* Hey everyone. I'm really sad right now :_: I just received notification that Varric isn't going to be a LI in Dragon Age Inquisition. So in my fan girl state of depression, I wrote a quick one shot expression my feelings from the point of view of the Inquisitor. I hope you enjoy. Other Varric fans who were looking forward to him possibly being a LI will understand. I'm gonna go write some happier headcannon stories now. If I can't have him in game, then I'll have him in my writings :( RAH!*
She watched him from across the campfire as he did his craft; stories and songs and impossible tales. The glow from the fire played pleasantly with the sandy tones in his hair, making the strands shine. His eyes danced with mirth and mischief. He looked almost godlike with his skin glowing in the firelight. And she would've worshiped him would he have allowed her.
His eyes caught hers and he winked playfully, never missing a beat in his tale or sonnet, before turning back to the rest of his audience. She felt herself flush. He knew how to play to his audience, no matter who they were. It wouldn't have mattered if it was her sitting across from him. If it had been Cassandra or Vivienne or any other woman in their group, he would have acted the exact same way. She received no special treatment just because she was the Inquisitor; though she desperately wished for it.
His playful nature would hurt less if he would just stop using his charms on her. They'd played the game, teased and flirted, only for it to amount to nothing. She'd confessed her feeling to him back at Skyhold, told him that she love him.
"I'm sorry," he'd said, with a uncharacteristically sad smile. "But there's someone I can't give up just yet."
Her eyes lowered to the crossbow resting at his side. It lay protected from the damp and dirt, on top of his duster. Every once in a while she would see his hand lower to rest upon it, as if taking comfort in the fact that it was still there. Bianca, he had called it.
She couldn't stop the surge of jealousy from rising in the pit of her stomach. She should've felt stupid, being jealous of a crossbow. But it was more than that, and she knew it. It was the woman behind the crossbow; the woman that held a hold so strong on the sly dwarf that he can't stand to let go or move on. The woman whose story he so blatantly refuses to tell.
The Inquisitor sighs and rises to her feet without a word. She turns and retreats to the solitude or her tent to the staring or many pairs of curious eyes. She can't bear to meet them, especially his. If she did, they may see her weakness. He would see her weakness.
She lay in the dark on her bedroll, alone, aching for Varric, but knowing that she would never have him. In her sleep she could dream, and in her dreams she was allowed the man she loves.