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The worst thing about dying, Cassandra thought, had to be how long it took. She’d been there often enough that it was something like an old, and not particularly welcome, friend stopping by. A neighbor used to overstaying their welcome while waiting for the news to come in, that, once again, she managed to scrape by. Another close call for her, another story of grand adventure and overblown proportions for the rest of the world.
Lying her head back against the pillow, Cassandra wished she could just flip a coin and be done with it. If death was going to come for her, it could at least have the common courtesy to be quick about things.
She flexed her fingers slowly, testing her muscle control. Everything felt stiff and muddy, but she could still make a fist. That was a good sign. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage standing very well though. Her legs had nearly given out on her just making it to the camp, and that had been several hours ago. She certainly wouldn’t be able to support herself on her own, but possibly with a cane of some sort, she felt like she still had enough control to move herself around.
Continuing her self-evaluation, she rolled her shoulders back, straining her neck muscles in an attempt to raise herself up. Her left shoulder throbbed with the effort, burning in an angry response. Cassandra could have screamed at how much work it took just to prop herself on her elbows. It was, honestly, a good sign that she even could do so at all, but she was loath to admit that. Her arms strained with the effort, protesting that her every movement was a hopeless, and truthfully, rather pointless fight.
Her pride, however, tended to disagree.
With a final push, she managed to get herself sitting up. Sitting up was better. Easier to maintain, though it made her head spin a little. The water flask in the pack next to her was her goal, and she reached towards it slowly, doing her best not to jostle anything.
It took work to keep her fingers closed around it. They didn’t want to cooperate, to stay closed. Well, she had dealt with her body not wanting to cooperate before. It had hardly liked waking up before sunrise each day when she was first training to be a Seeker, but she had taught it well enough. She couldn’t allow it to slack off now.
Unscrewing the cap. That was the hard part. Her fingertips had already gone a bit numb, and even if she had been able to maintain a proper grip on it, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell.
Cassandra was just about to try sticking it in her mouth and simply biting the cap, when she heard the tent flap rustle. She had barely enough time to set a scowl on her face before Dorian poked his head inside.
“I thought I heard you moving in there,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”
“I was thirsty.”
Dorian raised his eyebrows, looking from her glare to the water flask in her hands. “Would you like some help-”
“I am perfectly capable of getting myself water, Dorian.”
He said nothing, but instead pulled back the flap of the tent further, settling himself on the ground in front of her. He nodded once at the flask, and raised his eyebrows impatiently.
Cassandra grimaced, setting once more to the task of the impossible cap. She could feel Dorian’s gaze on her as she fumbled with it, but she didn’t look up to meet his eyes. Instead, she stayed focused on the flask, and the cap. She was sure if she could just get a good grip on it she would be fine.
“You know,” Dorian finally said, having apparently realized that she wasn’t planning on acknowledging his presence any time soon, “I could help you with that.”
“I do not need any help.”
“As yes, silly me. It is not as if you are currently incapacitated in any way. Of course you are fine. Shall I go fetch your sword as well? I saw a couple of Druffalo down the slope, perhaps the two of us could go get dinner for the others.”
Cassandra grunted, eyes flickering up briefly to try and gauge his expression. He was lounging on the ground, somehow managing to look perfectly serene, a book held open in the splayed fingers of his right hand. He smiled at Cassandra when he caught her eye.
“Or perhaps you could admit that you are sick and quite possibly dying, and ask for a little help for once? It will not kill you Cassandra, I promise.”
“No,” she muttered, “the wyvern did a nice enough job of that.”
Dorian frowned, even his usually relaxed persona somewhat shaken by recent events.
That was the other worst thing about dying: everyone fretted. Either she was going to make it, or she wasn’t. Their worried looks did nothing to change things. And in this case, she was almost positive she would be fine. Oh, sure, wyvern bites could be deadly. But the herbs for the salve ought to be readily available in a place like Crestwood, and she still had at least a day and a half before she was at risk of any permanent damage from the venom.
“Perhaps it is rather hypocritical for me to say this,” Dorian finally said, “but there are other ways to deal with your feelings besides sarcasm and denial. If you are worried, no one would fault you for that.”
“I am not worried.” Cassandra paused a second before adding, “I am simply thirsty.”
Sighing, Dorian reached across to take the flask from her. “That, at least, I am going to help with.” Unscrewing the cap, he handed it back to Cassandra. She glared at him a moment longer, before taking a deep drink. She could feel some of the water dribbling down from her mouth, and cursed the numbness that had spread over her body. Still, the water was nice, and she had been thirsty.
Finishing the drink, she handed the flask back to Dorian, silently daring him to make a comment about the water that had dripped down onto her chest. He simply put the cap back on and smiled at her.
“There. Was that so difficult?”
Cassandra sighed. She knew that Dorian didn’t deserve her ire, at least not in this instance, but his particular brand of wit did not make it any easier for her to be nice.
Instead of saying anything, she lowered herself back into her cot, hoping that the Inquisitor would be back soon. Surely the town would have the necessary herbs for making the antivenom salve. Surely this would be over soon.
Rolling over onto her side, Cassandra pressed her fingers to her throbbing temple.
And if they couldn’t find the ingredients, maybe she could at least get someone to end things quickly.
---
Cassandra had drifted off to an uneasy sleep somewhere between internally laying out a very long list of grievances towards drakes and dragons of all sorts and planning out the things that needed to be done at Skyhold. She woke to the sound of Lavellan’s voice just outside of her tent.
“...find any drakevein. We asked around and the villagers said that it does grow around here, but that it’s been scarce ever since the heavy rains began. It doesn’t grow well in overly damp environments.”
Cassandra squinted around her tent. The light was a soft sunset orange, which meant that she must have slept for a few hours. She could feel the time in her limbs, which were heavy and numb. Her headache had gotten worse, and her mouth tasted sour.
She continued to run through her internal checklist as she focused in on the conversation happening outside, trying to judge the numbness in her fingers and how much control she still had over her legs.
“So what do we do now?”
That was Dorian, who sounded even more concerned than he had earlier. Cassandra made a note to talk with the boy later. He had certainly seen his fair share of suffering, and she knew better than to simply call him sheltered, but he would have to get used to seeing his comrades injured or dying if he was to stay with the Inquisition.
“We have to go find some for ourselves. The plant is rare, especially with the rains, but not impossible to find. We should form search parties and sweep out from here. The mayor has dealt with wyvern venom before. He said that we have about a day or so after the time of the bite before she is in any serious-”
Cassandra worked once again to prop herself up as she listened. It was harder this time, and her arms trembled as she shifted her weight onto them. She glared down at them, willing herself upright.
“Two days.” Cassandra grimaced out how weak her voice sounded. Still, she was happy at least that it hadn’t given out on her yet.
The tent flap opened, and three worried faces peered inside.
Varric, who was standing closest to the tent, spoke up first. “What’s that, Seeker?”
“I have two days before the venom will cause any serious damage to my nervous system. A day and a half, now. Seekers undergo training with a wide variety of venoms and toxins. Wyvern venom is particularly strong, and though it is impossible to be truly immune to it, we are able to build up a resistance.”
Cobbling together that long of a sentence took a great deal of effort, but it was almost worth it for Varric’s impressed whistle alone. Finally, something other than sympathy.
“Next thing you are going to be telling me you don’t get burnt by dragon fire and can jump from a three story building without getting hurt.”
“I cannot do either of those things Varric,” Cassandra replied, her annoyance quickly setting back in. “And Seeker training is rigorous for a reason. The fact that I let myself get bit in the first place is-”
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Lavellan said, cutting her off.
“And only happened because you were protecting me!” Varric added. “Andraste’s ass Seeker, don’t you ever give yourself a break?” He held up a hand before Cassandra could open her mouth. “No, don’t answer that.”
Dorian sighed, straightening back up from where he had been peering in at her. “In any case, we should begin searching as soon as possible. Though perhaps one of us should-”
“I’ll stay with her.”
Cassandra was a bit surprised at how quickly Varric offered. When they had first gotten to camp, and Cassandra had told them all what happened, he and Lavellen had left rather quickly to get to town. Dorian had stayed behind with her, and Cassandra had assumed it was simply because Varric hadn’t wanted to. She didn’t much blame him. It had only been a few days ago that she had been about to throw him out of Skyhold for lying to her. They hadn’t talked much since then, and though she had cooled off since then, he had no way of knowing that.
In any case, she knew she wasn’t in much of a position to protest. She knew that everyone was concerned about her, and she knew someone had to stay back from searching. It made sense to switch out, and since Dorian had stayed behind last time, it was logical that he join the search party now, even if he would have been preferable company.
Sighing, Cassandra slumped back, grimacing as she heard Dorian whisper something to Varric about opening caps for her. Perhaps his company wasn’t all that preferable.
Cassandra waited as Lavellan, Dorian, and the rest of the Inquisition scouts moved out. They were quiet and efficient, she had to give them that, and it wasn’t long until she was alone with the sound of the rain, which had picked up from a drizzle to a heavy storm as the evening set it, and the thought of Varric just outside her tent.
“You don’t have to wait outside, you know.”
Varric didn’t respond right away, so Cassandra tried again. “You don’t-”
“I heard you the first time, Seeker.” He paused, and then added, “I thought you might be more comfortable with me out here.”
“My comfort aside, I am not so foolish as to force you to stand outside in the pouring rain.”
The silence lasted a moment longer before Varric opened the tent flap and quickly ducked inside. He was, as she had expected, soaked to the bone.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Cassandra raised a weary eyebrow at him. “I am glad to hear that my common decency has so impressed you.”
Varric didn’t respond, instead taking a moment to settle himself at the entrance of the tent.
“Varric.”
“Yes, Seeker?”
“What you were saying earlier… do you feel responsible for my condition?”
Varric didn’t answer her, adjusting Bianca on his lap.
“You should not. It is foolish to hold yourself responsible for the injuries of others in battle. It was my own fault that I got bitten.”
Cassandra had been staring at the ceiling as she spoke, but now she looked over to find Varric shaking his head as he stared at her.
“Boy, you never let up with the hero act, do you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean…” Varric trailed off, gesturing outward in frustration. “All of it. The dedication, the determination, the seriousness. The whole shebang. The hero act. Though I suppose it’s not so much an act for you.”
“I am no hero. I am simply doing what I am trained to do.”
Varric didn’t seem much in the mood to argue the point with her, turning back to look outside the tent, keeping an eye out for anything that might be coming through the rain. “And here I thought I was going to be the one to be the bigger person and make nice.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Cassandra frowned up at the ceiling. It was bad enough that he was feeling sorry for her, and that she was stuck here to feel sorry for. But now he was muttering to himself about her? She sighed, loudly and very noticeably.
“Something the matter, Seeker?”
“If you have something to say to me, Varric, please do so.”
“And miss out on these awkward three-sentence exchanges?” Varric scoffed. “I would never. Besides, shouldn’t you sleep?”
“I am not tired.”
“You aren’t… you got bitten by a blighted wyvern, you are currently being slowly poisoned by its venom and you…” Varric sighed. “You are the worst patient ever.”
“I am, perhaps…” Cassandra trailed off. Varric was not entirely wrong. She did have a habit of becoming particularly terse when she was injured or ill in some way. “I am a bit difficult to deal with. I apologize. The situation has made me tense, and I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful.”
She could not resist adding however, “you are failing, of course, but that is no fault of yours.”
“I’m glad I was never around when you got sick as a child.” His thoughts wandering, Varric continued a moment later, “...were you ever a child? I’m not entirely sure you didn’t spring fully formed from your father’s head, sword clutched in your hand.”
Despite herself, Cassandra chuckled at the thought. “That is quite an image.”
Varric tapped a finger against his temple. “I’m a writer, remember? I make my living off of weird shit like that. Hell, I’ve got one book where a pride demon falls in love with a blood mage.”
“But it turned out not to be a pride demon at all, that hardly…”
Lying in the sudden silence of the tent, Cassandra realized that she had been wrong before. The worst part of dying, surely, was the foolish things it made you say.
“What I mean to say,” she stammered, “is that I’m sure that it is more complicated than what you were saying. The, uh, pride demon, I’m sure that she-”
“She?”
Maker’s breath, Cassandra could hear the smirk on his face. “I don’t think I ever said anything about the demon being a ‘she.’”
Any second now, she was sure, the venom would finish its job and she could leave this horrible tent behind for her place at the Maker’s side. “I was simply-”
“I mean, that’s one of my less popular stories, too. Barely even sold outside of The Marches. Where did you get a copy?”
Cassandra tried, in one last desperate effort, to protest. “I do not own anything, I was simply doing a little research to see if you’d written anything else about the Champion.”
“So research about my single nonfiction book lead you to pry into trashy romance stories?”
“They aren’t trashy, and I was…”
“Oh, don’t worry, Seeker, they are definitely trashy. It’s my stuff, I think I’d know.”
Sighing, Cassandra let go of any remaining struggle left in her. “Perhaps I have… enjoyed a few of your stories, I admit. Though I was not lying that I did originally start tracking them down for information. It did not take me long to realize they were little more than the cheap ramblings of a hack writer looking to make easy coin.”
“Cheap ramblings that you’ve read, though.”
Varric turned this new information over in his head, as if trying to decide which of a multitude of threads to pull at. “And you said you’d read a few, right? Which ones?”
“Not many, just some of the… romances.”
“Romances, eh? They are always the most fun to write. Some of my best stuff. Some of my worst too though. How something like Swords & Shields got published I’ll never know.”
Cassandra let out an awkward half-sputter at that, which turned into a cough.
“Seeker? You okay there?”
Varric had moved himself closer to her, though he still kept a bit of distance. He seemed torn between worry about her and worry about what she might do to him if she got too close.
“Fine. I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“You sure? If you want me to get you anything, I can…”
“Really, Varric, there is nothing wrong with me.”
“Okay,” he said, sitting back. “Just… let me know, alright? Don’t let your obnoxious noble Seeker training stop you from letting me know if you need help.”
The tent lulled briefly into silence, and Cassandra felt herself drifting along the edge of consciousness, dipping in and out of reality. She clung to the sound of the rain as best she could, holding it out in front of her as a single clear point of reality. Whether or not she would admit it, the idea of falling asleep in her current condition was… unsettling.
Next to her, Varric hummed a low tune. It took a while for her to identify it as “Nightingale's Eyes,” a popular song at Skyhold’s pub. It was oddly relaxing, a clear and easy noise to follow amidst the growing buzz in her head.
“Varric?”
He stopped humming. “Sorry, Seeker, didn’t mean to bother you.”
“No, I…” Cassandra sighed. “I was wondering if you could talk to me.”
“Talk to you? That’s a first. Usually you are trying your damnedest to get me to shut up. Besides, you should probably get some sleep.”
“Probably. However, I would prefer not to, at the moment.”
Cassandra’s eyes were closed, but she could hear Varric moving around in the tent, and feel his weight shift next to her. When he next spoke, he sounded closer.
“Would you like anything? Water?”
“No, no.” She paused, then added. “But a… a story, would be nice.”
“Okay, Seeker. I can do that.”
His voice was low and quiet and steady, and she should have known that it would put her to sleep faster than the silence or the sound of rain. But at least as she drifted, she didn’t feel so lost. Listening to him, she could almost forget the aching stiffness that was crawling up her limbs.
She was almost asleep when she felt him pull the blanket up over her shoulders, and frowned slightly to herself, trying to find the energy to move her weary tongue enough to thank him. Whether it was from guilt or not, Varric had treated her with more respect than she would have expected. Perhaps more than she deserved from him, considering the last time that had really spoken it had been at a shout. But apologies, and thanks, would have to wait, because everything was growing cloudy, and far away, and her body was too heavy to listen to her protests.
---
Cassandra woke, once again, to Lavellan’s voice.
“...somewhere?”
Then another voice. Unfamiliar. One of the scouts? Cassandra took ahold of reality and shook it. Everything was fuzzy, but she could almost make out the edges. “...look after her. Said he was going…”
She opened her eyes, slowly. It was… light? Dawn, or a little after. The rain had let up a little, judging by the sound of it falling on the roof of the tent. How long had she been asleep? It couldn’t have been more than six hours, if she was judging time well. Though she couldn’t be too sure that she was.
The next thing that came to her was the coolness spreading out from her shoulder, and the feel of cloth under her fingertips. The salve? She closed one hand, than another. Weak, but responsive.
“How long ago was this?”
Lavellan again. She sounded… angry? Worried? Serious, certainly. Cassandra tried to remember what she had heard as she was waking up. Something was missing. Or someone.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think it was more than an hour or two. The sun hadn’t risen.”
“And you found him at camp?”
“Yes sir. I had gotten turned around by the rain, and all the lightning, and I thought I had seen something-”
“So you conveniently found yourself wandering back into camp. Funny how that works.” That was Dorian. His voice was crisp, and definitely angry.
Cassandra sat up as she tried to sort through everything. Whatever had happened, Lavellan had clearly found some drakevein. While she was still feeling stiff, and probably wouldn’t be properly back on her feet for several days, Cassandra could feel her head clearing with each moment. She was still shaky, but she felt confident she would be able to stand, at least. So what was wrong?
“I didn’t mean… I was just one person, what were the odds I would find the plant anyway? It was too dark to really see anything.”
“And what did Varric say to you before he left?”
Cassandra stiffened. Of course, she should have noticed the absence of his sarcasm. She had half expected to wake up to the sound of Varric regaling everyone in camp with his recent discovery that she read his books, after all. He was gone? Where could he possibly have gotten to? Surely one of the search parties would have run into him.
“He told me I was useless in the storm anyways, and that I should stay here and keep an eye on the Seeker. Said he had a hunch where he might be able to find some drakevein.” The beleaguered scout also added, more quietly, “he may have, um, said a few more things as well. But I would rather not repeat them.”
Cassandra snorted, despite herself. She hadn’t often seem Varric in a properly irritated mood, but she knew very well how creative his tongue could be under the right circumstances. The accompanying short bark of laughter from Dorian and Lavellan told Cassandra that she wasn’t alone in the thought.
Still, whatever was going on, it was most likely not something to be laughing about. Something cold had coiled up inside, a thought she couldn’t quite shake. Cassandra had always figured him for a bit of a noble fool, under all the posturing about self-preservation, but surely he wouldn’t…
Cassandra ran her palms down her legs a few times, praying that they would do as they were told. The last thing she needed was for them to buckle out from under her while she was trying to talk to the Inquisitor.
Gathering herself up, Cassandra leaned forward and pulled back the flap of the tent, sticking her head out. She quickly crawled out and got to her feet, managing to only stumble a little as she did so. Dorian, who had been standing just to the left her tent, caught her as she did.
“Cassandra!” The Inquisitor’s face brightened as she noticed Dorian’s sudden movement, and Cassandra’s presence. The scout, meanwhile, ducked their head, avoiding making eye contact. Apparently being berated by the Herald of Andraste and a Tevinter Mage had been more than enough for the poor fellow, who was a deep shade of red.
Lavellan moved in to help Cassandra to her feet. “You are feeling better?”
“I am well enough. But I overheard… has something happened with Varric?”
“Ah yes,” Dorian interrupted, casually straightening the parts of his robes that Cassandra had displaced when she stumbled into him, “that is the question. Our resident rogue-slash-storyteller seems to have disappeared on us!”
“And no one has any idea where he went?”
“Aside from our shy little friend here,” Dorian said, nodding towards the scout, “it would seem not.” He frowned for a moment. “Which is the strangest part. We had patrols out in just about every direction. I don’t see how he could have slipped past without someone noticing, unless it was intentional.”
Cassandra looked around the camp. There were a few other people about, though it looked like many had fallen to sleep in the tents around her, exhausted after a long night in the rain. Her armor was set carefully on a nearby table. Grimacing, Cassandra moved towards it.
“Uh, Cassandra?”
“Yes, Inquisitor?”
The Inquisitor cleared her throat, as if waiting for Cassandra to turn around and look at her. Cassandra did no such thing.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“I am going to track down that blighted dwarf before he gets himself killed.”
Dorian, meanwhile, was half trailing after her, glancing back towards the Inquisitor like some sort of stray puppy. Cassandra almost smiled at that thought. She wondered what Dorian would think of the comparison.
“Cassandra,” he began, “I hate to point out the obvious, but you were just dying of wyvern venom only about an hour ago. Don’t you think that-”
Cassandra prided herself on how quickly her glare could quiet someone. It was necessary, sometimes, to be able to end objections with only a glance. It kept things running smoothly. Catered to her desire for efficiency.
And, in this instance, there was the added bonus that it made Dorian stop in his tracks and lose his train of thought completely. In another instance, she might have rather reveled in it.
“Cassandra, I understand that you want to help, but we don’t even know where he is right now. We need to take a moment and think out a plan.”
Cassandra sighed, turning around to face the Inquisitor. “Normally, I would agree with you. Clearly, rushing into things helps nothing. However, in this instance, I fear it may be the only option.”
“What do you mean?”
“How much do you know about drakevein?”
“I…” the Inquisitor stammered, the tips of her ears turning red. “Not much, honestly. It’s not local to where my clan is, so I never really learned of it.”
Dorian chimed in, apparently having shaken himself out of his earlier stunned silence. “From what I’ve heard, it usually grows in dry, open areas.”
“That is true,” Cassandra replied, turning back to her armor and moving to pull it on while she talked. “It is quite plentiful in Orlais, fortunately, considering the rich man-children that go out hunting wyverns every year. Less common here in Ferelden, but given the right conditions it may grow here as well as anywhere.”
“Okay, that’s nice enough, but I’m assuming there’s something you aren’t telling me here.”
“Do you know why it is called drakevein?” Cassandra turned back towards the Inquisitor as she spoke, reaching down to lace up her boots.
“I figured it was because it was so useful against wyvern poison.”
Dorian shrugged. “I thought perhaps the person who named it was rather fanciful and thought it looked a bit like a like a dragon.” Turning to the Inquisitor for support, he shrugged again under her slightly incredulous stare. “What? You know how it is with those weird explorative types.”
“Well, neither of you are right. The name developed in reference to the fact that, in Orlais at least, it is often found growing in areas where dragons make their home.”
Cassandra wasn’t looking at them when the revelation hit, but she heard Lavellan’s soft “oh” as everything clicked into place.
“Dorian, you said that you had patrols out in almost every direction. What area did you leave uncovered?”
“Well, the mayor had apparently mentioned that there had been dragon sightings to the South West, so we…” Dorian trailed off, understanding just a few moments after Lavellan had. “Ah.” He paused for a moment, still staring down at her. “You don’t really think he… no. How would he even have known?”
Lavellan jumped in at that point, talking as she moved to grab her staff. “Varric works in poisons, Dorian. Of course he would know where to look for the stuff.”
“Yes, but he wouldn’t just rush into a dragon’s den if he thought-”
“He probably thought she was out hunting,” Cassandra said, straightening up. “Our scout friend said they thought they saw something in the storm, did they not?” Cassandra turned away from him again, reaching back towards the table for her sword and shield.
“Maybe so, but surely Varric wouldn’t so foolish as to go towards a dragon on a mere hunch…”
Lavellan and Cassandra both turned to face Dorian at the same time, eyebrows raised, then looked at each other.
Lavellan sighed. “He would do exactly that.”
---
In his defense, Varric thought, the plan had seemed quite sound when he was setting out.
Pinned down with only a single crumbling wall between him and a rampaging dragon, however, he had to admit that he had, perhaps, been the slightest bit rash.
It had been a clear enough train of thought, really. The scouts meant well enough, but they were clearing having no luck finding anything in the dark and the rain, and the one who had come tripping back into camp had been scared half to death. And when they had mentioned the dragon, well, everything had just clicked into place. Surely in the open plains to the South he’d be able to find something. And it seemed like as long as the storm was sweeping along the coast, she would be too.
Except the storm had stopped.
Varric clutched Bianca tightly as lightning crackled and sizzled along the stones at his back. He could smell the ends of his hair burning.
“Well, Varric,” he whispered to himself glumly, “how are you going to get out of it this time? Throw a stone one way and dive the other? Maybe a good bolt to the eye?” He shook his head. “See, this is why stories are better than real life. There’s always a good way out of a fix in the stories.”
He slumped back against the wall, looking around for something he could use, anything to-
“Andraste’s ass, this has got to be some sort of cruel joke.”
There it was, no more than a few feet away from him. He could almost reach out and grab it, if it weren’t for the risk of being fried alive.
Drakevein. He could have screamed.
“Well,” he muttered to himself, “maybe when they come to collect my body, someone will find it. I’m sure the Seeker would get a kick out of that. I’ll finally be useful for something.”
In one fluid motion, Varric got to his feet, stepping back and bracing himself as he let out a volley of bolts. If he was going to die, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to go down shooting.
Somewhere in the distance, hardly more than a smudge with arms and legs, something moved. His eyes caught on it for only a brief second, but in that second, he could almost swear it was…
Then the world, or at least the dragon, roared, and everything went sparky and loud and hot, and crinkled into nothingness.
---
He woke up in a bed. A proper one too, not just one of the cheap cots they used on the road.
It was, all things considered, rather a good sign.
Really, aside from the fact that he still felt a little crispy around the edges, he’d have to mark this one down as a success. Though he wasn’t quite sure how.
Varric cracked one eye open, then the other.
Well, he wasn’t back at Skyhold. This place was seriously lacking in that classic dilapidated castle charm. An Inn somewhere? The ceiling was low, he was warm, and everything smelled vaguely of stew. Definitely an Inn.
Before Varric could get any further in his assessments, Dorian’s voice intruded on his thoughts.
“Ah, you’re awake!”
Varric turned his head (a somewhat painful process) to see Dorian lounging by his bed, grinning broadly, a book in his hand. How the man managed to look so comfortable and relaxed in what Varric could only imagine to be a rather uncomfortable chair, he wasn’t sure.
Dorian waved at him.
“It’s been a while since you’ve graced us with your presence. Almost an entire day, in fact. But look at this! The dwarf yet lives.”
“Sparkler,” Varric croaked, somewhat surprised at how rough the word sounded. “Please do me a favor and shut your big mouth.”
Dorian closed his book with a snap and stood up, saluting smartly. “My pleasure. In fact, I think I am going to go collapse into a bed.” He moved off briskly, only pausing at the door.
“I should warn you, however, I’m not exactly the only person who wants a word with you. Both Cassandra and the Inquisitor will probably be in here before long.”
“Cassandra… she’s… she’s alright then?”
“Oh, she’s more than alright. Rather, well. Stompy.”
Varric sighed, closing his eyes. “Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, lie to them? Say I’m still sleeping?” He opened his eyes again, looking pleadingly at Dorian.
Dorian just scrunched up his face. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you. You are a good friend, Varric, but I don’t think I’m willing to cross either of those two right now.” He shuddered, looking at the ground lost in thought. Then he looked back up and smiled. “Good luck though!”
With that he was gone.
It only took a few minutes for the first footsteps. Light and quick… that’d be the Inquisitor. Good. Better than the alternative, at least.
“Varric? Dorian said you were awake.”
“Yeah, I’m just dandy. Ready to get right back into things. Got anything for me to shoot?”
The door squeaked open, and the Inquisitor entered, shaking her hand. “I know you are joking, but please do me a favor and stay in bed. I’ve had enough injured people running around lately.”
Varric quirked an eyebrow at her.
“Cassandra is… not very good at recovering.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The Inquisitor looked at him for a moment, something like a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I guess you wouldn’t remember, would you? You were out cold by the time we got to you.”
“I would say out burnt and sizzly would be a more accurate way of putting it, but yeah. The last thing I remember I was trying to make my dramatic last stand.”
“Yes, I saw that. We were coming towards you when it happened. It was Cassandra who got to you first. She, well…” Lavellan trailed off, thoughts clearly somewhere far away. “She distracted the dragon. Practically took a full blast of lightning herself, though you wouldn’t hardly know it.”
Varric frowned, trying to process what he was hearing. “She… but wasn’t she sick? Last time I saw Cassandra she could barely sit up. How did she…”
Varric sighed. “You found drakevein somewhere else, didn’t you?”
Lavellan nodded. “About an hour after you left to look for it.”
“So my big heroic gesture?”
“A little bit pointless.”
“And Cassandra ended up saving my life. Again.”
“So.” He pulled himself into a sitting position. “What do you think are the odds I can just slip out of here with my dignity intact, out a little back door, and never see anyone from the Inquisition ever again.”
“About as good as the odds of me winning an arm wrestling contest against the Iron Bull.”
Varric mulled that over for a moment. “Well, I’ve gotten by on slimmer than that.”
“Really?” The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows. “You’ll have to tell me more about that at some point.” She shook her head, then continued, “Listen, Varric, what you did was careless. And unnecessary. I know you are drawn to the showy heroics-”
“I am drawn to no such-”
The Inquisitor held up a hand, cutting him off. “But I need to know that the people I’m working with can be trusted to follow orders, no matter how much they think they know better.”
She leaned back, crossing her arms, and then smirked at him. He didn’t like the look of that. “However, I think in this case I will spare the lecture.”
“So where’s the catch?”
“I’m going to go tell Cassandra that you’re up.”
---
She didn’t throw things. Which was nice. She did, however, shout at him.
“I have never,” she began, storming into the room, “in all my years as a Seeker, had to go rescue someone from what would have been fatal injuries twice in the span of a single day.”
“Really? Well, that’s just a shame.” Varric met her glare steadily. “What are they teaching you Seekers these days?”
“Well for one, they teach us not to disappear in the middle of the night to go off on childish adventures!”
“Ah, yes, that’s what it was. Just a lovely little frolic down by the dragon. It’s how I like to spend most of my mornings.”
Cassandra, who had come into the room still holding her sword from what Varric could only assume was her whacking more innocent training dummies, now slammed it against the chair by his bed.
“Do not… do not try to make this into some kind of joke, Varric! It is my job to keep the people of this army safe, and you risked not only yourself, but anyone who might have gone after you. On what, a whim? You thinking, once again, that you know better than everyone else around you?”
“Or maybe, just perhaps,” Varric replied dryly, “I was not a big fan of sitting around and watching you die, Seeker.”
“But I didn’t die, did I? Because people were doing their jobs. Do not act like you were some sort of hero, running off to save the day. I would have been fine.”
Varric laughed, a short sharp thing. “People just keep using that word today, you know? I wasn’t trying to be a hero, I was just…” Despite himself, Varric felt some of the energy draining from him. “I was just trying to set things right, okay? You were dying because of me, so I thought the least I could do was, I don’t know, try and save your life? Maker forbid the big bad Seeker actually express any sort of gratitude.”
Cassandra was still glaring at him, and she didn’t exactly soften at that, but she did calm a bit. Or at least, she stopped shouting. “Whatever your reasons, that does not excuse your actions. You are part of an army now, Varric. Not some lone rogue traipsing across the countryside with his friends. We have a chain of command for a reason.”
He was tired of arguing. That’s all he ever seemed to do with her. Varric threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine then! I screwed up. I’m sorry. Now can I just… get some sleep? Unlike you, some of us actually need time to recover from near-death experiences.”
He laid down without meeting her eyes, turning over to face the wall. It’s not like he could really blame her for being angry. She was right, after all. He had been acting like a fool, running after something he knew perfectly well that other people in the group were capable of finding. But it hadn’t felt that way when that night. She had drifted off to sleep and started shaking, this low shiver that had slowly grown as he sat there with nothing to do but wait. She had been dying, whether or not she had been willing to admit it, and…
What was he supposed to have done? Sit around and hope for the best? Crack open a good book like Dorian? Take the time to get some writing done? Maybe she didn’t realize that death wasn’t as easy for the rest of them to swallow as it was for her.
The sword that Cassandra had slammed onto the chair clattered as she picked it up, but to Varric’s surprise, she didn’t leave the room. Instead, he heard her settle into the chair.
“Listen, Varric, I didn’t come here to fight again.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“I simply…” She trailed off, and Varric stared at the wall across from him, looking for patterns in the whirls of the wood as he waited for her to speak. “You are not the only person who can get worried about the lives of others.”
Against his better judgement, Varric rolled over.
Cassandra looked… tired. Like some mask, or piece of armor, had fallen away. She was slumped forward a bit, elbows braced on her knees. She looked at the ground as she spoke.
“I know my own limits. I know them very well. It is my job to know what I can survive, and to survive it. But the people I am fighting beside now, they don’t… you are not trained in any sort of military. You don’t have years of built up resistance to poison, and you don’t know how to position your shield to best absorb the breath of a dragon.”
“I don’t carry a shield.”
Cassandra glanced up quickly at Varric, holding his gaze for a second before making a soft, frustrated noise and leaning back in her chair. “That is hardly the point, I am simply trying to say-”
“Listen, Seeker, I know what you’re getting at. But I’m not some weak, day-old nug. I know how to take care of myself. Couldn’t have survived all those years in Kirkwall if I didn’t. That place might as well be military training, for how many people have tried to corner me in a dark alleyway.”
“I know that. I do not mean any disrespect. I just mean to say that it is harder for me to do my job if you are off… frolicking with dragons.”
Varric grinned at that, despite himself. There was something almost charming about Cassandra trying to mimic his words back at him. They didn’t fit her at all.
Silence settled down, easier than before. Varric rolled back onto his back, watching the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if she had anything else to say to him.
After a few minutes, when it was clear she didnt, he finally spoke up, looking back over at her while he did. “Look, for what it’s worth, I was wrong.”
Cassandra raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You aren’t immune to dragon fire at all. It’s deadly lightning bolts you can be hit by without flinching.”
She smiled at that. Actually smiled. Who’d have thought that was possible?
It almost made the whole thing worth it.