“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.”
DWC Prompt: The sight of something you lost, returned. For either Solavellan, or Cullavellan. I'm also thinking, lamp light, mist, a long green field. <3
god BLESS this PROMPT i love u galafor @dadrunkwriting
The lantern swayed with each step, casting a swiveling light around them like a beacon. Air flowed slowly, just enough to ruffle her hair, and the path they wandered began to transition from gnarled roots, reaching branches, and dirt to open sky and grass. Before they knew it, they were waist deep in waves upon waves of green that seemed ethereal. Mist rose from the damp ground and surrounded them in a comfortable haze. The moon reflected off the vapor and created a cool-toned, brightly lit world.
Shen opened the tiny door of the lantern and blew out the flame. They didn’t need it anymore. She tied it to the loose strap of her pack so she wouldn’t have to carry it and took Cullen’s gloved hand in her own. She beamed and gestured outwards. “We’re here,” she whispered.
Cullen shivered despite the air not holding much of a chill. His gaze lingered on Shen for a moment before he began to watch the sway of the verdure. “Where is...here?” he returned, voice soft. Shen just smiled and tugged him deeper into the field. Soon, the grass rose to their chests. They came upon the sole tree that stood near-center of the open space. A small tower of stones stood at its base, and the wooden giant stretched so high the leaves seemed to kiss the sky. Shen released his hand and knelt at the base.
The haze wrapped around the field, but the encircling ground was only covered with a soft carpet of moss. The air was clear around this tree. Cullen wasn’t particularly well-versed in Dalish customs, but he could feel the vibration of ancient magic in the air. Following her lead, he knelt beside her and regarded the branches so high above. Starlight twinkled between the tiniest of gaps while the leaves swayed. A strange peace surfaced, beginning from his toes and slowly surging up through his fingers and up to his scalp. It hummed beneath his skin, and it would have frightened him had Shen not appeared so content where she rested. He released a breath and let the relaxation wash over him.
Cullen’s eyes slid closed, though he didn’t know if it was for seconds, minutes, or even hours. He came back to awareness as Shen brushed her fingertips across his cheeks. Her eyes looked like the leaves stretched across the starry sky, vibrant and entrancing. A soft chuckle lilted in the air between them. She rested her forehead against his and allowed her fingers to brush at the cowlicks at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said at last. “This place...is sacred. The body of one of the founders of my clan is buried here, and this is their tree.” The ancient magic suddenly made sense. Shen slid her hands over his shoulders, trying to soothe tension that wasn’t there. He cupped her cheek and gave her a crooked smile.
“I am...honored to have been invited here with you.” Cullen ran a thumb over a cheekbone. “Would it be improper if I kissed you here?” he wondered aloud. Shen just laughed, sweet and soft, and looped her arms around his neck. The trip out to the Free Marches was worth the seasickness, the hard travel on foot, placing the whole of his trust in her hands as she traced a path through mostly unfamiliar territory along old Dalish routes. All of it was worth it...for her.
Their lips met. Smiles bloomed. The grasses swayed. Fingers curled in hair.
For the first time in what felt like eons, he found himself in the flecks of gold in her eyes, the soft touch of her palms, and curved lines of her vallaslin. He found peace in every aspect of Shen, and he was no longer lost.
For DWC, Welcome :). Prompt: “Did you see that? No?”
i had fun with this oneeee (also forgot to post it when i wrote it, woohoo /sarcasm)
it’s in my time travel ‘verse so it probably won’t make a ton of sense out of context BUT. that’s okay.
for @dadrunkwriting!
Dorian froze. There had been a brief flicker in the air— like a rift opening almost, but not quite, something of a warmer tone outlining something clear and light— and his barrier flared to life without any conscious thought. It caught Adhlea and shrouded her in his protection, but she just turned and stared at him, her brows drawing together and her head tilting. He let out the breath he had been inadvertently holding and met her gaze. “Did you see that?” he asked, his voice frayed at the edges like his nerves, but Adhlea shook her head in the negative. “No?” Dorian felt the mild hysteria creeping up his throat and threatening to suffocate him. It kept happening and he was the only one who noticed.
These...glimpses of things had started innocuously enough; he originally had thought he was catching glimpses of where the Veil was thinning, pre-rifts or just weak spots. This was mildly alarming, of course, as the thought of demons in Skyhold was something considered impossible, what with Fade experts and a professional rift-closer present, plus the ancient magic sewn between each brick. As they grew in frequency, they began to last longer. Originally, the briefest of lights had begun to flash out of the corner of his eye, but eventually he could actually look at these spots when they sprouted midair. No one else saw them. Perhaps he was the only one who could.
The most recent ones made his skin crawl. There was magic emanating from these spots. It was almost familiar. Almost. It tickled the back of his mind, just out of reach, until suddenly the panic shut everything else out and his focus sharpened.
Time magic.
Of course.
The golden tint, the ethereal appearance, glimpses into another time and place. His magic, but...warped. Tinted. Something else, someone else, clung to what was definitely his spells and incantations. The delicate structure was as familiar as the books he had studied night after night, month after month, hypothesizing and theorizing and eventually beginning cautious experiments. There couldn’t be another Alexius situation. He wouldn’t allow it. No more red lyrium futures where the world had practically ended.
So who was on the other side? Someone must have entered their base. Someone who was both a mage and someone with the ability to comprehend and put into practice the wildly arranged research. They only coded a few things and had used a simple cipher that was mostly used in the Adhlea’s inner circle of teammates and advisors, just in case someone came looking for them. So the options were Vivienne, or…
Dorian coughed a little and glanced around furiously. That bastard was trying to crack through. They had only verbally discussed their plans on what they would be searching for, so there was no way he could truly know what their goals were, but he was watching. If Solas continued at his current rate of growth in aptitude for time magic, he would be able to contact them within a matter of days. Even if he hit a wall, Solas would press harder and use his own magic to manipulate the guidelines Dorian had so courteously left out for him.
“Fasta vass,” he cursed under his breath. He dragged a hand over his face and closed his eyes, the lines of his body tense. The air around him was heating, he could tell, but his anger at Solas for daring to interfere and the helplessness he felt about not being able to stop him was drowning him. Adhlea was watching and hovering, clearly concerned about him and wanting to help, but he couldn’t tell her. She was having enough problems with just this Solas, this underpowered, weakened, cautious version that predated the one who currently was practicing voyeurism. He had to do something, but Maker help him, what could he possibly do in this situation?
The filmy light painted a spot in the air again, just slightly above them, and Dorian glared into it with all the force he could muster. “Leave us,” he growled, tone dark and dripping with malice. Adhlea gazed up at where he was focusing, clearly confused, but Dorian wrapped an arm around her waist, spun her around, and exited Skyhold’s garden where they had been lingering. So long as he lived, he would never allow Solas to hurt her again.
The light blinked out of existence and he felt the magic recede. Good. Solas was new to time magic and the last thing they needed would be him shredding the fabric of space-time in addition to the Veil.
Adhlea threw one last confused glance over her shoulder and allowed herself to be shepherded into the main hall. For a moment, a familiar aura had touched her own. But it couldn’t have been him...could it?
(Talesfromthefade) Happy Friday! <3 How about something with your Lavellan twins talking to one another and totally confusing the hell out of a would-be eavesdropper/other people around them for the DWC? (My brother and I are terrible with this- not completely finishing a sentence(s) aloud, but the other knows where it's going and jumps in with a reply. Annoys the crap out of our other siblings XD)
omg thank you, this was really fun. i might do more later if anyone wants to request a certain character’s reaction or a subject they would be ”””discussing””” lmao
for @dadrunkwriting!!!
Varric was looking over some papers next to his preferred fireplace when the Inquisitor’s voice caught his ear.
“Hey, have you seen..?”
“No, but try the rookery. He’s been messing with Leliana’s wine and playing with the birds recently.” Adhlea hadn’t even looked up from the book she was reading, perched as she was at the far opposite end of the table. She blew into a mug of some sort of hot liquid, and Shen nodded gratefully.
“Ma serannas.”
“Mhm.”
He squinted at them, trying to figure out how they knew the other would understand who they were talking about. After a few moments, he shrugged and went back to his paperwork. Twins, he supposed. Maybe he could work something like that into his next book.
Dorian hadn’t seen Adhlea so happy since...well, since before Solas left them. He watched from across the library as she and Shen shared a bench in an alcove.
“So then what happened?” she asked, her knees drawn up to her chest.
“Well, you know how I had said--” Shen started, but Adhlea was already nodding vigorously. “Yeah. So…”
“You didn’t.” She paused, staring at Shen’s face. “...you did.” The two erupted in giggles as they leaned their heads together.
Later, when Dorian asked her what it was they had been talking about, she provided far more information than what had actually been spoken between the two.
Baffling, that.
“No, no, no. You have to get along.”
Krem looked over his shoulder to where the Inquisitor and her sister sat a few tables away. Several bottles and mugs covered the stretch of wood between them, and from what he could tell, Shen’s cheeks were rosy as...well, roses. Hey, he never claimed to be a poet.
The sister was pouting. “It’s not…”
“No, it is that simple, it really is,” Shen barrelled on. “Just...do stuff together! Like--”
“We’re not building another fire together.”
Shen’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but as soon as she seemed to get her words straight, Adhlea continued.
“No, we’re not doing that either. And I don’t want to have sudden shortages on books either, by the way. I’m not sharing with him.”
“I would never--”
“Yes, you would. Now drink your wine before I finish it for you.”
Krem turned back to his own drink and a few of the other gathered Chargers, who apparently had also been listening in. They looked about as confused as he felt.
okay so this one actually turned into like. a plot-relevant thing for my fic LMFAO and it got long so i’ll just post a chunk of it.
for @dadrunkwriting!!
Adhlea arrived at Dorian’s quarters well after the sun had set. He ushered her in and closed the door behind them, locked it, and even went the extra mile and cast a muffling spell. He then proceeded to glance around the room as if searching for a hidden dwarf spy sent by Leliana. “I appreciate the secrecy and all, but…” she began, but Dorian waved her off.
“Just wait a moment,” he said as he turned to tug something out from beneath his bed. He plunked the wooden box down on his bed as gently as he could, but from the way his neck strained, it must have been much heavier than it appeared. She stepped over to Dorian’s side and peered down at it.
“So...what’s with the box?” she asked, her tone just a little patronizing. Dorian huffed and shook his head.
“Can’t you tell?” he scoffed. “Adhlea, use your senses. I know we’ve been here a while, but that’s no reason for you to let them idle.” That sparked her ire just a little, and she frowned at him. Despite his reproving tone, she could feel the concern that emanated from him whenever she had let her guard down a bit too much. She sighed and turned back to the mystery box, and she did as she was bid. She reached out and felt the edges of the aura of the object, her brows furrowing in concentration. Her fingers traced the lines of the wood and it made her skin tingle.
Adhlea glanced over her shoulder and began to ask, “What--” but Dorian shook his head and looked meaningfully at the box. Trepidation trickled down her spine. There was power emanating from this. Unfamiliar, old power. Even so, it welcomed her probing and even invited more, if she was reading its reactions correctly. Her thumbs brushed the corners and four glyphs flared to life. She swallowed her gasp and delved further, her palms flattening against the lid. There was an intense itch to open it, but that wasn’t necessarily a good sign. Her training from days long past floated through her mind. Always be cautious. It was a very good rule of thumb when it came to ancient magic. Even so, Dorian wouldn’t have procured something overtly dangerous without at least telling her beforehand.
And with that thought, she lifted the lid.
A brief expulsion of power emanated from its contents, and this time her gasp forced its way out. It caressed her and she felt it twine around her left arm as if probing in confusion. Then it was touching her face, her hair, her ribs, her knees, her pinky toes, and all she could do was stand stockstill. Dorian had moved over to better look at her face. Confusion made his lips turn down, but she was unable to offer any reassurances at that moment.
Whatever presence that she had released seemed to finish with its inspection of her and moved on. The way Dorian’s expression melted into surprise indicated that it was now having its fun with him. At least she wasn’t the one getting spirit-groped anymore. Adhlea gave herself a small shake to refocus, then peered down into the box. Fabric was folded over its contents-- something thick and in a pattern she’d never seen before-- and she gently unfolded the cloth.
Hi! For DWC either "It's your fault we're in this mess" or "This is why I listen to you and not my instinct." (Welcome!)
oh man i forgot to post this one lmfao. enjoy an except from my camp nanowrimo project that i incorporated this prompt into!!
lov u @dadrunkwriting
“It’s your fault we’re in this mess to begin with!” Her palms slammed against the ground as she manually cast a spread of fire mines in front of them. Her staff was a few yards away, leaning against a tree.
“My fault?” Dorian lobbed an orb of fire at the rampaging bear. “You’re the one who wanted to stop to bathe in this damned spring!” With a grunt of effort, he wrenched his arms up to raise a wall of fire. Adhlea scrambled from one end of the pool of water to the other and hopped up onto the ledge, then sprinted to her staff.
“Clear the water!” she directed, already summoning the energy necessary for her spell. Dorian jumped backwards, luring the bear after him a few steps as his spell wore off, and the beast stepped on one of the mines she had just planted. She grinned viciously and released lightning magic into the water. The bear was electrocuted instantly. It gave a final huff, then died.
Adhlea set her staff back down against the tree and returned to the spring, hopping in as if nothing had happened. “I meant that it’s your fault we got sent back in time when we were just trying to test out the spell for scrying purposes,” she continued.
Dorian, used to her bizarre ways at this point, shook his head and went to fetch his clothes instead. “I fail to see how that has anything to do with this situation,” he grumbled, tugging on his smalls.
She flicked water back at him without turning her head. “We wouldn’t be bathing in the wilderness if you hadn’t put so much energy into the spell that I got sucked in,” she lilted. Dead bear or no, she seemed content to soak for a little while longer. Dorian huffed but didn’t argue further. She wasn’t completely wrong, after all, and now they would have to try to find the artifacts in person instead of being able to scry them from the moderate comfort of their base of operations. He finished buckling his trousers just as his companion tossed a large fish out of the spring. “Looks like I caught lunch and dinner,” Adhlea said with a challenging smirk. He just sighed, tugged on his boots, and went to gather firewood while shirtless.
He lingered around the edge of their camp until she returned to actually bathing, then snagged her clothes silently from where they had been laid over a smooth-faced rock and stashed them in their tent. Dorian returned to prepping the campfire.
Several minutes later, her indignant shout was worth the wait.
(Randomnonsensedragonage) Welcome to the DWC! From the senses prompt list, how about 3. "Liquid running down your throat"?
aaaaAAAAA my first prompt for @dadrunkwriting!! thank you so much :D
i’ve been in a Big Mood for varric/cass so. here? ft my inquisitor shenuvun “shen” lavellan making decisions that rankle her party members who just have so so so much patience for her escapades.
The sun blistered painfully as it beat down upon their backs, further amplified by the reflective minerals amongst the sands, and the party was practically shriveled up beneath its onslaught. The Inquisitor had insisted on making another pass through the Still Ruins over a week ago. (“I could have sworn I passed one of those ancient artifacts,” she had said as her arms closed around herself. She had bitten her lip then and squeezed her elbows, her previously perfect posture shrinking as her confidence waned. “I just...think we should go and confirm its location— and activate it, if it’s there, which it should be! There might not be many residents living in the area, but...coupled with the Abyssal Rift, any breaches in the Veil could have catastrophic consequences.” Cullen had sensed her discomfort and all but ordered his fellow advisors to approve the excursion. The man couldn’t refuse his lover— not when she looked like that.)
Varric resisted his urge to sigh— it would only result in a mouthful of sand, anyway— and allowed his mind roam for the time being. There was only an hour left until the sky’s burning mistress would sink low enough to give their skin a desperately needed reprieve from at least one of the elements. The wind would start to snap at them and whip sand against their burns once the light had faded, but at that point they would make camp, be merry, and then retire to their two tents that would surely be tucked behind a dune or some sort of protrusion of stone to prevent them from being blown away. In the meantime…
“Damn sand chafing my asscrack, will the sun set already? I want to rest and forget about this hellhole for a few hours,” Cole suddenly spouted. Shen and Cassandra both swiveled to stare at them from where they had been examining an abandoned camp at the roadside. The Inquisitor’s brows were raised and her mouth downturned, but Cassandra…
Oh, if looks could kill. He felt the shudder slip down his spine but resisted the urge to shrink away. Her blatant disapproval was nothing new, but she seemed especially irritable about any slip-ups he made since he had gifted her the next installation of Swords and Shields. Instead, Varric turned to Cole and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Some things are better left unsaid, kid. Especially the ones with a lot of vulgarities. Don’t say things like that.”
“But you said them,” Cole protested, but Varric just shook his head and ushered him ahead.
“No, kid— I thought them where normally people wouldn’t be able to hear. There’s a difference.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes and made an attempt to huff in disdain, but instead ended up coughing on the sand that seemed to find its way into every nook and cranny that existed in living bodies. He suppressed his urge to laugh, but just barely. “Careful there, Seeker.”
She just grimaced and made to follow Shen who had finished up her inspections while he lectured Cole on etiquette. The path ahead had no shade in sight. Wonderful, that. Varric took a small sip from his canteen and trudged after them, Bianca an unusually heavy weight on his shoulders in the mind-numbing heat of the Western Approach.
The sun set at last and a hush settled over the desert’s inhabitants like a scratchy wool blanket: the quiet didn’t really suit them, but it was necessary for a proper rest. Their crew settled around a smokeless fire than their Herald had been so kind to cast. Varric made to reach for his canteen again, but paused mid-motion as Cassandra shook hers above her mouth. Her frustrated growl was all too familiar; Shen leaned over towards her friend in concern. “You’re out already?”
“Yes,” Cassandra gritted out. She screwed the cap back on before she let the canteen drop like it had personally offended her (which, he supposed, it sort of had). Shen shook her own, but all they heard was a faint ring of droplets striking metal. She sagged and rubbed her fingers across her vallaslin in that nervous tic that usually preceded a change to a more authoritative demeanor.
“I don’t actually need mine,” Cole volunteered, eager as always.
“What about you, Varric?” Shen asked as her gaze turned to rest on him. Varric had already located his and gave it an experimental jiggle. His head tilted in moderate surprise as slosh of a mostly-full container made itself heard. He felt Shen’s protective disapproval from across the campfire and was swift in his attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Now, now— there’s no need to get riled up. I just wanted to make sure I was pacing myself. I’ll drink more since we’ve settled for the night,” he said as a conciliatory smile spread across his cheeks, easy as a breath but without any real joy behind it. Shen seemed satisfied and accepted the full canteen from Cole, but Cassandra continued to watch him. He had the distinct impression that she had seen the way his smile hadn’t met his eyes— still wasn’t— and he responded with a raised brow as he lifted the flask to his lips. The sweet relief of liquid ran down his dry throat and he suppressed a groan of satisfaction; his eyes slid closed at the simple pleasure of slaking his incessant thirst. He disliked excursions such as these, but his support lay fully with the elf across the fire who now fussed over the warrior at her side. Said warrior was far more flushed than she had been a moment ago. Huh.
Cassandra looked resolutely away from him and accepted the canteen that had been thrust into her hands. As she lifted it to drink, he watched from a casual pose that belied his rapt attention. Her eyes drifted back to him as she swallowed. Once. Twice. Three times. A bead of sweat that had nothing to do with the climate slid down his back as his eyes widened. Her gaze snapped away again as she passed the water back to Shen, then she lifted the side of her hand to brush at her lips as if she had let any drip in her haste.
Satisfied, Shen busied herself by giving reassurances to Cole that yes, tomorrow they would reach the Lost Spring camp and would be able to replenish their supplies. Cassandra excused herself to the tent she shared with the Herald as she would have the last watch before dawn broke, but Varric still pondered what that twist in his gut had meant when their eyes had met through the flames. He continued to think about it even as the others went to rest and he took the first watch. Still he thought about it as he performed his nightly maintenance on Bianca that he made sure to complete when they were in the field. He fingered a bolt while gazing up at the sky.
