"Cassandra," Varric said, louder this time.
No answer. She stayed still on the pallet, facing the wall.
"Cassandra, I know you can hear me."
"I am asleep," a muffled voice finally responded.
"Please, just give me a chance to apologize."
"No. I do not want to see you."
Varric sighed. He knew he was very much the one in the wrong here, but that didn't make Cassandra's iron will any less frustrating. "Okay, so you don't have to see me. You can keep your head buried in your blanket. This is what you get, though, for not having a door like a normal person."
Her response was a grunt.
He tried to think of how to start. Words normally came so easily to him, but looking at her curled-up form, remembering the stifled sobs he had heard as he ascended the stairs to her room, his voice stayed silent. He had to say something.
"I lied."
"Oh, really?" Cassandra snapped, still under her blankets. "You do not really wish to marry Corypheus? I am so surprised."
"No, I mean…okay, yes, that one was a joke, of course." He pictured her crestfallen face in the doorway. "And a bad one, at that. But I'm talking about…how much did you hear?"
"Plenty. I thought the first round was enough, but no, you were graced with a second decision. Lucky me."
Varric froze in the middle of pacing her room. "So you heard the Bianca and Hawke thing."
"Yes. What is the point of this? Please go away."
"Cassandra, I was lying that time, too."
Her head finally appeared above the covers. "So you would sleep with Hawke and marry Bianca? Fine. I do not care. Go away."
Varric groaned, and when he spoke next, his voice was louder than he had intended. "Andraste's ass, Seeker, you can be dense sometimes. I lied about you."
She stared at him. "What?"
"I don't love the idea of killing Hawke or Bianca, but in that stupid game you've got to choose someone to off, and I'm saying that when I chose you I lied. It wouldn't be you."
"But…then why did you…" The look of pain returned to her face. "You said I was worse than two…monsters."
Varric sighed and sought out her desk chair, turning it to face her before sinking into the hard wood. "Yeah, I did, and that's because I'm an ass. I was protecting my stupid pride. I didn't want everyone knowing how I feel about you and teasing me about it, because I honestly don't know how I feel about you. So I lied the first time, and then Bull kept prodding me, so I lied again because when I don't know what else to say, I make people laugh. It's my thing."
"But this laughing, it was at my expense. They will think I am horrible, if they did not believe that already."
"You're not horrible, and they know that. All they're going to think is that I hate you, which is what they already thought."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Oh, well if all they believe is that the man who they all like and whose opinion they trust hates me, then I'm sure it is fine."
Varric ran a hand from his forehead back through his hair. "I'm sorry. I screwed up. Wouldn't be the first time, and definitely won't be the last. I'll make sure they know I don't actually hate you." He smirked, and added, "If you want, I can even start slipping into conversations tales of your heroic adventures and odes to your goodness."
She didn't return the smile. She was angry still, that much was clear, but there was also something else there, the same look she got when piecing together plans at the war table. "You do not hate me."
It was a statement, but a tentative one, said as if she fully expected to be proven wrong. Varric's chest tightened at the realization that she had already assumed he would say no. Worse still, she did not seem upset by this possibility, as if hating her was the reasonable thing to do.
He shook his head. "Of course I don't hate you. I told you that last night."
"Yes, but after tonight…"
Varric groaned. "Ignore the bullshit I spouted tonight. I already told you, I was lying."
Since she had peeked her head out from her blanket, Cassandra had kept her brown eyes fixed on him, even when he looked away. But now it was she who dropped her gaze.
"Then…how do you feel about me?"
He should've been expecting this; he'd managed to perfectly set himself up for the question. And yet it still made his throat tighten and his heart race. Stupid body.
When had he first realized he didn't hate her? Early, that much was clear. He couldn't respect and hate someone at the same time, and he'd begun respecting her as soon as she'd taken action to close the rift. When had that respect changed into something more? The answer to this was less obvious. He tried to rationally think of an answer, remembering his interactions with Cassandra like he imagined scenes for a book. Was it when she'd told him about that mage guy of hers, even after he'd refused to talk about Bianca? When he'd learned she loved the crappiest of his writing? The first time she'd made him laugh?
He couldn't decide on one particular moment. It had been a gradual thing, evolving over the past months, and all the while his brain hadn't suspected a thing. Stupid brain. Regardless of the when, though, more important was the what. Exactly how did he feel about the Seeker? Cassandra. He'd known as soon as Dorian had given him the list of three women which one would definitely not be killed, known it instinctually. But why? What role would he give her instead?
"Varric," Cassandra said, quietly, as she raised her eyes to meet his.
"I don't know." It was the truth.
Cassandra looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed. He hadn't thought such an expression possible. "Ah," was all she said.
"Do you…how do you feel about me?"
It was a cowardly move, and he knew it. Her typical glare was instantly back.
"That is not fair."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry."
They stared at each other without speaking. The longer the silence lasted, the more oppressive it became, until Varric couldn't stand the damn stillness any longer. He stood and walked to the window at the far end of the wall, pretending to look out it. He heard rustling from the corner as Cassandra moved. He could just leave, walk back down the stairs and into the night. After all, the reason he'd come here was to apologize, and he'd done so. Their relationship could remain strictly professional from here out. But he didn't want that.
"I don't dislike you," he said at last. It was an awkward comment, and he wasn't even sure what it meant, but it was the only thing his mouth could manage.
He gave Cassandra a side-glance. She had moved to a sitting position, her back against the wall and her arms around her knees. Her eyebrows furrowed in response to his comment, and there was a long pause, during which he grew more embarrassed by the second.
Finally she spoke. "And I do not dislike you."
