Chapter Text
The first time they meet, it could go better.
The way they are connected is complicated, but they share a strong set of common friends, especially in Max and Dorian. Ultimately, Cassandra finds herself out at a bar that is too loud and too crowded for her taste. She can hardly hear the woman next to her, and she’s practically shouting in her ear.
“How do you know Varric?”
Cassandra shakes her head. “Who’s Varric?”
Eventually, they move to another bar, a quieter one where Cassandra can get a drink without screaming at someone. She settles in at her spot at the table with a glass of wine, drinks half of it, and finally figures out what’s happening.
It’s Varric’s birthday, and they are, apparently, celebrating. Cassandra looks around, but she can’t figure out who Varric is. No one seems to be focusing on any one person, until Garrett Hawke finally quiets everyone down, and pulls someone out of his chair.
“This son of a bitch—” Ah. Varric. “Is getting so fucking old.”
“You’re drunk,” Varric says.
“I am. And I am happy to say that I am yours. Your friend, your companion, the devil on your shoulder. May we live a long and happy life together.”
“Are you proposing, Hawke? Sit the fuck down, let him say something.” The woman who had shouted earlier is Isabela, Cassandra now knows, which is pretty much the extent of her knowledge.
“Right.” Varric grins and lifts his drink. “Thank you, everyone, for being here. I know it’s hard to haul yourselves out into the snow on a Tuesday, when you could be getting drunk off your asses at home in your sweats and watching the weather channel, Dorian.”
“I like the storm chasers. They’re always rather handsome.”
“But you’re here, and I’m grateful. So, a toast. To braving the cold for a geezer such as myself. And for me managing to live another year. I wish I knew the secret, I’d sell that instead of shit books. Cheers.” He raises his glass and drains it as everyone hollers and follows suit.
“Are you having fun?” Max leans over and rests his chin on Cassandra’s shoulder. “You can go, if you’d rather.”
There is nothing at home for her but more wine and a bad novel. Cassandra shakes her head. “I’m fine here.”
“Good! I think we’re going to another bar. Last one, promise.”
~~~
Cassandra doesn’t speak to Varric until half the group has left. She’s standing at the bar and he comes up next to her, nudging her with his elbow.
“You’re with Max, right?”
“He invited me. I came alone.”
“No, I know, I just…he’s—” Varric sighs and raises a hand. “Forget it. What’s your name?”
“Cassandra.”
“Cassandra. I feel like I’ve heard of you before.”
“You haven’t.”
“No, I have.” He frowns, then knocks his knuckles against the wood of the bar. “You’re friends with Leliana.”
“We were at university together, yes. You know her?”
“She knows Hawke. It’s all fairly roundabout. She didn’t come.”
“I couldn’t tell you why.” The bartender hands back her card as Cassandra closes out her tab. “I have to leave, though. It was nice to meet you, finally. Happy birthday.” She extends her hand.
Varric raises a brow, then shakes. “Yeah, alright. Good to meet you, too.” He takes his beer and goes back to the table, sparing her one last look before she takes her coat from the hostess and pushes open the door.
It’s snowing, but it always is, these days. Cassandra doesn’t think of Varric for the rest of the night.
And, really, she doesn’t think of him for weeks. They aren’t friends, she doesn’t know him, and she isn’t inclined to go out as much as the people she tends to spend the most time with are. Maxwell can convince her, on occasion, and he does, finally, one Thursday when he knows she’s done with work early. They meet at a pub downtown, and by the time Cassandra finds them, everyone is three drinks in.
“There she is!” Max stands and yanks her toward them, grinning and pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “I told you she’d show. Varric, you owe me fifty.”
“How about I buy everyone a round instead?”
“No, I need the cash. Fifty.” Varric grumbles and hands it over.
Cassandra frowns. “You bet that I would not come?”
“No.” Max counts it. “I bet you would.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” She looks at Varric, who busies himself with his beer. “You bet that I wouldn’t come here.”
He shrugs. “So?”
“That was a hefty wager,” she argues.
“Well you’re kind of a kill joy, aren’t you?”
Cassandra clenches one fist under the table and breathes. “I certainly don’t try to be.”
Varric raises his hands. “Don’t take it personally—”
“You made a rather large bet regarding my personal intentions. It is hard not to.”
“Look, from what I understand, you don’t get out much.”
Max clears his throat. “I didn’t mean that Cassandra isn’t fun. I only meant that she’s rather busy—”
“Which is code for can’t be bothered. It’s not that she can’t, it’s that she won’t. And that’s nothing on you, Freckles.”
Max sighs. “Andraste preserve us.”
Cassandra breathes. “I don’t find it right or appropriate to take bets on the habits of people I don’t know.”
“I suppose that’s the difference between you and me.”
“You don’t even know me.”
Varric shrugs. “I could say the same for you. Why are you so upset about this? You’re only proving the point, you know. It was a friendly wager between friends, and you’re turning it into a fucking deposition, like I’m on trial or something—”
“I should go,” Cassandra says. “I’m…I’m sorry, Max.”
“Cassandra—”
“No, I’ve…I’ve done enough, for the evening. It was my mistake.” She grabs her bag and turns to go.
Varric calls after her. “We’ll see you next time then, right?”
She does not bother to respond.
~~~
The next time they meet, it does not go as smoothly as the last. And that is certainly saying something.
Cassandra is on edge the moment Varric arrives. He doesn’t look at her, but she knows it’s purposeful. She lost their little scuffle. She allowed him to goad her into storming off and she looked a fool. He’s going to pretend she doesn’t even exist, now, and what she does or says to him won’t matter.
That’s the goal, anyway, until Hawke shows up.
“Oh, she is here. Varric, I think you should apologize.” Hawke settles in the spot next to Cassandra. “He told me what happened. I agree with you. People shouldn’t make bets about the comings and goings of others.”
“You only say that,” Varric mutters, “because you lose every bet you make.”
“Because I make them all with you and, for the most part, about you. And you’re completely unpredictable, honestly. Though if I knew precisely where you were each day it would probably terrify me.”
“At home,” Varric says. “Writing. You already know my schedule. This one over here, though, is the real mystery.” He glances at Cassandra.
“I think you owe her an apology.”
Varric snorts. “I really don’t.”
“Well.” Hawke shrugs and stands to go get a drink. “That’s just one man’s opinion. Have your own if you’d like, old friend.” He claps Varric on the shoulder. The table becomes awkwardly quiet until their friend Marrill says, “I’m so very glad it’s stopped raining,” and everyone exhales in relief. Cassandra and Varric ignore one another for the rest of the night, and for every subsequent night they see one another after, for the next four months.
It is devastatingly difficult, and Cassandra finds it exhausting.
~~~
It comes to a head on her birthday.
She had fully intended on pretending the day wasn’t happening, but Josephine had surprised her with a party, and her apartment is filled to the brim with guests. Cassandra is shuffled from one group to another, and she’s had several glasses of wine by the time she finds him. He’s sitting on the couch practically holding court, with a dozen guests laughing around him.
Cassandra detests the way he manages that. Every time she sees him, he is laughing, everyone is laughing. Nothing is important to him, she thinks. Nothing is serious enough for him. She herself is a joke. Everything can be laughed at – and it makes her fume.
“Don’t say a word,” Dorian says. He appears by her elbow, watching Varric. “I know you want to.”
“I should,” she says.
“You won’t.”
“No,” she admits. “I won’t.” She looks into her glass and finds it empty. “I’m going to the kitchen to get more wine.”
“An excellent idea,” Dorian says brightly, and urges her in that direction.
The kitchen is blissfully empty, and Cassandra breathes, gathering her thoughts before finding the bottle she likes and filling her glass.
“Happy birthday.” Varric leans against the counter as Cassandra turns, smiling at her. “Sorry. Didn’t meant to startle you.”
“Didn’t you, though?”
“No.”
“You are a practiced liar. That much is evident.”
“Alright, you caught me. But I do mean it. Has it been a good day?”
“I had intended for it to pass without celebration, but this is a pleasant alternative, I suppose.”
Varric snorts. “I like how you talk.”
“That’s strange,” she says. “Considering you hardly speak to me at all. Or even acknowledge my existence.”
“Mostly because this is sort of where it goes, with us.”
Cassandra raises a brow. “The arguing? I assumed you enjoyed it.”
Varric frowns. “I don’t. I’d prefer not to argue with anyone.”
“And yet with me, it apparently cannot be helped.”
“You’re combative,” he says sharply. “You turn everything into a fight.”
“I was not the one who made assumptions from the start.” She points. “That was you.”
“Yeah, alright, I’ll own up to that. But I haven’t since then.”
“Stop lying,” she snaps. “It doesn’t suit you. Just because you are good at it doesn’t mean you should continue on, as if every word you speak should be heard and revered as the truth.”
Varric scowls. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“You think so much of yourself, but what is there about you that is so special? Your writing is mediocre, you would rather talk about your friends than yourself because you do nothing of interest all day, and you are spoiled. What have you worked for? What have you earned in this world? Nothing. You’re the youngest son of a family with nothing left of what they used to be. I know your history, Tethras, and if you’re going to keep drawing from it, perhaps you should do something to make the name worth anything at all.”
The silence that falls between them is bitter. Cassandra regrets every word that’s come out of her mouth, but it’s too late to take it back. Varric widens the space between them.
“You’re right about pretty much everything,” he says. “Except one thing.”
“And what is that?”
He smiles, taking another beer from the fridge with a shrug. “I’m not the only one making assumptions anymore.”
~~~
What transpired in the kitchen remains a secret. They return to their tried and true method of each pretending the other does not exist. It becomes easier. Sometimes they wind up standing at the bar next to one another, and even on the most crowded nights, they manage to maintain the space between them. He is cruel, she’s decided, though Dorian insists she has no evidence to base her opinion on.
“You don’t know Varric.”
“He’s right, Cassandra.” Max shrugs in his kitchen. “He’s a big softie under all that scruff, you know. He’s had it rough.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“He has.”
“I won’t allow a common sob story to be an excuse for poor hospitality. And I didn’t come over here so you could attack my personal opinions on Varric Tethras. I don’t care for him and I don’t expect the sentiment to change.”
“Yes, alright. But I think you’re wrong.”
“My thoughts on him—”
“No,” Max says. “About that last bit.” He smiles. “I think he could really grow on you.”
“And why is that?”
He snorts into his drink. “You’re practically the same person. Why shouldn’t he?”