Twenty-Six
Hi-Hi, Hi-Ho, He's Off to Val Royeaux
She awoke with a ragged gasp, entangled in sheets dampened from cold sweat, her whole body heated to a feverish pink hue. A powerful surge had disturbed her, ripping her from the Fade and out of a nightmare, though the details of the terror were difficult to shake in the midst of yet another attack.
Cassandra rose erratically and threw the blankets aside, stumbling past the furniture to her wash basin on a pedestal in the corner. She poured chilled water from an enchanted crystalline ice decanter given to her by Vivienne at the start of her recovery, and set it aside before splashing her face to wake herself up. Images still danced before her eyes… A warrior encased in glowing red crystals, forcing her mouth open and entering through her mouth bodily to step into her skin, pulling her legs over his as though they were but trousers, her arms on as if they were mere sleeves, the pressure inside bursting her wide open while he wore her like a suit to assume her very identity.
She looked down at her hands in the dim moonlight shining through her drapes, dark, poisoned veins throbbing up her forearms like a black shadow steadily creeping toward her. Her blood called out in that same inhuman voice, beckoning her to surrender mind and body over to its whims.
Odd movement to her right caught her attention, and Cassandra's heart nearly leapt from her throat as she spotted the delicate decanter lift ghost-like from the pedestal, floating impossibly before her face. Filled with terror, she threw out her hand and knocked it to the floor, where it cracked in three pieces, the icy water forming a pool on the floorboards near her nightstand.
Trembling, her other hand reached up to grasp the amulet on her chest in desperation. "Andraste preserve me," she prayed aloud, though her thoughts were delirious at best. Had it actually been floating, or was her sanity slipping slowly from her grasp…? "Maker, help me shoulder this terrible burden. Make it stop…"
The whispers quieted as she spoke, the amulet working to quell most of her swelling horror, but to her utter turmoil, it wasn't nearly enough to dispel the waking nightmare she now lived. She urgently needed to go to a place where she might be heard more clearly, somewhere she could be close to the Maker and His Bride, and find comfort in the solace of their approving gazes.
Denying the red lyrium the pleasure of assuming control had almost debilitating effects, weakening her enough for Cassandra to believe it was vindictively robbing her of strength as punishment for possessing a strong will with which to fight. Regardless, she hugged her elbows and crossed her room to the war chest at the foot of her bed, straining to raise the lid and rifle around for her armour. Her chest plate felt heavy in her arms when she lifted it up, dropping it on her mattress and gasping for breath, arms braced on the solid footboard for support. Knees shook, breath shuddered, elbows locked, the intensity of these bouts beginning to increase, and lasting longer than before. Either her resistance was faltering, or her ill-advised brush with temptation in the yard earlier had proven to be a worse lapse in judgement than she could have imagined.
Cassandra gripped the wood until her knuckles shone white, pulling herself slowly to her bedside and all but collapsing down on the feather-stuffed mattress. She paused for a long moment to catch her second wind before forcing herself back up, staring with determination at the chest of drawers beneath the window, impossibly far away. Biting her tongue to keep from groaning, she got back to her feet and took a tentative step forward, followed by another, and promptly fell to her knees on the floorboards, the song in her skull screaming for release. Her mouth hung open as she stared at the spasms in her fingers, unsure whether or not the pain in her throat indicated she was shouting along with the harrowing cacophony, but she pushed past her fear and crawled forward, a hand feeling blindly for the knob of the bottom drawer.
Sweat drenched her simple cotton nightgown, and she hissed each breath through clenched teeth, at least bearing out the worst of it. When she at last made it to the drawers, she sat down heavily against them, waiting out the madness while she desperately distracted her mind with calm verses from the Chant of Light.
Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written…
In their blood…
Maker, is this truly Your will for me…? What had she done to deserve such suffering? Was this a test she was meant to pass?
Or was she being used like fodder in a test designed for someone else?
The power of the surge died down under the amulet's glow, the torture mercifully passing over the Seeker for the moment. Still trapped in a daze, she blinked through the darkness, her hand automatically reaching inside the drawer to retrieve a pair of reinforced leggings.
There was no point in sitting around to wait for fate to claim her. She needed guidance more than rest, now. Picking up her clothes, she carefully rose to finish dressing herself and secured the armour in place, strapping her scabbard to her hip before heading out the door and into the night.
~oOo~
She struck her match against the pumice stone on the altar, shielding the new flame with her palm as she lit a candle in the chapel. Joining her hands in prayer, she knelt before the statue and closed her weary eyes, anxious to feel the Maker's touch on her spirit, if only for a moment. Unable to sleep, it was all Leliana could think to do when the keep was lost to dreams.
"O Maker, hear my cry," she prayed, pressing the thumbs of her clasped hands to her forehead in earnest. "Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places…"
Silence filled the still air, the only sounds those of the whispering of the burning wicks. How she longed to hear the Maker as clearly as she had in Lothering all those years ago, but that had been wishful thinking only… She'd made herself believe a lie, and now she spent her days convincing others to do the same…
"O Creator, see me kneel," Leliana continued, her light voice a mere shadow dancing in the dark. "For I walk only where you would bid me. Stand only in places You have blessed. Sing only the words You place in my throat…"
It had been ages since she had sung the ballads of a true bard, the song that had lighted her spirit losing heart as the world around her had crumbled once again. She'd helped to save the world once, and had naively believed in that "happily ever after" the ending of the Blight had seemingly promised. But everything had gone back to the way it once was: corrupt, wicked, scheming in shadows, plotting in secret, striving for power. And she'd let herself believe that, this time, the Maker had a righteous path for her to walk, one that led her to the Sunburst Throne.
But it wasn't to be. Again, she had been blindsided by His so-called plan.
She'd never heard the chapel door open at her back, focused more on her pleas for understanding to take notice of anything else happening around her. And when the Right Hand of the Divine knelt silently at her side, Leliana raised her head in astonishment.
Cassandra didn't look her way, her red eyes more intense than the Spymaster had remembered them ever being previously. The heat radiated from her like a hearth fire, yet somehow a cold chill penetrated Leliana to the bone. Artery and vein alike stood out on her pale skin – or what she could see of it beyond the armour she wore. She suddenly felt underdressed in her own light leathers, sans her usual chainmail and draping hood, but she understood Cassandra's instinctive impulse to arm herself, especially when her health was clearly hanging by a thread.
"My Maker," her friend struggled to pray through her breaking voice, "know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain…" Leliana kept her gaze averted as she spoke, her spirit torn asunder as she felt the sincerity of Cassandra's appeal. "Judge me worthy of Your endless pride." She paused for a moment to breathe, the simple act a struggle to complete. "My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I might be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to Your approval…"
If fire alone could cleanse her, Leliana would have set her ablaze right then and there. The suffering she endured was unimaginable, and had surely brought her here in search of answers. How could the Maker pass this cup to Cassandra, of all people? She was so steadfast in her faith, certainly more so than even herself. Never had she questioned the Maker's will so brazenly as Leliana had, and yet she was the one the Maker had seen fit to die needlessly… No, she thought bitterly. I refuse.
"O Maker, hear my cry," the Seeker tried to complete the last verse. "…Seat me by Your side in dea–"
"Don't say it," she interrupted quickly before she could stop herself. "Don't ask that of Him, Cassandra."
She looked up, angled brows furrowing over bright red eyes, but her expression softened in understanding. If she asked to be one within the Maker's glory, He just might grant it. The panic that had resided at the back of the Orlesian's mind since the day of Varric's return reached the forefront, the thought of having to bury her dear friend beneath the mountain bringing tears to her blue eyes. It was unfathomable, the possibility never crossing her mind so vividly until tonight.
Without thinking twice, Leliana reached out and grasped Cassandra's clasped hands, wishing that with her simple gesture she could transfer all strength to her, to help her fight the curse in her body. In wordless reply, she bent her head and laid her temple against the Spymaster's cold fingers, sighing slowly in appreciation. The bonds that had frayed in the War Room earlier that day had been stitched back together in an instant, both Left and Right Hand joined in silent prayer. For what was Leliana without her rock of faith fighting by her side…?
"What was said today," she practically mouthed, her tone barely decipherable even in the stillness of the small sanctuary, "was unworthy of me… I was stubborn and emotional, and it shouldn't have gone as far as it did… Forgive me."
Cassandra raised her eyes to the altar and closed her tired lids. Whatever healing she had hoped to gain by coming here, she appeared to have received. "There is nothing to be sorry for, Leliana," she offered her full pardon unequivocally.
Shaking her head, the jaded Bard's eyes drifted away sadly. "But there is… I was the one who convinced the others that Varric should sever ties with you."
Silence again. The Seeker was statuesque beside her, not even her breath audible. Perhaps the confession had robbed it from her entirely. "There is also no need to confess," she revealed. "I already know."
Leliana was unaware that Cassandra had been informed, but then again she must have been, judging by the confrontation after the battle plans were laid out. "Was it Cullen?" She guessed, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"No," the warrior replied evenly, "he said nothing."
She nodded slowly in acceptance. It wasn't in the Commander's nature to cave under interrogation. After all, she'd witnessed him survive far worse in the past… "I suppose you just know me better than I thought you did."
Cassandra sat back, resting her elbows on her knees and slumping forward, a hand rubbing carefully over the painfully sensitive skin of her face. "I thought I knew myself," she sighed through her crisis of faith. "I thought I knew the Maker's will for me. But now?" She huffed out a breath. "…I don't know what to think. I truly believed the Maker had other plans in mind. Now, those plans are no more than dust. I'd thought perhaps it was the Maker's way of clearing the path to the Sunburst Throne, but that was not so… What does He desire from me?"
Relaxing her posture, Leliana sat with a hand bracing herself up on the stone floor. "Our lives… Our deaths… Our suffering. Everything." Though she was being negative, there was at least one silver lining in all this. "As for Vivienne becoming Divine, I'm convinced it simply came down to the Inquisitor refusing to choose between either of us to preserve our friendship…" She met Cassandra's fiery gaze, ignoring the stark resemblance to smouldering coals in a dying fire and searching for the soft brown eyes buried somewhere under the lyrium. "If there still is one…?"
The red coals rolled. "Ugh, Leli, enough."
She laughed softly at the underlying sentiment. "I'll take that as a yes…" Turning to her then, a smirk touched her lips. "And as your friend, I should say: Really, Cassandra? Varric? You could do far better."
The fact alone that the Seeker tried not to laugh was rewarding enough, lifting her spirits from the dark pit they'd fallen in. "Trust me, Leli, before all this, I would have agreed without argument, but…" Cassandra turned her face shyly, something Leliana had never witnessed her do, and the expression took her aback. "Varric was… thoughtful and kind. He could make me laugh and cry with only his words, spoken or written. Hopeful and bright, yet delightfully cynical and real. And sacrificial at times… It's difficult to explain without sounding like a foolish schoolgirl," she admitted, biting her dry, cracked lip softly at the sad memories. "In truth, despite everything, I wish he had not listened to you. I can't see how it could have been his fault, what happened out there. I was the one who lost the fight."
"When he left the War Room, the last thing I expected Varric to do was listen to us," she sighed regretfully. "He all but told us to take a long walk off a short pier."
Cassandra laughed softly at that, but there was an involuntary catch in her throat which cut off the levity instantly, and Leliana's heart ached to hear it. She had put that catch there in the first place, cutting the quilt of trust and love the two lovers had stitched together. It probably wasn't the best choice of words, either, seeing as the Seeker had been the one thrown literally from a pier into the murky waters of the Mire. Maker, why did she only break everything she touched…?
Reflecting on Cassandra's words again, Leliana turned to her suddenly, slight realisation hitting her. "He never offered you an explanation?"
She shook her head forlornly, a chill running up her back. "I can only speculate, though I have no real answers. We have not spoken since. Perhaps he wanted to tell me, but… I didn't give him the chance."
Andraste, guide me… What would you have me do? The Spymaster held her breath, not knowing how much to reveal, if anything. Without Varric, her friend was safer from harm, but she now was beginning to see that the Seeker was indeed still wounded, but in an entirely different manner. Leliana had been so intent on protecting Cassandra from the physical that she had never stopped to consider the emotional loss she'd borne on top of all else. How deep was their relationship? Maker, had she completely underestimated the dwarf…?
"Cassandra… After we informed Varric of the origins of the attack, he was… disturbed. Distraught, even. He felt wholly responsible for everything. Looking back, I should have tried to ease those assertions, but I let him take the blame." She braced herself against the hard stare the Seeker was shooting her way, though she deserved any harshness directed toward her. "I wanted him to leave you alone for good. We had been told you were dead… None of us were willing to go through the pain of losing you again, and I thought… If he believed he was at fault for it all, the chances were greater that he would leave well enough alone." Meeting the wide-eyed gaze of her friend, Leliana's lips pressed to a fine line. "Now that I've had a chance to weigh my actions in a new light, I owe him an apology, too." She reached out her hand to rest on Cassandra's knee. "But as terrible as my transgressions are, you're safe from further harm now… And that is what matters most to me."
The Seeker's jaw was slack, her features numbed as thoughts buzzed through her mind faster than she could give them voice. She stirred, the hand on her knee falling away as she got her feet under her. "I should speak with him," she muttered, apprehension in her tone. It was clear she didn't know what she would say, but that was incidental in the grand scheme of things.
Rising from the stone floor, Leliana's blue eyes softened as she broke the news. "You can't. He's gone, Cassandra."
She stepped back in shock, her hand involuntarily shooting to the pommel of her sword, as it always did when faced with a tense situation. "What do you mean, 'gone'?! To the Arbor Wilds?! To Kirkwall?!"
Crossing her arms over her chest uncomfortably, the Spymaster shook her head. "No, he left with Vivienne and the others for Val Royeaux just after the Inquisitor –"
"Why didn't he tell me?!"
Her eyes narrowed warily, unsure of what she would do if Leliana said more, but she owed her the truth. Sighing, she ran a hand through her red locks and explained, "I heard Dorian ask if Varric was going to say goodbye to you first, but he shook his head." She swallowed hard to counter the dryness in her throat. "He said, 'If I play this right, I'll never have to say goodbye to her again.'"
Cassandra's eyes reddened as she glanced up at the statue on the altar, and her jaw set in determination when she stormed toward the chapel door. "Oh, fuck all of that shit!"
"Cassandra? Cassandra, wait!"
~oOo~
Blackwall dozed in and out of consciousness in the hay loft, the several blankets piled over him meant to keep the mountain chill at bay, but he kicked them down to his middle in frustration, worry keeping him from his dreams.
He'd bid farewell to the Inquisitor, Cole, Bull, and Solas just after supper, watching the winged messengers take flight from the rookery to deliver their battle plans to Leliana's spies. As the last of their forces marched on with the Commander for southern Orlais, his heart had stopped, for with him rode Lady Josephine, off to do Maker-knew-what in the fight against Corypheus. Why had she gone to the battle? Guts wrenching within him, he laid helpless, worried sick that the subject of his unrequited love might come back injured… Or worse, not at all.
He turned on his other side, shoving his fists beneath the pillow in an effort to restrain himself. Cullen would watch over her; he'd not let her leave the safety of Skyhold unless he was assured of her safety. And Blackwall told himself this for the umpteenth time tonight, yet still his heart wouldn't stop racing long enough for him to sleep.
If only there was something I could do.
"…Are you insane?! You can't go on your own!"
"What's 'insane' is him leaving me behind!" A pause as two pairs of bootsteps drew close. "Master Dennet. Forgive the hour, but I need your sturdiest mount. Now."
Blackwall sat upright in his cot, thick black brows drawing together in alarm.
"Belay that order! You're in no condition to just ride off into the night! Do you even remember the state you were in when you came back from –!"
"I was cleared, Leliana. If you believe I'd simply lie in bed and wait for someone else to save me, you're gravely mistaken. I will have a say in my own fate."
Maker's Balls, be careful what you wish for, you dumb bastard. Hurriedly tossing the blankets aside, the warrior dashed to the other end of the loft, digging through his belongings and throwing on his armour haphazardly. Varric's going to fucking kill me. Blackwall brushed the hay from his backside and long black hair, slapping himself awake as he threw on his boots as fast as humanly possible, still listening to the kerfuffle going on at the barn door.
"Have you even thought through your plan?! What if the red lyrium decides to strike and there's no one around to help you?"
Cassandra's next remark cut deep. "How would that be any different than here? Why do you think I went to the chapel tonight?"
His hands fumbled while tightening the leather straps, securing his chest plate over the padded armour. Sword: check. Shield: check. Rucksack – damn it, where is that bloody –
"This is a sign; the Maker wanted me to find out. I am sure of it, now… What have you got for me?"
"Eh… Well, the dracolisk can get you to where you need to go in good time, ma'am. She's a hardy beast, if a bit fearsome-looking, but she'll treat you well if respected. It'd be nifty to see a legendary Pentaghast riding a fine creature with dragon's blood in her veins."
Doing a last-minute check for provisions, he mentally patted his own back for always having the foresight to be prepared to bolt at a minute's notice. He supposed all those years as a soldier and fugitive had at least taught him a thing or two, in the end. Equipped at last, he walked to the ladder and slid down, landing silently in the straw coating the barn floor.
"I forbid you to go, Cassandra. Stay with me," Leliana was now all but pleading with her. "The others have either gone to the Arbor Wilds to take the eluvian, or to Val Royeaux to search for a cure for you. Why not wait and see what they –"
When the Spymaster caught sight of him, she gasped and threw a hand over her heart, but she looked grateful that it was only him that had walked out of the darkness, yet perturbed that he was armed and ready to be commanded. Frowning seriously, his steely gaze met Cassandra's, doing his best to quell his racing heart at sight of her faintly-glowing eyes. "…Are you sure about this, Lady Seeker?"
She eyed his armour curiously for a moment, but then she glanced between him and Leliana, bringing herself to her full height defiantly. "As sure as I've ever been about anything. Why? Are you going to try to stop me, too?"
Blackwall shook his head, scratching at his thick beard before approaching the dracolisk and opening the stable gate to lead her out. "No, there's not much point in arguing. I'm accompanying you." To the night watch high up on the battlements, he shouted, "Lower the drawbridge and open the gates!"
Leliana huffed incredulously, throwing a hand up in desperation for someone to see reason. "You can't go to the capital! Here, you're Blackwall, but in their eyes, you're Rainier. You'll be torn apart by a mob before you can catch them!"
"I'll be in no more danger than Cassandra would be if left on her own," he pointed out sombrely, the click of the iron gates sounding as it rose. Remembering Varric's parting words, he pursed his lips and nodded toward the Seeker. "I made a promise, and hell if I'm about to break it. Saddle up. We ride tonight."
Shocked at what was happening, the bard stepped back, shaking her head in denial all the while. A mournful breath escaped her lips, deep concern written all over her face as Dennet finally finished fitting the saddle to the dracolisk's back. "You're mad," she protested weakly, hugging her elbows to fight not only the bitter chill.
Blackwall hooked his right foot in the stirrup and hoisted his weight up, settling properly before turning to take Cassandra's hand while the horsemaster assisted her in settling close behind him.
"I'll be back, Leliana," the Seeker swore her oath. "Thank you for telling me the truth."
"Hold tight," Blackwall bade her, waiting for her to wrap her arms around him before snapping the reins. "Hyah!"
~oOo~
"Wow! So, this is Val Royeaux. Much more colourful than Orzammar, isn't it?"
Varric adjusted the fine ivory silk of his overcoat, striding past an ornate fountain in the market square, the light of dusk revealing several enchanting lights installed beneath the surface of the water. "I wouldn't know, Cupcake."
Dagna made an odd face, wincing and shaking her head. "Uh-uh. Try again; that one doesn't really work for me."
At his back, Dorian and Sera snickered together, attempting to keep their mirth to a minimum as Madam de Fer led the way past the shops to the high street. "I can't just pick another one out of thin air," the merchant prince protested, wondering absently whether some of the shops they passed might be worth his investments. "These nicknames have to come naturally."
The arcanist pondered for a moment as they went on, a light coming on in her head. "Oh, I get it! You want me to start over." Andraste's ass, that wasn't what he wanted. "Ahem. Wow! So, this is Val Royeaux. Much more colourful than Orzammar, isn't it, Red Dwarf?"
"Wha-" He stumbled, staring at the woman in frank disbelief. If anything, it was nice not to have to strain his neck to meet someone's eyes, but… still. "I can hear you, giggle twins," he grumbled over his shoulder. Turning back to Dagna, he complained out of the corner of his mouth, "You didn't say that the first time! And that nickname is super awful. Don't use it again."
"I thought it was kind of clever," she defended her choice, neatly avoiding the rude gentleman that seemingly hadn't noticed the dwarves and nearly slammed into her. "I mean, you're wearing red – well, usually - your hair is sort of reddish, you're a dwarf…" She sighed, shrugging a carefree shoulder. "Oh, well. Wow! So this is –"
"You know what, I'm this close to calling you 'Ditzy' just based off this bizarre conversation."
Glancing around at all the glitz and glamour around them, Dagna eventually muttered, "Well, I don't know how I ever gave you that impression."
"Nope. I can't do it," Sera burst out laughing behind him, Dorian grinning as he hooked her arm in his and did everything to preserve propriety. To his credit, he smiled and waved politely at a group of nosey onlookers, the snazzy new outfit Lavellan had crafted for him deflecting most of the criticism directed their way.
"I'll just stick to Dagna until I can peg you down," Varric pursed his lips, watching as a few of the shops started to close their shutters for the night. "This is getting weird."
Sera couldn't help herself, of course. "How about the Runemeister? That one has a ring to it!"
Dagna beamed, turning around and walking backwards. "Actually? That kind of works!" Vivienne had halted their pace with a great sigh, and the arcanist bumped clumsily into her leg before coming to a full stop. Embarrassed, she clasped her hands behind her back and lowered her eyes. "Sorry 'bout that."
Tapping her fingernails against her leg in aggravation, the Iron Lady took a slow, deep breath as she narrowed her brown eyes at them. "A certain degree of decorum is expected in the city, however dwarves aren't typically held to such standards, since most believe you incapable of manners. For my sake, at least attempt to prove them wrong, darlings. And do try to control yourselves. For the love of the Maker, I am seen with you." She fixed Varric with a glare then, as if to say, I let you select your own party, and this is how you betray me?
"Read you loud and clear, Iron Lady," Varric nodded, the gold of his jewellery gleaming under the newly-lit street lamps. "I'll just take my 'associates' and get out of your hair while you finish up your errands."
Vivienne smirked, letting out a sigh of relief. "You're far too kind, my dear," her smooth voice graciously replied. "We'll rendezvous for tea this evening. Do be punctual." And with that, she walked perfectly on high-heeled boots to a shop window, knocking on the glass pane and smiling at the shopkeepers within who were closing for the night. At sight of the First Enchanter, the women inside instantly primped their hair and raced to the door, unlocking it to allow their regal companion inside.
"So!" Dorian pulled their attention in his direction. "Here we are, Varric. Would you be interested in paying a visit to your little friend? I'm sure we can occupy ourselves while you tear her a new one."
"Pfft," Sera scoffed, "like I'm sittin' that one out. I wanna introduce some of my arrows to 'er ass."
The prospect of confronting Bianca riddled Varric with enough anxiety to tie his guts into giant knots of pure trepidation. He knew she had a new workshop nearby – she'd said as much on that fateful night in Valammar – but the last thing he wanted to do was track it down and have that conversation with her, however inevitable it was at this point.
"Hey, look at that," Dagna brightened beside him, causing his chest to tighten in fear that Bianca had been spotted coming toward him. "An apothecary! Looks fully-stocked, too. Maybe they have something in there to help with Cassandra's affliction."
Frowning, Varric nodded in agreement, more than happy to dodge the issue for now. "Yeah, let's check it out," he shrugged. "You never know." He led the merry band to the door, noting the opening hours painted on a card secured to the window.
"Five minutes before closing, Varric," Dorian observed. "Be quick about it."
Sera pulled out her bow and held it close to her side. "They'll close when I say so," she muttered, forcing open the door.
A bell tied to the top of the entrance alerted staff to new customers, and sure enough, a middle-aged human male in elaborate robes and an eye mask passed through the back curtain of the shop with a beaming smile. "Bonjour et bienvenue, Mesdames et Messieurs! Je suis le propriétaire de cet apothicaire," he greeted them in the purest Orlesian Varric had ever heard – and that was counting the damned Winter Palace. "Comment puis-je être utile ce soir?"
One by one, they glanced at each other in confusion, and eventually all eyes turned to Dorian expectantly, whom shook his head and smirked, baffled. "While I consider myself cultured," he muttered to them, "even I have my limits. As far as I was aware, only the Marshmen spoke pure Orlesian." Glancing at the man, their mage friend raised his voice as he slowly said, "Good evening to you. Do you speak the King's Tongue?"
"Oh! Excusez-moi, copians," the proprietor waved his hands elaborately. "I should have seen you were but touristes by your, eh… how you say… 'garments'." The smile he gave them was disingenuous at best, but only Sparkler seemed to take offense at this explanation. "You 'ave come for somsing spècifique, no?"
"Listen 'ere, fancypants," Sera cut through the bullshit, pushing her way to the glass counter and leaning over it conspiratorially. "Ever heard of red lyrium?"
The alchemist's eyes drifted to Varric and Dagna, his glossed lips pursing. "Will your petit copians not know more about zis? Ze lyrium eez mined by –"
"Not that blue shite," Sera rolled her eyes, laying her bow down on the counter to demonstrate her lack of patience. "Red lyrium. Like Red Jenny, or wotevah you say in Arrogant-ese. Wot's the word, Tevinter?" She asked suddenly, turning to her right.
The shopkeeper's eyes widened at the endearment the elf used, and his mouth fell open as he stared at Dorian. Chuckling nervously for a second, the altus shifted his weight from one hip to the other and straightened, the fact that Sera believed him fluent in the language of the arrogant not at all lost on him. "Ah, at a guess, Sera dear? Rouge, I believe."
"Right, rouge, or wot not. And I ain't talkin' cosmetics, right? It's like lyrium, but like really, really red an' all glowy an' shit. Seen it? It was everywhere outside the city until we got there and fixed it."
He shook his head. "I do not venture beyond ze glittering walls of Val Royeaux, where ze mud cakes on shoes like a dog's paws. I pay ozers to do zat for me."
Sera glared and growled under her breath, "Zen maybez you zhould openz yer eyezzz. Fuckface."
"Ah, okay, timeout," Varric interrupted the odd exchange, laying a hand on Sera's arm and guiding her away from the counter while desperately trying not to laugh. "Why don't you let me and Dagna take over, Buttercup?"
She froze in place, not letting him move her another centimetre before her demands were met. "Lemme hold Bianca and I'll shut my face."
Sighing, Varric reached over his shoulder and hoisted his crossbow out by her stock. When Sera reached out for her, the dwarf snatched her back quickly and tilted his head. "Don't shoot him."
"Wow, wasn't gonna. What d'ya take me for, Varric?"
"And don't shoot his pretty little glass jars on the shelves, either."
She pouted then and relieved him of Bianca with bitterness. "Shit. Fine. You sound just like Cassandra – no fun at all. She's rubbed off on you."
"You don't know the half of it…" Turning back to the counter while she fiddled with the contraption, he could see the hospitality on the proprietor's face hanging by a thread. "I'll beg your pardon for my friend. She's not a big fan of your hat," Varric smiled with his best salesman's charm. "I think it suits you just fine, though."
"Pah. Elves." The Orlesian huffed derogatorily and crossed his arms, the satin of his puffed shoulders accentuated like they were designed to inflate when annoyed. "I should very much like to go home, monsieur."
"As would we all, and I appreciate your assistance with our problem." He gestured to Dagna, allowing her to try explaining what they were after.
Scrunching her nose, the dwarven woman sighed, relenting to their deference. "Okay. Red lyrium is corrupted lyrium. It's more volatile, extremely dangerous, and doesn't have to be consumed orally to affect anyone near it. We have a friend who was poisoned with it, and we need a way to extract it from her."
The man was intrigued, bringing a solitary finger to his pursed lips. "Intèressant… But will eet not lose potency on eets own?"
"Well, that'd be nice. And convenient," Dagna explained, "but unfortunately, no, we wouldn't be here if it did. Once taken, it stays in the blood and crystallises through the body. The only reason it hasn't yet is because she has an enchanted amulet that's preventing it from growing out of her."
Varric winced subtly at the image of Cassandra encased in red lyrium like the ill-fated templars on the battlefields, but cleared his throat and asked doubtfully, "You got anything she could take that might help? The Inquisition would be grateful for your expertise on the matter."
He frowned, thinking for a moment while he turned his back and eyed the various labelled jars on the shelves, weighing hundreds of options at once. "Ze Inquisition, you say…? I 'ave not encountered zis problem in all my decades running ze apothicaire … Un moment." He stepped beyond the curtain, leaving them to their own devices for a minute while he searched the back room.
"He won't have anything," Dorian predicted with pessimism. "And if he does, it's completely fabricated. I know his type."
"Yeah, I'm getting that vibe," Varric nodded regretfully. "He's never even heard of this shit before. Or he's playing dumb with us."
"Can you believe the audacity of that man?" Sparkler went on, clearly miffed.
"What audacity?" Dagna wondered. "He's pretty friendly, for an Orlesian."
"That's what he wants you to think," he replied, tapping his fingers on the glass counter as he leaned against it. "He came through speaking a language so foreign, even Empress Celine doesn't use it in polite company, just to put us in our place. Then, he insults our clothes and calls us tourists!"
"We are tourists," Sera's voice carried from the other side of the shop as she fiddled with the items lined up on the back shelf. "Well, you lot are."
"Hardly the point," Dorian muttered just as the man returned with a few jars of cloudy liquid and a rolled-up cloth.
"I 'ave eet," he smiled almost devilishly, laying them all out after Varric moved Sera's bow out of the way. "Zees will do ze trick." Opening one of the jars, he reached his hand into the murky water and pulled out –
"Holy shit," Varric stepped back in revulsion.
Sera jumped up and took quick strides over to her recoiling friends. "Wot? Wot's he got? Oh, ick," she commented, immediately taking a few steps backward.
"Maker's Breath," Dorian stared, appalled at the suggestion the man presented. "Is that a…"
Dagna turned her nose, but didn't take her eyes from the black, writhing creature between his long fingers. "Leeches," she mumbled sceptically. "You're kidding, right?"
He shook his head, smiling with his eyes behind the mint green mask. "Non! Zey will drink ze blood, and ze lyrium will zen be removed! Eet will be magnifique, I assure you, Madame."
Sighing in disappointment, Dagna shot a look to him, which the others couldn't see at their height. "If you want to test it out, Varric, I'll go along, but... You want my theory? Those blood suckers get corrupted, lyrium-addled blood in their bellies, and we'll have more trouble on our hands than any of us are prepared to deal with."
"Eh…" Varric waved a hand dismissively at the leech jars, looking to the cloth. "Got anything else less likely to infest the keep with giant slug monsters bent on draining us dry?"
"Ah, oui, Monsieur." He unrolled the cloth theatrically, sending the end gliding on its own to unravel on the other side of the counter, revealing several blackened blades, a few wicked pairs of scissors, and odd iron rods with spikes on the stems which resembled little flags. Searching beneath the counter, he came up again with a long silk cloth and a gold bowl for his demonstration. "You take ze silk and tie ze… ah, how you say 'tourniquet'?"
Horrified, Dorian swallowed to relieve the sudden dryness of his throat. "Tourniquet," he breathed, eyeing the man as though he were insane.
"Oui. Zen you mus' pierce ze vein below ze tourniquet, et –"
"Hang on," Sera held up a hand. "You're seriously suggesting bloodletting to us? Am I hearin' this right?"
His eyes darted to the companions as if they would be remiss to dismiss his advice. "Eef ze lyrium eez remaining een ze blood, zen you mus' remove ze blood, no?"
"No," Dorian puffed out his chest, irritated with the man completely, "we'd have to drain every drop for that to work, and that assumes it hasn't spread to her bloody organs, yet!"
"You know what," Varric raised his hands and turned around, handing the bow back to Sera and taking Bianca for himself again, "we'll just take our business elsewhere." As he made his way to the exit, he ushered everyone out, holding the door open for them.
Glancing back at the proprietor, he caught the look of smug satisfaction on the man's face and decided to make the Orlesian regret losing out on their custom. "It's a damn shame, too," he said in mock-disappointment, shaking a large pouch of gold coins strapped to his belt. "If we'd found what we were looking for, I might've been willing to invest, but I guess the Guilde des Marchands will just have to say au revoir to this place."
And a wry grin spread over Varric's lips as he watched the man pale alarmingly, careful to close the door gently behind him.
"That guy was takin' the piss," Sera grumbled, placing her bow on her back before fidgeting with the hems of her red sleeves.
"I had a bad feeling about it from the moment he opened his mouth," Dorian commented dryly, stroking the side of his moustache as they walked on down the cobblestones.
Dagna sighed, her brow furrowing as she thought. "It was a long shot," she admitted, "but it never hurts to ask around and get second, third, even fourth opinions."
"I bet he charges a fortune for all his stock," Varric's gravelly voice put in. "Nothing in there had price tags, and if you have to ask how much something is, you can't afford it. One look at us, and he figured he'd have some fun at our expense."
"Yeah, rich tits'll pay shitloads for stuff that don't even work. They like pissin' their money away for some stupid reason. But at least I had a laugh on the back end," Sera giggled to herself as dusk settled around them.
"You mean besides calling him 'fancypants' and 'fuckface'?" Dorian wondered, raising his brows. "I do envy you for having so little tact that you can say whatever you fancy, Sera."
Her giggles increased in volume as she reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a couple of jars, filled with common herbs.
"You stole from him?!" Varric asked incredulously.
"Not just that," she laughed, placing them back in her bag before anyone else noticed, though the streets were well and truly abandoned. "I went and replaced them with my own recipe: Jars of Bees!"
Eyes going wide, Dagna threw a gloved hand over her mouth and tried her damnedest to stifle her giggles. "Well, he's in for a big surprise," she managed to say, the four of them linking arms and walking merrily down the road. "I should get together with you guys more often! Hey, I'm hungry. Let's head back!"
"I'm in. I could use a nice cup of tea after such a trying day." Dorian smiled broadly before adding seriously, "Oh, and no one breathe a word to Vivienne. Maker, she'd have our heads for that."
~oOo~
The Iron Lady's chateau, constructed at some point in the Blessed Age, was modest by Orlesian standards, but 'modest' was still nothing to sneeze at, or so Varric had said as much when they'd first arrived. Duke Bastien de Ghislain had spoiled the Imperial Court Enchantress rotten, giving her the run of their summer home, which was, believe it or not, situated beside what might as well have been a castle several hundred acres away, belonging to Duchess Nicoline, Bastien's widow. No matter how he tried to wrap his head around that arrangement, he was still immensely impressed that she and Madam de Fer had been, and were still, close friends. If only he'd been so lucky, or had at the very least been fortunate enough for the women in his life not to take out seemingly random hits on each other. Oh, to be rich, well-connected, and ostentatious…
Dinner had been an otherworldly experience, but if someone put a knife to his throat, he couldn't say what the hell he'd been served. There was some variety of light cheese and rich greens, a dark, sweet reduction of something kind of fruity on the mystery meat, a few sauces dotted around the edges of the plates… Three courses in, and he'd never mustered the courage to ask what exactly he was being fed. It was either risk looking like an ignoramus, or shut his mouth and enjoy the chef's inventive, tasteful creations. And Maker forbid had he asked for seconds, even though the servings were only large enough to fill the little exotic birds out in the garden. Wait… was that strange meat an exotic bird? Varric shuddered and turned over on the massive four-post bed, dragging himself over satin sheets to the nightstand and reaching for the oil lamp. Luckily it came on without much trouble, but illuminating the ornate gold and pale blue surroundings didn't do much to redirect or distract his thoughts.
Halfway back to Vivienne's place, Sparkler and Buttercup had simultaneously recalled that they had meant to pay a visit to Bianca's workshop. They'd looked at him apologetically, promising to return to the city centre during normal business hours and hopefully catch his ex-lover then. Little did they know that he'd silently hoped they wouldn't remember until it was too late to turn around, keeping the forgotten errand to himself and feigning absentmindedness when it came up again. Yeah, it was true: he was a coward through and through. Andraste's ass, what was he going to say to her?
His heart sped up, mind wondering after the hour as he stared out at the moon hovering near the gathered window valance. It was just after midnight at most, by the looks of it, and the strings of nocturnal insects reached him even through the glass panes, drawn to all the splendour Madam de Fer's garden had to offer.
Something was going on outside his heavy bedroom doors, but he paid it no mind for now. Most likely, it was one of the servants making his or her way in the dark, or Dagna looking for somewhere to relieve herself, since door after door sounded very much like it was being opened. He laughed silently and scratched at his bare chest, hearing the person draw closer and wondering which hilarious line to spew when the dwarf peeked her head in after hours. Nothing too inappropriate, he warned himself. Don't want to scar the poor girl.
But his brows drew together as he cocked his head to the side, detecting something else as whomever it was approached. The doors weren't being quietly nudged open anymore, and as the occupants stirred within their rooms, intense conversation could be heard from a small gathering, doors bursting open on their shining hinges. What the hell? Stirring, Varric tightened the drawstring on his roomy trousers and placed a foot on the floor –
Just as his bedroom doors burst open.
"There you are," she boomed breathlessly as she stormed inside. "Why did you leave?!"
Mouth hanging open as he stared at her, Varric's mind refused to accept what he was witnessing.
The Fade, his thoughts instinctively screamed. He had no recollection of touching anything weird or laced with blood magic in that bastard's apothecary, but he must have. Otherwise, the world was now making a lot less sense than the spirit realm.
"Well… Shit," he groaned, rising from the bed and walking across the cream rug to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Finding my way out of this shit! Maybe Sparkler knows what happened," he planned his next move aloud, leaving the demon with glowing red eyes standing in his chambers. Hurriedly, he looked over the high metal bannister to the large entryway below, watching in wholesale confusion as Dorian, clothed in naught but his dressing gown, engaged Blackwall in an argument at the door, along with a few servants whom offered to take the warrior's belongings and raced to search for leftover food in the kitchens.
The demon assuming Cassandra's form – shit, at least that's what he hoped she was – stepped out onto the long overhead walkway. "This is nonsense, Varric. Look at me. I'm here."
"Yeah, we'll see about that," he mumbled, setting out toward the winding staircase on a brisk walk for the back door.
Nevertheless, she was following right behind him, persistent as the last demon who'd tried this trick on him. "If you thought I would simply sit on my hands while everyone else hunted for my cure, then you – what are you doing?!"
"Sparkler, what kind of super asshole spell is this?" He threw open the large Orlesian doors at the back of the chateau, fully expecting to find the green, pulsing vortex awaiting him to make an escape.
But there was only the green of the garden landscape to greet him, along with the cool midnight air on his bare chest. Grumbling loudly, he turned around and faced the group that had practically stepped on his heels to keep up. "You were supposed to watch her and keep her safe, Hero!"
Tired and worn thin from the non-stop journey, Blackwall's voice betrayed his own frustrations. "Mind your tone; I've got my eye on her. But you didn't specify where the watching should be done."
Shaking his head in aggravation, Varric turned away from the three humans, still not convinced he was where he was meant to be. Sighing, the dwarf dutifully walked straight to the far end of garden, raising his eyes to the sky. No Black City looming in the distance, no mountainous boulders floating overhead disobeying the laws of reality. Knowing he was still being followed, he raced toward the gate just past the bird menagerie, determined to find the barrier that would lead him out of this elaborate maze.
And yet again, nothing telling lied beyond the end of the expansive property. Only the quaint forest setting as far as the eye could see. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding. How big is this labyrinth?"
Just as he made an about face to confront the demon and fight his way out, she threw a solid punch, her fist landing squarely on his jaw. He reeled back from the impact, back pressed against the iron rods of the gate, which only just prevented him from falling to the ground from the sheer force.
"Ow!" He cried out in shock. "Son of a – Damn it, what the hell was that for?!"
Cassandra glared as she caught her second wind, her haunting eyes chilling Varric to his core. "You think you're trapped in the Fade, don't you? That was to convince you that you're fine."
Rubbing the sore spot, he took a moment to process everything, his night having taken a sudden and unexpected turn. "Well, thanks for the reality check… Sheesh, that hurt, you know."
She took a few steps away and paused in uncertainty near a tall hedge, glancing back at him timidly as he spoke. "Oh. Sorry. I don't really know my own strength; it… comes and goes somewhat erratically, nowadays."
Oh, Maker, she sounds just like the Seeker. "Shit, you're… really here. You're you," he gestured toward her in disbelief.
"I am," she confirmed, loosening her chest plate and taking it off with great relief. Sighing, she knelt down on the grass and set the metal at a short distance from her. "I came after you; live with it, Varric."
He had no idea what he was supposed to do with this information. The last time he'd seen her, Cassandra had blanked him completely and walked off into the keep. To be frank, it was better that she did, at the time. He'd been so shocked that she was on her feet and relatively normal (all things considered) that he probably would have made a complete ass of himself with inane small talk, which she abhorred beyond reason. With that in mind, he suppressed his outrage, not wanting to upset her in light of her condition, and waited for her to say what she had clearly come all this way for.
But as the silence grew, her rage only increased – if her sudden rise to her feet and quick pacing was any indication, but it sure looked that way. So, small talk was off limits, and silence was fairly unwelcome, too. Oh, no, does she want answers? Things were about to get tense if that was the case.
"How could you leave me?!" She barked, halting her pacing to allow her red eyes to bore into his very soul.
He hated being so damn right all the time. Averting his eyes for as long as he could rightly get away with, Varric caught sight of a hand-carved garden bench, the bronze plaque affixed to it stating that it was placed there in loving memory of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. Stealing the opportunity, he crossed the grass slowly so as not to rile her, and sat down with care, leaving enough room beside him should she want to join him. "Seeker," he started, wholly unsure of himself as he thought of a way to justify his actions, "…I didn't really have much of a choice."
She stormed over to him yet again, and he kept his eyes down whilst simultaneously throwing his hands up to show her he had no intention of defending himself physically. "What do you mean? There's always a choice," she shouted with disdain at him. "You could have at least said –"
"I couldn't live with myself," he interrupted quietly. "Those assassins went after you that day, and I didn't get there in time. What's worse… they were there because of me."
He saw her straighten in surprise in his peripheral vision, but his shame was too strong to permit him to meet her eyes. He'd never wanted to fess up to her, and had hoped that she would be too bitter to ever demand an honest explanation, but once again, Varric had underestimated her spirit. He should have known she would hunt him to every corner of the map in her quest for truth, given how they'd met to begin with.
"They said they wanted revenge for Valammar, but… Well, I'd come to find out someone I trusted hired the Carta to kill you, and…" He swallowed hard, clasping his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting under her unrelenting gaze. "I know you've been suffering, but you're not the only one. Everyone took it pretty hard, but I think it's safe to say not as much as me. I did this to you, and I shouldn't have let our secret get out in the first place…" Steeling himself for an assault, he squared his shoulders and raised his head, fixing his eyes on the back doors as a servant closed them at last, leaving them well and truly alone. "So, now you have what you came for. Happy?"
The longest pause in recent memory occurred then, and it wasn't the first time that he'd absently reached for the flask that was no longer there, rubbing his hand against his thigh instead. He wasn't accustomed to dealing with these things sober, and hell if he knew whether he'd ever get used to walking without that crutch.
Cassandra plunked down beside him, slumping as she leaned forward over her legs and gripped her knees for support. He resisted the urge to rub her back tenderly, closing his eyes and grounding himself in the here and now. Those stolen moments between them were gone forever, and for the thousandth time, he let the blame fall squarely on his shoulders. It was easy to pretend life was normal when she wasn't sitting next to him with glowing, inhuman eyes and paper-thin skin, the literal bane of his existence for the past decade pulsing through the dark veins of someone he still loved beyond measure, but could no longer bear to hold without fear of hurting her again.
She stirred uncomfortably and took a slow breath. "The reasons behind my attack don't concern me greatly. In a way, I brought this on myself." When he looked up, she held up a hand, urging him to keep silent until she finished speaking. "I don't know if you're aware that… they had planned to cut my throat, but they were so infuriated that I had killed so many of their men. They deviated from the plan and instead forced me to drink before tying me up and weighing me down to drown me." Sighing, she shrugged off the horrific memories, dismissing them from her mind. "But that is not why I rode all this way, Varric. I'm not interested in why you ended our relationship. Your reasons are your own, whether I agree with them or not… I just wanted to know why you left me… in Skyhold."
"…Oh." Leave it to him to confess to something the Seeker hadn't asked. Awkward didn't even begin to describe what was washing over him, feeling his cheeks flush and thankful for the darkness which hid it. "Well, this is embarrassing… Listen, you're sick and I didn't want to –"
Cassandra scoffed in disgust. "Ugh, Maker, I'm fine!" She must have been tired of people reminding her of her health, because the sudden anger that emanated from her made her veins bulge as she stood up and walked back to where the chest plate rested."They said I was faring well!"
He shook his head in dismay, her mannerisms contradicting everything she had insisted about herself. "You're not, Seeker. Andraste's sake, look at yourself," he raised a hand, indicating her intense body language. "The red lyrium is driving you crazy, and you can't even see it!"
She made a guttural grunt deep in her throat. "You thought you were trapped in the fucking Fade, and you have the nerve to call me mad?! How dare you, you spineless little shit!"
"That's not so crazy to believe if it's happened to me before! Hell, you shouldn't even be here! What else was I supposed to think?! I couldn't have predicted you were going to race out after me like some psycho ex-girlfriend!" Varric doubted she was even listening anymore as he let loose on her, the woman growling with rage as she picked up her chest plate and threw it full-force at him.
He pressed himself to the bench seat, the steel crashing into the hedge behind him and lodging deep behind the rustling leaves. "You think I haven't noticed the tricks my mind is playing on me?!" She roared, "You left me before my suffering truly began! I have dealt with it entirely on my own since you walked out on me! Don't fucking tell me I'm insane; you're insane!"
Worried that this was getting out of hand, he immediately set his feet to the cut grass and crossed over to her, pinning her arms to her sides firmly in a tight embrace. Cassandra was hot to the touch, a raging furnace against him, and she was fire itself as she shoved him off, but he instantly wrapped himself around her again, desperate to soothe her. She kicked and threw her weight, resisting the obvious restraint he was placing on her, his thoughts racing all the while on what he should do next.
"It's my life on the line," she growled like an animal as he listened to the strains of her thundering heart. Flashbacks popped to mind of Hawke and himself dealing with Justice on one of Anders' worst days back in Kirkwall, and the comparison made him shiver. "You should fucking know better than to assume I'd take my fucking death lying down!"
"Calm down, baby," he whispered, his gruff voice quivering while he side-stepped another knee and gripped his joined hands harder at her back.
"Don't tell me to calm down – I am calm!"
In horror, Varric realised that he could hear distant voices in his head, and they weren't the usual ones of characters or conscience. They were the same ones he'd heard haunting Bartrand's home in Hightown, the same hissing whispers he felt echoing in his skull whenever he approached a vein to destroy it.
And now they were residing in her, constantly grating on every thread of hope she still had. Was it any wonder she was losing her grip on sanity?
As she slowly relaxed in his arms, the tremors eventually died down, and along with the loss of the voices came the loss of her ability to stand. She went slack, and he gently coaxed her down to her knees, allowing the Seeker to rest her head on his shoulder as she shivered in the cold.
"All right, I admit: I'm not calm," she confessed needlessly through a sob. Sitting back on her heels, Cassandra gripped her hair in turmoil, the moonlight exposing her lyrium sickness and highlighting every terrifying trace of the poison in her blood. "I'm so… enraged, I could kill. There is hate in my bones for a hundred-thousand things… For what happened, for you and every person who tries to coddle me, for the way I now question if I'm strong enough to defeat this, even for the way my quarters are arranged and the damned holes in my ceiling…"
Though she had been feigning wellness on the surface, the suffering she revealed to him nearly moved the dwarf to find Hero and bash his face in for bringing her all the way out here in her current state. But knowing her, she was hiding the depths of her pain from everyone, and only broke in front of him because of their intimate connection.
Or, at least, the connection they'd once shared before he had severed it.
Varric was lost. There was nothing he could say or do to correct the course Cassandra was on, the course he'd inadvertently set for her. Had he never kissed her by the river in the Emerald Graves, had he never written another word of that damned story for her, she wouldn't be staring at him now with those burning coals in her lovely face, the skin around her eyes so dark that it looked horribly bruised in this light.
Confronted once more with what he had done by simply loving her, he backed away from her, head shaking without conscious thought. "I'm sorry," he whispered, running a hand over his face as he turned and started back for the back doors of Vivienne's cheateau.
"Go ahead, walk away," she called bitterly from behind him. "You excel at that, Varric. Particularly when I need you most."
Incensed, he froze in place, fists clenching at his sides. "You know what?" He muttered, his jaw clenching until his teeth were sore. Making his mind up, he stormed back over to her, ignoring the way she stiffened for a fight, and grabbed her, pulling her in.
His body ached as he explored her mouth with his, the intensity of their separation bursting in their stolen moment in the garden. For a time, she held him so fervently that he could scarcely breathe, but he returned the favour, pressing her to him with one arm and gripping her braid with the other. Varric felt the tears come, tasted her own, enveloping them both in the bitter sadness of their mutual loss.
The kisses slowed, yet they held firm, and he resisted the impulse to pull away, the heat of her body practically searing his flesh. He brushed his lips against hers, felt her shiver, and brought his hands up to cup her flushed cheeks. "You think I wanted to let you go? I'd give away Bianca in a heartbeat if it meant I'd win you back, but it's my fault you're dying…" Swallowing around the mournful ache in his throat, he asked, "Knowing that, how could you still want me?"
Her breath came out in a ragged sigh, and she moved a hand to his naked shoulder, kneading at it as she bit her lip in uncertainty. "I don't know… I've been spiralling out of control ever since I nearly drowned. Everyone has dictated what I should do, where I should go, and coming here was the first choice I've been allowed to make in ages." She shook helplessly, admitting, "I would appreciate having a say in what happens to me."
His eyes softened toward her, heart racing within him as he tried to breathe. "All right… You came all this way, and you've more than earned the right to give the final answer." Preparing himself, he straightened and met her eyes, not wanting to sway her decision either way. "Yes… or no?"
Cassandra took a shallow breath, hesitating far too long for comfort. Her eyes darting back and forth, he could feel her pulse quicken beneath her skin, and his brow furrowed in response, concerned that he'd put far too much pressure on her without notice.
"…No."
Varric felt her words like a battlehammer to the chest and reeled, the wind knocked out of him. His hands fell from her face, distraught and crumbling before her. He'd tried not to have that reaction, but it was too much to take all at once.
"I mean – no, as in I can't decide," she suddenly clarified, hands trembling as she covered her mouth and fought against the tears welling behind her shining eyes. "M-my mind is… not truly my own. I know I said that I wanted to make the choice myself, but I… need time to consider. Please understand…" Cassandra cast her eyes down, crossing her arms over her abdomen and hugging her elbows weakly. "I'm just… terribly confused, right now."
Closing his eyes, Varric forced himself to nod, the wound of her sudden, unintentional rejection ripping open a wound too wide to close right away. It was then that he realised the pain he'd caused her when he had returned from the war room, and every regret, every sorrow was amplified with heart-wrenching clarity.
"For now, Varric, your friendship would be… I-I'd be grateful for it."
His eyes fluttered open at that, and though it hurt to have only friendship for the time being, it was a hell of a lot better than nothing at all… "Sure," he whispered, throwing her possibly the saddest smirk he'd ever emoted. "There's no rush, Seeker. Let's just… focus on getting that shit out of your blood." Seeing the pure relief on her face, the smile that touched his lips then felt sincerer, and he reached up with a hand to stroke a thumb over the darkened scar on her cheek down to her jaw.
"You look like dog shit," he nudged her in half-hearted playfulness. "When was the last time you slept?"
"I don't remember," she admitted tiredly, watching as exhaustion rolled over her at mention of sleep. "The screaming, the nightmares – they don't make it easy for me."
Biting his lip pensively, his brows drew together, wondering whether his next suggestion would be shot down outright. "If it's not too… well, painful for you, I could… hold you while you try," he offered sincerely. "Just like old times."
Tearing up, he saw her smile slightly as she gave the barest of nods.
Maker, he hadn't seen a sight that sweet in all his life.
Varric wiped away her tears and took her hand, helping Cassandra rise to her unsteady feet. "Come to bed, Seeker," he muttered solemnly, leading the stubborn warrior to his chambers.
~oOo~
Tomorrow was going to be rough…
They'd fallen in and out of slumber after she'd changed into one of Vivienne's spare white silk dressing gowns, initially sleeping with a full metre between them on the massive bed, but as the night drew on, the distance between them began to close. At first, merely their fingertips had touched, Varric the first to reach across the gold satin and brave the chance of her pulling away. Minutes passed that way, her eyes closed as her head rested on the pillow, and he stroked her fingers in the dark, waiting for her to accept the tenderness of his soft touch. The ache in his soul had altered from what it had been at the start of the evening, morphing from the guilt of letting her go to what it was now, an unrelenting desire to tear the poison from her and claim her all for himself. He hated the idea of sharing her body with the evil plaguing her. Slowly, his forefinger traced knuckle and bone, spelling out words on her hand that he couldn't bring himself to say aloud: I miss you… Don't worry… I won't give up… Stay with me… Still love you…
A trembling in her hand had begun to take hold, making him pause as he felt the vibration through the mattress. She shivered and quaked in her sleep, her steady breathing growing more laboured and desperate. At once, he leaned up and took her hand, and she gripped it with such ferocity that he believed it would break if she squeezed any harder. Draping an arm over her, he sheltered Cassandra with his body, wishing there was more he could do as she began to groan in agony. He could hear her teeth grinding, feel her heart pounding, helpless to her suffering when the whispers returned, to his utter dismay.
She'd suffered alone with this, but no more. Never again would he leave her to ride out the pain on her own.
She gasped and lurched, muscles seizing as some sort of surge overwhelmed her, and she cried out, the whimper catching on another swift intake of breath. Before he could ask if she needed Vivienne to come to their chambers to try healing her, she threw her arms around him and held on as if she were dangling from the edge of a cliff. Surprised, Varric rubbed her back and ignored the blazing heat coming off her in waves, blowing cool air over her to chill the beads of sweat on her forehead.
Cassandra opened her eyes, and his heart shrunk a thousand times as her glowing red eyes pierced the dark. Feeling blindly for him, she shivered and reached for his loose hair, gripping and pulling to the point where he felt like he was being scalped, but he let her hold it, disregarding his pain in lieu of her own.
It lasted only a handful of minutes, but waiting for the surge to die felt like hours, Varric counting the seconds as they passed by in the chaos. And when her amulet lit up the dark and the whispers were silenced, she collapsed and shook, too weak to pull the satin coverlet over her shoulder. Helping her, he brought her close and enveloped them in warmth and comfort, shutting away the outside world as he pulled the covers over their heads. The Seeker held him in return, too weakened to say or do anything more than blink her thanks. Mercifully, the demonic glow of her eyes faded to black once more, and he kissed her forehead in gratitude that it was over… for now.
But after a long while, her hands began to knead at his flesh, pushing and pulling, her fingers running through his chest hair, heart racing anew.
"Seeker," he whispered between the sheets, "you should… You should probably stop that…"
"…Why?" She asked him, quick and breathless as she pressed herself against him.
He felt every curve of her, dizziness hitting him when his blood drained from his head and moved southbound. "'Cause, um…" There was a reason. He knew there was a good one, or he wouldn't have suggested she cease what she was doing to him. But it escaped him entirely now. "Wha – uh… What are you…?"
"I feel either immense pain, horrible feebleness, crippling rage, or nothing at all. I am numb to all else," she told him quietly, her lips brushing over his face in search of his own. "If anyone can help me know pleasure again, it's you…" Finding her way to his mouth, Cassandra pressed hers to him, robbing the very breath from his lungs.
Stunned, he turned to lay flat on the bed, his hand holding his head as he hesitated to comply. "But… What about the break? I thought…"
"We're still on one. If that is still all right…"
"Yeah, I guess, but… Baby, you need to heal –"
"As do you," she whispered, crawling to his side and kissing his neck. Throwing a leg over him, she struggled to pull herself on, and to his shock, he actually helped her to a sitting position over him. "I've been so frail… Will you help me recover my strength?"
Oh, Maker, why are You doing this to me? Varric was the one trembling now, worried like mad that she would accuse him of taking advantage of her in the morning. The very last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. "…The Iron Lady won't appreciate you messing up her silks," he tried for sarcasm, but ended up caught between nervousness and desire instead.
Given what he'd said, the dwarf really should have seen it coming when she took the bottom hem and pulled it over her head, tossing it without a care to the rug. Lowering her hands again, she pulled the drawstring and untied it easily, the loose-fitting garment unable to contain his obvious enthusiasm. Cassandra was persistent… and apparently conscious of everything she did, moving lower on the bed to bring him completely to attention. "Just for tonight, Varric… let us pretend it never happened…"
Everything she did to him after that was a blur of ecstasy, tugging at flat sheets, bending knees, resting hands on her hair, throwing his head back… The magic of her touch brought him to total surrender, and he could waste no more time. Leaning up, he moved her bodily and pinned the Seeker against the headboard, pressing against her to hold her steady.
"Hold on," he groaned, pausing for her to wrap her arms securely around him, and not hesitating another second lest rationality to take over, he planted a hand on her backside and plunged deep.
The first thing he noticed was her moan, which sounded from her throat louder than he'd ever made a woman cry out in his life. There was a chance they'd wake the help at this rate, but damn it, let them hear her. The second thing was just how intense the fire was inside, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he was now fused to her permanently. Hell, he could only hope he was.
Though their eyes had adjusted to the darkness around them, they felt with their bodies instead, hands exploring, lips caressing, hearts hammering in unison to each and every thrust until all the world fell away. No poor judgement, no corrosion of flesh, no unwarranted opinions or unsolicited advice… Just Varric and Cassandra, the Merchant Prince and his Nevarran Princess, healing the hurts and suturing the sorrows with touch and taste alone.
She brought the house down with her cries, their lovemaking migrating from one end of the bed to the other indiscriminately, tangled in a dazzling array of sheets and limbs. And when at last she announced the emergence of her greatest pleasure, he followed in kind, sealing their sacrilege with his seed.
An hour had passed, Cassandra now curled against him on the bed. Whether he'd helped her drift off at long last in peace, he couldn't say, but no surges returned for the remainder of the night. Forcing his lids open just one more time before exhaustion claimed him, he looked out the expansive window on the second floor of Duke Bastien de Ghislain's summer chateau, and prayed the sun would hold off until he was ready to face the day.
Yes, tomorrow was going to be rough…
But tonight, with her in his arms sleeping soundly against his chest, tomorrow could wait…