Archive of Our Own ^beta

Cassandra bristled like a cat caught outside in a violent storm.

The warm glow against the stone lost its comfort with every word Bianca spat at the Inquisitor. The stark contrast between them was almost comical if it weren’t for the tension rolling off them in deadly waves. A child of stone and a child of trees clashed in strained silence, eyes blazing in the torches hanging on the walls.

Perhaps it was the memory of Varric’s defeated retreat that drove her to act. She would not be able to give anyone in her party a satisfactory answer on their way back to Skyhold, but it didn’t matter. Cassandra had her sword pressed against Bianca’s throat before anyone could blink.

“You’ll hold your tongue Dwarf, if you wish to keep it behind your treacherous teeth.”

Unlike the subtle fondness that normally laced the moniker, “dwarf” was spit with poison in Bianca’s shocked face. Cassandra’s blade was poised at the perfect angle to slice her vocal cords and permanently silence the bullshit charade. Bianca knew nothing of loyalty and that filled Cassandra with a dragon’s wrath.

“Cassandra, it’s all right.”

A firm hand on her shoulder reluctantly pulled Cassandra away. The ice in Dorian’s eyes however echoed Cassandra’s own cold fury and the scent of a storm crept into the stone walls like a shadow. Daine put herself between her companions and Bianca who had reached up to touch her throat as if Cassandra had drawn blood. The sound of wax hitting the ground, candles slowly melting into nubs, broke the spell that held them as statues.

“You have caused enough damage for one day, for much longer than that I am sure.” Cassandra’s voice brandished contempt like a shield, stunning her enemies to silence.

“I suggest you find your way home Lady Bianca. You are no doubt missed by your husband.”

Cassandra sheathed her blade and made for the doorway where Varric had paused when he realized no one had followed. His mind spun in a whirlwind as he heard her steps grow closer and part of him wanted to vanish in a puff of smoke.

Logically, he understood the first part. Anyone dumb enough to threaten the Inquisitor didn’t stand a chance against Cassandra’s tumultuous ire. She’d made quite the name for herself both in and out of Skyhold’s sturdy walls as Lavellan’s bulwark. Devotion shone within Cassandra like the sun through eroded stone; brighter than the stained glass of the Chantry which cast the holy ground in a rainbow of colors. Those lucky enough to bask in her vibrant hues would carry that warmth until the Maker, or Stone, called them home.

Emotionally, however, he was stuck on that second part. The second part that hadn’t been in defense of the Inquisitor, but rather in defense of him. If he’d ever been the type to dream Varric might have pinched himself, but this was no jaunt in the Fade. He’d lost a part of himself in that damned place, but this was a different type of agony as the distance between them shrank. His pulse pounded in his ears so he almost missed it. 

Her shocked exhale, which he’d never be able to recreate in a dream, echoed in the cavernous hall. 

He knew she hadn’t been expecting to see him still underground. Truthfully, Varric didn’t know if he could unroot his feet from the gravel, they seemed content to stay locked in place. It was as if his body couldn’t bring itself to move further away from Cassandra: Tied to her with an invisible chain he didn’t want to break. His torso could twist, however, so he turned until he could see her fully and was struck as stone once more.

Their eyes caught and he realized it may have been Bianca’s words to the Inquisitor that spurred her into action, but it was her feelings for him that flushed Cassandra’s cheeks. Her eyes shone in the firelight, slightly wet as they often were when her heart took anger’s shape. How he, or anyone else, could accuse her of being glacial inside was blatant character assassination.

“Seeker, I-“

With the swift pull of an undertow, the mood vanished and Cassandra seemed to grow another four inches when her spine snapped at attention. Eyes no longer wide and soft, she nodded sharply and continued up the stairs without a backwards glance. Another test he had failed this time without deliberate sabotage: The ache in Varric’s chest grew and he wasn’t sure which hurt was bleeding more.

Daine eventually interrupted his wallowing, guiding him towards the exit of Valammar until fresh air greeted them: Her right hand a second anchor that encouraged him to face the endless blue sky above. She’d been a source of comfort since Adamant and also a determined mediator. Varric wasn’t ignorant of the bets she and Dorian had placed on his relationship with Cassandra. He’d never admit to tossing his own coin into the ring through Sera after promising her a favor or four.

His sense of romanticism may not be as intricate as Cassandra’s, but hope had sunk its claws into his chest and Varric found himself biting back confessions every time he made her smile.

She wasn’t smiling now.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The journey back to Skyhold was quiet: Uncomfortable post-coitus quiet. 

Daine was normally the first person to encourage the mending of fences, but she was powerless in the wake of Cassandra’s pleading. Varric tried several times to catch Cassandra’s eyes, but she was determined to pretend he didn’t exist. Wasn’t much different than their first journey together when he was a prisoner, but it stung his heart like Sera’s jar of bees.

Even Dorian tempered his teasing tongue, choosing instead to show off his magic by conjuring flowers and butterflies to delight his subdued company. Cassandra refused to be drawn in at first, but even she had to admit the floral arrangements he shoved in her face smelled delightful. 

Daine joined in when she saw the makings of a smile flash across Varric’s face after a brilliant red butterfly settled on his chest. Cassandra was caught staring and stuttered an excuse to flee in the guise of collecting firewood. The mood slowly lifted until Daine and Dorian persuaded Varric to judge their magnificent displays of arcane mastery. As they tried to outdo each other, they watched Cassandra slowly engage in conversation with Varric, debating the merit of his scoring. They bantered back and forth, ignorant of the giddy grins Daine and Dorian wore.

Two days later the party entered Skyhold’s gate where Harding greeted them on her way west. Daine held back to discuss their plan of attack in the Hissing Wastes while Cassandra guided their mounts to the stables. Varric finished his joke pulling a surprised laugh from Cassandra, which made Dorian giggle relentlessly at Varric’s besotted face. The wind trickled by playing with Daine’s hair and she could breathe in the light mountain air: The joy at their return a palpable sensation brushing against her skin.

Valammar felt a lifetime away until suddenly it wasn’t.

“No right to speak such malice, how dare she, my friend, my heart. She would try to break you again and again. She doesn’t deserve your devotion, give it to me, please to me. I will not cast you aside. No shadows, no alcoves, love out loud.”

Like ice cracking beneath her feet, Cassandra freezes and Dorian’s swear is heard across the courtyard when Cole appears. He moves as if possessed, as if he’s been hearing Cassandra’s hurt since it began. He whips around and Varric is assaulted by the frantic words; ripping stained bandages off an infected wound.

“A sword, a shield, a weapon. I am a weapon, is that why? Why? Why doesn’t he say it? A sword, a shield, a name. My name Maker please let him say my…”

“Enough!” 

Cassandra’s raw voice ties everyone in place. 

On the parapets onlookers peer over the stone and hold the tension in their chests as if it's their own. They see a ghost, the color drained from Cassandra’s sun kissed skin and she flees like one; there and then suddenly not. Cole has vanished as well, to follow his inadvertent tormentor or to find someplace far from the unbidden litany of yearning, no one can say. Varric’s sternum buckles beneath the weighted stares of Inquisition soldiers and Daine suddenly is in front of him, a wall that screams, “mind your business” and everyone listens. 

Conversations resume as if everyone hadn’t just witnessed a scene from an Orlesian soap opera. 

By the time sense has reasserted itself, Varric can make out the voices of Daine and Iron Bull who’d come to investigate the ruckus. Dorian is pretending to be annoyed by Galen’s hovering, but it’s an act Varric can see through. He can feel the weight of their eyes on him, but if they have any wisdom to offer it is lost in Cole’s sudden return. 

“I made it worse. Help her, please.”

Varric doesn’t wait, his feet marching to her without hesitation: The chain isn’t a chain, but a bowstring which stretches and does not break. Through the kitchen and down the corridor he finds her curled in a giant chair surrounded by cobwebs and dusty tomes. Her sniffles could be a byproduct of the stale environment, but Varric knows better. 

He presses a handkerchief into her shaking hand and she lets out a hoarse sob before taking it. Varric tries to hold onto the way her skin feels against his, if only for a second. He wants to feel it again and again, every blessed second the Maker will allow. 

“It’s not fair you know,” Varric begins, “the Kid didn’t even get to finish what he was saying.”

“He said enough.”

Cassandra’s voice is scratchy and thick with unshed tears he can see clinging to her eyelashes. He wants to brush them away, but refrains. 

“I beg to differ.”

Varric shouldn’t be so happy to hear her disgusted sigh, but he can’t stop his smile when Cassandra lets one escape her chapped lips. 

“Of course you do. It is what you always do, Varric, poke and prod until you can make another joke.”

By the time she turns to look at him, his smile has been replaced with a frown and her lips wobble as a tear escapes down her left cheek. 

“Tell me, are you not amused? 

He almost takes the bait. Silently he reaches out and a rescue comes, soft but hopeful like sunshine after a thunderstorm. 

“For me, she defended, sword sharp tongue sharper, for me. I’ve lied, I’ve pushed her to flush with anger so beautiful. Even with tears those eyes shine I am drowning. Drowning in her, wanting. I say her name in my head, in my head she is always," Cole stops because he can't say the rest.

He fades into the shadows feeling the fluttering of anticipation without seeing the tender way Varric cups Cassandra’s face in his calloused palms.

“Cassandra.”

The silence is bliss and Cole watches the clouds on the roof outside Sera’s room as she distributes the winnings of the bet accordingly. He feels Daine’s joy when Josephine leaves her office early to join her for dinner. Krem and Maryden trade tales of their travels over a pint and the Iron Bull doesn’t tease him too much. Dorian and Galen flirt between bookcases much to the amusement of Enchanter Fiona who relives a romance long faded with time.

Pink clouds make way for the twinkling cosmos and when Cole hears Cassandra laugh before Varric escorts her into the Herald’s Rest for their monthly game of Wicked Grace he is sure to make noise when he joins them.

They’re holding hands beneath the table and Cole doesn’t have to say what they’re thinking because everyone at the table teases them playfully. Cassandra flushes when Varric presses a kiss to her knuckles, but she is soft when smiling and Cole wonders if this is what it feels like when the world isn’t ending.

“It sure is, Kid.”

Varric winks at Cole and turns to his left before squeezing her hand.

“Deal us in, Cassandra.”

She smiles.