Chapter Text
There was no word
For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky
All that existed was silence
Then the Voice of the Maker rang out
The first Word
And His Word became all that might be
—Threnodies 5:1–8
Cassandra Pentaghast sipped from a tall glass of bubbling champagne and looked up at the stars. A cool breeze shifted the Divine's robes, as she mused about the events of this last week, seated on a stone bench in the Winter Palace courtyard. The Exalted Council had wound to a close. Lavellan had chosen to shrink the Inquisition down to a bare bones operation, in the service of Divine Victoria. Their mission: to stop Solas from ending the world. No small task.
And yet, if Cassandra had learned anything of Solas, it was that he was very bad at knowing what was good for him. And what was good for him this time was losing. Defeating him, of course, would be difficult. He knew everything about them, after all. But Cassandra had faced terrible odds before, and succeeded. This was no different. She saw what must be done, and she would do it. The Inquisition, however diminished, would solve this. The solution might not be obvious now, but they would adapt.
Cassandra was glad for an opportunity to enjoy one last evening with her old friends, before they parted ways once more. Josephine had assured them there was a special event planned, in celebration of the Inquisitor's recent marriage. The various members of the Inquisition milled about, drinking and talking. Bull, Blackwall, and Sera were joking and laughing in the pub, as Dorian and Vivienne argued nearby over the finer points of barrier construction. Varric joined Cassandra on the stone bench, with his own glass of bubbly in hand.
“Feels weird without Cole,” he said, frowning a little.
“It does,” Cassandra agreed, as the first couple of loud bangs exploded across the night sky above them.
“Fireworks?” Cassandra breathed. “Josephine spared no expense.”
Varric chuckled.
“Wouldn't expect anything less from Ruffles.”
Cassandra looked up at the bursts of colour shattering across the night sky. Not far away, Cullen and Ellana held hands, laughing and clapping in surprise.
“Ah. Yes, it is... romantic.” Cassandra sighed, biting back a sting of bittersweet emotion.
“Romantic?” Varric raised his brows. “You're not getting choked up now, are you, Most Holy?”
Cassandra took a defensive sip of champagne.
They watched a dazzling display of twinkling blue and red shower the sky, then an array of pink and yellow flowers rained down, as if slowed by the time-altering rifts they had once encountered.
“Varric,” Cassandra said, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Your Perfection.”
“Will Swords and Shields have a happy ending?”
Varric sighed, then gave her a careful, serious glance. The shimmering fireworks overhead reflected in his eyes, casting his face in alternating swathes of colour.
“Here's the thing about happy endings,” Varric said, with a note of caution. “They don't last. Every story is a tragedy, if you wait long enough.” His voice was soft, consoling, even if his words were harsh.
“Oh, Varric. Why would you say that?”
“Sorry. I guess I was just thinking about Bianca, and everything else.”
The fireworks thudded and sizzled far above them.
“I am sorry things didn’t work out, between you two.”
“Yeah well…” He sighed, taking a gulp of champagne. “I can hardly complain, what with you and Solas. That’s got to hurt, still. Hey. If it’s any consolation, you’ll always be able to say that he was literally the ‘man of your dreams’.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Too soon?” Varric sighed. “Look. Seeker.” The sound of his old nickname for her was music to her ears. An old comfort she had not expected. Solas and Varric had both called her that. It made her feel, somehow, more like herself. “I want you to know that if you ever need a shoulder to cry on..." Varric looked into her eyes, deeply. Cassandra stared back. “...Dorian has one,” he concluded.
“Ugh.” Cassandra sighed, eyeing the dwarf shrewdly. “Dorian's shoulder is going back to Tevinter soon.”
“Yeah, well. We're all going back somewhere, aren't we?” Varric sighed. Cassandra realized how much she would miss him.
“Yes. Life goes on,” said Cassandra, softly.
“You know," Varric said, as violet shimmer filled the sky, “I was thinking of writing a new tale, based on the Inquisition. Now that we're downsized anything's game, right? Maybe the Most Holy could bestow her Divine benevolence upon the faithful and penitent denizens of Kirkwall some time soon. I could show you the latest drafts, maybe get some creative input. I'm guessing you could probably contribute to the smuttiest bits. I can see it now: 'The Divine and the Dread Wolf.' I mean I'd have to frame it as fiction. And I'd have to use a pseudonym, obviously, otherwise you'd have to execute me for heresy, but it could be a best-seller. Hmm? Might be therapeutic.” He glanced over at her cheekily. “What do you say?”
“I would love to, Varric,” Cassandra said. It was a terrible idea, of course, but she was delighted just the same.
Then, she leaned over to place a soft kiss on Varric's forehead. Only, Varric moved slightly and she miscalculated and ended up planting the kiss on the bridge of his nose.
Oh, well.
The dwarf seemed suddenly to have no idea what to do with his hands. He opened his mouth silently, then Cassandra watched a deep flush spread over Varric's neck and cheeks. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never actually seen Varric blush before.
“I... ahah—” Varric began, fussing with his open collar as the fireworks ended, in a fountain of silver. They heard scattered applause and cheering erupt behind them.
“Don't read too much into it, Varric,” Cassandra advised. She so rarely got the upper hand with Varric that surprising him brought her a special satisfaction.
“I was just teasing. Well. Half teasing.” Varric cleared his throat. “Are you even allowed to—um, you know—kiss people?” he asked, finally, collecting himself.
“Since when have I required the Chantry's approval to do what I think is best?” Cassandra asked, a little haughtily. Her wine glass was empty, and the pair of them rose and walked back to toward the others, who were gathered in the villa.
“Oh, right.” Varric barked out a laugh. “Since fucking never. That's how we ended up with an Inquisition.”
As they neared the pub, Varric turned to Cassandra.
“Be sure to write to me, Most Holy. You'll need my help in stopping Dread Chuckles, won't you?”
“Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—”
“Have you been in Thedas lately, Seeker? We aren't in control anymore. You need me.”
He winked.
“Ugh.”
~ The End.~