Varric cringed, despite the fact that his eyes were closed the light coming through them was somehow all too bright. Maker, he thought to himself, how the hell did I get this hung over? He laid there quietly until he could finally handle the light coming through his eyelids and then he ever so slowly opened his eyes. At first everything was blinding and white but slowly his eyes adjusted and he recognized his room as his own, in Skyhold. He surveyed the room slowly for any damage he had done getting into his bed. Did he get himself into bed?, he wondered. The room looked somewhat ransacked, starting from the right and scanning he saw that all of the paper and books on his desk had been thrown off to the ground, he saw his breeches hanging off the top corner of his wardrobe, and to his left... a naked woman.
Okay, Varric, who is the girl?
He looked at her and rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes. The covers were pulled up over her hips loosely. She had a long scar running from her right hip to her left shoulder along with lots of little scars all over body. So not a hand maiden or a bar maid or anything of the like. He looked up her body farther, to the back of her head.
Fuck.
Cassandra Pentaghast was laying in his bed. Naked. And he was laying in his bed. He was equally naked, if not more somehow with how vulnerable he felt. He fumbled with the tangle of covers and scampered out of his bed, nearly hitting the floor in the process. He grabbed a tunic out of his wardrobe and slid it over his head, he jumped and snatched the breeches off the top of the wardrobe cringing at the noise he made when he hit the ground. He laced up his breeches and tugged on his boots before heading to the door. He sucked a deep breath in and took a final glance back before walking out.
After he rounded up a hearty breakfast from the tavern to try and soak up the remaining alcohol in his system, he started walking back to the castle. A hand gripped his shoulder and every part of his body screamed a prayer that it was not Cassandra. He was whipped around and found himself face to face with... The Iron Bull? "Bull?" Varric said startled but not displeased at who he found.
The Iron Bull gave a deep throaty laugh and looked at him "Glad you're alive, we thought you were all a goner but you just kept going and going and going and-"
"Bull, what the hell happened last night?" Varric interrupted wanting to get to the bottom of how Cassandra round up in bed.
"Well," Bull started. "Well, we started this drinking game. You, me, the Tevinter, and the Warden that is. We would tell the most gruesome battle story we could think of and whoever flinched took a shot, and whoever made an involuntary noise finished their drink. You were winning at first but then Adaar, Cullen and Pentaghast showed up and your luck went way downhill. Cassandra and Adaar carried you back to the room and that's the last I saw."
"Thank you, Bull. We'll speak later." Varric said and turned back to the castle determined to not be found by Cassandra.
He got about four and a half feet into the banquet hall when Inquisitor Adaar stopped him. Maker's balls, he thought, can I please have one second to reconcile this? "Varric, hey, get ready, at noon we travel to Crestwood, meet me, Solas, and Cassandra... or maybe Vivienne and Cassandra. I don't know meet me and definitely Cassandra here at noon, okay?" Adaar walked away muttering to themselves about mages and their strengths.
Fuck, shit, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, Maker damn it, shit, fuck, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Varric thought to himself as he jogged to his quarters to get ready. He laced, buckled, and clicked himself into his armor. He picked up Bianca from the smith's, the Inquisitor had it modified the day before, and his potions from the undercroft. He waited until the very last second to go to the meeting spot so as to not have to talk to Cassandra. When he arrived Inquisitor Adaar, Cassandra, and Solas were standing there expectantly. He looked for some sort of tell from Cassandra, a glint in her eye? A twitch of her mouth? A twitch of her hand to her sword? But there was nothing.
The next day they arrived in Crestwood. The place was a goddamn mess, undead were popping up from fucking everywhere. The mayor didn't sit right with Varric but he agreed that if they could overtake Caer Bronach they could have access to the dam. They just finished doing so and the Inquisitor was now dragging them around to discover every little nook and cranny. And Cassandra said absolutely nothing. Not a goddamn word. It had been silence and the occasional quip from Solas about ancient elvish this or ancient elvish that.
Finally Adaar released them for the evening to rest but promised they would be up bright and early the next morning to start again. Varric gave an exaggerated yawn to make it clear the he was ready to hop straight into bed and sleep, only sleep, especially to Cassandra. He hurried to his tent without incident and started undressing, a complicated part with all the armor he had on, but he only got his chest plate off before Cassandra ripped open his tent.