Archive of Our Own

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?”

Chapter Text

It takes time, but eventually, Cassandra meets Bianca.

From afar. She is alone in a pub after her coworkers have left, reading a book in the quiet. It’s a Wednesday, already after ten, and when she looks up from the page, Varric is sitting at a hightop across from a woman Cassandra’s never met. He looks…morose. Sober. Something beyond melancholy. To describe him as sad would not quite begin to cover how he appears to her in the poor light of the bar.

He glances up, and their eyes meet. Cassandra looks back down at her book.

She has heard of this woman. From what she knows, Bianca and Varric were once something grand and beautiful. And then she married someone else. Cassandra’s certain that specific feelings get lost in the retelling. She imagines the entire thing to be a sort of pain she cannot fathom, and it brings Max’s words to mind.

He’s had it rough.

Cassandra sighs, sips her wine, and returns to her story. It’s a while before she realizes he is standing by her table, watching.

“Having a good time?”

“I suppose.”

“Sorry the show over there ended for you.”

“I wasn’t watching, Varric.”

“Whatever.” He sounds finished, but he doesn’t leave. “She’s…moving. I guess.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, she’s married. So it doesn’t really matter. Can’t choose who you love I guess, right?”

Cassandra shakes her head. “I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“Not for the sake of argument,” she says. “But only…I think that if you believe you have no choice in the matter, then you rob yourself of opportunity. Choosing who you love makes the decision your own. Fate makes for a poor matchmaker.”

He’s quiet, for a moment, before he nods. “That makes sense.”

“I know it must kill you to agree with me.”

“Only a little,” he says, and gives her a smile.

Cassandra shrugs. “It’s always how I have felt. We are masters of our own fate.”

“You don’t think the Maker’s got a hand in who you might fall in love with.”

Cassandra sighs. “If he does, he has a rather dark sense of humor.”

“Why’s that?” She looks right at him. He nods. “Right. Not my business.”

“No,” she says. “But not because…not because of our history, if you understand me.”

Varric nods. “I do. A first for us, I suppose.”

“Well.” Cassandra sets down her book and takes her glass in her hand. “I’m glad we can come to an agreement on something.”

~~~

“See?” Max leans against her kitchen counter. “I told you.”

“My feelings have not changed. I don’t care for him. We simply have found something we can agree on.”

“Commonality is the first step to…what?” Dorian asks. “Consummation? Is that it?”

“They’re not going to do it,” Max says. “Probably never, honestly.”

“I think they should,” Dorian says. “I think there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension between the two of you.”

“That is hardly the case,” Cassandra mutters.

“Well.” Dorian smiles. “Agree to disagree. On a relatively unrelated note, we both think you need to get laid.”

“It would do you so much good, Cassandra. If it was something you wanted, of course.”

She sighs. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

Max grins. “See? She agrees! So much agreeing is happening between everyone. I love it. Tomorrow. We’ll sort it tomorrow.”

~~~

Tomorrow does not come. It takes weeks for Cassandra to get out, and when she does it isn’t even her usual group. She’s out with coworkers, again, but the conversation can’t hold her, and she finds her eyes scanning the bar, looking for a familiar face.

She finds Hawke, sitting in the corner, uncharacteristically alone.

“Everyone’s out,” he says, when she asks. “Or sick. Merill’s got the flu and Rivaini’s helping her. Varric’s visiting his brother, Fenris is wherever Fenris is. Anders, Aveline—” He waves a hand. “It’s one of those nights.”

“May I join you?”

“Your friends won’t mind?”

“They won’t notice.”

Hawke nods. “Right. I’ll get you some wine, then. White, yeah? That’s your drink isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Perfect.” He smiles and heads to the bar. Cassandra feels her nerves twitch, just a bit. Dorian’s words come to her, unbidden, and she finds herself wondering.

“You look lovely tonight, by the way.” Hawke returns, handing her glass over. “Did I mention that yet?”

Cassandra looks up at him, taking her drink with care. It might be easier than she thought.

“No,” she says coolly. “But I find I never tired of hearing it.”

~~~

He walks her home, and they stand awkwardly outside her apartment.

“I think,” he says, “that this is the part where we both agree we enjoyed one another’s company tonight and then you invite me in.”

“Is it?”

“Well.” He steps closer. “Why don’t you try, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Cassandra smiles. “Alright. I had a lovely time.”

“So did I.”

“Would you like to come inside?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Hawke surges forward and kisses her. Cassandra fumbles the key in the lock a few times before getting it open with a groan. They stumble inside, kicking the door shut as she pulls him back to her room, shedding her clothes along the way. There is nothing she can think about except the feel of him inside her, the sweet sound of his voice in her ear, telling her how good she feels, how much he wants her – Cassandra doesn’t do one night stands very often, but she finds that she doesn’t regret this one. Not a single moment of it.

After, Hawke put his hands behind his head and Cassandra fits against him, closing her eyes.

“That was nice,” she says.

“It was. Wouldn’t mind doing it again, if you’re inclined.”

“Later,” she murmurs, stifling a yawn.

“Well, I meant the morning. Your kitchen table looked sturdy enough. Nice and waist high.”

“Maker take you, Hawke.”

“If He did right now, at least I could say I was a satisfied man.” He grins and kisses the top of her head. “You’re a good woman, Cassandra.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Varric doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” She stills against him. “I mean, maybe he’s getting softer about it, I don’t know. He’s always so ragey about the two of you. I think you push all the right buttons, you know? A lot of people don’t do that for Varric. I think maybe he’s confused about how he feels for you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Eh, who knows. You know what I do know?”

“What?”

“That you’re a fucking firecracker, Pentaghast. Ten out of ten, would do again.” Cassandra is grateful to the dark for hiding her flush.

~~~

The next time she sees Varric, he is very, very drunk, and she is very, very sober.

And they are alone.

She hears him retching outside, and waits for him to be finished.

He swears when he sees her. “Not you.”

“I’m sorry my presence still offends you.”

“No,” he says. “It doesn’t. Fuck, it’s complicated and shit now, I—” He heaves again before looking up at her. “I need to get home.”

“I’ll call you a cab.” He nods, and sways in place as they wait. When it pulls up, Cassandra slides in after him.

“What—”

“You’re not riding alone,” she says simply. He doesn’t argue. He gives the cabbie his address and leans back, closing his eyes.

“You wouldn’t even fucking get it,” he mutters.

“No,” she says. “I probably wouldn’t.”

“I mean, no. And you’d never…you wouldn’t—” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I think my brother’s going to die. And I can’t do anything about it.”

Cassandra frowns. “I’m…sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I am.” She puts a tentative hand on his shoulder, but he pulls away. “My brother died, when I was much younger. Barely fourteen.”

He opens his eyes, now. “Shit.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“A car accident. He was coming home. We lived together, after our parents died. He was twenty, I was a girl. He was my guardian.”

“What happened after?”

“I lived with my uncle.”

“No, I mean…how was it? Not having him around?”

Cassandra looks out the window. “Hard,” she says. “The hardest thing I’ve ever had to weather.”

“That fucking sucks.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “It does.”

Varric sighs, leaning his head against the window. “I don’t…want to do it. I mean, he’s not the best brother, you know. But he’s all the family I’ve got left. Fuck, he’s so sick. He can barely recognize me.”

“I’m very sorry, Varric.”

The cab pulls to a stop in front of row of thin, three-story houses. They are sweet, Cassandra thinks. Homey and warm – so unlike the man sitting next to her, who opens the car door with some difficulty and stumbles out. He sighs, turning to look back at her.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I actually believe you.”

~~~

unknown: max said you’re looking for a new place.
cassandra: I am who is this
unknown: it’s varric.
unknown: really.
cassandra: alright, I believe you. Have you found a way to lower my rent?
varric: unfortunately, no. but some of the houses on my street are empty.

Cassandra smiles. A laugh tumbles forth, unbidden, and gives rise to something new. Each time he sends her a text about some new place he saw, it grows.

varric: 500 sq ft and a community bathroom. That’s enough to hold your burgeoning rage, right?
cassandra: I need at least a thousand. The rage often grows.
varric: how about 600 and close to a therapist?
cassandra: deal.

It takes some time for her to place the feeling – to give it a name and recognize it as truth. For a while, she pretends it isn’t there. It’s easier than agreeing to allow it space and time to grow. But before long, it is there, taking root without any more permission, and Cassandra is forced to call it what it is –

Fondness. Plain as day. A truth she cannot deny.

~~~

“You could live with me,” Hawke says coolly one evening. “Then I wouldn’t have to drive over here for the sex.”

“You walked here,” Cassandra says. “And I doubt once I was more readily available you would have as much interest.”

He points. “That’s true. You’ve nailed me, Pentaghast. In more ways than one, this evening.” He grabs her waist and kisses her. “I was thinking. Varric’s got a spare room—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come now. I’m only saying it because he mentioned it first.”

Cassandra stills, putting her hands on his shoulders. “He…he did.”

“Yeah. He’s been talking about it for a few days. I think he feels guilty about all the mean words. And his brother died, so—”

“What?” Cassandra pulls back. “But I…just a few weeks ago! In the cab, we—”

Hawke holds up his hands. “Um, sorry? You’re talking nonsense.”

“Ugh.” Cassandra pinches the bridge of her nose. “He told me that his brother was dying. I didn’t…I had no idea it had already happened.”

Hawke shrugs. “He was quiet about it. No one came to the service. He didn’t even tell me. Though, you know, we have secrets from one another. We don’t share everything.” He gestures between them. “You know. Like this.”

“I had assumed you hadn’t told him,” Cassandra says dryly. “No doubt he would pester me over it to no end.”

“Doubtful. He tends to stay out of my dalliances.”

“Is he alright?” she asks, instead of entertaining the thought.

“I suppose so. He doesn’t seem too down about it. I mean, he knew it was happening.” Cassandra frowns. “He’d, ah, he’d probably appreciate a little…you know. Hey, how are you, heard things were shitty for a hot second there.” Hawke pulls on his pants. “I think he’s coming around, Cassandra. I really do.”

“I don’t see why he should,” she murmurs.

Hawke nods, pulling on his shirt. “Right, no, it’s not like he’s got—” He freezes, his entire head and both his arms caught in his shirt above his head. “Oh, balls.”

“What?”

Hawke pulls the shirt down, scowling. “He’s got feelings for you.” Cassandra feels her cheeks grow hot. “Andraste’s tits, and you’ve got them for him!”

“That’s quite an assumption to make, considering our circumstance.”

“Oh, come now, Pentaghast. We both know I’m ten miles outside of your league. So’s Varric, really, but shit. He’s got it bad for you.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Well he’s got something. And it’s hardly one-sided.”

“You don’t know that.”

Hawke grins. “Yeah I do. You’re all rosy and bashful. That’s cute.” He sighs, bending to kiss her cheek. “Well, you should probably tell him, you know.”

“I don’t know, because there is nothing to tell.”

“There is, and, yeah, you should.” He sniffs. “Bianca’s in town.”

Cassandra frowns. “He told me she was leaving.”

“Shit, he’s even talked to you about her. I’m gonna have to have a billboard made. Writing it in the sky.”

“I saw them,” she snaps.

“Doesn’t matter. He let it be your business. Means something, doesn’t it?”

Cassandra bends down to grab his sweater, shoving it into his arms. “It doesn’t. Go home.”

“Aw, come on. We were gonna do it on the couch—”

“We are finished for the evening.”

“Right. Wouldn’t be decent to keep on, knowing you and Varric wanna be all over eachoww!” Cassandra grabs his ear. “Stop it, stop it, stop it—”

“Do not tell him any of this.”

Hawke swears, wrenching out of her grip. “Shit. I won’t, Maker’s balls woman.” He sighs, heading toward the door. “Just…think about it, won’t you?”

Cassandra pushes him into the hall. “No,” she says firmly, and slams the door in his face.

~~~

Varric’s birthday passes. Winter melts into Spring, and Cassandra’s own rises up as surely as the temperatures do. There is no great party, no kitchen for her to horde herself in and hide. She moves in with Maxwell and Dorian a week before, and they decide to take her out. Summer is nearly here – Dorian talks her into a dress with flowers and pockets, convinces her that her hair should grow, just a bit.

“Maker, but you’re a sight,” he murmurs. “How are you so beautiful, and so completely miserable?”

“A terrible curse,” she says.

“I understand it well. I held onto it until that one came to my rescue.” He looks at Max from across the bar and smiles. “A toast then, my dear. To a better friendship between us all. Hopefully you can get back out on your own sooner than planned.” He taps his glass against hers and they drink together. “Ah, excuse me, though, won’t you? Just going to see if I can’t do something about this dreadful music.” He slides off the stool vanishes, leaving Cassandra alone. She drains the rest of her glass before setting it down.

Someone whistles.

“You do know how to polish off a glass of wine, don’t you?”

Cassandra turns on her stool, just a bit too fast, and falls right into Varric’s arms.

He catches her.

“I…yes,” she says, drawing back. “How are you?”

“Fine. It’s been a while. Haven’t seen you since my birthday.”

“I saw you once, but you were occupied.”

“Naturally.” He leans forward. “Whiskey for me, and another wine for the birthday girl.” He smiles. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

“I assumed you were invited.”

“I was.” He pays and hands her the glass. “We’re already off to a much better start, don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“A toast, then?”

Cassandra smiles, raising her glass. “Alright. To what?”

“To…a functional relationship, between two dysfunctional people.”

Cassandra laughs and nods. “I can drink to that,” she says, and taps her glass against his own.

One of her favorite songs comes on. She suspects Dorian.

“Hey.” Varric nudges her. “Do you wanna dance?”

“What?”

“Dance.” He empties his glass and sets it down. “Drink up, let’s hit the floor.”

“But I—”

“It’s your birthday,” Varric says. “If you can’t dance on a day like this, then what’s the point in looking as good as you do tonight?”

Cassandra looks at her glass, mulling it over before she makes up her mind.

She tosses back the rest of her wine, and takes his hand.

“Alright,” she says. “Then we’ll dance.”

“Fantastic. It’ll be good for my last night in town.” He pulls her off her chair.

“Where are you going?”

“Just doing some traveling to research my new book. I’ll be gone for most of the summer.”

“Oh. That’s…nice. For you.”

“It’ll be something else.” He spins her. “Listen. I’m glad we could…work through all that stupid shit from before.”

Cassandra nods. “As am I.”

“You’re not running off after summer, are you?”

“No. I will be right here.”

He nods. “Good. That’s…that’s good.”

The song eventually comes to an end, and they part rather quickly. Cassandra clenches her fists at her sides, so tempted to say something, to tell him that she will be here, and she will be waiting to tell him something. Something important.

But, instead –

“I hope you have a safe trip, Varric.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Thank you for…for the drink. And the dance.”

“Hey, can’t deny the birthday girl a good time, right?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” she says quietly, “if you did.”

“Don’t get sappy, now. Have more wine. I’m sure I’ll see you before I’m gone.”

She nods, putting a hand on his shoulder and returning to the bar. It grows crowded within the hour, and Cassandra loses herself to birthday wishes and the constant slosh of wine in her cup.

By the time the night has ended and she has remembered herself, he is gone.