Before he loved her, he'd loved her hands, Varric remembered. Those strong, scarred hands deftly adjusting delicate mechanical workings. Gripping the haft of a hammer. Softness and strength together, grease under her short nails.
Fire roared in the grate while Varric tried to work, signing off on all the paperwork generated by the Tethras holdings. It was tedious work, not enough to stop his mind from dwelling on thoughts of her. Choosing to display himself in his usual seat at the great hall as though nothing was wrong was a mixed blessing. If he'd disappeared to brood, the whole keep would've known. Instead, he sat at his usual table in front of the fire, pretending nothing was wrong.
In all their years together (fifteen, how had that happened?) they'd had their ups and downs. He'd always known, and loved, that she was headstrong, that she never let anything stop her from doing what she felt was right. She was stubborn and self righteous, and determined. He'd never thought she'd lie to him though. Not about something truly important.
They'd gone through a lot of shit, but for some reason this was something that stuck, that ate away at him, something Varric worried he wouldn't be able to forgive her for.
Maybe that was why she'd lied, why she'd waited until there was no way to deny her involvement.
She'd only wanted to help him.
Varric closed his eyes, felt them ache from exhaustion. In his mind's eye, he saw the sick glow of red lyrium, heard its seductive song.
Wearily, Varric pulled a blank page close and stared at it. Managed to make it past "Bianca" before crumpling the page and tossing it into the fire alongside other failed attempts.
Into the quiet of the great hall, the Seeker's voice rang out, engaged in friendly bickering with the Inquisitor as they strolled towards the library stairs. Watching them pass, Varric thought of how the Seeker told him of the mage she'd loved, killed in the explosion at the Conclave.
There had been no anger in her voice, no acrimony. Even though he'd snarled and warned her away when the Seeker had asked about Bianca. Instead, Cassandra faced him head on, and allowed him a glimpse beyond her barriers.
Realizing he liked and respected the Seeker was a shock.
Cassandra wouldn't shy away from something simply because it might be hard. She always wanted the truth, even if it hurt like hell. Just like how she'd given him the truth about her mage. It had been an apology. A strange, clumsy attempt at showing Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, Right Hand of the Divine, Princess of Nevarra, and all around hardass understood love and loss.
Even if she pretended love was a four letter word.