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Courtship seemed cosmically insignificant and useless when the sky was splitting open and spewing out demons, but time was often wasted attempting to explain that concept to Varric Tethras. Between Red Templars, the aforementioned demons, and the end of the world looming just overhead, Cassandra had little reason to think of anything other than her duties. This included, but was not limited to, the potential relationship that she would share with Varric. It appeared that Varric had given little thought to much else.
“You expect me to say yes, Varric?”
“Well, I expect you to think about saying yes. I can’t make the choice for you.” He had been thinking about asking for some time, but it certainly felt like time was running out. Sure, it was a bit lacking in flair, but he was sure Cassandra saw the point.
She didn’t.
“Just like that?” She gestured at the dwarf across the table. He shrugged, the soft smirk that always indicated that he was bested slipped across his face.
“If you weren’t going to say yes, it doesn’t entirely matter how I ask.” He knew Cassandra was the type to get embarrassed by any sort of spectacle, despite her interest in romance novels and poetry. A few of which he knew he’d penned himself. It was hard to forget when the Right Hand of the Divine wanted an autograph. Especially when she was as striking as-
“Of course it matters, Varric!” At this point, the Seeker stood, realizing her emotions were betraying her. “If you intend to propose, you cannot do it by simply walking into my office and asking me. Surely, a man who writes with so much passion can speak with it. And this setting? No attempt at romance? No flowers?”
Varric sighed, sitting down in the chair opposite of Cassandra’s. “I’ll be honest with you, Cassandra. We’ve all got a lot on our plates with this whole Inquisition thing. I don’t have the time to make a big romantic gesture, and if I’m being frank, I’m not entirely sure how much time I’ve actually got left. Any time I leave Skyhold, I might not come back.”
“And you want me to marry a man who won’t come back?”
“I want you to think about marrying a man who could.” Varric crossed his legs. “Listen, if you’re not interested, you can just say no.”
“This isn’t the time, Varric.”
The dwarf stood, rubbing his neck and nodding. “I guess you might be right about that. So, I’ll see about coordinating a big romantic gesture for you next time. Clear out the gardens and-”
“Next time?”
“If this isn’t the right time, I’m going to find the right one, Seeker.”
Cassandra had never felt more anxious about encountering the deceptive dwarf in her life. Every corner in Skyhold became a pitfall until passed; the looming threat of Varric trying to charm her, overdoing it, doing it explicitly to upset and shame her when she had so much at risk. Her attempts to speak to the Inquisitor about it had only garnered a soft chuckle, some sympathy, and some gentle advice to hear the man out.
It had been the opposite of what she had wanted.
In truth Varric wasn’t a… terrible option. He was mostly genuine and kind, loyal to the Maker and thoughtful. He was the head of his House, which boded well for her family reacting, should she agree to such a thing. While he might not have been a shining knight or exceptionally romantic in his approach, she could do worse. The man had to know something of romance, given what he was capable of imagining, what he was capable of writing. How could he understand such ideals and refuse to present them?
But Varric did have a point about their lives potentially becoming very short; with Corypheus a considerable threat and the Inquisition having little in the way of support, the potential of her final moments being on the battlefield was growing considerably.
She had never hoped the Maker would answer her in times of hardship, always assuring herself that the silence that met prayers was the suggestion that she figure things out of her own, but this decision seemed harder to make than it had any right to be.
Thankfully, when she finally crossed paths with Varric, it was in the halls, empty enough that no spectacle could possibly be made. No decorations to be seen, no one hiding in the shadows prepared to serenade her, just Varric by the fireplace, as he usually was.
“Hey, I was wondering when you’d be by.” Cassandra nearly flinched but was thankful that her training kept her steady. It was difficult to think he wasn’t still up to something.
“What is it now, Varric?”
“Just wanted to ask you a question, no need to sound so annoyed. If you’re busy I’ll ask you later.”
“I would rather not put it off.” She grumbled, hoping that the question would be a simple one.
“Just thought I’d ask if you’d marry me.”
“Again?” Cassandra felt her cheeks burning as Varric’s lips shaped into a smirk. Even in the mostly-private fortress, Varric took a certain pleasure in knowing someone might overhear. He’d always had a passing interest in rumors. He found it hard to ignore how they blew out of hand; they often led to great inspiration.
“I just thought I’d give it another go. Worst case scenario is that you say no or give me another harebrained reason as to why you aren’t going to say yes. Either way, it seemed worth asking. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know how it is.”
“I do not have time for this!” Cassandra huffed, hastily making her retreat towards the war room where she undoubtedly had some words for the Inquisitor about Varric’s behavior.
“Hate to see you go, love to see you leave.” Varric mumbled to himself, pulling a chair from the table to sit.
Cassandra Pentaghast wasn’t going to be a simple romance, no matter how he cut it. Being casual was never going to be enough and going for a “big romantic gesture” was a lot of work and seemed as though it could never be perfected. Sure, in a book it was easy to set the stage; he could control the lighting, the colors, the time, the place, everything was just a few words short of perfect. Life, though? Varric wasn’t any more likely to control the fall of shadows through Skyhold’s halls than he was to control the plans to seize another fortress. He could make suggestions, he could try to arrange things, but it simply wasn’t going to work out that way.
So, twice in a row, Cassandra had slipped through his fingers without an answer. Not necessarily a bad thing, since the lack of an answer didn’t exactly mean she was saying no. It would be unfair to play those cards against her later, or act like she was encouraging him to stop trying. She was, however, a remarkably vocal woman and would no doubt make him aware if he needed to stop.
If nothing else, Cassandra had no problems telling Varric he had to stop doing something.
He played with the idea of a grand gesture; maybe the garden was a good idea, maybe that small circular library, or even in the small chapel just off the gardens. It sure would paint a pretty picture; Cassandra in front of Andraste, no doubt a mixture of fury and bliss on her face in seeing flowers scattered in meticulous circles around the statue’s base, maybe Maryden playing the lute outside -ambient but not distracting- while Varric just bared his soul, confessed the fear of knowing one of them could die without the other, how life would feel bleak and absent without her comforting scowl and her openness when it came to telling him what he never wanted to hear but always needed to hear.
Varric stood, escorting himself from the hall, deciding to perhaps give a few more days before giving a grand gesture a shot.
The next time he saw the Seeker, she was eagerly practicing, using her shield as a ram and slamming into the dummies that had been set up in the courtyard, wood splitting audibly beneath it’s flimsy burlap flesh and hay innards. It was carnal, it was pure and unfiltered Cassandra. No one looking to her for instruction or guidance, no looming Inquisitor to ask for her insight or help. As far as Cassandra was actually concerned, she was alone.
Varric tried to avoid getting caught up in the spectacle, rattling his thoughts loose with a shake of his head.
“Seeker, there you are.”
She visibly tensed at the greeting, grip tightening on the sword of out instinct. Varric chuckled nervously, optimistic that might have been able to dodge it if he were alert enough. Cassandra was unlikely to strike him, at best, but Varric was also more than willing to accept that if she went to strike he almost certainly deserved it.
“Varric, if you’re here to ask for my hand again-”
“Naturally.” He crossed his arms, the snide smile playing on his lips as it always did. Unlike before, Cassandra didn’t light up with embarrassment or flattery or whatever cocktail of emotions had been her response the two previous occasions.
“How many times are you going to ask me?”
“Well, how many times are you going to leave without giving me an answer?”
“Varric, this is hardly appropriate. There is no romance, there is no flair.”
“So, if I want you to say yes, I should do this with romance and flair.”
“You cannot simply continue this behavior.” She sheathed the sword. “Varric, there are… a multitude of reasons that this would not work the way you believe it would.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“I… I do not wish to have to act like a wife.”
“There’s no reason you have to act different, Cassandra. If I didn’t like the way you were acting I wouldn’t have spent the past three days asking you to marry me. So, will you marry me?”
“This is not the way to do things.” Cassandra responded before once again heading off, displeased as ever.
Varric might have had a way with words on paper, but she was doubting that he had any gift actually speaking them. He could argue whatever he wanted but she wasn’t going to simply hand herself over as easy as that.
She led herself to the ramparts, where she spent time when she wished to think. While she was inexperienced in the way of romance, Cassandra knew what she wanted and refused to settle for less. If presented with the opportunity she was sure to compromise, but give in? And to Varric? Never. Not without making him earn it. She couldn’t stand the idea of giving in so easily, imagining the way the smirk on his face would turn to surprise if she had said yes.
The lack of expectation would have been worth seeing, she was sure of that. He would backpedal, constantly ask for reassurance that she wasn’t joking, that it wasn’t some ploy to get his hopes up. She had seen him happy before, but could only call to memory a slightly intoxicated Varric when imagining how he would react. A big smile, surely, teeth flashing and eyes shut, face bright and red. The less likely option was always there, where Varric would try to play the response casually, wringing his hands together, putting fist to palm as he tried to casually string together sentences like he did when he was nervous.
Cassandra chided herself for having noticed those behaviors at all.
But Varric was, all things aside, a good man. He was loyal to his ideals, despite his blasphemous behaviors. He was noble, in a manner of speaking. Perhaps not in the way of knights or kings she had known, but as a man who witnessed battle and was changed by it. Not dramatically changed, but changed. Varric still had a softness, a passion. He wasn’t open about it, but she had read Swords and Shields. She could not imagine that a man could write those things and not feel them.
They might not have been the same as his characters, but Cassandra had a hard time not projecting herself into the sultry, elegant romance he had written. It might have been trashy and smutty in bits, but it was clearly written by a man who knew what passion was supposed to be. It had to be inside of him.
She silently considered the concept of cornering Varric herself and confronting him with his work as she watching him vanish into the tavern.
When Varric returned to the tavern the next day it felt as though he had never left, one hand on a mug and the other on his temple as he considered his options. Of course, he had to keep the streak going and once again ask Cassandra for her hand. If after a week she had given no answer, he supposed he would just give up and resign himself to a life where they remained friends, if that, after his attempts failed.
The grand gesture was sounding better and better.
He had arranged for flowers to be delivered to Skyhold by the end of the week, just in time to give up. After a quick poll around the fortress the consensus seemed that roses were the most romantic flowers, which were remarkably difficult to get your hands on when everyone thought the world was ending. Thankfully, crystal grace and dawn lotus both fit the aesthetic nicely given that the statue was of a soft white marble. He still had to find a way to lift some of the candles, decorative pillars or something of that nature… The light had to fall on Andraste’s face and not her tits. Maker forbid the light fall on her tits and Cassandra notice that detail and choose to focus on it.
Maryden was easy to convince to agree to the situation, though he had been mindful to leave details out. The bard was likely to talk to Sera, and Sera was like to talk to inanimate object that Leliana would overhear. If the word got out that he was planning something, word would absolutely reach Cassandra. Although he had no doubt that Leliana had heard about the incoming flowers and knew he was up to something already. Thankfully she’d minded her own business thus far.
While he thought on it, he stood and settled his tab, deciding against too much morning drinking.
Finding Cassandra was a challenge he’d been prepared to face and he couldn’t help but notice that when they locked eyes she started in the other direction. Of course she already knew what he was going to ask and didn’t want to hear it.
“Hey, Cassandra!” Anyone who had been in the vicinity casually glanced at the Seeker who now had the social obligation to actually face the dwarf.
“Varric.” She made no effort at politeness. She still looked tense despite being aware of the situation.
“Mornin’, nice to see you out and about without a sword in your hand.”
“You want to ask me to marry you.”
“If you aren’t too busy for me to ask. You were in an awful hurry a moment a go, I’d hate to keep you. Well, I’d like to keep you but I haven’t gotten an answer yet.”
Cassandra crossed her arms, upper lip twitching in a soft sneer. “Varric.”
“Yes, Lady Cassandra?” The man played coy.
She stood silent for a moment, looking more contemplative than Varric would have expected.
“I would not want us to live together.”
“So we won’t live together.” Varric responded casually. “You’ve got your business to attend to, I’ve got mine. I’ve got things to do in Kirkwall, and with them looking for a new Divine you’ll have your hands full with that job or as her hand. I couldn’t expect you to act like that’s not important.”
Cassandra looked surprised by the response before her expression softened a little. “I see.”
“Will you marry me?” She heard Varric ask as she resumed her walk to the fortress.
For Varric to so nonchalantly answer like that… Had he planned such a response? Did Varric not plan for them to live in husband in wife? Had he ever actually given it thought? Cassandra wasn’t sure what concept upset her more.
But, Varric had said he’d be fine with it. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected him to say, but to get approval, to be justified in her wants, felt strange. Her chest ached; a dull, sharp ache that encased her ribs and felt like a hand closed around her torso. Why, with such a lack of romance, would that response satisfy her? It hadn’t been heartfelt or welcoming or thoughtful or kind. But it had. Varric had considered that her life, her work, that it was all as important as his own.
Somehow, it felt grander than a bouquet of flowers left on her mantle while the two bathed in moonlight. It felt soft, genuine.
She refused to let herself dwell on it, leaving her personal feelings at the door as she closed herself into the war room.
Even the war room left her thinking of him. There were always plans being made, there was always something happening that called the Inquisitor to every inch of Thedas. Sometimes he made that journey with Varric in tow, and sometimes Cassandra found herself wondering if he really was unlikely to come back.
But seeing him come back with that eager grin on his face was nearly enough to make her regret it.
“So, whatdya say, Seeker? Will you marry me?”
Cassandra looked down, hands firmly planted on the table as she looked at the literature spread before her.
“If we were to get married,” Cassandra started. “If, I would require complete and total control of my life. I cannot have you getting in the way.”
“Cassandra, I’m not trying to control you. Even if I was, I doubt I would do a very good job.” Varric leaned onto the table, propped up on an elbow. “I want you to be able to do what you need to do. Your life is your life.”
A heavy heat returned to her cheeks. There was no subtle romance, no soft passion to Varric’s words. He spoke as he usually did; as a man that could have easily been lying but had confidence in every word. A man who lied so well that even he believed the lie.
“Varric, there’s work to be done.”
He groaned in response, excusing himself from both the room and conversation.
Cassandra might have been difficult to work with but this was far worse than anything he’d previously imagined.
Courtship was typically a difficult task, he knew that much, but at this point Varric was considering that dragon hunting might have been less dangerous. It would have been less time consuming, at least. The Inquisitor had been kind enough to send scouts to gather the flowers he needed, which meant that there was no doubt that Leliana knew that he was up to something. Which meant that, in turn, there was doubt that there had been witnesses to every moment he’d shared with Cassandra over the past few days.
Thankfully none of Nightingale’s little birds had poked their heads out or tried to talk to him about the flower acquisition. The longer Varric thought about it, the more it unsettled him that he hadn’t heard from anyone about what he was doing. It was possible the Inquisitor was attempting to keep it a bit of a secret; the man had a respect for discretion.
Or there was the possibility that Cassandra had spoken to him as well and he already knew. He casually wondered whose side the Herald was on as he moved into the cellars of Skyhold, taking a peek at the store room where numerous Bottles of Thedas had been accumulating. It was a tight, quiet room that he was certain was usually private; it was, at least, private enough that someone had seen fit to leave behind a woolen sock and book of erotica.
He wasn’t sure if it was better if the book had been there before the Inquisition, or if it arrived with them in Skyhold.
With flowers on the way, candles were still an issue. Cassandra was certain to notice and complain if the light wasn’t perfect. It was more likely that she would forget the actual moment and just remember it with nostalgic fondness after all was said and done, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Not when he still had a few days to plan.
A few crates or barrels would have been enough to elevate the candles, and whatever he put the candles on could be covered in flowers to avoid any unpleasant aesthetics. He sat back in the small alcove, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
Would this be worth all the effort in the end? Did the grand gesture mean anything if Cassandra intended to say no, but wasn’t sure how to do so? Cassandra might not have been a delicate flower in need of protection but she didn’t seem so cold hearted as to lead Varric on instead of just saying no the first day he asked.
It had been nearly a week of proposals and while he was certain that Cassandra didn’t entirely intend to refuse him, she didn’t seem to be thanking him for asking or staying committed to the schtick.
Though, if Cassandra had wanted a grand gesture of romance, something that she would cherish until her dying breath, it was likely that she hadn’t wanted this silent promise of marriage if the world kept falling apart. If he did die out there, if either of them died out there, nothing would remain of their promises. No ceremony, no little paper to commemorate it, no memories of the moment they stood before the Maker and agreed on companionship.
Maybe if Cassandra was wanting a big proposal she expected a big wedding to follow. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of Cassandra in a massive Orlesian gown, glittering with pearls and silver, uncharacteristically feminine and extravagant. She didn’t seem like the sort to cling to traditional gowns, and a soft casual one seemed out of character for her. The Seeker struck him as the type to wear ceremonial armor, glistening and blinding, iridescent under the glow of stained glass windows of a church.
He could almost picture it; her braid worn neatly across her crown, maybe small stones placed randomly across it, maybe even pearls if she wanted to look softer. Cassandra wouldn’t wear much makeup if given the choice, maybe a soft pink lip to bring out their natural red color. It would be nice to see her in armor without being splattered in blood. Maybe she’d even wear a smile to the ceremony.
Varric was surprised by how long he could get lost in the soft, gentle fantasy. They would likely wed and go their separate ways after dinner, off to take care of their own businesses. It almost felt like a relief. Not that he didn’t enjoy being around Cassandra, but the woman could be a handful; impossible to console, difficult to speak to… It didn’t make her any less charming, or desireable, but she struck him as the sort who definitely needed her own space.
At first he’d been upset that Cassandra didn’t want to live with him. Naturally, a man wanted to spend time with his wife and hoped she felt the same. With Cassandra pursuing her own life as a Seeker, as a Hand to the Divine, she’d hardly be around much anyway. When Varric would come home from sorting out his own affairs, he knew he’d be walking into a space that was uniquely and exclusively his. It was comforting. They could be together and separate and it was fine.
He could hardly hear what excuse she’d try to use tomorrow.
“I do not want to have any children.” Cassandra said firmly.
“Alright.” Varric responded, sipping the ale he’d ordered. Surprisingly, Cassandra had been the one to approach him today. Either she was trying to find proper reasons not to wed or she was starting to crack under the pressure. Varric wasn’t entirely sure that he liked other possibility. “I’ve got some nieces and nephews, they’re great.”
As expected, Varric lowered his drink and asked what he’d been asking all week. “Will you marry me?”
“Varric, why are you doing this?”
“Cassandra, I’ll level with you.” He pushed the drink aside. “I don’t know if I’m going to survive all this. I’ve told you that already, and yeah it’s not the most comforting thought. And like most I’ve got regrets in my life. I don’t want to be bleeding out on the battlefield, staring up at that green demon hole as it spits out more shit, thinking to myself that I regret never asking. I don’t want to regret not trying.”
The Seeker looked taken aback at the honesty.
“That is… noble of you.” Cassandra almost sounded humbled. Varric did his best to keep his jaw off the table.
“Is that a compliment, Seeker?”
“Do not let it go to your head.”
Once again, Cassandra left without an answer.
Leliana had been helping keep things in order. Apparently, the Inquisitor had told her what all the flowers were for and she eagerly supplied her birds. She was, however, reluctant to help the dwarf with the candle situation. Something about ‘too much to be seen doing,’ or something to that effect.
It had, however, led to the recruitment of Sera. Varric had realized that sconces might have been the solution. That meant removing sconces from some of the unattended halls of skyhold. Surely, a few sconces could go missing without anyone noticing. He had even heard that the Inquisitor had gotten lost on his way to his bedroom shortly after arriving.
Sera took to the task with glee, more than eager to start ripping fixtures off of brick. Varric had perhaps gotten two on his own before giving her the reins and deciding to get his hands on some pitch. It would have looked sloppy if Cassandra actually noticed it, but pitch would have been easier to get than mortar. To add to it, he was sure plenty of people would appreciate the more ambient lighting in the chapel, especially with the lack of windows.
He had managed to get two sconces in hand before noticing Sera was being interrogated by none other than His Inquisitorialness, and she was doing quite well with covering her ass. Laying her accent on extra thick and spewing out what he was certain was nonsense, the Inquisitor only let go of the situation once ushered away by Ruffles.
In hindsight, stealing a bunch of unused sconces might have been a poor choice. He thanked Sera for her help, putting aside the four that he had and figuring it was enough to at least give the room some pleasant framing. Putting them in fourths across the room would look nice, or mirrored on either side of the statue of Andraste. He was sure she would have loved that - being surrounded by stolen sconces and ill-gotten flowers while a dwarf attempted a final desperate plea for a human’s hand. The latter would have probably been fine, given the company she was said to have kept.
There was, however, one more ambient detail to deal with. Music.
Any showman worth his salt know how important music was to stage-dressing. Music could completely change a scene, it could soften hearts, and it made every tavern feel warmer. Luckily, there happened to be a nearby tavern with a bard. Maryden was often pretty agreeable, and the two had been known to get along in the past. Few appreciated her efforts as much as the Inquisitor, who nearly wept with glee seeing her after Haven.
She was kind and sweet, and a woman who understood passion. Granted her passion was for her work, but she had told him once how she felt her work was important. If he recalled correctly, she was a bit of a romantic too. He could never forget a song about a girl like Sera sung by a woman like Maryden.
Convincing her was the easiest part of his plan so far.
A week had passed since Varric began his ridiculous quest for her hand, and for seven days Cassandra had been racking her brain trying to figure out how to deal with him. Clearly, he was up to something. No one continued this sort of behavior for days on end and persisted without change. The dwarf had been in and out of Skyhold somewhat consistently, departing with the Inquisitor and coming back looking rougher than usual. Thankfully the healers who had made their way to Skyhold were skilled in their craft and worked well with what little they were provided with.
Nevertheless, it unnerved her to see Varric in bandages. Certainly it was normal, given their duties, but it suddenly found reason to struck a chord. She chided herself for letting the proposals soften her.
Perhaps that had been Varric’s plan all along. She could just imagine the man trying to soften her edges, an attempt to make her lower her guard and make a fool of her in front of the Inquisition. If that was his plan, she hated to admit that it was working.
Just as Varric had approached her in the days before, he approached her now.
“Seeker.” Varric greeted her casually. A soft split in his lip further accentuated his snide smile. She could see the salve on it, a faint green that speckled the exposed skin of his chest and a few of his fingers. It was still miraculous to her that elfroot was capable of so much.
“Dwarf.” She responded, hoping that the cold approach might have dissuaded him from asking again.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking-” Cassandra arched a brow. “And you’re just devastated that I haven’t asked for your hand today. Don’t go worrying about it, I’ve got a plan.”
“Somehow I find that less comforting.”
“I doubt it’s any worse than Corypheus’. Give it a chance. Say what you will when the time comes, but give it a chance.”
Cassandra felt a twitch in her lip, a sharp wrinkle in her nose. She was pretty sure her eyelid was twitching.
“Something tells me you’re not thrilled with the suggestion.”
“Things aren’t supposed to go like this, Varric. This is…. Not at all how I imagined it would be. You have to come to me, everyday, asking for my hand with such an informal approach that you might as well be asking me for a pen. There is no planning, no-no perfect moment! How could I possibly see the man you want to be without any of the effort?”
Varric looked hurt for a moment before his expression softened. His eyes looked sad, eyebrows slack and out of their trademark arches. The dwarf sighed, crossing his arms and thinking for a moment in silence.
Cassandra took the opportunity to keep going.
“I know that you know better than this. I have read your stories.”
“Life isn’t like one of my stories, Cassandra. I could spend the rest of my life planning the perfect moment for you only to have the Maker send rain when I needed sun. Life is messy and impulsive and spontaneous. It’s temporary and you can’t preserve it, no matter what you do. Every moment I spend with you transcends my ability to write. Life isn’t… You can’t just…. Put it down on a piece of paper and expect it to work out. Sometimes you make a mistake and you cross it out. Or, you make a mistake and you don’t notice but someone else does. And you can spend the rest of the story trying to compensate for that one mistake.
“Or you can let it go and just keep going. I can’t promise you a flawless silhouette as sun shines through your window. I can’t promise you a happy ending. All I can promise is that I want you to have those things.”
“And what do you gain from this, Varric?”
“Gain?” The man sounded taken aback.
“From this proposed union?”
“Well I can’t lie. I’m really itching to put myself into that queue of kings. I’m sure I could easily arrange seventy-some assassinations.” The corner of her lip twitched in a way that told him that a lesser man would have been actually motivated to that. Or, worse still, that she expected he really was. “Alright, alright. I gain you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean in a material sense!” Varric quickly backpedaled. “I mean, I get to be with you. That’s… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that’s all I want. You want to live separately? We’ll live separately. You don’t want to act like a wife? Don’t. You don’t have to change for me, you don’t have to be someone you’re not. We don’t have to have kids, we don’t… We don’t have to be characters from a book. We can be nonconventional. We can bend rules. We can be whatever we need to be, Cassandra.”
It was the Seeker’s turn to be surprised. There was a subtle change in his cadence, in the way he stood. Varric meant these things.
“You can feel however you want, Seeker.” Varric held up both his hands, taking a step back. “But I’ll be in the chapel at sunset. Meet me there, or don’t. If you don’t show, I’ll get the picture.”
Varric turned his back on the woman before she could gather her thoughts and argue.
Everything was supposed to be in place. Nightingale had heard news and had her little birds running around Skyhold and putting things into position for sunset. The flowers looked beautiful, the candles had been positioned on pew seats and the barrels they’d covered in flowers, and Varric felt like he’d eaten a handful of deathroot.
While he wasn’t likely to make a misstep, unless he tripped over his own words, there was the looming fear that Cassandra would actually reject him. It was rare that Varric took the time to pray, let alone that he would find himself in the chapel.
Yet here he sat, on his knees in front of Andraste, light ambient and shining gently off her cheeks and forehead. The dwarf found himself more concerned than ever that Cassandra would be disinterested in the proposal. It was private but grand, but perhaps too little too late.
He felt that way until he heard the door open, and the Lady Seeker let herself in.
Cassandra had always imagined grand to mean large, or bombastic, and had never imagined the soft subtley of a windowless chapel to be grand. As he stood, the light from the sconces caught either side of Varric’s head, leaving a soft strawberry blonde halo dancing just behind his head. He had no crossbow on his back, no quill in his hand, and no sharp words upon his lips. For the first time Cassandra could remember, Varric Tethras was completely unarmed.
“Cassandra Allegra Filomena Portia Calogera Pentaghast, I ask you here, before the eyes of Andraste herself,”
Music lightly played, just outside of the chapel door as it swung shut, distant and delicate, present but nearly absent with its softness.
“If you would do me the honor of being my wife. I want you to be my family, I want you to be the force that drives me to come home. If you choose to say no, I’ll accept that. I’ll respect your decision. I’ll leave everything I’ve said here behind. We can resume our lives unchanged.”
The soft orange light brought out a heavenly glow on Cassandra’s cheeks. Varric found himself at a loss for words as a deafening silence flooded the chapel.
“Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena.” She responded, softly.
“What?”
“My names. You were…. Out of order.”
Varric bit his tongue. It seemed that he was doing rather poorly at actually presenting the romance correctly, even with Cassandra dropping the most obvious hints.
“But I have…. Considered your offer.” Cassandra crossed to the dwarf, a smile playing on her usually stoic lips as she placed a hand on either side of his neck. “And I have come to appreciate your efforts, Varric. I… cannot say I would be unhappy to return from battle to find you waiting for me.”
The twinkle in his eyes had been worth every day of proposals.
“So, you’ll be Mrs. Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast-Tethras?”
“I believe that Mrs. Cassandra Tethras will suffice, don’t you?”