Hopefully this isn't insensitive timing considering... You know. But this is when I happened to finish it. I made a large change to a couple of the chapters (info below the cut) but first a summary for those new to the fic:

Marigolds in the Hanged Man

Almost twenty years ago, Varric Tethras fell in love with a woman of paragon skill. Since then he has met Wardens, Champions, and Inquisitors; First Enchanters, Magistrates, and mysterious apostates; Seekers, Templars, and the new Divine; two Red Jennys, several Qunari, and even a couple of demigods. After everything he's been through, what kind of woman would it take to win his heart anew? "This is the best tavern in Kirkwall. It could use some cute dwarven serving girls, but otherwise, it's perfect."

Also, my very first color digital art piece! Behold Marigold's floating head.

I tried to combine traditional Noir with Hard in Hightown to bring us Varric Tethras, Private Eye. These thirteen codex-sized chapters are filled with drugs, sex, violence, and old timey slang. I’ll be posting one a day on tumblr, and then I’ll post them all at once on  AO3. 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Chapter 13

Thing slowed down after that, just a little. The coppers threw a big funeral for the boys in blue that had gone down during the drive by, claiming they had been killed in the line of duty. Apparently I’d made a clean sneak of it, because no one came calling with questions. Just to be safe, I moved out of my flophouse and into my office.

It’s time! Sequel to this, here is some strip Wicked Grace with Varigold; not smut, but still a little nsfw.

@dadrunkwriting

Varric was in his study when Marigold found him. She took one look around the room and sighed. “You should really let Orana clean in here more often…”

“What are you talking about? It took me years to get it just how I like it. It feels… Home-y.”

She made a face as she grabbed a discarded serving tray and began stacking it with half-filled dirty mugs, muttering “You lived in the Hanged Man for too long.”

Varric chuckled, happily accepting the scolding. He knew what conditions she had lived and worked in her whole life; the fact that she’d been so much time with him that she was growing accustomed to having a clean space made him happy.

He never cared much about luxury–other than for its convenience–but now he wanted to spoil her rotten. He wondered if he should take her somewhere nice; a classy room in Orlais, maybe, or Tevinter, or… Well, anywhere but Kirkwall.

He pushed his chair back from his desk and walked towards the table she was clearing. “Stop cleaning, Sweetheart. I’ll get Orana on it soon.”

Marigold nodded, but her hands kept moving, scooping up the cards still scattered across the table from Keria’s last visit.

Varric sighed. “Speaking of… How was work?”

She shrugged, idly flipping the cards facedown into a deck. “Work is the same as ever. Cheap drinks and cheaper drunks.”

Which meant tips had been stiff that night. “You know…”

“Varric.”

The single word was edged with warning, as was the pointed look she shot him. They both knew well the argument he was about to start. ‘You don’t have to work, let me help…’ It never got him anywhere, so he accepted her warning and didn’t try.

Instead, he watched her shuffle the deck with practiced hands, and remembered the last time they’d played a game together. Back when he’d been too stupid to see what was right in front of him; to see her. That night her cheeks and been pink with wine, and her tongue loosened by it.

He sat at the table. “Deal me in.”

Marigold looked up, then at the cards she probably hands realized she was fiddling with, then laughed. “Now? We don’t have enough people!”

She sat across from him, despite her protests.

“We’ll manage.”

She dealt the cards.

They played a few rounds, making idle small talk. She won a few, but he more of them. She didn’t seem to mind; he didn’t get the impression she was feeling particularly competitive today. Varric didn’t mind… Wasting time with a loved one was a luxury he’d never get enough of.

But then, after picking up a newly dealt hand and looking at it, her eyes went big. A smile played on her lips. “Raise.”

“Raise? We aren’t playing for coin.”

Marigold looked around her, eyeing shelves, probably for something small and plenty that could be used instead of coins for betting. He supposed he ought to have something sitting around for friendly games. He always ended up giving Keria a refund when the game was over anyway.

Marigold, unable to find anything, sat back with a pout. “Well then. Just pretend we–” She cut herself off, and her smile changed to the close-lipped one that was just for Varric. He watched as she kicked her boots off under the table and bent down. When she came back up she proudly deposited a dirty stocking on to the table.

That got his attention.

“Call,” he said, after adding his own sock to the pot.

She won, of course. She wouldn’t have had a sudden interest in wagering is she hadn’t had a good hand. Varric made sure to wager on his next hand, no matter what cards he was dealt, just to make sure the betting continued. But his little minx had that glint in her eye, now; she had no intention of hedging her bets now.

He won the hand, and they both tossed a mismatched pair of socks to the side–the smell was ruining the mood.

The game was on after that. His belt sash and her waist cincher corset swapping owners a few times before Varric started to pull ahead. He’d played with her before, and remembered her tells. He wouldn’t fall for that innocent act like Ronauld had…

Or… So he thought.

His winning streak ended shortly after he’d won the shirt off her back. The next logical wager would have been her skirt, but she took off her breastband instead, and after that everything was… Hazy.

Heavy.

Warm.

He didn’t realize what was going on until he found himself sitting in just his underwear. She was similarly dressed, still topless despite the pile of winnings next to her.

Varric tore his gaze away from her big lovely breasts. “Hey! You’re cheating!”

Marigold didn’t even try to keep a straight face. Giggling profusely she said, “Can you blame me? It was really easy.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “One more hand,” he insisted. “Winner takes all. And put a shirt on!”

Her beaming smile didn’t falter as she stood to grab a shirt from the pile–his shirt. She tugged it on, and the fabric hung loosely off her. She fastened it only up to where he normally did, low, exposing a considerable amount of cleavage.

It was definitely not less distracting. He’d never seen Marigold in his clothes before. Or any woman, he was fairly sure. The sight was…

Maker’s ass, who cared about cards? He tossed his aside, and wood scraped against wood as he shot to his feet to close the short distance between them in his underwear. He was vaguely aware of her setting her hand down gently as he kissed her hungrily, hands tight on her waist. Her arms started to come up around his neck…

But then she pulled back. They both watched as she reached into the sleeves of his shirt and pulled out a couple of cards.

He eyes shot up to his. “Varric! I can’t believe you were cheating!” He opened his mouth to make some excuse, but Marigold burst into another fit of giggles. “And you still lost!”

For @dadrunkwriting“You’ll notice the terrior on this one, I’m sure. Every since that nasty business with the blight the grapes from Alamar have held a remarkable flavor.”

Marigold sighed, trying to taste whatever it was Orlesian McWinesnob was talking about. This was about the thirtieth such wine she and Varric had tasted this evening, and while it started fun it had long since lost its appeal.

“You know, I’d heard that when researching a book of mine?” Varric told him conversationally. He and Marigold each took a sip. “Not bad,” he mused.

She tried to remember the unpleasant man’s name as he turned to her and asked, “Well, Lady Kadret?”

Marigold shrugged from her position slumped over the table, long since over pretending to be a proper nobleman’s future wife. “It’s fine I guess.”

The obnoxious man scoffed, and held out the ‘expectoration bowl’ expectantly. Oops. Marigold had forgotten to spit the wine out in the stupid bucket. Again. That earned her another scowl, but she was spared the lecture this time.

McWinesnob turned back to Varric, giving up hope on Marigold’s commoner pallet. “Now, this next one is a very dry red, but also very sweet, and one of my personal favorites. I have an entire row of my wine cellar dedicated especially to it.“

“Can’t wait,” Varric said amicably. He was so good at this. She could just see the way McWinesnob smiled, confident that the Viscount would appreciate what a treat it was. He poured him a large sample in a fresh glass from the dozens that littered the table.

He splashed some into the dirty glass Marigold held outstretched towards him.

She watched Varric swirl it around, gently inhaling the scent. He took a long, slow sip, and nodded appreciatively. “You’ve been holding out on me, Basile!”

That was right, his name was Basile. Basile… McWinesnob. Marigold went to drink her small sip, but found her glass already empty. She stared at, confused.

Basile chuckled in Orlesian. “Ah well, you see, it is a bit over budget, this wine.”

“How much over budget?” Varric asked conversationally as he took another drink.

“How much ober vudget?” Marigold asked skeptically as her eyes narrowed. She had the budget set down to the copper and would not budge.

“We can discuss that at a later time. Surely, this wine is worth the added expense?”

“Hmm… You know, if we’re going to go over we might as well really go all out–no, we shouldn’t…”

Liar. He was lying. He hadn’t said anything yet, but she knew.

McWinesnob fell for it, leaning in conspiratorially. “Yes?”

“Well, I’ve got this reserve… Small vineyard in Minrathous, very exclusive. I would have to buy them out entirely for a wedding of this size, but… Well, it just might be worth it. Let me see what you think.” He got up and walked off towards the kitchens. Marigold had to hide a smile behind a glass she found nearby that still had some wine remaining.

Varric was back in no time, carrying a bottle. “Now, don’t go telling everyone in Orlais I have these kind of connections; I don’t want everyone knocking on my door hoping for a taste. In fact, it’s probably best you not mention this at all.”“My. Lips. Are. Sealed.”Marigold squinted at the bottle. She recognized it from last night’s dinner, but the label had been altered and the color of the wine Varric poured into a couple of glasses was not the same.Maybe it wasn’t the one from last night’s dinner.The men toasted, and sampled the vintage. “Sacre bleu! I’ve never tasted anything like it! You must serve this at your wedding, Viscount!”Varric chuckled, swirling his glass. “You’re right, you’re right. I guess the decision has been made, then.”There was several minutes of further conversation and planning and ignoring her, during which Marigold ensured the rest of the glasses were empty before the staff could clear them. She began eyeing the expectoration bowl before Orleswine McBasilesnob finally left with the promise of a wedding invitation. “I have a very special drink for you, too,” Varric told her, appearing before her with a cup in hand. She took the cup with disgust. “It’s water.”“Drink it.”

She took a sip.“All of it.” She sighed, and drained the glass. She climbed up to sit on the table as he poured another from a pitcher. “Sorry for not chasing him out of here sooner, Sweetheart. Though it’s your own fault for being so cute when you drink.”

“Liar.”

“I am not. You get all flushed and–”

She interrupted him by lifting the bottle of ‘exclusive’ wine drunkenly above her head.

“Oh, that.” He winked at her. “I filled an empty bottle with some of that swill Keria left here last time.”

Marigold giggled, which made Varric chuckle, which made her laugh even harder. “I knew it! Well I didn’t know that, but I knew it was something. I know your tells by now Mr. Tethras.” She smooshed his stubbly cheeks together.

“Do you now?” he tried to ask, smoosh-faced.

“I sure do. I’m on to you.” Even Marigold thought that the Dalish had truly terrible taste in booze–Varric had chosen that one to trick MacSnobwine with specifically so that she could see what a load of nonsense that man’s elitism had been. “You’re so sweet…”

“…What?”

She didn’t explain, leaning down and kissing him soundly instead.

“I know something else about you, too,” she teased him.

“I’m listening.”

She reached down as low as she could from this position. “I know you won’t get mad when I swallow.”

So I started this like a million years ago, and then like a year ago, and then I really wanted to finish it when this amazing thing happened!! But, obviously, I’m just finishing it now. I hope it’s not bad timing…I’m reserving the right to use this in the Marigold’s sequel, if I ever get that far.@dadrunkwriting

A Wintersend Gift

Marigold sighed as she waited for Varric at the garden fountain, smoothing her hands absentmindedly over the woolen skirt that Keria had embroidered for her as a Wintersend gift. Beside her on the stone bench was a bundle of gifts for her family–she and Varric would be walking to Lowtown for a holiday dinner as soon as he joined her.

Her mind wasn’t on celebrating the family event she normally loved, however. In her head she ticked off all the things that needed to be done on actual Wintersend Day tomorrow, when the Kirkwall nobility would flood the Viscount’s Keep for the tradition gathering. Normally Varric had very little to do with the tradition; he merely allowed Bran and the rest of his staff to plan it, and showed up when he was told.

Marigold supposed this year wasn’t much different for Varric, except that Marigold was the one doing the planning instead. She wished he wasn’t too busy to help– she had no idea what she was doing. What did a serving girl know about society events?

Still, ever since she’d moved her things into the keep everyone had been treating her as the ‘unofficially official’ lady of the house, coming to her with all the everyday concerns that the viscount never bothered with. Including attending parties, and apparently planning them as well.

Varric told her again and again, when he brought her home in tears, not to worry about what they thought of her, but how could she help it? Everytime she turned around someone was whispering behind her back, calling her a ‘gutter rat’ or a ‘tavern slattern’ or a ‘gold digging dwarf’ and worse. Yet she desperately wanted their approval, for them to not only like her but trust in her the way they did in Varric.

So in her head she went over the guestlist again. And the budget. And the menu.

She was so focused on whether the parsnips had been delivered the kitchens on time that she didn’t hear Varric approaching until he said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She turned as he slung M off his back, leaning the crossbow on the stone near the packages. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in days. I could swear I see less of you now than back when you worked at The Hanged Man.”

She smiled at him halfheartedly. “Well now, maybe you just spent too much time drinking then.” She gestured to his crossbow. “Let’s get going, we’re going to be late.”

“Just a moment, Sweetheart,” he said, stopping her with his oddly soft tone. “There’s something I wanted to, uh, talk to you about. Before we get to your parent’s.”

Marigold tilted her head, bemused and worried. Varric never stuttered. “Of course, Hon, anything.”

He let out a small laugh and took one of her hands in both of his, looking down at them. “I hope you mean that.” He cleared his throat, and then he was down on one knee, looking up at her. “I want to get married. Us, to each other, I mean.”

Her jaw dropped, and she quite forgot about breathing while he mumbled about how stupid he sounded. He wanted to marry her? He wanted to marry her!

She was surprised… But not shocked, if she was being honest. She loved every moment they spent together, and she couldn’t imagine a time they wouldn’t be together, but this was a tad soon. It had been, what, three months since they first spent the night together?

She was absolutely going to say yes, of course! She didn’t mind getting right to the good stuff after all.

She grinned hugely and started, “Of course I’ll-! Wait… Why are you asking?”

Varric blinked. “Because I love you. And… I want to get married to you?”

“No, I mean why are you asking now? Is it… Is it because of something You-Know-Who said?” Former-Inquisitor Keria had just visited with him in the dark of night the evening before last, and she never brought good news with her. “I love you, I do, but I don’t want to go rushing into things because you’re afraid that the world is going to end soon or something. I don't… I don’t want it to be because you’re scared.”

She felt a rush of relief when he smiled, even before he explained. “You’ve been reading too many stories, Sweetheart. I know it might seem fast, but the truth is I don’t want to waste another moment of my life without you. For years I convinced myself that I didn’t deserve to be happy, and maybe I don’t, but damn if I’m not going to hold on to this, to you, with everything I’ve got left in me.” Her eyes were stinging as he pressed his lips against her hand for a long moment, and she wondered if it was to hide the way his voice had started to catch. “I love you. For as long as the Maker sees fit to let me open my eyes another day I want to tell you that. I love you, Marigold; you’re brilliant, and you’re beautiful, and you are impossibly kind to a cruel world, and that takes a strength I’ll never know.”

“Oh, Varric…” she began, but he wasn’t done yet.

“I love your smile–I meant to say that, too. I especially like it when you’re laughing at me like that. And even more than that, I love it when you let me see you when you’re not smiling–I want to be there for you in those moments when you need someone to remind you that it’s okay to let yourself feel sad.” He grinned. “And then I want to make you happy all over again.”

She covered her mouth with the hand that wasn’t wrapped in his. “I love you too, Sweety,” she squeaked past her fingers. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you. Not because of all the hero stuff, not just that anyway, but you’re the wisest man I’ve ever met, you know everything about everyone and you just use it to help people in ways they’ll never know and I think tha..”

She was still talking, but her voice had gotten so high-pitched past the constricting in her throat that even she couldn’t hear it anymore.

“That’s nice and all, but is that a yes?” Varric shifted his weight uncomfortably. “My knees are getting stiff.”

“Well now!” she said with a laugh. She pulled on his hand to get him to stand, but he didn’t budge. “You didn’t exactly ask me a question, did you?”

“I…” He trailed off, eyes flicking as he tried to remember what he’d said. “Shit. Marigold Kadret, will y–”

“Yes!”

You wish is my demand. This is real early relationship, just after Marigolds. 

For @dadrunkwriting

Varric’s new and improved crossbow weighed heavily on hisback as he snuck off to the docks in the dead of night. Getting past his ownkeep guards was child’s play—that should probably concern him more than it did.He made his way into Lowtown, giving the Hanged Man a wide berth, listeningintently to the sounds of the night. He stayed alert, though not tense, wheneverhe heard people, but he passed no trouble makers; only drunks, a few homeless,and a patrol of city guards he easily evaded so that he would not be recognized.

Right before he turned towards the docks he heard a singleset of footsteps that sounded like a woman’s. A very brave woman, to be out aloneat this hour. He dismissed her with a silent prayer that she’d make it homeokay, and went about his way.

“Varric?” Hestopped dead in his tracks.  “Varric, whatare you doing here? Where are you headed?”

Hey, remember this relic?

Tagging @5ftgarden and @silent-of-spirit because it seems relevant to your interests ^^

NSFW, for @dadrunkwriting

Varric and Marigold sat nestled in the Gardens, under ablossoming tree, over a quilted blanket. The soft light of late afternoonfiltered through the leaves overhead, dappling their bodies as he lay on hisside, cradling her against him. He caressed her, thumb tracing idly over hershoulder, and she nuzzled just a bit closer. He could hear a gentle wind in thebranches, the trickle of the fountain somewhere nearby, the steady breathing ofhis only love.

Call him a sap, but he couldn’t remember ever being thishappy in his damned life. The Maker could take him now with only minimalprotest.

To say this was a quiet ‘moment’ was an understatement—they’dspent a couple hours like this, hadn’t they? She’d asked to picnic for dinner, andnow the dishes had been cleared, finished long ago. They’d talked and laughedand planned, and then when they’d run out of things to talk about they just…Stayed like this. Which apparently was a thing normal couples got to do,instead of fighting demons. Who knew?

Marigold breathed a happy sigh, nuzzling close again. Then,eyes widening, she said quietly, “Varric! We’re right in the middle of thegardens…”

What? Oh, right, that. “It’s not on purpose, Sweetheart,” heteased, though really, it was only a little hard. He tried to pull his hipsback from hers to give them a little room, but only succeeding in nudging herthigh, making things less ‘little’. “You just have that effect on me.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, and by the time he left herlips to trail soft kisses along her jaw he was definitely nudging her thigh onpurpose.

“Varric!” She squealed, laughing and squirming as he reachedthat ticklish spot on her ear.

“Come on Sweetheart, we’re all alone out here. The staff hasall turned in for the evening.”

“Really?” she asked as she craned her neck to look around,and he took the opportunity to pepper her with kisses there as well.

“Really,” he replied easily. Who knows—it might be true.

She turned back to him with a coquettish smile. “Well inthat case…”

Marigold gripped him by the shoulders and kissed himsoundly. He would have chuckled if hips lips weren’t occupied with hers;instead, he opted for trying to untie the laces of her waistcincher without hernoticing. His discretion was, evidently, not needed, because seconds later herown hands were slowly undoing of the clasps of his shirt.

He pulled back, curious, as he slipped the waistcincher offof her, expecting her boldness to turn into a pretty blush and an insistence togo to his bedchamber.

Instead, she pulled her blouse right over her head, and thenwent right back to trying to disrobe him, lips on his collarbone.

“Minx,” he accused, speaking huskily into her ear beforenibbling it again, drawing out more giggles. He shrugged off his shirt and thenran his hand up her back, sliding along her waist, cupping her breast—and noticingfor the first time just how many freckles her chest bore. Not so shy after all,his Sweetheart, if she was covered in freckles where the sun don’t shine (or atleast not usually).

He had thought to be lucky to get away with pulling up herskirt for a quick tryst… Now he had other plans.

Varric took his time undressing Marigold completely, including herstockings, enjoying the play of light and shadow over her uncovered body; andthe confidence she had in it. Her hands were eager, but his slow kissespersuaded her to slow down the pace in time with him. When he would have guidedher onto her back upon the quilt she instead hooked her leg up to his hip. Witha smile she reached between them to guide him in, still on their sides, theirbodies in nearly the same position they’d been cuddling in before.

He ‘mmm’ed and mumbled some kind of ‘I love you’ into herhair as he moved his hand to her thigh, helping her hold it there. “I love youtoo,” she said, laughing. She was entirely too pleased with herself. He couldn’tfind it in him to care—he never got tired of hearing her say it, teasing him ornot.

He moved in her, unsure of this angle, but then she began tomove with him. Like most things in his life, the result was much better withher help. They quickly built a rhythm together, kissing until they ran out ofbreath, forcing them to settle for panting on each other’s skin. He couldn’thelp but grin as he quickly heard that little whining noise she made when shegot close, which never took long.

He helped her along, moving just a bit faster as he tastedher neck, and was soon rewarded when she came apart. Her moans in his ear, herwalls pulsing around him, was more than enough so send him to his end as well;he tensed, holding her tightly to him as he came into her.

He leaned his head back to catch his breath, panting, andshe pounced on him with happy little kisses on his shoulder, bringing anothersmile to his face. “I love you, Marigold,” he told her, properly this time.

She laughed. “I know, Sweety. I love you too.”

<3 Thank you for the prompt! This takes place about a year into their relationship, I’d say. It involves the fact that Marigold is good with numbers, which may come into play during a sequel some day. 

For @dadrunkwriting

“Where are you taking me?” Marigold asked of Varric again,still blindfolded. The first time she’d asked, after Varric said he had asurprise and insisted she cover her eyes, she had giggled. But it’s been awhile, now, walking without talking and feeling like she was going to walk intoa wall any second, despite Varric’s careful guiding hands in hers. It wasgrowing bothersome.

“Almost there, Sweetheart” he said, voice apologetic. “Ishould have waited until—there’re some steps here, careful now…”

She felt the distinct feeling of passing from outdoors intoa building, and the light piercing the fabric over her eyes was not as bright.For a brief moment she wondered if Varric had dragged her to the chapel, nolonger willing to wait to be married… But no, she would have heard chanting onthe way in, and she couldn’t smell any incense. Instead she smelled wax, freshcut wood, new parchment and ink.

He whisked off her blindfold. She blinked, completelydisoriented. They were still in Kirkwall, of course, the walk hadn’t truly beenthat long… But she couldn’t think of a place that looked like this. There weren’tmany windows, and the carpets were plain, and the furniture was all of simply,sturdy make. Heavy, too—primarily tables, chairs, and shelves, so many shelves…And then were covered in books!

She spun around, taking them all in, still trying to piecetogether where she was. A library, obviously, but the dozen or so nobles whosenames flashed through her mind were all quickly ruled out; she already knewwhat their home looked like, or that they did not have the funds, or detestedliterature, or a dozen other reasons.

She turned to Varric. “So… What do you think?” he asked. Hewas smiling hopefully, waiting for her to figure it out on her own.

A slow smile overtook her at his playfulness, but she shookher head, still not sure what he wanted her to find here. But he was waitingexpectantly for her to ask, now, and she was feeling a bit stubborn today. Headtwisting as she went, looking for some hint she wasn’t understanding, she madeher way right out the door she thought they’d entered from. Varric called andchased after her.

She felt another wave of disorientation when she saw theother building on this street—she knew this street, right between Hightown andLowtown; there was no estate here! She spun, as read the sign above the door towhat should have been a warehouse.

Her jaw was still dropped when Varric caught up to her.  “It’s a library. A public library,” she told him dumbly.

“It sure is.”

“What—how? There’s no way the council would agree to this!”

“It took some doing, I admit.”

She tried at him, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. “How?”she asked again.

“Well, you helped a great deal, with the location and thefunding.”

“This is the location I picked for the Inqui—for Keria’s ‘meetings’.”

“A large place with lots of traffic, away from Carta and Guildand Chantry territory, easily accessible by rich and poor alike,” he said witha nod.

“And the money?”

“Remember months ago, when I asked for your help fundingKeria’s ‘special project’”

“Aw! I thought I was helping!”

“You were helping,Sweetheart. Your town, not Keria—Trouble steals enough of your time from me.”Varric put his arm around Marigolds shoulders. “You’re right, it was nearlyimpossible to get the Council to agree. Until you magiced the funds out of thinair.”

She finally looked at him. “It’s not magic, I’ve shown youhow the interest rates—”

He chuckled. “I know, I know. And yet, it still looks likemagic to me. That money helped build this—that, and lots of book donations.”

“But you said it could never work, with the thieves, and lowliteracy…”

He nodded. “What little funding the Council would spare forthis is going towards staff-slash-security. Also, for the time being, the booksare not allowed to leave the premises. But we’ve got some volunteers to try andorganize some reading and writing classes, so that more of the population canactually use them. To be honest, we’re relying pretty heavily on you beingright that after it becomes a steady fixture and books aren’t so rare, theinterest in robbing the place blind with diminish somewhat.”

She shook her head, partially at the pressure that put onher, and partially because it still seemed unreal. “A library, right here inKirkwall… I can’t believe you managed to hide this from me for so long! Why didyou hide it from me? I would have loved to help! Help more, I mean.”

“I know, and I wanted to talk to you about it, it waskilling me… But it’s not done yet, there’s still time for your to make itbetter. It’s scheduled to open in about a month’s time…”

“Varric…” Marigoldlet just a hint of her ‘you better tell me the truth right now’ voice she’ddeveloped during this relationship to edge into her tone.

He sighed, and looked far shyer than she’d seen him in along time—was that a blush? “I just wanted to surprise you—do you like it?”

“Oh, Varric, I love it!” she assured him, wrapping her armsaround his thick torso. “You know I do… I’m just so surprised! This is amazing!”

“You’re not mad?”

“Well now, of course not!” She cupped his face and pressed abig, slow kiss into his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Varric. I’m losing countof all the times you’ve done something impossible.”

He turned to kiss her properly. She knew it was because hewas uncomfortable with her praise, but she didn’t press; she’d spend the restof her life trying to get him to see himself how she did.

“You helped,” he reminded her, and she ignored thedeflection, turning back to the sign atop the building.

“’Marian Hawke Memorial Public Library’,” she read. Then,after a moment, added with dismay, “Oh, she would hate that.”