THIRTY-THREE

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Since her conception, whether nation or not, Nevarra has been a soil soaked in the blood of her political victims. It was from within Lord Hector's stronghold in Nevarra City that the Prophet Andraste was taken by the Imperium following her husband's now-infamous betrayal. When Maferath returned to Ferelden, he divided Nevarra for his three sons to rule. However, upon discovery of his father's treachery, Verald, who ruled the lands surrounding the City, was forced out of his position, which the population had determined was procured by means of outright evil and shameless nepotism. His supporters in court, or at least those of whom remained, were slain, carving into stone an Ages-old tradition.

Nevertheless, it was nurture, not nature, that taught Cassandra Pentaghast to always suspect even those closest to her. It was experience, not instinct, that trained her to swing first and ask questions later. She was not born a warrior, instead sheltered from that path by parents who knew the world would take more from their children than they were mature enough to give. They had tried their best, yet were not immune to their homeland's unquenchable thirst. The fate of her family had instilled a harsh truth in the lone surviving daughter: If she were to ever take sides, whether in war or civil debate, then she must vigilantly ensure that her perspective wasn't slanted or askew. To be certain of that, she must be as steadfast in her faith in the Maker as Andraste was on the night she was lit aflame.

She had always questioned her faith, for that was the only way to examine the justness of her actions. Never the Maker Himself, but her belief in where He chose to lead her. However, the trouble with the Maker was that He had turned his back on the world for its corrupt ways, so any chance at a direct answer was virtually nonexistent. Still, although she could not rely on His voice, she had a decades-long trust in His presence, despite what the Chantry had to say on the matter. Cassandra had to believe He still cared, or why else would He promise to return to once more let His glory shine upon His creation? Nevertheless, she had let herself be guided by the principles on which the Chantry was founded, and not so much the political and religious game the institution had warped into over the Ages.

Moreover, and perhaps ironically, Cassandra had taken pride in her ability to remain humble. She could admit better than others when she was wrong, and was willing to be corrected. But, oh Maker, that wasn't offering much comfort, anymore. If anything, her experiences with the Inquisition had shown her quite plainly that she must have stepped off the path at some point. Why else had she been cut down like she had? Why else would the Maker see fit to place such trials on her back?

If she had gone wrong somewhere, then it must follow that she was being corrected, but… But if that were the case, then why cure her when she still felt that she had learned nothing from her experience? Why was His instruction this time so unclear? If what she had endured was part of some grand plan, then what had been the objective? Had it all been for nothing?

Surely the Maker would not set her alight just to watch her burn…

...Or would He, just as assuredly as any bloodthirsty Nevarran from times past?

~oOo~

It was nearly dawn, but even with the sun on the cusp of mounting the Frostback peaks far off in the distance, Dorian Pavus couldn't tell night from day for all the miles of low clouds blanketing the mountain sky. Yesterday's wind chill had promised to deliver quite the spectacle, and in that he was not disappointed. A thick layer of half frozen mud draped over the grounds while icy slush drenched the battlements, and he shivered to think of the people residing in chambers still sporting gaping holes in their roofs. Whatever poor souls were assigned to roof repair would surely have to contend with what the storm had left behind, and he didn't envy the workload waiting for them.

He let out a tempered sigh through his nose to shake off those wearied thoughts and poured the tea, warming it at a light touch with a single finger on the pot. Steam rose up and stroked his cheekbones, the scent a pleasant sensation against the lingering fragrances of soaps, dry ink, treated parchment, and varnished wood. Pouring another cup, he added copious amounts of cream and two large sugar lumps to the first, stirring quietly and taking care not to nick the porcelain with his silverite spoon. He set the teapot down before adding cream to his own, setting the finished teacup in her outstretched hand.

The Inquisitor sat upon his fabric chair, having slept there every night since she'd given priority of the comfortable, stately Tower Room to Cassandra. Lavellan disliked her quarters, he knew, so she'd surely felt no bitterness at parting with them for the time being. She was used to aravels, or huts, or whatever it was the Dalish used for adequate shelter in their settlements, and the tower was apparently too decadent for this quaint creature of the woods. Although he knew her avoidance wasn't due to the room's association with a certain apostate just downstairs, he couldn't help wondering whether she had found her time away from it somewhat of a blessing in disguise. Or perhaps she wished to be closer to the elf still currently dreaming down on the ivory sofa, a blanket falling half to the floor as he slept the early morning hours away, even if she couldn't crawl in beside him, anymore.

He fervently hoped he was wrong about that. Maybe, given the outcome, it was best to avoid the topic of Solas entirely.

She blinked her thanks to him, raising her cup in a silent toast after she tore her eyes from the window. His lips pressed in a smile of acknowledgment as he kept the silence, sipping gingerly at the brew, slightly spiced with notes of ginger and cinnamon with just enough cream to match the tone of his scholarly hands. If he airated his mouth after the first swallow, Dorian could even detect a touch of vanilla in the blend.

The wind outside howled past the glass and shook it in its ancient jambs, plastering smears of sleet against the pane. They watched without remark as the half-frozen droplets were blown sideways and downwards, both simultaneously inching closer to the candles to stave off the mountain cold. The South was such a brisk, chilly little region; not exactly an ideal vacation spot. He watched as she pulled the blanket over her lap and immediately grew jealous, grabbing the tassels brushing the floor and throwing the extra length over his legs. Lavellan made no comment, though. She was a sharer, after all.

"Is Bull still in his quarters?" she asked softly, green eyes still trained on the ugly weather.

He blew on the tea slightly before his next sip, brows furrowing. "Presumably, the unlucky beast," he replied after a swallow. "I wouldn't worry, Inquisitor. He should be warm."

Lavellan smiled softly at him and his brow raised a touch in response. "So I hear."

Dorian let a hint of disgust creep into his sigh. "Ah, of course," he sneered beneath his mustache. "I knew I shouldn't have opened my bloody mouth around Vivienne."

She fell silent after that, any traces of mirth he'd thought she entertained missing from her face. They sipped and sat for a while in a companionable quiet, punctuated only by the single caw of a raven from above, followed by a rustling of wing and feathers. Absently, he rubbed at his neck, trying to massage the soreness from his stiff spine after a rough night.

"You slept on the floor again, didn't you?" she called him out, brows lifting sadly.

He nodded. Of course he had; what was he, a cad? "And leave you here to sleep on my armchair unsupervised? Surrounded by my precious books? How could I possibly trust you alone with them?" Dorian stole another sip, the porcelain hot on his lips. Truth be told, he hadn't minded beyond the physical discomfort of it all. It was that, or try finding room beside Bull with all the Chargers passed out in a disorganised pile around him. And what with all the snoring and farting they were doing, the hard floor at Lavellan's feet was more than preferable to the nightmares his ears and nose had been subjected to on other occasions.

"I think we should go somewhere hot, what with this awful weather," the elf mused aloud. "There's still time before the end of the war, even if I'm cutting it a bit close."

He couldn't resist. "Looking to 'warm' up before our last battle, are you, Lavvy dearest?"

The ghost of a laugh moved past her lips. "...Yeah," she nodded. "Sounds nice, doesn't it?" Her brows lowered in a frown as she took a sip, mulling over something to herself.

"...Care to share with the rest of the class?"

"Hmm? ...Oh," she caught herself, resetting her features. "I forgot how easy I am to read without…"

Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she had been about to say: Her blood writing, that distinctly Dalish tradition of tattooing one's face with the markings of a god. Without it, she wore her emotions like a classical thespian switching between emotive masks for a paying audience. Every little crinkle and brow lift was visible now, the deep green branches stripped from her fair face like the mightiest tree in all the woods had been chopped to pieces and carted away for mere kindling. Not wanting to stir up more painful memories than she was already living again in all likelihood, he let the thought die and decided to alter course.

Or at least he would have done, had she not spoken first.

"You don't have to come with me, this time."

The shock stabbed him, his jaw slackening for a moment before he could gather his thoughts, although they spilled out regardless of his input. "You think I'd just let you waltz completely out of my sight? Lavvy, do you know me at all? Hush. Drink your tea." Dorian nodded in satisfaction as a gentle huff escaped his lungs. "The nerve that you would even suggest leaving me behind…"

"I'm serious."

Pausing mid-sip, he arched a dangerous brow, giving the elf a careful once-over. "No, you're not."

She pursed her lips for the span of a few heartbeats, a stubborn will shining in her eyes. "Dor," she argued her case just above a whisper, "I didn't say I'd leave you here alone. Bull can stay back, too." As he moved to set his tea aside, she hurriedly finished before he could object further. "You should spend more time together to get to know each other, to - "

"Oh, pish! Inquisitor -"

"Don't call me that."

He sat back, nonplussed. "And why not?"

She frowned deeply at him. "Because you only ever call me 'Inquisitor' when you're trying to distance yourself from me. I don't call you 'Altus,' do I?"

As he leaned forward with narrowed eyes and raised a finger, his throat closed around the sharp rebuke. She had a point. "Inquisitor" was a word reserved for either polite conversation in the presence of anxious, anti-Tevinter types, or for flagrant disagreements such as these. "All right," he accepted this, raising his chin and steepling stiff fingers over his lap. "I'll make a mental note not to use your title in vain, in the future."

Lavellan looked like she was about to criticise his tone, but let a breath out in a deep sigh instead. "This war will end soon," she explained. Tell me something I don't know, he thought in an instant, biting his tongue before the phrase could escape the confines of his mind. "I don't want Bull going back to mercenary work and you to the Imperium before you know whether there could have been more than what you have now. A little trip away together might… I don't know… help flesh that out a bit more."

Dorian bit down on his tongue even harder, surprised only that he didn't then draw blood. He'd almost stepped into it with her, but luckily the mage silenced himself before pointing out that "a little trip away together" hadn't done her relationship with Solas any favours. All he would have done was shut down the conversation in the coldest manner possible, risking all their morning teas going forward.

But his silence - nay, the look on his face alone - was more than enough to convey that exact sentiment. Realisation dawned in her eyes as they flitted to the railing, where the resident elven apostate could be seen below. Dorian could hear him even now, shaking off dreams and beginning his day in total - or feigned - ignorance of their close proximity. Or had their voices stirred him from sleep? He hardly cared for the elf's sake, but only for Lavellan's, who stared in that direction like a rabbit caught in a trap, hoping the hunter who had ensnared her had the heart to free her… or at least put her out of her misery.

"...No more talk of this ridiculous romantic getaway nonsense," he whispered, glad to have recaptured her attention. "I'm coming with you, Lavvy. Whatever it is that Bull and I have, we can make clear on the road."

The elf's eyes met his, her scepticism making itself frustratingly known. "Can you?"

Rolling his own, he retrieved his teacup, muttering, "Believe it or not, I'm a grown man. I'm more than capable of talking frankly about love."

The four-letter word wrapped itself around his heart, forcing it to beat faster while trying to free itself of that smothering grasp, and Dorian was suddenly filled with a swift jolt of terror. Love? Oh, Maker, that couldn't be what he felt for that one-eyed, gigantic bastard, could it? Yes, he'd desperately prayed in the past for that sort of connection with another man, but he didn't think that he'd ever experience it. That he might actually harbour such feelings for someone, that that someone might even share in them with him, was… Well, it was downright frightening was what it was. And what if Bull didn't feel likewise? Could qunari even comprehend what love was, considering how little a role it played in their barbaric societies?

That struck him as an excuse, and a cruel one at that. They'd exchanged words resembling love before, surely. Kadan. Amatus. At times, their actions spoke louder than words ever could. Much louder, if he wanted to get crass about it. Did it really need to be spelled out between them? Couldn't he just… continue to ignore the pesky issue and hold out hope that it would simply buzz away without needing to so openly take a swat at it?

"What's wrong, Dor?" Lavellan broke past his own nervousness.

"Hmm? ...Oh," he breathed, casting his glance downward, "nothing, Lavvy… The tea's gone cold, that's all…"

The tea was indeed cold. A bloody travesty.

Worse still, in his chest lay an obtrusive ache. One so uninvited, yet inextricably part of the fabric of his soul, that he couldn't be altogether certain it hadn't been there all along.

And he couldn't begin to tell her why. No matter how he wanted to.

~oOo~

Not for the first time that morning, Varric had wedged himself like a stowaway locked in with the ship's cargo into the cramped legroom that existed beneath the Inquisitor's desk. If the keep hadn't been as silent as it was at this hour, and if he hadn't been awake for most of the night, he probably wouldn't have heard the approaching steps to the downstairs entrance. It had been a close call as he'd scrambled for a place to hide the first time, figuring there would be enough room for him under here. As luck would have it, though, it was a tight enough squeeze to trigger his claustrophobia, which was just… you know, perfect. He'd considered the water closet this time around, but didn't want to risk the door creaking and giving his position away.

So, there he was, squatting like a tool while trying his damnedest to hunch in his shoulders and quiet his heavy breathing, again. Still, it was better than risking a run-in with Nightingale.

Whoever it was this time was quieter than the first guy. He could just make out the scratch of a quill and the familiar scrape of a turning page. Were they going over notes and making a few more? Varric clenched his fist, resisting the urge to reveal himself and ask how Cassandra was faring. Honestly, he couldn't think of anything wrong with her. No more rage-induced freakouts or paralysing surges in her sleep had to be a major positive, all things considered. He'd even gotten up to close the balcony doors and light the fire earlier on because she was cold to the touch for the first time since -

The visitor let out a sigh and a slight hum to himself as he rolled the notes up, but Varric's heart lightened at the sound. Confident, he breathed a relieved sigh and squeezed out from under the desk, a large, callused hand resting on the seat of the chair for leverage as he pushed himself up.

"Sparkler," he turned toward the mage with a smile.

"Vishante - " Dorian jerked back in surprise, fire reflexively blooming in his hand. Unfortunately, that spelled the end of the quill he'd been holding, the sturdy feather crumbling to ash on the expensive imported rug at his feet.

"...Kaffas," he grumbled, staring at the soot on his shoe.

Varric winced and made his way around the furniture, awkwardly crossing his arms over his tunic. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I've got a spare if you're out."

Dorian blinked several times and eventually sighed as if his spirit was escaping his body. "No, nevermind. It's not as though I don't have a hundred more lying around the place," he muttered ruefully, tucking the rolled notes away. "I see you're back from wherever the blazes you were, yesterday. At least nothing important happened while you were gone."

He watched as Dorian lit a pair of pillar candles standing on the bedside table, regret stinging him. "Sorry," he said again, "I had no idea… I was catching up on sleep."

"You were out of sorts, last I saw you," the man admitted with reluctance. "And I did cut off your access. But when your little dwarven friends showed up, you weren't in your quarters."

Varric glanced down at Cassandra's sleeping form, his brows lowering in dismay. "Yeah, I know. I was... sleeping it off somewhere else."

He felt Sparkler's "ah" more than he heard it, his eyes trained on the Seeker as he watched the candlelight cast its romantic spell over the sharp lines of her face. She looked so peaceful… Even after all the hours he'd spent trying to get used to this new reality, it still felt so unreal…

"You can go back to bed, Varric," Dorian uttered, careful not to wake her. "Alexius will be up in around four hours to do another check, though, so don't get too carried away while you're up here."

Ignoring the implications of his last statement altogether, Varric looked up, a wrinkle forming between his ginger brows. "But he was just here."

Dorian stared back in confusion, tilting his ear toward a shoulder. "No, that's not right. Alexius didn't have the night shift," he said, scratching at his jaw in pensive thought. "Are you sure you're not mistaken?"

He shook his head. "Yeah, positive, Sparkler. I stole a peek from over there and saw him myself," he explained, thumbing toward the hiding place over his shoulder. "He checked Cassandra over like you just did, and then…" His frown deepened at the memory, whiskeyed eyes going dark.

Concerned, Sparkler frowned. "Go on."

Varric's neck disappeared as he hunched his shoulders up in a long, awkward shrug. "Well, he kind of… sat down over there and started… sniffling to himself. I think he might've been weeping."

Sadness crept up on the mage, his body slumping at the news. "Oh, Gereon," he lamented to himself, shaking his head sombrely, "you poor old bastard…" When he glanced over to find Varric waiting for an explanation, the Tevinter pressed his lips to a fine line and glided a finger over his mustache, smoothing it down to busy a nervous hand. "The healing was rather dramatic, but I doubt that's what got to him. I'm sure it played a role, but… no, he's usually so very reliable under pressure… You must understand," he clarified after checking the Seeker's temperature with the back of his hand, bringing the comforter up to her chin and preparing to make his exit, "it's quite possible Cassandra's near-miraculous healing struck a personal chord with the old man, and… well, it wouldn't have exactly been the most pleasant one to grapple with, yes?"

Varric's eyes drifted back down to Cassandra, tucked in warmly beneath the patterned satin comforter, still stuck firmly in her dress from the night before. "...Oh," was all he could muster in reply. That's probably it, he thought. Alexius did look like a guy plagued with regrets and hypotheticals, and Varric was sure he wouldn't feel any different in the magister's shoes. With everything he'd put himself through after losing Hawke, he understood all too well that awful pang of jealous grief that crept up behind him whenever someone else survived something arguably worse in comparison, constantly asking himself if he could have changed things if he'd just done something right, for once.

It was a shame the Grey Wardens had all disappeared… They could have saved that Felix kid the same way they'd saved Sunshine all those years ago…

And it struck Varric then that Alexius' Elder One had known exactly where the Wardens were all along. He'd kept back the one thing that could have saved Felix, all so the desperate magister would dance to every tune that asshole set, just for a fleeting hope that his only son might live.

Once more, the dwarf kicked himself for not checking for damn sure that Corypheus had died the first time.

Sure as shit, he promised himself that he wouldn't make that same mistake again.

~oOo~

The wind howled its way down the long chimney, the dance of the flames morphing into something of a frantic scramble, as if the fire itself flinched at the bitter cold blowing down upon it. Swallowing against a dull ache, her brow furrowed and she closed her eyes for just a moment longer, willing herself to push past the irritation engulfing her throat. She did her best to focus on what was good: the warmth of the fireplace, the relief of finally stripping off that cursed gown from last night's festivities, the ease of the breath moving through her chest, the feeling of being well-rested for the first time in months…

There was so much to be thankful for. A sore throat, for the meantime, wasn't worth complaining about.

Varric was quiet as he snaked around behind Cassandra in her borrowed quarters. There was a silence to his every step that took her by surprise whenever he appeared out of the corner of her eye, but it wasn't an unpleasant realisation. Rather, to find him nearby, roaming about the place as he brought her this or made her that, was a comfort, even bordering on humorous at times. He seemed to be everywhere, doting on her to the point of absurdity. It was done out of kindness, but it wasn't necessary. Nevertheless, despite her itching limbs wanting to do things for herself, she let him have this. If it made him feel better to help in some small way, she wouldn't force him to stop.

Within moments, she was presented with a cup of tea, saucer and all. Lowering the drink to her lap, she couldn't help but smile at the flecks of leaves he'd failed to sieve properly, at the intimidatingly dark quality of the liquid that had brewed minutes too long, and at his sudden reappearance with a tray of cream and sugar for her to add at her leisure. It was endearing, all his fumbling attempts to serve her in this way. Hopefully it didn't taste as unappetising as it looked.

A throw blanket was draped over her back, resting on her shoulders. She pulled it around her just as he sat down beside her with a heavy sigh. Things were silent for all of a handful of heartbeats before Cassandra huffed out the ghost of a laugh. Snark was on the tip of her tongue, but it was as though the mere thought of speaking brought a burning to her throat that she could hardly stand. Letting it go, she shrugged and braved the first sip of the tea he'd prepared. Maker, it was strong stuff, bitter and pungent. Grimacing, she shuddered and set the cup down for the time being.

"No good?" he asked, fingers laced over his abdomen as he grinned wildly her way. "Eh, never really got the hang of tea. Ask me for a pint and I'm your man, but anything that requires actual prep… Useless."

Yet another smile overtook her, eyes shimmering with delight as she exaggerated another sip of the tea. Heat burned its way down her neck and blossomed in her chest, and the effects were soothing on the seemingly perpetual soreness. Placing it back down again, she ran her tongue over her teeth, conscious of a leaf particle that had embedded itself near her gums.

Varric caught her frown and laughed softly, watching her struggle oddly before leaning close. "Smile," he bade her.

As she slowly relented and showed him her teeth, Varric scrutinised her mouth and brought a fingernail up to scrape away the offending tea leaf for her. He showed off the tiny black particle before flicking it carelessly at the fire, slouching again as though it were nothing of consequence.

It was a bizarre moment, one so mundane and domestic that she could hardly process it for a second or two. He'd really just... done that for her. No scrambling for a mirror to let her do it herself, no commentary on how repulsive it was, no flippant jokes at her expense. She had needed something, and he was there to lend a hand without hesitation.

"Too weird?"

Snapping out of her daze, Cassandra threw him a puzzled glance.

He swirled a finger in the air around his face, searching for the proper descriptor buried in his mind. "You're doing a… a thing." At that, he snorted derisively and leaned his head back, looking away with a chuckle. "Said the bestselling author. I'll blame this one on fatigue." Waving it off, Varric gave her the glimmer of a cocky smile. "Anyway, Sparkler was up here, a while ago. He mentioned that you'd lost your voice during the whole dramatic climax I wasn't here to witness. And there I was, trying to get you to talk. Now I feel like an ass, Seeker. You should've told me," he winked.

A gurgled laugh escaped her, appreciating the jest. Coughing away the irritation it gave her, Cassandra scratched the base of her neck and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

The Keep was still asleep around them. With sunlight lost behind gloomy clouds and lulling mountains, Cassandra could hardly hold that against anyone. Although they may still be huddling indoors, she was sure many were hard at work at the crack of dawn, just as she usually was, but being caught out in this weather was another story.

From the corner of her eye, Varric sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, looking over at her before returning his gaze to his boots. "He also wanted to give us a heads-up: The Inquisitor was talking about heading out and making for southwestern Orlais. I guess she's got more of those shards she's looking to cash in."

Cassandra took the news like a heavy rucksack was just slung over her shoulder after being told to scale a mountain. The thought of that searing heat now, after just having rid herself of the feverish experience of the red lyrium, was daunting. She was lucky that she remembered to set her tea down before she slunked back in defeat. Out of one fire, straight into the next, she thought, dreading the coming weeks.

"Oh, I'm with you on that, Seeker," Varric agreed with her overt mannerisms, his eyes still lowered to the ground. "I know I'm not the most enthusiastic sightseer ever, but if I never saw those ugly deserts again, it'd be too soon."

Cassandra grimaced at that. It wouldn't be a carefree romp through the sweltering sands for Varric, either, and she knew that it didn't just boil down to him not wanting a paid vacation to the ass-end of Orlais. That place was full of memories the dwarf would rather stay buried, not recalled in vivid detail as they passed familiar landmarks that brought thoughts of friends long past hope to mind. If that's where they were headed, then she made a note to pack a few extra canteens to distract him.

"Well, if I'm going, I might as well bring along some reading material," he sighed, shifting to face her. "Speaking of which, Seeker, you wouldn't happen to remember what you did with my, uh… 'correspondence,' now would you?" The word had been spoken with a smirk in his gruff voice, and she could picture the turn of his lip even as she looked away with a thoughtful frown. "You did such a great job cleaning my quarters from floor to ceiling that now I can't find jack shit in there."

The remark about his missing papers was meant to be taken lightly, but she couldn't dismiss the idea that perhaps he was urgently in need of addressing something of great importance to either his investments or his network of spies, or some other business obligation. Perhaps her hiding place was too good. And since she couldn't simply tell him their location, Cassandra let out a resigned sigh and stood up, laying the blanket down and rounding the sofa before heading straight for her boots.

Varric watched her set about the palatial quarters, standing as soon as she grabbed the pair and sat down to strap them on. "Oh, what, right now? We don't have to rush out - you could finish your…" As he picked up her teacup, he made a dour face and brought it up to his nose, taking a whiff. The next face he made was more agreeable. "Ah, gotcha. I'd run off if you were making me drink this shit, too," he grumbled, casting it into the fire. The wood smoked and hissed, but luckily the liquid wasn't as flammable as it tasted. Then he sat down in the chair by the desk and slid on his own boots, readying himself to join her in search of his mail.

When she made for the stairs, he raced to her side and grabbed her arm, preventing her near descent. "Uhm… that's… not really a good idea. Hang on, let me think for a second."

Confused but intrigued, she indulged him, curious to see where this would lead. Instead of taking the path of least resistance through the keep, as she had fully expected, the dwarf surprised her by throwing open the west balcony doors and leaning out over the railing. Varric looked up to gauge the weather, then down, all the while tapping his chin and clicking his tongue. He calculated in silence as Cassandra stared wordlessly at him, his crinkled brow the only outward indication of an intense decision-making process taking place.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he rubbed gloved hands together and turned back to grab Bianca before taking Cassandra by the hand.

What in the name of Andraste made him think this was at all necessary? Who was he even avoiding by taking to the roofs instead of the walkways?

It wasn't precisely a long way down, but the ice on the shingles of the roof below them had given her pause. As did the precarious state of Varric's ankle. More than once after braving the jump, she had lurched back only to find him steadying her, his face twisting as pain shot up his leg. But they made it, step by slippery step, to the adjacent roof over the chapel.

The task became easier with every tile, just as the wind grew colder at their backs by the second. This sneaking-around business was patently ridiculous, yet with the same breath, she had to admit to a small thrill inching up her spine. Was this the reason behind his decades of moving in the shadows, behind every shot from a distance to an enemy unaware of danger until a poisoned bolt threw him to the ground? She may have preferred looking into the eyes of her adversary on an open field in a fair fight, but Varric clearly adopted other methods and preferred his own way of doing things.

When they reached the steep side of the Mage Tower, Cassandra came to a dead halt in both thought and movement. Her chin rose, tracing the eye-watering height to the tower's rooftop ramparts. Then her sight moved downward, critically measuring the distance from the storm drains to the ground. With a sigh, she tossed a glare Varric's way and shrugged, pointing toward the gardens in frank indication.

He grinned, catching her once again off guard. What did he have to be so cocky about? Careful not to lose balance, he pulled his crossbow over his shoulder and aimed up, checking his trajectory with the scope. At last satisfied, he pulled a trigger off to the side and launched a spiny, anchor-like mechanism high in the air, secured to the crossbow by a thick chain. The bang should have been loud enough to inform the whole keep, but instead was merely a heavy pop! that would go unnoticed even by the most paranoid of guards. Cassandra heard it make contact with the stone above, craning her neck to watch him yank the chain until it was lodged securely between two ramparts.

"Grappling hook," he explained with a wave, still grinning as he tapped Bianca's stock. In one smooth motion, he wrapped an arm tightly about Cassandra and pulled her close. "See that iron lever near the bolt feed?" When she nodded tentatively, he instructed, "Give that a switch when you're ready. And hold on, Seeker. It's a long way down."

With their combined weight, she wasn't expecting much to happen if anything, but when she switched the lever he'd indicated from left to right, she nearly tumbled clear over his shoulder from the speed of their ascent. Luckily, it was as if Varric had entirely expected her to doubt his seriousness and gripped her all the harder to prevent her fall. While she positioned herself more effectively, he let Bianca do the work as he set boots against the wall near the top floor, protecting them both from the scrape of cold, unforgiving stone against their skin.

Within moments, they were at the top. Grasping the tip of the ramparts, Cassandra scaled over his shoulders and reached the solid floor of the open air section of the tower. He may not have required help, but she leaned over and offered him a hand up anyway, careful not to nudge loose the grappling hook next to her hip. "Thanks," he wheezed, leveraging himself against her diminished strength. Stumbling over the side, he wiped at his brow and paused to catch his breath, the Seeker doing the same. Despite nearly dropping him, the adrenaline rush had sent thrills through her, and she fought for calm as she looked out over the ramparts to the roof from whence they had come.

"I think I'm getting a little too old for that move." Varric took a knee and tugged loose his hook, flicking the lever a few times and reapplying the stays. As an aside, he added, "Oh, hey, uh… don't tell Her Inquisitorialness about this. Lavellan would strangle me if she knew I could've scaled cliffs with Bianca this whole time."

Cassandra huffed out a laugh and shrugged emphatically at him.

He shrugged back. "Yeah, well - I don't like to just whip her out and abuse her at every opportunity, especially in her old age. The hook's for emergencies only, nowadays."

At that, the Seeker squinted dubiously and looked away. How does he consider this even remotely an emergency? But she couldn't argue the point even had she desired to, and so left her questions on the rooftop.

"Alright, let's move," Varric rose and opened the hatch leading indoors. She lowered herself to the first rung and gripped the railing as she slid down to the workfloor of the Mage Tower. "Once we get to the bottom floor, edge your way out the door. Keep quiet, stay low, and make for my -"

She hesitated. Clumsily, Varric slammed into her back, stopping him dead in his tracks. Ignoring her, he glided around to lead from the front again. "Seeker, what's the holdup -?"

He must have expected the mages to be asleep in their cots, but they'd come face to face with quite the opposite. Half a dozen master arcanists, enchanters, and tranquil were huddled around a table lit with candles and the soft lights of healing spells, pouring over tomes, grimoires, spell books, and everything else stocked on the bookshelves of any respectable Circle worth its title. With them stood a hooded figure, who turned at the sound of their arrival.

Leliana's steely eyes had frozen the dwarf solid.

"...Well... shit," he muttered under his breath.

The Inquisition's Spymaster left the group with a word, arms crossed over the sigil on her chest as she made her way to them. Varric stiffened on her approach, taking one sorely-needed step backward in soft retreat. Confusion melted into understanding as Cassandra at last realised who the dwarf had been avoiding with his crazy antics.

"Varric," Leliana seethed quietly, blue eyes narrowed to the cutting edges of twin blades. "You will not run from me, this time."

Varric's very soul escaped the confines of his stout body with the heaviness of his sigh. With great reluctance, he threw Bianca into her sling and raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, Nightingale. You caught me red-handed... Looks like the early bird finally caught the worm."

Cassandra shot looks between the two, watching as Leliana stiffened noticeably at his use of the common phrase. A long silence drew out among the three while the mages continued to concentrate at their backs, her confusion mounting once again.

"Cat got your tongue?" he prompted her, shifting shaky thumbs to his belt loops. He was nervous, that much was obvious. What had he done to earn the Spymaster's wrath? Knowing him, he likely deserved it...

But Leliana was battling a quiet rage, glowing with hostility. "How dare you, Tethras?"

Their eyes widened in unison, Cassandra throwing him an accusatory glance. On the receiving end of both looks, Varric bristled. "Whatever I did, it wasn't my -!" He stopped himself short and growled under his breath, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Alright, fine. It's probably my fault. What, you want me to plead guilty before I even know the charges?"

"You know what she did!"

Now the merchant prince was more perplexed than ever. He arched a brow, pointing directly at Cassandra. Aghast, the Seeker backhanded his shoulder in a tidy thwack!, causing him to step back and tuck the accusing finger away.

Leliana turned her back on them and reclaimed her place within the circle of mages, bent over the small table. "I'm here," they heard her whisper. "What's your assessment?"

"He has survived the night," a tranquil offered the information blandly. "It remains to be seen whether he will take food and water."

Alarmed, Cassandra walked forward and stepped around the table to catch a glimpse of what was obviously their patient. On the table, lightly restrained, was a large black raven, beak open and slack while a mage treated half-healed lacerations along its back and beneath its expansive wings, both of which were missing several feathers necessary for flight. Half of its neck was raw and bare, red from irritation. It was as though the poor bird had been plucked and beaten in intense battle for its very life.

"...Oh no. What happened, here?" Varric's voice sounded beside her.

Leliana gathered a mess of bloody cloths and tossed them into a bin placed beneath the table's surface. She refused to make eye contact with him as she shook her head and flipped the pages of a medical tome that one of the mages had opened in front of her, pointing to a diagram and the relevant paragraph.

"I'd wondered why my ravens were late returning from Halamshiral," the Orlesian said just above a whisper. Tutting to soothe her charge as he squalked in protest to his wing being outstretched, she pursed her lips. "Harding's scouts and my own men could account for all but one making their way back to us. It seems Ser Archibald Crowley was delayed at base camp."

At that, she raised glaring eyes to the dwarf. "Minutes from delivering Empress Celine's message regarding Sandal's summoning, his message was intercepted. He lay injured in the snow for Maker knows how long before the Commander's recruits discovered him. By the date on the message, it could very well have been days... But Ser Crowley is a good soldier," she said, stroking what was left of the soft black feathers on the raven's head and neck. "He fought, and because of that, he survives... For the moment."

Cassandra wanted to ask what this unfortunate turn of events had to do with Varric, but the man at her side lowered his head and swore softly. "Damn it... Shhhit. I'm sorry, Nightingale... I'll pay for the damages."

"The damage is done." Leliana left the circle of experts and waved the pair off to the side to join her. "He was one of my best fliers, and now they say he may never take to the skies again. I will have to take special care of him for the remainder of his life, if he lives at all… but I won't begrudge him that. As for Mouse, that is another matter."

It dawned on the Seeker, then. Shocked, she turned and glanced back at the feathered patient before looking back to Leliana. Mouse had done that? How could she have targeted one of the Spymaster's best ravens? Cassandra wasn't even aware that the cat traveled as far as the camp at the foot of the mountain on her explorations of the keep. For Leliana to suspect Varric's pet, this must have been a pattern of behaviour for her.

"Leave it to Blondie's kitten to try maiming something too big to die," he mumbled, fidgeting to stave off the tenseness in the air. He rubbed the back of his reddening neck, wracking his mind for a compromise that would suit the crime. "Look, I can't make a cat go against her nature, but I can keep a closer eye on her."

Shaking her head, Leliana hardened. "I'd be insane to blame an animal for its instincts, but she has gone too far this time. That message was too important to leave lying in the snow. Crowley was too important - and innocent. And you are ultimately responsible for what happened." Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms and shifted her weight. "The cat has to go."

Now it was Varric's turn to shake his head. "I'm not getting rid of Mouse. She's mine and I owe it to her to do right by her." Waving the proposition aside angrily, he offered a truce, instead. "You want the threat removed, fine. I'll take her with me from here on out and make sure she stays out of trouble. Wherever I go, she goes, but I'm not giving her up." Tired, he slumped back and threw his hands wide. "Not saying I'm not sorry for your raven - and I hope he makes a full recovery - but you take care of yours and I'll take care of mine. Take it or leave it, because I'm not changing my mind... Not this time."

From the sidelines, Cassandra studied Leliana for clues. She appeared to take the suggestion in stride, and although the Seeker could tell her friend wasn't convinced of his ability to do as he promised, she still gave it plenty of thought before she spoke again.

"Something tells me that she'll get into more trouble at your side than on her own," she said, her thumb stroking the corner of her lip, "but if you promise to look after her... I suppose I cannot argue with you. On the condition that this never happens again - and if it does, Tethras, I swear by the Maker, I'll add you to my list of marks."

Cassandra half expected him to heave a sigh of relief, but he bucked his usual trend by continuing to hold his breath, eyeing the Inquisition's Spymaster closely. There was more going on here than met the eye. Yes, the matter of the raven and his hunter was the chief concern here, but something told the Seeker that this was less about predators and prey and more about something to which she was not privy.

"So..." he stared the woman down, his voice worn thin and lower than usual. "...Are we done here, or did you have anything else you wanted to get off your chest?"

She was right, and they all but confirmed it in the way their eyes shifted to rest on her, albeit briefly. Varric and Leliana held a private exchange directly in Cassandra's company, and she wasn't so dense as to not realise that the daggers they exchanged with one another were in her defense. There may yet be bad blood lingering between the two spymasters over what Leliana had said to him in the War Room. After all, it was Leliana who had watered and toiled the seeds of doubt in Varric's mind over his perceived dangerous association with Cassandra. But that felt like an Age ago; surely they couldn't hold bitterness for so long.

It was a strange moment for her, to know that the people closest to her had differing ideas on how best to protect her, as though she even needed protecting. It riled something within her, picking vicious scabs off her wounded pride. Undoubtedly, recent events had damaged their perceptions of her to the point where they no longer believed her invincible… And that was not something she could fault them for, for that was precisely how she felt, too. She had survived the worst thing that had ever happened to her, and still that wasn't enough to convince anyone, even herself, that she was strong enough.

As Leliana took a deep, measured breath, she lowered her arms to her sides and softened her stance a touch. Her lips parted as she stared at the dwarf, blue eyes calculating, yet sombre. A quick glance to the Right Hand, and then...

"Yes, Varric... I... I owe you an apology."

There was something noble about remaining quiet, whether by foil or folly. It gave Cassandra the opportunity to look, to listen, to absorb, rather than demand, declare, even denounce all that took place around her. Had she the ability, she would have interfered with this exchange long before, peppering them with questions, pointed remarks, and she never would have taken the time to witness two professional liars square off with the truth. Had she mislabeled them, though? To paint them as liars first and foremost felt like the most surface-level judgement, now that she was confronted with... whatever it was they were doing now.

As for Varric, his openness to such apologies was caked with as much suspicion as he'd had for Cassandra during her numerous attempts to humble herself in a similar manner. And although she expected no less, she hoped that he would someday find it in his heart to forgive, if not for Leliana's sake, then his own.

"...You probably owe me that much, Nightingale, I'll give you that," Varric stated blandly, no hint of emotion behind his words. "Maybe we can call it even, then. Throw out the rough draft and start fresh, or something."

Leliana nodded slowly to that. "Perhaps, though we shouldn't disregard it entirely. Every draft, rough or not, reveals ways in which to improve. I shall do that, and take forward what I have learned. I can only pray you will do the same."

She was speaking on his level, it seemed. After a long moment of consideration, Varric held out his hand. Satisfied, Leliana offered her own in kind.

And so, they shook on it.

"Deal," Varric promised, glancing up to Cassandra as he let go his grip and headed for the stairs. With no small amount of hesitance, she followed suit, bottling up the words she could not add.

"Tethras," Leliana called out before they could go, "do you know much about ravens?"

He paused and looked back over his shoulder, waiting. He was letting her have the final word.

"They are fiercely intelligent creatures, you know. They chart their path and stick to it, no matter the cost to themselves. It's considered a gift to befriend them, let alone share a home with them... Still, they are wild at heart with a mind all their own, and you cannot cage them for long."

She stroked fingers down the injured bird's back, though her messenger was seemingly catatonic. "Oh yes, their wings may break, but never their spirit… Respect them always, or don't hold it against them when they take to the skies and never return to roost."

Sobered by her words, Varric was silent as he took a breath and descended the stairs, Cassandra following in his wake. They took each flight in quiet introspection, making eye contact with one another only when he opened the door to the battlements outside, struck once again by morning's bracing chill.

"She really loves that bird, huh?" he muttered around an empty smirk.

But they didn't breathe another word on the subject.

~oOo~

The walk to his room was punctuated only by the pelting sleet and the sudden gusts of wind, Cassandra keeping a steady pace at his side. His mind was racing over that last confrontation, one that he'd expected to go down a lot differently than it had. Still, Mouse pouncing on everything with wings or a pink tail hadn't helped whatsoever, and he wondered if it might've gone better if there wasn't the matter of the half-dead raven to contend with.

The door to his quarters was still unlocked, and after shaking off the water from his hair, Varric stepped inside and out of the cold, ignoring the chattering of his teeth. He turned suddenly as a gurgled note of surprise leapt from the Seeker's throat.

"What? Oh. Yeah, forgot about the mess," he apologised, dragging himself over to a pile of half-folded clean clothes scattered on the floor.

Her eyes wide, the Seeker waved her arms emphatically at the state of his room, obviously upset that it looked worse than when she'd started, weeks ago. It was tough just to stop himself from laughing, and in the end, he lost that battle. She croaked something resembling her typical ugh! and shook her head in frustration, beginning the task all over again.

Varric halted what little progress she was making, holding up his hands to coax her down. "You know what? Don't waste your energy, Seeker. It's just going to look like this no matter what you do," he tried to smile. "I'm a sloppy old perpetual bachelor; you're not responsible for cleaning up my messes." He had expected that to ease her, but something in the way she looked away… Varric couldn't place it, exactly. She didn't really want to waste her energy on his quarters, did she?

Maybe she doesn't exactly appreciate you calling yourself a bachelor, his mind suggested. That could be it, but he hadn't used the word in the literal sense. It was just a state of mind, not a marital status… He shook the thought away, grateful that her back was turned so she didn't witness it. As if the Seeker still wants anything after what happened…

Like clockwork, his brain jumped on that stray thought, too. What was he thinking? After last night? Didn't the whole sex part of the evening sort of go to prove that a relationship was exactly what she wanted from him? Unless she was just scratching an itch; he could certainly understand that. Who wouldn't want to have a casual fling with a handsome dwarf like him? Anyway - the point was: Cassandra wasn't the type of woman to just use him for her own base desires. Unless he counted that one time, which he didn't because she was pretty sick and, as she'd said, not in her right mind. No, whatever she wanted out of this, it decidedly wasn't a one-night-stand.

The question he should be grappling with was: What did he want from her?

And Andraste's ass, Varric knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted it a little too much. That was why he was grappling with it to begin with, since it wasn't the sort of question he should be asking her, now…

The squeak of a hinge sounded from the other end of the room, pulling Varric from his fretful musings. The Seeker was bent low over the empty chest, the items that had previously been stored within scattered all around her.

"Hey," he raised a hand, coming toward her, "like I said, you don't have to…"

Twin ginger brows raised as she reached in and yanked free a plank of wood, tossing it aside. She looked in and smirked to herself, shooting a glance at him as she gestured at the contents. Leaning over her shoulder, the dwarf chuckled.

"Oh, you're good," he complimented her, staring down at his documents in stark approval. "You sure you're in the right line of work, Seeker? You should hide all my secrets from now on."

Cassandra's breath escaped in a voiceless laugh, and she stood to make room for him as he plucked some of the items from the chest. A letter here, a missive there, and he lazily bent over backwards to latch his outstretched fingers around the strap of his rucksack, tugging it toward him to stuff as much as he could inside. He could read over them and reply on the journey -

An idea struck him on the jaw, his mouth falling slack. "...I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner," he chastised himself, slamming the lid down and rushing across the room to his nightstand. He spied from the corner of his eye as she shivered and sat down on his bed, pulling the blanket over her shoulders for a modicum of warmth in the chilly room. Cassandra watched him in turn, angular brows furrowing in curiosity as he fumbled through the drawer for all the items he needed.

"Got 'em," he breathed, setting the items down so he could take up the flint stone and light the bedside candles. "I'm an idiot. Of all people, I should have tried this hours ago." Once the wicks flickered to life and the flames steadied, pushing back the darkness from the bed, Varric sat down to her left on the lumpy mattress and set a random book on her lap. Then, he turned back to the nightstand and grabbed the small stack of clean parchment, setting it on top before picking up the quill and placing it in her hand.

"So, Seeker," he opened the conversation, uncorking his inkwell with a well-placed thumb and a wry smile, "what's on your mind?"

He forced himself to resist the laughter, this time. Her jaw had gone just as slack as his own had when the idea came to him. Cassandra was dumbstruck, and he'd known then that the prospect of actually writing down her thoughts had never occurred to her until now, either. It was such a simple solution to the problem that she reacted to it in the only way she could express: by falling back and taking a moment to lie down. It was probably a better angle for her to stare up at the heavens and ask Andraste why she'd not thought of it herself.

"Up, up, up!" he bade her, shoving a hand under her back and pulling her upright again. "I know, I know: I'm a genius. Write it down so I have evidence of you admitting it."

Cassandra scoffed and rolled her eyes, nodding toward the inkwell. He brought it toward her and held it as she dipped the quill, watching as she made sure to wipe the extra ink along the rim. She dabbed the paper once, twice, and then began in a shaky script. Well aware that she was left-handed, instead of reading over her shoulder, he took a back seat and simply watched her lips as they moved ever so slightly with her thoughts. Her brows drew together, her frown deepened, her cheek twitched, and he studied the dance of her features, wondering if she was always so expressive or if he had just missed it all before.

At last, the Seeker lowered her hand, and Varric glanced down at what she had written for him there:

Hello.

The next smile was painful, but it turned his lips regardless. Were those tears of joy stinging his eyes? Fighting them, the dwarf simply gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Alright, we'll start there," he managed past the lump taking form in his throat. "Hi there, Seeker. It's good to hear from you."

That couldn't be all she wanted to say, he thought silently, and sure enough, her hand hovered over the page. There was a hesitation present, a start-and-stop to what she transcribed now. She must have struggled to find the right words, but he sat patiently until she finished, at last turning her thigh toward him so he could read. The writing was a little smudged, but after he snatched up his reading glasses from the nightstand, the words were clearer:

I do not know what to believe.

It was his turn to frown, apparently. "What's not to believe?" he asked, his voice gruff in all its sincerity.

Cassandra let her eyes dart about the room as she took a steady breath and held it momentarily. After a moment, she waved her free hand about the room, the journey ending as she planted a finger in the centre of his chest.

He bit his lower lip, trying to crack the coded message. "Uh, me? Or is this about the sorry state of my quarters, again?"

She could have gritted her teeth and sighed with exasperation, but she didn't waste time with that, instead returning to the parchment on her lap, where she scribbled another quick note:

Is this all a dream?

Oh, Varric realised, finally in understanding. She needed a dwarf's perspective to clear the matter up for her doubting mind. Clearing his throat, he took a breath and said, "I've asked myself if this is all real a hundred times, Seeker. Hard to believe it's really happening, but… yeah. I think so. I'd know for sure, right?"

She looked off to the side for a heartbeat, meeting his eyes again for a brief moment. In another second, Cassandra was looking back down at the parchment, but Varric continued to stare at only her. The look on her face had said it all: She hadn't been reassured of anything. Dreams must have been incredibly vivid things for her to still be left so unsure of her surroundings. He could only imagine what she had dreamt while lying unconscious… The thought alone made him shiver.

Varric splayed his palm over her back, running the hand up and down over the blanket around her. "Hey," he whispered, leaning his temple against her own as he inched closer, "you're gonna be alright… Maybe not right now. But eventually, you'll bounce back. You'll see."

He felt the twinge on her temple as her jaw clenched, biting back the words that wouldn't come, either way. Cassandra closed her eyes for a time and allowed herself an ounce of vulnerability, leaning into his sideways embrace. The world was quiet and still, motionless save for the hand petting her softly, intimately, solidly. He'd never known her to such a degree, this woman of such convincing certainty and inspiring bravery, to feel lost in a world she'd once had so much control over. But it was a brave thing for her to confess… If this helped in some way, if sitting on an old bed and working through the worst of it with (at the very least) a friend who could spare the time and a shoulder to share her burdens would at least offer some level of comfort…

The question he'd abandoned at the war chest some time ago crawled up from the back of his mind, echoing off the thick contours of his skull. It boomed and shook the ground, the colour draining from his face until he was left breathless with a ghostly pallor. Sweat threatened to dot his brow as he held it at bay, his heart on the verge of collapse. Varric swallowed hard to force it back down.

It was a question for another day. Not now. Maybe… maybe later.

Maybe not ever.

Instead, he took from his pocket the small token of his affection that he had found on the nightstand beside her sleeping form, earlier that morning. He slipped it around her neck, taking care to fasten the clasp high and away from the tenderness of her wounds. Varric ran his fingers down the hollow of her neck, thumbing the dead amulet as he spoke the only words that could offer real comfort, now.

"Though all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide," the dwarf whispered. "I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond… For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light…"

Cassandra's breath hitched softly, her hand shaking as she raised the quill to the parchment. He wrapped steady fingers around her own to guide her through it, the pad of his thumb warm as it rested beside hers. It was slow to come, but at last, she had written the final stanza of Trials 1:14 on the parchment.

And nothing He has wrought shall be lost.

Varric smiled sadly and closed his eyes, giving her a moment to breathe free.

"You got this, baby… If you only believe in one thing for now, just believe that."

~oOo~

If Varric was known for anything, it was his unrivalled displeasure for the outdoors.

Actually, scratch that. He'd received more notoriety from his novels and roguish good looks, but that was from his vocal, loyal fanbase. Among friends, he was pretty confident that his charm and chest hair came to mind first, his not-so-happy camper traits coming in around third place. He nearly corrected that assessment, too, but it wasn't worth the mental strain to hash that out now. The night was too dark and the air too fresh to linger on the details. The point was, to his absolute surprise, he hadn't minded the countryside at all, this time out.

They must have thought something was off, especially since he hadn't uttered a bad word about nature in nearly a month. Hell, he'd even mentioned how lovely the sun setting over the Oasis was just before turning in, last night. Not one of his friends had responded in kind, Chuckles going so far as to deduce that their dwarven companion had been secretly murdered and replaced by a demon with a penchant for mind games. The only retort he'd had ready was that if his body had been snatched, then he'd be the last to know about it. And he was confident that his statement was perplexing enough to either dismiss the theory or confound things further. Either way, they had shut up about it, which was the goal in the first place. Guess that could be considered a success.

It had been one of the longest days on record for him. He'd been on Team A again, along with Bull and Dorian, and they hadn't come back with more than spider ichor, fabric, and ore to show for it. Night had already fallen over the Forbidden Oasis, and the Inquisitor had been too exhausted to do more than drink her weight in water before collapsing in one of the tents. Sleep felt more like a distant call than an immediate need for them, though, so the three had taken over watch for the time being - or at least until they could scrounge up something to eat and shed the day's anxieties.

Cassandra had gone to cool down by the watering pool while Vivienne and Sera had bid them all goodnight, leaving them to their own devices. As luck would have it, the Seeker's voice had returned some time after they'd passed the Dales, but it carried a gruffer quality to it, now. Buttercup had teased her for sounding uncannily like Varric, and the comparison wasn't too far off, if one dismissed the whole Nevarran-ness of it. If anything, Cassandra's battle cries were a hell of a lot more intimidating, which the Seeker had used to their full advantage. Still, she'd been advised by their mage companions not to strain herself too much in that regard - not like they could stop her from bashing in the heads of the Venatori or sticking them full of swords, but they'd made an effort. It hadn't worked, but considering just who they had lectured, that hadn't been all that surprising, really.

As for now, he would wait to talk to her until he'd sorted out what he was going to tell her about his day. Barring that, he needed a distraction. They all did, and silently agreeing not to speak of the day's awkward events, talk of debts came up over rations instead, Tiny and Sparkler listening in beside him as he parced over the details in his notebook.

"I'm a pack mule," Bull laughed at the way Varric had framed the scene. "A beast of burden! Yeah, a beast!"

"Okay, focus on that line if you want," he mumbled, his quill hovering over Tiny's name in anticipation. "Still, I owe you for hauling me to Suledin Keep after Blondie's attack. And for the Seeker, when you lugged her all the way back up to Skyhold. I may not pay people back right away, but at least I know what I owe, so…" The words trailed off as Tiny took a long swig from his canteen, Varric rejecting the proffered alcohol without comment.

"Ahh," the qunari exhaled after another greedy gulp. "So! How do you pay off a pack mule, anyway?"

"With oats. Lots of oats…" Tapping the feathered end against his recently-shaved chin, Varric arched a brow. "Fermented oats?"

"I'd take you up on that, but Krem and I are usually pretty good at finding our own. I'd settle for more cocoa, if you've got any more lying around."

"No problem, Tiny." It shouldn't be too hard to procure another shipment of powder, but that would take some time. Maybe there was something he could offer with more… instant gratification. A preview of sorts... "Hmm… The qunari was the only guy we could rely on to get rock hard every time a roar ripped across the sky. Gigantic muscles rippled with raw power as we approached the dragon's den, light rippling across his impeccably shined dawnstone axe."

Sparkler practically choked on a stick of jerky as Bull slammed both palms flat on his massive knees, growling deeply. "Oh, shit yeah!"

"And his horns could eviscerate a man in five seconds," he added, scribbling madly to get it all down.

"Four, Varric. I like that. Keep the horn bit in."

"Ohhh," Dorian sighed from his seat on the rock, eyeing the fire as though he wanted to jump in and be consumed by the flames. "Pipe down, Bull. You'll draw out the spiders, at this rate."

Varric took stock of his own volume as he finished writing up the tab, turning to the mage. "So, Sparkler, I'm almost afraid to ask, but how many favours do I owe you, now?"

"A million,"he pursed his lips, fiddling with one of his many dazzling, snakelike rings. "Ten million. A hundred billion. Take a look at the sky, Varric. Count the stars. That, my sorry little friend, is how many favours you owe me." Looking up, the Tevinter's eyes glimmered as he drank in the surrounding beauty of the desert sky. "Isn't the sight just resplendent?"

The dwarf glanced upward for a while, allowing himself to feel small in the presence of the stars. Well. Smaller. "That puts a whole new spin on 'Sparkler,'" he mumbled almost to himself.

"By the Maker, that's perfect," Dorian smiled brilliantly. "It suits me."

"Well, think about what you want in return for… everything." Closing his personal notebook, he stuffed it into his pack, coming across the book he'd packed just before leaving Skyhold.

Varric pulled it out and sat it on his knee, wondering if now was the right time to give it to the Seeker. For weeks, he'd waited for the right moment, but every time he was about to segue into that conversation, somebody would enter the tent, or join them by the fire, or catch up with them on the road and tell them something that supposedly couldn't wait. Now, he glanced over his shoulder to the pool below… and found, to his surprise, nothing but a pair of boots and a sleeping cat.

The Seeker was missing, and he'd heard nothing.

Coming back to himself a bit, he concluded, "Uh… We've got some time before this is over, but not a lot, Sparkler. Make it count. Pardon me."

He turned and left the fireside, aware of eyes on his back as he tried to play it cool and not alarm anyone. Knowing that he wasn't her keeper and that Cassandra was perfectly capable of looking after herself, the panic didn't swell to anything more than a minor nuisance nagging at his thoughts. She'd done remarkably well on the journey; surely there was nothing to worry about. So long as he was reassured of her whereabouts, that would be good enough.

It was a short walk down the embankment, the sand still retaining much of the desert heat within its grains. The path to the pool had been tread down on their last visit, but the winds had blown all traces of their presence away, leaving only the red canvas tents and gilded flagpoles the Inquisition was known for. The air cooled as he approached, the water almost appearing to glow from beneath, somehow.

Mouse turned her ears toward the sound of his coming bootsteps, but made no move beyond perhaps waving at him with her tail. She was sprawled on her side, paws spread lazily as she dozed on the warm sands beside the pair of warrior boots. He bent over and ran a hand down the cat's furry flank. "Hey, girl," he said to her, "have you seen the Seeker, by any chance?"

Water lapped against the rocky outcrop jutting out over the water. "I'm here," a hoarse voice revealed as a hand dripping with beads of mineral-enriched water waved to him.

Leaning out over the edge, Varric felt relief wash over him. She was seated in the shallow pool, water coming up to her collar… And she was completely clothed, dark leggings visible beneath the soft ripples she caused with her movement. The cotton shirt she wore was a masculine cut, draping loose over her bronze, muscular form.

"Not one for skinny dipping? Or are you just forcing me to use my imagination?"

"Believe it or not, I did not get in just to tantalise you, Varric," she replied, though her tone was laced with more lightness than her words implied. "I'm in here for three reasons, specifically."

He set the book down and laid on his stomach, propping his upper body on the ridge with both elbows. "Three? Well, you can't say that and not expect me to ask what those reasons are. 'Specifically,'" he smirked, crossing his forearms under him.

She rested her temple against the rockface and brought her knees up. "One," she began, "the water was inviting, and I must admit that I did not give myself time to consider undressing before I slid in. It hardly matters; the sunrise will dry them in a half hour at most. I'm glad I took the plunge, in the end. The water's properties are doing wonders for the healing blister and my persistent stomach ache."

"Good to hear." He grinned at her turn of phrase. "But 'took the plunge' sounds like a pun I'd make right before getting slapped."

"I'm not sorry I said it," she smiled softly, her eyes trained on the temple doors in the distance. "Two: I…" Cassandra blinked a handful of times before taking a breath to steady her nerves. "...I've noticed I have not… felt at ease around anything larger than a bath. I thought that perhaps sitting in here would help… would help put my aversions aside…"

A shiver ran up his spine at the sudden memory of the Fallow Mire's murky bog waters, but he resisted the primal urge to shake until goosebumps poured over his arms. "...I hope it's working for you," he muttered, wary of putting too much sympathy into his tone.

"It is easier, since you showed," the warrior admitted softly, not careful enough to prevent the tremble in her damaged voice. Clearing her throat, she added, "If there's need for you to jump in after me, I can use your body as a flotation device."

Varric snorted with marked derisiveness. "That's all it's good for in there, that's for sure," he smirked, reaching down just enough to flick a few shimmering drops toward her. It did nothing but bring a smile to her face as she leaned away, but the expression meant the world to him. "So, what's the third reason?"

Cassandra went quiet, pearls of white teeth biting down on a lower lip soft enough to fall upon and rest at ease. Then, unexpectedly, she took hold of the ledge on which he leant and maneuvred through the water, ripples cascading across the surface from her as she brought her chin near his clasped hands. He watched the Seeker take the ledge and pull herself toward him, warm breath flowing slowly down over his chest.

"To tantalise you," she whispered.

It was spoken with such allure that Varric neglected his next breath until the last possible moment. He arched a brow her way, eyes narrowing a fraction as he caught her humour.

She bit her lip again. Maker, he thought she might kill him with that look. "I said that I did not get in just to tantalise you… Not that it wasn't also a consideration while making my decision."

He smiled. Cassandra really was something else… She had a way of flirting with dominance while simultaneously revealing graceful streaks of vulnerability that drew him in without fail. She'd made a move he'd never quite mastered, let alone implemented without backpedalling mere seconds in. It was a risky venture to call a bluff and reveal a hand in the same breath, and the Seeker managed to do both without once fearing the outcome. For him, a risk like that was opening himself up to too much rejection… And he wondered why he still feared such a thing from her, given how she now pressed her cool forehead against his burning cheek, sliding against him until hot breath sighed across his earlobe and raised every hair on his body.

He closed his eyes, feeling with skin and soul as she dragged those same soft, sacrosanct lips over his jawbone, laying a tender kiss on the ancient scar marking a poorly-set break in his nose. Droplets of sweet water transferred at her touch like ghostly imprints haunting a place she'd once called home, disappearing faster than his heart was prepared to part with them. When she pulled back, the air became colder, the desert a little harsher, the night a shade darker, and he opened heavy lids, drunk on the blood soaring through his dwarven veins.

His warrior, his woman, his world… She was the living definition of a promise. He dared not blink, lest she fade from his sight forever.

But then he did. "...Is that my shirt?" he started, the corner of his mouth upturning as he thumbed the seam of her billowing sleeve.

Cassandra shrugged the shoulder he touched just enough to let the loose neck fall, the port wine stain left by the red lyrium black as oil under the moonlight. "It's Cullen's," she said, her nose brushing against his. "He let me keep it after I healed."

"It's working for you," he breathed, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. He kissed the cuts on her pronounced knuckles, making a note of every rehardened callus and thanking Andraste for each one. "But if I said I was jealous of Curly, would you take it off?"

He heard the smile on her voice. "No," she leaned close, her face dangerously close to every kiss he planted. "Deal with it, dwarf."

A laugh escaped with the next breath as he tightened his hold over her pruning fingers. "Can't blame a guy for trying, Seeker."

"I can blame whoever I want. Especially you."

Cocking his head to the side, he cupped the strong lines of her jaw in both hands. "Suppose you could. Wouldn't be the first time you condemned me without just cause."

He watched as a striking brow raised ever so slightly, reveling in the telltale inflection she let slip. "Hmm," Cassandra closed the distance between them, seemingly venomous lips brushing against his and paralysing him on the spot. "I am certain that it won't be the last, either..."

Whatever the polar opposite of numbness was, Varric felt that very sensation overwhelm him as he pulled her in. Her kiss was all but prayed into being, as close to a dream as he would ever come, her open mouth inviting and warm as he took from her his soul's utter and complete redemption. Nothing was more intense, more important, more intimate than she, the taste on his tongue now fast becoming a flavour of home that his heart would crave in a ceaseless ache of nostalgia should land and sea ever come between them. Fingers buried themselves in her growing locks of their own accord as a cold hand found his neck and tugged at the skin beneath his vest front.

Had it really been that long since the last kiss they'd shared? Skyhold felt like an age ago, all the mundane business of travel and the odd skirmish here and there standing in the way of anything beyond the smallest stolen glance. Even his luck had faded as they found themselves on opposite shifts in the night watch or, if both relieved of duty, retiring in separate tents when neither was capable of asking the sleeping occupants to switch, whether from cracking voices or nerves hardly mattering in the end. But yes - Andraste's ass, yes - it had been way too long, and even as her hand released him and her lips left his, he prayed the next kiss wouldn't be as far away.

The Seeker slipped back down into the water, a light in her eye left burning for him. The look spoke plenty, even if she hadn't: she'd ended it purposefully, teasing either him or herself, or possibly both. If he had half a mind, he'd have taken her bait and joined her in the watering pool, but this game was a fun one to play. They'd soon see who would bite first… And he wondered if he could reel her back in with a few choice words.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I like your eyes?" Varric kept his voice down, putting on an air of nonchalance as he blindly assigned his right hand to stroke the sleeping cat.

The Seeker turned her gaze from the night sky and back to him, perking up at the unexpected compliment. "Not that I remember," she confessed, her voice scratching out the words as if she had just carved them into wood. "...Tell me."

He kept the smile on the edge of his lips under control. "I just did," he teased.

A small scoff, the barest of a reward for his valiant effort. "Elaborate, then."

The laugh huffed from his throat, barely heard over the chirping of unseen insects. "Alright, fine," Varric relented, scratching his jaw pensively. "I like the shape of them. They're pointed in the corners," he explained, a finger rising to his own crow's feet wrinkles needlessly, "like… leaves, or something." Damn it, his plan wasn't going to work with shit comparisons like that.

Cassandra's brows drew together under the moonlight. Without her usual smoky makeup, the expression was less pronounced from this distance. "My eyes are like leaves?" she repeated dubiously.

"Yeah," he stuck to the awful line like a boot sinking deeper into a deposit of silt. "Same colour, too, come to think of it."

"...My eyes are like brown, dead leaves."

It was hard to discern whether Varric was annoying or amusing her, but either way resulted in another tug at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, don't knock it, Seeker," he muttered as he ran a fingernail under Mouse's chin. "The kids in the alienage back in Kirkwall used to pile them up and dive in for the fun of it. Not me, though," he shook his head. "I'm not nature's biggest fan. You know. Too… crunchy."

"I couldn't be less surprised to hear that."

His eyes lifted to hers then and she caught the subtle movement, raising her own to meet them. They were dark, fathomless even, reflecting light from multiple sources, all shining back at him like he'd gazed up at the stars themselves.

"I wouldn't mind diving into your eyes for a while, though," he smiled her way.

A smirk blossomed on wide lips as her tone dripped with sardonic wit. "I imagine that would make quite the crunch, yes."

Shaking his head at her, he grimaced and crossed his arms again. "You just had to go and make it weird, didn't you?"

"Me?" Cassandra vibrated with mirth in the water. "I made it weird?"

It might've been the way she had said it, or it might've been the point finally smashing its way to the forefront of his mind. Either way, it was as if all memory had returned and buried him in an avalanche of problems once again, and Varric shut his eyes against it. If he didn't mention it…

But no. He had to. It was the perfect segue.

"...Speaking of weird," the dwarf winced, lacing his fingers together nervously, "there's something we gotta talk about. It's, uh… Well, it's about the Inquisitor, primarily."

Talk of the Herald was like talk of business for Cassandra, and he witnessed her entire demeanour shift into another aspect entirely, the persona of the ardent lover giving precedence to the stalwart Seeker of Truth in less than a heartbeat. "Is something the matter?" she frowned, drawing closer only to ensure privacy, this time.

He shook his head, lips pressing to a fine line as he thought of how to convey what he'd seen that day. "I don't know for sure; it's just a gut feeling I'm getting. I thought you could help me make sense of it."

Nodding in understanding, she kept silent, bidding him to continue.

"So, you know we were gone all day, but you probably thought we were tying up loose ends. That's… not exactly how things turned out, in the end. Sure, we found some interesting landmarks and staked our claims, gathered what looked like weeds and took chunks from some ore deposits, but…" He rested his chin on a palm, focusing on small grains of sand as he stirred them with a finger. "Like I said, it got weird. Fast. Did you notice that we never once circled our way back to camp? Lavellan had Sparkler, Tiny and me all over the place - in quarries, mines, up, down - you name it and we were there."

"What were you looking for?" Cassandra wondered.

He felt like he was losing his mind, but he shook his head and explained, anyway. "That's the weird part: nothing. Not a damned thing. After she ignored a few of my fairly valid complaints, in my opinion, things got… awkward. Really awkward. And quiet. She kept taking us to the edge of the desert and back. We were going in circles, and the Inquisitor just kept turning to us like she was expecting something to happen. We'd just stare at her, and then she'd stomp off in a huff and start running all over again."

The Seeker didn't seem as perplexed as he had been in the moment. Frowning, she reclaimed her seat by the ledge and hugged a knee. "She has been trying to get Iron Bull and Dorian to speak about their relationship. It sounds as if she tried to instigate it by taking matters into her own hands."

"Yeah, well, you're right about that much. Tiny was the one to break first. Not that it was anyone's business but theirs, but we were out of water and things weren't looking so great." Despite himself, Varric managed a small chuckle. "I could see Sparkler side-eyeing me, almost like he thought I'd tell everyone what I'd overheard."

He caught the touch of a smile on her voice. "You're telling me, though."

"I know," he took that small truth in stride. "Sparkler's a smart guy. He's got me pegged, alright… But that's different. I'm telling you because you oughta know. Our little Herald is becoming… obsessed with all our various relationships with each other."

The mood slowly dropped, descending as jokes were put aside in light of more concerning circumstances. Varric could feel a lump solidify in the pit of his stomach, weighing him down and growing impossible to ignore.

"Perhaps she is not coping well with Solas pulling away and wishes to find hope elsewhere," Cassandra suggested quietly. The nervousness in her tone was enough to convince Varric that even she had a hard time aligning Lavellan's actions with those of a sane individual.

"Or maybe," he grimaced, looking off to the side, "she thinks that seeing everyone paired off will somehow make Chuckles change his tune."

She turned to face him as her jaw dropped, and it took a moment longer before Varric was able to meet her gaze. There was outrage in her eyes, and he felt guilty for putting it there. If he'd said nothing, though, it would have felt like a betrayal. That was how he saw the situation. He could have been wrong, but that was why he'd mentioned it to Cassandra to begin with.

"Why in the Maker's name would Lavellan believe that?" she shook her head in bafflement.

His smile was tinged with sympathy. "Maybe she doesn't. That's just the vibe I'm getting… You remember when Sparkler said that she'd convinced herself their break was just temporary? Maybe she thinks Chuckles would look at two unlikely people falling in love as a signal that he screwed up and should try to make it work again."

Cassandra stared at him, swallowing hard. "...Two unlikely people…"

The dwarf took in a slow breath, holding it for a while as he stared back. Letting it go silently, he admitted, "I might be reading too much into this, Seeker. I probably am, but…" He broke the stare, the lump migrating to his throat. Pushing it back down, he shifted and focused again on Mouse, who rose her head and tracked a mosquito with quick, predatory eyes. "If anything, the fact that she's prying into people's love lives and tiring them out in an attempt to force them to talk is kind of offputting, when you really think about it."

She shifted uncomfortably in the water, running hands over her arms to try relieving herself of goosebumps. "...Does Lavellan know that you and I are…?"

"No," he told her emphatically. "In fact, I asked the Kid if anyone had caught on that we were…" Strangely, he couldn't find the right word for what they were, either. On one hand, it was complicated and they hadn't ironed out any solid details, yet. On the other, it was one of the most straightforward relationships Varric had ever had. Sometimes, love was just like that: an unspoken truth not requiring official acknowledgment. And he definitely still loved Cassandra, even if he hadn't exactly said it.

"And what did Cole have to say?" she pulled him from his musings.

Varric smiled sadly, coming back into the fold. "Tiny knows. Can't hide anything from an ex-spy for the Qun, to be fair. Sparkler, of course - he caught me up in the Tower Room, if you remember, and inferred the obvious. And Hero knows, apparently, which kind of surprised me. He sees it in the way I look at you when I think no one's watching me… But he knows not to talk about it, and I trust him."

The Seeker blushed at that, hoping to disguise it by playing it casual. "Anyone else?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Nightingale. He said she has a hard time accepting it. Something about the clothes being too tight and not fitting? I didn't really get where he was going with the metaphor, but the Kid said everyone else assumes it's pretty much over between us."

A pause. A brief second or two of nothing but the sound of nocturnal insects and the breeze whistling and moaning through the natural wonders of the landscape… and then she moved. Water trickled, shadows played, her form wafting toward him again. He had drawn her in despite forgetting the goal of luring her entirely, and there she was before him, the eyes he so admired piercing him with a gaze strong enough to hold him in place.

"Is it over?" she whispered, hope and sadness turning her brows.

He laid a hand on her neck, resting his forehead against hers for a while. She was cool to the touch, but all he could think was how wonderful it was that she still let him touch her at all. "I hope it's not, Seeker," he let out the soft confession. "Even after everything I said and the dumb things I did, it's never been over for me." He swallowed hard against a pain in his throat as she kneaded his shoulder gently. "Thing is," he struggled to get it out, "I know you don't really want things to go back to being all tight-lipped and secretive, but I'm not sure the opposite is best for everyone, either… You want big gestures and huge, heartfelt declarations, and I'm so busted up and paranoid that I can't even bring myself to admit that I still -…"

And there was the rub. He'd gone and proved his own point when the words "I love you" choked off before they even had the chance to break free. Varric was hopeless, a lost cause, still convinced the phrase carried a bonafide curse that could destroy everything he cherished by admitting it aloud. Maker, it frustrated him that he was like this, but at the same time, recent events had not exactly proved him wrong, either… Cassandra deserved better than to put up with his shit…

"...A compromise, then."

Looking up, he caught the softness of her expression and felt a wave of relaxation hit him. Compromise. Now that wasn't something he had expected her to say. Curious, Varric gave a single, slow nod, waiting to hear whatever offer she put on the proverbial table.

Cassandra ran her fingers over his hair, tucking stray locks behind his ear. With a small smile, she tugged slightly on an earring before crossing her arms on the ridge and resting her chin on top. "We continue down this road," she said, careful to keep her gruff voice low. "We don't openly state anything incriminating, but we won't deny if asked, either."

His lips pressed to a fine line at that, an earlier mistake he had made coming sharply to mind.

As he nodded in agreement, she continued, "You don't have to state your feelings. I will know. We will know the truth…" And here, she bit her lip in a sad smile, placing her hand over his and giving him a gentle squeeze. "Our business is our own. Not a secret, nothing to be ashamed of, but ours… No one else's."

For a time, Varric was speechless. This idea of the Seeker's wasn't so much a compromise as an all-out surrender. After what they had been through, and at their age, it shouldn't have to be this way. They deserved - no, she deserved more. For her to even suggest this, he should be offering something in return… "Are you sure about this?" he leaned in, checking over his shoulder for intruders, eavesdroppers, or interruptions of any kind. The coast was clear, but he still felt that same paranoia snaking up his back and drawing out chills.

"I am," she reassured him with a close-lipped smile. "Whether your theory about Lavellan is correct or not is a matter best left for another day. I don't wish to be responsible for instilling false hope over Solas." Her eyes darkened at that, but she managed to push it aside, for now. "After the war, when the dust has settled and… and they are reunited, then we may begin being more open about what we have together."

His blood ran cold. That statement sounded too uncomfortably close to one of those tired old two-days-till-retirement scenarios, another setup for some ironic tragedy in the works he would see coming a mile away in a fiction full of overused tropes. One last battle and they could be together at last? It was tempting fate at the very least, and downright doomed at worst…

But he breathed nothing of it to her. Because acknowledging it out loud was as good as breaking a mirror and walking under a ladder while cheerfully exclaiming, What's the worst that could happen? No, better to just cross his fingers and hope she didn't try to play the part of sacrificial saviour when they finally faced Corypheus, once and for all...

"...Alright, Seeker," he agreed, squeezing her hand back and praying she couldn't feel him tremble. "After the war… Then I'm all yours, if you can handle it." He attempted a light smile in lieu of a cocky smirk, not sure he could pull off the expression without her noticing something wrong.

Cassandra sensed his unease, though. He could feel it in the way she rubbed the back of his hand, patting it gently as she let him go. "I'm sure Solas will come around, once this is all over," she said casually, obviously more confident in the prospect than he was.

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm sure everything'll be fine," Varric tried convincing himself, sitting up slightly with a weary sigh. "But you're right. Let's lay low, take it slow for now… This isn't my first Proving, after all."

She laughed at the odd turn of phrase, and oh Maker, that sound had quite the effect on him. He'd missed her deep thrums of laughter that seemed to radiate from her chest outward, as if her very heart was pleased with him. A rewarding heat spread over his face, and soon, he was chuckling right along with her.

It felt so damned good to feel good again. Almost as if nothing could go wrong, ever again.

And now was the perfect time to ask what had been on his mind for weeks… After all, it would be the perfect trade-off. She'd given him this much to hope for, and it would go a long way to prove just how much she meant to him…

His heart pounding, he stole a shaking breath, taking her hand in his. This was his moment.

"...Cassandra -"

"What's this?"

Varric blinked, brows drawing together as she reached to his left and held the book up for inspection.

Recovering only slightly, he stared blankly at the illustrated cover and croaked, "Oh, that. That's… Well, uh, I've been waiting for the right time to…" Taking the book from her eager grasp, he set it down between them and turned it over the sands to face her. "Uhm… Yeah, so," he started, clearing his throat and forcing his pulse to lower again, "I wasn't very successful up at the Black Emporium, Seeker. The guys were better at finding what you needed for the whole 'cure' thing, but I saw this old book and dusted it off, and I just… thought you'd not exactly need it for your body, but maybe your soul could do with some healing." A blush spread over his cheeks and down his shirtfront, and Varric was at once grateful for the darkness surrounding them.

Taken aback, Cassandra opened the cover, the aged leather crackling satisfyingly, and her eyes widened as she used the moonlight to make out the title on the cover page. "A book of Thedosian poetry!" Turning to the table of contents, she covered her mouth with a finger or two, stifling a gasp. "This even includes poems from Tevinter… Carmenum di Amatus? I thought that one was banned," she exclaimed to herself, flipping through the brittle pages as fast as she could.

"Careful, Seeker," he smiled with adoration, helping her out. "This thing's older than both of us put together."

Finding the correct passage, Cassandra eagerly leaned over the book, only backing away when she realised her only lightsource was blocked. "I can't believe this," she grinned with sparkling eyes. "I hadn't expected you to -"

"Shh, you'll wake the baby," he nearly laughed, cocking his head toward Mouse, still dozing lazily beside him. "Let's read a little before bed."

It must have been something he said, for she stared at him with a look he didn't quite recognise. Interested, he watched the words play out over the subtle lines of her face, wondering all the while why she smiled at him with such sweetness.

"...Come," she whispered, leaning up to peer over her shoulder at the campfire in the distance. Tiny and Sparkler's silhouettes were sandwiched together, their attention more on one another than on Varric and Cassandra. "Sit beside me in the water. I've always loved reading in the bath."

He shook his head in confusion. "You know I can't actually swim, right?"

Cassandra pulled gently at the cuff of his red coat. "You'll only be sitting against the rocks," she whispered. "Don't worry, it's not deep at all. Even for you."

He eyed the water suspiciously. "...Eh…" he hesitated, mulling the idea over.

"I'll be by your side. I promise. I won't even dunk your head under the surface, as tempted as I am," she laughed through her words.

His eyes shifting to the Seeker, he pressed his lips to a fine line and groaned as he sat up, removing only his coat and boots and setting them beside her own. Brushing the sand off his trousers, Varric shrugged off his vest and tossed it aside with a flourish, smirking all the while. "Should I keep going?" he teased.

Cassandra shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. "Ugh. Just get in before I change my mind."

And so, he settled into the watering hole, bracing himself against the chill until she nestled in beside him, long legs draped over his lap and the book comfortably between them.

"Thank you, Varric," she whispered, kissing his cheek with such tenderness. "This was thoughtful of you."

The Seeker rested her temple against his shoulder and closed her eyes, listening to the low thrums of his soothing voice as he read Carmenum di Amatus aloud to her, alone together in the heart of the oasis.

On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath.
It carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as the lover's kiss.
It brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs and whispered bliss.

His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer
Which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night.
His eyes reflect the heaven's stars, the Maker's light.

My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there.
Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to life.

And as the light slowly faded around them and gave way to darkest night, Varric forgot entirely the question that had been on the tip of his tongue.