Since they found out how serious she was about Bull, Isala’s closest friends noticed a few things.
After a battle he was there, by her side. A hand resting lightly on her hip, a joke or whole hearted praise followed by his booming laugh. There was a smile on her lips as she dismissed him, a blush that tinged her cheeks and ears when he buries his face into her hair and inhales deeply. His shoulders lifting as he pulled her close. He’d pull back slightly and fire off another joke, another line of praise. This time she wouldn’t brush him off, this time she’d squeeze his hand before moving away from him.
She fussed. There was no other word for what she was doing. She had shooed away healers, her hands glowing brightly as she poked, prodded, stitched and lectured her qunari patient. He would let her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her. There was the occasional joke, the gentle teasing. But he never tried to brush her off, dismissed her concerns like he would anyone else.
At every tavern, ever stall, every cafe or dining hall he would steal a bite of everything before it touched her lips. A roguish smile and bolstering words to hide what he was really doing. But she knew, they both knew. Poison. It was in the slight frown between her brow, the way her smile wavered until he leaned in and kissed her hand. Then she would pick at her meal, watching him, waiting it out just enough for both their comforts. In return she kept his tankard full, paid his tab or brought him dessert. If they were in Skyhold or pre-arranged lodgings the meal was always to his taste in some way. A side dish, the drinks, or the desserts.
Blackwall still didn’t understand it, but that didn’t matter. They did, and it meant the world. Him with his dawnstone blade and her with her dawnstone infused staff. The standard dawnstone dagger that had worked its way into standard Inquisition uniform, nothing extravagant, but noticeable if you knew. Enough for Bull to grin when he saw new recruits stare at the blade puzzled, enough to invigorate him when they used it in the defense of villagers while she ran off to end Corypheus. Enough to mean something to them.
Everyone in the Inquisition had agreed that this was too much. But they couldn’t stop her, the advisors and closer friends tried to sway her but she wouldn’t budge. She had the biggest grin when he returned with the Chargers. A fire in her eyes and a bounce in her step. She was childlike. It almost soothed the dread in everyone’s gut. Seeing her so happy, so filled with life. She wasn’t much for grand gestures, overtly public displays of affection, but this time was an exception. The magic she usually held with tight reigns was dancing around her playfully, adding a warm to the breeze throughout Skyhold. His reaction upon learning what she had brought him made her practically glow. His laughter carried from the stables, echoing as far as the gardens. A dragon she had hatched a bloody dragon for him. It was needless to say that Blackwall moved out of the stables the night it happened. It was also needless to say that the lands she had scouted to the west of Skyhold finally had their tenant once the young dragon started spewing ice.
The Orlesian nobility always whispered of it, and for a time Josephine could not fathom the explanation of it. No longer were Andraste’s grace, lilies, or even roses decorating the Inquisitor’s stationary but frangipanis. It befuddled all the recipients of her letters, all except one. When Josephine found out, when she saw the way Bull’s eye lit up upon seeing the note she had left her with she knew. It was for him. When questioned Isala blinked owlishly, as if it was obvious.
“Because I liked them.” She had said, as if it was in no way tied to the fact that Bull frequently requisitioned them. That she did not have them growing in her room or decorating the shrine of Andruil. Leliana explained why, it made more sense than the simple reasoning of Isala favoring the fragrant flowers. She couldn’t show him that favoritism, couldn’t paint a target on reports for him or even a letter. When explained that way Josephine couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t thought of that.
