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“Want to dance, Seeker?”
“No.”
“Worth a try.”
Cassandra felt a small smile touch her lips. “What on earth would you have done if I’d said yes, Varric?” she said.
“Panicked, probably.” Varric leaned back against the banisters of the wide staircase next to her. The foyer of the Winter Palace was hot and stuffy and very crowded, and still he somehow managed to look at ease. But then Varric could probably make himself at home in a swamp if he had a mind to. Drop him in some small town in the middle of nowhere and when you returned in a week he’d know all the customs, be speaking the local language like a native and would have made several lifelong friends. It was a knack Cassandra had always envied.
She really hated the Winter Palace.
“You look bored out of your mind, by the way,” said Varric conversationally.
“As do you, my love.”
He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. It was unlike Cassandra to use such terms of endearment in public, regardless of whether anyone was actually listening or not.
“You’re in a good mood with me tonight,” he said.
“I am glad you’re here,” admitted Cassandra. “And...I have been reminded several times this evening of the alternative. The noblemen here are persistent, and royal blood, however distant, is always a prize.” She shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep her tone light. “I have been talked at by several very old, very rich, very boring men. It reminds me of when I was forced to endure such things as a young woman.”
“Shit, I’m not going to have to duel anyone for you, am I?” said Varric, grinning.
“No, but you may have to help me hide the body later if the Comte de Lion starts leering at me again.”
“That bad?”
“He keeps talking about fishing. I don’t believe the man does anything else.”
“Which one is he?”
Cassandra nodded as discretely as she could at a man in his mid sixties, who was currently entertaining a gaggle of ladies who must have been half his age. They were fluttering their fans and giggling away, apparently enthralled by whatever he was telling them. The Comte must be rich indeed, she thought sourly, as he had precious few other attractions. He was pale and spindly, with rather protuberant eyes. From what she understood, he had been through several wives already, though whether they had got bored of him or he had got bored of them was unclear.
“I can see why he likes fishing,” said Varric, from beside her. “He probably enjoys being among his own kind.”
“This is undoubtedly the worst thing I have ever been called upon to do for the Inquisition,” said Cassandra.
“Ah, it’s not all bad.” Varric turned his gaze from the garrulous Comte to regard her affectionately. “At least the uniform looks good on you.”
Cassandra snorted. “Varric, the uniform looks good on no-one.” She frowned slightly. “Except perhaps Dorian. I’m not sure how he managed that.”
“Blood magic,” said Varric instantly. “As a Seeker, isn’t it your job to put a stop to that sort of thing? Cut off his moustache as punishment.”
“I think it’s safe to say that has never been a widely accepted punishment for the practising of blood magic, Varric.”
“Shame. It’d work on Sparkler. Hey, speaking of which...”
Dorian came strolling towards them through the throng, looking perfectly at ease.
“Don’t you two make a charming couple,” he said, by way of greeting. “Not a very subtle one, however. There’ll be quite the scandal if you keep gazing adoringly at each other so obviously all evening.”
Cassandra felt heat rush to her face. “Was there something you wanted?” she said abruptly.
“Just conveying a message from our dear Inquisitor,” Dorian replied. “She says the garden here is quite beautiful, and you must come to see it as soon as you can.”
Both of them tensed slightly.
“Sure,” said Varric. “Tell her we’ll be right out.”
“Urgh.”
“Not happy to be back at the party Seeker?” said Varric.
“I am not happy that this party is still allowed to continue,” said Cassandra bluntly. “There is blood on the floor, an apostate holds the ear of the Empress, and civil war rages outside. And yet the nobles of Orlais, instead of doing something about it, spend all their time and money on this...this farce. Such things should be outlawed.”
Varric chuckled. “That would be great publicity. I can hear the town criers now: ‘Inquisition outlaws parties’. That should go down well.”
“They act as if there is nothing wrong,” said Cassandra. “As if they close their eyes it will all just go away. It is absurd!”
“This is the Winter Palace; plenty of things here are absurd.” He paused for a beat. “That woman’s dress, for example.”
“Really, Varric?” said Cassandra, well aware that he was trying to distract her from her rant before she really got started, and deciding to allow it for the moment. “Are we now going to spend our time disparaging the dress sense of others? That is very...Orlesian of you.”
“When in Orlais...” Varric shrugged.
There was a brief silence in which they both unconsciously scanned the crowd.
“That dress is rather appalling,” admitted Cassandra, nodding towards a skinny middle aged woman with a sour face, holding forth to a group in the corner.
“She looks like someone smeared her in treacle and forced her to run naked through a chicken coop,” agreed Varric.
“Feathers are in fashion this season, according to Leliana. I don’t know who decides these things.”
“Probably that ‘arcane advisor’ of Celene’s,” said Varric. “Apostates love feathers, it’s a well known fact.”
Before Cassandra could respond to this, Josephine bustled up to them smiling the bright brittle smile of someone very practised at hiding the fact that they were under a great deal of stress.
“Lady Pentaghast!” she said, “You haven’t been mingling!” She turned to Varric with a reproachful look. “Do the two of you truly plan to spend the entire ball in the foyer? There are so many people to meet, so many other beautiful rooms to see!”
“The foyer isn’t so bad a place,” replied Varric easily. “You get to see everyone as they come in.”
“Not everyone, surely,” fluttered Josephine. “Why there must be some who have slipped in without your notice!”
“I’m sure if it’s anyone important we’ll meet them soon enough,” said Varric, with a chuckle.
“Well, maybe that’s all I can hope for,” said Josephine. She took Cassandra’s hands briefly in a gesture of supplication. “Do promise me you’ll talk to a few more people tonight, won’t you? You know it is most important that the Inquisition make a good impression.”
“I have no desire to let down the Inquisition, Ambassador,” said Cassandra.
“Well then, I’m sure I’ll see you later,” trilled Josephine. She was, Cassandra thought, laying it on a bit thick. Once the Ambassador had disappeared in a flurry of smiles and nods to those she passed, Varric gestured vaguely ahead of them to the crowds.
“Shall we take Ruffles’ advice then?” he said.
“Of course. She is right; there is much more of the Winter Palace we have yet to see.”
It took them several minutes of wandering before they found an antechamber empty enough that Cassandra could unobtrusively look down and open the note that Josephine had thrust into her hand.
“Outside the door to the servants’ quarters,” she read quietly. “Ten minutes.”
“You know,” said Varric, “though I stand by what I said about the uniform, I would have liked to see you in a dress.”
Cassandra sighed. The evening had worn on interminably, and would long stand out in her memory as endless periods of standing around in stuffy overcrowded rooms trying not to look too threatening, interspersed with frenzied bursts of fighting whenever the Inquisitor called. It was not difficult to decide which she preferred. Even the brief distraction afforded by Varric’s mysterious acquisition of a plate of shrimp canapés had not brought much relief from the mind numbing tedium.
He was doing his best, at least. She appreciated it, as it was clear he hated this situation almost as much as she did, though he was able to hide it better. His attempts to cheer her up by way of persistent flirtation were rather sweet.
There were limits, however.
“Varric,” she said, “the day you see me wearing a dress is the day you’ll know a demon has possessed me and you should chop my head off with an axe for the protection of us all.”
“Something in crimson velvet, I think,” mused Varric, ignoring her comment completely. “And a bit of gold to set off your skin...”
“You’re as bad as Lady Vivienne.”
“Low cut at the front of course. And backless. Maybe a slit up the side...”
Cassandra snorted. “There will be nothing left of this imaginary dress if you keep lopping bits off.”
“Even better.” He caught her eye and grinned. “Oh come on Seeker, apart from the intermittent stabbing parts, this party is incredibly boring. Let me have my little fantasy.”
“I am bored as well, but you don’t see me imagining you in a backless dress.”
“You could if you wanted to,” said Varric mildly.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the thought, but that is not one of my particular...interests.”
“Oh yeah?” said Varric thoughtfully, and Cassandra was perturbed to see a familiar glint in his eye. “Then what are your particular interests, Lady Pentaghast?”
“Nothing I’m about to discuss with you in the middle of a crowded ballroom,” she said, feeling her face warm under his gaze. She’d never admit it, but she rather liked it when he used her title like that, for a start. From anyone else it was an annoyance, but from him...it rather made her feel like a character from one of his ridiculous books. Maker take her for a fool.
“No-one is listening but me, Seeker,” said Varric. He winked. “And I’m already pretty familiar with a few of the things you particularly like.”
“Varric...” said Cassandra in a warning tone.
“But you know me, always eager to learn.” He gave her what she considered an unfairly roguish look. “Fair’s fair Seeker, I told you one of mine.”
“We are not having this conversation now. Here.”
“I’m sure there’s somewhere else we could—”
A loud clanging cut off the end of Varric’s sentence, and they both turned their heads instinctively towards the ballroom. Other guests were already starting to stroll towards it, the refined murmur of conversation swelling to a buzz of anticipation.
Varric threw Cassandra a rueful look. “Saved by the bell,” he said. “I guess we’d better be going too. I’m sure our fearless leader is about to save the day again.”
“You do have a way of trivialising these things Varric,” said Cassandra, as they headed towards the ballroom.
“Ah, never let it be said that I trivialise Orlesian balls,” said Varric.
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“Well, we won. I guess.”
Cassandra sighed. “I’m not sure that anyone truly won, Varric. We survived at least. Orlais survived. I suppose we should call that a victory.”
“Hey, all those people in there seemed to think we saved the day. I’d say that’s something to celebrate.”
They had managed to briefly escape the ball into one of the many gardens that surrounded the palace, but even here there was no escaping the faint sound of music and laughter and the occasional cheer from inside as the nobility of Orlais let loose in ecstatic relief. The civil war was over. Celene was safe, her assassin foiled. The Inquisitor had indeed saved the day.
It...could have gone a lot worse.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Cassandra, allowing herself to relax a little. “I’m sure I will be more glad of the Inquisitor’s success when this whole evening is safely behind us.”
“Ah, it hasn’t been all bad,” said Varric.
He took her hand as they strolled further into the garden at a leisurely pace. The night air was warm as soup, thick with the heady perfume of flowers. Flickering braziers illuminated the pathways, casting pools of golden light amongst the carefully clipped trees. Night blooming waterlilies floated pale and ghost-like on an ornamental pond, the still water reflecting a sky scattered with a thousand stars. Occasionally they passed giggling figures entwined in the shadows, but carefully paid them no heed, and most did not even look up as they went by.
It was a simple but remarkable pleasure, Cassandra thought, to walk hand in hand with someone on a beautiful night. She felt her tension drifting away, the pressure of hot lights and hundreds of judgemental eyes finally lifted. How the Orlesians actually found enjoyment in these events she would never understand.
Almost as if he knew what she were thinking, Varric said: “You know, for someone who’s still officially the Hero of Orlais, you don’t like Orlais much, do you?”
“I have nothing against Orlais,” replied Cassandra. “I don’t like the nobility much, and I like their Grand Game not at all. It seems to be a way simply of gaining power for power’s sake, often at the expense of those born to less...well, less power.”
“You sound like Sera,” said Varric.
“Maker save us.”
They came to a natural stop at a small white marble bench tucked away in the far corner of the garden, curved to fit into the little alcove cut neatly into the hedge. Cassandra briefly relinquished Varric’s hand to sit down, realising only as she did so that she had been standing all evening. In her time as Seeker she had occasionally done stints of guard duty and was used to such things, but it was still a relief to take the weight off her feet for a moment.
Varric sat next to her, far closer than Orlesian propriety would allow, and put his arm around her. Cassandra stiffened slightly. Holding hands in the dark was one thing, but she dreaded to think what would happen if someone saw them like this. A Pentaghast and a dwarf. Dorian may have been joking earlier, but scandals had been made of far less.
“Varric,” she said softly, almost hating herself for it. “We can’t. Not here.”
He obligingly removed his arm, but looked up at her with a questioning expression. “Come on Seeker,” he said, “this bench was clearly made for canoodling. It is a custom made Orlesian canoodling bench.”
Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “I believe you just made up that word,” she said. “And besides, we are far too old for...doing anything of that nature in public.”
“What, canoodling?”
“Please stop saying that word.”
“You’re never too old to canoodle, Seeker.”
She was unable to stifle the laugh that escaped her lips and Varric echoed it with a soft chuckle of his own. He took her hand and brought it up to his lips, gently kissing her fingers in turn, not taking his eyes off hers. He had that look again, the one that sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. The night air was very warm and close and Cassandra felt terribly aware of herself, the pulse beating beneath her skin, the way her clothes pulled against her body as she moved.
“So the thrill at the possibility of being caught...” said Varric, “doesn’t do anything for you?”
Actually it was doing quite a lot, but she’d be damned if she’d admit that.
“We are here on official Inquisition business Varric,” she said, a little breathless despite herself. “It is hardly appropriate to...” She trailed off, loathe to use the word ‘canoodle’ but now quite unable to think of an alternative. The tantalizing brush of his lips against her skin was not helping her concentration either.
Varric sighed theatrically and lowered her hand to look at her. “You’re right,” he said, his voice soft and regretful. “It’s not appropriate at all. Could cause a terrible scandal if anyone discovered us.”
He reached up to cup her face, his fingers tenderly tracing the edge of her jawline. Cassandra shivered and leaned instinctively into his touch.
“I’ll just have to try to control my passion and keep my hands off you,” Varric murmured, his fingers trailing down to lightly caress her neck, “because it’s completely forbidden to—”
Cassandra pulled him roughly towards her by his shirt and kissed him fiercely. “You are impossible,” she mumbled against his lips.
Varric responded by sliding both arms around her and pulling her flush against him, returning her kiss with considerable enthusiasm. When they were finally forced to part for air, he rested his forehead against hers and gave a soft chuckle.
“Sorry Seeker,” he said. “But you really do make that uniform look damn good. Put it down on my list of...what was it? Particular interests.”
“You’re an ass, my love,” said Cassandra. “You are lucky I find it charming.”
“I know,” said Varric. He moved his hand up to stroke his fingers tenderly through the hair that curled at the nape of her neck. “I don’t suppose there’s, ah...anything else you find particularly charming about me?”
Cassandra sighed. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“Probably not.” Varric kissed the tip of her nose lightly. “I’ll tell you one of mine for every one of yours you give me.”
Cassandra considered this for a moment. “Your voice,” she said, only a little grudgingly. “I like the sound of your voice, especially when you read to me.”
“Your accent,” said Varric.
Cassandra blinked. She hadn’t been expecting such an instantaneous reply. “Really?” she said.
“You have no idea,” said Varric. “You can make a report on weather conditions in the Anderfells sound sexy.”
Cassandra felt colour rise in her cheeks, pleased in spite of herself.
“Your smile,” she said.
“Your eyes,” replied Varric. “And I notice you’re definitely going for the physical attributes here. Not that I blame you, but I’m starting to feel a little worried you’re only after my roguish good looks.”
Cassandra snorted. “You were the one going on about the uniform. Fine then, I...your skill with a crossbow.”
Varric gave her a sceptical look. “Me shooting stuff turns you on?”
She opened her mouth to deny it...and shut it again, because tonight was a beautiful night and there had been wine at the ball.
“A little,” she said defiantly.
A look of utter glee spread over Varric’ face, and he leaned in to kiss her soundly before continuing.
“The way you stab books,” he said, eyes glittering with amusement.
Cassandra gave a breathless gasp of laughter. “Varric...”
“I’m serious, it was hot. And it’s your turn.”
“Your—” Cassandra cut herself off, which of course was the best way to instantly get Varric’s attention. He pulled back to look at her, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah? What were you going to say?”
“Nothing.”
Varric groaned. “Oh come on, you can’t leave me hanging like that.”
Cassandra bit her lip, blushing as she spoke. “Your arms,” she said. “The...the armour you wore when we were travelling in the desert, the one without sleeves. I liked that very much.” She reached out and ran her fingers lightly down his sleeve, feeling the muscle tense beneath. “I like your arms,” she murmured. “And your hands.”
Varric’s hold on her tightened, and she could hear his breath coming a little faster now. “I like your legs,” he said fervently. “And your hips. Everything. Every inch of you.” He brushed his lips against her neck. “Your skin, Maker...”
Cassandra let out a soft sound of pleasure and heard Varric groan quietly in response. He stopped pressing kisses to her neck to capture her lips again, more urgently this time, and they sunk into the embrace, both lost in sensation. Hardly noticing she had moved, Cassandra found herself practically sitting on Varric’s lap, hands tangled in his hair, anchoring herself to him. His hands found a way under the layers of her jacket and Cassandra shivered at his touch on her bare skin, overwhelmed with a sudden reckless desire to pull off this damned uniform and—
“Varric? Cassandra?” Dorian’s voice came floating through the night.
They broke apart so quickly Cassandra nearly fell off the bench.
“Shit,” said Varric. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“I’m not going to venture any further,” continued Dorian’s voice, from somewhere beyond the shrubbery. “Because I have no desire to be struck blind. But the Inquisitor has asked me to inform you that if you are not inside and presentable in five minutes, she will have both your asses on a plate. Her words, not mine.”
There was a short pause in which Cassandra tried to decide whether it was more embarrassing to respond or to stay silent.
“I’ll leave you to it then!” said Dorian, who sounded suspiciously as though he was trying not to laugh. “Five minutes, remember!” Thankfully this was followed by the sound of receding footsteps, and Cassandra let out a sigh of relief. She had slid to the very edge of the bench, as far away from Varric as it was possible to be, and she now turned to him a little awkwardly to see him looking uncharacteristically dishevelled, face flushed and hair falling out of its tie. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a slow exhalation, clearly trying to regain his composure.
“You were right,” he said. “Having that conversation here was a terrible idea.”
“And why’s that?” Cassandra said coyly.
“Because I want you so damn badly I could take you right here and now on this bench.”
“Oh. I...do not think that would be very comfortable, Varric.”
“Ever the pragmatist.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then both broke into laughter. It had been that kind of an evening.
“Come on then Seeker,” said Varric, standing up and offering her his hand. “We should be going back inside. The Winter Palace needs us, and so on and so forth.”
“Fuck the Winter Palace,” Cassandra muttered, with some feeling.
He kissed her again, suddenly, taking the opportunity while she was still sitting down and almost of a height with him for once.
“I’m adding ‘you swearing’ to my list,” Varric said when they broke apart, his voice a little rough. “That really does it for me.”
“I look forward to hearing the list in full at a later time,” said Cassandra, standing up.
“Count on it.”
The Inquisition did not leave the grand ball at Halamshiral until the small hours of the morning. Ambassador Montilyet had organised a brace of expensive carriages to bring them back to the chateau where they were staying several miles away. They could each carry several people, but with some charm and a certain amount of low level bribery that Cassandra pretended not to notice, Varric managed to get the two of them a carriage of their own.
When they alighted at the end of the journey, Cassandra realised suddenly that she had put her sash back on the wrong way around, looping over her right shoulder instead of her left. But then, the rest of the Inquisition were all tired and slightly drunk, so perhaps no-one would notice.
On reflection, she decided, it didn’t much matter to her if they did.
...