Archive of Our Own

"You are not to repeat this."

Varric puts a hand to his chest. "Seeker, you wound me. I would never repeat stories about my friends."

Cassandra's eyes narrow. "All you do is repeat stories about your friends."

"I exaggerate stories about my friends," Varric says. "I don't repeat."

"Oh?" Varric's shirt skims the tops of Cassandra's thighs as she hunts around for her trousers. "What embellishments do you intend to add to this tale? Will there be yet more dragons involved?"

"That might be taking it a little far, don't you think?" Varric says. "I can't have my hero fight off a dragon whilst also having the best sex of her life. It strains credulity."

Cassandra huffs out a breath. "I didn't mean at the same time," she says before frowning. "Wait, what do you mean 'her life'?"

"Somehow the romance is lost if I describe it as 'the best sex she had that week'."

"No." Cassandra's hands go to her hips and Varric tries very hard not to look down to where his shirt is struggling to cover her. (Despite his valiant effort, he doesn't succeed.) "I mean 'her'. I thought you would be the hero."

"I don't have the cheekbones," Varric says, chuckling when Cassandra narrows her eyes. "Besides, I figured it was my turn to be the love interest."

"This is not love," Cassandra mutters. "It is barely interest."

"That's how all the great romances start," Varric says. "First there's the kidnapping, then there's the overly aggressive interrogation, and then a darkspawn magister tears open the sky and our hero starts experiencing feelings of mild affection."

Cassandra wrinkles her nose. "Hopefully not for the darkspawn magister."

"Hey, it takes all sorts," he says. "But no, not in this story. Unless you and Corypheus have something going behind my back."

He isn't sure when he started finding her noises of disgust so endearing but it's too late to fix it now. He's in too deep.

"I have nothing going with Corypheus," she says, as though it was a serious accusation. "I don't even think I have anything 'going' with you. This was…"

"An exhilarating bodice-ripper which leaves all parties wanting more?"

Cassandra raises an eyebrow. Varric decides he probably shouldn't memorise his Randy Dowager reviews, or at least not slip them into idle conversation so frequently.

"This was an error," she says firmly. "A moment of weakness." In a development which puts Varric's greatest tragedies to shame, she locates her trousers. "It is not a mistake I shall make twice."

"I mean, I would've gone with 'a natural conclusion to months of tempestuous sexual tension'," Varric says, "but I guess 'error' works too."

There's a definite stomp to Cassandra's movements as she pulls her boots on. "Never again. I mean it, dwarf."

"My lips and pants are sealed," Varric promises.

"Ensure they remain that way," she says, fixing him with a firm stare.

She folds her arms across her chest and Varric allows himself one last glimpse of her cleavage before she says, impatient, "My shirt, Varric."

He looks down to where Cassandra's own shirt is trying and failing to contain his chest hair. "So that's where that went."

"So, you and Cassandra, huh?"

Cassandra rounds on Varric in a heartbeat, eyes bright with anger. "You told him?!"

Varric hardly has time to hold his hands up in surrender before Bull chuckles. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

"Well, that was great," Varric says to Cassandra. "Does Leliana take tips from you on stealth or are your skills just too devastating to share?"

Cassandra turns back to her drink, cheeks pink. "Be quiet."

"Hey, don't get embarrassed," Bull says. "You're a good match."

Cassandra snorts in derision yet somehow remains deeply attractive. (Varric is aware he has problems.)

"I am a good match for a liar and a criminal? How wonderful."

Her voice drips with sarcasm but Bull just laughs, unfazed. "If you ask me, lying and crime are underrated traits."

"Didn't your qunari name used to be 'Liar'?" Varric asks, leaning back against the bar. "And you're dating a guy who told me last week that some of his best friends are murderers. I'm detecting some bias here, Tiny."

"Things are going well with me and Dorian," Bull says, unrepentant. "There's no reason you two can't find that same spark."

"There will be no drapery left in Skyhold if anyone else finds the same spark," Cassandra mutters.

"He makes a good point," Varric says. "Maybe we should find some more candles next time. Live life on the edge."

Cassandra takes a long gulp of her drink. "There will not be a next time. I just had a couple of momentary lapses in willpower-"

"A couple?" Varric grins. "What about the afternoon by the lake? Or down under the bridge near-"

"I had six or seven momentary lapses in willpower," she says, eyes narrowing. "That is all."

Bull's gaze lingers on her for a long moment over the rim of his mug and Varric could swear there's a slight difference in his tone when he says, "You know there's nothing to be ashamed of, right?"

Cassandra makes a noise of disbelief. "It's Varric. He-"

"He's a good man," Bull says and Varric smiles in surprise. "And the guy's clearly smitten with you. It's almost painful to watch."

Varric's smile fades. "Hey!"

"We're dealing with ancient magisters and dragons that breathe lyrium," Bull points out. "It's good to focus, to let that take priority, but there's nothing wrong with finding something for yourself at the same time."

"I have duties," Cassandra says firmly. "I cannot be distracted by this… nonsense. The Inquisitor requires my support."

There's a brief pause. Varric is certain they're all remembering yesterday's incident of the Inquisitor charging off a cliff with a delighted yell while clinging onto the back of a giant nug.

"The Inquisitor requires a lot of things," Bull says with a wave of his hand. "That doesn't mean you need to be the one to provide all of them." He smirks. "From what I hear, our lovely ambassador provides at least three of them most evenings."

Varric smirks into his ale and Bull continues, "If you don't want to be with Varric, that's your choice, but it shouldn't just be because of priorities. As far as I'm concerned, having someone by your side is a help in this fight, not a hindrance."

Cassandra's answering hum is less aggressive than expected. "I will consider it."

"Let me know where you get to," Bull says, lapsing back into a smile as he looks between the two of them. "I'll need to break the news to Grim that you're off the market."

Cassandra rolls her eyes. "I'm sure he'll cope."

"He's tough," Bull agrees, "but man, he was really holding a torch for Varric."

The door to Varric's room clatters open, bringing with it a gust of icy wind and an equally icy Cassandra. "You're writing a book?"

Varric gestures to the stack of paper on his desk. "I'm starting to think listening to Tiny wasn't such a good idea. Less than a month together and your Seeker skills are already slipping."

Cassandra scowls and elbows the door closed behind her. The papers in her hand flutter as she does so and realisation dawns when he sees the front sheet.

"Let me guess," Varric says with a sigh. "You've been to see Cullen."

Cassandra frowns. "How did you know that?"

Varric nods to where the front sheet reads 'Do Not Throw' in large red letters. "The first two chapters he borrowed ended up getting flung off the mountain. Apparently you walked in and he panicked."

"With good reason," Cassandra says. "You didn't tell me you were writing a book about me."

"I'm not!" Varric counters. He tries to sound offended at the concept but just ends up sounding vaguely suspect. "Technically it's about our fearless leader. You just happen to be relevant to the narrative."

"How is a three page description of what I wore to the Winter Palace 'relevant to the narrative'?"

Varric's mind instantly wanders at the memory of her in those boots. "Mm?" He jumps a little when Cassandra drops the draft on his desk. "I'm a very descriptive narrator?"

"You describe the Winter Palace as 'a large, sparkly mansion'."

"I'm a selectively descriptive narrator," he corrects. "Besides, I thought you'd be happy to be in the book."

"I am not unhappy," Cassandra says, leaning against his desk. "I don't know how to feel about it. It is strange to be the focus of so much attention. Especially when it is you writing it."

"I did ask Genitivi if he wanted to take this one but tragically he declined," Varric says. "Factor in my blood feud with Philiam and I'm really your only option."

Cassandra smiles at that, even as she shakes her head, and Varric rests his hand on her hip as he says, "I can focus more on the Inquisitor if you want? I'm sure the public would love to hear about the Herald of Andraste trying to high five a nug."

From the way Cassandra sighs, it's clear she'd forgotten about the nug.

"Perhaps," she says eventually. "I… enjoy your writing and it is flattering to be included. It's just odd to think of other people reading your view of me."

"If it helps, it's only had a limited release so far," Varric says. "Ruffles helped avert a minor clan war so she got a few chapters as thanks and I'm pretty sure Leliana just stole a copy while I was sleeping."

"And Cullen?"

Varric rubs the back of his neck. "Curly may have been a little annoyed about how he was written in Tale of the Champion."

Cassandra makes a noise of understanding. "The hair?"

"Who can say," Varric lies. "Anyway, I gave him some chapters to prove that he comes across much better this time."

He decides not to mention the long scene of the Inquisition's commander training shirtless in the winter sunshine. In the absence of a horde of half-naked qunari, he needs something to keep his reviewers satisfied.

"I see." She glances down at his desk. "When do I get to read it?"

"It isn't finished yet," Varric says, reaching out to wipe a smear of dirt off Cassandra's armour. "I still need a denouement so you may have to wait until Corypheus is defeated." He grins. "Unless you want to propose and bring the love story to a thrilling conclusion?"

She grimaces but leans down to kiss him on the lips regardless.

"I am not proposing," she says, fixing his collar and kissing him again. "I hardly even know what this-" She gestures between them. "-thing is."

"I think the technical term is 'relationship'," Varric says with a grin. "Just throwing it out there."

"Do not throw anything anywhere," Cassandra says. His chair is big enough that it's easy for her to shift from the desk to his lap as he settles his hands on her waist. "I would prefer to maintain discretion."

"I can do discretion," Varric promises. He kisses her on the cheek and reconsiders, "Well, at least until the book comes out."

In hindsight, Varric thinks he should have arranged for this conversation to happen sooner.

For the past two weeks, Cassandra's been increasingly concerned about the new book, particularly when more chapters find their way around Skyhold. As much as she's enjoyed his previous works, it's clear that this is new territory for her, new enough that she's been second-guessing herself every time they're alone together and wondering if each conversation will end up being published.

He's fairly sure it's nerves rather than vanity, understandable wariness over their quasi-relationship being shared with a wider audience, but his reassurances have only fallen on deaf ears.

As such, when he steps out of the tavern to hear her mention 'Varric's ridiculous book', he peers around the corner to catch a little more of the discussion.

"You must have experienced this," Cassandra says, huffing out a breath as she stabs at the training dummy. "You and the Champion…"

The door to the tavern swings open behind him and Varric smiles at the sound of Hawke's laughter spilling out into the courtyard.

They arrived back from Adamant four days earlier, followed two days later by a very worried and very angry Fenris. The reunion was marked by intense shouting and even more intense hugging but since then, Hawke has fitted in easily around Skyhold. Every time Varric turns around, he's befriended someone new, indulging in quick-paced banter with Vivienne, ruffling Cullen's hair every time he walks past, and teaching Sera the most inappropriate jokes he knows, most of which Varric recognises as Isabela's.

Hawke also gravitated quickly towards Bull, in what Varric can only assume is a friendship based on physical bulk and a love of dragons, and before the tavern door falls shut, he catches a handful of Bull's words, "-should fight a lightning one. That crackle really get your blood pump-"

Pleased to be missing the details of that conversation, Varric inches forward until he hears a response to Cassandra's inquiry.

"Hawke may be a better person to ask," Fenris is saying. His greatsword glints in the evening sun as he swings at the dummy. "He is the hero, after all. I… did not care so much for the attention."

It's followed by a particularly solid thwack against the middle of the dummy and Varric puts a hand to his own stomach in sympathy.

"The Champion had no issue with it then?" Cassandra asks. "The scrutiny?"

Fenris smirks. "Hawke is not one to shy away from attention. If Varric was going to commemorate his deeds, he wanted to give him something good to commemorate."

Cassandra nods, processing the information. "Like duelling the Arishok," she says. "Venturing into an unknown thaig to make his fortune. Defeating Kirkwall's corrupt Knight-Commander."

Fenris' smile widens as he moves on to the next dummy. It bears a crudely drawn moustache and Varric guesses that Fenris' earlier run-in with Dorian didn't go too well.

"He tried to climb one of the statues in the Gallows," Fenris says, somewhere between fond and resigned. "Accidentally set his beard on fire. Punched a bronto."

Cassandra's sword strikes falter. "I- That was not in the book."

Fenris hefts his blade in a neat arc. "I understand there was some judicious editing on Varric's part. The same applies to Hawke's relationship with me; thankfully there was a lot he left out."

"Why?"

Against his better judgement, Varric is growing accustomed to her bluntness. Nonetheless, it takes Fenris by surprise, even as Cassandra rushes to clarify, "I know he's written romance serials and he clearly knows a great deal about you both. Why leave things out?"

Fenris resumes his attacks, bare feet pivoting in the worn grass. "Safety, in part. After the Chantry explosion and my history with the Imperium, none of us were keen to disclose more information than necessary."

Varric remembers that, the weeks spent poring through every conversation and every fight scene with Hawke to excise any information that could be used against them. It's a conversation he plans to have with Cassandra at some point, once Corypheus is dead and buried.

Fenris' tone softens even as he hacks at the neck of a dummy. "More than that, Varric is our friend. As indiscreet as he can be at times, he wouldn't have included anything that would jeopardise our friendship."

Cassandra frowns. "Even the scene where Hawke rescues you from blood mages and carries you back to Kirkwall?"

"I never said he didn't exaggerate," Fenris says with a roll of his eyes. "It was far less romantic in reality -- I was nauseous from the spell and Hawke assures me I was more bad tempered than usual. Apparently I tried to start a fight with his dog."

"And you don't mind that?" Cassandra comes to a stop, setting her sword down as she wipes the sweat from her neck. "You don't mind people reading The Tale of the Champion and thinking of you a certain way? Even if that isn't the full picture?"

Fenris spins, hitting the dummy with his sword and elbow in quick succession before pausing to breathe. "I would have preferred him not to emphasise the height difference quite so much," he says. "I'm not that much smaller than Hawke. Otherwise…"

He shrugs. "You get used to it. The attention is an occupational hazard of being with Hawke, and will be for some time, but I've found it best to ignore it. I have no desire to obsess over what Varric or Kirkwall or anyone else thought of me -- there was enough to focus on in my own life."

He pushes his sweat-damp hair out of his face as he reaches for a cloth. "Hawke is important to me; other people's opinions of our relationship are not."

Cassandra nods, lips pursed in thought, but the tavern door crashes open again before she can question further.

"Wait, wait, go lower…"

Hawke's voice is unmistakeable, as is the grunt of pain that follows, and Varric turns to see Bull inching his way out of the tavern. Hawke is settled on his shoulders, his body hunched over Bull's horns as he tries to avoid the doorframe.

Varric sighs. "Do I want to ask?"

"Probably not," Bull says cheerfully.

Hawke sits up once they make it outside, rolling his shoulders and then punching the air with a pleased laugh. "This should do it!"

Bull rounds the corner and Hawke's lips curve in a familiar smile as he waves to Fenris. "Hi."

Stepping out from his cover, Varric sees Fenris fold his arms across his chest even as he looks up at Hawke with unabashed affection. "I suppose I should be grateful it's not me you've decided to mount."

Hawke grins. "Hey, play your cards right and it could be."

Out of habit, Varric's gaze jumps to Cassandra, only to find her looking between Hawke and Fenris in contemplation. Her expression is unreadable but when she straightens up and folds her arms, he's struck by just how alike she and Fenris are sometimes. (Mostly in terms of temperament but also in terms of their sheer range of judgemental expressions.)

"I take it they're serving the strong ale this evening?" she says, looking Bull and Hawke up and down.

"Nah," Bull says, "we're both pretty sober."

Hawke flails a little from his perch on Bull's shoulders. "We were trying to work out if we're tall enough to punch a dragon in the face like this." He beams. "Good news: we definitely are."

Pretty much every part of Varric's body aches when he collapses back onto his pillow.

About fifty percent of that is down to getting bludgeoned with red lyrium by a behemoth two days earlier but the remaining fifty percent can be blamed squarely on the woman currently cleaning herself up in his wash basin.

"Bnngh," he says helpfully.

Cassandra arches an eyebrow as she glances back at him. Varric revises the blame allocation to sixty-forty.

"I'm injured," he says. "Doesn't the Chantry teach compassion in this situation?"

"I don't recall the Chant of Light offering specific advice on bedding a grouchy, injured dwarf," Cassandra says but she's smiling as she slides into bed next to him.

She settles on her stomach, long legs stretching out under the covers and Varric kisses her shoulder as he rests a hand on her back.

"I suppose I could ask Leliana," Cassandra says around a yawn. "I expect the grand clerics will name her Divine shortly."

Varric chuckles. "What happened to discretion?"

"Around Leliana?" She laughs. "I suspect she knew this would happen before I did."

Her hand finds Varric's arm, skirting the dark bruises left by the behemoth. Silence blankets them for a moment, warm and comforting, before she asks, amused, "So, when do you intend to write this evening into the book? We leave for the Wastes first thing in the morning."

Varric traces the curve of her shoulder blade. "Not everything has to make it into the book," he says. "Especially when I know you're just going to veto it during the editing process. Plus I'm a tease -- I like to leave something to the imagination."

He yawns. "Besides, this book is more of an adventure novel than a romance one. Maybe even a comedy if the Inquisitor gets into a shouting match with any more bears."

Cassandra buries her face in the pillow. "Please don't encourage that behaviour."

"I would never," Varric says with feigned sincerity. Cassandra elbows him in the ribs. "Ow!"

She ignores him. "If you're not intending to include this in the book, does that mean you'll have time to write something else?"

"Something else? What-" Varric stops himself as he pieces it together. "Really? You're angling for more Swords and Shields?"

Cassandra's shrug is unrepentant. "If you're not working on anything else…"

"It's terrible," Varric says. "It's very terrible. Even Orlais thinks it's terrible."

"I enjoy it," she says firmly. The complete lack of embarrassment is somehow surprising and pleasing in equal measure. "I would like to read more of it."

Varric shakes his head but he's smiling as he leans over to kiss her neck. "You do realise you're in an actual romance here, right?"

"I am aware."

"And yet you're picking my awful romance serial over me?"

"As well as you," she says without remorse. "I have needs."

"Apparently," Varric says, chuckling. After all her hesitancy and second-guessing about his books, he's glad to see her awful taste in literature is once again taking priority.

The bed squeaks as he rolls onto his side to face her. "I guess it wouldn't do to leave any of those needs unsatisfied. I'll see if inspiration strikes on the journey tomorrow."

Cassandra smiles, tired and relaxed. "Thank you. I would appreciate that."

"Happy to help." He reaches out with his thumb to smooth a stray tuft of Cassandra's hair. "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with something tamer in the meantime though."

She yawns widely. "I'll cope."

From the way she's struggling to keep her eyes open, Varric doubts she'll be awake for more than a few minutes more but he pulls the threads of a story together anyway as she cuddles in close to his side.

"Once upon a time," Varric begins as his own eyes drift shut, "a very handsome and completely innocent dwarf was minding his own business..."