TWO
Search and Seizure, and the Right to Privacy
He could feel the fire at his back waning in its intensity, the flames dimming enough to make the parchment before his nose too difficult to read. Squinting, Varric yawned at his table by the foyer and turned in his chair stiffly to throw another log on the fire. What was that, the fifth one, tonight? Glancing up toward Madame de Fer's balcony room, he noticed for the first time the dawning light crawling steadily across the stonework.
"Ah, shit," he swore, shaking his head and turning back to the rough draft on the table. "Never thought I'd be up so late writing something this tawdry." He ran his finger under his nose roughly to satisfy an itch, and reread the previous two paragraphs, narrowing his eyes critically in search of grammatical errors. Blinking slowly, Varric discovered that he was hard-pressed to lift his heavy lids, and his brows shot up on his face in an effort to pull them open, with little to no success...
"Varric?"
The dwarf lifted his head from the table with a sleepy gasp, unable to recall when he'd lowered it to the surface to begin with. "Oh, wow, what happened?" He rubbed his numb face roughly, stretching his arms as he opened his sore eyes to the bright sunlight. "What time is it?" He rasped, clearing his throat quietly.
"I don't know. Before noon, still," Cole replied, slowly turning his head toward the large doors. "The Iron Bull left the tavern to spar with Krem. You always have lunch just before they go, but you didn't today, so I came to see if you were okay."
"I'm fine, Kid, thanks," he sighed, parting his lips to breathe cool air through his dry mouth. "I don't even remember falling asleep."
"Nobody ever remembers falling asleep," the spirit boy commented distantly, watching the swishing petticoats of the noblewomen as they passed. "Dwarves, less so. They sleep and wake, and sleep again, never knowing dreams, not noticing the slow passage from night to day. Underground, surrounded by seas of stone, it's even more strange."
It was way too early for this. "That's not exactly what I meant, but... sure, Kid," he mumbled, rising from his chair and gathering his papers. "Well, I'm going to head over, maybe see if the kitchens are still serving breakfast. You going back to the tavern?"
Cole shook his head. "Not now... I have to talk to Solas. Later - probably," he said just above a whisper, wandering through the doorway to the right and disappearing without so much as a goodbye.
Varric shimmied around the table, walking through the foyer and stepping out into the late morning light. "Should've made that Kid more human," he grumbled, taking the stone steps quickly.
"Ah, Varric," Lavellan smiled, arriving at the stone landing midway between flights and pausing in her ascent. "Glad I caught you. Did you sleep well?"
"Who knows," he shrugged with a wry grin. "I pulled an all-nighter, but I think it was worth it. Writer's curse. I'll have to read and edit whatever this mess is, later. So, what can I do for you today, Your Inquisitorialness?"
"You can get some food in your stomach and oil Bianca," she informed him. "We're heading out to western Orlais today. Bring the biggest canteen you can find."
"We're not done there, yet?! I can barely breathe in that barren wasteland without breaking into a sweat!"
"I know," she sighed reluctantly, "I'm not looking forward to it, either, but these shards we've been finding open some enchanted chamber in a place called the Forbidden Oasis."
"Ooh, sexy name," he nodded his approval. "Or dangerous - but danger's usually sexy, to be fair."
The Inquisitor looked away, suppressing a grin with some difficulty. "It'd be a shame to collect them and not see what's behind that old door, wouldn't it?"
"You know, that's the kind of talk that gets people killed," Varric chuckled to himself. "Then again, nothing exciting ever happens if you're not at least a little curious."
"True," she smiled affectionately. "So, can I count on you to be at my back?"
The side of his mouth turned up softly. "Inquisitor, Bianca and I wouldn't miss it for the world. For now, though, I'm headed off in search of a sausage roll. Wanna tag along?"
Shaking her head, Lavellan pointed shyly toward the rotunda. "Actually, since he came back yesterday and I haven't seen him since, I should - "
"Speak to Solas," Varric finished for her, nodding in understanding. "Popular guy, this morning. He won't know what to do with all this attention; it's practically wasted on him."
Lavellan tucked her fair hair behind her pointed ear and glanced at her boots to avert her gaze. "Hey," she started in hushed tones, "Varric... I know it's not a good time, right now, but I want to talk to you about... what happened..."
He scrunched up his chin, pressing his lips together firmly in a frown. "Don't, Inquisitor," he whispered, closing his eyes as his brow furrowed. "I'll be fine, don't worry about - " His husky voice tore in half in his throat, and he rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ahh, you know what," he croaked, "I'll, uh... I'll just meet you guys by the main gate in an hour."
And with a polite nod, he stepped around the elven woman and descended the last flight to the courtyard, having somewhat lost his appetite.
~oOo~
"Gentlemen, meet Bianca! Bianca, say hello, baby, don't be shy," Varric howled from his perch atop a red rock, raining down large, deadly bolts on the Venatori below him on the sweltering sands.
He shielded his eyes in time to see a ball of intense fire careening toward him, and vaulted backwards in a neat flip, landing with an unsteady foot in the sand. Yanking his sunken boot free of the ground, he raced to the edge of the rock and leaned against its face, pushing the stock against his broad abdomen and winding the crank to the nut with the simple press of a button.
"Ooh, I love it when you respond to my touch like that," he grinned mischievously, reloading the bolt feed. He looked up at the sun, counted backwards from three, held his breath, and jumped out from his cover, moving quickly around the group of Tevinter mages as he pulled the trigger, careful not to graze Cassandra as she shouted and slashed violently with her longsword.
As they fell one by one to the assault, Varric turned to the last one standing, aiming his crossbow with deadly precision -
And immediately lowered his weapon.
"Put your hands down, Sparkler," Varric panted, hoisting Bianca back into the holster strapped to his back. "I wasn't going to shoot you."
"Are you sure about that, Varric? Haven't confused me for the enemy, quite yet? Not gone blind or suffered a temporary madness from all this lovely sunshine?" Dorian waggled his fingers in the air teasingly.
"Just because you're accustomed to frying under the sun like back bacon doesn't mean I am," he wiped his brow with his crimson sleeve. Varric knew he was going to suffer a giant V-shaped sunburn on his chest before they could set up camp. He could feel it searing his flesh, already.
"If you think this is hot," he smirked, curling the end of his black moustache delicately, "then you've never been to Minrathous during the Festival of Glistening Olives."
"That's not a thing," Cassandra denied outright, coming into the fold as she sheathed her sword. "I refuse to believe such a festival exists."
Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, his dark brows raised questioningly. "Well, that tidbit you asked about our templars was true," he shrugged light-heartedly. "Oh, you'd love it, Cass! A well-oiled Vint, his skin gleaming in the - "
"Dor, look what I found on those guys," Inquisitor Lavellan exclaimed, panting heavily as she joined them. She held a staff toward the small group, sweat pouring from her brow and matting her tangled blonde hair ridiculously. "It's much more powerful than the one you've got now."
The mage eyed the staff warily, shooting a dubious glance to Varric before meeting Lavellan's eyes. "Inquisitor, I appreciate - and often encourage - our environmental responsibility to recycle, but..."
"But what?" She asked, brushing sand from the raw bark of the grip and polishing the dingy skull at the crest with a sleeve.
His lip upturned in disgust, Dorian rearranged his features to project forced politeness. "No offence, I simply prefer not to resemble a tasteless southern barbarian. And why do you always give me the scavenged hand-me-downs? Why don't you ever seem to find a superior crossbow for Varric?"
Varric scoffed incredulously, "That's because such a weapon is literally impossible, Sparkler, and I am personally offended that you would even suggest that within earshot of Bianca!"
"Oh, pish," he scoffed, turning to the Seeker. "Cassandra - "
"The Inquisitor has uncovered various swords and shields of quality on several occasions that I have used," she stated evenly. "Function over form, Dorian. Fashion matters very little when your life is at stake."
"Yes, and that's all well and good for the likes of you, but my reputation is at stake if I'm seen carrying around discarded refuse."
"What do you mean, the likes of me?" Cassandra arched a dangerous brow his direction.
"Fenedhis lasa," Lavellan swore, lowering the staff to her side, "I'll give it to Viv, then! ...No, wait, she probably wouldn't take it on the same grounds..."
"Aha, you see?" Dorian smirked, feeling vindicated. "A perfectly reasonable standard to uphold for oneself."
"Well," Varric pouted his lower lip and shrugged, "if Sparkler won't take the nice staff, and Iron Lady turns her nose up at it, then might I suggest, Inquisitor, that you use those scraps of fabric you just found and make him a trendy pair of patchwork leggings?"
"Fabric?" Dorian's eyes darted toward Lavellan's pack warily. "...What fabric?"
Lavellan unclipped her rucksack and pulled out the torn swatches. "Oh, you mean the plaidweave, Varric?"
"Give me the staff," the mage blurted, taking the weapon from Lavellan's grip and hurriedly traversing up the hill to the next plateau.
Varric shot a victorious glance toward Cassandra, whom rolled her sharp eyes in annoyance. "Thank the Maker," she muttered to him, following laboriously after the two mages. "I never thought he'd see reason."
He chuckled to himself, blinking against the blinding light reflected off the endless sands. "Yeah, well, you of all people should appreciate the value of a well-placed threat."
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she turned in her trudging to glance back at him. "I don't do threats. I give ample warning with a chance for immediate cooperation."
"That's a threat by definition, Seeker. Trust me, words are my business," he retorted, grunting as he mounted the next steep hill. "Damn, I miss city streets and flat land."
"Just keep up, Varric," she replied evenly, "or the next time I turn around and find you missing, I won't go looking for you."
"Wait, was that a threat?!"
"Words are your business," she shook her head, leaving him behind. "Not mine."
Varric huffed out a rueful chuckle, uncorking his canteen and drinking water from it sparingly. Tying it to his belt loop, he grumbled, "Yeah, well I wish you'd mind your own, every once in a while..."
They caught up to Dorian, whom waited somewhat patiently in the shade as the Inquisitor dug through her pack for her hammer and chisel next to a large deposit of Paragon's Luster. He turned and nodded to each of them in turn, noting the looks of frank distaste written plainly on their faces. "Varric," he smirked wryly, arching a single dark brow in the dwarf's direction, "are you and Cassandra...?"
Shocked, Varric practically froze in place, staring up incredulously at the man. "What?! No! Why would you even ask that?!"
"Truly?" He pondered, his eyes travelling over the dwarf, gauging his reaction. Finding him honest, he shook his head slowly."Bizarre."
"I'm right here," Cassandra glowered, indicating with a wave of her gauntlet as if ending a spell of invisibility.
"Just because two people dislike each other doesn't mean they're about to kiss, Sparkler," Varric clarified with a turn of his lip.
Smiling, the Vint raised a finger slightly to accentuate his point. "Not according to your books..."
"Don't mistake me for that hack who wrote Hard in Hightown Two. I can spell."
Shrugging, Dorian dropped his presumptions and stepped toward Lavellan, his pack opened to receive the nuggets she had succeeded in collecting.
Varric looked after him and scoffed, shooting a glance toward the Seeker in his unease. As their eyes met briefly, the disgruntled pair turned away in awkward silence, both of them shuddering inwardly at the very idea Dorian presented.
There was no way in the deepest of the Deep Roads that it would ever happen.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, a small, niggling voice inside him nagged softly.
~oOo~
Nights in the desert were no cooler, but at least the camp nearest the Oasis itself boasted a mercifully cool mist from the nearby waterfalls. The scorching sun had long since set, and sure enough, the skin of his chest had indeed sizzled to an angry pink hue that would have put Aveline's blush of embarrassment to shame. He couldn't even stand the heat of the fire anymore, and again made his way poolside to splash the mineral-rich water on his scathing burns.
He'd more or less avoided Cassandra for the remainder of the day, and she had welcomed the cold shoulder he'd given her wholeheartedly. Besides, it gave him time to think about his writing in peace, so long as the Kid didn't reveal spoilers every time they crossed paths. Solas' question continued to plague him, though: Why did Varric care so much about making it up to her? It wasn't his fault Cullen had spilled that inkwell - not entirely, anyway, and certainly not enough to justify him going to such lengths to make nice with the Seeker. If anything, she owed him for dragging him along to this mess...
But he had convinced Cassandra that she needed his help with the Breach, despite the death of the Divine to whom he was supposed to reiterate his story, and he'd hidden the location of Hawke from her, too. When he got right down to it and added up each and every transgression they each had committed against one another, Varric began to feel the heavy weight of it all press down on his broad shoulders.
Sighing, he stared into the aqua pools as they glittered under the moonlight, the reflections waving over his tunic in a watery dance as it caught the gold embroidery of his cuffs. Time seemed to slow as he focused on nothing in particular, offering a brief respite from all the insanity that plagued him day to day. The colour of the glistening blue pools reminded him of Hawke's eyes, actually...
"Ah... shit..." He gulped hard, closing his eyes and lowering his head in remorse.
"Varric...?"
He jumped and turned suddenly, locking eyes with Cassandra Pentaghast. Perturbed that she'd gotten the jump on him, he glowered and looked back down at the water, splashing himself once more for good measure before rising and making his way for the camp. "Seeker," he nodded as he passed her quickly.
She turned and followed him for a few steps, and in confusion, he pivoted on his heel to face her. "What do you want from me now, Seeker? To search my pack for 'correspondence' with my 'associates'?"
"No," she shook her head lamely, something like grief behind her shining eyes. After a moment, she gave a meek shrug and added, "Actually, I already did that..."
"Ah," he glared, crossing his arms over his chest and being careful not to wince at the pain there. "Of course you did. Find anything interesting?"
Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find words, but after a moment, her jaw shut in defeat. Sighing heavily, Cassandra turned away and sat down by the water, yanking off her heavily armoured boots and placing them neatly against a rock face as she lowered her aching feet into the pool, a leather-bound book opened to the title page on her lap.
Rolling his eyes, he turned and walked toward camp, deciding to put this all behind him for the night. He desperately needed sleep, and all he wanted at that moment was the lumpy, makeshift cot inside the tent he shared with Sera and Blackwall.
As he looked up the hill toward the fire, though, he located the silhouette of the Inquisitor towering above him, and after Lavellan was certain he'd noticed her, she pointed silently toward Seeker Cassandra, wordlessly ordering the dwarf back down to investigate. In frustration, Varric threw his hands up to protest the order given, and as she pointed yet again with force, Solas appeared just behind her, leaning on his staff and becoming the silent reinforcer of the Inquisitor's command.
His lip upturning in a growl, he made a swift about-face and skulked the short trek back poolside. Exhaustion and the weight of bittersweet memories pressed down on him to the point that he was beginning to feel snippy with virtually everyone, which bothered him exceedingly. Rubbing his tired eyes, he took a breath and counted to ten before he cleared his husky throat and quietly sat down at a companionable distance with the warrior, his eyes cast down to his hands to avoid having to look at her.
Minutes passed like this, and after an uncomfortable span of time, Varric began to wonder whether she was aware of his presence, at all. Maybe she was as confused as he was as to why he was even here, right now. Still, the sooner he talked, the sooner he could end this and go to sleep...
"So," he started sarcastically, "is this where I start compelling you to talk? Should I ask the Kid if I can borrow his dagger so I can plunge it into that-"
It was then that he realised Cassandra was holding her copy of Tale of the Champion.
Varric's throat involuntarily closed up, choking off the remainder of his jest. Struggling to begin again, he shifted uncomfortably, fighting the rising tide of emotions.
Cassandra ran her hand over the inscription, silently reading it to herself yet again. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, It was lovely, and slightly arousing, to meet my number one fan. I guarantee you, every word of this book is true - especially the naughty bits. Sincerely, Garrett Hawke. P.S.: Please take care of Varric for me. Keep in mind that if I don't get him back in one piece, I'm coming for you. Also, stay the hell away from Anders. All the best, by the way!
"He signed it," she whispered, a tear standing out on her pronounced cheekbone as she reached up to wipe it away. "...Varric..."
"Yeah, you, um," he forced the words out gruffly, keeping his eyes averted, "you asked me for his autograph, so I ran it past him when he got back to Skyhold... He could barely stop laughing long enough to take the quill from my hand..."
The Seeker stared at him openly, her mouth agape as she shook her head in stark denial of his reluctant gift. "Why would you do this for me...?"
Varric's face etched with remorse, insurmountable heartache evident over his features. "You know, I don't really know, myself," he admitted with a pathetic shrug. "It came up in conversation one night, so when he agreed to it, I broke into your quarters and... I borrowed it."
Thumbing the pages absently, she muttered, "I did wonder what had happened to it."
He nodded, placing his hands on his knees and adding, "I was going to return it to you, Seeker, but I just..." His voice trailed off, the distant roar of the waterfall disguising the clearing of his ragged throat.
Making to rise to his feet, Varric rubbed at his face and shrugged nonchalantly. "Anyway, you're welcome," he mumbled non-committally.
As he walked back toward the camp, Cassandra turned to watch him leave. "Varric," she called after him quietly. When he stopped in his tracks, his back to her, she stood and hugged the book close to her chest plate. "Thank you," she uttered honestly. "I believe this makes us even, now."
He smirked sadly, placing his hands on his hips and shifting to face her. "Just promise me one thing, Seeker, and we can call a truce."
She swallowed hard, her jaw clenching slightly as she did so. "What is it?" She asked painfully.
Varric pressed his lips to a fine line, meeting her eyes head-on. "Stop randomly searching my pack. You've got to learn to trust me."
Staring hard, Cassandra bent low and retrieved her boots, sighing quietly before walking toward the dwarf and staring down at him, determination in her eyes. "By the Maker, I swear to you," she promised him levelly, "I will respect your privacy from this moment forth."
Holding the warrior's gaze for a long pause to gauge her seriousness, he nodded imperceptibly in satisfaction and turned back toward the glow of the campfire. "Goodnight, Seeker," he called back, desperate for the well-earned, dreamless sleep of a dwarf after a long day.
