Chapter Text
Herah Adaar is tall and broad-shouldered, her muscles strong and corded, yet despite her size she moves as gracefully and sleekly as a jungle cat. Her hair is stark white against the dark grey of her skin, her eyes a dancing shade of violet, and Josephine’s heart flutters a little the first time they clasp hands. There is a spark between them – not a literal spark of electricity, no, but rather something unspoken and intangible, something that quickens the blood and sets fire to her skin when the Inquisitor’s hands touch her own, something Josephine has heard people speak of but never truly felt. Not like this.
Oh, my, Josephine thinks, but she is remarkable in a way that Leliana could not convey with words. As for words, she manages to find some to speak, which is a considerable feat. She is not used to feeling this – this taken aback by anything. “I am Josephine Montilyet,” she introduces, conscious of how Leliana watches the two of them with her keen gaze, “and I am to advise you in matters of diplomacy, Your Eminence.”
“I am Herah Adaar,” says the Inquisitor in reply, bowing down a little and raising Josephine’s hand to her lips, brushing them over Josephine’s knuckles ever-so-softly. She straightens up and fixes those brilliant eyes upon Josephine. “And you can call me by my name, not my title, Lady Montilyet.”
“Then I will extend the same offer to you,” Josephine says, her hand still held in Herah’s – the Inquisitor’s are calloused and scarred, hands that could easily kill a man, hands that could easily crush Josephine’s delicate fingers. But Herah holds her hand ever-so-gently, almost cradling it in her own.
“An excellent agreement,” says the Inquisitor, and her smile is bright and honest. “I trust your journey here was peaceful?”
“Relatively peaceful, yes.” There had been demons, but the soldiers and agents escorting Josephine had defeated them easily enough. “My escort was a capable band indeed.”
“That is good to hear,” Herah murmurs, her violet eyes captivating in a way Josephine has rarely encountered. “I fear our living quarters are somewhat dismal at present, but if you should need for anything, do not hesitate to tell me,” she continues. Leliana coughs from nearby. “Ah,” Herah Adaar says, glancing at the Left Hand of the Divine, “I have duties I must attend to.” She releases Josephine’s hand and rubs the back of her neck. “Cullen wished to speak with me, did he not?” she directs at Leliana.
“Yes,” says Leliana, “he did, and he will be waiting now, Your Eminence.”
Herah rolls her eyes then returns her gaze to Josephine. “My apologies,” she says, “but we will meet again later – perhaps at dinner, if you are not too tired?”
“I will be there,” Josephine promises.
“Excellent,” says the Inquisitor, “excellent.” Her smile brightens. “A pleasure to meet you, Josephine.” And then she is gone, slipping through the door gracefully, an imposing figure clad head to toe in tough leather armour.
There is silence for a moment, so Josephine turns to the remaining person in the room. There is a ghost of a smile upon Leliana’s face. “I have never seen her flirt before,” the redhead notes. “You seemed quite captivated.”
“You did not tell me she was like that,” Josephine says. She clasps her hands together. “You could have warned me,” she adds. “She was so – intense, I suppose. Yes, intense – the way she stared at me – she kissed my hand. Does she always do that? Did she do that to you? The others?” Though I can hardly imagine her kissing Cassandra’s hand, she thinks. The Right Hand of the Divine – who she has seen only briefly – is a stern woman, and certainly does not seem as though she would accept Herah Adaar’s lips brushing over her knuckles. Josephine almost laughs.
“That,” says the Left Hand of the Divine, “is the longest Herah has gone without making a joke or jape of some kind. And no, she did not kiss my hand, and she is certainly not always like that. But you...she seems fond of you already.”
“Well,” Josephine says, searching for words, “I suppose that – that I find her charming and certainly interesting. Yes. Interesting.” She clears her throat.
“Look at you, stumbling over your words.” Leliana raises an eyebrow. “Where has your silver tongue gone?”