stabsbooks | for obi

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 Fantasies of true love and romance had been replaced by the realities of work and duty (though Cassandra had never quite been able to let go of her fondness for romance, if only entirely fictional ones).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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yes, it could," Cassandra says quietly. It could be much worse. He could have already succumbed to his injuries. He could have been dead before she'd even found him.

Quickly, she glances down, trying to hide the look on her face before he catches sight of it, only for Obi-Wan's fingers to brush against her cheek a moment later. Reluctantly, she looks up to meet his eyes, trying to school her worried expression into something neutral.

"I am fine, of course," she says automatically, not knowing whether it's true. Is it? It doesn't matter. Any injuries she's sustained haven't hampered her so far - no pain lancing up her leg as she half-carried Obi-Wan to the cave, no shortness of breath or joints that screamed when she bent them. She shakes her head. "Please, do not worry about me. You - you must rest." The fact that her husband, her soulmate had so narrowly escaped death had shaken her more than she might have thought, and now that he's out of immediate danger, she can feel the fear crawling up her throat, threatening to choke her. Her eyes dart around the cave restlessly, desperate for another task to distract her. This could still go very badly for them both.

"Cassandra," He says, gently, so gently, because as well as she can cover her fear with sternness in most circumstances, she'll never be truly opaque to him. Obi-Wan heaves a breath and continues, "I am resting. I will rest. But you know I can't just stop worrying, anymore than you can. It doesn't work like that."

Love. Soulmates. Worry. None of them are so easily dismissed. He reaches with his other hand then, to pluck at her wrist, trying to draw her closer.

"There's nothing more to be done, just now, and you need to rest too. Take a moment. My leg is broken, but the rest of me isn't. Please, love. Please?"

She's never been able to deny him when he uses that tone, so gentle and patient and understanding. As if he sees right through every part of her, sees and understands and accepts even when she can hardly understand herself, much less accept anything. Her gaze slides back to him and she goes quiet, just listening, trying to believe him. To relax.

She reaches back automatically when he extends a hand out towards her, finding him just as she always has. A long, tired sigh escapes her. It's true, she's exhausted. And he is...safe. For now.

Quietly, compliant now, she nods, and then lowers herself to the ground beside him, careful not to jostle him, to keep him between herself and the fire. He needs the warmth more than she. The ground is hard and cold beneath her, but she pillows her head on Obi-Wan's chest, curling a protective arm around him.

"I thought I had lost you," she says quietly, only able to say it now, in the quiet, not meeting his eyes. "If not for the dracolisk, I would never have found you."

For just a moment he thought she might resist, pay heed to her humming anxiety more than what it meant. But she comes to him willingly and gratitude rises in him, sharp and thick. She settles, and Obi-Wan chooses not to engage in any such battle, about who sleeps where, in relation to the fire; that's one he can't win. It's enough of a victory to feel the weight against his side, the pressure of her arm, and to turn his head and breathe against her hair.

"I..." He falters, slightly, then recovers, "I had a dark moment of my own, down there."

In response to her quiet admission, his own arms close around her, tight. Perhaps too tight, really. Leg broken, body pinned, nothing but cold, cold white, and muffled silence. No sign of life. Nothing but faith, and hope, and pain? Well, anyone might fear the worst.

"I would never leave you, never again."

"That is something you cannot promise me, nor I you."

She knows he would never want to leave her. Never choose to leave her. But Obi-Wan cannot stop death no matter how deep and true his love for her runs. He cannot predict the course of their life together, nor control it. Not entirely.

She presses closer to him, comforted by his arms tight around her, and sighs quietly. The ground is still cold and uncomfortable, but he is soft and reassuring beside her.

"But I will do whatever is in my power to keep you safe."

"Then allow me to promise that much, in return," He replies quietly, "Not that I'm good for much, at the moment."

She heaves a sigh against him, and he doesn't know if it's more about exasperation with his impulse for humor or just the general hardship of the situation. Possibly both.

"Unshaken by the darkness of the world," he quoted, for as of yet, despite all that had happened, leaving them stranded in the cold with-- yes, with snow beginning to fall as the sun set over the mountainside, he did indeed have hope, "Tomorrow. We must find supplies. And a way to signal help, or-- or bring it."

"She shall know true peace," Cassandra murmurs in return, breathing in deep. The one who repents, who has faith... He's right. They cannot lose their faith now.

"Tomorrow," she agrees. "Perhaps...the supplies we carried with us. If they were not buried too deeply by the avalanche..." And if not, there are herbs and berries to pick. Animals to hunt. Somehow, she'll find them food and medicine to get through all of this. At least there's no shortage of water. "We will get through this, Obi-Wan. We will not die, here in this cave."

"That's my girl," He murmurs, pride hand-in-hand with weariness. Even knowing she cannot see it, Obi-Wan smiles, and turns his head slightly to press a kiss against the crown of her head, "Tomorrow."

The snow falls as the darkness does, and the morning rises with a strange, silent closeness. Snow has partly buried the mouth of the cave, and though the banked fire burned low, the snow has trapped some of the heat in with them. It's cold inside, but not deadly. Obi-Wan rouses slowly, stiff and cramping, momentarily confused by his surroundings.

Ah. Ah, yes. And so, it begins.

His girl? Cassandra makes a vaguely disgusted noise, but there's no heat behind it. Exhaustion seems to have crept up on her, claiming her the moment she let her guard down and took a moment to breathe, and her head feels too heavy to move right at the moment, pillowed on Obi-Wan's chest.

She sleeps, and she wakes. By the time Obi-Wan opens his eyes, Cassandra's been up for an hour, moving as silently as she can as she tends the fire, melts snow into water, and takes inventory of their meager supplies.

She looks up at the sound of him stirring, and moves quickly over to his side. Better if he does not try to go anywhere too quickly.

"My love. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough, my dear," he tells her, when he's mastered himself to do so without pain in his voice-- or, no more than necessary, "Given the circumstances, I can't complain."

He could obviously complain. But it would be pointless, so Obi-Wan does has can to improve the situation by not doing so. Instead, he smiles. And well he might; only yesterday he'd spent a long, terrifying stretch of hours not knowing if she were alive or dead, and believing he too might die, trapped under the snow, broken by falling detritus. Now he's stiff, injured, but alive: even in the grey, wan light that filters into their little sanctum, she is easily the most beautiful thing in the world.

"You must've been awake for some time. How are you?"

There's a delay before he replies, one she knows him well enough to notice, even if no one else would have. Cassandra frowns slightly, but he reassures her before she can speak - truthfully or not, she doesn't know.

But he smiles, and she can't help but smile back, reaching instinctively to take his hand.

"I am fine," she says, and then, before he can disbelieve her, "Truly. There is some bruising, I think, and I will ache for a few days, but...I am uninjured." Unlike him. Her gaze drifts down to his leg, and then back up to his face.

"Are you in much pain?"

His first impulse is to lie, to comfort her and say that it isn't so bad. That part wouldn't even be a lie, from a certain way of thinking; compared to the previous day, the dull, pulsing agony was indeed much less. It sat against his bones and seemed to radiate from toes to spine, making every thought a little hazy but-- no. Not so bad as it had been.

"Truthfully?" But even as Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say it, he hesitates, then puts the notion away. No, he doesn't want to lie to her, "...Yes. But I can bear it, for now. Not that there's much choice."

His smile grows a little lopsided, a little rueful. Maker knows he can't help it.

"If I have to be stuck in a cave with a broken leg, I'm glad it's with you."

Of course truthfully. Why would she ask, otherwise? Especially since, after all, he's the one who had been injured. Hiding his condition from her now would do them no good at all.

But he does admit the truth, and she nods, solemn and thoughtful. It's not as though there's much she can do to ease the pain now, apart from keeping him as comfortable as possible. Which means...warm. And fed.

"You will tell me if it gets worse," she tells him, more a fact than an instruction, and despite herself, she smiles back. Damn him and the way he looks at her.

"I can hardly imagine anyone wishing to be stuck here alone," she says, deliberately misinterpreting his words, and shakes her head, her smile fading and her expression becoming earnest.

"We will not stay here any longer than we have to. I swear it."

"Yes, it could be worse. You could be stuck here with... oh... I don't know," He tried to think of the person most likely to drive Cassandra to tromping down the mountainside on her own, in a fury, "Messere Tethras, perhaps?"

She probably wouldn't have killed the dwarf, but Obi-Wan wouldn't have been surprised to see him come home with a blacked eye. And a long list of complaints. Obi-Wan's teasing grin is irascible.

"If there's a plan, I'd be glad to hear it."

"Ugh."

The sound she makes is utterly disgusted, accompanied by a roll of her eyes, and probably exactly the reaction Obi-Wan had been hoping to elicit. Cassandra shakes her head. It's true, she can think of no worse fate than being trapped here with Varric of all people.

"Yes, it could be worse," she agrees, and smiles, shaking her head at her husband's delighted grin. "For now, I think, the plan is breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"I--" He begins to temporize and as if on cue his stomach gurgles the answer, loud in the echoing confines of their little cave. Obi-Wan offers a sheepish shrug, as much as anyone can while prone, "...I am."

For all that the menu is unlikely to be more exciting that travel-food heated over a fire or boiled in melt-water, he is hungry enough to make a feast out of hardtack and jerky. While she busies herself with the actual business of food, the question occurs to him.

"Why do you dislike Varric so much? He doesn't seem so bad. Well, except-- He's fine, for the most part."

It seems he is. Cassandra smiles indulgently, moving without comment to her pack to see what she can find for their breakfast. She glances up in surprise at Obi-Wan's question, opening her mouth as if the answer is obvious, only to pause.

"I..." She frowns, poking through her pack. "He is...He is so...He is so frustrating."

Even here, with Varric hundreds of miles away and likely not thinking of her at all - just trying to explain just what it is about him is frustrating. Her frown deepens as she pulls hardtack of her bag at last.

Obi-Wan's chuckle is quiet, set in the back of his throat as he lays back, watching her. He knows her annoyance is genuine and yet-- the honest passion of it, is undeniably endearing.

"I've been corresponding with Varric, lately," He tells her, while she traumatizes the dried goods in lieu of convenient dwarfish targets, "Plotting things, you know. I meant to keep it a secret. But, I'm also dying to ruin the surprise."

Cassandra scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pulls out their breakfast. A poor one, but they'll have to make do. Perhaps she can find some nugs for their dinner, or even a snoufleur...

"What can you possibly have been plotting with Varric?" she asks disdainfully, only half-listening, half-worried about how she's going to keep herself and Obi-Wan fed. "Whatever it is, it can't be anything good."

"I asked him for a favor. Well-- the Inquisitor asked him for me. I doubt he would've gone to the trouble without her influence."

He watches her work, distracted, concern a tight knot between her eyes. She's not wrong to worry-- the situation hasn't gotten any less desperate, merely because it hasn't gotten any moreso. He longs to be able to sit up, to help. To hunt, or set a snare, or try and figure out where they are or anything at all aside from simply lying here like a cut log. It isn't in his nature to simply wait and be done for.

"It was meant to be a name-day gift," He continues, quietly, "A sequel to the latest Swords and Shields book. I know it's your favorite."

It's good that Obi-Wan's talking, even if she can't bring herself to be all that invested in his story. Varric is hardly her favorite subject, after all, especially after being forced to consider just what it is about him she finds so irritating, and besides, she has plenty else to occupy her mind just at the moment. Still, better than him feeling helpless, or depressed at his situation. Cassandra's more than happy to indulge him. She listens politely, nothing more, as she brings his portion of the hardtack over to him -

And promptly freezes, breakfast and avalanche and all the rest forgotten as she stares with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Swords and Shields...?"

"Yes? That's-- I have got the right book title, haven't I?"

It would turn out that he'd told them the wrong one, that would be the crowning achievement of this little journey in the snow. Lost men and horses, broke his leg, probably going to die in a cave, and at the end of it all the gift was wrong.

"I saw you reading in the practice-yard, when you were resting. You seemed, as if you must've felt embarrassed, so I-- but you were smiling," He remembers sit clearly, the way she bent over the pages, smiling that soft, delighted little smile. He'd never seen her like that, had been enraptured by the glimpse into that quiet, private moment. Too much so to simply ask, "So I thought, just the same, it might be a nice surprise."

Cassandra hardly hears him. It's a wonder she hasn't dropped their food. She sinks to her knees beside him, sitting back on her heels.

"I thought he had abandoned it," she says quietly. "I have waited years for a sequel, while it seemed he wrote everything but. The latest chapter ends on a cliffhanger, and I - "

She cuts herself off, staring at Obi-Wan.

"You...asked him to write a sequel? For me?"

Gently, he sets a hand on her knee as he speaks. Clearly, he underestimated how strongly this would strike her. But then, wasn't that always the way? She never ceased to surprise him.

"Of course. Though I'm not certain he knows it was for you, exactly," He thinks on that for a moment. Did Varric know? Or did he think Obi-Wan himself was the desirous reader? That would make for some interesting gossip, "...There was a letter, in my pack. I don't know where it got to. He wrote that it was finished, off to the printer. The bound edition ought to be sitting in our rooms by the time we got back to Skyhold."

Which means it'll have gathered a fine skin of dust, long before either of them return to read it.

"Are you alright?"

That much is probably for the best - there would be no end to his teasing, if Varric ever found out that she read his books. Let alone the romance novel, of all things.

She blinks in surprise at Obi-Wan's concerned question - why would she not be all right? - and shakes her head, dismissing his worry. Somehow she can't seem to find the words for what she wants to say, and so instead she surges forward, cupping his face gently in both hands and kissing him passionately, there where he lies on the cold stone ground.

She breaks away from him after a moment, looking away from him, oddly shy. But she can't hide her smile.

"Thank you."

for obi_wanmanshow

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

omg this is so late, i'm so sorry

it's ok!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

shows up late, with starbucks

dusts off journal