dragons don't have the luxury of dying forgotten

Words: 1,413. Characters: Varric Tethras x Hawke — Tamar. Rating: General.

Every time Varric caught a whiff of the Fade, he thought of her.

His Hawke is no —

His Hawke was no mage. She wielded a pair of well-kept daggers and a keen wit rather than the arcane, even though her blood was so steeped in magic that her existence as a non-mage boggled the mind. No Circle of Magi could cage her — not in Ferelden, not in the Marches, not anywhere. She was meant to be seen, meant to be heard, meant to be touched and tasted and smelled.

And his Hawke smelled of the rosemary in her soap and the musk and citron in her perfume, of the powder she wore on her skin, of the sachet of flowers and herbs she stored amongst her clothes. She smelled of the vanilla-kissed cream Elegant recommended for her cracked elbows, the same cream that she could scarcely afford when she was barely out of twenty and new to Kirkwall.

No one could separate Tamar from her scents.

*Define celebrity however you'd like.