This story will be updated periodically, at best. I find their banter to be rather flirty but maybe that's just me.
Un-betad, let me know of any errors so they can be fixed.
Cassandra felt oddly content being slumped over in a wooden chair nursing a dark mead. Horrific. The word barely described the mead, it smelled terrible and tasted like congealed milk; the slimy texture took eternity to slide down the back of her throat. She coughed, managing to take one final swig before tossing it to the dusty floor. The bottle shattered but, it was barely distinguishable from the broken glass already on the floor.
She stared at the over turned wooden table, internally chastising herself. Her instructor's voice swarming in her head, 'too brash', 'unworthy', 'temperamental'. She laughed out loud, the hollow sound bounced around the room. Varric wasn't even the root cause of her outburst, just the trigger. The Divine, her symbol, her ultimate reason snuffed out. The loss weighed on her 'perfect' outward demeanor, until she finally relented. It accumulated to her lashing out at Varric and getting tipsy off horribly brewed alcohol. She stood, gripping the chair for balance, while reaching for the last unopened bottle perched on the overturned table's leg. The chair, decrepit like the rest of the castle, broke under her grip. Too intoxicated to catch herself she ended up on the floor, staring at the cobweb filled ceiling. She remained motionless. Sounds from the bar weaved in through the holes in the bricks. Most soldiers content to get drunk in companionship, but she wasn't a soldier she was a Seeker. Thus, isolated.
Her stomach gurgled trying to digest the sludge that caused her to become so 'loose'. Brief unfocused thoughts filtered through her brain, most questioning the Maker and the ideals pushed forth by the Chantry.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs barely phased her. Yet, with the partially functioning part of her brain she prayed to the Maker it wasn't the Inquisitor. While she doubted the Inquisitor would be anything but understanding, the stupor she found herself in was rather nice and she didn't want to lose it. Not yet, perhaps not ever.
Whomever it was reached the top of the steps. Cassandra tilted her metal gauntlet becoming fascinated with the moonlight's reflection. The colors were rather appealing. The soft sound of leather boots and the cocking of a crossbow, one specific crossbow, echoed through the room.
"Fuck me." She whispered to herself and slammed her fist against the floor grunting in pain. A few quick steps and Cassandra's eyes were now rather close to a bolt from Bianca.
"Seeker?" Varric furrowed his brow in utter confusion.
"Not now Varric." Seethed Cassandra, rolling on her side reaching for the mead once more. Yet, with the mead still out of her reach she moved closer accidently rolling onto glass shards. Cassandra bit her lip and whimpered slightly. He stood there, having set Bianca on a nearby chair. He knelt grabbing the mead. He glanced at the name and wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"Really Seeker I thought even you knew better. Verminrile, that shit knocks you down." He paused setting it down behind him, farther away from the Seeker. "Seeker?"
Cautiously putting his hand on her non-injured shoulder. She had started to doze and then woke rather startled grabbing for Varric but due to her intoxication if came off more as pawing.
"I'm fineee." She slurred.
"Clearly." Varric retorted pushing Cassandra into a seated position. He managed to get her leaning against the flipped table. She tugged at her underarmor the blood already creating a sticky mess. A few black hair strands sprung up in random places. Varric let out an amused chuckle at her disheveled appearance.
"I'm sorry." It was quiet and Varric's ears barely heard it. "I'm sorry." She started to whisper it like a mantra, unable to stop and not wanting to. She couldn't tell anymore who she was apologizing to, Varric, The Divine, even The Maker. She just couldn't stop. Maybe, maybe if she continued until her throat bled someone would accept her apology. Then, maybe she wouldn't feel so alone.
"That alcohol did a number on you, huh?" His musings interrupted her whispers. She lifted her eyes from the wooden floor boards and stared at him. He crouched there, his shirt exposing his fantastic chest hair, looking rather composed. Their distance unnerved her, within distance to punch or kiss, kill or hug. She fidgeted in response to her internal thoughts. Drunkenness..No shit-faced was a vulnerable state for her.
"I.." She started trailing off finding it difficult to hold her train of thought. "You were rright, you were protecting a friend. I should have been explicit with my intentions for Hawke. To help The Divine, to sa-" she abruptly stopped emotions flaring. She never finished her sentence yet, Varric never pushed.
"Alright, Seeker we need to get you up." Varric stood sending dust flying around him. Cassandra had yet to get up. He snapped his fingers in front of the Seeker's eyes, no response. "What's Verminrile's saying 'guaranteed to get you drunk, robbed, and surface side.' Shit-crazy Orzammar liquor." Still nothing, Varric huffed a little. "Seeker." He tried. "Seeker." Nothing. He knelt back down.
"Cassandra."
He found himself with two slim trembling arms wrapped around him, and a face nuzzled into his neck. He stayed motionless for few moments. Cassandra simply held him tighter. For some reason the hug felt soothing. Varric continued to remain motionless. He waited. Then, when Cassandra began to physically shake, he whispered her name soothingly in her ear and rubbed her back comfortingly.
It took a couple of hours for the alcohol to wear off. With some leaning on Varric they managed to move to an unoccupied common room. He motioned her to sit in the chair glancing at the glass still embedded in her arm.
She waved him off.
"You left Bianca." Her voice still raw from crying. Varric glanced around cursing and then quickly slipped out of the room. She pulled off the more encumber some pieces of her armor, trying to get a look at her wound. Finally opting to rip open the linen undershirt. She felt a few shards, her blood soaked fingers barely managing to get a grip. Pulling, but unable to pull them out due to her fingers slipping on the blood.
Varric appeared behind her.
"Sit still." He commanded. Carefully he removed the shards from her arm and shoulder, wrapping it in some salve coated bandages. His eyes lingered on her shoulder and the expanse of her back that happened to be exposed. Small scars littered her back. None were jagged or jarring, almost pleasant, even unnoticeable if seen from a slight distance.
"Thanks." Her voice echoed in the mostly bare room. She started to readjust her armor, though her chest piece kept giving her a rather hard time. The buckles she couldn't quite set with one hand. She turned ready to ask Varric for help. He stood with a rather intriguing look on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed in, his body tense but not overly so like in battle. More cautious than anything else. Whatever occupied his thoughts quickly dispersed, his eyes seeking out Cassandra's.
"Better Seeker?"
"Manageable." Came the hoarse voice. "If you could-" she stopped loosely gesturing to her armor.
"Because putting pressure on your wound is going to do wonders." He quipped.
"Varric," she growled her voice lower than before, she turned around looking at him fully. He seemed concerned, genuinely concerned. Huffing slightly she continued, "I'd prefer to be dressed when I walk out."
Varric's expression softened he stepped forward his gloved fingers closing around the buckles. He worked quickly, his fingers brushing along Cassandra's sides.
"Done."
Cassandra remained quiet and then slipped out into the night.
