#hannibrat

“It’s good to see you, Grand Cleric. How are things? Still getting enough gold to make a dwarf blush?”

Elthina laughed, which is why Varric liked her. Then her eyes landed on Varric with a sudden cunningness, which is why Varric didn’t like her.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking. How is our dear Hawke?”

Our. The world bothered Varric more than it should. The Chantry was always proud to grab hold of great people. He should be happy. It was his stories that helped everyone see Hawke. And yet, his jaw clenched and he needed to take an extra breath to keep the smile on his face.

“She’s doing...fine. Considering the circumstances.”

“I haven’t seen her in lately.”

“Hawke isn’t what you’d call devout.” In fact, Varric wasn’t even sure she’d believed. She mentioned the Chantry often growing up. It was good for mages on the run to be seen a devout, and Bethany actually was but she and Carver seemed bitter towards the church. “You must excuse me, Grand Cleric. Business.” He held up the paperwork as an excuse and ambled along before the woman could call out again.

Without realizing it, his path changed. He no longer rushed to the Hanged Man but headed towards the Viscount’s Keep.

“Dwarf! Tethras!” Meredith’s loud, ringing voice carried over Hightown. Even Varric froze midstep. He covered it with a broad smile and turned to face the shining armor of the Knight-Commander.

“Meredith!” He half sang her name, adding rises and dips to give it gravitas without respect. “What can I do for you?”

“Your companion, Hawke, she has been ignoring my letters.” Meredith’s shining blue eyes narrowed, as if Varric was personally destroying the contract. “I have...delicate work.”

“Hawke is busy at this time.” Varric’s smile didn’t change. His fingers might twitch for Bianca, but the smile, at least, did not change. “She’s not answering much mail.”

“We are all saddened to hear the news about her moth—”

“Yes. Thank you.” Varric bite the words. His smile became a sneer. “We all know of the diligent work of the Templars. Why, they don’t even hire mages to do ‘delicate’ work.”

Anger flashed dangerously in Meredith’s eyes, but Varric gave a nod and turned on heel. He was a dwarf, very rich, and a native Kirkwaller. Let her try to attack him. His position was so shady, it was a stable.

He wished she would. It’d give him something to do with the hot gurgling anger in his gut.

The necromancer received letters, someone in the Circle gave him books. He killed at least three women. His fucking apprentice was in town. But did anyone care? Did anyone catch him? Did anyone protect—

Varric stopped as he found himself in front of Hawke’s door. He took three deep breaths, shaking the anger off like water and opened the door. He didn’t knock, he didn’t need to. Bodahn stood inside, polishing silver. He gave Varric a friendly wave before pointing to Hawke’s room. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence lately.

Sandal played with his enchantments, etching lyrium gracefully into stone. Varric walked for the stairs. Hawke’s writing desk sat covered in letters, piling high. He recognized some names—people needing help, letters of condolences, spam. He paused for a minute and tidied the letters up. He organized them easily, tossing ones Hawke didn’t need into the fire. He wasn’t afraid of making a mistake, he knew Hawke’s business better than her.

“Any of these are important, forward them to me.” He smiled to Bodahn to lessen the order.

“Ahhh, good idea there. I will remember to do that.” Bodahn smiled back and Varric wondered where the nearly fatherly glint in his eyes came from.

Ignoring it, Varric ambled quickly up the stairs. He waved to Orana as she rushed laundry from a spare room. She paused long enough to bow deeply than ran on. She still feared the whip. Hawke had been working on getting her to relax...before.

Hawke’s door was closed, but Varric knew it would be. He didn’t knock, but opened the door with ease. A fire crackled in the grate, but the window was boarded closed and smoke filled the stifling room. Empty bottles littered the floor, mingling with clothes and wafting an extra scent of liquor to the space.

The door knocked over Hawke’s staff. It clattered to the ground and rolled towards the bed. With ease, Varric picked it up. He hefted it in his hands, feeling plain wood and heavy stone. He’d seen the magic in it. Watched Hawke slam the bladed end into the ground and fire erupt from the top.

But for him, it was a stick. As empty and useless with magic as himself.

He set the staff against the bed and lifted Bianca off his shoulders. He set her down with reverence on the small bench at the end of Hawke’s bed. Then he crawled on the ground next to Hawke.

She leaned against her bed, hands resting on her bent knees. Now and then she’d flick her wrist, or twitch her fingers, and the fire in the grate—which had no wood, Varric just noticed—would dance in tune. He recognized this. It was an easy way for Hawke to bleed away magic before she slept.

He settled next to her and took one of her hands. It buzzed warm with magic and her fingers laced with his, so his entire hand ached with power beyond his very species.

“Elthina asked about you.” He didn’t need greetings with Hawke. At some point, they moved beyond that. She shifted and leaned against him, breath evening out. “She’s worried.”

Hawke said nothing. The fire danced however and Varric knew she wasn’t asleep.

“Meredith asked as well.”

Hawke bristled, a low growl in her throat mimicking her mabari.

“I told her to stuff it. She tried to act sorry.”

“Anders will pay for that.” Her voice cracked over the words, rusty and horace.

“Blondie knows how to take care of himself.” Varric squeezed her hand. “Maybe if he paid more attention to his fellow mages…”

“Can’t expect him to know everyone…”

“Hawke…”

“I see her when I close my eyes.” She nuzzled into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into his hand but he didn’t care. It was a fraction of what she felt. “Has...Has Gamlen come around?”

Varic thought of the letters and cards on the table. Even though Gamlen didn’t have any fancy cards to drop at fine houses when he visited, Bodahn would have left a note. His stomach cramped and he shook his head. He dropped his chin on Hawke’s soft hair, wishing he could hold her closer.

“He’s still mad at me.”

“Gamlen doesn’t know a nug from the king of Ferelden.”

“He noticed she was missing first.” Hawke rubbed tears against Varric’s shoulder. They leaked out slow and heavy, as if she didn’t have much water left. “He paid attention. When I...when I…”

“Were protecting all of Kirkwall?”

“I don’t want to listen to your stories, Varric.” She pulled back all at once. The fire burned higher then died. Darkness hit the room like a wave but Varric could still see.

His hand found Hawke’s face, cupping the soft skin there. Hawke wasn’t soft in many places. Weather worn, and magic sharp, she lived on the edge. Somehow, his fingers found the edges where she wasn’t touched. Just along her jaw, right behind her ear, the crook of her neck, the middle of her palm, the inside of her arm. Simple places. His places.

He traced her jaw now, pulling her back towards his shoulder.

“This isn’t a story, Hawke. People are missing you out there. I-I’m missing you.”

She must have been tired, before she slumped against him with almost no coaxing.

“I keep seeing her. In my dreams, when I’m awake. I keep turning to ask her something but she’s never there. I don’t know what to do. I’m going mad.”

“No, you’re grieving.” Varric let go of her hand to wrap the arm around her. Without her armor, Hawke cudled nicely against him, despite the difference in height. He took her hand again with his other. With her comfortably against him, he took a deep breath.

“Let me tell you a story—”

“I don’t want to hear about myself.”

“No. This one….is about me.”

Hawke’s head popped up. In the darkness, she couldn’t see his tense jaw, or how hard he stared at the wall before them, but he could see her wide eyes. Good, something got through the grief.

“This is about the death of my mother. It’s...not a happy story.”

Hawke settled back against him.

It wasn’t a long story, none of his personal stories were long, but when it was done, Hawke agreed to some water and food. She ate soup with small bites and watched him in a newly lit room.

“Can you stay with me? When I sleep?”

Varric smiled slightly. He held up his hand.

“Of course, Hawke. I’ll always be here.”