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for obi_wanmanshow

The name had been a part of her nearly all her life, as familiar to her as her own. When it had first appeared - glowing golden script on her inner arm - she had been fascinated, spending hours upon hours staring at it, tracing the letters with one finger, dreaming about the kind of person her soulmate might be. The name was strange to her, not Nevarran or Orlesian or anything she had heard of, but that had only added to the mystery and excitement.

His name had appeared on her skin at the time of her first flowering - one more marker on her path from girlhood into womanhood. If she had been the sort to go to school and have friends, it might have been the kind of thing to giggle over with the other girls, to shyly hide away, only to shriek in feigned indigence when her sleeve was playfully pushed up and the name finally revealed. As it was, Cassandra learned from tutors, and rarely had contact with other children. The name, like her beloved books and dreams of dragon-hunting, became a solitary escape, a daydream of a better life.

Both had faded, in time, as such things do. Fantasies of true love and romance had been replaced by the realities of work and duty (though Cassandra had never quite been able to let go of her fondness for romance, if only entirely fictional ones). And the name on her arm had faded from a bright gold to something duller and duller as the years went on, until it was something that could not be seen at all except in the brightest light of day.

(The longer it took, they said, the more your soulmate's name faded, the less likely you were ever to find him at all. And this one - an unknown, foreign name, one belonging to a man who clearly lacked either the interest or the means to seek out a soulmate with the name Pentaghast, well...)

Cassandra herself couldn't say exactly when it was she had stopped expecting to find him. Certainly it had been nothing overnight, no sudden revelation. She had simply woken up one day, no longer a girl in her twenties eager to make the world her own, but a woman in her late thirties - accomplished, certainly, perhaps even fulfilled - but utterly alone, and more and more likely to stay that way.

But the name is still a part of her, as much as it ever had been. And so it is that when she hears it spoken aloud for the first time, she doesn't even blink; hearing the words she had whispered so reverently to herself for twenty-five years is as natural as breathing.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi." She nods sharply, focused on her work, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her mind that is urgently whispering something, something is happening, this is important - She holds her hand out to shake - her arms, as they always are these days, fully covered by long sleeves that meet her gloves, the barely-visible name securely hidden from even the most prying eyes. "I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast."

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Cassandra follows, pausing momentarily to look around - surely there must be sleeping clothes somewhere - before she notices Obi-Wan, sitting fully nude on the bed, seemingly content to remain that way.

Oh. Perhaps sleeping clothes are not so important, after all.

Not nearly as important as it suddenly seems to be near him, in any case; she feels drawn to him, as a moth to a flame, and changes her path to follow, settling in against him.

"I feel the same," she admits. "I was so...so nervous, so afraid, and now..."

She takes his hand in hers, threading their fingers together.

"I cannot imagine being without you."

He only smiles and, after a moment, lifts their joined hands to kiss her fingertips and knuckles, softened by the bath, but never all the way. A lifelong habit of swordsmanship is beyond the work of a single bath to erase, from anyone's hands. And here again, that indulgent urge, that makes him turn her hand and press another kiss against the pulsing smoothness of her wrist, just above the first curl of gold.

"Bed?"

It's not the way he asked, before, no fervent passion. He's tired, and he wants only to hold on, and to rest together.

"I - "

Her lips curve up into a smile at his touch, her fingers curling close around his.

"I - I cannot. Not tonight." She's not sure if he's asking or not - she thinks he might not be. But she feels the need to warn him, all the same, and prevent his being too disappointed.

"I want to." Her eyes flick quickly up to his; oh, how she wants to, how she wants to feel that connection with him again, that pure, unsullied moment of ecstasy. "But I am...I am tired. I need to sleep."

A soft kiss, pressed to his cheek.

"I am sorry."

He laughs, catches her kiss and returns it in kind, "I meant, to sleep, love."

Her sincerity, the urgent honesty of her, may one day soon be as exasperating as only the truly faithful can be, but for now he finds it charming. For now, he smiles and draws her closer.

"I'm tired too," It's been... a long day. A wonderful, breathless, glorious day, but the Obi-Wan who watched the greying sunrise seems like a man from another lifetime, and this Obi-Wan is bearing all his debts, "As they say, the soul is willing, but flesh weak. Let's go to bed."

"Oh."

She's momentarily flustered, staring at him, not knowing what to do with her hands. But she never needs to decide; he pulls her in, understanding and affectionate, and Cassandra smiles back, leaning in against him. Skin to skin, but nothing titillating about it now, just simple, trusting intimacy and comfort.

She slides an arm around his waist, nuzzling in against him. In a moment they will have to move, to part if only for the short time it takes to climb into bed and settle themselves in under the covers, but first...

"I should like that. Very much."

So they sit together, just a moment, and he breathes in the smell of her hair. Then, however briefly, he pulls away. Only long enough to draw back the covers, to reach for her hand and pull her close again, and draw them up around the both of them, warm, secure, and safe.

He cannot stifle the heartfelt sigh, or the mumbled words against her hair as she settles against him: I love you.

Sleep comes upon Obi-Wan like a wave, as if the Fade rolled up and took him, gently, down into green waters, dreaming. Slowly, then all at once.

Make me to rest in the warmest places.

Surely Andraste, in her hour of desperation, in her cry born of hope and faith, had meant nothing more nor less than this. Obi-Wan's arm wraps around her, his body flush against hers, and Cassandra leans into him, sighing in turn as he tucks the blankets around them both. All is warm and dark and quiet, and she has never felt so at peace, nor so loved. She murmurs wordless affirmation in return, curling her arm over his waist, and closes her eyes, willingly submitting to oblivion.

When she wakes, she is aware, first, of the pain.

The early morning light filters through a gap in the curtains, golden sunbeams catching the dust in the air. Her love slumbers beside her, his chest rising and falling slowly under her cheek, one arm still slung carelessly over her shoulders. And when she dares to shift one leg, she has to bite her lip against a cry at the ache between them.

She does so, sucking in a quiet breath, eyes squeezing shut. Of course. Naturally, it makes sense. But she will not wake Obi-Wan with a groan of agony, will not let the memory of their first morning together be marred forever by this. She breathes shallowly, trying not to move, focusing only on the peace and silence of the morning, of his comforting presence beside her. He is here with her, and all will be well.

Obi-Wan stirs nevertheless, turning his face more towards her, groaning the formless sleepy groan of someone who is recognizing the inevitable approach wakefulness. He inhales deeply, radiating content and for a moment, it seems as if he might simply go back to sleep. Then his hand moves, the one at her back, a drowsy caress, half-unaware. His breathing is no longer so deep, nor so even; after some few minutes, he takes another deep breath, another sigh.

"Good morning," He murmurs, accent rough with sleep, and drops a haphazard kiss against her hairline, "Sleep well?"

She can feel him waking before he truly moves, and closes her eyes, the better to listen and to feel as his breathing changes, as he begins to stir. A few moments more of rest - but in truth, she is wide awake, and eager to see what the day brings.

Her eyes open once more at the kiss, and she tilts her head up, dark eyes meeting his.

"I have never slept better." She smiles, and leans in for another kiss, deep and lingering. "Good morning, my love."

"Then it is a good morning," he says, admiring her in the noonish light filtering through the windowcurtains, "I had the same."

His lips smile against hers when she kisses him, helpless joy taking precedence to the more usual reaction-- but he does react, opening easily beneath her insistent mouth, pliant as a new shoot. Well, mostly pliant, and he has the grace to blush about that, pink all the way to his ears.

"Ah, excuse my... me," If there is any justice in the world, the Maker, Andraste, and hopefully Cassandra herself will have mercy on him; he's mortified, "I'm not yet used to waking up in the arms of a beautiful woman."

This is surely a flirt, a teasing one at that; but his smile is soft, and fond.

"How are you feeling? Yesterday was... a little intense, at times."

Cassandra laughs lightly, trailing a hand down his chest. It is a little strange, waking up to that, but then, it is strange waking up next to anyone at all.

Strange, but good. Good in the way his arm curls around her shoulders, in the affectionate way he smiles at her.

"There is nothing to excuse," she reassures him, and hums vaguely. Once she might have avoided answering such a question, not out of any shame but simply to avoid the fuss and unnecessary concern that must follow. Pain can be borne, but constant questioning of her well-being and refusal to allow her to do anything is something else.

But hiding the truth from Obi-Wan has never done her any good so far, and being open and honest with him has only ever benefited them both. She sighs, shifting slightly and wincing as she moves her legs.

"I am...sore," she admits. "A little. But it is...it is normal, I think. I am certain it will pass."

His immediate reaction is clear in the wrinkling of his brow and the way his hands, still sleep-warm, skim up her back in automatic, protective instinct. But even as he inhales to speak, the concern in him is muted, tempered somewhat, by the knowledge of her, and her strength.

"You will tell me, if it starts to seem more than it should be?" He is not unconscious of the gift of her honesty, despite his own concern for her well-being. Something about the powerful vulnerability of last night's Cassandra inspires a natural protectiveness that Obi-Wan cherishes, even as he scoffs at it's ridiculousness, "You know your own limits, I'm sure, impressive as they must be."

Learning to ride a horse inspired that special agony of using unused muscles in unusual ways. What else, then, for this form of 'riding'? It was a necessary price of the action. It will pass.

"I just hate to think of you as being in pain, on my account."

Cassandra chuckles lightly, carefully shifting further until she is lying on her front at his side, and can look up to see his face.

"I do not know how impressive I may be," she says with a roll of her eyes. "But I..."

She pauses, brushing her fingers across the expanse of his chest. Fondly, perhaps a little possessive in the way her hand lingers above his ribcage.

"It was not only on your account." Dark eyes meet his, and she smiles, just the barest quirk of her lips, almost shy. "I enjoyed myself as well. I do not regret anything."

"Ah, well," He stammers, caught in that gaze, snagged by the sudden, unanticipated intensity, "Good. Yes."

He remembers just such a gaze though through a gauzy veil and the candle-glow of the wedding. Automatically, his hand comes up to cover hers, acceptance of the sentiment, and a return of the same in the pressure that invites her to keep from drawing away.

"I had thought as much, from what I heard," he murmurs, the answering tick of a smile curling into existance even as the curl of his smallest finger brushes unconsciously along the gold of his name on her skin, "I have no regrets, either, I-- it was... a night to remember."

His hesitation, in this instance, only makes her more confident. Cassandra does not blush now, but smiles wider, gaze darkening further still.

"You heard correctly," she murmurs, and bends her head to drop a kiss to the arm still loosely curled around her.

A night to remember.

"I shall - " She stops, thinking of her lost month, of how she had forgotten not only their short time together, but his existence entirely.

"Never again." She goes up on one elbow, stretching toward him for a kiss, if only he will meet her midway. "I shall never forget you again."

He met her wordless request, simple touch and tender, smiling as they leaned back. He didn't doubt her sincerity; the vows of a Seeker were sacrosanct, and even if that had not been so, her word certainly was.

"Well, now--"

And that was the moment, when it all went to hell. The courier burst in, shouting something about kirkwall, and chantries, waving a thin ribbon of message-paper. Then he rushed out, red-faced. What followed was utter bedlam, utterly disrupting the peace of the morning, and indeed the peace of all Thedas, such as it was.

The Kirkwall Chantry, home of the Grand Cleric of the entire Free Marches, had been destroyed, and the rumors as to why and how were mayfly rumors, numerous and indistinguishable from the uncertain truth.

What was certain was this: the Circle there had not been annulled, but instead had simply dissolved, hundreds of mages turned apostate in the span of a single day. What was clear was that many more would follow-- and that the Templar Order would necessarily have to respond. Indeed the highest-ranked Templars, and any who were free from more immediate duties, were already gathering at the White Spire.

All this Obi-Wan contemplated, or was told, as he buckled on his armor. As he watched Cassandra do the same; and that was always the thing, wasn't it? They ought to have had more time. But the world didn't operate on should have, only on what was; he offered her a rueful, wry smile for the circumstance.

"You have to go," He acknowledges, quietly. As the senior Seeker on hand, and the Right Hand, the duty would fall to her, "And, I....have to stay."

He gave her his oath, as her husband, but he gave his own to the Order, long before he met her. The boundaries of duty lay clear, much to his regret.

Edited 2016-09-10 20:46 (UTC)

Cassandra stands with her head bowed, her hands clasped in his. The carriage that will take her to Kirkwall waits outside; Obi-Wan likewise has his own orders.

It isn't fair. This is meant to be a celebration: a sacred, joyous time for her and Obi-Wan alone. After all they have been through, all the time they have waited, Obi-Wan's imprisonment and her own lost memories -

And now this. A single night together, and they are to be parted once again.

"I will return to you," she promises, her expression grave. "As soon as it is possible. And I will think of you, every moment until we are together again. And write - and write to you. Every day."

Her eyes search his face, anxious and pleading. Every moment that passes is one moment closer to the time when she has to leave him.

"Will you also write to me?"

"I will, whenever I can," He promises her, with all the solemnity such a vow is due. He lifts their joined hands and kisses her knuckles, lingers there a moment, clearly loath to let go, or step away, "You stay safe, and I'll be the same, when you return."

Speak of faith and the trials of Andraste; and Obi-Wan, he'd walk through fire, for this woman. This is that faith, when he looks at her, now.

"There'll be time, love, for the two of us. Even if it seems like the world is determined to turn itself inside out in the meantime."

She nods silently, unable, at first, to say a word. There is a lump in her throat, threatening to choke her, and she swallows past it roughly.

"Maker watch over you, and keep you safe," she murmurs at last. She curls her fingers tighter around his, and leans up to press a desperate, urgent kiss to his lips.

"I love you, my husband. I will return to your side."

He means to be dignified, certainly, but instead when she moves into the kiss he responds with a little too much fervor, a little too much of his own desperate unhappiness at their separation. He lets go of her hands, reaches instead to cup her face close to his, practically obscene in the sudden emotion of the moment. And even when the necessary break comes, he doesn't quite let go. He lingers again, just a moment, foreheads pressed together, trying to say with the pressure of skin what words can only make seem hollow.

"I love you."

I love you, I love you, I love you

"And may the Maker watch over you as well. Your part is the more dangerous of the two," He says it in very nearly a whisper. Behind him, the door opens and there is a general air of arrested momentum, of the waiting messengers and attendants of travel very much wishing they could somehow both intrude and not intrude on what is so obviously a private moment, "We'd better go. Now, or... we might not be able to let go at all."

Duty calls.

She does not cry. The idea of it - the Right Hand of the Divine weeping, over so small a thing as to be separated from her husband for a few short weeks! It is unthinkable. Impossible, utterly so.

And yet, despite all of this, there is an undeniable tremor in her breath as Obi-Wan brings his hands to her face and they stand, foreheads pressed close together. And yet, her eyelashes are inexplicably wet when they finally part and she looks up to meet his gaze.

She nods again, a tiny movement, as she looks at him, oblivious to the attendants standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Of course," she whispers, hand flat against the front of his chestpiece. "I -"

But there is nothing to say that has not been said already, nothing they do not both already know. There is no need to exchange tokens or reminders; Obi-Wan's favor is already written into Cassandra's skin, and hers likewise burned into his.

With a last, lingering look, she steps away from him, turns, and is gone.

A few short weeks. Then a month. The world is dissolved in chaos and fire, it seems. Of course he writes, everything he can, and sends the letters before even reading Cassandra's, if only because the Ravens Leliana sends to carry them are so much more reliable than couriers and mail-runners and the other birds he might have used. If only because he knows, they'll always return to the Left Hand, and where one hand is, so the other is not far behind.

The Circles are falling apart, he writes, and tells her of the strife of the Order, the internal debate, the conflict. Circles voting to break from the Chantry, knight-commanders calling for the Right of Annulment in response, madness at every corner. He councils patience, and compassion, but one voice among so many...

The Templar Order moves out of Val Royeaux proper, and the White Spire's end is...

The less said about the specifics of anything, the better. The world is turned upside down, like a carelessly thrown box, and all the contents tossed about and jumbled inside. For lack of a better plan, he stays with his brothers in the Templar Order. He writes of the grief, of how many of them had soulmates among the mages, or among those killed in the fighting. A half-bonded man is only half-alive, they say; well, he sees the shadows in their eyes, and knows what truth their is of it. He writes to Cassandra, and sends his letters, and prays to the Maker for guidance, for forgiveness, and for strength.

The Divine is calling a conclave, a meeting of both the Mages and Templars. And the now-free Mages, rag-tag group that they are, scattered and in hiding, but still resolute in their freedom, will come. Obi-Wan speaks out for peace, for level headedness, and for once he is heard. The Templars send their leaders, and Obi-Wan travels with them, towards the once-quiet town of Haven. Towards the fabled site of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

He writes to Cassandra, I am coming, and though the road is grim with snow, his heart is lighter than it has been in all the time since they parted.

Cassandra goes to Kirkwall, as she is ordered, and dutifully investigates the explosion at the Chantry, the woman called Hawke and her associates. It is difficult to bear, to see the pain and anguish the residents have suffered, the burned-out ruins of the once proud Chantry. Difficult to listen to accounts of the unease and disquiet now spreading all across Thedas. Mages rebelling. Circles falling. Every time a new report comes in, her heart jumps into her throat, and it does not ease until she receives the next letter from Obi-Wan. If she cannot know for certain his status now, she is at least reassured that he was alive, two days before or three, alive and safe and able to write.

The dwarf is less than helpful, though he becomes marginally more so after she puts a knife through his book. He is irritating, exasperating, and far too taken with himself, but he seems to know enough useful information that she brings him along when she makes for Divine Justinia in Haven.

Haven. The Conclave. The Divine.

And Obi-Wan.

She sleeps better than she might have imagined, swaying in her hammock on the long sea journey along the coast. Obi-Wan's letter is clutched tightly to her chest, her own reply secured tightly to the raven's leg as it soars over the treetops and makes its way back to him.

We will be together soon, my love.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes is a beautiful building. It must be, he can only presume, much older than the town of Haven, much older indeed than Ferelden itself. It is an enormous space, catacombed with halls and chambers and tunnels, all in varying states of disrepair, but well enough for the purpose. One can only imagine who built it, or why-- though it is Obi-Wan's private fancy that these vaulted chambers were built as a cathedral meant for Andraste herself. It is not hard to look at the bones of the grand central chambers and imagine the chant of light filling the room, though of course this is pure fancy. Andraste never lived to come this far south, though they say her ashes were interred here, in secret. It is, in its own sad way, very beautiful.

If only for the tension of those who have come, however temporarily, to call it their home. And tension there is, indeed, Templars and mages eying one another with equal measure of distrust and overt courtesy, as if politesse were just another shield, another barbed weapon. Every day, while they wait for the Divine's arrival, he has to put out fires, quell petty fights.

And her letter comes; he could weep for the joy of it. They are coming, first by sea, but then-- someone spots the approaching party, all banners and armed entourage. All the magic and knights-templar of the world may be at war, but the Seekers still stand behind the Sunburst Throne, just as the Knight-Enchanters stand before it, each in harmony enough with the other. It is an inspiring sight.

He sees her there, and though it would be almost unforgivably unseemly to simply run to her in the snow, he cannot stop the splitting grin as she approaches. His wife, his Cassandra, gleaming and dark in her armor, and everything he's dreamed of.

He couldn't know that, just a few days hence, the unthinkable would happen, yet again.

Edited 2016-09-12 06:30 (UTC)

A long, harrowing journey - across the sea, then overland to the town of Haven, and finally up into the mountains to the Temple itself. The journey seems to last an eternity. Every step brings her closer to Obi-Wan...and yet every step only serves to remind her of just how much further there is to go.

Finally, they arrive. Cassandra scans the line of Templars eagerly, if surreptitiously, but if Obi-Wan is among them (he must be) she does not see him. A disappointment, but one she must bear. There will be time once everything is settled, and plenty of it. At least she feels secure in the knowledge that Leliana and even Justinia herself will not keep her unduly; Leliana must be the most eager person in the world to see the two of them reunited, save Cassandra and Obi-Wan themselves.

But first, duty. She accompanies Justinia as she enters the temple, goes with her to her own chambers, where she will rest after her long journey. But the Left and Right Hands enjoy no such rest. Task after task, quelling disagreements, navigating disputes, working out complicated logistics and navigating tricky diplomatic waters -

There is no time, not even to find him and arrange for shared quarters. It would do little good anyway; Cassandra collapses into bed exhausted to the bone, feeling certain that even Obi-Wan's presence could not have kept her awake a moment longer. Tomorrow, she thinks as she drifts into the Fade, tomorrow, they will be reunited...

But the dawn comes with new orders, new duties. She and Leliana both are to leave the Temple entirely, to return to Haven until the Conclave begins proper. Only a few days more. There is important work to be done there, Cassandra cannot deny, but even Leliana gives her a pitying, sympathetic look as they receive their orders and prepare to leave.

She explains it all in a letter as soon as she reaches Haven. It is unfortunate, truly, but they both have their duty to consider. In any case, it is only a few days now - and now the ravens will carry their messages faster than ever. She is well, she assures him, and her heart feels lighter simply knowing that he is near, that he is working and breathing under the same sky as her, only a few short leagues away. Soon, soon their long wait will be over for it, and their reunion all the sweeter for the anticipation.

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