"I think you miss your old life, Seeker," Varric drawled, taking a deep draught of his tankard with a contented sigh.

"I think you need to mind your own business," Cassandra snarled, slapping her empty drinking vessel down with an irritated grunt.

"All those people who agree with your way of life," Varric continued as though she hadn't spoken, leaning back in his chair, booted feet crossed at the ankles. Yes, Seeker, No, Seeker, how high shall I jump, Seeker."

"I was never that person, and I don't live with those who think so anymore." Cassandra spoke from between gritted teeth, her narrowed eyes fixed on her hands clenched before her.

"Geography, Seeker." Varric waved an indolent hand. "There isn't a soldier here who wouldn't try to jump the walls of Haven if you asked it of them."

Cassandra stood slowly, as though she were weary. "Not all of them." And she left.

Varric grinned into his tankard. He enjoyed baiting her. One of the few pleasures left. When a big hand clapped down on his shoulder, he jumped.

"Bloody hell, Bull. You scared seven kinds of shit out of me."

The big qunari took up a seat next to him and leaned back. The chair creaked forbiddingly.

"Playing with fire there, my friend," Bull said, accepting a tankard from the serving girl.

"Who? The Seeker?" Varric shrugged. "She is uptight, driven, arrogant, and a pain in the ass."

"You like her."

Varric snorted. "She had me questioned for days. Those dungeons? Not pleasant, let me tell you." He waved a warning finger at Bull.

The Iron Bull saluted him with his massive tankard. "And despite that, you like her."

"I'm a bloody dwarf, Bull," Varric scoffed.

"Since when does that matter?" Bull stared down at his comparatively diminutive companion with amusement.

"Since humans look at dwarves as quaint little creatures only good for hammers." Varric was starting to lose his calm, he slapped down his half empty tankard.

"Has Cassandra ever given you any reason to think that she thinks of you that way?"

"She treats me like a bug barely above her notice," Varric said, crossing his arms over his formidable chest.

"Hah!" Bull snorted. "She treats you no different to anyone else then." A broad palm clapped Varric on the back. "Chin up, Storyteller. There is hope yet."

"Hope for what?" Varric was bewildered.

The Iron Bull just laughed.


She was beating seven kinds of shit out of the practice dummies. Varric tried to ignore it. He had positioned himself near the entry to Haven for one reason only, to see when the so-called Herald of Andraste returned from her latest attempt to garner support for the Inquisition, and not because it gave him a damn fine view of the training grounds.

As the warrior smashed a dummy to pieces, Erien Trevelyan approached Cassandra. Erien regarded the splintered remains with a wrinkle of her nose. She touched the smooth shaft of her staff and tried to ignore the glance given to her by the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. He was distracting. Too bloody distracting. She sighed and approached Cassandra, a woman she was starting to feel might be a friend.

"If you keep doing that, we are going to need to get a supplier for dummies. Why don't you practice on one of the Commander's minions. I'm sure they wouldn't mind." Erien studied the deep chops that Cass was already putting in the next dummy.

"Because Cullen…" Cass neatly sliced off the dummy's head. "...protested when I left them too bruised and bloody to train."

Erien leaned on one of the dummies, watching Cass flex her formidable muscles and smash ten kinds of living hell out of the innocent straw filled target.

"So, is there some reason you are beating the shit out of that?"

Cass's jaw clenched. Erien grinned. Oh yeah. There was a reason.

The sound of rollicking laughter floated across the training field. Erien watched Cass glance up, across at the familiar source of the laughter and give a disgusted snort. Her lips twitched again as she followed the gaze, knowing she would see the dwarf, Varric Tethras, joking with the qunari The Iron Bull on the steps up to the gates of Haven.

"Varric seems to have settled in with the Chargers. They close down the tavern every night," Erien observed, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

"I know." Cassandra's reply was short. "I should have known he would fit right in with a band of mercenaries."

"Well, Solas is hardly the conversational type he tends to prefer, and Vivienne is…" Erien's hand waves idly.

"...not the sort to frequent taverns," Cassandra lowered her weapon with a sigh, sheathing it with practiced ease.

"So it makes sense." Erien shrugged. "Feel up to meeting up with Josie with me? She wanted me to touch base before we head to Redcliffe."

"No." Cassandra rubbed her furrowed brow with her fingertips. "I have to go and speak with Cullen."

"Okay. Talk to you later." Erien gave that half smile at Cassandra before heading for the stairs.

Cassandra watched the Herald depart, with just a little bit of affection in her heart. She couldn't help but like the younger woman. She was quick witted, a little sarcastic with morons, but kind. Above all, so kind. Cassandra rubbed the back of her neck and couldn't help but smile when she saw Cullen follow the woman with his eyes.

When she glanced back, her gaze clashed with Varric's. He was watching her with amusement on his face. Maker's bloody breath. He probably thought she was pining for the Commander now. She huffed out her annoyance and strode toward Cullen, now focused back on training the new recruits.


Varric ratcheted Bianca's mechanism and sighted down the barrel at a mage. A soft whistle from the Herald at his side let him know she was ready. He loosed the quarrel and they heard the mage give a grunt of pain and topple over.

"Nice," the Herald drawled, her power gathering around her and with a flick of her staff, directed it at an archer perched precariously atop a roof.

War cries erupted around them. He heard Cassandra curse, then answer the cries with one of her own. For a time they were surrounded. He moved around the battlefield, flanking the enemies that Cassandra had gathered around her, firing into vulnerable backs. He couldn't help but admire the way she moved, handling the three bandits surrounding her with ease.

He put an arrow through the shoulder of the last bandit, Cassandra finishing him off with a slice of her weapon.

The last blast of fire from the Herald smashed harmlessly into the rocks below where he stood.

"Nice work, Seeker," Varric said, slipping the safety back on Bianca.

Cassandra studied him for a moment, her eyes bright with adrenalin, breathing hard. A faint flush rode high on the sharp blade of her cheekbones. Varric couldn't take his eyes off her. She was magnificent. And she broke his gaze first to reply to the Herald.

Iron Bull leaned on the lump of metal that passed for his weapon, towering over Varric as he studied the two women where they spoke over the bodies piled around them.

"You're drooling, Storyteller."

Varric thumped the back of his fist into Iron Bull's solid belly. "Shut up."

"Hey," Iron Bull grunted. "Just saying."

Varric grimaced and scowled, mounting Bianca back onto its holster. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Let's get going. We have a rift to close."

Iron Bull hefted his war axe onto his shoulder with a grin and followed the stout dwarf toward Erien and Cassandra.


Varric wrinkled his nose, murmuring to himself as he paced his little room. He couldn't write. This had never happened before. The walls were suffocating him. He needed fresh air. Fresh mountain air and a perspective not found at the bottom of a tankard of ale.

Haven was quiet. The tavern was shut down and only the night shift of guards standing at their posts was his only company. He grimaced thoughtfully. Where to go...where to go… and brightened.

The little rocky overlook beside the chantry. He could look out over the frozen mountains and the lake and clear the cobwebs from his brain. He tucked his chin into the collar of his lined coat and trudged up the path to the outcrop.

He nearly groaned aloud. He wasn't alone after all. A tall figure rendered shapeless by a cloak stood surveying the realm. He didn't want conversation. He didn't want company. And with slow movements, Varric moved to depart.

"You don't have to leave, Varric." The Nevarran accent froze him in his retreat.

"And here I thought my company was distasteful," Varric drawled, gathering his wits. "Colour me surprised, Seeker."

"Your company is not distasteful, Varric." Cassandra said wearily, shrugging deeper into her cloak. "But your animosity toward me grows tiresome."

"Animosity?" Varric took a few steps forward. He peered at Cassandra's face. "You were the one who held me in that damn dungeon, remember?"

Cassandra raised a hand to her brow, rubbing the deep lines that were almost permanently etched there. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"The 'right thing'?" Varric snorted. "Seeker, if this is your definition of the 'right thing' I would really hate to see your version of being very, very naughty." He paused. Cleared his throat. That phrase brought an image to mind that he hadn't intended.

"Despite that, you stayed."

"Where am I gonna go?" Varric held his arms wide, encompassing Haven. "At least here, I might help. Out there? Out where there are bloody great holes in the sky?" He shook his head. "At least I can help keep the Herald safe."

"Thank you, Varric." She spoke and once again her voice was bleak.

Varric frowned again. This whole interaction was messing with his calm, impervious nature. "Alright, what's wrong?" he demanded.

"Why does something have to be wrong?" She wasn't looking at him, she wasn't calling him an idiot. She was …

"Damn right something is wrong." Varric planted himself beside her, peering up into the fur lined hood.

"Look, I'm just feeling a bit… out of sorts, alright." Cassandra folded her arms over her chest, annoyance colouring her tone.

"You must be," Varric said drily. "'Out of sorts' huh?"

Cassandra sighed and lowered herself to sit on a rocky ledge, which brought her to about his eye height. With shadows no longer cast on her austere features, she looked a little less ethereal, and a little more like the severe, sharp tempered Cassandra Pentagast he knew and loved to torment. She tugged back the hood, and leaned her elbows on her knees, clasping her gloved hands together.

"I just…" she began, and let out an irritated huff.

He found himself enfolding her clenched hands in one of his. For a warrior, her hands were slender. Strong, but fine boned. "Look, Seeker-" he began.

"Cassandra," she interrupted, staring down at their joined hands.

"What?"

"My name. It's Cassandra. Not 'Seeker'. I don't call you 'rogue' or 'writer'."

"You have called me much worse." He grinned at her when she glanced at him. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"And you have deserved it," she replied drily. "But here, could you call me by my name?"

"Sure. Cassandra." He tested it out. The sibilant consonants were an unusual pleasure. A gentle name for a warrior such as she. "So Cassandra, why do you feel out of sorts?"

"I wonder if I made the right decision. Invoking the Inquisition." She turned her hand over in his and studied the contrast in size.

"You didn't have much choice," Varric shrugged, his bare thumb soothing across the leather clad palm of hers. He didn't often feel the cold. Her breath was coming in white clouds. She must be freezing despite her layers.

"I had a choice," she contradicted, and sighed. "And now half of Thedas would cheerfully see me executed for my temerity."

"Seeker… Cassandra," Varric said carefully. "I'm going to tell you something, but I will deny I ever said a damn thing if you tell anyone. Including the Herald."

Cassandra looked at him curiously, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. "What?"

"You are the strongest, most self assured person I have ever met. You want to know why I stayed? Not because I believe in any Herald of Andraste. Sure, Erien can close those rifts, and somehow she gets some of the strangest folks to follow her just because she is so damned nice." He touched Cassandra's chin with his forefinger, and studied her face. "I stayed because I believed in you, Cassandra Pentaghast. Even when you have levelled all kinds of crimes at my head…" He smiled crookedly. "...To be fair, some of them were true. But even then, I believed in you. I still do."

His smile faded as she continued to stare at him, a bewildered expression on her face.

He cleared his throat. "Say something."

When her fist curled into the fabric of his coat, he thought for a moment, he might have pissed her off and she was about to deck him. When he was yanked forward and their lips awkwardly clashed, his brain took several moments to catch up. Which was probably why, when he came to his senses, his hand had cupped the back of her neck and he had slanted his lips over hers, turning awkward into sensual.

When his brain caught up, it was screaming at him. This is the Seeker! This is Cassandra! She is going to eviscerate you!

But she had kissed him first.

Fuck it.

His other arm slid around her narrow back and yanked her close. Her mouth opened under his, and he tasted of her. She was ...delicious. Honey mead, icy air and her.

When they broke apart to take in air, Cassandra's eyes were closed, her breath washing over his lips.

"Well that was unexpected," Varric drawled, his thumb tracing the well kissed curve of her lips.

Cassandra's eyes snapped open, her breath coming in short gasps. She blinked at him owlishly and he knew, just knew, that regret was souring her gut. She had kissed the dwarf and now she was embarrassed as hell. He thought to make it easy on her.

"Don't worry about it." He gave her that crooked grin that told her he wouldn't take the kiss seriously. "It's been a tough week. I will give you a free pass on that one."

She stood up shakily. He stepped back.

"I apologise," she said finally. "That was unacceptable of me." Without waiting for a reply, she walked stiffly down the hill toward the chantry.

Varric watched the proud woman throw back her shoulders, tip her chin high and head toward the chantry doors with that ground eating stride of hers. He groaned to himself and drove his fingers into his hair. It was loose from its tie. He was sure he had secured it earlier. He couldn't help but smile again.

And the cobwebs were gone.

He had an idea for a new chapter.

The maiden was not going to sit and wait for the hero. Oh no. She was going to get out there and kick some ass. His smile broadened again as he stared out over Haven, his arms crossed over his broad chest. And when she kissed the hero, she was going to make him go weak at the knees. Varric cleared his throat again. Not that it had happened to him. That momentary weakness was just tiredness. That's all it was. He paused thoughtfully before clambering back down to head for his rooms.