"No regrets, Storyteller." The Iron Bull sharpened his massive war axe as it gleamed lethally in his lap.
"I have a lot of regrets, Tiny." Varric oiled Bianca's mechanism.
"Don't you think you should use this moment to, maybe, fix one or two of them?" Bull glanced significantly over to the tent where Cassandra was buckling on her breastplate.
"What's done is done, Bull." Varric stoppered the bottle and slipped it into his pack. "Shouldn't go back over old ground. You know that."
Bull frowned at Varric. "She's not 'old ground', dwarf. She's Cassandra. If she dies out there, are you gonna shed a tear?"
"Leave it, Bull."
"Thought you were better than that, my friend." Bull hefted his axe onto one meaty shoulder and lumbered easily toward the campfires.
Varric sighed. He propped Bianca against his pack and levered himself upright. He rammed his hands into his pockets and studied the woman who still held his heart in her calloused, scarred, beautiful hands. She was yanking on leather gloves with precise movements, the line between her brows now permanently etched there. He had had a significant role in putting that there. He wearily scrubbed his palm over his jaw, his beard rasping against his skin. He had been sleeping like crap.
Cassandra had this way of taking up space in his bed. She liked sleeping face down, arms flung out, stealing the blankets. As it turned out, he missed that like hell.
The past couple of weeks had been lonely and cold. The others had figured something had gone wrong and were tiptoeing around both of them. Well, Bull was as blunt as it got. Dorian would just shake his head in pity. As for Erien, she was still angry with him. They hadn't chatted over an ale since that hellish day. And it would seem that once this day was over, should they win it, Cassandra was leaving. Taking up the post of the Divine. He knew it was the right thing. It had to be the right thing.
He trudged over to Cassandra, and cleared his throat. She was kneeling, checking the straps of her shield and her hands stilled. She rose slowly to her feet, hesitating as she turned to look at him, her expression composed into one of serenity.
"Just wanted to say …" Varric's hands rose and fell helplessly. "…Take care of yourself, Seeker."
"You too, Varric." Cassandra's voice was very distant.
"I wish –"
"Don't." Her eyes flashed with heat and she held up a hand. "Just … don't."
Varric squinted at her, his eyes wrinkled as he flinched. "Right. Of course. Still. Be careful, and all that."
Cassandra nodded. "I plan to." She hefted up her shield and paused in her departure. "Will you return to Kirkwall when all this is done?"
"I don't know. Probably. It seems kind of …small, after all this."
She gave a small laugh, though there was an edge to it. "Yes, I suppose it must."
Their eyes met and held.
Cassandra broke away first, turning to stride into the milling Inquisition forces.
They had won.
It was over.
While he cheered with all of them, a smile on his face, he knew it was over. He saw the Inquisitor sneak off with Cullen at one point, and accepted his own congratulations, the hugs and handshakes of old friends and new.
Varric glanced over at a ruckus and smiled. Iron Bull had Cassandra in a clench and was sweeping her in a wide circle, her legs flying. Her laughter, a rare sound lately, echoed around the room.
He stared down at his linked hands and took a quiet breath. It was over.
A wave of sadness overwhelmed his heart.
He stared around the room. At the faces that had become dear to him. At the lean, handsome features of Dorian where he stood at Bull's shoulder, smiling up at him as the big Tal'Vashoth wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed him fiercely on the lips, to the Tevinter's blushing acquiescence. At Leiliana as she tossed back her hood and chatted animatedly with Josephine. Sera and Harding were tucked in a corner giggling over some gossip.
And he was here watching.
It was over.
She was gone.
He knew that she wouldn't say goodbye. Their goodbye had happened before the final battle. He tapped his pencil on the sheets of paper piled on his desk.
He stared at the blank page, the next instalment of Hard in Hightown beckoning him.
But he couldn't get into that world.
He propped his chin on his hand and stared out of the window. He ran his thumb over the sharp angle of his jaw.
He smiled, and put his pencil to paper.
He was in love. For the first time in his life, he had looked into the face of justice, and when it looked back, it had bright golden eyes that pierced soul and warmed his cold, criminal heart.
His first words could have been a little more charming, he supposed. But why waste a good thing?
"Well, hello, gorgeous. If I had known the constabulary had folks like you on staff, I would have been caught much sooner."
The answering sword at his throat cut off his breath and his inclination to incriminate himself.
Cassandra sat cross legged on her very austere bed. Her robes were tossed over a chair across the room and she sat on the bed in a heavily gold embroidered red silk shirt that hung off one shoulder. It was far too big for her, looking ridiculous on a frame that had lost condition in the past month or so where time working out and constant sorties into the countryside to kill demons, Venatori, irascible mages and/or Templars was a thing of the past.
She should be grateful.
A knock upon the door echoed around her sparsely furnished chamber.
Cassandra sighed. She should be sleeping. Tomorrow she would speak the vows that would confirm her as Divine Victoria.
She would no longer exist.
Another knock roused her from her maudlin thoughts.
She scrambled from the bed, and padded her way to the door, yanking open the portal and peering into the gloom beyond.
"By the Maker, Cassandra, what an appalling outfit." The honeyed tones of Vivienne curled around her ears and left her stunned as the beautiful woman loomed from the shadows, her long, lean form clad in the height of fashion.
"Vivienne?" Cassandra glanced up and down the corridor. "What are you doing here?"
"Bringing you a present, my darling girl." Vivienne approached and laid her hand upon Cassandra's cheek. "Oh, so many tears shed. You poor thing."
"I'm not sad," Cassandra jerked her head back and frowned fiercely. "And what is this…gift?"
"I am the Inquisition's representative for the vows of the new Divine, darling. Erien couldn't make it and apologises sincerely. Some business about a marriage contract with her family."
"Erien is getting married?" Cassandra scowled, and tried not to be hurt that she hadn't been told.
"Of course. To that darling Commander of hers. Her family kicked up quite the fuss, you see. They didn't understand why she could not have aspired a little higher. But true love must run it's course, I suppose." Vivienne said drily. "But she sends her love, and a gift." The mage held out the cloth wrapped parcel.
"What is it?" Cassandra took the parcel, and turned it over. It bent heavily over her hands. A slip of folded card was tucked into a satin ribbon that bound the package.
Vivienne shrugged. "Something she said you would need and I had to make haste in its delivery. Goodnight, darling. I will see you tomorrow. How exciting. A new Divine." Vivienne's lips curled in a genuine smile. "Sleep well, my dear."
Cassandra closed the door as Vivienne left.
She tugged out the note. It was a simple scrawled missive typical of Erien:
"Do read this. We send our love. Don't be mad."
Cassandra smiled, her lower lip wobbling. She missed them. All of them. Messages had been brief as her days had been filled with meetings and introductions and instructions.
She missed him most of all.
She missed his warmth. His biting wit. His smile. His heart that was hers.
She sighed, and rolled the wrists back of the sleeves of his tunic. He had damnably long arms.
She loved him.
She pressed her fingertips to her brow. No amount of praying had fixed that. No amount of entreating to Andraste had taken the pain from her heart.
She sighed and tugged open the ribbons. The cloth fell back and she frowned at the twine bound sheaf of papers now sitting on her bed.
She peered at the cover page.
"The Templar and her Rogue"
She frowned, and yanked down the string that obscured the author's name.
Varric Tethras.
His name brought at ache to her throat and the title a growing sense of dread.
She tugged at the strings and turned to the first page.