Wasn't that just fascinating, duckies? You have to hand it to the Inquisitor, she takes a great deal of pride in being even-handed to her foes, almost as much as she enjoys being tight-lipped about herself and her friends. Lest you think the night ended with Gaspard's beheading, however, let me set your mind at ease; the Seeker did not repair to her bedchamber when negotiations concluded-instead she remained on the balcony where the meeting took place, even as the rest of the court struck up a dance in celebration. Your favourite rapscallion was also skulking about for eavesdropping, and the things I witnessed I now pass on to you, being a fair-minded scoundrel with a taste for posterity. I think the Inquisitor would approve, don't you?

It wasn't long before a certain sturdy dwarf joined said Inquisitor at the railings. "I wouldn't've said it was possible to end a war with a snarl and a cutting glance, but you managed to do it, Seeker."

She rolled her eyes at the complicated compliment. "The war is far from ended," she insisted. "And it took far more than a growl of mine to put this unrest behind us. Pray tell, just who was it who found Celene's pet lover trussed up on the bed in her private chambers, naked and awaiting her return?"

"That'd be Isabela," Varric admitted, and without even having to be tortured first. The bastard. "Normally I'd have advised a bit of scepticism about that kind of story, but I had a look for myself, too. Maker's honest truth!"

"It must have been," Cassandra conceded, though wryly. "At any rate, the threat to reveal it was effective in adding a bit of leverage...so you have my thanks. You and the pirate both," she added, likely just in case I was listening in-which I was, of course, but she had no way of knowing that. "The truth is, I do not believe I could have made it this far without you, Varric."

The dwarf chuckled, patting her on the forearm. "I'm flattered, really, but I think we both know that with our without me, there's nothing you'd let stand in your way. It's one of the things I love about you, Seeker." His hand settled beside hers on the banister, and Cassandra found her little finger brushing against his.

"What else?"

The question hung in the air between them for a long moment, the woman incredulous that she had managed to speak it, the man unable to formulate an adequate reply. "...What?" He managed, after swallowing thickly.

"We should take our rest," the Seeker said, in lieu of clarifying. "Thank you again for your efforts on our behalf."

As she turned to go, though, Varric grasped her hand in his own, looking up into her eyes when she cast her gaze over him expectantly. "I love your courage," he told her, as seriously as I've ever heard him talk to anyone who isn't his brother. Then his lips tipped into a smirk. "And I love it when I manage to get you to smile, especially like that."

"Like what?" She wondered, but the smile on her lips didn't fade as she asked it.

"Like nobody's ever managed to tell you how gorgeous you are, Cassandra."

Her smile did falter, then, but only for a second; it reasserted itself after a blink, along with a flush of colour on her cheeks. "Of course that isn't fair for you to say, since I'm certain I've read that in one of your stories."

The dwarf clapped his free hand to his breast with a grunt. "You wound me, Seeker! I would never reuse a line on a real-live woman, no matter how accurate it happened to be."

The Seeker's grin devolved into a smirk of her own and she canted her head at him, her fingers lacing through his. "And we both know how honest you have been in all of your dealings with me," she observed.

"A regular oracle," the dwarf concurred, leaning more heavily against the banister. "At least since you started pointing your sharp objects in the other direction. My tongue has been known to develop a mind of its own when it thinks it's in danger of being cut out, you understand."

"That is surprisingly good to know," Cassandra mused, slipping closer to his side to look out upon the gardens. "From this height, it is impossible to surmise that there has been any death here tonight, nor any unpleasantness at all; it appears nothing short of enchanted."

"That's what money'll get you," Varric replied, making no attempt to reintroduce the gap that Cassandra's movement had closed between them. He glanced upward, catching sight of Satina hanging in the sky like a small jewel, though the angle meant he doubtless caught sight of the Seeker, as well. "Of course, money only gets you so far. Some of the most beautiful things can't be bought."

Cassandra's brows drew together as she regarded him almost warily, though her smirk remained. "I cannot decide whether your flirting is meant to drive me to distraction or to your bedchamber." She took his surprised guffaw as something of a challenge, because she turned more fully toward him, leaning her elbow upon the banister. "Tell me, do you even know? Or are your tongue's motives a mystery to you, too?"

The poor dwarf worked his mouth like a fish gulping air for a pair of seconds before he recovered the power of speech. "I...wasn't aware that the second option was actually an option, Seeker."

"I did not say it was," she reminded him.

Varric's expression grew more serious. "Look, we're...friends, right?" He waited for her nod before he continued. "I mean I can't say I don't mean anything by it, but I don't wanna make you think…" The wordsmith searched for the proper phrase, and found it wanting. "I'll stop. Flirting, I mean. Sorry."

Silence hung between them for a couple of heartbeats, but neither moved to unlace their fingers in that time. Finally Cassandra found her voice. "...And if I did not want you to stop?"

Another pause, during which a mischievous light began to glint in Varric's eye. "I'd have to wonder whether you were wanting me to drive you to distraction," he mused, "or to your bedchamber."

"I was not aware that the second option was actually an option," the Seeker said, the grin evident in her voice.

"I never said it wasn't," the dwarf replied, lowly. It was all I could do not to lean through the bush and tell them to get on with it, but for the sake of love (and a good story) I persevered, arduous as the task of restraint might have been. "Maker, but you're a handsome woman," he remarked. "You know, I always thought so, even when your thugs had me by the armpits."

"Yes, well...I admit that I had once or twice indulged in a fancy, thinking that I might meet you someday, should my duty bring me to Kirkwall."

"Really?"

"Really," Cassandra insisted, looking more serious. "I have admired your tales for more years than either of us would likely care to remember, and I...regret that when my duty finally did bring me to Kirkwall, it also brought you astride my path."

Varric whistled his surprise. "You really fooled me, back then. I figured I was just another mark to you, someone to pump for information."

"Once your name crossed my desk, you were." Cassandra allowed the silence to linger for a pair of heartbeats before the corners of her lips tipped once more. "It pleases me more than I can say to have regained your trust in the time since, and to have been able to extend my trust in turn."

If he was taken aback by the sober confession he did not show it, instead bringing her gloved hand up to his lips for a faint kiss. "Then I'm honoured to have earned your confidence, my lady Seeker. May Andraste strike me with piles if I ever betray it."

"Again," she reminded him, her expression far more serious than it should have been.

"...Again," the dwarf conceded.

"And do not blaspheme," Cassandra scolded, her eyes hardening until a bit of colour fled Varric's cheeks the warrior woman's frank admission, he did not show it, chuckling instead like a parrot on the wing. "Well, if anyone'd asked me back then if I knew I'd wind up standing here, on a balcony in the Winter Palace, holding your hand...I would've told them to keep their day jobs, because fortune-telling obviously wasn't their forté."

"It is a surprising development," she admitted. "...But not an unwelcome one."

Just at that moment, my attention was drawn off of the pair, as I noticed some noble arsehole sidling closer, looking like he wanted to snatch a moment's conversation with the Inquisitor. Since the Inquisitor was at present engaged in a private conversation that no masked ponce had any business interrupting, I gamely intervened, which took a great deal of skill to pull off without alerting the warrior and the dwarf. By the time I sent the interloper packing and returned to my hiding place, the conversation had moved on, and it seemed the ship was in danger of losing its sails.

"It has been a very, very long day," Cassandra said, with the kind of sigh usually reserved for disapproving priests.

"And yet you haven't actually killed anyone tonight, Seeker, as far as I can tell," the dwarf mused. "Unlike some of us, anyway…"

"If you were not entertained by my handling of court politics, I am certain we can take a detour through the garden on the way to our sleeping quarters; there may yet be some errant venatori in search of a blade."

"Now that does sound romantic...but like you said, it's been a long day. Maybe I should just take you to bed, instead?"

The warrior's brow slowly arched. "...Did you mean to ask if you could escort me to my bedchamber, dwarf?"

"Of course," Varric insisted. "What did I say?"

She shook her head, unable to contain the little smile that stole across her lips. "Nothing," she allowed, turning from the bannister while keeping her hand in his grip. "Shall we?"

"As you wish, my lady Seeker," he supplied, and they set off just as the minstrels renewed the music for the start of a new dance. I had to be quick about hiding and stealthy in my stalking-all for posterity, I'll remind you-but luckily for the three of us, the rest of the court was entertained by watching Sera and the Herald making a fool of themselves on the dance floor, oblivious to the rest of the world. It would have been fascinating to witness if I hadn't already hitched my wagon to the least likely couple in the whole of the Inquisition. (Even if they, strictly speaking, hadn't yet become what you would call a couple-that is coming, duckies. Pirate's honour.)

Now, I had to be stealthy all along the corridors to the guest wing, so I missed the snickered banter that the dwarf and the warrior passed through the halls, at least until they reached Cassandra's door. There they hesitated, and I was able to sneak behind an enormous vase that some imperial decorator had conveniently placed within whispering distance of the entryway. "Whelp," the dwarf gruffed, "I guess this is good night, Seeker."

"I...suppose it is," Cassandra conceded, but she looked no closer to relinquishing the dwarf's grip than she had at the beginning of their walk. "Unless…"

"...Unless?"

"Unless you were in earnest about taking me to bed," the warrior supplied, but lowly, so that I had to strain and risk notice to make out her words.

They went without reply for too many heartbeats before the dwarf was able to muster more than a disbelieving laugh. "You're serious?" He wondered, at similar tones. I could see a hint of colour rising in her cheeks, and he must have, too, because his tongue grew more nimble before she could retract what she'd said. "I mean...if you're saying what I think you're saying, then...yes. I was in earnest, for what it's worth."

It must have been worth a captain's ransom, it turns out. "We are both of us adults," Cassandra said. "And unencumbered, though neither of us may have hoped for such. In any event, I will understand if you do not wish to complicate matters between us…"

Varric looked up and down the hall, forcing me to duck back behind the vase, but I could make out his words well enough, withall. "I'm not going anywhere you don't want me to, Seeker. If you want to say goodnight, pretend I never said anything, we can do that...there isn't anyone here to say otherwise." Oh, how wrong he was, though of course he didn't know it at the time. Instead of taking the out he offered, though, the Inquisitor screwed up her courage and pulled him through her door, taking care to close and latch it firmly behind them.

You may have noticed how scrupulous I've been in recording these facts without embellishment; I assure you, my ducklings, that is only to impress upon you the reality of what theretofore passed. Now, though, I'm going to indulge in a bit of speculation about what came next-speculation buttressed by what I saw and heard through the keyhole, and what I needled out of Varric on the way back to Skyhold. The bald facts are that Varric entered Cassandra's bedchamber at Satina's height and did not emerge until well after sunup. Most of the details of what happened between these two happenings are lost to history-which means I get to make them up to your heart's content.

"Seeker," Varric rumbled, resting heavily against the closed door as she finally disentangled their fingers and began to work herself out of her armour.

"Do not just stand there with your mouth agape," the Inquisitor admonished, working at her buckles and giving him a sidelong glance. "If you wish to see this armour piled upon the floor, those fingers of yours could do well to help me."

"Yes ma'am," the dwarf acceded, kicking off the door and moving to help her shed the ceremonial plate and chain that had weighed her down all evening. It took more minutes than he probably would have liked to get all the clanky bits in a pile, but finally the Inquisitor stood before him in nothing but her padded undershirt and leggings. "Maker," he swore. "How do you even manage to do this without a squire?"

"Too slowly," she replied, casting her eyes down and away as though abashed. If her courage waned in the last moment, though, it was buoyed by Varric's hand, which moved to cup her cheek when she hesitated. His palm rested lightly along her jawline, his longest finger curling beneath her earlobe, his thumb grazing down the scar cleft into her face. She looked into his eyes, both sets such a similar shade of brown, and yet so different in cast and character. Where hers were wary, guarded and cool at the best of times, his were warm and earnest, as though backlit by the stories that lived in his mind. His warmth wicked through his fingers and into the flesh of her face, drawing her more fully into his touch, and she leaned forward instinctively, bringing a hand to his shoulder for leverage as he drew her down.

That first kiss was tentative, shallow but not brief, and they both kept their eyes open and locked upon the other's as their lips lingered. One heartbeat bled into another, and it became clear that the dwarf would not push, however ardent he'd proclaimed his desire to be. Theirs was not a romance born of flowers and poems, of distant yearning leavened by intermittent passion, of the sort she had enjoyed with her nave for much of her life; it was not necessarily better or worse, what she had now...just different. And after the year she'd had, the Inquisitor needed different.

Varric was the first to blink, the first to break in the duel of their shared stare, the first to break the spell sketched out by their hesitant lips. Though it had not been a toe-curling clash of tongues, both warrior and dwarf had to catch their breath, their hearts stirring to rob them off breath. "You don't want me to go?" Varric wondered, thickly, having to swallow against the need crawling up his tongue.

Her brow drew down, her own voice rather huskier than it had any right to be. "Not at all," she breathed, the same three syllables she'd spoken in Kirkwall in answer to a different query from the selfsame dwarf, though what once had been a sinister undertone was tinged now with an edge of lust and shaded by an even deeper need, one she had not even properly expressed to herself. "Do you wish to leave, Varric?"

"No, Cassandra," he told her, giving her name as much weight add she'd given his. "Not for a good long while, yet."

"Then show me," she breathed, her fingers vicing into his shoulder.

There was nothing tentative about their kiss this time, and though Cassandra fought to keep her eyes lighting on his rugged features, she found her lids nearly too heavy to resist when his tongue parted her lips, his arms banding around her torso, one at the small of her back and the other just beneath her shoulders, thick with more muscle than a self-described businessman had any right to possess...not that she could complain, or even consider the matter at all closely when he took a half-step back and pulled her to her knees so that it was she who must arch her back and he who loomed over her. Her own strength melted under his influence, one hand nestling betwixt his shoulder blades, the other fisting in his hair, clinging as though to a plank, getting lost in the gyre his lips and tongue stirred within her.

Varric, for his part, found himself caught between the welcome inferno of her mouth and the stifling heat of his coat, sweat already beginning to bead upon his brow, but he dared not be the one to break her kiss a second time; this was the first real kiss he'd had in a lot longer than he cared to remember, and he was going to savour it for as long as he could. The fingers in his hair twisted, building up the pressure until the thong of leather gave way and loose strands fell about his face, tickling over the Seeker's cheeks until she laughed into his kiss. The sensation broke through the last of her inner resistance and she finally allowed the slits of her eyes to close, the tension in her lips draining away as she truly melted into him.

It had also been too long since her last proper tongue lashing, and far longer since anyone stronger than her had touched her without ill intent, but there was a security in that strength, an anchor she could hold fast to even as the storm built on the horizon. It was she who broke their kiss this time, to catch her breath if for no other reason, and she slid from his arms with a swordswoman's grace and a regretful cast to her expression. Rather than speak her apologies, however, the warrior woman rocked back onto her heels and stood, reclaiming the advantage of the high ground. The dwarf's desire was written in his eyes, but he took the opportunity to shrug his coat onto the floor and work himself out of his boots. Cassandra only took a moment's indecision to peel off her padded undershirt, and after a breath they both stood in nothing but their trousers. Varric kept his gaze to her face as long as he could, but as soon as her eyes slipped down to admire the dwarf's broad chest, he returned the favour.

They'd both earnt a catalogue of scars over the course of years their lives had taken, though whether it was from her own stubbornness or his penchant for dodging, her catalogue was quite a bit more formidable than his. You couldn't tell it to look at his face, though; he saw every inch of her without flinching, and she saw herself reflected in his eyes and she knew what it was like to feel beautiful to someone again...even if only for a night.

When they came together a third time, it wasn't overly cautious like the first, nor heedlessly heated like the second, but more deliberative, an exploration of murky shores. Their fingers traded caresses on each other's shoulders and flanks as Varric's lips and tongue began mapping the line of her collarbone and the curve of her throat, territory he'd seen at a distance, but had yet to properly chart. His palm glided up the inside of her thigh, thick fingers testing the heat of her core through the cloth of her britches, and she drew him back toward get too-soft bed for want of pushing him down to the floor. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and found that it brought them to a similar height, so she wasted no time in reclaiming his mouth with her own lips, even as his meddling fingers lifted a low, needy groan from the depths of her chest. Her hands slid lower on his hips, fingers testing the top of his trousers and finding them pliable enough to slip her knuckles beneath the band; she tugged him closer, satisfied by the captive stiffness that pressed into her core, and even more satisfied by the yearning grunt that her heat tore from him in its turn.

The dwarf didn't stay idle long, his left hand sliding up the back of her neck to grip her hair and lever her head back, giving him renewed access to her throat even as his right hand fumbled at her laces, and she obliged his efforts by sliding her hips forward, bringing her knees up to either side of him. Still attending to the flesh at the hollow of her neck and shoulder with his mouth, Varric pulled back enough to let her peel out of her leggings, and she wasn't long in tugging his own trousers' laces. They both paused to take fuller stock of one another when the last of their clothes lay in a tangle by their feet, and once again Varric's eyes wrote his desire as plain as a manifest for her to see as he beheld her. His palm moved from her shoulder to the now well-charted expanse of her neck, his thumb playing along the bottom of her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his lips parting for a single, hopeful question. "Yes?"

Cassandra's fingers slid from the curve of his hips to the planes of his shoulderblades, her eyes roaming from his newly-exposed girth to his broad jaw and stubbled cheeks, and finally to those aspiring eyes; she had imagined this, imagined him, though she hadn't fully admitted it even to herself, before tonight. In the span of heartbeats it took her to answer, she understood that she'd wanted him for a long time, and she couldn't think of a single reason not to take him. "Yes," she told him, breathlessly, inclining her head just so. "...Yes."

...And I think that's enough friend fiction for one history book, my lovely duckies; if you want more, you'll just have to go scrounging through the library to find it. Just look for any scrolls sealed with my kiss. (Also, just in case the Inquisitor ever does read this codex and takes exception, she'll do well to remember that I could have kept writing and didn't. Also Varric would be very sad if I were keelhauled.)

oOoOo

At the bottom of this page rests the now-familiar kiss stained in ochre, with the winking eyes, along with a pair of short notes scribbled in different hands. The first is nearly as jaunty in its script as the pirate's, and simply reads 'You know, the door didn't even have a keyhole. Good try, Rivaini.' The second is only a bit longer, though its script is tighter, the letters more considered, much closer to the author of the narrative.

'I must wonder if it was worth missing a night with Hawke in the Winter Palace for this, especially when the reality was even more satisfying than you could have possibly imagined.'

Author's note: Thanks so much to coffee_maker at archiveofourown for lending her eyes yet again. If anyone is interested in seeing the follow-up encounter between Varric and Cassandra that *doesn't* fade to black just as it gets interesting, I've started a companion collection on archiveofourown called Apocrypha of the Inquisition, whose first chapter details round two of the above. It was a gift to coffee_maker, so you should be able to find it from either of our profiles over on AO3.