Chapter Text
Any story that began with “Hold my ale, and watch this,” was not meant to end well, but that hadn’t stopped Varric from trying to demonstrate his rogue abilities in a crowded Orlesian pub.
One less enjoyable part of remaining in an Inquisition after their nemesis was defeated was the clean up. Multiple rifts remained open throughout Thedas, and Evie had to close them all. They could not weave through countries with impunity like in wartime, however, so a stay over in Val Royeaux was required on their way back to Skyhold. The Inquisitor already had dinner plans from weeks ago thanks to Josephine, which left the rest of them to enjoy the finery of the city while they waited for her return.
This finery, with the likes of Bull and Sera in company, included copious amounts of alcohol at the luxurious inn the Inquisition’s clout had paid for. Usually their antics would have Cassandra removing herself quickly to a darker corner of the tavern, but Varric’s hand was warm in hers, his smile bright, and the wine in her own glass left her blood singing, so she stayed.
“Hey, Varric! Are dwarf rogues common?” Bull asked over the din, the cushioned bench he sat on groaning under his weight as he leaned back, already far into his cups.
“He’s a bit square ain’t ‘e? Bit like a boulder. I can never figure ‘ow ‘e jumps like ‘e does. Know what I mean?” Sera giggled into her ale.
Varric rolled his eyes, grinning, “No need to be jealous, Sera. I can jump higher because I’m stronger.”
The elf snorted, “As if! ‘Sides, strength’s only as good as long as you sustain it!”
“Oh, I think I smell a bet,” Bull slammed his tankard down, making their own cups rattle.
“A bet?” Cassandra chose to speak up then, eyes narrowing. She’d seen enough results of the Chargers’ bets before to foresee trouble. The last time Sera had lost to them she’d had to march about Skyhold in her small clothes, but she’d purposefully forfeited her breast band and scandalized a few choice nobles that still wouldn’t speak to Josie. The Inquisition didn’t need another national incident, much less in Val Royeaux.
“Now, now, Seeker. If your dwarf loses he’ll keep his clothes, don’t you worry,” Bull grinned, and she started. Former spy or no, the Qunari still had a disconcerting knack for reading people, even herself.
“Can’t say she’d mind it though if he did, eh, Cassandra?” Sera winked, “How is ‘e anyway? Never had dwarf meself.”
She stilled, a blush creeping up her face that she couldn’t hide, when Varric squeezed her hand under the table, reassuring.
Dorian may have had them rutting in every dark corner in Skyhold long before they actually began a more intimate relationship, but such intimacy had not reached past a heated kiss or tender embrace yet since she’d fallen ill a month past. Varric called it “taking things slow,” and she’d been appreciative of his patience, but despite managing to keep their private affairs private, the assumption of many that they’d already crossed that line some time ago still irked her.
“Alright, alright, what’s this bet, Bull?” Varric replied.
A large thumb and forefinger scratching at his chin as he considered the stakes, The Iron Bull finally nodded to himself, and spoke:
“Here’s the play. You hold a handstand for a whole minute, but you got to do it one handed. Thirty seconds right, thirty seconds left. If you win, the Chargers pay the tab for a nice getaway for you and the Seeker. If you lose, you’re the Chargers’ barmaid for a month. Deal?”
“Deal!”
Varric’s hand was in Bull’s before she could stop him, and Cassandra groaned as he stood.
“Don’t worry, Seeker,” he pressed a kiss to her cheek, smiling, “You deserve a holiday, and I’m gonna win us one.”
“‘Atta boy, Tethras!” Sera crowed, and Cassandra watched as Varric shoved his pint in Bull’s direction.
“Hold my ale, and watch this!”
She knew the sight and strength of those arms from when he’d held her close, but Cassandra couldn’t help but admire how easily Varric positioned himself in a handstand, and shifted to one arm.
“Counting down now!” Bull announced.
The first thirty seconds flew by with out a hitch, but as Varric moved to his other arm, he overbalanced, and the ale he’d consumed and gravity did the rest.
His boots came down hard on another patron as he fell, and she was already up and helping him when the victim whirled on his heel, staring down at them both.
“What is the meaning of this?!”
They righted themselves, and Cassandra drew upon what little diplomatic skill she retained.
“We are deeply sorry, Monsieur. My companion has had too much to drink, we will return to our rooms shortly.”
Varric touched her hand where it lay on his shoulder, his gaze proud and loving. She couldn’t help the small smile that graced her features before looking to the other man and bowing slightly before turning them both back to their table. Varric had not won the bet, which meant he would serve the Chargers’ for a month. She supposed she’d have to visit the Herald’s Rest more often–
“Faithless Nevarrans! You’re laying with dwarves now? He’s so short I’m surprised you can find anything to prick you!”
Interrogated later by Josephine, Cassandra would deny any memory of how it truly happened.
Her fist connected hard and sure against the man’s face, her bare knuckles steel after years of combat. The Orlesian was propelled into a table that shattered under the force and his weight.
Bull and Sera were at her side in an instant as the noble’s cronies rushed forward, posturing as he was helped up.
Varric placed himself in front of her, shoulders tense and jaw clenched.
“Apologize,” he growled, “or are we gonna have a problem?”
“Oh Monsieur, we are far past mere problems,” the man spat, blood gushing from a split lip and nose, “I, Chevalier Philippe Belrose, accept your challenge, Lady Cassandra Pentaghast.”
Cassandra blinked; then bit her lip to stop from cursing violently. Of course, they weren’t in Skyhold. They were well-known inner circle members to the Inquisitor, and a barroom brawl had far more reaching implications in Val Royeaux.
She was going to pummel Bull with his “make things better” stick until he stopped moving when this was all over, but first she had to duel a Chevalier in defense of her and her beau’s honor.