The Joke's on You
PART I
"Hey, what do the Carta and pussies have in common?" Varric says, trying to make the long trek across the sweltering sand less tedious.
Bull bites. "I dunno, what?"
"One slip of the tongue and you're in deep shit."
The laughter it produces is almost contagious and nearly everyone ends up doubled over and holding their sides. Everyone but the Seeker, of course. She's much too pious to laugh at anything he usually says. Yet, something catches in the corner of his eye, and for a moment, he thinks he's imagining it. The Seeker, smiling? He's got be mistaken. Nothing he ever says makes her smile. But then he glances over again and she is in fact smiling and at something he said, no less.
"Well I'll be damned," he grins wickedly, "the Seeker has finally cracked a smile at one of my jokes! And here I thought there was no thawing that cold frozen heart of hers."
As soon as the words float off of his tongue, he regrets it. The smile vanishes as quickly as it came and a sneer curls up on her lip, like a dried leaf. Shooting him a dark look, her eyes narrow into slits and she lets out her usual noise of disgust.
What a shame, that smile took years off of her. She should let her guard down a little more often, he thinks. Maybe then the whole hard-ass routine would get a rest and she'd actually make some friends for once.
"My heart is not frozen Varric. I merely do not like to waste my time with frivolity while on a mission. We could be caught unawares at any moment, and I for one would like to be at the ready."
"Sure Seeker, keep telling yourself that. We all know that the real reason is that you don't know how to have any fun."
Her head whips around to glare at him as they trudge through the sand. "Of course I know how to have fun! What an absurd accusation. I believe there is a time and place for such things, but traipsing through the Western Approach is not one of them. We can hardly walk one hundred feet without encountering a Varghest or a Quillback and whatever else is lurks in this arid climate. I do not wish to get killed simply because I let my guard down for a moment and tried to have 'fun'." Her hands make quotation marks in the air. She's way to serious about this and he can't help but rib her more.
"Right. And I'm a stone golem," he says sarcastically and then gets an idea. "I won't believe it until I've seen it, Seeker. Give me your best joke and if you can make me laugh I'll quit hounding you for the rest of the day. Promise."
He can tell she's irked by his words, by the way her muscles twitch in her jaw and her fists clench. But then she stops dead in her tracks and the thinly controlled annoyance is gone in an instant. She turns to look at him, hands on hips and says, "All right. Fine. You want a joke, Varric? I've got one for you."
He scoffs. "You actually have one at the ready? I'm shocked. I was about to give you a few minutes to figure something out, but if you've already got one, then let's here it." Smirking, he thinks that all she'll have is some lame excuse for a one-liner. Feeling he's got this in the bag, he grabs out his canteen and takes a long pull of cool water to soothe his parched throat as the rest of the crew waits with bated breath.
She gives him an unimpressed look. "What's the difference between Bianca's arrows and the pearl of a woman's desire?"
His brows furrow at the mentioning of his crossbow, but submits regardless between gulps of water. "I don't know, what?" His lips touch the canteen again and he takes one last swig.
"You'll actually go looking for the arrows."
Not expecting her quip to come with such crudeness at his expense, he chokes. The water sprays out in one glorious fan and the droplets create a momentary rainbow as they hit the scorching sunshine. Trevelyan thankfully comes to the rescue; her hand thumps him on the back a few times to help clear his airways as he coughs. Varric hears stunned chuckling from his companions as he tries to catch his breath. Soon, the chortling turns into full-on gales of laughter and through his watering eyes he can see another genuine smile grace the Seeker's lips.
"What about this one," she says smugly, not wasting any time, "What would it mean if you were in my tent, gasping for breath and calling my name?"
He actually feels himself blush at this one—the heat crawls up his chest and sits on his tanned cheeks. The insinuation of the joke hits just a bit too close to home, and thoughts of being intimate with her flood his mind—whether he wants them to or not. The opportunist in him knows he wouldn't knock the chance to bed her if the circumstance presented itself. That being said, it doesn't mean that she reciprocates what he feels in the slightest. In fact, it's a high probability she feels the exact opposite and with the odds stacked against him like that, he'd rather suffer in silence.
He immediately schools his features, trying to keep an aura of mild indifference even though he knows it's far from the truth. He hopes no one has noticed. "What?"
"I didn't hold the pillow down long enough."
At this, he laughs. Not because of the joke being particularly comedic, but the relief he feels when it comes off less suggestive than he expects, even if she's directing it at him.
"And I thought it was because I snored," he says, half-seriously, and at that he laughs even harder. His companions join in and it spurs him into further disarray until tears are lining his lids and he has to wipe them away with a gloved hand.
When he's finally able to calm himself he asks between bouts of chuckles, "Where in the Deep Roads did you learn those?" He really didn't expect her to come up with anything—dare he say it—as good as that.
The Seeker gives him a look that makes him feel foolish for asking while they continue their trek to find someplace suitable to camp. "Where do you think, dwarf? As a warrior I often overhear lewd jokes from the soldiers during their training. And if you'll believe it, even Cullen has a few up his sleeve."
He can hear a sharp intake of breath from Trevelyan at the mention of Curly's name and his eyes dart over to see her face is basking in a rosy hue. There's a story there, but he's too invested in the situation at hand. He slips the information to the back of his mind for later, and carries on.
"Alright, Seeker, you beat me fair and square. I won't bother you for the rest of the day," he surrenders, holding his hands up in defeat.
She's suspicious. He sees it in her eyes and her guarded movements. A sigh leaves his lips and he decides as a sign of good faith, he'll shake on it. "Here," his hand reaches out toward her, "just so you know I mean business."
Cassandra relents with a roll of the eyes and takes his hand, firmly shaking twice. "As a word of caution, Varric, if you do not uphold your end of the bargain, I will expect retribution. And don't think you can swindle your way out of it either. There are witnesses."
Bull barks out a laugh and plants a hand on his back, nearly knocking him over with the force. "She's got you there, Varric. You're screwed."
"Thanks for having my back, Tiny. I knew I could count on you," he quips back acerbically, eyes glancing at the slab of muscle walking beside him, then turns back to Cassandra, wary of what sort of pay-back she's got in mind. "Now, what sort of retribution are we talking about here? I hope it's not got anything to do with stabbing any more of my books."
"No, what I have in mind is much more… intellectual." Her eyes twinkle with glee, and he's not sure if he's going to regret what comes out of her mouth next or not. "If you fail in stopping yourself from annoying me today, I want you to read one of your stories aloud, publicly, in the great hall."
Was that all? That wasn't much of a punishment.
He thinks quickly. "Am I allowed to choose a time?"
Cassandra's eyes narrow. "No, you cannot—I know how you work, dwarf. You would deliberately choose to read in the dead of night just to spite me, if it was up to you. No. You will read at our luncheon meal when the great hall is at it's fullest capacity."
Damn it all. She had him cornered.
It wasn't so much that he didn't like regaling tales to others, in truth, he liked it very much. It was that he was more used to the relaxed atmosphere of a tavern and a group of friends hanging on to his every word; this recital would include not only the inquisition as a whole but also the stuck up nobles and dignitaries flaunting their connections over the noon tide meal. He cringes at the thought. But hey, a reading is a reading, and even though he isn't exactly looking forward to it, it might help his book sales a bit.
If only there is a way to kill two birds with one stone though. He wants to read something that will be received well by his audience but also wants to piss off of the Seeker for making him do it in the first place.
Then it comes to him.
He looks up at her, a shadow against the blazing sun. "Alright, it's a deal."
As expected, he doesn't live up to the bargain and in short order is condemned to read aloud in the great hall. Cassandra—who looks like the cat who ate the canary—has no idea what she's in for and he can't wait to execute his plan so he can wipe the smug look from her face.
Varric arranges his reading to happen two days after they return, and in the meantime convinces the Inquisitor to post a notice about his reading around Skyhold. This not only allows him to drum up an even bigger audience, but gives him enough time to go over the story he's decided to read.
It's easily the worst thing he's ever written. And even though he could have chosen another, more openly praised book, the compulsive need to irritate the Seeker wins out. After all, it was her idea to bet on whether or not he could keep from riling her up. She should have known by now that it would be a lost cause. Well, whoever said "payback is a bitch" was right, and boy did the Seeker have it coming.
Up until going to the Winter Palace, he'd thought of his Romance serial as nothing more than a blemish on his good name. He'd accepted it as a writer's folly, but one that he vowed not to regret. Swords & Shields was originally just an experiment to see if he could break into the Romance genre. The chance to try writing Romance—at Aveline's expense—allowed him to grow as a writer and realize that the genre wasn't for him. Or was it? How wrong he had been to assume no one liked it. Not only did the nobles in the Orlesian court love his books in general, but his shameful Romance serial actually had a pretty big following among the noblewomen.
He realizes now that his books could have actually been more profitable if he had only opened his eyes to what his publisher was doing to him. It still ticked Varric off that his publisher would blatantly steal from him like that. All those royalties gone. He could have used the extra money to further aid the rebuilding of Kirkwall, but now it was lining the son-of-a-bitch's pockets. Damn that bastard all the way to the Deep Roads!
Swords & Shields is the perfect book for the job. Not only would it be adequately acceptable to the nobles and dignitaries alike, but it would royally piss off the Seeker to no end. And if he's going to read the damn thing aloud, he might as well have some fun while doing it.
The icy wind whips around his form as he makes his way up the stone steps. A shiver snakes its way along his back and he picks up the pace, eager to reach the warmth coming from inside the great hall. As he nears the massive doors, he sees the expansive room is bustling with folks from all walks of life; though whether they're there for his reading or the grub, he can't honestly say.
The book he intends to read is tucked under his arm as he strolls in and a lull settles among the people. They turn and look at him expectantly, and he reciprocates with a confident smile. He then looks for her. She's tall and distinctive enough that he doesn't have any trouble at all finding her. Cassandra is leaning on the far wall, talking quietly with the Inquisitor, and he breathes a sigh of relief. This whole thing would be a real disappointment if she decided not to show. She looks up, and their eyes meet. He gives her a shit-eating grin and a wave of his fingers. Cassandra pushes herself off of the wall, rolls her eyes and sneers in his direction. The Inquisitor is much more friendly however, returning his greeting with a bright smile; the reception is like night and day and he can't help but wonder how they get along so well.
Varric flags down a servant on his way to where Trevelyan's throne sits and asks her if she can bring some food and ale for his parched throat. She nods and heads off, while he flips through his personal copy of Swords & Shields. Finding the place marker he left for himself, he walks up the steps and turns around, looking out onto the sea of faces before him.
He clears his throat. "Welcome, and thank you all for taking time out of your day to come and hear me read. Before I begin, I would just like to give some recognition to the person who made this all possible. Without her, this wouldn't have happened. Seeker, why don't you come up here and take a bow." He watches in delight as all the colour drains from her face, eyes wide in surprise. She's shaking her head at him now, trying to be as inconspicuous as ever, but failing miserably. Cassandra wants him to forgo this idea and carry on with the reading, but he can't. He's too invested in making her squirm. Next to her, Trevelyan smiles and gives her a gentle push that sends her lumbering forward like a wooden doll. The audience claps her onward. Stiffly, she ascends up the steps and shoots daggers at him with her eyes while crossing in front of him to be at his side. If looks could kill, he'd be dead ten times over by now, but it's completely worth her scorn—and he hasn't even gotten to the best part yet.
She turns to face the audience next to him, but stands like a stone statue, gazing awkwardly out toward the crowd. As an aside, he urges her with a whisper, "Take a bow, Seeker. They're waiting."
Her torso dips disjointedly at his command, her fidgeting hands moving from front to back as if trying to hide her vulnerability. He can see she's nervous and not wanting to take credit where credit is due. To be honest though, he can't see why she's so unnerved. Most of the time, she has no problem with standing up in front of people and voicing her opinions, usually with all the tact of a great bear.
After the clapping dies down a bit, she speaks. "Uh, thank you Varric for agreeing to do this and on such short notice, no less. I can see by the turn-out that many are eagerly awaiting to see what you've chosen to read, so please, do not let me keep you. And to the rest of you, enjoy." Cassandra gives a nod and quickly descends the stairs, finding her place back among the gathering of people. He smirks at her retreating form. She's trying to hide among the onlookers, he muses. She returns to her spot next to Trevelyan in the middle of the throng as if hanging out in the thick of things will save her in some way. Little does she know that it will make the whole thing more amusing.
The servant returns with vittles and a tankard of ale just in time. He motions for her to bring a small table up to where he stands, and to place the food and ale upon it, so he can eat and drink at his leisure. She does so quickly, and then backs away through the big wooden door, in the direction of the kitchens.
Here goes nothing, he says to himself, as he unfolds his golden eyeglasses and perches them on the end of his broken nose.
Varric's eyes glance up over the gold frames to survey the crowd. "I have chosen to read a passage from one of my lesser known serials—Swords & Shields." Some of the women in the congregation gasp at the name, and a knowing smile rises up like a wave on his lips.
He gives one last look at Cassandra, whose face has now gone from its usual tanned appearance to red as spindleweed, and her mouth hangs ajar. The change is drastic enough to make him do a double take, and his brows furrow in confusion.
Why in the void would her demeanor change so drastically at the mention of this book? Unless… no, there was no way in Thedas she'd read romance serials, let alone his. There was just no way. Maybe she'd heard about it in passing from one of the noblewomen? Yeah, that had to be it. She must have overheard how trashy it was, and is now stunned at the fact he's chosen it for his public reading.
Well, that spoils things a bit, if she knows what Swords & Shields is about. But maybe he can salvage his dastardly plan. Varric flips through the pages and finds the alternate passage he made sure to mark, just in case.
He takes a pull from his tankard and begins.
The cool ocean breeze drifted in off the battered coast as the Knight-Captain and
Guardsman trekked over the sand dunes while on patrol, being mindful to stay sharp;
vigilance was key now that the light of day was fading. There was no telling when or
where thugs would spring an attack, and they needed to be ready for anything.
Something was in the air, the Knight-Captain could sense it. Silently signaling the Guardsman, she gently drew her weapons, and readied her shields. She was certain
an ambush was on the horizon but when, she couldn't say…
He reads on, telling of how the Knight-Captain and Guardsman are ambushed by a group of marauders who have been wanting revenge for the capture of one of their own. Before they know it, the Guardsman and Knight-Captain have been surrounded with no where to go. They must fight or be killed.
Arrows flew swiftly and swords clashed as they battled their way through the mob
of raiders, but it wasn't enough. The Guardsman stumbled as he took a heavy blow,
rendering him wounded and vulnerable. The Knight-Captain knew she needed to
protect him, even though waves of enemies came at them from all angles. It was vital
to ensure he lived to see another day, for she had carried a secret with her that still
needed to be said—especially now—when his life hung in the balance. She slashed and
cut with the strength of ten men, her ire a wild storm, as the raiders piled up and lay
slain at her gilded feet.
The Knight-Captain couldn't allow anyone to endanger the emotion she had held so
close to her heart for so long: she had come to love the Guardsman.
At this declaration, Varric glances up to gauge Cassandra's reaction. He's hoping for a sneer, or for a faint noise of disgust to erupt from her lips, but it's not the case. She appears almost riveted on the spot, with her lip between her teeth, and a sultry smile that could make even a Warden blush. It's one heck of a sight, and something he definitely doesn't expect. It sets a coal of desire smoldering low in his belly.
Well, shit.
His heart skips a beat, and colour rushes up to cover his chest and cheeks alike. Varric catches himself gawking and coughs nervously as he adjusts his spectacles, which are threatening to slide down his nose. Dangerous ideas flicker through his mind for a moment, and he needs something to reel himself in: ale. He fumbles with the tankard and takes a gulp of the bitter brew to clear his thoughts. Thankfully, it works, and he vows not to look at Cassandra while reading the rest of the story. It's much too distracting.
Varric's eyes flick back to the page in front of him. All he needs to do is get through this, and he can go get shitfaced. He can't believe Cassandra seems to enjoy listening to this stuff. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen at all. She was supposed to dislike this sort of shit! He assumed she'd just walk out or make unimpressed comments at him, not turn into a puddle of beautiful romantic mush. Varric now feels he's bit off more than he can chew, but he's come this far, he might as well go all the way. Let it never be said he did things half-assed.
The deed was done; the band of marauders had been defeated at last, but all she could
think of was the one who had stolen her heart. The Knight-Captain flung her shield
and sword into the sand, using every ounce of strength left to get to the wounded
Guardsman.
Sand was expelled in a cloud of dust as she fell at his side. Her brows knitted together
in worry as she pulled him close, raising him up onto her armoured thighs and cradling
him in her arms. Ever so gently, the Knight-Captain removed his helm, half expecting
lifeless eyes to stare back at her. Instead, she found him unconscious but breathing. A
weighted sigh of relief found its way out, and she brushed the sweat-soaked fringe from his
face. At the tender touch, his eyes fluttered open, and a weak smile crept upon his lips.
"I knew you would defeat them," he said unexpectedly, his voice rough around the edges
with pain.
She flashed him a soft smile. "But at what cost? If you had died…" The Knight-Captain
left the sentence unfinished, burdened with all that she was afraid to say.
"I am still here, and plan on being around for a very long time," the Guardsman vowed,
covering her hand with his own, a tender touch that didn't go unnoticed.
Her heart snagged on the sentiment. "That is good to hear, because there is something
I wish to say, and given recent events, it's important I say them now more than ever."
"Yes?" He waited expectantly, eyes searching for the answer in her freckled features.
She felt her cheeks grow hot at the very thought of telling him of her affections. "I- I
have found myself growing quite fond of you, Guardsman. So fond, in fact, that
it may have turned into… love."
His hand found its way to her rosy cheek. "That makes two of us, Analine."
Shit. He shouldn't have looked. He said he wasn't going to look, but curiosity must have gotten the better of him. Why does my mind always find a way to betray me, he groans inwardly, at his lack of self control.
Her finger is trapped between her lips in torrid contemplation now, eyes alight with the glow from the fire bowls that flank the crowd, and damn if it isn't the sexiest sight he's seen in a long time. He feels the book almost slip from his fingers at his astonishment; however, he manages to catch it before it leaves his hands.
Fuck.
Varric clears his throat again, and tries desperately to center himself. He needs to hurry this up, if he's going to get through this with the appearance of being unaffected. Trouble is, he knows where this passage is leading, and it isn't anywhere that's going to help the half-formed, entirely inappropriate, thoughts of the Seeker he's having right now. But maybe he can stop short. There is a pretty big chance that she has no idea how intense the end of this passage gets. Yeah, that's what he'll do. He'll stop after the kiss.
Hearing her given name on his lips in such a tender voice made her heart thunder in
her chest like a charging bronto. He loved her too; how her soul took flight at the thought!
"Oh Dominic," she sighed, and leaned down until scarcely a breath lay between them.
Then, his lips were upon hers. The kiss was gentle and romantic, setting her caged heart
alight and she couldn't help but wish to stay like that for eternity.
All too soon the kiss ended, but what it left was now tattooed on her very soul. Her lips
burned where his had met hers and she licked them eagerly, trying to soothe them, but to
no avail. If he were not wounded, she would have surely tried a second attempt at a kiss,
but it wasn't the time. He needed assistance, and soon.
Finding the wound's point of entry, Analine knew she needed to stunt the flow of the dark, sticky
blood which seeped down the side of his rib cage and onto the back part of his breastplate. Taking her kerchief from around her neck, she pressed it firmly to his side. He winced,
his eyes scrunching closed and his brows knitting together in pain, but they both knew it
was necessary. Then, when she deemed the blood flow from the long, angry gash had
been slowed, she looked for a health potion. Finding one in the satchel at her waist, she
opened the glass and held it to his lips. He drank it without complaint, although the taste
was horrid and a grimace flashed over his features as he finished the liquid. Now, all she needed to do was wait for the effects to take place and hopefully he would be well enough
to move in short order. Night was fast approaching, and she knew they could not stay out
in the open for long.
Analine had seen a cave up the pass earlier on their patrol, and knowing that the marauders
had been taken care of, there was high chance that it was vacant. Dominic would not be
strong enough to take back to the city tonight; they would have to take their chances in
the cavern.
"Do you think you are well enough to walk?"
Dominic gave her a smile. "I think so. It still hurts like the Void, but the cut should be
healed enough from the potion as long as we go slow."
Analine nodded and helped him slowly to his feet. Pulling his good arm around her strong
shoulders for support and hooking her own around his waist and by the fading light, they
traipsed in the direction of the cave.
Finally, he's finished. The book snaps shut and he looks up once more, careful to avoid glancing in Cassandra's direction. Masking his awkwardness, Varric slides a winning smile into place, and the audience claps their appreciation.
In the lull that follows, Varric gives a quick plug to some of his other books. It's a bit commercial for his taste, but if he's ever going to recover from his publisher's theft, he's going to have to keep drumming up interest. "Thanks to all of you who came to hear me read today. If you like what you've heard, please feel free to check out my more prominent books, Hard in Hightown and The Tale of the Champion." A bow finishes everything off and the people begin to disperse, going back to their duties for the day.
What the fuck just happened?
Admittedly, he knows the Seeker is attractive, but that wasn't it; he had met loads of beautiful women in his time, and had no trouble keeping his thoughts clean. He could just blame it on the way she gazed seductively at him throughout the reading, but that wasn't quite right either. One thing is for certain, though. Whatever happened between them, he's sure as shit not going to stick around to find out. Time and space are what he needs but whether it was from her or the situation itself, he couldn't tell just yet.
He leaves his now-cold food and the tankard of ale without a second thought, zipping down and out of the main hall with the book still hot in his hand, not even giving a backward glance at Cassandra as he passes her. Varric knows he's quit the field like a Maker-damned coward, but he needs out and fast. The urge to take stock of the situation pulls him swiftly down the steps and toward the Herald's Rest, the prospect of strong liquor appealing to his puzzled mind.
