Archive of Our Own ^beta

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i.

It's a game of Wicked Grace that everyone is swiftly becoming too drunk to play. Cassandra, flushed and tipsy, drops her cards on the floor

She leans over to scoop them up at the same time Varric, sitting a little ways away on the next bench, does. Their hands brush together. Their eyes lock. To Cassandra's ears, it seems like even the background noise fades out.

"Seeker…" Varric says with a drawl, one finger twitching against the back of Cassandra's hand. He wets his lips with his tongue and she follows the motion with her eyes.

Someone (probably Sera, or maybe -- no, definitely Sera; that particular brand of cussing is unmistakable) tips over backward in their chair and the moment shatters like a piece of spun glass.

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ii.

Something hits Varric in the back, square between his shoulders. He's sturdy, but whatever hit him felt like a ton of bricks and he goes down hard. He can't see who or where, but he hears the loud, nauseating clatter of Bianca on the hard packed earth before he blacks out.

When he comes to again, a second later, or an hour later, Cassandra's standing over him looking mildly concerned. She extends a hand to him. In the other, she holds Bianca. Varric surges up and grabs her by the shoulders.

Cassandra's eyes widen, but she doesn't shake his hands off.

"Varric, I…"

"Oh, thank you," he says, snatching Bianca back and pressing a kiss to her stock.

"You're welcome," she says faintly.

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iii.

Murder plots and fancy balls. How could it be any more Orlesian? It simply couldn't.

Next week at the Winter Palace is sure to be eventful. Varric sighs deeply and turns his attention to Josephine. She's lecturing them about decorum and keeping Inquisition secrets secret. Nothing Varric doesn't already know and deeply, intrinsically hate about high society.

"Dancing," Josephine declares. Varric hears a collective groan go up. When she tells them to pair off, everyone rushes to find a partner who isn't Kaaras and all his awkward left feet.

"Seeker?" he asks, seeing her looking wide eyed as Kaaras approaches her.

"Ugh," she says in return, but holds out her hand to him.

The music is vaguely familiar and the steps come easy enough, especially with Cassandra murmuring the four-count to herself.

It's getting late and someone's lit a whole whack of candles. Cassandra's eyes sparkle in their light. It would be easy, so easy, to stretch up to meet her lips.

Cassandra fumbles the count and steps on his foot with the heel of her boot.

"Oh, fuck," she says.

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iv.

Swords and Shields.

Of course it has to be Swords and Shields. Kaaras smiles slyly when he asks for another chapter.

"It's for Cassandra," he adds.

Varric chuckles. "Not for you, Inquisitor?"

"You know I can't really read, right?"

"Oh, shit, right, I --" Varric fumbles for words, feeling like a jerk.

Kaaras grins. "Don't tie yourself up in knots. Josie -- Ambassador Montilyet is teaching me. Soon I'll be able to read all your trashy romances."

Varric stays up all night, finishing the final stroke and setting the page aside to dry with a tired sigh.

He gives it to Kaaras to deliver, but the Inquisitor has more important things to do than run around delivering romance novels (or so he says; Varric doesn't entirely buy it).

Varric brings it himself. He knocks tentatively on the door to Cassandra's chambers. She answers a few moments later with a rumpled shirt and a sleepy yawn.

"Varric?"

"Swords and Shields," he says.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The next chapter. Should be one, maybe two more after this. I'll get them to you."

She takes the sheaf of papers from him and stares at the title page. "Varric, I… Truly?"

"Yep," he says. She's smiling. He's smiling back, unable to help himself.

"And the Knight-Captain, she regains her honour? It's not another cliffhanger, is it?"

Varric chuckles. "You'll have to read and find out."

Cassandra takes his wrist and squeezes. "Thank you."

There's a lingering moment, her hand is warm against his skin, their eyes meet.

"Hey Krem! Krem! Get your ass down here, you owe us a round!"

The door next to Cassandra's slams open. "Coming, Chief!"

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The Western Approach sucks. It just sucks. It's as bad, if not worse, as being in a cave.

Varric remembers the varterral in the last cave, with all the bones and the strong stench of death.

Okay, it's not that bad. But nearly!

He missteps in the swirling sand and nearly tumbles face first into the closest dune.

Fuck it, no, the Western Approach is worse than a cave. He'll be dusting sand out of his hair, clothes, boots, and asscrack for the next millenia.

"Careful there," Cassandra murmurs.

"I am being careful," he says, a bit snappy. "It's this damn place."

They stop to rest not too far along. Walking in sand is a boring way to break an ankle, Kaaras tells them. He plunks himself down and tips sand out of his boots -- a losing battle, in Varric's opinion.

Sera starts talking to him, something about poison and if a poison to make a man fart himself to death on the spot is feasible. Cassandra sighs and walks a ways away before, Maker forbid, someone asks her opinion on the matter.

"Oh, shit," Varric exclaims, turning to face her. "It's even in your name. Cas-sand-ra."

"You've gotten too much sun, dwarf," she drawls.

"We all have," he points out. "That's one of a million shitty things about this place. And the sand. And the creatures. And the dunes. Which are sand, but vertical, so you can see why I hate them. And --"

"Varric," Cassandra says, stepping into his space. "You're overheating. You should sit down for a moment and rest before you ramble yourself to death."

He sits, but tugs her by the wrist so she sits with him.

"Didn't know you cared so much," he huffs.

"Of course I care," she says, huffing back. "We're all miserable out here, but it's crucial we complete the mission. We cannot do that without you."

He smiles in spite of himself and in spite of the sand. "Well. Okay."

Varric glances over and she's watching him closely, little smile playing at the corners of her lips. She's the most gorgeous thing in this wasteland. Of course, her competition is Adaar, laughing so hard at Sera he might pee himself, Sera, pulling a rancid face in imitation of either someone farting themself to death or Solas or both, or one of the rotting hyenas they passed a while back.

He leans over. He's going to do it, here, of all places.

"Of course," she says, continuing her thought. "What else would we use for dragon bait?"

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Cassandra's on the hunt.

That damn dwarf is around somewhere and she's going to find him. No more dancing around it, no more interruptions, or if there are any, she'll ignore them.

She runs into virtually everyone else, but sees neither hide nor hair of Varric anywhere.

Typical.

"Have you seen Varric?" she asks the Inquisitor.

He frowns in thought and the book he was balancing on his nose tumbles into his lap.

"Sorry, Cass, not recently. We talked earlier, he was by the tavern, actually, but not since."

She marches off that way, leaving him to his 'studies.'

Outside the tavern, there's a big crowd, everyone jostling and making noise.

"Cabot's arm wrestling with the Chief," Krem says. "They've been at it for thirteen minutes, dead even."

"I asked if you'd seen Varric today."

Krem looks puzzled for a second. "Oh. Maybe? He was here, but he said something about looking for someone."

"Thank you," she says, though he's been unhelpful. Who could Varric be looking for?

Down by the stables, there's an equal amount of noise, though it's mostly horsey in nature. There are no people about at all, which is odd on it's own, but coupled with the horrible undead looking 'unicorn' the Inquisitor brought back from Maker knows where seemingly watching her without any eyes... Cassandra departs swiftly.

She gives up. It's hopeless. She's never going to find him. She's going to have to wait for him to find her and hope she still has the nerve.

Cassandra trudges back towards her quarters and climbs the stairs.

She notices a flower petal on the top step. Out of place, but one of the botanists must have been moving plants. Then she spots another, then another, until there's a clear trail of them. Leading to her closed door.

"I'm going to kill him," Cassandra declares.

She means it, of course, but when she opens the door to Varric's grinning face, all thoughts of violence fly out of her head. She seizes him by the shirt and kisses him like she'll fade away on the spot if she doesn't kiss him. And maybe she will. It seems as likely as anything.

"Hey now Seeker, you're rumpling me," he says. He sounds out of breath, like he's been running, which everyone knows Varric doesn't do. Cassandra knows she's done the kiss right, then.

"Good," she says.

He grins.

She kisses him again.