Varric's skin was grey, and laid her hand against his forehead, frowning when she felt the heat emanating from his body. Despite the flushed warmth of his skin, Varric had woken briefly, and weakly complained about the cold. It had been the first thing he'd said in hours, and idiotically, Cassandra felt relieved. If he was making sarcastic remarks, whatever ailed him couldn't be too terrible. It was a small sliver of hope that Cassandra held onto fiercely.
Outside, the wind howled and smashed itself against the thin walls of the hut, snow swirling through the cracks and missing boards. Beneath their piled up clothes, and scavenged blankets, Varric shivered fitfully. Cassandra added more fuel to the fire, noting that they were running out of things to burn. The thought of leaving Varric filled Cassandra with unease. Logically, she knew her presence had no effect on Varric's illness, and yet she felt loathe to stray far from the dwarf's side.
He was just so sick.
Cassandra was no healer, but Seeker training had taught her the proper uses of common herbs, how to treat minor wounds, cure common poisons, and doctor a fever. All of these things were very helpful, unless one found oneself stranded in the frozen wastes of the Emprise du Lion. It was barren of any herbs Cassandra recognized, and the point was rendered moot by the complete lack of anything living within a mile of their hideout. Not for the first time, Cassandra offered up a prayer to the Maker and Andraste.
Let the Inquisitor find us before it is too late.
Removing her coat from the pile covering Varric, Cassandra rearranged the scavenged blankets, making sure no limb was exposed to the frigid air.
At the very least, it was warmer in the little hut than outside, Cassandra thought, opening the door to a gust of cold, snowy air.
Varric groaned in his sleep, huddling further under the meager scraps of fabric. The sight of him lying insensate on the floor hurt in a way Cassandra couldn't quite define.
Stepping out of the hut, Cassandra forced the door shut, leaning against it with all her strength until it latched.
Wind tore at her coat, sending snow down the neck and sleeves of Cassandra's clothes. The wretched expanse of the Emprise stretched out before her, nothing but the black husks of burnt cottages dotting the blindingly white snow.
Her footsteps crunched as she walked, booted feet sometimes slipping on hidden ice. The first day they'd been stranded, Cassandra had explored the nearest cottages and found nothing but the few threadbare blankets and scraps of firewood. She had been too concerned about Varric's worsening health to bother searching the remaining cottages. Near the end, she'd half carried the dwarf back to their shelter. He'd had no needling remarks to make, and that had scared her more than his rattling coughs.
Out in the harsh quiet of the Emprise, rifling through the charred possessions of people who had likely died seemed the actions of a madwoman. It felt as though she was the only person left on the face of the earth, the only living creature for miles.
Disgusted at her morbid thoughts, and the lack of anything useful in the cottages, Cassandra smashed her fist into a smoke stained stone wall.
"We are not the last. We are simply lost," Cassandra told the ruins. Her voice was swallowed by the silence.
Gritting her teeth against the dull ache in her knuckles, Cassandra shook her hand out. There were more cottages to search.
The first thing Cassandra noticed was that Varric hadn't moved since she'd left. The second thing was that the fire had finally died.
With a clatter, she dropped the pile of timber and supplies she'd salvaged and knelt at Varric's side. His skin felt clammy.
Foraging through the ruins had yielded a few useful items. Cassandra arranged them on the shelf, before tending to their small fire. One of the cottages had had a wooden outbuilding that had survived long enough to provide her with enough firewood to feed the embers.
Turning from the fire, Cassandra picked up a lopsided bowl and scooped snow into it from outside their window. By the time the fire had gained enough strength, the snow had melted somewhat, and Cassandra set the bowl near the embers to heat.
Varric coughed violently, the convulsions disturbing his blankets and bringing him into a lethargic wakefulness.
"Seeker?" the dwarf's voice sounded wet, "Issat…"
He trailed off, the effort at speech apparently demanding more energy than he had available. Cassandra tested the water with a finger, and dunked a scrap of cloth in it. With an efficient motion, she wrung it out and lightly swabbed Varric's face.
The groan Varric let slip was still sick sounding, but some of the strain slid from his face. Dunking the rag back in the warm water, Cassandra wrung it out and repeated her ministrations. Sitting back on her heels, Cassandra surveyed her handiwork, and stood.
Varric's face was cleaner, but his usually immaculate hair was edging close to greasy, straggling limply across his brow. Inexplicably, the sight of his hair so unkempt was enough to make Cassandra's stomach tighten into a sharp ball of worry. Like the lack of sarcasm, it was another sign that Varric was very, very ill.
Pursing her lips, Cassandra shook her head to clear it of such maudlin, useless thoughts, and turned her mind to the next task.
"Brace yourself, Varric," Cassandra said brusquely, whipping the pile of blankets and clothes from Varric's pallet.
The dwarf made a small, pathetic motion that could've been a protest at the cold or the indignity of his position.
"Remind me to build a summer home here," Varric wheezed. Each word seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort.
"I'm not sure it's ever summer here, Varric," Cassandra said lightly, trying not to betray the concern that was eating her.
Shaking out the sheets she'd rescued, Cassandra tucked the cleaner ones around Varric's broad form. The rest of the blankets she layered on top of him, taking care to tuck the ends in where possible.
"Seeker," Varric breathed, offering her a small smile. "Wouldn't have figured you for the nurse type."
With pointed deliberation, he looked Cassandra up and down.
"Though there was this clinic in Kirkwall. Nurses all wore these uniforms…"
"I know the clinic you speak of, and they wore no such thing," Cassandra said sternly. Secretly, her heart rejoiced. If Varric felt up to making smart remarks, then perhaps the situation wasn't dire. Perhaps she was not foolish to hope.
Conscious of Varric's gaze, Cassandra busied herself with the waterskin, practically flinging the seal open in her haste.
"Here, drink a little of this," she said, looping an arm behind the rogue's shoulders to help him sit upright. Water dripped from the corners of Varric's mouth, pooling along his collarbone. Even putting his weight on Cassandra, he shook like a leaf.
"Warm," Varric mumbled, nuzzling into Cassandra's side as she tried to re-seal the waterskin. His eyes slid half shut, and Cassandra felt the effort of each heaving, halting breath he took.
She was tired. Bone tired, but there was no time for rest. They'd need food sooner or later, and more firewood, and if Varric's illness persisted they might have to risk the journey to find a healer and the Inquisitor. There was so much that needed to be done, and all of it her responsibility, her duty.
Nestled against her side, Varric was a warm, comforting weight.
She was probably depraved, taking comfort from a sick man, Cassandra thought bitterly. Let alone a sick man who was more likely to mock her than console.
Still, she found herself softly stroking his hair, and counting the few bronze freckles scattered across his face. His breathing evened out, though each breath still sounded soggy.
The simple gestures likely did more for her than for Varric. He would not find it comforting to be petted by her, Cassandra admitted to herself. Not when they weren't quite enemies or friends.
Delicately, Cassandra slid out of Varric's tight embrace, and the warmth therein.
Varric snuffled sadly, curling in on himself in his sleep.
Dreaming of Bianca, or the life he'd had before you wrenched him away from it, Cassandra told herself sternly. Nothing to do with you.
Squaring her shoulders, Cassandra turned her back on Varric and reviewed their supplies, instead.
Water in his waterskin and hers, enough for the rest of the day. Supplemented by all the snow, enough for a good while.
Rations were low, and not particularly filling. Cassandra pursed her lips. She'd have to start foraging, set some traps for whatever wildlife was available.
Two days of dosing Varric had had little effect on him, but their medicinal herbs had been severely would be alright, so long as Varric's condition did not worsen, and she herself sustained no injuries.
Hopefully she would find the Inquisitor before the herbs finally ran out.
Staring at the meager pile of their possessions, Cassandra blew out a long breath and belted on her sword, tucking one of Varric's daggers into her boot. Finding food was the most important thing, at the moment. A task that was achievable.
Setting the waterskin next to Varric, Cassandra made sure he was properly covered, and set out again into the vast wastes of the Emprise.
Not for the first time, Cassandra cursed the wretched twist of fate that had separated them from their party. It was foolish, and accomplished nothing, but it was eminently satisfying to grumble as she slogged through the deep drifts of snow.
If only they had not been exploring the remotest corner of the Emprise du Lion. If only they'd heeded the signs of bad weather. If only Varric hadn't taken ill.
Useless to whine about it now.
Two rabbit carcasses bounced against her hip, scrawny but they'd stew up well, Cassandra thought. One of the cottages had a small root cellar, full of vegetables that were more or less still good.
Heaving the door to the cottage open, Cassandra deposited the rabbits on their small table, and turned to check on Varric.
Her heart lurched, and froze.
Varric's pallet was empty.
"Maker," Cassandra whispered, one hand pressed against her chest.
There was no where he could've hidden, they were in the cottage's only room.
It was impossible for him to have left, the dwarf had barely enough strength to lift his own head, Cassandra reasoned. He cannot be far.
Something hit the side of the cottage with a thud, startling a yelp from Cassandra.
"Andraste's knickers…" a familiar voice rasped. "Sodding snow!"
"Varric!" Relief mingled with a white hot anger in Cassandra's voice. Flinging open the cottage's door, she stormed out to see Varric's blanket shrouded form slumped against the wall.
He was so pale, the cold had turned his cheeks and nose so red it would've been comical in any other situation. Even a few feet away, Cassandra could hear the wetness in his breathing.
Sweeping forward, Cassandra hid her worry behind rage. Some of the sparkle returned to Varric's dull eyes as Cassandra bent and picked him up with a grunt.
"I don't think this is good for me, Seeker," Varric told Cassandra's shoulderblade.
"I don't think being out in the cold is good for you either, dwarf," Cassandra growled, stalking into the cottage and depositing him on the makeshift pallet.
"Seeker-" Varric began, interrupted by a coughing fit that had him gasping for air.
With alacrity Cassandra knelt at his side, one hand against Varric's heaving back, the other offering the waterskin.
The fit passed, leaving Varric panting and sweaty.
"What were you thinking, Varric? Do not answer, you clearly were not," Cassandra bit out, embarrassed by her earlier panic.
"Hey now, that's uncalled for," Varric said, propping himself up on one elbow. "I was thinking I hate outhouses."
Cassandra blinked owlishly at him, before scowling.
"Had to fight three spiders the size of dogs," Varric said.
"Only three?" Cassandra asked.
"If I'd said six you wouldn't have believed me," Varric said, voice thready.
Cassandra snorted, and turned her back on him so her smile wouldn't be seen. Bending, she pulled the dagger from her boot and turned to the table bearing the rabbits and the small cauldron she'd found. Preparing their dinner was enough of a distraction that she didn't notice when Varric lapsed back into sleep.
Night in the Emprise was colder and more wretched than day. In the small cottage, Cassandra banked the fire and sat down against the wall to watch it. Light flickered across the ruined room, shadows seeping out from the corners. Near the fire, Varric's chest rose and fell with each breath as he slept.
Wind whistled through the cracks in the wall, sending a shiver down Cassandra's spine.
It would be stupid to sit by Varric, Cassandra reasoned. He was ill, and despite the warmth she couldn't risk falling ill herself.
Of course, if she were to be sick, it would've happened by now. This was their second day in close contact.
Varric's pallet was only marginally more comfortable than the ground, but it was warm. Sleeping on the floor had done her no favours the night before.
Fed up, Cassandra moved before she could talk herself out of it. Shedding her armour, she crossed the room to Varric's side.
In one economical movement, Cassandra swept the blankets up and slid beneath them. Deed done, she wriggled about, trying to make herself comfortable. The blankets did little to soften the hardness of the stone floor.
A heavy arm settled around her waist.
"Varric?"
There was no response but a soft snore.
Varric's body was warm behind hers, his arm solid over her waist as he held her close. Absurdly, Cassandra was reminded of a child clutching a stuffed toy.
Even though it was an unconscious gesture, Cassandra sank into the embrace. Allowing herself to luxuriate in the comfort of another person was something she hadn't done in far too long. Of course it would be this person. Of course it would be Varric's presence she would find so soothing.
Tucking her arm beneath her head, Cassandra drifted to sleep to the sound of Varric's breathing.
Near morning, Cassandra woke from a dream of intense, cloying heat, flames that licked at her skin and hair. Heart pounding, she rolled over and into the empty space where Varric had been sleeping.
Varric lay sprawled half off the pallet, pallid and bathed in sweat.
"Varric," Cassandra whispered, prodding him in the shoulder.
There was no response, except for the dwarf's laborious breathing.
Dread beat at Cassandra's heart, seemed to consume her from within.
"Varric!" This time, the strident tone of her voice elicited a flutter of Varric's eyelids, a brief pursing of slack lips.
Cassandra hadn't cried in frustration since her girlhood. The Seekers had trained it out of her long ago and yet unwelcome tears shuddered down her cheeks.
Varric's chest rose and fell softly, stuttered on a cough, and began again.
He was still alive, Cassandra concentrated on those words. He was still alive, and so there were things to be done. She could still help him. Putting herself to rights, Cassandra took stock of the situation.
Rising slowly, Cassandra hauled Varric's loose form back onto the bed, ignoring the sweat that slicked him.
Wiping sweat from her own brow, Cassandra settled Varric against the makeshift pillow. Varric's expressionless face brought back that hot, sharp feeling of impending tears.
"Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever," Cassandra recited as she worked, letting the familiar words distract her. "But the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world, and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations, she shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction."
Wringing out the cloth, she dunked it again in warm water and slowly washed the sweat from Varric's face, giving the rest of his torso equal attention. Finally done her task, Cassandra readjusted Varric's tunic, buttoning it up all the way against the cold. The sight was strange, wrong somehow.
Of course that was ridiculous, Cassandra chided herself. Varric had worn armour and clothes that concealed the wealth of chest hair he seemed so proud of. This was no different.
"The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next," Cassandra continued the verse almost automatically.
Tipping Varric's head up, Cassandra dribbled water into his mouth.
"For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes towards flame, she should see fire and go toward the Light."
Foolish, to recite the canticle of Transfigurations for someone who was beyond hearing it. Still, Transfigurations had brought her comfort in times of need, it was possible it did the same for Varric, Cassandra told herself.
Darting a quick glance out the window, all was darkness but for the few stars peeking out from the dense clouds. Dawn was hours away yet.
Sitting back on her haunches, Cassandra wrestled with herself. Stay up and keep vigil over Varric, or sleep? Whether he lived or died, it was beyond her to help him now. Should he die, she would need her strength, and should he live it would be the same- she would be of no use to him exhausted.
Varric's blank face gave her no answers.
"The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword," Cassandra murmured, letting the words give her strength.
Crawling back into her place beside Varric's prone body, Cassandra covered them both in blankets and wrapped her arms around him.
Whatever the Maker willed, Varric would not be alone.
Bright light stung his eyes, and the first thing Varric thought was that he had never been so thirsty in his life. The second was that there was someone warm curled up around him.
Easing his eyes open, Varric's eyes were met by the Seeker's distinctive purple shirt.
Well.
Cassandra was well and truly wrapped around him, her long limbs twining 'round his, holding him close. A little too close, since his face was practically sandwiched between her breasts.
Holy Andraste.
Gently, Varric squirmed upwards, trying to move his face to a less incriminating area. Not that he was up to anything, but the thought of Cassandra waking up to find his face firmly planted in her bosom was a little terrifying. Even though she'd likely been the one who'd crawled into bed in the first place, being accused of impropriety by an embarrassed Seeker was low on his list of priorities.
Moving took more effort than he remembered, his body slow and achy. Each breath rasped in his throat like rusted blades.
Cassandra's sharp collarbones weren't an improvement over the softness of her breasts, but they were at least a more neutral zone. Varric's nose brushed the hollow of her throat, and Cassandra sighed softly. Catching his breath as she moved against him, Varric wondered what he'd say if she woke up, wondered what she'd say when she did wake up.
Varric sent a speedy, fervent prayer to whoever was listening- Let her sleep a little longer. Let me enjoy this moment, please.
After a few tense seconds, it was clear Cassandra was asleep, and Varric felt better than he had in days.
Hell, with the steady beat of Cassandra's heart in his ear, Varric felt better than he had in months. She was warm and soft, and smelled wonderful.
Well, she smelled like sweat, leather, and something that was particularly Cassandra. Which was wonderful.
It was a hell of a thing to wake up to, and Varric set about memorizing all of it. The heat of her skin, her smell, the quiet noises she made while sleeping. The beat of her heart and the rhythm of her breathing. Her fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt. Her waist curved against his arm, the sharp lines of her back. Even the texture of her linen shirt was committed to memory.
Varric offered up a thank you to whichever deity had thought to have pity on him, and let his eyes slide shut. For the moment, he had the illusion of everything he wanted, and that would have to be enough.