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An Old Story	By : sablebliss21 Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3952 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, or anything affiliated with the game. I am not making any money from this story nor do I plan to. Don't sue me.

Chapter List
- 1-An Old Story
- 1
An Old Story
Slightly AU, not by much. Mild references to violence and unnecessary gore. This story was directly influenced by a cute little fic I read the other day; I took the idea and expanded on it a little bit, definitely ran full throttle with my own creative liberties on the back-story. I give full credit for this brainchild to MadDoggyClown on fanfiction.net.
Don’t hate, but I totally pulled the story of “Bianca” out of my ass. And I did go back and edit that part for better effect.
Varric/f! Hawke
~*~
It had started as simple curiosity. A question he’d never thought to ask or ever had to ask until now, but the answer was proving to be something of a challenge to acquire. It wasn’t as a result of how long he’d known her without asking, it was purely a matter of the ultimatum she’d given that was keeping him from his destination.
Hawke was a professional warrior, a profoundly intelligent human, a quick-witted, silver tongued business woman, and never had any of that been to his disadvantage until today. Sitting comfortably in one of his low seated dining chairs across the table from him, the woman in question was still smiling in the same sultry way she had been when the subject had first been brought to the forefront. The glow from the fireplace brought out the fine natural red highlights in her long auburn hair, left flowing around her shoulders for the informal visit. Though not planning on any rowdy errand running for the evening she still wore tight fitted leather armor, dark brown with green designs embossed across the chest and down the sides, matching gloves, greaves and boots, just in case. With her reputation growing as it was, she only expected the worst, even on a quiet day, and so she was never seen without protection for battle. Heavily plated chainmail for their adventures, easier-to-move-in leather for everyday journeys. Her trusted and well used maul rested heavily within her reach against the table side, silver details engraved in the sylvanwood handle, the head brutally shaped from steel of her own creation. She was quite the weapon smith given the time and materials present, and had once offered to craft for him a new crossbow, to which he had respectfully declined.
She was firm in her challenge today, and Varric was struck in a situation where he didn’t have the upper hand, and completely lacked the words needed to talk her out of her offer and into answering him anyway.
“It must be something deliciously embarrassing for you to try and bargain for something you know I can’t give you.” He said finally after the long stretch of silence, breaking his gaze from the staring match they’d had to drink lazily from his stone mug. Hawke hummed under her breath, her grin spreading a little in amusement at his attempt.

“It’s my only offer. My real first name, in exchange for the story you claim you can never tell.”
When she had come to him earlier that morning, one of their slower days in months, she had wanted to talk finance. It had caught him quite off guard when she approached him with the idea of investing in, if not a full joint take-over of the Hanged Man. She knew he’d been searching for a way to swipe it from the current owner, localized within the Coterie, but to no avail. He had quickly conceded to the fact that though she lacked entrepreneurial experience, she was extremely sharp, and without much talking on her part Varric found he was sold on the idea of being business partners with her once more. They started researching for their commerce plan, and began to draw up the legal paperwork after she talked him out of any of his more shady ideas. Between them they had more than enough coin to buy the property properly. Somewhere along the line some of the contracts they’d procured required full name signatures and family seals for the rest of their endeavor to be legit, and that’s where their planning had stopped, put on hold indefinitely. She’d done a fine job acting surprised at the prospect of sharing with him what her real name was.
“Then I guess we have hit a stalemate my friend. So much for our vision of grandeur in Lowtown.”

“Maybe one day you’ll give in, and all of this could be ours.” Hawke spread her arms, gesturing dramatically about the room and failing to withhold a small un-warrior like giggle. Varric shook his head, a sad smile flashing on his expression.

“I’m sorry to say, that day will never come.”
Her russet brown eyes twinkled, “We shall see.”
~*~
Aveline shifted from one foot to another, carefully monitoring the proceedings she was a witness to. A blood mage was arguing avidly with Hawke, who was trying desperately not to lose her patience. The woman held so much sympathy for apostates it bordered sometimes on the dangerous, but it was understandable considering her family circumstance, and the company she kept. The red head took a mental breath in preparation as the voices started to rise in agitation. These encounters were almost guaranteed to end with swords instead of words; it always seemed to with apostates.
Standing next to her on Hawke’s opposite flank was Anders, eyes locked forward and hand gripping tight to his staff as he fought to keep a diplomatic pose. Directly behind them, with his ever cool and collected expression and his trigger finger at the ready, was Varric. He’d taken to that position more recently on the last couple of errands, Aveline had noticed. She was a battle master after all; a change in routine between comrades and soldiers could mean a certain number of things. Mainly it meant there was a shift in a relationship with a fellow in arms, if it was more of an informal group. It could be he was posting up consistently in a position to watch Hawke’s back, though the fact that he was a ranged fighter could also mean he was merely sticking to an arrangement that better suited his talents. Aveline hadn’t decided yet, and wasn’t the type to ask. As long as everything continued to run smoothly she would remain out of other’s personal affairs.
Something was telling her, however that something dramatic had happened, not necessarily life-changing, but something was about to alter considerably when it came to their unofficial leader and her handy dwarf.
The young mage cast out the first strike, a ball of fire flying towards them at great speed, but Hawke had seen it coming and rolled under it as it continued past her. Varric side stepped in time, turning with Bianca at the ready and aimed instantly at the offender’s head. The apostate raised a shield in time to block the bolt laced with electrical energy, before ice formed around his fingers. Ander’s reacted perfectly, hitting the boy with a mental blast to stun him long enough for Hawke to cut him deep in his leg. It was always risky to make a blood mage bleed, and though the boy seemed novice he managed to raise a few shambling opponents to distract the advance.
Hawke was immediately surrounded, five skeletal creatures that they’d faced many times before stepped out of the fade in full armor and swinging swords. The warrior was quick with her battle axe, knocking down three and evading the others. A shield pummeled one to dust as it started to rise from where it had fallen, and Aveline took her place back on Hawke’s left side.
Arrows fell to shred another two, beams of light disintegrating a freshly generated group entirely, and Hawke moved quickly on the director of the fight. The apostate begged for a moment, then began to curse as he forced more blood out of his leg to cast another spell, but Hawke silenced him and the energy in the room evaporated.
Aveline wiped dirt from her face before reholstering her sword and shield, Varric’s crossbow clicked as he closed her action, Ander’s readjusted his robes and Hawke stood to catch her breath. She always took a moment to send well wishes with people like this, mage or not. Mages were harder for her, she didn’t want to hurt them, she didn’t want to imprison them, but some were so broken and so distraught that she usually had no other choice. Mages that desperate, that abused were more of a threat to themselves than other people, and hazardous none the less. If they couldn’t be contained, it always ended up being that they needed to be destroyed.
After another moment she stooped to search for anything useful on the mages person, hearing her group stripping the corpses behind her. The arisen demonic things never usually had much on them, but every once in a while they’d cash in big on a rare metal or a pouch of coins. The boy had only a picture tucked in his robes, and looking at it for a second she placed it back where she’d found it.
“Nothing,” Aveline reported and Hawke faced her.
“Turn in; I’ll make the run to the templar.”
Aveline and Ander’s nodded, both were tired from the journey to their current location in the underbelly of the city, her renegade friend feeling sore over their lack of ability to save another of his brethren, but when they left Varric stayed behind.
“So,” He said after they’d left ear-shot. “Is it…Martha?”
“No.”

“Hmm, how about Pinckney?”

“Definitely not.”

“Oh, then it must be Elsie of course.”

“Of course…not.”

“Fine then. Is it…”

“Is this all you’re going to do any time we spend alone together? Maybe in the hopes that I’ll break under the frustration?” Hawke interrupted, stopping in her steady walking towards the exit ahead. She had a hand on her hip and a grin on her face, and Varric winked.
“You better believe it.”
~*~
Fenris threw his cards to the table with a very un-sportsman-like grunt. Some nights he was truly terrible at this game, even when that cheating scoundrel Isabella or the smooth talking bluff-master Varric wasn’t robbing him blind. Tonight, it was just Hawke, Merril and Aveline for the moment and Merril was a total amateur.
“Looks like you’re about to resort to betting the clothing on your back, ser.” Hawke quipped, purposefully as cheerily as she could.
“Oh, that must mean it’s time for me to join the game!” Isabella’s voice carried over the noise in the barroom as she approached, and Fenris literally growled.
“I fold.” He said to the table, and then promptly left. The pirate laughed.
“I swear, if we ever want to get Fenris to leave permanently, or kill us in an unsighted rage all we have to do is set you and Ander’s on him until he can’t take it anymore and loses all sanity.” Hawke said mildly as she took up the cards and began to shuffle.

“Please, if you can prove to me that that man or any one of us is truly sane I’ll strip down and fight the next bloody bed-wetter straight naked.”
This time it was Aveline who groaned. “I think I’ll be retiring for the evening as well. Thank you Hawke, Merril, always a pleasure.”
The brassy brunette was not surprised to have scared off the two, nor was she insulted that the Guard Captain hadn’t acknowledged her once. It was quite amusing, the group’s dynamics, and Hawke never tired of watching the interactions both in and out of battle mode.
“So, who’s buying my first drink?”
The night drawled on after that, and the three women relaxed into it, welcoming the lack of duty for the evening and each other’s company. Though their unabashed ally started to drinking faster and flirting harder Hawke managed to keep the Dalish elf’s attention mostly occupied with cleaner conversation. Isabella’s raunchiness was starting to wear on her nerves when Varric finally made an appearance. She hadn’t even realized she’d been anticipating him until he was walking down the stairs, lacking his coat and gloves, the almost invisible hilt of a dagger tucked in his right boot. Always being prepared was something she’d always admired in any person, but it was something that seemed to come naturally in Varric, among other things.
It might have been the booze, it might also have been from the mood Isabella was setting, but Hawke almost licked her lips looking at the blonde dwarf. She’d never met one that didn’t have facial hair, and she’d decided long ago that she much preferred the constant shadow of golden stubble that refined his rugged features. Realizing he was getting closer to their corner and that she was about to get caught staring keenly at his partially unbuttoned red shirt she averted her eyes back to the cards in her hands.
“Good evening, ladies.” He said as he joined them, a mug in hand. Merril made room for him eagerly to sit on her side of the bench and Hawke smiled. The little elf was so innocently cute sometimes, you’d never think she wielded a power coveted and feared by mages and non-mages alike. She remained juvenile in her tendencies to beg for stories and to listen and interact enthusiastically as he told them.
“Didn’t think you were coming out of your hole, almost went up to barge in on whatever nastiness you were getting yourself into.” Isabella said by way of greeting, and Varric smirked.

“If you weren’t so prude, you would’ve. Might’ve asked you to join.”
Hawke laughed at the face he made, Merril scrunched up her nose as she thought over what he’d said and trying to see why Hawke thought it funny. Isabella merely waved him off.
“Shouldn’t you invite someone to such a thing? It seems more appropriate if we are indeed discussing an intimate arrangement.”
Varric grinned at Merril. “You’re right. Isabella, next time you feel the need to ‘barge in’, you are more than welcome to participate in whatever ‘nastiness’ I am attending to.”
Laughter again, and then small talk for what seemed like hours. Merril left for home and Isabella disappeared to her quarters, leaving Hawke alone with Varric once again. She smirked when he looked at her, mischief in his eyes and a question on the tip of his tongue.
“Let me save you the trouble. No.”
~*~
“Eleanor…”

“No.”
A mutilated spider fell from his perch on the cavern wall, screaming as another replaced it.
“Tatiana?”

“No…” Hawke grunted as she swung her weapon down, searing through the legs of the arachnid at her heels.
“Ok…” A quick reload and another bug fell, two bolts lodged in its head. “Ashley! That’s a popular name.”

“No! Will you give it a rest for just a moment?!” She hollered, suddenly swarmed by the last fighters in the nest they’d walked into.

“Never!” He answered, pulling back and launching a series of rapid fired shots into the group, narrowly missing the warrior as she swirled around; taking out the few Varric had missed.
The two took stock of their surroundings after the skittering noises in the walls had stopped, before Hawke turned on her partner in a whirl of tattered leather, spider guts and feral hair.
“You’ll know it the moment you hear it, and that’s all I’m going to say on the subject until the day you find it, or give in to my demands.” She said with an amused smugness in her voice.
“I’ll make you cave, or something else will give. But darling, I will never break a promise.”
~*~
It had been a full two weeks since she’d first teased him with this, and Varric was only growing more frustrated by the day. No one had ever heard Hawke’s first name, not her real name anyway as some claimed they knew but were proven wrong. He wasn’t even sure any more if Hawke would confirm any of his guesses if he was right. It didn’t help that she had started to flirt more openly and directly with him, growing bolder and more evasive the more he tried to dig into her secret.
‘Is it…Meredith? Livery? Nugget?’

‘Ooo! Sounds like an orgy to me!’

‘My lady please, you couldn’t handle all this dwarven manliness by yourself, let alone paired with three or more other joiners.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know if I could?’
There had always been a touch of tension between them, he’d been able to feel it from the first day he’d met her and her sister on the streets of Hightown and it had only become more palpable as time drew on. She was extremely skilled, intimidating, loyal, all of the things he valued in a comrade in arms. She was compassionate, reasonable and the epitome of common sense, all of the things he required in a friend. But she was also incredibly beautiful, unknowingly sensual, and though she led her band of independent law-enforcers firmly with dignity and without hesitation, Varric could sense a very submissive lover inside her, and these were some of the things he looked for in a romantic interest. He prided himself in being very good at reading people; it was unusual for him to be wrong about judgment passed on someone. But it was because of his deductions that he’d always played with her, jokes and jabs and sarcasm, reserving his better stories for her ears whether she claimed to be listening or not. There were reasons he didn’t understand himself behind his feelings for her, he wanted to protect her though she didn’t need it, he wanted to always be at her side and not just so he could glean details for the legendary tale he would spin for her. Hawke had always returned the friendly banter, whether it bordered on the inappropriate or not, it was only recently that she had started to initiate it.
Varric had felt his will breaking a day or two before, and had decided to pay Bethany a visit in the tower if he could arrange it. Thankfully Knight-Captain Cullen remembered him, and the favor he would never admit to owing him for the life-saving they’d done led by Hawke and himself. It got him in to the small prison-like common room, desolate and barely seen by anyone even the mages and templars, to speak briefly with the younger Hawke sister. She was troubled by the things she was seeing and hearing inside the Circle, small purple bags beginning to form under her eyes from stress and lack of sleep, but as soon as Varric had asked the question he’d come to ask, her face had brightened to something akin to what it once was.
“Oh Varric, who would I be to give away such family secrets?” She’d asked with a hint of regret but also wistful nostalgia, and put the subject to bed for the rest of his visit. He willingly had let it drop, sensing that he was not going to get the answer he sought from her, and was content to catch her up on the things she’d been missing; everything from Merril’s project to Ander’s thinning sanity to Aveline’s honeymoon. They spoke for a while, before guards had come to collect the ‘dangerous mage’ and usher her out of his sight. She looked so very miserable as she had caught his eye one last time, but resilient determination common of the Hawke family still lingered, and he knew she would be just fine.
He relaxed now at his table in his room at the Hanged Man, in the same chair where he’d sat trying to stare Hawke into relinquishing her defenses. It was more common now-a-days for him to become lost in thought, sitting quietly by himself contemplating many things, mostly things involving the enigmatic warrior with no first name. The past week he’d uncovered deeper emotions that were entangled with her memory, her smile, the way she moved fluidly through a room full of snarling beasts and enraged blood mages to cut down everything in her path. She was always so aware of everyone fighting with and around her, that even when Varric thought a bolt from him was sure to hit her as she ducked and dodged around her enemies, she just as quickly side-stepped to watch the arrow bury itself in the eye socket of an unlucky raider or the belly of a foaming cave spider. She amazed him every day it seemed, from her unworldly fighting skills to something as simple as bargaining for a lower price on vegetables for dinner that evening, to her impressive smithing knowledge. Her patience had no end, her humor no boundaries, and he knew he loved her for it. Not that he would admit to being ‘in love’ with her, for he did not believe he was, but he did love her dearly. That was only strengthened now by the new found lust developing in his gut that he was trying to squash neatly, before it grew out of control.
Sighing deeply through his nose, Varric shut his eyes. There was something he was missing, something blatantly obvious that he wasn’t touching on. He couldn’t see it through the fog of confusion settling over him in the wake of such chaotic emotion stirring up inside of him, but he knew there was a simpler way. He might find her name on the paperwork for her estate purchase, but Aveline never relented to his favors involving political or personal business information, and the property contracts were something he would only be able to acquire through the Viscount’s office.
Taking a drink from his pint, long since fallen to room temperature, a thought hit him hard, like a slap in the face and someone shouting ‘wake the fuck up!’

“Liandra…” He caught himself saying aloud.
Bethany knew something, and that’s what kept him from getting the name from her, something she shared with Hawke strong enough for secrecy, like a promise they’d made to each other as sisters, or as an inside joke. But, perhaps her mother was not privy to the secret, and of all people her mother would be the one to know her name regardless. Varric was not anything if not resourceful and suave; Liandra was not anything if not a good mother and a gentle hearted woman. A new light filled his golden eyes as a smile bloomed across his face. It only took him a moment to finish his drink and gather his thoughts before setting off for the Hawke estate in the humid afternoon, hoping against odds that Liandra’s maddeningly fascinating daughter would not be home.
~*~
Fortune favored him today, Varric decided as Bodahn informed him that indeed, Hawke was absent for the day, attending to security issues at the Bone Pit that would keep her occupied for quite some time. The older dwarf was only slightly taken aback to hear that Varric was here to speak with her mother instead.
“She’s upstairs in the library, organizing I think. She’s been in a grand mood ever since she received such pretty flowers from an admirer yesterday morning. Sat with Sandal for hours as he tried to show her how to work the enchantment apparatus. You could tell she wasn’t really interested but she likes the boy and he seems to like her so it didn’t really matter whether or not she was learning anything. The boy has never been good with words, but it’s nice to feel like family here. Such nice people.” Bodahn rambled as he led Varric to the front room, glittering brilliantly from the sunlight streaming through the large windows.
He thanked the man before moving up the gently curving stairwell, chuckling throatily when he noticed Isabella’s crude drawings carved into the banister and enjoying the warm scent of recently baked sweets that seemed to fill the entire mansion. Though he didn’t visit frequently, Hawke’s home always felt like it was his home, and not necessarily because she kept her residence open to her friends to wander to and from freely. Upon first moving in to what was once her mother’s childhood house she had made it clearly know that there were always extra rooms for anyone that wished to stay, for anyone that needed a place to sleep comfortably and without worry. He had always been impressed by how deep her love could go, how far her trust could reach, though she could be just as cold blooded and ruthless as the next. He only admired more the control she had of everything that was her when it was required.
Liandra was where Bodahn had said she would be, but instead of organizing she was sitting at the small desk in the corner next to the balcony overlooking the foyer. Dark polished wood shelves held hundreds of books, many of which he had suggested that Hawke read, others she’d collected from her travels. He had often taken note of her remarkably good taste in literature, and it seemed that she had expanded on her collection since the last time he’d visited. He would have to thumb through them sometime soon.
Her mother was perched gracefully on the leather bound armchair, her delicate hands holding a tome that, to his great surprise, was one he’d written. A story of a mythical dragon so large it could swallow a boat, thought to be extinct that resurfaces hundreds of years after its last sighting to cause mass chaos and destruction, releasing thousands of desire demons under its direct control, bringing to life a new elven hero that had no business being a hero but saves the world none-the-less. He would recognize the cover art of any of his many publications anywhere, and a blush crept up his neck upon remembering the distinctly graphic sex scene in the book between the hero and all of the adults in a small town he saves during his adventure. He’d written the story of the ‘Dragon of Sin’ in his younger, raunchier years, a time in his life his family had not been particularly pleased with.
“Good after noon, serah.” He announced as he walked further into the large room.
Liandra’s head popped up, her furrowed brows an indicator of how close she was coming to the part he didn’t particularly want her to read.
“Hello Varric! How are you today?” She asked brightly, her features softening as she set the open book down to hold the page. Varric mentally sighed, at least she wouldn’t be disgusted with him until the next time he saw her.
“I was bored, thought I’d come visit for a while. Since your daughter seems to have forgotten to send me an invite to her daily escapades, perhaps I could sit and enjoy the company of her lovely mother?”
Liandra smiled and nodded, gesturing towards the armchair on the other side of the desk. “I would like that very much. Would you care for a cup of tea? It’s fresh.”

“No thank you.” He answered, situating himself awkwardly on the human sized piece of furniture. It was manageable and fairly comfortable, but he felt like a child when his feet didn’t quite touch the floor.
“I did actually, have a question that you may be able to answer for me. I feel it would be rude to ask Hawke herself outright after all this time.” He said, deciding to dive right in. Stringing her along wouldn’t have been fair, and if Hawke had already warned her mother against telling him it would be best to just get it out of the way.

“Anything I can do, what would you like to know?”
“What is Hawke’s real first name?”
Liandra’s graceful face crinkled in fine lines as she smiled knowingly, her eyes losing focus for a moment as if she had drifted to another time. No immediate walls sprouted up, and Varric grew anxious, hopeful that he would finally get what he was after.
“That, as it stands, has quite the story attached to it. Would you like to listen to a tale for once, my young friend?” She finally said, and Varric grinned.

“Madam, I am always open for a good story, as long as you realize I may spread it like a wild fire if it’s substantially noteworthy?”
Liandra laughed, a sound that mirrored Hawke’s almost perfectly.
“Well, it may seem quite unusual, you see my oldest daughter did not have a first name until she was almost five years old.”

“That is odd. Do continue.” Varric prompted excitedly, removing Bianca from his back strap and setting the crossbow on the table so that he could relax fully into the back of his chair. He could already tell this was going to be well worth the wait.
~*~
“When I birthed Hawke there were complications, I would’ve died if her father hadn’t been knowledgeable of the healing magics. She was our little miracle, she was so perfect, and we decided her name would have to be just as perfect. We were at a complete loss though, there were no names we’d ever heard or read about that held enough meaning to us, and we were not so righteous as to name her something such as Andraste. So, it passed for four years that we called her ‘little Hawke’, or ‘little lady’. She was always such a happy child that the nicknames fit her.
“We were living on a farm on the outstretches of Lothering, kept quietly out of sight of the templars and the general public, I would handle the business and sale of our produce in town and my husband would man the farm and keep track of our finances. For the majority of our stay in the area most people in town assumed I was a widow, and that was fine with me, as long as they didn’t find out about my apostate husband. Hawke really enjoyed taking the long rides with me, and often I would meet with a dwarven blacksmith that had set up shop near the market where we sold our goods. He was a charming fellow that never tried to rip me off when I had need of new equipment or a fix on an old piece and he loved Hawke dearly. She started to run off from my side every time we came in to town if I took my eyes off her for long enough, scaring me breathless. I would find her at his shop every time, talking his ear off.” Liandra paused to giggle, that far-away look in her eyes again, as if she were seeing the tiny little Hawke she spoke of right in front of her.
“His name was Boris, and he was an older man. He had sorrow about him, a loneliness that was understated but there. Eventually I started to invite him to our home, mostly to the insistence of Hawke. He was sensitive to our predicament, and never once treated my husband or my Bethany when she was born, any differently than a normal, non-mage human. If he had opinions on the topic he never shared them.
“One day, I went to his shop looking for my little girl after my errands had been finished, and I found her sword fighting, WITH him. I was appalled at first, but she was so good, the sword was so heavy but she swung it as if it weighed nothing, she was only four! They hadn’t noticed me, and so I decided to eavesdrop, not something I do often or am necessarily proud of, but that day I’m glad I did.
“Exhausted and smiling Hawke listened intently as he told her of proper technique and control. He was very patient, and delighted in making her laugh. After the lesson was over, for later I would learn they’d been having lessons like this for weeks, she put the sword back on a stand and ran straight into his arms for a hug. I could tell he was surprised, but he held her gently and that sad smile came to his face.

‘I have a daughter, you know? …I will never see her again, but you remind me so much of her…’ He whispered, and I could just barely make out what Hawke answered, her voice muffled against his shirt,

‘You can think of me as your daughter…’”
Liandra took a breath, her eyes watering a little, “He shed one little tear when she said that, he had been so touched by her willingness to please him, her guiltless charm and honesty. They would go on to become such good friends. As she grew he became her mentor, her teacher, her god-father. We welcomed him to our home whenever he wished to visit, he was such an important part of her life, and was so gentle with Bethany and Carver when they were born, so delicate about the situation our family was stuck in. But, it was that day, when I overheard them talking that I realized, my little Hawke needed a name that was significant to her, not to us.
“After I had made myself known I scolded them both, not harshly, only for not telling me sooner. He came home to dinner with us that evening after he finished with the rest of his daily duties; I’d left Hawke with him at her request to travel back with him later. It was the first time I’d let her do such a thing, and Boris had felt so honored that I trusted her life in his hands.
“Sitting around the dinner table that night my husband asked him, for the first time about his life before the surface. He told us of how he had led his family from Orzammar to sell their trade, seeking to escape the rigid political system that rules the dwarven kingdom. They were quite successful the first six years, living comfortably in Redcliff for a while before expanding to Denerim. His wife and his daughter were both of the smith caste, as he was and together the family started to flourish in earnest, supplying exquisite armor and weaponry for Arl Eamon’s militia, and later for Arl Howe as well as multiple buyers in the broad civilian market in Denerim, all seeking that fine dwarven craftsmanship for their own. He even had requests sent from the Antivan Crows by way of personal entourage and the family traveled with the escort back to their capital, the Crows having secured a shop for them to use personally, and paid out a very large sum for the weapons received.
It was on the trip back home from this particular commission, unaccompanied that the family had been attacked. He didn’t go into great detail about it, but in short his wife and 12 year old daughter had been violated while he’d been forced to watch, his caravan raided and himself badly beaten and left for dead. He awoke a day later to find they’d taken his wife and daughter with them when they left.” She paused, grief touching her features.
“He was an incredibly skilled swordsman, he was shamed greatly that he couldn’t protect his family, and he spent almost every bit of coin he had hunting them down. After two months of constant searching he found his wife’s body strung up deep in the Kocari Wilds, mutilated, but never found his daughter. Another year later, with nothing else to do and nowhere to go, his hopes and his heart completely broken, he found his place in the quiet town of Lothering. Away from the hustle and bustle of big cities and lost himself in his work to bury the pain of his loss…”
Tilting her head so that her silver hair hung partially in her face, Varric could see the tears starting to fall and it gripped at his chest. He had not intended to have upset her this way, but she continued without falter.
“I made the formal request, I told Boris how much he meant to our daughter, as if he hadn’t already assumed. Hawke had wriggled into his lap as he talked, sensing his grief and wanting to make it better; she was curled up sleeping against his chest after a while. I asked him for the honor of naming her after his daughter, and he’d blushed. Blushed! I’d never seen a dwarf blush, or cry for that matter though it was only a single tear, and probably never will again, but he accepted with much gratitude. He made it his duty to see her budding knowledge and natural ability with weapons and the art of his craft furthered as much as he could take her, as it was the only thing he had to offer that he felt owned up to the gift we’d given him. We named him her god-parent that night, and when she awoke we asked her if she wanted the name we’d chosen. She accepted without hesitation…”
She stopped, reliving the memory fondly, and Varric couldn’t resist.
“What was it?” He insisted softly, anticipation nagging at him.
“Bianca.”
His heart stuttered, his eyes widening. He knew honesty when he heard it, saw it. Liandra was not lying, she was not spinning this tale just to get a rise out of him, and as his hand instinctively gripped the butt of his adored crossbow he knew with certainty that this was the answer he’d been searching for. Like Hawke had said to him days ago, he would know it when he heard it.
“We moved frequently, for fear of the Templars finding us, but never strayed too far from where we felt our home really lay. Often Hawke would stay with Boris in Lothering for extended periods of time, looking after our farm while we hid my husband and my Bethany until things cooled down or just until the mage hunters moved on. When the Blight overtook Lothering my brave children made it their duty to see their family make it out alive, Boris included. It is, a difficult subject for my eldest to think about especially, after all the many years she spent in his shop under his care and guidance, growing up as a smith and a swordswoman, she was unable to save him in the onslaught. He died fighting, but it was gruesome and merciless, and she has never quite been the same.”
Taking a deep breath to reign in her emotion, Liandra continued in a quieter voice. “Though Boris was greatly humbled he always called her Hawke, perhaps because it was too painful for him to breathe the name Bianca, but that is why she still goes by Hawke alone; her first name is special to her heart, something she doesn’t like to share because of the tragic story that goes with it. She lost more than her home and her brother when we left Lothering, she lost a father and the best friend she ever had.”
Varric still sat motionless, he knew he looked foolish with his mouth dropped open in shock, but he was still processing. It took a few minutes before Liandra chuckled quietly.
“You act so surprised, did you know Boris?” She asked, pulling a silk cloth from her sleeve to dab away her drying tears. Varric shook himself mentally.
“No…” He answered finally but incompletely, breaking his gaze to look down at his weapon, still sitting neatly on the desk with his white knuckled grip on its handle. “But, the name ‘Bianca’ does mean something to me.”
Liandra let the silence stretch again, watching the emotions flit across the dwarf’s rough, handsome features. She was aware of her daughter’s interest in the man, but not the extent. Hawke had warned her of Varric’s visit and of the question he would ask, she left it up to Liandra alone to tell the story if she deemed him worthy of it. She’d always liked Varric, he was honest when it counted and noble-hearted, though some of his stories were, questionable she enjoyed his imagination and the realism he could put into any tall tale he spun. He had a conviction that rivaled her daughter’s. Aside from all of the reasons why she personally decided to answer him honestly, she was most grateful and felt overwhelmingly respected for the fact that her daughter had passed judgment to her over a possible love affair. It was something she never thought she’d get to do as a parent with the paths her children’s lives had taken, to play the guardian overseeing a courtship.
“My apologies, serah…I need to think on all that you’ve told me.” Varric finally said, standing and reholstering his crossbow.
“It was nice to see you again, do come back for another visit. There are some things I would like to critique on some of your more, ludicrous stories.” She replied, raising a delicate eyebrow and smiling as she picked up the book she’d been reading when he arrived. Varric laughed heartily as he moved to leave the room.
“Very well. You are quite the storyteller yourself, you know? Perhaps you should start publishing, we could be friendly competitors!”
He exited the estate with the lovely sound of her laughter echoing through the grand hallways, his mind spinning wildly, his feet moving on their own.
~*~
It still felt as if his heart were skipping, his lungs felt constricted and he was just flat out lost to the mystifying shock that had overcome him. That name, Hawke’s real name…
If he had felt confused over the emotions he had for the warrior before, than now he was just downright flabbergasted. He couldn’t hold on to a train of thought for more than a second before it flitted away to be replaced by three others. The words were still playing on repeat in his ears, the casual tone Liandra had used when speaking the name meant she was not aware of his crossbow, or the deal Hawke had brokered for the exchange of the story he’d just heard. There was no denying the happenstance, but as he blindly returned home with the evening sun casting a purplish glow on the streets he couldn’t help but realize that the answer he’d been searching for was only creating more chaos.
It was just a name, it didn’t mean Hawke would be any different of a person if he were to start calling her by it, though he didn’t doubt she may not be entirely happy to hear it if it was such a tender topic to touch. But he had to admit, if at least to himself, that the knowledge did incite a spark in him that was threatening to set his more impractical feelings for her ablaze. It was something about the way she’d played him with it, like she was tempting him to figure it out on his own. Perhaps she was just waiting for him to come to her with it, both triumphant and surprised enough to maybe give her what she’d asked for anyway. Or maybe, she wanted to use it to bring them closer…
A million more questions came to him over the course of the night, ale offering him no aid to sleep as he stared at his ceiling, lying on his bed with his clothes and boots still on. Edwina had come knocking on his door once, nearly begging him in that awfully vulgar way she does to keep her company in place of the drunken hooligans tripping over themselves and vomiting on her dress. She even offered to shave a little off his tab, but he was in no mood for entertaining tonight. If he’d been asked to tell a story, which he grew tired of hearing in this place every once in a while, the only one that he would be able to think of would be the story of the “new” Bianca in his life, and he was not going to be sharing that one with anyone any time soon.
It was very early in the morning when he finally decided he couldn’t take staring at the same walls any longer. The sun would be coming up soon and maybe a walk in the crisp pre-dawn air would help him clear his head. He had to say something to Hawke the next time he saw her, he absolutely had to. If her name had ended up being something horrid or humorous it would be a different story, but it was something that was already special to him, and so it carried with it more weight than he had anticipated. He hadn’t been ready to catch it all, and with such a depressing story attached to it. The connection he felt with his bow and her name had its downsides, its troubled times, but nothing so heartbreaking. How to approach Hawke with this was really his only concern. If he said anything to offend or upset her he would never be able to forgive himself. It was very possible this whole situation could blow up in his face like lyrium, leaving only trauma and wicked scars both inside and out.
He was hesitant to get his hopes up in such a way, but it was also very possible this could all turn into a dream and make him quite the happy dwarf. Varric remembered well the fantasies he’d crafted over the time he’d known the inscrutable warrior, and if any of them were to come anywhere close to being made a reality he would be a very happy dwarf indeed.
The pro’s and the con’s fought their way around his head, and before long he found himself at the top of the stairwell into Hightown, Hawke’s estate not more than a ten minute walk to the north. His subconscious was trying to tell him something, he supposed, and as he attempted to gather all the courage and confidence he could muster, moved forward towards the looming mansion. The walls were a clean white, the windows reflecting the soft blue light coming from the horizon, their shutters painted a dark green. It didn’t look so big from outside, delicate little vines working their way up the corners and starting to bud bright purple flowers. The Hawke family crest hung proudly above the imposing, emerald wooden door, a thin flag of black swaying in the lazy breeze.
Maybe it was to buy himself time, maybe it was because he’d never really stopped and looked at her house before, but Varric stood there for a few moments just watching the sun rise against it, the light flooding down from the roof to illuminate the colors of the building and bring them to life. When it started to creep closer to the top of the front door he took a deep breath, and knocked.
~*~
Hawke had started her morning hours ago. After giving up hope for sleep she’d gotten dressed and tried to read, but she had been through every book in her library and none struck her interest in a second go around. Eating a small breakfast she’d taken up sword training in the front room by the simmering fireplace. The glow from the embers was warm on her skin as she danced quietly on bare feet, swinging the two-handed blade gracefully. It was an older weapon, one of the first she’d made herself with the assistance of her god-father. She was running a routine he had taught her to practice good balance and focus, sharpening her hand to eye coordination. It was a lesson he first used to teach her how to constantly be aware of everything around her, to save allies by not hitting them with the massive weapon and also to fell as many enemies in the same swing. It gave her immense satisfaction in herself for coming this far, he would’ve been so proud to see her put all of his wisdom into use every day, and only getting better for it.
She knew very well how often she had questionable motives or made scandalous decisions, but she liked to believe it was for the greater good. Her opinion was null in Kirkwall, even with her status climbing in popularity, but she was no political leader, she was an enforcer. She preferred to pick her battles, and willingly switch sides if evidence arose to change her mind or show her a new perspective. In this, her cynicism became useful, and she learned to wield it purposefully, and not just to dissuade volatile confrontations but to incite them sometimes as well. Blood was necessary in some situations, but only after most every other effort, or her patience had been exhausted.
‘Always ask questions first, and fight later. You never know just how many lives you could’ve saved if you stopped, took a breath, and tried to reason with people…’
Hawke sighed as she brought the tip of the sword down to touch gently against the wooden floor in her finishing stance, remembering how much it had been stressed to her that the final pose was the most important part. To end as strongly and as calculated as she had begun. After so many years, Boris was still in her head, still keeping her strong, standing next to her father on her shoulders trying their best to give the advice they could and to remind her of everything they ever tried to teach her. She couldn’t have asked for better mentors, or a better family.
Which brought her mother to attention. She’d left last night after Hawke had returned from the Bone Pit with freshly killed and cleaned game from the mountains for dinner. Her mother loved to cook, and particularly loved to work with food procured from their own labors, it made her happy to serve it, knowing it was fairly earned and deserved. So, it was odd that Liandra insisted on going out to meet with someone, a suitor. Hawke had even suggested having him over instead, the flightless bird would’ve been big enough to feed everyone that stayed in the estate plus another two or three easily, but Liandra wouldn’t have it. She’d been glowing, and Hawke found she wouldn’t argue with her. To see her mother happy like that made her ecstatic.
It was strange to her more so, nevertheless that her mother never came home last night. That wasn’t something her mother was apt to doing, she was a fairly religious woman, and had always been hesitant to see other men because of the love she still held for her late husband. But, Hawke supposed it had been long enough, and that she more than deserved to find love again. At least, that’s what she was trying to convince herself of; the anxiety inside her was not buying it. Staying over at a man’s house, a man she barely knew, was not familiar Liandra behavior.
The thudding on her front door caught her attention, bringing her back to the here and now as she realized she had started to drift in thought. After losing Bethany to the Circle it happened a lot more frequently than Hawke liked to admit, and the worry she felt for Liandra was only making things worse. With sword still in hand she moved to greet her early visitor, noting the barely risen sun glaring through her large windows.
With a sharp, anticipatory movement she unlocked and swung the heavily reinforced door open wide, sword at the ready. She didn’t often get people calling at this time, and though most of her adversaries weren’t so dumb as to straight knock on her door as part of an ambush one could never be certain. There were a lot of ignorant folk in this world; she was not going to be one of them.
To her great surprise she locked eyes with a smiling blonde dwarf; her favorite blonde dwarf in fact who was not startled or insulted that she’d answered her door armed, but looked rather tired and uncertain.
“Good morning, Varric.” She said, grinning despite the worries on her mind, it was good to see him as always.
“Hawke,” He answered with a nod. She waved him inside and he stepped over the threshold, a wavering edge to his normally resolute manner.
“What can I do for you this glorious morning?”

“Nothing in particular,” He said as he stepped aside to let her lead him back into the main room. “I heard you had an adventure without me and came to tell you how wounded I was.”
She laughed shortly, laying the aging blade she held on her writing desk, loose papers fluttering under its weight.
“You didn’t miss much, just a large and angry dragon that was rather set on slaughtering every worker in my mine.”

“Oh, definitely not something you needed your trusty dwarven side-kick at your back for.”

“Definitely not.”
A palpable silence followed as Hawke turned, wiping her slightly sooty hands on her loose trousers. Varric clenched his fists at his sides, his confidence fading quickly in the face of the woman he was slowly losing his mind over. Maybe she sensed his apprehension and meant to merely smooth the moment, maybe she knew what he knew and was playing coy, and maybe he had already gone crazy…
“Hungry?”

“Not really, but thank you.”

“So just a social call then?”
Varric nodded, “Yup.”
‘Real smooth, Varric…’ He immediately thought to himself.
But Hawke smiled, “Fine, then let us do something productive, shall we? Instead of standing around waiting for your next blind guess at my birth name.”
“Fair enough, what did you have in mind?”

“You and your infatuation with your crossbow prove to be quite formidable on the field; I cannot put a number to the many times you’ve saved my hide from fifty yards off, but how are your skills in a duel?”
Varric slowly began to smirk, his brow furrowed. “I can handle my own.”
“Good, follow me.”
~*~
Varric had never been to the lower levels of Hawke’s estate, hadn’t even known about them, but she had her own training arena down there, next to a thick oak door that sealed away her personal and extensive wine cellar. He was impressed, to say the very least, at the wide array of weaponry the enchanting warrior owned. He could easily pick out a few that he knew for certain she’d made herself, identified by her trademark seal seared or plated or painted on the hilt of every blade, carved into the bow or the handle of every bow, even stitched into the grip of an intimidating, diamond tipped whip.
The fighter walked about the room, the weapons adorning the walls on hooks in a display worthy of the most prestige battlement station, before settling on a long sword with a golden hilt. She weighed it in her hand before turning and tossing it to him.
“Unless I’m wrong, that should suit you just fine.”
Varric caught it effortlessly, flipping the blade in his hand to the proper hold and studying it appreciatively. She was right, it was the perfect fit, and it was beautiful. Deep grooves wrapped the handle, sparkling silver, lovingly laid followed the trails in intricate patterns leading to the lethal blade, which in itself was a work of art etched with Dalish inspired designs. This was a weapon she’d picked up outside of town from the clan from which Merrill had come, and if he remembered correctly it had been a gift from the clan’s smith who had taken a shine to her after a particularly engaging talk of the art of weapon and armor-smithing. It took Hawke half the time to find the blade she wanted, she knew exactly what she was looking for and merely had to use a stepping stool to reach it.
“I wasn’t quite finished with my workout when you came a-knocking, so now you can join me. Let’s see what you can do.” She stated, holding her weapon at the ready, shaking slight stiffness from her shoulders. Varric grinned, his unease dissipating in the prospect of the exercise.
“That’s an old blade, Hawke.” He motioned towards the ragged looking sword she held.
“Age only means experience.” She answered with a devious smile and slid into a starting position.
“One moment, if I may?”
Taking his crossbow from his shoulder a pang of anxiety hit him for a second, remembering the original nature of his visit when looking upon the weapon, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He had to be on his toes if he was about to meet Hawke in face-to-face battle, not lost in thought. He set his original Bianca down on a nearby wooden work bench, removing his coat as well to leave him in just his linen, long sleeved undershirt and turned to face his dueling partner.
It might have been his fading mental focus or his lack of control of his emotions, but he swore he saw a hunger in Hawke’s dark brown eyes for a fleeting instant, her gaze on his now more exposed chest for an unguarded view. She caught herself immediately and calmed her expression, which caused him to believe he’d just been seeing things his mind wanted to see, not something that had actually happened.
Stepping into the invisible circle of engagement no more words passed except the singing of steel as it met in the center. Slowly they moved around each other, Hawke pleased to learn her friend was versatile and Varric glad for the distraction. After a few cursory strikes, Hawke quickly decided testing him would only be an insult to his talent. Varric was proving her suspicions were wrong, and she was enjoying it. The thought of her mother kept resurfacing, and she would lose a little bit of focus, but Varric would strike low and quick and bring her back to the dance. Stepping up the tempo the two made quick work around the room, the height difference something Hawke found absurd comfort, and slight sadness in. The next hour felt like minutes, before both came to a mutual conclusion.
“You seem content; may I assume I have proved my worth with a blade?” Varric asked, handing over his weapon when Hawke beckoned for it.
“You may assume whatever you wish, my good ser.”
Varric chuckled and moved to collect his things, wiping sweat from his brow. He had to say something now, the distraction was over and it was either he left or he spoke up, and he was still not prepared. The woman put their swords back in place before moving towards the stairs, a slight frown touching her features.
“Let’s get cleaned up and we can see what mischief we can get into today, shall we?”

He took the offered opportunity gladly. “Sounds like a plan.”
~*~
Grateful for the extra few minutes to collect himself, Varric dressed after a quick soak in one of Hawke’s spare bed and bath combo rooms, thinking all the while how nice it would be to live in such a place. To roll out of bed into a hand carved tub of steaming water must make for fabulous mornings and even more fabulous evenings. The bed was done up in a dark green silk, the hand carved, wooden bed frame was modest yet elegant, and everything matched from the drapes to the large rug to the stitched towels used to dry off after baths. A desk that was made in the same fashion as the bed sat in the corner next to the floor to ceiling window, a plush green chair with the Hawke family seal painted on the back rested untouched just next to it. He took the whole room in, and started to formulate a plan. He would have to bring up the topic casually, not too quickly but not dance around it either. Perhaps he would take her up on a morning meal after all, some of the best conversations happened over food and drink.
Hawke had asked him to meet her in the study after he was finished, that she wanted to brief him about the mines the night before and to discuss a contract she’d been sent earlier in the week, before collecting some volunteers for the job. She’d assured Varric that he was her right-hand man on this one, and he was both anxious and relieved. Leaving the room and coming down the stairs from the top level, however he was quick to realize that the day’s plans were about to change.
Hawke and Bethany’s uncle was standing in the foyer, demanding answers from Bodahn and Sandal. The older dwarf was flabbergasted and genuinely insulted, the human’s suggestive and fairly racist tone not sitting well with either of his kin-folk. Varric had never been a fan of Gamlin, and with Hawke nowhere in sight to defend her housemates he felt it was his duty to stop the accosting.
“Ser Gamlin, what a pleasure to see you again,” He called as he grew closer, failing only a little to keep the derision from saturating his voice. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I doubt it,” the old man replied, looking about the house presumably for his niece. “Where is Hawke?”
“She was cleaning up from practice this morning. You seem rather distressed, taking it out on the men that are providing such fantastic service to the lady of the house is unreasonable and I personally will not tolerate it.” The grin fell from his face, and he let the human have the full force of his stressed patience. Gamlin recoiled a little, but not much.
“Hawke!” He called loudly, the echo bouncing around the ceilings multiple times before a door opened upstairs and heavy footsteps approached the overlooking balcony.
“Uncle, what in Andraste’s name are you screaming about this early in the day?!” Hawke answered, her words clipped in agitation as she appeared over the railing, her dark hair wet and still dripping onto the shoulders of her house robe.
“I’ve come for Liandra, she never showed up to my place this morning like she has done once a week on the same day at the same time for the past three years. Where is she?”

“I don’t know, she went out with some fellow last night and never came home. I assume she’s off somewhere sleeping off the effects of her first date in thirty years.”

“That’s not like her to do such a thing! If she’s been missing since last night why are you here dallying around with the ‘help’…” With this he nodded towards Varric who barely contained a growl of warning. “…when you should be out looking for your mother!”
Hawke immediately stepped up, squaring her shoulders and hardening her expression before tightening her robe and walking evenly down the stairs to stand nose to nose with her relative. “I may have to help my friend here change your tone for you, if you do not yourself uncle.”
The old man may have been brazen, but he was not stupid and took a less aggressive posture under the woman’s fairly mild intimidation. Hawke could have been a lot harsher, but relaxed when Gamlin bowed his head away.
“Forgive me; I’m just worried about her is all. You know her like I do Hawke, would she really spend the night with someone she barely knew?”

“No, she wouldn’t.”
Varric remained silent, left hand idly toying with his crossbow behind his back, watching the events turn. He had not known Liandra was missing, and thinking on it Hawke’s vaguely distracted façade whilst sparring, though minimal now made sense. He berated himself momentarily for not picking up on it; he himself had been quite distracted as well.
“You should be out looking for her, something could have happened!”

“We don’t know that.”
Bodahn stepped forward, steering clear of Gamlin in the process.
“Liandra was talking about someone earlier yesterday, perhaps her date for the evening I would assume. Someone she’d received white lilies from, if that helps?” He offered, and Varric saw Hawke tense considerably. He remembered all too well what the outcome had been the last time they’d heard that bit of evidence.
“What’s that got to do with anything, you under-sized piece of…”

“Watch yourself uncle!” Hawke warned, raising her voice to effectively cut him off. “Look, I’m sure you’re worrying so much over nothing. Go back to your home, maybe you just missed her on your way over. I will take Varric and some others and scour this city top to bottom until we find her.”
Gamlin nodded, subduing to Hawke’s control on the conversation. He mumbled something else to himself and quickly left the mansion, slamming the door behind him and enclosing the house in silence. Bodahn looked nervously at Hawke, Varric scanned the side of her face he could see waiting for a reaction, Sandal started to fiddle with something in his hands and Hawke stood staring at the space where Gamlin had just been. The nerves that had frayed during the night while she’d pondered possibilities of her mother’s where-a-bouts were now throbbing and raw. With her uncle so upset adding layers to her stress she fazed out of reality for just a minute, trying to find the reigns she needed for the stirring situation. White lilies from an unknown suitor meant bad things in this town.
“Varric,” She finally said, her voice rumbling quietly in the grand front hall. “Track down Isabella and Aveline, meet me at Ander’s clinic.”
“Sure thing.” He answered without hesitation, and straightening his coat set out to do what had been asked.
~*~
The sun had fallen under the horizon hours ago, and the pathways through Dark Town only grew more treacherous as the night went on. Having picked up leads that had led the group to the Foundry, Hawke now guided her four companions into the bowels of the building. The man they were chasing had set up full shop, and had left evidence of his most wretched sociopathic tendencies. Hawke was beyond nervous, and was trying desperately to control her growing fear. Her sense of urgency kept them moving steadily, cutting through summoned abominations of all kinds while navigating traps and dead ends. Aveline had started to cut grooves into doorframes to mark their path lest they get lost.
At last they heard his voice, he’d known they were coming and who they would be that finally found him. He knew what was about to happen and he laughed at their attempt, spouting a psychotic monologue at Hawke until she couldn’t contain herself anymore.
“Where the fuck is my mother?!” She demanded, her heaviest armor dripping in some unidentifiable ooze, her hair caked with bone fragments from the skeletal beasts that had challenged them.
“Your mother is no longer your mother, my dear. She is part of something far grander than anything you will ever know…” The thin man with instability gleaming in his gray eyes gestured with his hand as if announcing a queen and a body rose up from a chair that had been facing away from the hall Hawke stood in.
“Behold, my wife…brought back to me, by my hand, after so long…” He cooed, and Hawke’s throat clenched shut.
It was a feminine form, in a dirty white dress and a tiara in her silver hair. The body did not move like a normal human, and Varric knew with certainty before she turned that this thing was not human at all. In fact, it more resembled a mummy, crude stitching visible on the arms and neck, and Liandra’s elegant face marred with blue veins and dead eyes. The dwarf would later swear he heard something snap inside of his friend, Hawke’s sharp intake of breath and pained war cry as she launched herself into battle was the only warning he and the others had before everything broke loose.
Fights to the death were commonplace in this band of merry vigilantes, but none had ever been so impassioned. Though fatigued from lack of sleep in the past forty eight hours, rage boiled in Varric’s gut as he could only imagine what the women the mage had mutilated had suffered, and he nearly went head first to fight heatedly in close quarters before realizing just how much damage Hawke was wielding with her massive two armed blade. He was bound to only get in her way, and stayed steadily picking off random targets as the man raised them from the ground itself. He could hear Anders to his right; felt the shiver of energy pass across him as he launched spells into the battle field freezing some nasty screeching demon before casting a healing spell on Aveline. The Guard Captain had taken a blow on the shoulder from one of the three abominations that surrounded her, but as was like the warrior she paid it little to no attention and bashed one of her foes in the nose with her heavy shield. Isabella was harder to keep track of whenever she fought with them, so clever and quick that she would dart all over the place, weakening most and killing a few as she played in the shadows.
All five of them advanced quickly to where the mad man stood encased in a protective aura, the body that was part Liandra and part others crumpled on the floor in a limp heap besides him. One by one they tore their way through to him, the epicenter of this massacre, before Varric and the others backed off. Hawke was unstoppable; she plowed through his shield and took the hilt of her sword across the side of his face, knocking him to the ground. But it was laughter they heard coming from him instead of a cry of pain or a plea for mercy. Hating him more with every breath he wasted she drove her weapon down hard into his neck, burying it into the dirt so that it stayed standing upright when she stepped away. The lifeless head rolled back, separated from the body.
Eerie stillness converged on them, and they watched as Hawke fell to her knees, throwing her gloves aside and gingerly gathered the stiff body into her arms, cradling Liandra’s head against her heart.
“Mother…”

“My dear, sweet daughter…do not be sad, do not blame yourself…”
Hawke shook her head in denial, emotion coming from her in waves. “Anders?” She called over her shoulder, and the renegade averted his eyes.
“His magic was the only thing keeping her alive…I’m so sorry…”
Liandra forced a smile to her dying face, and met her daughter’s eyes uncertainly, as if she couldn’t see at all. “I love you…take care of your…sister…”

“I love you too.” Hawke whispered, and then her mother was gone.
Isabella touched a hand to her mouth, tears teasing behind her eyes but never spilling, Anders remained with his head bowed solemnly, Aveline and Varric could only stand and stare. None could imagine quite the misery coursing through the grieving daughter.
Aveline was trying to build the courage to say something when they finally heard it, when Hawke let a sob escape from where she was trying to stifle them. She was fighting it, her hand gripping a lifeless one. Varric couldn’t move at first, but the sound of Hawke’s struggle broke his heart, and he swallowed the lump in his throat before approaching. He placed his hand on Hawke’s shoulder and squeezed with all the reassurance he could muster into that one, undemanding gesture.
It could have gone any number of ways, she could have shrugged him off, she could have started to scream with her anger still so unsatisfied, she could have started to ramble nonsense, but she turned her face up slowly instead and looked at him with blood shot, shimmering eyes. Before he could do anything else Hawke let the body on her lap slip softly to the ground, and turned to bury her face in his chest. He held her without hesitation, waiting for her tears to fall. She was holding them back so hard her body shook with the effort, and he held her as tight as he could with her armor in between them.
It happened without him thinking about it, it came so naturally that he hadn’t even seen it coming from his own lips. But he pressed his cheek against her hair, and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry, Bianca.”
A gasp from behind him told him at least one of the others had heard him say it, but his attention was all on the woman in his arms. It sounded like Hawke had stopped breathing, and he braced himself for an onslaught. A terrible fear came over him in those few moments of uncertainty as he waited for her reaction. Hawke’s breath returned to her, she flattened her palms on his shoulders and pushed him away as she sat up. Their eyes locked for an instant, before the rage he’d expected broke free and Hawke stood abruptly. Two steps away she ripped her sword from the killer’s neck and looked the deceased over for a minute, before bringing the sword back down into the corpse. She stabbed at what soon became a heap of flesh and bone unrecognizable until sounds began to escape her, barely contained screams of wrath and grunts of effort.
Varric could hear Anders mumbling behind him, could feel their eyes on his back, but he watched Hawke destroy what was left of the thing that had destroyed her mother. A tense knot in his belly left him feeling sick, to think he had been sitting with Liandra last evening enjoying her story, seeking the goal of his own purpose, and now standing here having revealed that truth by calling Hawke out in a moment of weakness for both of them made him feel like an uncivilized animal. He could only assume her ire was a little bit his fault right now.
“Hawke…” Aveline finally said, and the warrior stopped. Her blade was completely painted in blood, bits of fresh gore clinging to her armor and surrounding where she stood.
Hawke’s shoulders were quivering so finely in the sudden silence that the sound of her chainmail shivering was a soft echoing tinkling in the dark basement. She’d thrown her helm aside sometime during the assault, and her hair stood at odd ends from the low bun she’d wrapped it in during her haste. Varric’s white knuckled fists hung at his sides, his jaw clenched as he watched her stand completely still. Without a word she turned and left the underground lair and the bodies she’d filled it with.
Her four companions remained behind, struck with the unexpected turn of things and the misery that had befallen their hero. Varric quickly became the target of the others’ attentions.
“I might have been hearing things…but did you call her what I think you called her?” Anders asked, skepticism and his own brand of arrogance saturating his voice. Varric bristled.
“I heard it too. What the hell were you thinking?” Isabella demanded, and the dwarf turned to face them.
“Do not presume to believe that either of you know anything.” Was all he said, his brows drawn down and any humor vanishing from his demeanor. He met Aveline’s eyes once, Hawke’s fellow warrior looked pained and plainly confused but said nothing, and after glancing down at the limp body puzzle that Liandra had fallen victim to he left the others there in their stupor to leave the Foundry the way they had come.
~*~
No one had heard a word from Hawke since that night for almost a week. Aveline had taken Anders and Fenris to secure Liandra’s body and take it to the Kirkwall Memorial Center located next to the Chantry to have it prepared for cremation, but the three claimed to only have dealt with Bodahn and Gamlin while there. The warrior had refused visitors of any kind aside from a very brief sit down with her uncle.
Varric had not the stomach to even try to talk to her. Getting in the estate would be easy; Bodahn was trying vigilantly to get someone that had been considered a good friend to talk to the head of the house-hold after the first couple of days had passed. It was having something to say that was keeping Varric posted in his rooms at the Hanged Man, with ale a luxury he was trying not to delve too deeply into. Hawke was the first person he’d ever met that could take away his talent with the art of socializing and leave him gaping and sputtering like an imbecile.
Calling her by her real name, it had done something to her that night. Whether it had angered her or brought more sadness to her in that moment it didn’t matter, he’d had no right. Isabella had tried to confront him about it the night after the incident, and he’d slammed the door in her face. Fenris had appeared two nights ago when he’d come down to collect the rubbish they passed for food at the kitchen, but he’d managed to dodge the elf without making contact at all. He was not willing to reveal to anyone else the truth until he’d talked with Hawke herself, if she indeed ever talked to him again.
Listening to the crackling of a steady fire and live music thumping from downstairs, Varric sat at his desk and had begun to write in an effort to relieve some of the tension. At first, he didn’t know what to put on the parchment, his ink quill drying up before he’d even managed to get the first couple of words down, but after a good long minute of mental debate, he started to draw up the very last story Liandra Hawke ever told. He felt he owed it to the woman to carry on her words and her memories, good and bad and both at the same time. Maybe no one else would approve, but that was usually the premise of a great piece of literature, and this was what he did best. He sat for hours, recounting every detail and adding a few of his own, though not too much. It was not his story, or a story of his creation he was telling this time.
A few hours and a couple more pitchers of alcohol later and he was revising his first draft. He’d started the story with Hawke’s birth, and with practical and intentional time lapsing ended when the Hawke family left Lothering. It still needed a lot of work, some editing and a little sensory love but he was pleased with it, and the process of writing had cleared his head.
A knock at his door startled the peace he’d found, but only because it was not a knock he recognized. Isabella made an aggressive and demanding sound whenever she beckoned, or she would just pick her way in, Anders was more timid as if he felt he wasn’t welcome, Fenris always waited at the bar and if Varric appeared then he would engage. Hawke, in his opinion would be the last person to come visit him right now and Merril only came when someone else invited her to. Others had their own variety, but this one was new and he stood to answer with his hand on the dagger concealed at his waist. The knock came again before he unlatched the handle and swung it open.
A thin, pale elven boy no older than 19 stood nervously with a satchel on his shoulder, his blonde hair messy and his bright blue eyes wide and incredulous as if he’d never been in such a place of business before. Varric immediately deducted that he was a messenger, and relaxed his hand.
“What can I do for you, lad?”

“Letter for you ser, from Lady Hawke.”
Varric raised an eyebrow, but took the offered letter with the trademark stamp and thanked the boy, who was away from the door and down the steps before he could blink.
The letter was folded neatly; the dark green wax with Hawke’s family crest pressed into it was done most precisely. Closing his door he moved back to his desk and sat back down, popping open the flap and unfolding the correspondence. Very efficient and feminine hand writing graced the page, requesting his presence at the Hawke estate for Liandra’s ashes ceremony, and he felt his heart drop. The rite was scheduled for two days from now at sunrise, and after the ritual of the jarring they would walk out to the coast to set her ashes free along the tide.
He knew it would be a small service, Hawke didn’t hold many people close to her and the only family she had now was Bethany locked away in the Circle and her degenerate uncle. It made him nervous to think about it, seeing her again after what he’d said, but there was no way he could not show up, it was impertinent and he owed his appearance if nothing else to pay his respects to Liandra.
This would prove to be challenging he decided, and though his gut was telling him he needed to talk to Hawke as soon as possible, to make sure she was ok, he already knew the answer and was quite positive an unplanned appearance would be unwelcome. Instead, he stayed in his room for the rest of the night and the next day, working on the story he would eventually bind and trying for the life of him to figure out something to say when next he spoke with Bianca Hawke.
~*~
The sun was persistent that morning, shining through the trees and gleaming off the rooftops, casting long shadows down the cobblestone pathways and illuminating the bright colors of flower pots and signature flags. Birds were singing in the distance, and chantry bells began to chime on the hour, voices rising up from the markets and a bard’s tenor ringing out from the depths of High Town with an accompanying lute. The smells of salted, smoking meats and heavy perfume flooded the streets as normal life fought to carry on in Kirkwall, whispers of unease about the Qunari and doubts about the Viscount’s control sprouting up in corners. As he walked Varric overheard a couple of pretentious nobles speaking of Hawke’s lack of appearance around town, their speculative talk obnoxiously inaccurate and their haughty assumptions making him pause. He had to stop himself from saying something in her defense, and moved on further towards his destination.
Fenris was leaning outside the front door, his head cast down and his platinum hair shielding his eyes, Isabella, with a wicked looking black eye that was just starting to heal stood adjacent to him with her arms crossed and a frown waiting for Varric as he approached. They both wore their armor, but both had adorned dark green sashes in some way to represent the house and the memory of the lost family member. Isabella with two lengths of silk twisted on the hilts of her swords and Fenris with his tied around his left bicep. Varric had put one his in his hair, and had a belt in the color that he’d purchased for the occasion. He wore black greaves and a black overcoat with a crisp white shirt, black boots and gloves, trying only to be appropriate and was somewhat bothered by Isabella’s ludicrous outfit. The same grimy linen dress that was suited more for a wench than anything else, especially not for a funeral rite, but he kept his mouth shut. They returned the favor as he moved through them to walk into the estate.
Merril was in the foyer greeting people and talking in hushed tones with the young elven servant whose name escaped him at the moment, her lithe frame draped in her usual emerald colored dress. She smiled slightly at him, her eyes watering perpetually as she hugged him before ushering him further inside. He wondered if she’d heard about his slip, not that it would be like Merril to really understand the delicacy of the situation, but it still passed his mind.
The main hall had been cleaned painstakingly, small bundles of fresh white and purple flowers placed in a few corresponding spots around the house adorned with green ribbons. Gamlin was standing with some people Varric recognized, men who hung around with the old gambler in Low Town and some women he’d never seen before. He was mildly surprised to see such people, it was not something to dwell on, but unfamiliar faces made his guard pop up. Old battle habit.
He could smell food laid out in the dining room, carried through the house on the breeze coming in through the open windows. Something savory and rich, but his stomach was tight and would have none of it.
A dark robe with feathery shoulders alerted him to Anders who stood with his back turned up on the balcony, his head hung. The red headed Guard Captain stood leaning on the banister looking down on the bottom floor, her mouth moving to indicate her quiet conversation with the renegade. Varric sighed through his nose, knowing that Hawke was in her bedroom, and indecisive of what his next move was going to be.
Upstairs Anders huffed and shook his head.
“I just, can’t believe it…so insensitive.”

“There’s something we’re not seeing. He’s not a simpleton; he wouldn’t just say something like that without reason.”
Aveline was adamant in standing up for the rogue dwarf, though she herself was confused now was not the time to argue over something she or Anders had no part in. Or at least, that’s how she felt about it. The mage fuming next to her, with his festering infatuation for Hawke was blind to the subtlety of the situation. Varric and Hawke had something, she was sure of it, just not sure of what it was exactly, or the depth of it.
“Something needs to be said…”

“No, Anders you need to keep your opinions to yourself and be mindful of what today is. This is not about you, or Varric or me…or even Hawke. It’s about Liandra, and no one else. Understand?”
The blonde closed his eyes. He knew she was right, without her needing to say so, he just couldn’t help being irate. Maybe it was all out of jealousy, maybe it was concern or maybe he was delusional like he feared. After warning Hawke off months and months ago, which he’d felt was only the right thing to do, to protect her because he cared for her, he’d been crushed in a way when she’d followed his advice and left him to stew over his decision to push her away. It was irrational for him to think that maybe they could still try to be together, if she was unwilling to overcome his objections than it was never going to work. But, for her to show interest in Varric, someone so close to both of them, bothered Anders something fierce. It wasn’t his right to protest or get upset, because Hawke was an empathetic and loving woman who was bound to fall for someone, he just wished it had been someone he didn’t know or had to see on a near daily basis.
As if thinking about him summoned him, Varric reached the top of the stairs to Anders’ left and the two made eye contact. All the questions Anders wanted to throw at the dwarf, all the accusations and possibly hostile reactions he could summon died in his throat when he saw the remorse on the rogue’s face. They were all hurting for their warrior, and Varric probably more so than the rest considering the circumstances. Anders let his shoulders slump and looked away, keeping his thoughts locked inside, for everyone’s sake.
Aveline stood straight to nod towards Varric and then motion for the bedroom; she’d been waiting for him to arrive, hoping he could coax Hawke from her hiding. She had a feeling the inconsolable daughter would hide out until the group made the trek to the Wounded Coast, and though her anguish was reasonable and quite understandable, it was unlike Hawke to hide from anything or anyone, especially for this amount of time. Aveline believed it was affecting their friend in an unhealthy way.
Standing with doubt draped across him like a cloak, the light shining in his golden, strawberry kissed hair, the normally solid and determined dwarf seemed almost child-like in his apprehension. His fingers were fidgety, his eyes were uncertain and worried, his entire posture screamed that he was at such a loss that he was drowning in everything that had happened and the possibilities of what could happen because of it all. The guilt he felt crushed under was just barely evident through the façade he was trying desperately to uphold in the presence of his equals and his friends.
Varric took a breath to steady himself; he knew he had to be stronger than he felt if he was going to smooth anything over, if he was going to be the supporting body Aveline was mutely asking him to be. He wanted to be there for Hawke, had felt the need to be here to console her over the past week but had failed to find the valor to face her and now he deeply regretted it. He should have been here that first night, and should have never left. But that was hind-sight, and stuffing that piece of shame away to be forgotten he straightened his coat, removed his gloves and walked to the large door that concealed his hurting comrade.
~*~
With the heavy curtains drawn and the room seemingly untouched, Hawke sat on the edge of her bed, the sheets pulled tight and the pillows unruffled giving testament to her lack of sleep. The shadows cast over her unfocused eyes, her house robes haphazardly fitted on her lean figure as she had been in the process of changing for the ceremony her uncle and his new woman-friend had arranged. Hawke would have done it herself, but Gamlin had insisted on taking it over and doing so in the tradition of her mother’s side of the family, and Hawke had nothing in her to refuse him.
The days and nights had bled together since she’d come home from the Foundry. She remembered recanting to Gamlin what she’d found and the vengeance she’d brought down on the murderer who’d stolen her mother away from them, but aside from that she hadn’t had any reason to leave her room, and hadn’t said a word to anyone. It had been hard-pressed to even think straight. There had been visitors, Aveline reporting the safe delivery of her mother’s body and at first Bodahn had followed her request from the first night that she did not wish to see anyone, no matter the caller. After a few days the dwarf had begun to worry over her and was encouraging people like Aveline and Anders to come to her door and plead with her to talk to them. She ignored them diligently, feeling the tears threatening just from the sounds of their voices, but there was one person whom never came. If this one person had, she might’ve been more inclined to talk, but Varric hadn’t stopped by once, and if he had he never made it to the bedroom door.
Hawke couldn’t enlighten to how she felt about that, nor could she really determine where her feelings actually lay when it came to her stylishly literate friend. There was something pure and potent that sparked whenever he was around, some fervor that ignited in her no matter what they were doing together. Be it fighting side by side or sharing a pint after a long day or just walking through town. She’d known this yearning since she first met Varric, though it wasn’t quite the hunger that it had become back then. From the moment he’d made his introductions she’d felt a desire that wasn’t quite primal wash over her every time he spoke, the sound of his voice like velvet against her ears. The way he modified his words to a range of dramatics when he told his tall tales always enraptured her attention, it was something he was born to do. His dry sense of humor and his crude jokes always made her laugh, with any given situation, and sometimes so honestly and heartily her sides hurt. The victorious look he always wore after a battle, no matter how strenuous always filled her with new energy, and lately it had been something shameless that brewed within her to look upon him in those moments, his skin shimmering with sweat and blood, his hair flying loose from its binds. It seemed almost scandalous, but the one thing she lusted unabashed over was his chest, that patch of curly hair riding on hard muscle, and all she wanted to do was rip his shirt off and follow that love trail with her fingers.
There had been a moment quite some time ago when she’d found feelings for Anders as well, but it was something almost second hand and empty, like she was trying to replace what she thought she’d never have with a runner-up. Varric had made it seem like he would never be available to her in that way, certain things he’d said, and certain mannerisms. She’d accepted that, but after years of getting to know one another that had changed for her, and hence her reasoning for bringing up the ‘first name’ business. The idea of taking over the Hanged Man hadn’t been a complete rouse, but it had offered her the perfect opportunity to bring the topic to the table. It was an idea she had concocted and revised many times over the course of three years, and so after perfecting her scheme she picked the most favorable moment she could catch and went with it. Thinking it might bring them together somehow, knowing what she knew.
She’d been positively tickled the day she’d heard her first name come from the dwarf, to turn and realize he was speaking to his crossbow she’d found it charming and amusing and had to fight the urge to tell him that instant. Let him wonder, and then tempt him to figure it out, would be her way of knowing for sure whether or not he cared to take a deeper turn in their relationship based on his reactions. She was fully aware she was wielding her secret like a weapon, but she couldn’t help herself, and really had no other way she could think of to go about it in order to get the outcome she sought.
Leaving it to her mother to ultimately decide whether or not Varric was worthy of the truth was more for Liandra’s frame of mind. Bethany would never get married and have children and settle down on a farm, she was to be a Circle Mage or an apostate like their father, either way an arduous and distraught future. Their father had been brave, and lucky enough to try the family life-style while on the run, and in the end it had killed him. Hawke was too much of a wild spirit to really be caught and if then never to be truly tamed, there was just too much she wanted and needed to do, too much injustice that she felt was her destiny to make right. Poor Carver had really been her mother’s last chance, and he was gone. When she first started to chase her feelings for Varric she knew giving her mother courting rights would make her happy, and it would save Hawke herself from trying to revisit those sad memories that came with the story behind her name directly. She never had a chance to ask, or Liandra was robbed of the chance to tell her, but Hawke never got to see her mother’s reaction to telling that tale. Never got to know just how thrilled it made Liandra to have the chance to be a parent one last time.
It had cut her deep when she’d found her mother, it had ripped her heart clean out of her chest and stomped on it. When Varric had whispered her real first name to her, she could only be certain of one thing. That her mother had approved. Her joyful, loving mother had given Varric the answer he diligently sought. She’d deemed him worthy of Hawke, and the cut she’d just suffered was filled with salt as the reality crushed her. Liandra would never have the satisfaction of seeing at least one of her children start their lives in the way she had always hoped, would never get to play with her grandchildren. It was unexplainable what Hawke had felt at that moment, maybe it was just the sheer weight of what she had lost, but she couldn’t fathom anything beyond that, especially not the possibilities of anything between her and Varric, and so she’d taken out as much aggression as she could before running home to disappear.
Thinking on it, she realized she should have known sooner that Varric had been privy to the information when they’d dueled in her training room that morning. He’d seemed nervous and hadn’t thrown a name out at her once. Lost in her thoughts as she was she’d not noticed any of these facts when she should have.
In her heart now she knew she had been waiting for Varric this past week, though the silence and the peace had helped to heal her a little what she had really been longing for during this time of mourning was a reliable shoulder to lean on and an unbiased and loyal ear to talk to. Varric was the perfect candidate, her romantic feelings for him aside. She could almost guess as to why he never came, that her reaction had been construed in a different light than intended in her despair, that her anger may have been misunderstood. The sleepless nights had been filled with those doubts and mild efforts to try to mend herself, her longing for her mother’s voice ringing happily through the mansion weighing her down in this sea of misery. She was so lost, with nothing important enough to drag her attention to a happier place.
The latch on her door shaking brought her attention back to the world around her, and she turned to look in that direction. Sensation returned to her extremities as she watched the lock starting to turn and the door being pushed open gently. She clenched her fists, ready to punch Isabella square in the other eye if she thought breaking in a second time would produce a different outcome than when she last tried, but her heart stopped instead. Flooding light into the room from the open windows in the hall a silhouette stood in her doorway, and with a fluttering in her numbed heart she knew instantly who had finally come to see her.
Varric had paused, the light illuminating Hawke’s face had shown immense irritation when he’d first stepped into the room and his fears seemed realized. But almost as quickly, the exasperation vanished to be replaced with such an open expression of melancholy that his throat constricted and he didn’t waste any more time closing the door behind him and approaching the bed.
He stopped a few paces away, feeling it to be a safe distance for the time and took a minute to look Hawke over. Her chocolate brown eyes were heavy and showed her vast fatigue, her skin had paled from lack of being outdoors and her shoulders, normally held up proudly had fallen as low as they could sink. It was hard to tell through her loose robes but Varric was positive she’d lost weight. The guilt that had surfaced upon entering this house came to him again, seeing the proof that told him what he already knew, that he should’ve been here for her. It was a guilt stronger than what he’d felt over his brother, or any other regret in his life, and this time it refused to be dismissed.
Any words he could muster died in his throat with her looking at him; sitting helplessly it seemed in this dark room with nothing but her seclusion and her dismal thoughts, her memories and her sorrow. Her gaze was unwavering, even locked behind eternal tears that fought to fall, and it trapped him in his hesitancy.
With a great push of his will he forced himself to step closer to her, slowly to gauge her reaction. Coming to stand close enough that her knees just barely brushed his upper thigh he reached forward and gently picked her hands into his. This was what strength he could beckon; it fell to Hawke to see to it whether or not that strength grew or failed further. She didn’t disappoint.
With a sigh that sounded like a soft sob she clenched his hands instantly, every emotion she’d weathered hitting her resistance to them full force, and almost succeeding in breaking through. Varric saw it, the small lurch in her form, and the one tear that finally escaped. Any apprehension left was gone, and reaching out he pulled her to him, her muscles going rigid and then relaxing at once as she sank into him, her legs falling open to let him shift closer. And still she fought against herself.
“Let it out,” Varric whispered, one hand threaded into her hair and the other tight around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
That voice she adored, inundated with genuine adoration, with those large hands grounding her and the solid frame she’d buried her face into once more broke her last resolve. The tears flowed unstoppable, her fingers dug into his coat at his back as her every memory of her mother assaulted her in a rush. She cried quietly at first, and then louder and harder until she couldn’t breathe properly and all the while Varric did not loosen his grip.
To voice an apology, he knew would not help, and perhaps that was what he’d been missing this whole time. To not have to speak, to be here just for this was all she had needed, the words would have come later, and again he felt he’d wronged her. He forced these thoughts from his mind almost angrily, just the fact that Hawke was letting him hold her like this, was relaxing her guard to show him this ugly side of her own repentance was testament enough that she held no grudges towards him. He had no reason to continue berating himself. Slowly her efforts began to subside, her arms slacking and her head resting heavier against his chest. With tenderness she hadn’t quite expected from him he stroked her hair, and a tremor ran down her spine. He felt like, home.
“I don’t want to bury my mother. It was not her time.” She finally said, her voice muffled in his coat.
He didn’t have an answer for her, but he sensed she wasn’t looking for one, because there wasn’t one. With her own strength she sat up with her arms still around his waist, his hands coming to rest on her elbows.
“Thank you.” She said softly, a very delicate and candid smile turning up a corner of her mouth, her cheeks glistening and her nose red.
“Any time.”
~*~
Isabella had joined the two standing guard over Hawke’s bedroom, fiddling with her hair and occasionally pressing the bruise on her cheek to remind her not to be hasty in this situation. Anders had taken to pacing and Aveline remained posted at the railing. Downstairs Gamlin was growing impatient but was keeping his more colorful complaints limited to himself and the lady that was standing closest to him, while the rest of the small party picked at the diminishing food and drink. Bodahn watched from his place by the fire, waiting for movement or anything significant from the upstairs while Sandal busied himself. The whole house was uneasy, nervous as to Hawke’s condition and weary of the funeral proceedings. It was a rather unhappy time for everyone.
Clouds were crossing the sky outside, dark gray and full of rain. It was growing closer to high noon and still Varric had not produced Hawke from her hiding. Tension was beginning to swell, and its dual cores seemed to be in Hawke’s uncle and Hawke’s estranged admirer.
“I can’t wait any longer,” Anders announced quietly, and Aveline turned.
“You stay where you are.” She commanded in her sternest voice. She’d grown weary of watching him twitch in his jealousy, listening to him ramble insistently under his breath.
“This is ridiculous…” He began to argue, though half-heartedly.

“He hasn’t been kicked out yet, which means she either threw him out the window,” Isabella speculated. “Or it means she finally broke down.”
“In either case, my guess is none of us are needed. So we will wait right here.”
Anders seemed to finally relinquish, and with a defeated look touching his features he left the women without another word to walk downstairs and disappear into the kitchen. Aveline looked over Isabella, her distaste for the pirate abating slightly in the face of the occasion. Though they clashed on almost everything, Hawke’s well being was not one of them, and she respected the woman only slightly for helping her dispel Anders’ unsound tactics.
“I’m assuming that shiner isn’t from a bar-room brawl?” She noted, and Isabella smirked.
“No, it isn’t.”
They both jerked into ready positions when they heard the door in front of them creak open, their attentions focused on the black dwellings as Varric stepped into the hall, holding the door open for Hawke who squinted a little in the fairly dim sunlight. She had dressed herself in thick black, formal leather armor, adorned with drakescale boots that shimmered green and matching gloves. Her hair was freshly combed and braided, a green ribbon threaded throughout, and in her hand she held a very old shield that looked to be emblazoned with the Amell family seal. A new light, softened from emotion shone in her eyes, her cheeks puffy from crying but her posture was straight and defiant. She nodded appreciatively towards Isabella and Aveline, before moving resolutely downstairs to greet the rest of the party. Isabella turned a questioning look to Varric, but the dwarf gave her nothing as he followed the warrior to the procession.
The group converged to the center of the room as Hawke gathered the urn to her chest with the shield she carried, her uncle taking up a slender emerald flag with the same white and blue flowers tied to the staff. Silently they began to file out of the house, everyone even the servant and Bodahn leaving to follow to the coast.
It was a long trek, the silence broken every so often by random conversation. The battle parties walked closely behind their elected leader, Gamlin and his friends bringing up the rear. Though the sun broke through the clouds from time to time it was raining lightly, casting rainbows down on the horizon and concealing the tears that still spilled quietly on Hawke’s face. The hurt wrapped tighter around her when they neared the cliff side they were set out for, and she saw Bethany standing trapped between three templars, waiting for the ceremony.
The templars bowed slightly when Hawke approached, Bethany stood with her head hung, her short black hair falling into her face as she sniffled. She did not raise her eyes to meet Hawke’s, or anyone else’s. It had taken a lot of money and some persistent begging from Aveline but she managed to coerce the Viscount to petition the templars to let Bethany attend the funeral, and Hawke was glad it had worked.
Gamlin and a Cloistered Sister that had been commissioned spoke together the words for the rite, and when the time came Hawke opened the urn and began to slowly dump the snow white ashes into the wind and the sea. When a third was gone she passed it to Bethany, who said her goodbyes before dumping the next third and passing the last to Gamlin. Condolences were passed out to her and what was left of her family before the templars ferried Bethany away and the rest started to filter out on their own.
Hawke was left alone again, her clothes starting to soak through as the rain started to fall harder. Her grandfather’s shield still hung at her side, and once she’d watched the water churn until her mother’s ashes were no longer visible she set down her load and began to dig with her hands into the firm soil.
Varric watched from a respectable distance, Aveline standing next to him. He knew Hawke, fairly well he liked to think when it came to certain things, and this was something he felt she wanted to do herself, the guard standing in agreement with him. She was burying the family shield, and he found he couldn’t bring himself to intrude, no matter what had happened between them. He didn’t know where he stood, and though he knew he was in a place in her good graces he wasn’t about to tempt that good fortune.
Aveline crossed her arms, her armor grinding together as she did so and her fingers caught the corner of her green sash.
“I think I’ve figured it out.” She spoke, quietly against the breeze. Varric looked at her from the corner of his eye.
“Liandra told you, didn’t she?”
Bewilderment crossed his features as he turned to face Aveline more directly. She was biting her lower lip a little bit, eyes still focused on where Hawke was laboring under her efforts.
“When Hawke signed the deed on her property I was there, to oversee the transaction since the proceedings had been more of a brutal take-over and they needed someone to notarize and keep the peace. I was glad to do it.” With this she finally looked down at the rogue next to her.
“I knew Bianca was her name, long before she even tempted you with it. She made me swear on my life to keep the secret to myself, and I’m quite positive that now what she meant was, to keep it from you.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” He asked.
“I couldn’t quite figure out how you’d finally gotten it. I thought at first it was just a playful guess, or maybe you’d gone behind my back to find it in her personal records. But then it hit me, that night in Dark Town, and this morning when you came to the estate. Liandra was the one who told you.”
Varric’s features knitted, and he nodded. “She did. The night before she died, the night she went missing.”
Aveline grimaced, but said nothing further. Aside from Hawke he’d been the last person to speak with Liandra ever, and she understood better the heartache he felt over it all. The surprise that Hawke had exuded when he’d spoken her name, the uncontrollable anger she’d demonstrated, it all made more sense now that Aveline had found the last piece. She wasn't one to assume anything, but she could almost see for certain the emotions her fellow warrior was harboring for the witty dwarf, and the recent developments solidified her guesswork. It would be an interesting road for the pair, and Aveline could only hope that both of them would be happy in the end, after all of this sadness was behind them.
“She needs you to be here when she’s ready to go home.” She said simply, only hinting at the deeper meaning in her statement, giving him a small smile of encouragement before pivoting and leaving him to wait alone.
With the sky turning darker and the wind beginning to howl gloomily along the coast and through the trees, Hawke finished her task, leaving the shield half visible facing north like a headstone and standing to look out one last time on her mother’s final resting place. The rest of life’s tasks and everything she knew she had to do before her started to swirl in her mind, and giving one last promise to the spirit she’d lost to do right by Liandra’s memory she turned and started back towards the path that would take her home.
All of the thoughts fluttering through her stopped when she saw Varric leaning against a tree down the road a little ways. He had waited for her, something she hadn’t expected but was immediately grateful for. She had not been eager for the lonely walk or the emptiness of her house, but had been resigned to it. A smile crept up on her when she reached him, and he seemed taken aback by it.
“Care to join me for a drink?” She asked, a little bit of her normal self coming through, if a bit forced. Varric mirrored her grin carefully.
“Of course, my lady.”
~*~
Varric had known without asking that the warrior had not wanted to go home. She wanted to be somewhere that was untouched by Liandra’s remembrance, somewhere she still felt safe in. The Hanged Man was loud and unusual a place to mourn, but Hawke wanted to be done mourning; she was ready to move past it and learn what she could from the incident. The man who’d been to blame had been brought to justice; there was nothing left for her to do than to fall back into life the best she could. Booze, and quality time with someone dear to her was a good start.
Isabella was three sheets to the wind by the time they arrived; she’d had a flask with her for the funeral and had come back to her usual post to finish what she’d started. Either she didn’t take notice of Varric and Hawke’s arrival or she didn’t care. The two made it to Varric’s rooms without a confrontation, and though he left the door open for the bar maids Hawke felt very much secure and relaxed once seated comfortably in the big stone chairs at the dining table. She knew what was going to happen now, what needed to be said, and she hoped diligently that everything would turn out in their favor. The possibility of losing someone else so soon weighed on her conscious severely.
Varric tried to busy himself with something; he removed his crossbow and set her gently on his desk before changing his formal coat to his usual, roughly tailored battle duster. He started a fire afterwards and was just getting the flames steady when Edwina brought up a pitcher and two cold mugs from the bar.
“My tab please,” Hawke said, accepting the mug gratefully and pouring herself a generous helping.
“That’s not necessary,” the barmaid answered, smiling sadly at her before wiping her hands on her apron and leaving without another word.
“I really wish people wouldn’t give out pity like that,” She noted, gulping down a liberal amount of her drink.
“They have nothing else to give in a situation like this, and they respect you, so they want you to know that they care.”
Hawke looked over at Varric, who was standing with his back to her. She wanted nothing more than to set her drink down and bury herself back into his arms, but she controlled herself. Enormous amounts of grief drove people together, but they also drove people apart, and she wanted to hold the tightrope their relationship was walking on together long enough to make it to one side or another.
He turned finally and joined her at the table; she poured him a glass and handed it to him casually before attempting to relax. Everything that had happened in the past week had shaken her pretty good, and she was still suffering the after effects. Perhaps now was not the appropriate time to be discussing something like this, whatever it was that they had, but it was the only thing she could think of that wasn’t the chaotic, downward spiral of angst over her mother.
“I told my mother, it was her choice…” She started to say, eyes locked on the table in front of her. Varric looked up, his eyebrows drawing inward but he stayed silent.
“I gave her the power to rule you in or out, whether to set you off on a blind goose chase or to give you the truth.” She finished uncertainly, and Varric felt that point hit home harder than it had the night they’d found Liandra.
Hawke had known he would go to her, had known he was clever enough to use every resource when all else failed, and the fact that Liandra had known all along and had told him anyway made his heart wrench. It was a game, something Hawke was using to bring him closer. And Liandra would never get to see the fruits of her decision, would never get to feel the pride only a parent can feel when she’s indisputably happy for her child, when they agree on something they both feel strongly about. Varric had never cried before, not in his life, but he felt the waterworks turning and it humbled him. He made a decision in that moment, and what he thought would be a conversation about the two of them was now going to be the gift of his honesty. It seemed Hawke had given so much, he’d taken her name and her story from her mother, and a stranger had then taken her mother from them all. Varric knew he only had one thing to give her in return for what she’d lost, and even still he felt it wasn’t enough. It would have to do for now, as it was all he had. It took a long moment and a refill before he found his voice again.
“I met a girl, about eight years ago as she was arriving in Kirkwall on business with her partners. They were looking for raw materials for their blacksmithing company that they’d been growing, and they were looking to set up a shop here in Low Town to establish themselves in the Free Marches…” He paused, his promise from all those years ago coming to haunt him, the promise he’d made he felt breaking as the words left his mouth. Hawke was instantly mesmerized, knowing what he was about to finally tell her and not wanting to stop him.
“She was stunning, but bitter, and a little older than me with dark hair and piercing green eyes. She had a past darker than I could comprehend, and a grudge against men that bordered on the sadistic. She trusted her partners about as far as she could throw them with one hand tied behind her back. But she was looking to settle a branch for herself and send them back home to Antiva to keep their central operation running smoothly. What she was really asking was to be free of them completely, and she ended up at my brother’s for his favor as a local Merchant Guild member.
“My brother as you can imagine, was shrewd and sought to take some of her earnings in exchange for settling a building for her in his name, so that she could do work here in ‘his’ town. I overheard their argument, and watched her punch him so hard she broke his cheek bone.” Varric chuckled dejectedly as Hawke barely contained hers. That would have been something she would have enjoyed watching.
“I knew I had to meet her, anyone who could wield a fist so mighty, and upon my scandalous brother of all people was worth getting to know. At first we didn’t get along at all, we butted heads on many occasions over many different things, her dislike for my fables amongst them, but we worked well together as far as business went and pretty soon we sent her entourage packing and she came to consider Kirkwall her home. It took her a while to fully accustom herself to the city, but I eventually got her to open up, day by day, and soon we became very close.”
Hawke had stopped paying any attention to her beer at this point, avidly drawn to the simple tale Varric was telling, one he did not embellish or fabricate. He wasn’t even using flourishes in his vocals either, and it stayed her effectively. He was not as forgetful of his mug, and took a decent gulp from it now, this nervousness not something he was used to.
“I came from a merchant caste family, and I was the first generation born on the surface. She had been of the smith caste and was born in Orzammar. We had adverse ethical views, but she came to trust me more as the time wore on. She told me that a while after her father had moved them to the surface she lost her family in Fereldan at the hands of human mercenaries. Her captors stole her away after violating her and her mother and beating her father until he stopped breathing. She never saw them again, believed them to be dead. The men sold her to a noble in Antiva as a slave hand to the family’s blacksmith, somehow knowing it was her trade. I gathered on my own that she’d been abused heavily during her stay with the family, and when she told me of how she’d struggled to buy her freedom I felt such affection and wonder for her it blinded me. I’d never felt anything like it before.
“Eventually she would start to come with me on errands if she wasn’t busy at her shop, and I taught her how to use a bow almost better than I myself can. She fell in love with it, and dare I say she fell in love with me.”
The fire popped, sending small embers into the air and Varric averted his eyes.
“You remind me of her a little, both talented smiths, both strong and mightily stubborn women. She kept me guessing, always on my toes, but unlike you anytime she overheard me spinning a story she would huff, roll her eyes and remark of how it was unbelievable someone could garner so much pleasure from telling lies. I would argue that history itself is a collection of stories, passed through generations mostly by word of mouth, that religion in its simplest form was based purely on people’s interpretation of heroic adventures. She never had an answer for that, but she never relented. The only person I’ve ever met, and liked that loathed my narratives.
“We were never outright obvious about our relationship when it grew to be something serious, not even with my parents who were constantly hounding me to settle down with a family. My mother takes any opportunity given to say something about it, to inquire about my marital status and demand to know why I haven’t yet put a bun in the oven, as it were. We were content to just be together and live life as it came at us without stress over the partnership, both building on investments and securing footholds in the community. Her shop blossomed in the year after she became an independent business owner, contracts from all over the Free Marches keeping her coin purse heavy and reliable. She even had a contract with Meredith for fitting new recruits with training gear that kept her busy always.
“I remember there came a point in time where I had considered asking her to marry me, but I knew she would never say ‘yes’, she wasn’t the ‘happily married’ type and had made it quite obvious on numerous occasions that she never wanted to have kids. She’d told me the fact that she was seeing me at all as more than just a casual fuck was behavior she did not normally exude, and I didn’t want to wear out my exception to the rule more than I felt I already was. I was happy, truly happy for the first time in a long while, and I was comfortable just to be so.”
Varric smiled, and it was an expression Hawke had never seen him wear before. It was heartrendingly sad, the pain of loss coming to the surface making it bittersweet in its entirety and her eyes prickled with tears of a different sort.
“A group of Antivans came to her shop one day in the late afternoon when she wasn’t there, I was watching over the place until she returned from the quarry as I was used to doing every so often. I was the only one she trusted to keep her physical assets safe. They overcame me, broke my bow, my arm and numerous things in her building before they left me with a message to give to the owner. That they knew where she was, that someone was looking for the dues she hadn’t been sending for the last year, and that they were here to collect.”
He gripped his left arm as he recounted the incident, drawing his brow inward and his eyes flashing in both anger and disgrace.
“I was ashamed that I had been caught off guard, that they had bested me as they’d done, I was better than that. She was enraged when she returned and I told her what happened, and I knew some of her fury was directed at me though she said nothing of it. After helping me to a healer and watching over me for a time, she disappeared.
“A few days later, after avoiding me diligently she came to me, telling me she found where the mercenaries were hiding out and that she was planning an ambush, she’d had it all figured out. I argued with her. If they could break me they would surely kill her, and this only angered her more. I pleaded but she ignored me, her arrogance refusing to let my fear dismiss her ability to take care of herself, to reclaim her honor and destroy a threat on her success. Before she left she gave me a gift, telling me that if it was to be her time than she would take it proudly, and go down fighting like her mother and father before her. In the end, I guess it was a farewell gift. A brand new crossbow painstakingly customized for my hands alone with such care and thoroughness I was stricken completely. She left, with sober orders that I was not to follow her. Of course, I did anyway, arm in a sling and my new crossbow on my back.” With this he spared a loving and remorseful glance at the inanimate Bianca, resting peacefully on his desk.
“She led me to Dark Town, somewhere near the docks that normally house slavers and black market shipments. There was no way she was going to come out of the encounter alive, there were at least a dozen armed men, and three of them were apostates. She was intelligent enough, managed to take out more than half by herself before I had to step in, picking them off as I could from a distance one handed. They felled her before I could finish off the last two.”
He paused, and turned so that he sat facing away from the table, closing his eyes to collect himself. This was pain he’d buried a long time ago, long before he’d even heard the name ‘Hawke’ on the streets, and it was near torturous to think of it all again. A sigh escaped through his nose before his golden gaze flickered back open, watery and reddening.
“I made it down to her body before she drew her last breath, and with that breath she made me promise not to spin any stories of her. She wanted to stay dead, and not live on in infamy, not live on in any of the tall tales I so enjoyed telling and she so loathed hearing. I told her I loved her and she smiled, before she went back to the Stone, as they say. Never knowing her father yet lived, in the quiet little town of Lothering with a generous and sympathetic family to keep him sane.”
His voice trailed off to a whisper at the end, and Hawke let out air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. Fresh emotion tore through her as she watched him, frozen with the suddenness of his tale, with the hurt etched into his frown. With nerves raw and her spirit still shaken she stood, and took a step around the table to stand directly in front of him. He looked up at her, and though originally undecided of what she would do, the expression he held made her mind up for her. She placed her hands along either side of his strong jaw, the muscles there clenched, and bending she kissed his forehead, before leaning hers against his.
“Thank you,” She said very softly, hearing him sigh again, this time in respite. “I don’t know the extent of what telling me that meant to you, but I will be forever grateful for everything you have ever done for me. There’s nothing I could possibly do to repay your endless benevolence and devotion.”
The bright amber colors the fire was casting throughout the room reflected on the side of her face, and when she opened her eyes they glowed so that streaks of burgundy shone in her iris. Varric felt a calmness wash over him, looking at her now, so much stronger already than she had been a few hours before. It made him smile, and the old pain that had resurfaced faded back again in the face of this spectacular, selfless woman. Everything he’d been fighting with and reasoning with inside himself lately came to a resolute position in those intimate moments, feeling her calloused palms on his face and staring the evidence of her compassion for him in the eye. His heart felt lighter almost instantaneously, and he couldn’t help remarking with an innuendo.
“Hmm, I can think of a few ways.” He grinned and with firm hands on her waist pulled her to sit in his lap. It was unexpected to say the very least, but she smiled brightly in return, put off for a moment by the movement she fell easily into him. At first she said nothing, but relaxed as if admiring a plush new armchair.
“Well, let’s hear ‘em.” She prompted, and he laughed for the first time in a while, his eyes sparkling again. “They must be reasonable, I do pride myself in being open-minded but I have lines that are never to be crossed.”

“I would never ask for something you didn’t approve of first. What do you take me for?”
He stared at her, the effortless humor slipping away as he was given the chance to fully study her features. Her normal radiance was still trying to recover, her attitude was still bruised but not beaten, and any discomfort he felt over telling her the story he promised never to tell vanished. The secret, he knew would be safe with her. Hawke was the first to speak after a long while, the silence had been easy but there were things that needed to be said just yet.
“So, how does Bianca feel about sharing her name?” She asked coyly, not quite sure how he would respond to the question.
“She is a covetous and sometimes finicky bitch, but I guess she’ll just have to live with it, won’t she?”

“She will,” Hawke said, a little unsure. “Can I assume that you will be calling to me by my first name then, or will it remain Hawke to you as well?”
Varric thought over this before answering. He remembered all too vividly what Liandra had told him of Hawke’s feelings towards the name, how she held it to her protectively and he only wished to be considerate of the matter.
“Bianca,” He said, addressing Hawke directly with it, watching with no small amount of interest as a shiver passed over her arms. He let it roll off his tongue slowly and determined how it tasted. “I like it, but it is your choice. ‘Tis your name after all.”
“I think I decided a long time ago that I would adore hearing my name on your lips, meant for me and not your beloved crossbow. From you, my name brings me happiness.” She confided, a light blush coloring her cheeks, and Varric felt his chest fill with something akin to delight.
“Very well, then from hence forth you will no longer be known as Hawke to this modest dwarf,” He stopped, looking at her in a more serious light. “You always were my Bianca, I just never knew it.”
“Named after her just as your bow was. Quite the small world coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps it was fate that made it all happen. Our destinies intertwined.”

“I’m glad for it, either way. As I am indebted forever to such forces that brought you to me.”

“And you to me.”
They looked at each other as if they couldn’t pull themselves from the other’s gaze, a heat passing through them along with a slight awkwardness that neither of them was accustomed to. This was fresh ground they were treading, untouched territory for them together as a pair. Varric, with his normal vigor returned for the most part, decided it was time to make it official one way or the other, and leave it to Hawke to finalize everything.
“May I kiss you, Bianca?”
A silence filled the room suddenly, heavier than it had been as the music downstairs stopped and the din of voices rose through the floorboards. The musky smell that was signature to Varric filled her nose, paired with the earthy scent of the burning wood and the tang of the ale in front of her. She quickly became vividly aware of the tremor in her legs as his question sank in fully, and she almost laughed aloud. Instead she barely withheld a smirk of complete and utter satisfaction.
“You needn’t ever ask. The answer has been and will always be ‘yes’.”
A pause that lasted only a moment filled the space between them, before he used one hand to tilt her head towards him and the other to hold her close, his mouth falling delicately to hers in the tenderest of kisses she’d ever had the pleasure of receiving. It sparked something inside, something that came alive in her very soul and she knew with absolute certainty that she’d been waiting for him for a very long time.
With hands moving of their own accord she found purchase on his shoulders and in his hair, holding to him as if she were afraid he’d disappear. Varric was more than astonished at the sensation, wrapping his arms around her tighter and feeling her fingers at the back of his neck. He thought for a minute that he must be dreaming, that he must’ve fallen asleep at his desk while writing and this was all a cruel joke. But her heartbeat, hammering against her chest and against his through her armor was all the proof he needed that this was really happening, that she was here and starved for him. With great resistance he managed to pull away, just enough to be able to catch her eyes.
“I’m sorry this didn’t happen sooner.” He whispered, half mocking.

“It’s happening now, and that’s all that matters.”
The primitive urges she’d been fighting for so long were becoming restless, demanding she take things further, and she hesitated. She was not Isabella, and would never be as easy, but damn did she want to just lie back on that heavy wooden table and beg him to take her. It was something she knew would ease both of their stress, something she knew both of them wanted, and maybe it was time to get there.
“Where shall we go from here, Bianca?” He asked in a low voice that vibrated to her core when she said nothing further, and Hawke bit her lip.
A sharp, explicit look came to her features, and as boldly as she could be in this situation she moved to stand. He let her go, watching curiously as she walked slowly to the door, hips swaying unintentionally and he felt all of his concentration move south suddenly. At first he thought she was going to leave him here, breathless and aroused and open after everything they’d talked about, and that remarkable kiss, but her mission wasn’t to tease him any longer. She shut the heavy door, and with a resolute and resounding click she latched the lock and the dead bolt before looking back over her shoulder at him. Whatever small insecurity she felt was overcome by the impious flare in his eyes as he realized what she’d done, and what she meant to do.
“Let’s not go anywhere.” She whispered, turning to face him fully as she pulled her gloves off and a meek grin came to her face, her gaze flickering briefly to where his crossbow sat.
“You may want to ask her to shield her eyes. She may not like what she’s about to see.”

“Let her watch.” He said, shucking his coat and meeting her in the middle of the room to continue what they had started. Hawke hit her knees as his arms came around her, and what had been an affectionate kiss moments before became something wilder. Her legs were long enough that they were more of an equal height in this position, Varric a few inches taller and quite appreciative of her gesture.
After a few long minutes he took her elbows and had her stand again to begin making their way haphazardly towards the bed, ripping at clothing on each other and themselves in turn. His belt hit the floor behind him, her decorative breast plate and leg guards following suit. She sat on the low rising bed when guided in that direction, and looked at him almost innocently. The expression caused a rather dominant streak to rise within him, and he had to steady himself before continuing.
He’d never really had the gratification of sharing his bed with a human, once or twice with an elf but they were slighter and easier to maneuver, widely unpredictable. Dwarven women were prone to aggressive and fanatical lovemaking, and they stood to be his favorite challenge, but Hawke was quickly becoming his lover of choice. She was all muscle yet supple, yielding to his whim and every bit the submissive he’d pegged her to be. Though not the tallest human he’d ever met by far, she was still a solid two feet taller than he was. Seated like this he stood over her, making it easier for him to take control of the situation, his hands roaming unchecked to untie the last of her binds.
The black leather fell away under dexterous fingers, and Hawke didn’t disappoint in returning the favor, breaking from a seemingly unending kiss to pull his shirt over his head. His hair tie disappeared and she reveled in running her hands through the shoulder length, strawberry blonde locks. There was just something about hair long enough to get a good grip on that tempted her, and she couldn’t resist, like holding the reins on an uncontainable stallion. Varric guided the flow of things skillfully, like it was second nature to be in control, and it negated any of her more intelligent thought processes.
Raising her hips so that he could pull off her greaves, Varric fell to a knee as she kicked her boots to the side and looked up at her, stunning in just her flimsy underclothes. The fabric was thin and it stretched tight over the few curves it covered, making his mouth water in anticipation. She shivered at his touch, feathery light as he ghosted his hands over her knees and up her thighs. His lips fell to follow the same trail and she leaned back, posted on her arms as his kisses reached her abdomen, the muscles jumping excitedly.
Her underwear was stripped so quickly she hardly even noticed its departure, thinking maybe it had been ripped off but not caring when that talented mouth moved to places she’d never had the pleasure of a tongue before. It was new and electrifying and she couldn’t withhold a yelp of shock as he proceeded to effectively melt her where she sat.
Varric didn’t linger long; he had other things in mind but couldn’t resist savoring her unique flavor before moving back up her stomach to remove her chest strap. His capacity for being gentle was running out quickly when he came to those pert breasts, nipples standing to attention eagerly.
Lifting her hands to tangle again in his hair Hawke arched her back, goose bumps rising on her skin. It’d been so long since she’d been with anyone like this, and considering who she was with now the sensations were threatening to overwhelm her completely. What had seemed like an improbability was now forming into reality, soothing every worry line on her face and erasing every stress blackening in her mind. The coarse fabric of his greaves rubbed against the inside of her thighs from where he was pressed, the large, rigid bulge he sported fitted snuggly against the wetness at her core and driving the last of her inhibitions completely out the window.
Pulling back from where he was at her neck he kissed her again, using his truly devious tongue to lure hers to dance. She could taste herself in his mouth; it was a peculiar thing but didn’t put her off. Momentum continued to speed up, his pants stripped away and thrown into the darkness before they moved further to the center of the mattress, the soft white sheets bunching around her body. His weight was more than comfortable, and that fine, curly hair on his chest was superb.
Arms wrapped tight around her body, hers around his shoulders, he pressed his hips firmly against her and reveled in her sweet little moans of enjoyment as they permeated through where their lips were locked together. Her squirming delightfully beneath him made his breathing ragged, and he couldn’t find a reason to put off the inevitable any longer. He was right there, and with a slight move down, rubbing firmly against her sweet spot on his way he pushed inside her welcoming body. A heavy sigh escaped Hawke, accented with noises reserved just for him as he seated himself fully. The feeling was sublime, needled with a slight, sharp pain as he stretched her beyond anything she’d had before. Her nails dug into his back, her hips jerked upwards out of reflex to the intense feeling of fulfillment and he began to move.
The world bled away, leaving only him in her vision, leaning up on his elbows to look down at her. The candles that were lit along the walls made his hair glow in a dark red light, his eyes passionate as he stared, unable to focus on anything else. A small smile came to his face, and Hawke felt a tingle run across her entire body, raising the tiny hairs on her skin.
The tempo was steady but direct, and her tattered nerves liquefied under the consistent assault. Sweat started to bead down his spine as she ran her fingers along it, before pulling them around to his chest, the need too great to ignore. She’d longed to do so for years, and now following the blonde trail down to his stomach and back again she couldn’t control a moan, or the clenching of her muscles in sheer exhilaration.
Varric echoed a groan, before deciding a much faster pace was needed. They rocked together, the bed moving under them and creaking with the onslaught. It didn’t take much more for Hawke’s vocalizations to grow to restrained screams, she was so close.
She lost concentration on anything except where their bodies met and molded together, her hands wandering aimlessly. Varric was quick to take full advantage of the situation and pinned her wrists on either side of her head, putting more force behind his thrusts. It was all he needed to do to push her over the edge, her inner walls going into spasms, her legs clenching around his waist and her eyes rolling into the back of her head for a moment. The sensation, the visualization, the pure fact that it was her underneath him dragged his orgasm out right behind hers. He was quick to pull out, preventing any unwanted or unplanned bundles of joy in the near future, and Hawke hummed happily in agreement.
They lay together for a while, Hawke utterly fulfilled with him still between her legs, his face pressed against her collarbone and his essence drying slowly on her stomach. Clothing lay strewn about the floor in forgotten piles, pieces of parchment that had been knocked from the desk crumpled up with the garments. The few candles that had been lit hours before were smoldering at the bases of their holders, untouched ale had fallen to room temperature and the noise that had permeated from below was all but gone as the night rolled further towards the dawn.
A supremely satiated sigh rose from the mess of sheets and limbs that rested on the large bed in the back corner of the apartment, delicate kisses planted on a slender neck and nails running down well toned shoulder blades where red trails stood as testament to the pleasure that had been partaken. Hawke was beside herself with respite. Varric was beside himself with the feeling of completion. Both were at peace for the first time since they’d met, and more than relieved to have their mutual affections finally out to be shared with each other.
Together they rested, absolute. The recent anxiety that had become their worlds closing to make way for a new day. There was still hurt, there was still loss, and nothing was going to bring back the ones they missed, but they’d found each other after time spent dancing around what they felt. It was truly a marvelous thing to absorb, and as Hawke thought on all the things that had caused her to start falling for the man holding her originally she couldn’t help but inwardly thank fate once again for its judgment.
“It’s nice to just be loved, to be taken such very good care of if only for a night after having to give so much for so long.” Hawke commented, head nestled into the soft pillows at the head of the bed.

“You are much loved, sweetheart, I’m just the one that got to prove it to you physically this time, and quite well if I say so myself.” She giggled a little, wrapping her arms tighter around his back. “And for the record, I don’t believe that you think this is a one night thing anymore than I do.”
Hawke didn’t answer right away, and Varric pulled back to meet her eyes.
“I have to admit, I didn’t think this would ever become an actuality. I knew I cared for and lusted for you long ago, but never felt love quite like this until recently. I thought it was just the love of a faithful friend and ally, someone I’ve spilt blood with, someone I’ve saved lives with. I left it alone thinking I was reading too deep…thinking that maybe I was just horny…” She said, and he took her hand to kiss her palm. “I didn’t want to assume, even after everything that’s happened, that something more serious would come of this…though my heart was all for it.”
“Great minds think alike, I suppose.” He admitted with an amorous smile, and she fell into the gravity of that statement.
In the dark she could see his eyes glittering, his hair hanging around his shoulders naturally, and his chest gleaming from the earlier excursion. All that he was that she had come to know and adore was written on his features, and she knew that what she’d felt for him over the years had truly been the love she recognized now. It was something branded just for him, and it always had been, just slightly modified in the afterglow of such an extraordinary evening. It was hard to believe that she’d buried her mother just yesterday with the joy she felt here and now. There was no guilt for it, this was happiness Liandra had wished upon her daughter when she’d told Varric the truth, and it was happiness Hawke would cherish for as long as she could.
The dwarf was amazed watching the expressions that were being given to him, the raw emotion Hawke was expressing influenced merely by his understanding and his touch. He never expected he would find someone so principled, so committed and so empathetic to be his after losing his original Bianca. To find this person, who bore the same name in the same memory of the same person he’d loved those many years ago was positively propitious, and it blew his mind. Varric suspected the circumstances and the coincidence would boggle his mind for the rest of his life.
“I have something for you.” Varric said, and after kissing her cheek rose up to wander towards the desk.
Hawke graciously took that time to fully admire him in all his nude glory, her legs tightening as she remembered the events of just a little while before and what that extraordinary body felt like pressed into hers. Never had she been attracted sexually to a dwarf before, it was strange that the fact that he was never put so much as a damper on his desirability in her mind, only made it more profound and exotic. It was his personality, his voice, the way he carried himself, his many talents and his especially his smile that made him appealing, being of a different race meant nothing to her. When he turned back her way and she was granted with a full frontal view her skin began to grow flush again.
He held an old, leather bound binder in his hands, the corners rough and the tie worn. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to join him before handing it to her. Intrigued she opened the cover and began to read the first few lines. At first she didn’t realize what she was reading, and then tears returned to her eyes not more than a couple paragraphs in as she began to recognize what was being described.
“This…this is…”

“The story of your name. As told by Liandra Hawke, as recorded in writing by yours truly.”
She was speechless, reading further and hearing only her mother’s voice in her head. He’d done a damn fine job weaving Liandra’s words; it was as if she’d written them herself.
“I thought that you would want to have it. I couldn’t get it out of my head, it needed to be documented. I never had any intention of publishing it for the general public. It’s your story; like your name, you decide what you will to do with it.”

“I don’t know what to say…” She looked up, her tears turning blissful. “Thank you.”
Closing and cradling the book against her chest she pulled him to her with one arm, kissing him to show the true depth of what her words could not convey. He returned her ardor without faltering.
“You’re welcome, Bianca.”
Bewildered there was nothing else she could think to do then to hold him as he held her. The hand written story was priceless and something that she would fight to keep for the rest of her life. It was a feeling similar to the way she felt about the man who had penned it, and the sentiment was only getting more unconditional with every step closer they came to one another.
They moved to lie back on the bed, curled around each other and quietly satisfied to forgo conversation and let their bodies do the socializing for a while. Eventually, after tumbling together for an eternity they fell into a much needed, dreamless sleep, wrapped tight in each other’s arms.
~*~
A loud voice, the town crier marching past the window woke them both just before noon the next day. At first, Varric was astonished to find Hawke with him as they were, but everything came back to him so fast it made his head feel light, and he reached out to run his fingers over her shoulder and down to her hips. It had been a long while since the last time he was thrilled to wake up next to someone. The warrior mumbled something as she came to and began to stretch, her limber frame contorting in a most delicious way before she settled and opened her eyes.
“Good morning, lover.” He said and she smiled from ear to ear.

“I like the way that sounds.”
He chuckled heartily, “Excellent, because you’ll be hearing it often.”
Hawke beamed, and Varric felt his heart skip a couple of beats just looking down at her. The evidence of her appreciation and her adoration outlined in wild, sleep strewn hair and sinuous curves that he couldn’t resist touching. He mimicked her smile, moving unenthusiastically to get dressed before he was tempted to do more than just lightly caress that silky, tanned skin. There were things that needed to be dealt with that had been put off for the last week, and one of them had to be motivated to get started. Hawke was clearly thwarted, but he winked.
“Don’t fret, there’s plenty more perversions in store for you later, beautiful.”
The comment satisfied her hunger for now, and after watching him move around his room and ready his appearance Hawke moved to do the same, albeit still reluctantly. Once they were both ready to face the day she smiled again for him, and tucked a stray hair away behind his ear, looking downright regal in her chic black armor.
Her mind was at peace, her body rejuvenated, and with her heart full she decided Varric Tethras had cured her pain near entirely. Time now, she thought to move on to bigger and better things in the wake of such changes, as a point of interest resurfaced in her mind.
“So,” She started, letting her finger nail gently run down his jaw line. “Do you still have the paperwork for the Hanged Man?” She asked, and Varric smiled shrewdly at her, welcoming the attempt at a return to what they passed as normal, everyday life. This was going to work out just fine.
“Of course I do.”
~*~
Hope you all enjoyed the re-revised version better.
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