#I laughed myself SICK through Cassandra and Varric's Guilty Pleasures scene

[spainkitty]

A Very Stupid Book

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

She was restless. Restless. Dagna was tinkering away with Maddox's tools, and probably scaring the life out of Herrit. Hawke was searching for Stroud somewhere. Corypheus was lying suspiciously low. Everyone was in this horrible stretch of stasis.

What was going to come next? When was it coming? Why wasn't it here already?

Or maybe it was just her. Maybe everyone else was perfectly sane and enjoying the respite.

There was still work that could be done in Emprise du Lion. Maybe she could take the time to finally go check out that strange Oasis in the far west... But Hawke said Stroud was definitely in Ferelden. The Oasis was much too far away to go to because she felt antsy.

She walked the battlements several times and checked on the infirmary courtyard renovations. Somehow, her feet kept leading her towards Cullen's office. Where he was working. She couldn't go tease or bother him while he was working. Especially since it... she... felt different. She still hadn't figured out what it was, what the earth shifting under her or look on his face meant. Until she did, she'd keep her feet on solid ground and...

and

drive herself insane apparently.

She threw her hands up and left the walls before she ended up in Cullen's office anyway. Herald's Rest was an obvious choice. She liked spending time with the Iron Bull. But... She didn't want to go anywhere near alcohol after the maraas-lok debacle. Maybe Iron Bull was at that training corner? He, Krem, and Cassandra often sparred there. 

Lavellan wandered around the the other side of the Rest. It was immediately, unfortunately, obvious Bull wasn't out there. It didn't even seem like Cassandra was. With the vague idea of heading to the garden to pry some information out of Morrigan, an exercise in futility if there ever was, Lavellan made to turn away. And then paused. Took another closer look.

Cassandra was there. She was sitting on a bench that Lavellan had never noticed there before, and was curled over something on her lap. Lavellan sidled closer to lean in without blocking the light Cassandra was using to... read a book. Cassandra was reading a book. And was so engrossed in it, she didn't so much as flinch when Lavellan leaned in even closer to squint at the print.

"What's that, Cassandra?" Lavellan finally asked.

She was expecting some reaction, but nothing so violent. Cassandra all but fell off the bench, eyes wide and horrified, flailing--Cassandra flailed!-- as she tried to hide the book behind her.

"Nothing! I mean, it's just a book."

"..." Lavellan stared at her. "I... saw it was a book. Why are you hiding it?" Lavellan craned around her, and Cassandra...

Cassandra threw the book away.

"What in the world...?" Lavellan blurted, eyebrows high. Cassandra's eyes darted everywhere but at her.

"It's nothing. It's of no interest to you, I'm certain."

Lavellan stared at her. "Maybe not before you threw it across the yard. Now I'm very interested."

"I didn't throw it that far," Cassandra said defensively. Lavellan slowly began to smirk. Cassandra sighed and walked over to pick it back up, carefully dusting it clean. "It's one of Varric's tales. Swords & Shields, the latest chapter."

"Varric's? You're a fan of his books!?" Lavellan grinned and reached for it. Cassandra pulled the book away again.

"Why are you saving her, but I had to suffer through that horrid trash?" Dorian asked as he walked by. "I actually feel dumber after reading that last one she gave me. Don't let her fool you, that's her favorite."

"I've read Varric's books before. What I've read is really good," Lavellan said with a frown.

"Yes, those books have standards. His smutty romances do not," Dorian said with a smirk.

"Oh, it's one of those!" Lavellan snorted loudly and quickly pressed her fist to her mouth.

"No one asked you, Tevinter. It's literature!" Cassandra snapped at Dorian. Almost immediately, she backed down and shook her head. "Smutty literature. Whatever you do, don't tell Varric!"

"I should read it. It sounds interesting," Lavellan joked, reaching for it again.

"No! No, you can't!" Cassandra gasped, absolutely aghast at the very idea. Lavellana froze, glanced to Dorian, whom shrugged with a too-wide smirk. "You're the... the Inquisitor. You shouldn't read such things."

"What?" Lavellan huffed incredulously as Dorian burst into laughter.

"They're terrible. And magnificent. And this one ends in a cliffhanger. Varric has to be writing the next one, he must be. You!" Lavellen startled under Cassandra's almost pleading gaze. "You could ask him to finish it, command him to..."

Cassandra trailed off as Lavellan gaped at her like a fish out of water. She hadn't just implied Lavellan should command Varric to finish a book? No, that wasn't even an implication, she said 'command'! As Cassandra's expression began to shutter into her customary scowl, Lavellan began to grin.

"Pretend you don't know this about me," she ordered, turning away without another word.

Lavellen slowly met Dorian's equally bemused and incredulously grinning face.

"I only came to speak with Morris about the mages' woefully outdated equipment, and I received so much more," Dorian said in a voice cracking with repressed laughter.

"There's only one thing to do now," Lavellan agreed. She grinned crookedly, and without hesitation, jogged for Skyhold's entrance, Dorian right behind her.

Lavellan never thought anything could flabbergast Varric. He took to demons and Breaches and fake archdemons with easy wisecracks and a flair for irony. But the moment Lavellan said 'Cassandra is waiting for the next Swords & Shields', he actually stumbled. Asked repeatedly to make sure he heard correctly, slowly growing more and more amused as Lavellan and Dorian convinced him they weren't lying. That, in fact, his biggest fan was right outside.

"So... you want me to finish writing the next chapter of my worst serial. For Cassandra." Varric smirked and shook his head. "Oh, that's such a terrible idea. I have to do it. On one condition, I have to be there when you give it to her."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Dorian replied.

"It's a deal," Lavellan quickly agreed.

Varric chuckled, still shaking his head. "All right. I better get to work. Give me until dinner."

"That fast?" Lavellan blurted. Varric shrugged and walked away.

"I did tell you they are terrible, right?" Dorian reminded her.

"Do you still have the ones she lent you?"

Dorian blinked rapidly and then laughed. "Yes, of course. Please, take them away before people see them and think they're mine." Lavellan grinned.

...

Later that evening, Lavellan sat cross-legged on her bed and set the borrowed serials on her lap. Cassandra's embarrassed antics and Varric's smug enjoyment of it all was fresh in her mind. She'd never seen Cassandra so flustered and... and normal. Like a person with real guilty pleasures instead of an honorable, too blunt Seeker. It had been nice to see that side of her. And be able to laugh with Dorian about it. Hopefully Cassandra and Varric would be better friends after all this, too. To be fair, their bickering was already more entertainment than uncomfortable these days.

Now, at last, Lavellan let herself get drawn into Varric's romance serial. She needed to see for herself what Cassandra hadn't wanted her to read.

It was... truly atrocious. Half the time she laughed when she was pretty sure she was supposed to cry. Or sigh and bat her eyelashes or something. Swoon, maybe? Varric was a good writer; the content was horrendous, but his writing was addictive. The characters were so real, the action fast and gripping, the dialogue as quippy as the author himself. But the romance was absolute drivel. And the smut...

That's not how that works... right?

Lavellan tilted her head and tried to picture it. Where where her legs at? Did he have three arms? She rolled her eyes and skimmed through those pages quickly after just a few paragraphs. Surely sex didn't last that long, why were there so many pages devoted to smut? Get it over with already.

Snorting and impatient, she found the end of it, eager to see what happened to the main characters after the sex. She got a few kisses in with Solas and that... Her fingers clenched around the book. Even thinking the words aloud in her own head was impossible. Anyway, she ran from it, from him, as fast as possible.

So, what was supposed to happen after? She all but devoured the next few pages. Only to stop short, heart pounding painfully against her ribs as she read it again.

Oh.

Oh.

Her pulse quickened and she touched the paragraph. Followed the lines with her fingertips. That was actually... nice. Just lying next to each other? Waking up together? Turning and seeing the person you've loved and wanted and yearned for right next to you and then they smile? That was. That was sweet. And so simple.

The man kept touching the woman's hair. Curling it around his fingers. Lavellan reached up and tugged at a strand of her own hair. It wasn't very curl-able. Too short and thick and spiky. Would she like someone to touch her like that? What if she touched someone like that?

She snorted and snapped the book closed. Stupid. She had, hadn't she? She'd woken up next to the Solas just a few weeks ago. It had been nice, but she hadn't been all swoony. Hadn't been yearning. It had been nice and comfortable and she hadn't been alone. All perfectly reasonable things to feel when you wake up next to someone you like.

Lavellan tossed the book to the ground and flopped back on the bed. Why was she so disappointed? Did she want to swoon?

She grimaced.

No. Definitely not. Swooning is bad.

What about the yearning part?

Lavellan closed her eyes. Did she want to want someone like that? To constantly want to seek them out? To touch them any way she possibly could? Smile when they smiled? Did she want to wake up and see the same person beside her, for him touch her hair and say good morning as if she made his morning good?

What would his hair feel like curled around her finger? Would he still blush? He was probably really comfortable to lay on, too, if he'd take off the damm armor. What would it feel like to fall asleep next to him and wake up holding his hand--

Wait. She'd had this thought before. About the same damn person. Why was her hypothetical person suddenly a real person??

Lavellan jerked upright.

Was she already... yearning and she... hadn't even noticed!?!

She got to her feet, gnawed at her thumbnail, and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, footsteps faster and faster.

The teasing--No, she flirted with and teased Dorian and Cassandra and Varric and--that didn't mean anything. So what if she liked to make him blush. It was a game.

The chess games. If she was perfectly honest... she kind of hated chess. But she kept playing the stupid game. And she only played it with Cullen. Dorian had offered once and she waved him off, suggested going for a ride instead. It didn't mean anything. She liked talking to Cullen. He liked playing chess. So they talked and played chess.

She liked making him smile. She liked making him blush. Void take it, she even liked fighting with him, just a little. He lost his cool and in control composure, and she liked poking at his edges.

She'd liked dancing with him. She had thought it was because it had been fun. After that horrible, shitty, no good beast of a ball, dancing with Cullen had been fun. Easy. He'd made her smile and laugh and believe in herself again. He'd even held her like that, spun her like he had his sister, shared those memories with her... She liked it. She'd liked all of it. If he asked her to dance in the middle of Skyhold's courtyard, she'd probably say yes. Definitely. She'd definitely say yes.

She glanced down at Varric's book.

Then, she closed her eyes, palms sweaty, whole body too hot. Imagine it. Just imagine Cullen there. And yourself there. Imagine reaching out to touch his hair, making it curl around your finger, and then he wakes up. And he smiles and he says good morning and... what did the man in the book do? Oh, he kissed the woman's hair, that was weird, and wouldn't work... But your hand is there, so Cullen could hold your hand again, and... what if Cullen kissed your hand?

Lavellan pressed her hand over her mouth, eyes suddenly too wide.

"Oh. Oh no. I really... Fenedhis! No. No, you idiot. This is stupid, so stupid. He's the Commander, you're the Inquisitor. You're a mage! A Dalish mage! He's a human man from Honnleath. And ex-templar who... who couldn't--!"

She turned and glared at the book. With an angry snarl, she blasted it with fire. Stupid damn book. Giving her stupid ideas.

He couldn't want that with her. Not after everything he'd been through. Even if they could get past their roles, their different backgrounds, she'd always be a mage.

But... he respects you, doesn't he? He tries his best to understand. He agrees with almost every call you make. He doesn't flinch, he's never flinched, even knowing what you're capable of. He's listened to your advice about dealing with the mages, and you've listened to his.

He held your hand. Kept his arm tight around you during that dance.

"Well, this is still stupid!" She tipped her head back to glare at the ceiling. "I won't get anywhere on my own."

She turned towards the window. It was mostly dark, the sunset barely a line of dark rose. Most of the sky was star-studded black velvet. But it wasn't exactly late. Lavellan went for her boots, dumped her ewer out over the still smoldering book, and headed down for the door. Unlike the last time she went on a mission to Cullen's office, this time she headed outside. She didn't need any distractions.

While she wasn't exactly running, she was moving fast enough up the stairs to lose her breath. At least, she hoped that's why she was losing her breath. Swooning was not going to happen. So figure it out, lungs. She skidded over stone, too aware of every pulse point in her body and how they pounded, and stared at Cullen's door. Just go in. Say 'I like you, I want to sleep with you, would you ever sleep with a mage? '

Wait, no. That's a horrible idea. Terrible wording. See, Dorian, Varric, I can notice innuendo.

"I like you" is a good start. She'd said that before. He'd also said it back. But it had been in a friend way. How to differentiate...? Fond of you? Ugh, no. You're special to me? Ugh, worse. She bit her thumbnail and began to pace.

I... care? I care about you. That's clear. That's good! I care about you. Could you ever care about a mage? No, wait, could you ever feel that way about me? Even though I'm a mage? Is that accusatory?

"Fenedhis lasa, I'm winging it. We'll see what happens."

She burst into Cullen's office. He startled so badly the cup he was holding rattled and liquid splashed all over his hands and desk. "Wha-What?"

"Was it hot?! I can fix it!" She raised her hand.

"No, no. I don't need a desk covered in ice," Cullen said quickly, half-rising out of his seat. "It wasn't hot, anyway. I forgot to drink it."

"I don't do ice well, actually," Lavellan said, slowly lowering her hand. "So you were going to drink cold...?"

"Tea. It was tea." They both glanced at the puddle dripping onto the floor. "Emphasis on was."

"Shit."

"It doesn't matter. It's terrible cold. Are you all right?" He scooted the cup aside and got to his feet, shaking the wet off his gloves. "You burst in like there was an emergency."

"No. Not an emergency. Just..." She sighed. "Let me help."

"Help?"

"Quick dry. Lucky for you, I'm a mage." She smiled awkwardly and wriggled her fingers.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You lived in Circles for years, didn't you see them use their magic for all kinds of things before... you know... boom?" She winced and held her hand out over the puddle. It barely took any energy at all to heat the air until it shimmered and the liquid began to evaporate. "The trick is to know when to stop. You don't want the desk or the papers to catch fire."

"We weren't encouraged to fraternize. Magic like this... I wouldn't have even noticed."

"Not big or flashy enough?" She shook her hand out with a hiss. Hot air could burn just as much as fire. "I knew someone that could pick the puddle right off the ground and..." She stopped, shook her head. "And something. I remember the puddle rising. She pulled it right out of his robes, so no one would see he was wet...?"

"Lane?" His hand touched her arm.

"What? Did... Did you say something?" She shook her head again and glanced at the desk. "I can do the floor. It'll just be a second."

"It's stone. It'll live. Look at me, Lavellan." He lowered his head to meet her gaze, slowly straightening as she looked up. The expression on his face was so concerned and just as gentle as his hand on her arm. It made her pulse race all over again. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine." She grinned crookedly. "Kinda upset my own plans, but I'll live."

"Plans?"

Lavellan shuffled in place. Damn it, she felt shy. "Can we talk? For a minute?"

Cullen leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. "Of course. Anything you need."

"Maybe, um, outside? We could take a walk? Alone."

"A walk? Alone?" He frowned slightly, eyes darting over her face. Then, he suddenly glanced away with hand over his mouth. "Alone?"

It was probably written in giant yellow paint across her face. She looked anywhere but directly at him, heart thudding in her throat.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's... go." She turned on her heel and marched right back out. Luckily, he followed.

They walked for a while in awkward silence. Lavellan got lost in her head, writing a script, disregarding a script, writing another one. She let her hand ghost over the stone wall, felt the wind from the snowy peaks brush across her face, and inhaled. Exhaled.

"Nice night?"

"Huh, what?" She jerked around. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, staring at his feet. "Did you say something?"

"Uh no, not really--it's... nothing." He sighed and looked back towards his office.  A pair of guards walked by, saluted, and continued past on their round.

Oh no. He was going go. She was being an idiot, of course he was going to go. As if in slow motion, she saw his mouth open. And she had to say it now. The door behind those guards closed. Right now.

"Cullen! I--" It lodged something in her chest. A too heavy rock. What if he... what if he didn't... It would hurt. This would hurt a lot. But he was looking at her and it could be her only chance. Indomitable will, her ass. She was a giant chicken. "I care about you."

She said it. She actually said it.

He stood there, his hand slowly falling from his nape, eyes wide and too dark to read in the dim starlight.

"I care about you and I need to know if you could... if you could ever care about someone like me. A mage. After all you've been through, could you think about me the same way?"

It hung there. Finally outside her. And she meant it. These were the right words, the words she'd felt in Halamshiral. The ones she hadn't understood. She cared about him. She cared about him so much that the idea of him saying no, that she was a mage and it was too much, hurt. It hurt so much she wanted to stop him from talking. She was actually scared.

"Lavellan... Lane," her heart leapt from her toes to her mouth, "Of course I could. Do. I do care about you, and think about... what I would say in this situation."

Lavellan smiled, wide and shocked, only for the smile to crack and fall when Cullen wouldn't look at her. Actually sighed again under his breath as he turned away.

"Cullen? What is it?" Slowly, as if she were approaching a spooked horse, she set her hand on his arm.

"You're the Inquisitor," Lavellan barely kept from grimacing; that was the second time she heard that in a single day, "we're at war, and you... I didn't think it was possible."

She blinked. That... that wasn't how Cassandra had said it, or how she implied it. He sounded... confused. And soft. Something similar to disbelief. Disbelief that she could say or feel anything like that when the world was on the verge of falling apart.

"I don't think war stops feelings like that. Like this. Though, I don't know what I'm saying because I've never been at war or had these feelings before, or I don't remember it, so--but. It's not. Impossible." Lavellan didn't even know what words were coming out of her mouth now. He was looking at her finally. And when she stepped closer, he stepped closer, too. "I'm right here, with you."

"So you are." He was closer, his head dipped lower, and she rocked forward onto the balls on her feet. "It seems too much to ask, and yet I want to--"

A door creaked open the same moment her eyes lowered to his mouth.

"Commander," they broke apart and Cullen tipped his head back to glare upwards, "you wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report," said the assistant that Lavellan had seen with Cullen too many times to count.

She really needed to learn his name. If only so she could curse him in her head properly. She leaned back against the wall and stared at her feet, disappointment cutting all the tension in her, like a knife cutting strings. It had been so close. Now he'd scrape together all his honorable objections and common sense and she'd never get another--

"What."

Her eyebrows raised at the sheer annoyance in that single syllable. Perhaps he'd been spending too much time around her, because he sounded like he was about to start throwing lightning with the power of his annoyance and will alone.

"Sister Leliana's report...? You said you wanted it delivered without delay?"

There was a long, heavy silence. Lavellan stared off in the oppsite direction, gnawing on her thumbnail, too deeply humiliated and frustrated to dare glance over to see what the silence was. She could just... slip away. There was a door right over there where those guards had gone. Of course this would happen. That stupid book.

"Or... to your office... of course. I'll... right away." Boots on stone hurried away. A door closed.

Surprisingly, Cullen was coming back towards her. Probably to apologize. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. She glanced up and then away, pushing off the stone wall.

"If you have to--"

She didn't even recognize the sound she made; so soft and surprised and shy. One hand was cupping the nape of her neck, a thumb pressed to her pulse, the other on her hip. And...

Was he kissing her?

He was, without a word or warning, kissing her like someone was about to come through another door and stop him. Which might actually happen. She pushed up onto her toes and grabbed handfuls of fur. Kissed back with all the fervent urgency inside her. It felt like she'd been waiting months for this, for him, for his lips on hers and his hands, warm even through his gloves, on her. Despite her tight-clenched fists in his cloak, he pulled away with a quiet gasp and she dropped to her heels, befuddled and blinking.

"I'm sorry, that was... that was very nice."

She blinked again and frowned slightly. "Why are you sorry? That was what I wanted."

"Oh." He carefully cupped her face, his thumbs stroking along the line of her cheekbone and vallaslin. The smile that she liked best, that was almost a smirk, slowly grew across his face. "Good."

The same time he leaned in, she tugged him down. Both hands stroked down her back to wrap completely around her. She arched into him, as pleased as a cat, and finally buried a hand in his hair, the other still holding onto his fur ruff as she balanced on her toes. His hair really did curl around her fingers and she couldn’t stop the grin that broke the kiss.

"What?" he asked, while smiling himself. She felt it against her lips.

There it was. That Moment again. Like Halamshiral and coming back from the Shrine. Everything suddenly felt right. Slotted into place like a sword fitted for a sheath. This was where her feet were meant to land. Her heart beat was too loud and too fast, her skin too hot and too taut, and his smile tasted like tea and elfroot tonic.

She shook her head, running her hand through his hair and meeting his eyes through shadows and flickering torchlight. "This is perfect."

The next kiss was, too.