquisition. The Chargers. With you, kadan. So, thanks.

I'm not always so tensed up now. Guess I learned you don't just protect something by fighting beside it. Fighting's still fantastic. I just love you, too.