“Do you trust me?” Varric/Cassandra for DWC? Cheers! :)
FINALLY FINISHED THIS ONE i had the idea but didn’t get a chance to actually write it til camp nano finished hehe
for @dadrunkwriting!!!
varric/cassandra, the 5th vignette is rated M for very mild smut, everything else is sfw tho!
The first time he yelled it, Cassandra was caught off guard.
“Do you trust me?” Varric had asked, his voice pitching above the clamor of demons that were congregating on the iced-over pond. The prisoner and apostate wove in arrhythmic patterns on the other side of the shore. Sloth demons swarmed the two for a brief moment before they were blasted back by one of their spells.
The Breach yawned overhead, sparking and spitting out even more evil spirits. Cassandra looked at her feet, at the ice that was thick but cracking from the heat of the fire magic that kept scalding the surface, and then back at the thickening flock of demons at the other end.
“No!” she called back, the disgust in her voice obvious as she kicked one of the creatures squarely in the chest to send it reeling backwards. She leapt back up onto the banks of the pond and used her shield to bash another of them. It dissolved with a shriek that made her skin crawl. “But do it anyways,” she growled loudly.
Varric laughed, far too sanguine for her liking, but scraped a bolt along a nearby boulder and loaded up Bianca with it as it began to spark. “Hold on to your breeches, Seeker!” He fired the bolt into the center of the pond.
And then there was chaos as the ice shattered and demons fell beneath the frigid waves.
The first time she yelled it, Varric was scared shitless. Not that he’d ever admit that, of course.
Red templars were overtaking the pathways, the walls, all the entry points. The way they glowed, eerie and vicious and unaware of themselves, set his teeth on edge. Everything about them was wrong. Blood dripped from his split lip and hit the ground as he shuddered.
“Do you trust me?” Cassandra asked. Her grip on his shoulder wasn’t tight the way it had been when she and Cullen had “escorted” him from Kirkwall to Haven, and her brown eyes were remarkably calm despite the utter insanity of the situation. There was an archdemon, for fuck’s sake.
He grunted as pain lanced down his leg. “Don’t really have a choice now, do I?” he said as he forced a smile. She rolled her eyes with a huff, then heaved him to his feet. Varric wobbled, his ankle unable to support him properly, but the Seeker whirled and bent down with her back to him. He hobbled forward to lean against her. Cassandra heaved him up onto her back with a minute grunt of exertion and began to walk away.
“Hold it, hold it. I need Bianca. I can’t leave her behind,” he said, his hand tapping on her pauldron. From the way she stiffened, he knew the hysteria had crept into his voice. Even so, she turned back, fetched the crossbow, and passed it to him without a word. She then began to jog towards the chantry.
Varric looked out towards the siege equipment and tried to catch a glimpse of the Herald. His heart sunk when he couldn’t find a trace of any of his allies amidst the pandemonium. He turned back to watch their progress through the rubble. Her steps were measured; he realized she was trying to keep from jostling him too much. He forced his breaths to slow. Happy thoughts. “Thanks, Cassandra,” he said at last.
“You are welcome,” she replied. The doors to the chantry swung open to admit them into the halls.
The second time he asked, Cassandra fumbled for a response.
Sera had insisted on sharing a tent with the Inquisitor. That left the remaining tent to herself...and Varric. She was quiet as they set up their quarters. The routine came easy: canvas, stakes, bedrolls, her belongings, and then time to sit around the campfire. Nervous energy hummed beneath her skin that she was too fatigued to fight. Varric recounted stories to Sera as the Inquisitor secured the perimeter of camp. Sera went out to hunt and returned as dusk fell; they ate as the moon rose. Soon after they had all finished, the Inquisitor shooed them off to bed to take the first watch.
Cassandra’s boots felt like they had been laced with iron (more iron, anyway) as they approached their shared tent. Varric held the flap open for her to enter, then let it fall closed once he had followed suit. She sat on her bedroll to begin the process of removing her armor. Her eyes kept flitting back to the dwarf despite her best efforts. When it came time to remove her breastplate, her fingers lingered on the straps over her shoulders. Varric glanced up from what he had scribbled in a small notebook when he noticed her lack of movement. “Don’t mind me, Seeker,” he said, his teasing gentle. “I’m not the kind of dwarf who enjoys roughing it up in a tent in the great outdoors.”
She grimaced and made a sound of revulsion. Of course he would joke about that sort of thing. Cassandra finished up in a hurry and then ducked into her bedroll. Varric took his time finishing what he had started writing, then slid inside his as well. Several minutes of tense silence between them passed, the only sounds the soft pops of the low fire the Inquisitor tended outside and the chirps of crickets. Just when she thought she would finally snap and do...something drastic to ease the awkwardness, Varric rolled to his side so he could face her.
“Cassandra.”
She started, both from his voice and that he used her name. She turned her head to meet his eyes a mere foot away. “Yes?”
He paused as if he was considering his words, then asked, “Do you trust me?”
Despite being in a small tent, she felt his words echo around them. She was frozen as their mutual gaze held, unable to answer affirmatively one way or the other. When she didn’t respond, Varric’s lips crept up into a tiny, sad smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, his voice soft. Cassandra finally came back to herself and made a noncommittal noise in response. He huffed a hoarse chuckle and then rolled to face the other side of the tent. “Goodnight, Seeker.”
She stared up at the canvas ceiling for a long time after that.
The second time she asked, Varric wasn’t sure what to think.
Wine flowed in a ceaseless river at the event Josephine insisted they be present for. Cassandra didn’t usually drink in excess, but the Inquisitor had plied her with drinks in an attempt to help her loosen up. Cullen had also fallen prey to this tactic and was passed out in an alcove off the main hall; Sera had already doodled on him, and Blackwall stood watch over the commander’s unconscious form. Those with the proper social graces, like Vivienne and Dorian, made use of them alongside the Inquisitor. While he possessed the skills to mingle, Varric opted to keep a low profile and avoid any potential Merchant’s Guild members, which was how he wound up in a garden to begin with.
Cassandra let out a wistful sigh from where she sat on an elaborately carved bench-- clearly, she was daydreaming. Overhead, rose bushes bloomed in tamed arches, and small lights, most likely magical in origin, floated amongst the thorns. Varric sat beside her and watched the orbs bob. The buzz of those playing Orlais’s Game seemed distant at that moment.
“Varric, do you trust me?”
He immediately swiveled to look at her. After he took a moment to gauge her features, he smirked and patted her arm. “More or less. I still sometimes wonder if you’re going to snap one day and throw me in a cell, but that seems pretty standard...for...us…” he trailed off as her expression melted into one of distress.
“I just thought...after all these months traveling together…” she mumbled, her cheeks flushed from both the copious alcohol and drunken embarrassment. Her eyes lowered to her lap.
Varric scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Seeker...c’mon, you’re drunk. We can have this conversation tomorrow if you remember any of it.” She looked back at him again, her lips still set in a sad pout, and he looked up at the roses again awkwardly. In the blink of an eye, Cassandra slouched over and rested her head on his shoulder. He paused for a beat, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Andraste’s knickers, I didn’t realize you were a cuddly drunk,” he teased, but she just grumbled.
The Inquisitor came to check on them as the soiree wound down. Cassandra’s head was pillowed in Varric’s lap as he sipped leisurely at his own glass of wine. When their eyes met, Varric smiled and held a finger up to his lips.
The third time he asked, Cassandra could only nod mutely.
She had discovered that his quarters were far more lush than her own spartan room at Skyhold over several visits. As always, books had been stacked in a haphazard fashion throughout and a thick fur was spread across his bed. Her fingers burrowed into the soft throw as she watched with bated breath as Varric knelt between her bare legs. His hands brushed the tops of her thighs in a gentle reassurance, and she couldn’t stop the quiver the touch elicited. He chuckled and cupped her hips, then let his thumbs rub against the curve of bone and muscle. His head dropped to press kisses to her stomach. Before he proceeded any lower, he met her eyes and asked, voice soft and low, “Do you trust me?”
The ache she felt was becoming unbearable and clear thoughts had long since left her head. Even so, she managed an enthusiastic nod. Yes, she trusted him, and yes, she wanted this. Varric’s gusty sigh of relief made her wriggle beneath him. “Maker, Cass,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on her and his ever-too-clever tongue made her cheeks burn. She gasped and turned her face to the side and bit one of the pillows, but Varric immediately stopped. “I want-- no, I need to hear you. I need to make sure I’m making you feel as good as possible.” Cassandra could only blink in silence at the glisten on his chin. He huffed a laugh and returned to her folds.
This time, she wasn’t quiet.
The third time she asked, Varric just laughed.
She stretched beneath the blankets, her satisfaction as blatant as a purring cat. She blinked the drowsiness from her eyes, cheeks flushed from sleep, and hummed to get his attention. He finished his sentence with one last scritch of his quill, and he turned to face her. “Good morning,” he said, and he watched as she propped her chin up on her palm. His eyes were briefly drawn to her newly-bared skin, but he was far more fascinated by the content smile she wore. Varric stood up from his desk and returned to his bed. He brushed her bangs out of her eyes before cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Good morning, Varric,” Cassandra returned, and her fingers reached out to skim his bare chest. His tunic had been thrown somewhere the night before and he had been too lazy to search for it-- or dress himself in anything other than his breeches, for that matter. She tilted her chin up in silent invitation, and he leant down and met her waiting lips. His kisses soon trailed down to her jaw and cheek, and she laughed softly and swatted at him in jest. After a few quiet moments of relaxed silence, she asked, “Do you trust me?” Varric raised a brow and waited for the other shoe to drop. “Because if you do...can’t you show me what you’ve done with the new installation so far?”
He let out a full, hearty laugh that shook his shoulders. “For you, Seeker? Anything.”
So Swords and Shields is "smutty literature" and Varric wrote it just for Cass. So he sat there and wrote sex scenes just for her. I wonder if he slipped anything in there on the sly. Just to obliquely bring it up in conversation. Because he likes the way she blushes.
