Rating: M
Pairing(s): Cassandra/Varric
Tags: Getting Together, Love Confessions, Val Royeaux, Set During/After Tresspasser, Leliana mentioned as Divine, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus
Words: 5,972
Status: Completed
"When Varric's funds dry up from a combination of Kirkwall's restoration and his dwindling book royalties, his publisher talks him into writing a standalone romance for a limited, exclusive release. The only problem is that the characters are a little too similar in likeness to himself and a certain Cassandra Pentaghast. But it's fine, there's no way she'll ever see it. Right?
...Right?
Maker's holy backside, he's really done it this time."
hello hello! happy thedasweekend, swan! gotta admit, cassandra/varric caught my eye this week! maybe with the sleeping prompt of: Napping outside in the sunshine, if that catches your interest uwu
-broodwoof
Happy Thedas Weekend, and thank you so much for this prompt! Now I get to spread the gospel of CassVarric uwu
Thank you @thedasweekend for hosting this event!
Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras
no content warnings
a side note: my Inquisitor for this worldstate is Elgaris Lavellan, who remains inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste. His older sister, Mina Lavellan, gains the unofficial title of the Herald's Hand - she's not quite his second-in-command, but she is his eyes and ears and his knives if need be and takes a good portion of the ground work so Elgaris can focus on politicking with the humans. as such, she's out adventuring with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas as this takes place.
“Got room for one more, Seeker?”
Varric half-expects Cassandra to growl and snap and tell him to leave her alone; this whole bad business with the Wardens has her in an especially prickly mood lately. Instead, to his great surprise (and not inconsiderable delight), she just gestures at the empty expanse of sand, rock, and scrubby dried-out grass that stretches out beyond the campsite.
“We have nothing but room, Varric.”
Varric chuckles, but it’s less because she’s a master of witticisms and more dry resignation. Without much further ado he sits next to her, closer than he might dare when she’s been in a mood like this. If she objects he’ll just plead his case that the shaded blanket she’s sitting on to avoid getting sand in her pants only extends so far, and Varric doesn’t want sand in his pants either.
Of course, they’ll get sand in their pants anyway, but that’s just life in this Maker-forsaken stretch of nothing. Sand, sand-filled pants, bandits, Warden bullshit, Venatori, and undrinkable water. Repeat, day in and day out, until the Western Approach is stable and the Inquisition can sustain itself out here. Maker knows why it’d want to, but that’s a question for the Inquisitor and his council, and they're all the way back in Skyhold.
“Every bit as glamorous as you’d hoped it would be?” he asks, mostly to fill the silence. She snorts, instead of her usual snarled ugh, which means that she must be in a very good mood indeed.
“Glamour was never part of the equation. You know this.”
“Maybe glamour was the wrong word. Romance? In certain lights this -” he gestures to the same empty expanse of sand that she had. “- this could be romantic.”
“You have a funny definition of the word,” she says dryly, turning fully to look at him. Cassandra looks tired, and hot. Varric can’t help but notice there’s a new smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones, and her face is golden. Sun-kissed. He’s looking fairly brown himself, and he’s going to have to figure out the logistics of getting the rest of his chest evened out because the V-neckline of his tunics aren’t doing that tan-line any favors. Only Chuckles seems to be immune to being slowly roasted tan by the sun, but Varric’s pretty sure that’s because his bald head just reflects the sunlight right off of him.
“Give it a little imagination,” Varric says, giving her a crooked grin. She rolls her eyes, which is to be expected, but Varric doesn’t let it slow him down. “Caravans, empty ruins, buried secrets, hidden oases, endless miles to lose yourself and your lover in…”
“The only thing I want to lose myself in is a bath,” Cassandra grumbles. “A cool one. One where I won’t be immediately crusted in sand afterwards.”
“Let me ask Vixen if there’s an oasis nearby,” Varric offers. “But you might need to lower your expectations about the sand, Seeker.”
Cassandra snorts, but doesn’t immediately shoot him down. Privately, Varric is in total agreement on the cool bath, but if he makes it happen it’s going to be for her. They haven’t had much time to themselves since they’ve made the trek out to the Western Expanse - mostly because of aforementioned issues with Wardens, bandits, and Venatori - but his Seeker works tirelessly. She’d work tirelessly and without expectation of thanks forever if he’d let her, and it’s the damndest thing. If it were any other person he’d think they were a fool and a sucker, but somehow it ended up being what he loves the most about her: the strength and goodness of her heart. Some days he thinks that heart is the mightiest force in Thedas, and most days she only proves him right.
“What else do you want, Seeker?” he asks, dropping his voice so the camp’s scouts don’t overhear them. Cassandra might work tirelessly and without expectation of thanks, but Varric’s always going to see her needs are met, even if no one else does.
She hesitates, and then sighs. “I am…” Varric can hear the word uncertain dancing on the tip of her tongue, but Cassandra will never admit she’s uncertain about anything. “I am tired, Varric.”
“Easy enough.” Varric hooks an arm around her waist, and when she doesn’t object, pulls her closer, until their sides are flush together. If they were in full sunlight the heat of another body would be unbearable, but as it is, beneath the shade Varric’s not sweating any more than he usually does in the Western Expanse. Cassandra holds herself stiffly for a handful of seconds before she relaxes against his side by degrees, finally letting her head drop against his shoulder.
“If I fall asleep like this it will put a crick in my neck,” she complains half-heartedly. Varric laughs, hand spreading wide at the small of her back.
“Then I’ll just have to take the crick back out of it,” he says. “I’ve got strong hands, Seeker. I can manage.”
“Somehow you always do,” she murmurs, and it’s a mark of how tired she must be that she’s dozing before Varric knows it.
Gently so as not to wake her, Varric leans back, holding her steady until they’re both reclined, pillowed by sand beneath the thick blanket. Cassandra doesn’t move or mutter, doesn’t do much more than inhale through her nose, eyelids fluttering before she settles.
A breeze picks up, one of the westerly winds the scouts say blows down from the Hunterhorns, stirring the banners and tent lines in the campsite. Cassandra sleeps through the snap of canvas and rope, and Varric counts her new freckles to the song of the wind until his own eyelids grow heavy.
His last thought before he follows Cassandra into sleep is a mental note to beg the location of a nearby oasis from one of the scouts, or Vixen if it comes right down to it. Mina Lavellan has a knack for finding water, and she’s better than her brother at keeping secrets. His Seeker wants a bath, and Varric is nothing if not a dwarf who delivers.
Why do I ship a rare pair for every dragon age game? Like Zevlilli ,cassvarric and fencarver? Like those are three really cute ships but there’s like so few fics on ao3. So if anyone wants to write some fencarver or cassvarric and tag me in it I’d be happy.
Cassandra gets some well deserved rest, Varric learns some things. Everyone is stressed. It gets better soon I swear. Thank you to everyone sticking with this fic! Previous parts can all be found here
A thicket of emergency response vehicles and reporters surrounded the smouldering building; it put Varric in mind of the thorns and vines that surrounded Sleeping Beauty’s castle. And somewhere in the depths of all that was Cassandra.
Varric’s hands shook. They’d been shaking since the news report, since Daisy had called. The call to come and pick up Cassandra had surprised him; of all people he’d expected she’d have asked for Trevelyan. Not that he wasn’t glad she’d asked for him, even if it was only because they lived together. He needed to see her. At that moment he’d have sold his soul for one glimpse of her face.
Drawing nearer to the barricade that had been erected around the perimeter, Varric became taut with anxiety. Cassandra was nowhere in sight.
“Varric?”
He almost didn’t recognize her voice. It sounded too tired, too slurred to be Cassandra. But there she was, sitting on the rear bumper of an ambulance draped in a blanket. Bandages covered half her face, smoke stained her clothes and skin. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, alive and whole and-
This was no time to get weepy, Varric told himself.
“Seeker, what the hell happened to you?”
He was at her side in an instant, one hand moving of its own accord to cup the unbandaged side of her jaw.
There was nothing wrong, other than a nick beneath her right eye, and whatever lay beneath the bandages.
Maker, she was in one piece.
“You need to take her to the emergency room to have the cut on her face stitched,” an EMT interrupted. “It’s not a life threatening injury, and right now all the ambulances available are here.”
“What happened?” Varric asked again. When the EMT had appeared beside them, he’d dropped his hand from Cassandra’s face.
“Broken glass when the windows broke,” the EMT said succinctly. “Take her to Our Lady Redeemer. The emerg there is quick.”
“Thanks,” Varric said.
The EMT shrugged. His radio crackled, and in one fluid move he had grabbed a bag and was darting off.
Taking a deep breath, Varric almost choked. The air was still full of smoke, and smelled of something foul. The entire atmosphere around the ruined building was noxious, and Varric very suddenly wanted to be far away from the smell of fire.
“C’mon Seeker. We’ll get you fixed up.”
Cassandra hadn’t said a word since calling out his name. She stood, swayed on her feet and steadied herself. Shucking the blanket, she folded it and placed it on the ambulance’s bumper. Every movement seemed robotic.
The drive to the hospital is somehow worse than the drive to City Hall. Varric’s fairly sure his clenched fingers left indents in the steering wheel. He doesn’t remember the route he took in order to pick up Cassandra. He somehow went from their apartment, to the car, to City Hall with only one word pounding away in his thoughts:
Cassandra.
This time, he’s aware of every turn or sudden stop; worried about jarring Cassandra’s injuries. But since the EMT had left her in his care, she’d barely spoken. Just sat there in the passenger’s seat, strong and still and utterly remote. She’d thanked him for coming, and they’d walked to the car in silence.
Cassandra didn't say a word to him. Not when they’d entered the emergency room, nor when a doctor had called her name and asked if she wanted Varric’s company while they stitched her face. Not a damn word.
In the waiting room, Varric flipped through the outdated magazines, every partial newspaper (why was the Sports section always missing?), and all the available pamphlets. He’d learned some interesting facts, and was wondering if maybe he did have Lyme disease after all, when the doors to the examination rooms swung open to release Cassandra.
The bandages swathing her face had been replaced, looking much cleaner. The left side of her face was a little slack. Clutched in her fingers was a sheaf of paper- prescriptions and care info, Varric assumed.
“Come on, Seeker. They put everything back the way it was?” Varric asked.
They crossed the parking lot in silence.
Varric thumbed through the printed out care-sheets. Nothing unexpected- keep the wound clean, uncovered to let it breathe (the bandage was mostly to keep people from gawking) and Cassandra had been prescribed light antibiotics just in case. She’d been given a dose at the hospital, but she needed to take at least one more in 8 hours. They also noted that chewing would be difficult until the wound began to heal, recommending soft foods, and liquids.
All doable. There was a drugstore next door to their building, which also stocked food. Varric turned to suggest a quick stop, and instead smiled. Cassandra had slid down in the passenger’s seat, her chin resting on her chest. It was almost sweet. Would’ve been cute if she didn’t look dead tired, her face nearly overwhelmed by the bandage.
Varric drove home very carefully. After a quick pit stop at the drugstore, he had to face facts. Cassandra needed to be woken up. She had to eat, and go to bed. First though, he had to get her up to the apartment.
“Cassandra? C’mon Seeker. Rise and shine,” Varric murmured.
She groaned, mumbled something, and turned her face away.
Varric sighed. Hopping out of the car, he walked round to the passenger’s side. Easing the door open, Varric unclipped Cassandra’s seatbelt and stared, a frown puckering his brow. Cassandra was out cold. No amount of cajoling could elicit anything more than a grunt.
He’d have to carry her, Varric realized with a sinking feeling.
Sliding his arm around Cassandra’s back, Varric hauled her forward. Careful not to hit her head, he eased her out of the car and into his arms. Cassandra snuffled. Looping her arm around Varric’s neck, her face nestled into the crook of his shoulder.
Hell.
Varric gauged the distance between the care and the elevator, and heaved a put-upon sigh. Adjusting his grip on Cassandra’s slack body, he began to make slow progress across the parking lot.
It wasn’t a hardship, Varric thought. He’d never been the type to sweep a woman off her feet. It was different than how he’d written it- keeping a solid grip on a limp person was actually a bit awkward. But Cassandra’s arms wrapped around his neck, her slow breaths whispered against his throat, and it was very worth it.
Simply holding her, no matter how chaste the situation, satisfied something inside him.
Relief, probably.
He’d been so damn afraid for her, after all. Physical contact just proved to his brain that she was safe and sound. That was all.
There was a slippery moment when they arrived at the elevator doors and Varric had to hit the button with his elbow. Selecting their floor was another problem. With Cassandra in his arms, the button for their floor was just out of reach.
In the middle of trying to work out how to press the button, the elevator jerked to life, and Varric nearly lost his grip on her. For her part, Cassandra sighed and buried her face against Varric’s shoulder. He had the sneaking suspicion she’d begun drooling.
She’d be horrified if she ever found out. For some reason though, the thought of Cassandra drooling on his shirt suffused Varric’s chest with a warm glow.
Lucky for them, the flock of giggling teens who piled into their elevator on the next floor were only too willing to press the right floor button. Despite a lot of wide eyed whispering and pointing.
Maker. Cassandra was still in full uniform.
The teens were still staring, whispering and jostling one another. The elevator doors slid open, and the kids left with obvious reluctance. A few of them turned to stare, dragging their feet until the doors shut again. Whatever story they were going to concoct in order to explain a man carrying a fully uniformed and clearly unconscious cop was going to be brilliant. Varric marked the floor they’d disembarked on, and resolved to keep an ear out for any good gossip.
Varric looked down at Cassandra, feeling very dumb. She was still in uniform, and (he checked her belt) definitely armed.
Sodding hell.
He should’ve asked about that, but Cassandra had fallen asleep and he’d been too damn relieved to even think about anything other than bringing her home as soon as possible. Maker only knew what her boss would think. Was it a crime for her to have come home with everything from a bulletproof vest to her gun?
Aveline would know. He could call Aveline, and have her work it out.
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open on their floor. Their door in sight, Varric flexed his aching arms, trying to relieve some of the discomfort he felt.
Aside from a heart-stopping moment when his numb fingers fumbled the keys, their arrival home was without incident. Varric maneuvered his way across the threshold, feeling silly about it.
Of course he’d be reminded of a groom carrying his bride over the doorstep of their new home. Media was oversaturated with the image. Hell, he’d written a similar scene in one of his books. It had nothing to do with him and Cassandra.
Lumbering down the hallway, Varric cursed a blue streak. Cassandra locked her bedroom door. Making a spur of the moment decision, Varric turned and shouldered his door open. Lucky for both of them he’d left it open in his rush to get to her.
Varric eased Cassandra onto his bed with great care. She frowned, and sighed, before her brow smoothed and she slipped back into deep sleep. Her spiky black hair fell into her face, dark slashes of ink across a pale page.
Something in Varric’s chest constricted.
His fingers burned with the urge to reach out and touch her hair, an urge Varric squashed ruthlessly. Instead, he turned his attention to the uniform she still wore.
Despite knowing it was necessary, and that Cassandra would be more comfortable for it, Varric felt like a pervert. Her belt undid easily enough. The sheer weight of it was surprising, even though he’d been prepared for it to be heavy (it did have a gun on it, after all). Next came the bulletproof vest, which attached with some combination of velcro, buckles, and witchcraft. It too was heavy, and felt scratchy. Once he was sure Cassandra wore a t-shirt under her uniform shirt, he stripped that off too; it reeked of smoke, and something had torn up her right sleeve.
Next came the boots, which didn’t want to go at all.
Of course even Cassandra’s boots would be stubborn. One boot popped off after a prolonged struggle. Expecting the same resistance from the other boot, Varric gave it an almighty pull, and wound up sprawled across the floor, with a boot print on his chest.
Finally though, Cassandra was as comfortable as he could make her. Varric checked her pulse, and her breathing. Both were normal, or as close to normal as he could guess. On his way downstairs, he leaned against the elevator’s gleaming interior, and dialed Aveline’s number.
“Hey Red. Say I’d absconded with a police officer in full gear. That’s not a crime, right? Yeah, gun too…” Varric smiled at himself in the mirror, as Aveline tore a strip off his hide.
“Does she have a gun safe? In her room? Red, why the hell would I know whether or not she had a-”
“You’re right, dumb question. Yes, I do write crime fiction. No I don’t know how I’m succeeding at that.”
The elevator let him out in the parking garage. Varric crossed the lot while Aveline bemoaned her choice of friends. He crossed back again, and was in the elevator by the time she’d finished telling him how Merrill and the others were doing. Well, apparently, but shellshocked. They’d retreated into Hawke’s apartment for movies, junk food, and beer. No one expected to see them for the next few days, though Aveline had promised to show up and mother them. That assuaged some of the guilt Varric felt for not dashing to their side. But they had eachother, and so far as he could tell, Cassandra had him and Trevelyan.
As the elevator ascended, Varric started working on what to say when Cassandra wanted to know why she was waking up in his bed.
Wit failed him, as the floor numbers ticked upwards.
Instead, Varric found himself wondering if she read his books. Not The Tale of the Champion, or Hard in Hightown, but Swords and Shields. Not his best effort, but the sort of thing she might like. Love, adventure, misadventures and misunderstandings, and a pile of tropes. His publisher had sent him a few copies of the first three novels, and they were still in a box somewhere in his room, along with the unfinished draft of book 4.
Part of a prompt fill for goodgirl on the BSN forum’s Cassandra/Varric thread. The prompt was “a surprise kiss/a “doing the do” kiss”.
Cassandra paces across the small clearing, on top of a hill that overlooks Crestwood; has been waiting for fifteen minutes. She’s early, and stuck between fretting and cautiously hoping that the reason Varric summoned her here will be because he-
Because she-
It is too much to even try and think the words. As though admitting it to herself will make it real. If it’s real then it’s subject to the rules of reality. And as Cassandra well knows, reality is harsh and without pity. At the moment, the attraction between herself and Varric lives in that strange in between place- not quite real, not quite imaginary. It is safe enough, so long as no one does anything.
She is safe enough so long as no one does anything. You cannot be hurt by a dream.
It is far more likely that Varric asked her to meet him here because he-
Cassandra’s imagination fails her. Perhaps the new chapter of Swords and Shields? Or maybe he wants to tell her that he knows. That he’s noticed the way her eyes follow him, how she’s always near him in battle. That their teasing banter makes her smile, causes her heart to soar. Maybe he wants to tell her that he feels the same way. That his day is always better for her presence, that his heart is-
Cassandra stops herself there.
Varric’s heart is engaged, has always belonged to Bianca Davri.
Realization strikes suddenly, sharp and painful like a fist to the gut.
It all makes sense- why else would he call her to this secluded place if not to afford her some privacy when he tells her that he only feels friendship for her?
His heart is not for her. Not for a woman who kidnapped him, who threatened him. A woman who towers over him, a woman who is human. Cassandra has never felt self conscious about her body, about her race, except for when Varric stands close to her. Then, she feels every extra inch of her height, feels slender as an elf in comparison to his sturdy body.
Cassandra’s heart sinks into her stomach.
Something rustles behind her, on the path leading to the crest of the hill. Cassandra spins on her heel, annoyance written across her face. How dare Varric ask her to this place, and then show up late?
A nug shuffle-hops into the underbrush.
Cassandra’s face burns with embarrassment. Letting out a rueful laugh, she settles down on a fallen tree. The heaviness of her heart hasn’t eased. Pressing the heel of her palm against her breastbone, Cassandra kneads at the spot over her heart.
The view from the hilltop is beautiful. The sun has begun to set, tinting all the clouds in shades of the most fantastic oranges and pinks. Everything is bathed in rosy light, from the highest mountaintop to the rippling waters of the lake. The view is perfect, the entire landscape laid out before her like a painting.
Varric could not have chosen a better place. It is almost romantic.
Footsteps crunch along the path.
Cassandra’s aching, heavy heart seems to have stopped beating in favour of a vice-like squeeze.
“Seeker. Fancy meeting you here,” Varric says. He stands behind her for a few moments, before joining her on the fallen log.
They sit, his right side pressed against her left. Varric’s body is warm next to hers. He’s always warm, like the forge where she sleeps.
Cassandra hopes he can’t feel the way she’s trembling. Hell, she wishes she hadn’t noticed. It’s humiliating, and it only makes things worse. Her heartbeat rattles her entire body, and there’s not enough room for her to move away from Varric. Besides that, she doesn’t want to.
The silence stretches out between them, which is a curious thing. Cassandra has never known Varric to stay quiet when he can make a witty remark, and certainly their current situation might merit a quip. Sitting down, the height difference between them isn’t as pronounced, and when Cassandra turns her head she finds herself looking right into Varric’s eyes.
He blushes, just a faint stain of colour across his nose and cheekbones, beneath the freckles.
Varric has freckles, and it just about kills her. They’re there, unevenly scattered across his face, and Cassandra wants to kiss each and every one.
Maker’s ass.
She’s staring at him, Varric is staring at her. They’re both red (Cassandra can feel the warmth that burns her cheeks). It’s the weirdest damn thing. Varric’s the first to break eye contact. Focused instead on the task of taking off his gloves, Varric gives off the impression of a nervous man faking nonchalance, and failing. He’s just as anxious as she is, and for the first time, Cassandra dares to hope.
“Seeker, I- fuck,” Varric rakes a hand through his hair, mussing his ponytail irreversibly.
“Cassandra.”
He says her name with such heartfelt fervour, that for a moment Cassandra thinks he’s praying.
She meets his eyes, those eyes that always look tired even when he laughs, and everything blurs. She has not been so close to tears in so long, and now she feels their telltale sting.
Varric looks at her with all the love, hope, and despair she herself has felt, and it nearly breaks her heart.
“Varric,” Cassandra says. Her voice wavers, and all in all she’s proud that she hasn’t started crying.
“You- I…” Varric breathes in, exhales. Picks up her hand instead, and presses a kiss to her gloved palm.
Cassandra has never loathed a piece of leather so violently. She nearly rips her hand from his, tearing off her gloves and flinging them away.
The first brush of his skin against hers is exquisite. Cassandra finds that she adores Varric’s hands more than she ever dreamed. His hands are warm, callused, and a little sweaty. They’re the most perfect thing she’s ever touched. She presses her lips against Varric’s knuckles, holding his hand close. His fingers unfurl gently, the soft touch of his fingertips against her face is so quietly reverent, that Cassandra’s heart shatters.
He touches her the way Most Holy might touch a sacred relic. Something beautiful, irreplaceable. Varric touches her as though he thinks she’ll be torn away from him in a second.
“Do you- Varric for the love of the Maker, tell me,” Cassandra says. “You-”
“I do,” Varric laughs, the sound weightless and surprised. “More than anything.”
“I do as well,” Cassandra admits. It costs her, just to say that much. The real words stick in her throat. They’re too new, too honest.
It’s quiet on the hilltop. Birds chirp to one another as the sun sets, the hum of insects is all around them. It is a perfect night.
In which Varric regrets invoking the laws of narrative causality, and ought to know better. Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
DID YOU SEE THIS WICKED AWESOME FANART FROM ENIGMATICAGENTALICE?? Because it is drop dead gorgeous. Thank you so much!
“You had to say it, didn’t you?” Varric bellowed through the pelting rain.
Cassandra laughed, clutching her hat in one hand as she ran.
Rain fell in opaque sheets around them, obscuring everything more than three feet away. It was the first time Varric could remember seeing it rain sideways. Thunder boomed, light flashed in the dark clouds that lay heavily in the sky. Wind whipped Cassandra’s long dress around her legs.
“It’s freezing!” Cassandra gasped.
A wave crashed angrily against the shore, water and sand spraying out to douse them in frigid, salty water.
“At least-” Varric started to say.
Cassandra frowned at him, before understanding dawned and she groaned.
They raced down the beach, soaked to the skin with the wind tearing at their clothes. When Varric’s breath came back, he shot Cassandra a shit-eating grin and finished his sentence.
“At least it can’t get any worse!”
“Varric!” Cassandra glared at him, “What about your precious narrative causality?”
Only Cassandra would stop in the middle of a cataclysmic thunderstorm to scold him, Varric thought. Of course, it probably said something terrible about him that he was enjoying it.
“Consider this an experiment, Seeker!” Varric called out, already jogging down the beach.
The wind carried her curse straight to his ears.
“Language, Seeker!”
That time, she definitely meant for him to hear her.
In no time at all, she’d caught up to him. Her laughter rang through the air as the ocean beat itself furiously against the shore.
Cassandra flicked her gaze up and down his body, before grinning and bolting away.
Spurts of sand flared out behind her as she ran through the rain, not bothering to look back and see if he was following.
He was. Varric dashed down the beach after her, while thunder roared in the distance. Cassandra was just visible a few feet ahead of him, her blue dress rippling like water against her skin.
She was beautiful, radiant. A goddess of storms and battle brought to earth.
Cassandra looked back at him, and her exultant gaze met his. Reaching out, Varric caught her hand, anchoring her to solid ground. Suddenly, he had the irrational feeling that she might be carried away by the storm. Carried up and away, and far from him. Cassandra’s fingers were cold against his skin, as was her body through the wet fabric of her dress. She looked down at him in surprise, at her hand captured in his, and his hand resting on her waist.
Cold fingers touched his face. Cassandra’s hand brushed the tangled mess of wet hair back from his forehead. Her hand dropped to his shoulder, as though it were natural for it to rest there. A strange little smile played about her mouth, different from her wildness as they’d run down the beach.
He wanted to kiss her again.
“We made it,” Cassandra said.
“What?”
“Look. The motel is just there.” Cassandra took her hand from his shoulder to point at a fuzzy looking neon sign in the distance.
The pink sign was a ludicrous smear against the grey landscape. The sight of it should’ve been welcome. Instead, Varric found himself resenting it. The sign’s reality had broken the spell that lay over the beach. Cassandra’s fingers slipped from his, as she stepped out of the circle of his arms. Suddenly, Varric found himself hyper aware of how cold it was, with the rain still pelting down. Cassandra was pale, her lips faintly blue.
“I’m sure our dying of exposure would make a lot of people happy, but I’d rather live,” Varric said. “Out of sheer spite.”
Cassandra chuckled. Squinting against the rain, she gestured at something Varric couldn’t see.
“There are stairs over there, they should lead up to where the boardwalk starts.”
“Seeker, I just had a thought,” Varric said. “This is our chance to run away from that pastel nightmare and into the arms of a real hotel.”
“Leliana’s agents would find us, and Josephine would locate an even more appalling motel for us to hide in,” Cassandra replied. “I do not want to find out how a motel can be worse than this.”
“Fair point,” Varric said with a shudder.
They plodded across the wet sand, hunched against the wind and the rain. Crossing the short stretch of beach towards the stairs seemed to take longer than the entire mad run down the beach. The rain was more piercing, the cold more acute. Cassandra burst out in a flurry of sneezes.
“You know, I think the rain is slowing,” Cassandra said as they walked along the sidewalk to the motel.
Varric sighed, looking up at the sky.
“Is that hail?”
It was, of course, hail. Cassandra sent him an apologetic look as they were pelted with small balls of ice.
“Run to the motel?”
Varric nodded and began jogging behind Cassandra as they dashed madly down the street and burst through the motel’s front doors.
The utterly bewildered look the clerk bestowed on them sent Cassandra and Varric into peals of laughter.
Wiping rivulets of water from his face, Varric chanced a glance at Cassandra, and found her looking back at him with a smile on her face.
She was soaked to the skin, her hair flattened against her skull. Eye makeup smeared halfway to her temples, and her dress was sodden and limp. She was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
The clerk was looking on benevolently, and conscious of his gaze, Varric took up Cassandra’s hand. Which was his first mistake.
Cassandra looked down at him, then darted a quick look at the clerk. Leaning towards him, she pressed a kiss against Varric’s temple, and gave him a dazzling grin.
The change in the air between them was more than palpable. Just the press of her lips against his skin was enough to reignite the flame in his blood. He wanted to kiss her again, to feel her move and shift against him. To run his hands across every inch of her, and discover how she liked to be touched.
Pink flared across Cassandra’s cheeks as they continued to stare at eachother.
Her lips parted, and Varric could hear the soft sigh of her breath. He was still holding her hand, and his other palm itched with the urge to reach out and touch her; to cup the soft skin of her face.
“ Excuse me, Mr and Mrs-”
Varric turned to glare at the interruption. The younger clerk took a step back, the towels he held sagging from his hand.
“Uh. Towels?” He waved them in the air like a flag of truce.
“That was kind of you,” Cassandra told him. Taking one of the towels for herself, she passed the other to Varric.
“No problem at all, ma’am, sorry to uh. Interrupt,” the clerk stammered, retreating to the safety of the check in desk.
Reality reasserted itself over Varric’s thunderous need. It was all a show. Everything was pretend, and if it seemed like maybe things were real? Then that was just wishful thinking on his part.
Not for the first time, Varric hoped that Ruffles and Nightingale would come up with a solution soon.
****
Cassandra felt lightheaded as they walked in silence down the hall. Maybe it could be blamed on ebbing adrenaline, but if she were to be (painfully) honest with herself, she knew that wasn’t it. In the lobby, the way Varric had stared up at her. The buzz of anticipation when he’d taken her hand and she’d been certain he was about to kiss her again. Maker, she’d wanted him to.
The kiss she’d brushed against his temple had been heady. That close, she could smell him. Salt and cool air, and something that sent a hot current of lust running through her body. Whatever it was, it was particular to Varric.
The dwarf seemed irritatingly calm in comparison. He strolled down the hall with such nonchalance that you almost forgot he was soaked to the skin, and every step left behind a puddle.
Of course, he had nothing to worry about. Her feelings were one-sided, doomed.
It was an unusually maudlin thought, one that soured her mood.
“I see what must be done, and I do it.”
Her bold words to the Inquisitor echoed in her mind, taunting her.
There was nothing to do, nothing.
Varric unlocked the door to their room. His fingers fumbled at the buttons to his shirt, which landed on the floor with a squelch. The undershirt beneath it was soaked, the white fabric transparent.
As Cassandra watched, Varric slipped his hair loose from the tie and ran his fingers through it. His hair darkened to a ruddy auburn, slicked back from his forehead and curling around his neck.
Cassandra’s mouth felt dry. She felt like a voyeur. Her broken sandals fell from nerveless fingers to clatter on the tiled threshold. Varric turned to give her a curious look. She might not be graceful, but she was never clumsy. By the Maker’s Grace, this whole situation was becoming absurd.
Feeling like she had to do something, Cassandra peeled herself out from the white jacket. It joined her sandals on the floor. Bending to gather handfuls of her dress, Cassandra felt eyes following her movement. Looking up, she froze half bent over. Varric’s eyes were fixed on the low neck of her dress. Until he realized she was watching, and his gaze switched to something over her shoulder.
Maker’s balls. They were adults. If there was an...attraction between them, surely it could be handled in a more mature fashion.
Cassandra straightened, long swathes of wet fabric draped over her forearm. The gathered fabric revealed a somewhat shocking amount of leg.
Varric’s attention came back, and Cassandra could see him watching the movement of her legs as she walked towards the bathroom door.
“Undo me?” Cassandra asked, stepping into the bathroom and leaving the door open.
Out of Varric’s sight, her hands shook. Dropping the gathered bundle of fabric back down, Cassandra strode to the sink and began clearing the smudged eye makeup from her face.
Was that enough of a hint? Was it too little? Did she want him to come in, and what would that mean?
He wouldn’t come in. She hadn’t been clear, hadn’t been herself. Why would he think she was attracted to him, anyways? After one kiss, meant to be meaningless except as a distraction?
Cassandra towelled her face dry, cursing herself for being seven kinds of stupid.
Varric cleared his throat behind her.
Cassandra’s heart began trying to claw its way up her throat. She turned, both hands braced on the cool marble countertop.
***
Varric had never been so afraid of a door in his entire life. Behind it was the woman he wanted, but couldn’t have, clad in nothing more than a dress. A dress which was soaking wet, and clung to her body in interesting ways.
He’d only meant to take a peek. The door had swung open, and his heartbeat sped. Cassandra’s dress was slipping off her shoulders, the entire thing held in place by a zipper, and a prayer. Certainly not one of his prayers.
His brain was still trying to work out what she’d meant by inviting him into the bathroom. Sex? A confession of undying love? Maybe she did need help with the zipper. Hell, knowing the Seeker’s practical streak, she was probably about to suggest one of them take the shower, while the other took the bath.
That was probably it.
Varric sighed, and when Cassandra didn’t turn around, he cleared his throat.
She jumped. Any other time, that would’ve been hilarious. But now? Ancestors, the look she was giving him chased any sort of coherent thought from his head.
“You need a hand with your dress?” Varric heard himself say.
He and Cassandra stared at one another, before a small smile bloomed on her face. Any other woman, and he would’ve said she looked shy. Not possible for Cassandra. She had no reason to feel shy around him, and would probably stab him for suggesting it.
Cassandra turned, presenting her back to him. For a split second, he thought she was dismissing him. Until she looked over her shoulder and said “the zipper?”
Varric drew close, and reached up to undo the little hook at the top of the zipper. His fingers brushed against Cassandra’s back. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered it being. Without her jacket, a plethora of scars were revealed. One curved down her right shoulder blade and parallel to her spine. Varric pulled the zipper down further. A white starburst marred Cassandra’s left side. A similar mark showed on her right bicep. The marks of a long, dangerous life. Any one of them could’ve killed her.
Finally the zipper was undone. The sides of Cassandra’s dress slid open, exposing the long length of her back, the flare of her hips. She held one arm across the bodice of her dress, keeping the fabric from slipping. Her eyes met his in the mirror. There was something strange in her face; a desperate yearning for-
Stupid, to put his own emotions on Cassandra.
Whatever it was, it passed and instead Cassandra turned around. Face to chest with her, Varric looked up into an expression as uncertain as his felt.
“Varric I- we. This afternoon, on the boardwalk?” Cassandra began. She pressed her lips together. “The kiss.”
“For Captain Cadaverous’ benefit. I remember.”
Cassandra’s straight posture sagged. “Yes, of course.”
Varric forced his expression into something close to roguish.
“Don’t worry, Seeker. So far as distractions go, that was way better than anything Hakwe could come up with.” With a wink, he turned away and left the bathroom.
