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Wounded	By : ArcadiaJones Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 1748 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Dragon Age, including its ideas and characters. I am not receiving any money for writing this, it's all just for fun!

Chapter List
- 1-First Meetings
- 2-Stories to Be Told
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- 2
Stories to be Told

Varric’s respect for Hawke grew considerably over the next few weeks as she drew him along into her wild flights of fancy, drawing quite the little rag-tag group together. It was her personality—that flippant air about her that charmed even the most stubborn of fools into following her. Anders, Isabela, Aveline, Fenris, and Merrill…all of them followed Rhia because they were drawn to her magnetic personality. Varric was no exception. He and Rhia had made a habit of spending late nights in the Hanged Man together, drinking until they could do nothing but laugh themselves senseless.

There was just something about her that the dwarf couldn’t get enough of.

It was for this reason that Varric took it upon himself to begin telling his stories to any ear willing to listen. Of how the fantastic heroine talked to dragons, fought the living dead, laughed in the face of Knight-Commander Meredith’s strict laws, stood on equal footing with the intimidating Arishok…all with the proper embellishments thrown in, of course. Soon enough, Varric had a following of eager listeners waiting for the latest tale of “the Dark-Haired Heroine.”

The sun had long since set when Rhia stepped through the familiar doors of the Hanged Man. Every muscle in her body ached, and there was a pain steadily growing just behind her eyes. Aveline had asked her for her help in uncovering what she believed to be a conspiracy within the city guard, and of course Rhia had agreed to help. What else could she do? Aveline might be a rather uptight woman who always seemed immune to Rhia’s jokes, but she was still a friend. The only friend she had left from Ferelden, apart from her own sister.

Looking across the room, Rhia’s eyes immediately lit on the large group of people gathered around Varric who was—no doubt—spinning yet another ridiculous tale about her. She was grateful that he at least used no names in his stories, but it was still awkward to hear such fanciful tales told about her exploits. The dwarf was incorrigible.

Rhia moved quietly, immersing herself in the back of the crowd so she could listen to the last of Varric’s tale. The stories might be ridiculous, but she enjoyed listening to him weave his characters in that way that was so uniquely his. Truly, the dwarf was a gifted storyteller. It might have seemed odd at first that the Hanged Man’s normally boisterous and plastered patrons always quieted down as soon as Varric began speaking, but now Rhia understood why. He had a way of bringing one’s mind into the story so that you truly felt as if you could see the heroes and feel their emotions.

“…and as the dragon reared back, the Dark-Haired Heroine leapt forward, her eyes full of fire. She brought her dagger up and sunk it deep into the beast’s underbelly, twisting and ripping her way down. The mighty beast roared in pain and batted at her with one claw, catching the Heroine and throwing her to the side!” Varric threw his hands up and the patrons nearest to him jumped and gasped. “She fell to the ground, wounded. And it was then that her trusty sidekick, the mighty Slayer, raised his faithful crossbow up and sunk a bolt deep within the dragon’s left eye. The beast roared again as it flailed about, its wings batting the heroes aside like flies.

“Angry, the Heroine rose to her feet, bloody daggers clutched tight in bloody hands. Moving like death himself, she swept up beneath the dragon once more, leaping the full height to the beast’s throat so that she could sink her blades into the tender flesh. She leapt back out of the way as the dragon finally fell, loosing one last cry as death claimed it. Covered in the blood of her kill, the Heroine stepped up and easily severed the dragon’s head, holding it up to the sky as she roared her victory!”

Varric was on his feet now, one hand held high with the other planted firmly on his hip. Instead of a dragon’s head, there was a pint in his upraised hand which he promptly lowered and drank from as the crowd applauded his performance. Rhia continued to watch him as the patrons began to trickle back to their tables, regaling the tale in whispered conversations.

The story wasn’t a complete lie; the bruise that damn dragon had left on Rhia’s ribs still ached something fierce. But of course, the dwarf had liberally powdered the tale with certain falsehoods, such as the dragon’s dramatic death. Really, it had been Aveline who had delivered the killing blow after Hawke and Varric had whittled down its stamina and opened up its tender underside. But Aveline hated it when Varric used her in his stories, and the dwarf enjoyed using his “Dark-Haired Heroine” anyways.

When the last of the crowd had dispersed, Varric looked up to where Rhia stood a couple of tables away. Smiling, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth to remove the foam sticking to his lips from his drink. She smiled back, shaking her head as she approached his table.

“’The mighty Slayer’, huh?”

“But of course! The mighty Slayer with his trusty companion, Bianca.”

Rhia shook her head again, chuckling, before she took the empty seat beside him. Varric waved his hand at one of the barmaids who nodded at him before moving behind the bar to ready Rhia a drink. When the young woman returned, Hawke thanked her before throwing the ale back in just a few, measured swallows. The barmaid laughed as she took the empty mug and went to refill it.

Varric watched Rhia all the time, marveling at how fascinating he found her. There was a reason he always used Hawke as the main hero in his stories: she was truly the most interesting, “hero-like” person he knew. One minute, Rhia was throwing herself into the line of fire to help a friend; the next, she was cracking some crude joke and throwing back drinks that would make even a hardened dwarf gawk. Varric had never really been attracted to a human before—apart from a passing fancy on a lonely night—but there was something about Rhia that mesmerized him. And it wasn’t just her shapely ass—which he had had plenty of time to appreciate following her throughout Kirkwall.

“What’s the matter, Varric?” Rhia asked him teasingly. “Did you finally run out of words?”

“I never run out of words, doll,” he replied with a smirk. “Unless it benefits me in some way.”

“Perhaps not you, but it would certainly benefit some of us.”

“Is that so? Well my dear, I’m afraid that you’ll have to endure. I can be nothing but myself.”

Rhia was already on her third pint, nursing this one instead of throwing it back. Varric sipped at his own drink—the fourth or fifth; who was really keeping count?

“How are the ribs?” he asked.

Rhia touched her side with a wince. “Still bruised, but I’ll live.”

“Did you go see Anders?”

“I tried to, but he was pretty swamped. Some kind of illness sweeping through Darktown, or something. It’ll heal soon enough on its own.”

It was strange, but Varric felt genuinely worried about the fact that she was wounded. Rhia always seemed to carry herself with such strength that he rarely thought about the many wounds she seemed to always bear with such grace. She seemed impervious to pain. It wasn’t until he had watched that dragon swat her aside that Varric realized she was flesh and blood, just like him. Unlike his story, the “Heroine” hadn’t stood back up after that attack; it wasn’t until the dragon lay dead that they had gone to her, Bethany doing what she could to stitch the wound together so Rhia could at least stagger her way back to Kirkwall leaning heavily on Aveline. Even now, Varric could see the way she favored her left side.

“Come with me,” he ordered, rising to his feet as he headed up the stairs to his personal suite.

Confused, Rhia drained the last of her mug before she followed after him. Walking up those steps sent needles of pain through her ribs and she was forced to stop halfway up, leaning against the wall as she gripped at her side with a grimace.

Dumb-ass, she chided herself. It might heal, but you don’t have time to wait that long. Should have just waited at Anders’s…

Rhia jumped in surprise as strong hands braced her good side, sending a bolt of white-hot pain through her injured ribs. She gasped and would have fallen to her knees had Varric not been there to hold her up. With surprising ease, the dwarf took the majority of her weight on his shoulders, waiting for the pain to ebb before he slowly helped her up the stairs.

Even through the agony, Rhia felt her heart fluttering at his nearness. Her right arm was slung over his broad shoulders, the fingers resting against the V of chest left revealed by his jacket. His skin was smooth, the fine golden hairs that covered it silky. Rhia had often imagined what it might feel like to run her hands along his chest, but had not imagined that it would feel so…so…

Good.

When they reached Varric’s suite, he carefully helped her take a seat in one of the large, throne-like chairs he seemed to adore. Rhia sunk down against the cushions with a groan, leaning slightly to the right as she rested her head back. She looked over at him and offered a weak grin.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He winked at her, and Rhia fought back a blush. “Now, try to hold yourself together long enough for me to find some bandages.”

She nodded, right hand clamped firmly on her aching side as her eyes slid closed. Varric gazed at her for a moment, noting how pale and clammy she suddenly looked. He had had his share of busted ribs and knew how much pain she must be in, and yet still Hawke had managed to keep herself together this long. It made Varric feel almost…privileged that this strong woman would lower her guard for him. But would she trust him a little further?

Varric always kept some first aid supplies in his rooms, just in case. He procured some thick bandages from his stash and returned to Rhia. It was then that he allowed impulse to take control as he reached out and gently stroked his finger down her cheek. Her skin was so soft, in spite of the sweat. Rhia’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on him blearily.

“Hmmm?”

“We need to bind those ribs,” Varric explained gently, holding up the bandages so she could see them. “But I need you to take off your tunic.”

A teasing smile played at her lips. “Trying to get me to strip now, eh? You’re such a dirty dwarf.”

Varric held his free hand to his heart, aghast. “My lady! Perish the thought! I merely offer my services as a healer.”

She started to chuckle—grimaced—and settled on a bemused grin instead. “Of course you are.”

Perhaps it was the pain or the alcohol pumping through her system, but Rhia found herself struggling to pull her tunic off over her head. It was impossible to lift her left arm without more blinding pain, but then Varric was there to gently help her ease it off.

Varric winced at the ugly purple bruise that covered the woman’s side, forcing himself not to stare at her full breasts which were covered only by the thin layer of cloth Rhia used to keep them from bouncing around while they were out fighting. It would be much easier to bind her ribs if the cloth weren’t in the way, but Varric wouldn’t go that far. If he did, there would be no telling if he would be able to control himself.

“Put your arms on the table,” he commanded gently, “and try to hold still. This is going to hurt a bit.”

Rhia obeyed, leaning forward slightly so that Varric could reach around her. She continued to obey his touches as the dwarf forced her to straighten her torso enough so that he could bind the wound properly. When he began wrapping, Rhia was forced to bite her bottom lip to keep from gasping as the bandages bound her ribs into place.

Varric moved as carefully as he could, but there was really no way to avoid the pain. He glanced up while he was wrapping to see that Rhia had bit through her lip, a tiny trickle of blood making its way down her chin. His heart clenched painfully at the sight. Damn Anders and his compassionate nature. The mage should have made time to heal their friend.

When he was finally done, Rhia leaned back with a ragged sigh, eyes shut tight. Varric reached up with his sleeve to wipe at the blood on her lips, allowing his fingers to linger for a just a moment before lowering his hand to her shoulder.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked, voice soft.

Rhia opened her eyes and forced a small smirk onto her face. “I could really use another drink. Maybe five.”

Varric chuckled. “As you wish.”

Rhia watched the dwarf as he moved to the door, her eyes drifting down from his ponytail to the muscles that rippled in his back to the firm ass cupped sensuously by his trousers. What would it feel like to run her hands over that bare flesh? Would he be as hard as the stone the dwarves claimed to hail from? Would he be—

Flushing a bright scarlet, Rhia forced herself to look away. Maker, but she was sick. Varric was her friend—perhaps her best friend—and there was no way he would be attracted to a tomboy like her. Fantasizing about him would only drive her insane, and as far as most of Kirkwall was concerned, Rhia was already just a few screws loose of a lunatic. Hawke had learned a long time ago not to desire something she could never have; it was just too painful.

Varric returned a few moments later with two empty mugs in one hand and a pitcher of ale in the other. He filled both mugs and handed her one, which she accepted gratefully. If she could just get drunk, Rhia was sure that she could numb the pain and forget about her twisted little fantasies.

No matter how hard he tried, Varric couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering to Hawke’s chest. The fabric of her breastband was so thin that he could see the outline of her nipples, which were hard in the chill air of the room. An image of him taking one of those firm buds into his mouth assaulted him, driving waves of lustful heat straight to his groin. Andraste’s tits, but the woman was too good-looking. Not an obvious beauty like Isabela, always flaunting her sex appeal. Rhia’s appeal was in her charm, in the way she looked at you when she smiled, so tender; in the way she looked at you when she was furious, promising a swift death.

Rhia was beauty, danger, kindness…and not for him. Varric was far from modest about his own looks—he knew he was a handsome devil—but that didn’t stop him from feeling jealous of Anders and Fenris, with their long legs, pretty-boy eyelashes, angst-ridden sob stories… It was enough to make a dwarf want to gag, no matter how much he liked the big galoots. Varric had seen the way they watched Hawke every time she brought one or both of them along, and it was only a matter of time before she turned and caught her own eye.

“Varrrrrrrric…”

He looked up from his drink to where Rhia was struggling to stand up, cheeks flushed in a drunken stupor. Looking back at the pitcher, he realized that she had managed to down the entire thing while he had been lost in thought. Stupid.

“Woah there, doll. Do you really think you should be walking around?” Varric rose to his feet and moved to her side, worry focusing his attention on her face, not the breasts that were now bouncing slightly with her jarred movements.

“Walk? I c’ld fly, Varrrrrric! W’na fly wif me?”

He couldn’t keep the smile from his face, the laugh from his voice. It wasn’t often that Varric wasn’t drunk alongside her, so this was really the first time he saw just how…how…cute she was inebriated.

“I don’t think flying is a good idea, doll. How about we go lay down instead?”

Rhia’s mouth formed a large O as she took a staggering step away from him. “J’s ‘coz I’m dr’k, dudn’t mean yoooooo can maye a moooove lekdat!”

“I assure you, Hawke, I mean nothing of the sort. I just think you should lie down before you hurt yourself even more.”

“Pfffft. I’m invinsible! I can…I can…” Rhia’s gaze went a bit glassy as she stood perfectly still. Varric hovered nearby, ready for her to pass out. But then she did something that took the dwarf completely off-guard—not an easy feat.

Leaning down the few inches to his face, Rhia pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. He could taste the alcohol on her; smell the spicy scent that was so uniquely her. Leather, blood, lavender, and woman. That scent alone had the capability of driving him over the edge. Varric desperately wanted to deepen the kiss, to take this woman into his arms and make love to her until the sun rose. But she was drunk, and he was not that much of a bastard. Not to this woman, anyways.

Rhia pulled back, a goofy little smile on her lips as she whispered, “Got-chya!” and collapsed against him. Varric’s arms wrapped around her instinctively, careful of her left side.

“Rhia?” He said aloud, his hopeful side wondering if this was a continuation of the kiss. Varric gently pushed her away slightly so he could look at her face—and he couldn’t help but chuckle. Eyes closed fast, Rhia snored softly with her head lolling forward onto her chest. Varric easily swept the woman into his arms—grateful that she wasn’t as tall as that gangly sister of hers—and carried her to his large, plush bed.

Reverently, he laid her down amongst the cushions, pulling a thick blanket over her body—partly to keep her warm and partly to stop the temptation those damn breasts were wreaking on him. True to his word, Varric made no move to join her. Instead, he pulled a chair up next to the bed so that he could just watch her. Chest rising and falling gently…long lashes stroking soft cheeks…lips parted slightly as she murmured some incomprehensible gibberish…

Every fiber of Varric’s being was on fire for her; his lips still burned from her clumsy kiss. It wasn’t how he would have ever imagined their first kiss, but somehow it seemed almost…right. Not that Rhia would even remember it in the morning. But he would never forget.

Varric left her side just long enough to head back downstairs and find Isabela, leaning against the bar as always. She cocked a perfectly manicured brow at the dwarf as he approached, sashaying her hips to the side temptingly as she turned to face him. Isabela always taunted him like that, and though some nights it fired up his lust, tonight it did nothing. All of his fire was for the woman dozing in his bed.

“Rivaini, can I ask a favor of you?”

“A favor? Well, depends on how deep your pockets are, I suppose.”

Varric sighed. “You’re not a hooker and we both know it. I’m serious.”

Isabela blew him a raspberry, but stopped her teasing all the same.

“Rhia’s sleeping upstairs right now—“

“Oh Maker! Don’t tell me you—“

“—because she’s injured and decided to drink herself into a stupor.” Varric glared at her; Isabela backed down, though her eyes still laughed. “Would you mind running down to Anders’s clinic and asking him if he can make it up here to take a look at her?”

“Why don’t you go yourself?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave her alone right now. She’s done a wonderful job so far tonight of nearly killing herself. I think it best I stay and make sure she fails.”

Isabela raised her brow once more in silent query. Varric sighed. “Please, just go get Anders. I’ll put you on my tab for a week.”

“Make it two.”

“Fine.”

“Very well then, good ser dwarf, I shall fetch the healer. Take care of yonder fair maiden, eh?”

Before Varric could think of a snide reply, Isabela was sashaying her way to the door—drawing every male eye in the room. The dwarf shook his head at her shapely backside, at an utter loss. He only hoped she would actually make it to Anders’s clinic and not get sidetracked along the way. It was her specialty, after all.

Hoping for the best, Varric returned upstairs where he sat a silent vigil at Rhia’s side until early in the morning when Anders finally arrived to heal her.
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Wounded