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“The Templars in Kinloch Hold taught me to swim. Isn’t that weird?” Dagna lay down on an intricately-woven blanket, her face to the bright blue sky above their heads. “The mages aren’t allowed to swim in the lake anymore. One of the Templars missed teaching the young mages how to swim, so he offered to teach me.”
“No kidding.” Sigrun lay next to Dagna, a bit of wheat between her teeth. “I learned when I was with the Legion. Not joking. There are some massive lakes down in the Deep Roads. Some of them are warm – even hot, like a bath.”
“I’ve seen some of them in our lyrium expeditions.” Dagna sat up, looking down at Sigrun. “You should come with us sometime. We always take at least one Warden to track the darkspawn movements.”
“You always take Warden-Commander Seneca,” Sigrun gently corrected her. “Do you know why he goes? He’s bored. The Wardens here weren’t wiped out in the Blight, like they were in Ferelden. It only takes twenty to watch that one big entrance to the Deep Roads. The Imperium has too many Wardens, but none of the other kingdoms want them.”
“You should ask him to go.” Dagna lay a hand on Sigrun’s chest, just below her sternum. “Do it! It’s dangerous but so fascinating.”
“I’m on probation, remember?” Removing the straw from between her lips, Sigrun placed both of her strong hands on top of Dagna’s soft, smaller one as it pressed against her chest. “I don’t get to ask to go on special expeditions. When you’re a Warden, putting an axe in a Darkspawn’s skull is considered fun.”
Dagna didn’t know what to say to that, but she did have all of the feelings that she could muster about the way that she sat there, above Sigrun, looking down at her round, tattooed face and twinkling eyes. There was something both nice and discouraging about this moment. Sigrun was here, now, lying in grass so tall that it hid their position from the prying eyes of Minrathous’s watchtowers. However, they’d be parted the next time Dagna journeyed to the Deep Roads with Lucius and Seneca.
Parted for weeks. Perhaps even months.
Sigrun smiled, her eyes narrowing somewhat. She licked her lips, hesitated, then said, “You know, you’re cute when you pout.”
Had she been pouting? The realization and the compliment – had it been a compliment? – made Dagna blink hard in confusion. “I am?”
She had been told that she was cute before. Somehow, however, she knew that this compliment lay in a completely different context, and this very idea sent shivers up and down her arms.
“Yeah.” Sigrun slid her arms down, bracing them against the ground. “Makes me want to do this.”
Then, without warning, she sat up, placing her lips on Dagna’s.
Sigrun’s lips were warm and tasted of mead, and she smelled of leather and weapon polish and everything fierce and daring that Dagna’s imagination could ever touch. Dagna almost pulled away from the sheer surprise of Sigrun’s kiss – this was her first kiss in years, no, nearly a decade – but she was soon glad that she didn’t. No. There was a finale in the way that Sigrun slid her hands through Dagna’s hair, fingers down and through the strands, and slipped free the bands that held fast her pigtails. Ginger hair ran over their faces and mingled with Sigrun’s own brown locks streaked with grey.
Dagna removed the hand from Sigrun’s breastbone and placed it on her curvy waist. Her hand felt at home there, secure and warm, as every bit of her skin did, straight down to her curling toes.
Her fingers curled, too, but in a questioning manner. Should she remove Sigrun’s pigtails, as well? Is this what was done? She was so inexperienced in such things. For a moment, panic touched her mind, but bled away into a stream of pure calm. The world seemed sleepy, lazy, and simply warm.
As Sigrun broke the kiss, Dagna received the answer with a smile and softly murmured words. “I like everything about you. You know this, right?”
No. Dagna had no idea, but now that she knew, she found herself thrilled by it. And now, she found herself wanting to return the kiss. She wanted to thank Sigrun for being her friend, for saying these wonderful things, and liking her for being simply Dagna. No excuses, no qualifications. This could not be more simple or more pure.
Smiling back, her freckled cheeks flushed, Dagna leaned forward and pressed her lips on one of Sigrun’s cheeks. There, she dwelled for a long time, smelling Sigrun’s scents and committing them to memory as something wonderful and peaceful to put her to sleep at night.