It's after midnight, and Skyhold is as quiet as it ever gets, which is not all that quiet. Varric's room is solid enough to keep out most of the noise, far enough away from the kitchens and the stables and the tavern and whatever Dagna is getting up to in the undercroft, which may or may not explode. They're here in his room, as they always are when they're at Skyhold now, because the workers in the armoury where she used to sleep “start their clanging at some Maker-forsaken hour when decent folk are in bed,” according to him.
Cassandra stirs as the light flickers, the last drops of wax pooling in the lip of the candlestick and the last twist of wick sputtering with flame. She ought to have gone to sleep hours ago, but....
Just one more page. But the candle fails at last, expiring in the softest wisp of smoke, and the room falls into darkness. The fate of the Knight-Captain must remain undiscovered until tomorrow.
She checks a sigh as she drops the book onto the beds