"A face for politics."
That was what Vivienne had said to him upon meeting their Inquisitor and now, after watching her swan about all night in silk and jewels, charming left and right, he understood what she meant.
Sure, he'd always known she was beautiful. They all did. How could you not? Everyone who met her commented upon it as soon as she was out of listening range. Still, in all that time it had just been idle knowledge at the back of his mind, shoved there after weeks of travel and camping, fighting and exploring. He'd seen her with her hair haphazardly pulled back, her face bare to the sun, usually dusted in dirt, not blush, and marked all over by bites, scratches and blows.
He knew she'd be done up for the soiree that night, but any and every expectation of his had been blown away.
Varric had assumed she would be wearing the same getup, or something similar, that she had worn to the infamous Orlais ball, but oh no. Maybe fashion had changed, or Ruffles had extra time with her seamstresses, because the simple pants and sash were long gone. Instead she had stood before them clad in something he would have described for a romantic heroine. He'd never seen her powdered and painted, her hair swirling down her back like a daydream he'd once had. Her standard attire and armor wasn't built for looks but for living, with lines that were always straight. They were made of ridged materials that could never have spilled off the curve of her hip the way that dress did.
She'd smiled at them all, but he hadn't missed the way that smile flickered when their eyes met.
As soon as he could find a chance to bolt, he took it.
She found him in the tavern, where he'd assumed she wouldn't go.
He was deep in his cups, struggling to deal with the fact that he couldn't get his Inquisitor's hips out of his mind. The last thing he needed was her to appear like a runaway princess in the doorway.
And yet, there she was.
She signaled the barkeep and sat down on the stool right next to Varric's. Her glass of mead was presented within seconds. Being Inquisitor had its perks.
For a long time, they sat there in silence. It wasn't until their glasses were empty and replenished that she began to speak without looking at him.
"You know I can tell the exact moment that someone decides I'm attractive to them. I can see the shift in their shoulders, watch the gleam come into their eyes... A lot of people clear their throats too. It usually happens within five minutes of meeting me, and that's generous. And once it happens, nothing is ever the same. Most of the words I say become more or less useless. Ears stop working. I become a something, not a someone. An object to be admired... or a challenge to be won... and I fucking hate it."
He tried to keep his breathing even, but his heart was racing. His fingers clutched tight around his pint glass and he considered draining it dry. Was he just as bad as the rest of them?
He had to admit, it was a lot easier to imagine her lips parting for him now that they were coloured to looked kiss-swollen and wine soaked.
She sighed. "You're thinking about it right now, aren't you?"
"Is that what you think you think has happened here?" Caught red-handed, he scrambled for an explanation."You think I see you all dolled up and on some pedestal and what? I'm going to suddenly turn you in a naked statue inside my brain instead of a living, breathing, impossible woman?"
He kept his eyes on the settling foam inside his glass, listening to her silence, a pause that made his heart forget how it worked.
"You didn't answer my question." She sounded very, very tired all of a sudden.
"...No. I know I didn't."
He heard the thud of thick glass against wood, and he winced. Nothing like being the reason a lady shotguns back her brew.
"You talk about how you're the storyteller who notices the little details. I can notice things too, you know. Especially when they're as obvious as a dragon crashing through the room. You haven't looked me in the face once since the beginning of this wretched night. You avoided my gaze the entire time we were dining with the diplomats and you left me to fend for myself at the reception. Not even here, not even during this... attempt at... at I don't know."
She drew a long, shaking breath.
"All I know is I that this afternoon when they were dressing me, all I could think was how you would look at me. I was worried you'd never look at me the same way again... but now I wonder if you'll ever look at me again at all?"