"And then Hawke tore the door clean off of its hinges, walked into the room, and-"
Speak of the Devil and she will appear. Hawke walked through the small crowd that had gathered, and at the sight of her something in the air went chilly.
"I guess we'll finish this later," he said, uncharacteristically quietly. He turned away a little, and the crowd quickly dispersed.
Varric stayed turned away when Hawke asked, "Do you have a minute, Varric?"
She couldn't see the fondness mixed with bitter tension in his features. "For you, Hawke?" he said softly. "I have all the time in the world."
He meant to fall silent, to let her say what she came here to say, but something burst out of him unbidden. Turning to her, he said somewhat unkindly, "Congrats, by the way. People say you and that elf are- an item." Normally he'd be more verbose than this, but he's not sure talking too much is a good idea right now. "So. What's going on, Hawke?"
On some level, he was hoping it was just a rumor. There was never a shortage of them. If he believed half of them, Hawke would be linked to Anders, Isabela, her own brother, the Coterie leader, several templars, Meredith, Orsino, Sebastian, a high dragon, and the Arishok. This was probably a shitty rumor too.
((ooc: i found a youtube video of the scene that i'm using for this!))
Hawke was a little worried. Because she couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. The problem was that she didn’t know what it was. But something was bothering him. She thought, anyway. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was fine and she was just... imagining things. She could be.
So she lobbed a joke at him, teasing as she always did. “Well, well, well. I never thought you were the type, Varric. I’m flattered.”
Varric expected the jokes and the teasing. What he didn't expect was how hard it would be. After so many years in the same city, with the same people, making his connections and extending his feelers in all directions, few things were truly hard anymore. There was difficulty all around, of course, and stress, and strain, but this? The kind of hard where your fingers froze and words choked in your throat and well-rehearsed patterns failed you?
He hadn't felt that since the thaig.
A little 'heh' of a smirk turned into a drink from his tankard long enough to try and collect himself. It shouldn't have been that hard. Come on, Tethras, you practiced this. A quip about chest hair, a joke about Bianca, maybe a snerk about not being into humans.
"You should be," he said quietly, before belatedly trying to turn it into something sarcastic. Yes, Hawke, look at how wonderful he is. Of course you should be flattered.
"So," he continued bravely, determinedly arranging his face into a neutral friend expression. "Is it true? Or are we adding this to the Wall of Bullshit?"
When he didn’t respond in kind, none of the familiar sarcasm or a joke to be had... That clinched it. Something was seriously wrong. Something twisted in her stomach a little, the smile that had been on her face faltering, turning into something... uncertain for a moment, before she schooled it into something more neutral. Everything was fine. She was fine. Not worried at all. Not wishing that he really WAS. Jealous. Interested. Both.
He asked her a question. Right.
Word certainly got around fast. Of course, that was what he did. He heard things. Gathered information. She wondered how much he’d heard. How much he knew. Why she didn’t just tell him that yes, they were... something, but it wasn’t serious. Just friends. With a little something more. Not that it mattered, she guessed. It was probably for the best.
“It’s true,” she replied, stopping herself before she could add the word ‘enough’. Before she could tell him that they were friends with a few enjoyable side benefits. Maker, being in love with your best friend was really bloody difficult. “I’d say I was surprised that you heard about us, but that’d be a lie.” It was a little thin, as far as jokes went, but it was all she could manage. It was light-hearted enough. More light-hearted than she felt.
The look on Hawke's face, however fleeting, told Varric that he wasn't being quite as smooth as he thought he was. Shit. He mentally shook himself, reminding himself that if the elf was making Hawke happy, then that's what mattered. Maker knew she deserved it.
Still, it doesn't make the confirmation any less of a punch to the stomach. It was only through the force of his superhuman lying abilities that he managed to disguise the moment as a neutral, surprised little. "Huh."
"Yeah, well," came some fairly hollow smarm. "You know me, Hawke. Eyes everywhere."
Eyes everywhere? Seriously? What the hell was THAT? Pathetic is what it was. Andraste's tits, he was a 12 year old girl.
Through a massive force of effort (and a sucked-in breath that, somehow, managed to almost look like his normal put-upon sighing) he willed himself to be a goddamn man about this. To even hitch a smile up on his stupid face.
"Well, then- let me... be the first to- congratulate you." Those last two words fell a little flatter than expected. It was at the same time too sincere and too sarcastic.
But he couldn't bring himself to say anything negative. It was too close to truth, and truth was dangerous.
Her smile was a little bit... affected, and didn’t quuuuite reach her eyes. But she did her best to keep up the charade. ‘Pretend Everything’s Fine’... the story of her life. “Which is why there’s no one else I’d rather have watching my back.” Even as she was saying it she was internally face-palming INTENSELY. Really? That was the best she could come up with? She was pretty sure she just brought shame to the entire Hawke family with that one.
let me... be the first to- congratulate you.
It wasn’t necessary, he didn’t need to congratulate her... them. There was nothing... “I... Thanks, Varric.” No. This was better. Better he think that this was serious than realise who she was really in love with. THAT would just make things awkward. And she would hate herself if she destroyed their friendship because of her stupid feelings.
Okay, Varric may have been crammed halfway up his own ass right then, but he could STILL tell that something was wrong. Her answer wasn't half as smartass as it should be, nor did it seem quite as happy as you'd expect.
Shit.
"Shit. Come on, Hawke," Varric said appeasingly, some of his genuine snark creeping back into his voice. "Don't give me the kicked-puppy eyes. What'd I say wrong? Were you expecting a condescending big brother talk, or maybe some long-winded judgment? I'm no Blondie."
“Thank the Maker,” she replied without hesitation, sounding a little bit more like herself. “I don’t think Kirkwall could handle two of him.” And she was certain that she couldn’t. One Anders was more than enough. She managed a smirk, a little more teasing entering her voice as she sounded a little more like her usual self. “And you, say something wrong? I’m not sure that’s possible.”
She really needed to get better at the pretending everything was fine thing. At least with him. To the rest of Kirkwall she did just fine.
"Hawke." He's used that tone on her before, when she insisted that she didn't care that Carver became a goddamn templar, when she tried to claim with a straight face that Isabela was only okay-looking. It was his calling-the-bullshit tone, but always laced with tenderness.
"What is it? You're gonna make me cry just lookin' at you." For the first time in this conversation he finally looked AT her instead of through her, really looked, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Something wrong? With Fenris? Whatever it is, you know I'm always here to listen."
He knew how Fenris got about mages. It was the only thing he could think of that would make her act all weird. That he had congratulated her- but maybe congratulations weren't in order.
Maker damn it. All he wanted was to puke some positive bullshit at her then drink alone.
Oh for... Not that tone. She hated it when he used that tone on her. Loved it too, because it was so bloody him, but he wasn’t supposed to be using it now. On her. This time. This making it so much harder to just leave. To finish up this incredibly weird and awkward conversation they were having and leave. All she wanted was to go somewhere else.
And have a few drinks. Or maybe Aveline needed a hand with something. Beating up some bandits sounded like a fine distraction.
“It’s nothing! I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re all fine. It’s great.” She sighed. “We’re just. Not. An item. Exactly. Right now. That’s all.” Oh Maker, this wasn’t going to blow up in her face at ALL somewhere in the future. Never. “But it’s okay, Varric.” Her smile was real, this time. Because what he said was the truth. He was always there for her. Always listened. “The same goes for you. You know that, right? You can talk to me about anything.”
"That's- ah, shit," he said, cursing his own foot-in-mouth syndrome. Truth be told, it was a thin cover-up for the way his spirits lifted almost instantly. Ridiculous- her being single didn't mean a fucking thing.
In fact, it probably meant that he left her- if it was the other way around, Hawke would've just said that outright. Still, it was hard to school his face into the socially appropriate Supportive Friend. It wasn't easy to pretend not to be happy about it, but he managed. Mostly.
"Sorry to hear that, Hawke. Let me know if you want me to humiliate him in Wicked Grace this week. I'll make him walk back to Hightown in his loincloth at 2 in the morning."
It had his usual snark, but there was the faintest bite to it. The bite that would even suggest a walk of shame that, while funny, would be outright dangerous in Lowtown after dark.
Hawke was far too happy to hear that familiar tone enter his voice. It was ridiculous. She was reasonably adult; she should not be this moon-faced. But she was. So moon-faced. Besotted. Head over boot heels for her best friend.
She couldn’t help the soft, fond laughter. She couldn’t. Because of course Varric would offer that. His friend was hurting and he cared a whole lot about the whole lot of them. “Varric, NO,” but there was too much amusement and fondness and lingering laughter for the words to hold any bite. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”
AND THEN SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT CAME OVER HER. She had no bloody idea, but before she could think, before she could stop herself, before she could silently talk some sense into herself, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “And the mental image of Fenris making a walk of shame back to his mansion will sustain me for weeks. Thank you.”
Oh she was so stupid. So. Stupid. Way to hide your true feelings, Hawke. Way to go!
Varric didn't know what just happened either, but if there was ONE THING he knew how to do, it was be charming with pretty girls. His body knew flirting better than it knew breathing, so settling into the happy rhythm was the easiest thing in the world. His lazy smile let some of his genuine happiness pour through.
"What?" he asked, mockingly offended. "I'd give him his sword. Probably."
A wink. "However, far be it from me to deny a lady sustenance. You need a pick-me-up, gorgeous, you just call me."
“Well, as long as you give him his sword...” That wasn’t the nickname she would have expected him to give her. At all. A joke about her stabbing people, maybe. Or something about her awful luck. Not... that one. Why did he have to choose that one? Not that she minded. She really didn’t. It just made her heart... flutter. A little. In the most frustrating, annoying way.
Bloody charming dwarf.
This time, her smile lit up her face. “Naturally. You’re always the first person I call.” Banter, at least, she could do. She wasn’t flirting. She wouldn’t... flirt. Okay, maybe it was flirting as much as bantering.
"When you want me to give someone a sword?" he shot back, a smug-ass smile twisting his face.
This felt right. Finally. And he could see that Hawke felt better too- most likely she could feel the upset of their familiar rhythm, or she was just wigged out by Varric being weird.
His hand twitched. He wanted badly to put a hand to her cheek, to brush that ridiculous strand of hair out of her face- but he turned the gesture into a reach for his tankard, instead.
"Well, as much as we both love talking about my sword..." He let the comment sink in with a wink while he took a sip of his ale. "I think there's some drinking to be doing, and a chair with your name on it."
Oh, you are so lucky she loved liked you, Varric. “Sass, too,” Hawke shot back, grinning. “Can’t forget the sass.” She could breathe a little easier, now. Things had fallen back into a more familiar rhythm, and it felt right. It felt better.
“Second only to your chest hair.” Good. Yes. Drinking she can do. Drinking she can definitely do. “Yes there is.” And then she smirked and added, teasing, “And I do hope you mean that literally.”
"So sorry, milady," he demurred faux-respectfully, with a hand to his chest and a fake supplicating little bow. "I'm afraid we're fresh out of ass-labeled chairs."
He kicked the one next to him out from the table a little, and slid a tankard in front of it. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for the regular kind."
Hawke heaved the most put-upon sigh she could muster, mock-disappointed. It was only ruined a little by the amusement in her eyes. And the fondness. “I suppose that will have to do for now.”
She sprawls easily in the chair he kicked out for her beside him, her shoulder brushing his. She should probably move it, scoot to an appropriately friends-distance, but she didn’t. Instead she reached out for the tankard he offered.
They started drinking, that old familiarity sinking in again. At some point in the evening, after they both had a couple drinks in them, they moved to Varric's rooms, which were much warmer, better-smelling, "and less filled with handsy drunks," as Varric put it.
Less filled. Not devoid of them entirely. He gave a trademark Roguish Wink at that.
Once up there, once settled in at his table (him in his glorious chair at the head of the table, her in the chair nearest), Varric put down his tankard, looking serious. As if this was the right time of night to start talking business.
"Actually, there is something we need to discuss, Hawke."
Varric went to a side table and pulled out what looked kind of like the piles of scrolls and maps and figures they used to plan the Deep Roads expedition. He plunked the pile down and unrolled a large map of what looked like a mansion of some kind.
"We need to be prepared for what's ahead, Hawke," he said seriously, his hands splayed to keep the map open. "Duke Jackass de Montfort's salon is only a few weeks away. I've done my best," his tone became doubtful, "but that only leaves us so much time to figure out what to steal."
That earned him a smirk and a playful “Promises, promises,” as they made their way up to his rooms. They were comfortable again, and that’s all Hawke wanted. Wanting anything more was foolish, and she wouldn’t risk this. Risk them, their friendship. She couldn’t.
She’d lost quite enough in Kirkwall, without losing him, too.
Leaning back in her chair, she took a drink, watching him thoughtfully over the rim of her tankard. “And where he’s keeping it. Somehow I doubt Orlesian storage habits are any less annoying than the Orlesians themselves.”
Varric nodded, looking aggrieved and offended. "It's their own faults if they get robbed blind, really."
They spent a few minutes going over the drawing of the estate. Varric kept dipping his quill into a well of red ink and circling spots that were likely to have valuables. "I know a guy who used to sell this putz- well, he sold a lot of things," Varric said blithely, explaining how he knew what the dude might have.
And all night, he kept stealing glances at her. When she wasn't looking, when she was drinking or laughing or leaning over to look at the map and her hair fell into her eyes like that. It was a shock just how hard the news of Fenris and Hawke had hit him. Varric had thought he maybe had a slight case of 'wow she's pretty huh' and nothing more, much like Merrill's cute little crush. But hearing about Hawke with someone else - something actually believable and credible (given the glances and the flirting and how they'd looked at each other and) - had struck him like a blow to the chest.
Now that he realized just how bad he had it, the dwarf couldn't stop looking at her.
“And they’re going to, naturally.” Hawke knew Varric. Knew he had every intention of doing exactly that. As best he could. And who was she to stop him? No, she would be helping him. Delightedly. And given that things tended to go to hell in a handbasket when they were involved... she would take what delight she could get.
And if it involved indulging Varric a little, well... he was a friend. Friends did that.
Leaning over the map, making careful note of everywhere that he’s circled in red ink, as well as entrances and exits and windows, all the usual sorts of information needed when planning a theft, she huffed a breath, blowing loose strands of hair out of her eyes and happened to look up. Happened to catch Varric looking at her.
She didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. She’d never seen it before. Her fingers stilled on the map. “Varric?”
Varric blinked. Shit, she caught him staring like a damn teenager. His brain launched into bullshit mode as easy as breathing, and his expression cleared into one of those snapping-out-of-a-daze looks, followed by a smirk.
"Hm? Oh, sorry, Hawke. Just wondering how you humans get anything done with those long arms and legs everywhere. You people are like spiders in skirts."
Of course, what came pouring out of his mouth was the stupidest shit in the world, but Varric didn't always have control over how his brain handled the on-the-fly falsehoods. It was a little like trying to control a stampede of wild horses. Sometimes masterful deceptions happened, and other times he insulted Hawke by calling her a spider.
Hawke just staaaaaaared at him for a long moment, her lips pressing together in that way they did when she was doing her very best to not laugh outright at her friend. “Spiders. Really, Varric?” There was no hiding the amusement in her voice, or in her eyes. “I’m hurt. Incredibly hurt.” Except not so much; she was too damn amused to be hurt.
Varric put a hand on his chest in mock horror. "I am dreadfully sorry, messere, please- accept my apologies."
By way of apology, he offered her a random sweet sitting on the table (what was it, one of those weird Nevarran candies Isabela stole the other day?), as if it were some kind of precious jewel. When Hawke reaches for it, he's going to quickly turn his hand to grab hers, and kiss the back of it like some kinda gentleman, all bowing and scraping and ~repenting~ for his insult.
“As you should be,” Hawke replied, and then she heaved a mock-put-upon sigh. “I suppose I can accept your apologies. This time.”
Reaching out, she moved to pluck the offered sweet from his hand... only to be caught by surprise as he grabbed her hand in hers and kissed the back of it. Oh. That was... unexpected. She wasn’t blushing, she totally wasn’t blushing. He was just... being Varric. Putting on the most arch expression she can muster, she nodded. “That’s better,” she retorted, reaching over with her other hand to snatch the sweet and pop it gracefully into her mouth.
“Of course, serah,” he groveled insincerely, grabbing a candy for himself.
Resuming the conversation after that was fairly easy. The topic drifted and wove in and out of Chateau Haine, wandering over the drinking habits of nobles and if what Aveline has under her armor was just more armor. Eventually they were discussing the particulars of Meredith and Orsino’s torrid love affair in between laughing at weird fan mail for Varric.
“I’m not saying he’s the top there,” Varric explained, leaning back against the table. Ignoring how close her knees were to his. “I’m just saying she wouldn’t be doing all the angry slamming.”
“Maker’s breath, Varric, that isn’t a mental image I need,” Hawke managed through her laughter, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And it’s definitely not one I wanted. Ever.” She grabbed her tankard and downed the rest of its contents. “I don’t think there’s enough ale in the world to scrub that image from my mind.”
Varric tries valiantly for the deadpan serious shit, but an incredibly undignified cackle bursts out of him. As always, he's incredibly pleased with himself, and delighted by his own jokes- though not half as much as he's delighted by the disgust on her face.
"Not enough ale, but maybe some weird fan mail," he says conversationally, taking a swig of ale and picking a random letter off the table. Without looking at it he wings it at her. This game is fun: open the weird fanmail, see if it's an uninvited critique, a marriage proposal, or someone swearing that they actually saw Donnen Brennokovic in Cumberland the other day, seriously!
Hawke, after a full day of being important in Kirkwall, will return to her fancy-shmancy mansion in Hightown to see a note pinned to her desk. With a dagger. And not just some run of the mill dagger like Isabela would use. No, this is basically a scrap of metal forced through the paper and the wood of the desk so hard that she'll have to have help to take it out.
But, once she looks at it, she might realize why it's that way.
"Tell your dwarf to keep his lies under control."
No signature. The handwriting is messy, like that of a child first learning letters. And there are little rips from what could only be a certain elf's clawed gauntlets.
Maker’s BREATH, she was ready for a moment of quiet. A moment of peace. But she realized that that was not going to happen when she came home to find a note pinned to her death with what might only vaaaaaaaguely be called a dagger. If you were being polite. Or lying.
And no matter how she pulled, and tugged, and braced a boot against the desk, she couldn’t pull it free. So she gave up and yanked the note free.
‘Tell your dwarf to keep his lies under control.’
“... my dwarf?” Okay, she officially had no bloody clue what was going on. Or what exactly Varric had supposedly done to anger Fenris. And her desk really hadn’t deserved that. Which is why, note in hand, she headed over to Fenris’ borrowed mansion. “Do you mind telling me what it is Varric has done this time?” She didn’t bother with a greeting. He should have known she was coming.
Since Fenris wasn't what any person would ever call polite, calling that a dagger was just a stretch of the truth. It had been on hand and he'd been a little annoyed.
A little.
And he'd known his note was enough that she'd catch his meaning. And, behold, she did. Hawke was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. It took her longer than he'd thought to come see him, but the look on her face said she had just gotten it.
"Your dwarf is telling everyone that listens to him that a bloodthirsty ghost lives in this mansion." That annoyed him. "There were three separate groups snooping around outside. One brought a priest."
Hawke stared at him for a moment, deadpan. And then her expression cracked, and she tried desperately to swallow a laugh. And only failed a little. A priest. “A ghost? That’s brilliant!” It WAS, Fenris. Of course Varric had tried to come up with reasons for people to avoid the manor Fenris was currently calling home. “He couldn’t have known that that would be a challenge to some.”
A priest. Really. “But I can try and ask him to come up with another tale to tell instead. Something that involves less priests, perhaps?” Sorry Fenris, she was teasing you a little.
"I'm starting to think that humans just don't make any sense. Ever. Because one group included a giggling girl who was excited to 'meet a real ghost'."
And this is coming from the elf that despises other elves, most mages and all priests and their associates.
"As if any self-respecting spirit would put up with her horse-laughter."
He leveled his best glare before waving a hand at one of the two chairs before the fire.
"I would appreciate it if I didn't feature in any of his stories. It defeats the purpose of trying to remain incognito and bribing Aveline to keep the city guard away. At this rate, I'm going to have to let Isabela see my underclothes. Or win more hands of Wicked Grace."
That’s okay, Fenris, Hawke’s more than amused enough for the both of you.
“Neither do elves, dwarves or Qunari. We’re all nonsensical, the lot of us. It’s something you learn to live with.” Teasing? Yes.
She is unfazed by his glare; she’s grown used to it. Even likes it. When it’s not aimed at a particular mage she happens to be related to. “I will do my best to get Varric to tone it down. He was doing it to try and protect you. To keep people away from the place you’re calling home for the time being. But it’s Varric, so it had to be a good story.” Reaching out, she settles a hand on his arm. “So there’s no need to resort to such drastic measures just yet. I’ll take care of it.”
Yes, yes, so glad that he could amuse you with his pain and suffering.
"Fine, women make no sense." And that includes her.
And his glare is never leveled at Bethany. While he might not like mages in general, the younger Hawke sister is...kind and sweet. If more mages were like her and less like Anders or Merril or Hadriana or Danarius, he might like more of them. But glaring at Hawke herself is as useless as telling Varric to calm down his stories.
He looks down at the hand on his arm and tries to ignore the burn of her touch. She is not his, he has nothing to offer another person... And, yet...
"I doubt that you can stop him anymore than you can get Isabela to stop frequenting the Blooming Rose."
The entire page is ruined and Aveline doesn't have the energy or patience ― if she's honest, it's the patience part that's destroying her at the moment ― to write up an entirely new one. Writing letters to people isn't her style; it's Varric's. At this point, she would love nothing more than to be able to give this job to him. But it's for the Guard Captain and that means her.
Aveline huffs out an angry breath, balling up the paper with little regard for how much ink she's going to get on her armor or how much scrubbing she'll have to do later to get it out. At least not until she's pitched the offending ball into a corner and realized there is a smudge on her gauntlet. Fortunately, a distraction in the shape of trouble walks in at that moment and Aveline gratefully turns her attention to Hawke.
"I need to scrub this patch of ink off, but after that I'm going on patrol. Could use a hand, if you've got one to spare."
In other words, Aveline would love company and a distraction. Help a girl out, Hawke.
Leaning against the entranceway (having watching the Guard Captain’s attack against the rogue piece of paper from outside and out of sight), Hawke gives her a smirk. “For you, Aveline? Always.” And she means it, too. They might not always agree on things, and they might not always get along, but that’s what friends do. That’s what family does.
She comes into the room fully, moving to perch on a corner of Aveline’s desk to be an annoying, overlarge paper weight until she’s ready.
Hawke has always been one who will have Aveline's back when it matters and someone whose back Aveline will have in turn. Part of that is telling the other when they think they're being stupid. At this point, Hawke should think Aveline is sicker than a dog if she stops telling Hawke exactly what she thinks. Aveline doesn't exactly have much of a filter over her mouth.
Pushing herself gratefully to her feet, she leads the way outside where she can grab a bucket of water and start scrubbing her armor. Even if it is in the barracks.
"I always swore I would never be the letter-writer that Varric is, but suddenly someone's dropped this request from the Viscount in my lap telling me I have to be 'polite.'"
Aveline shoots Hawke a look that clearly says how much she dislikes having to smooth her words. She expects some sort of crack about that to make her feel better.
“Politeness is over-rated,” Hawke agrees. “It’s why I refuse to indulge in it.” Which... isn’t quite true. She indulges in it when it’s appropriate. When it’s deserved. Some stuffed up noble that’s too full of themselves and thinks anything less than shoe-licking is an offense? Absolutely not. Someone who is just trying to do the best with their situation, with what they have available to them? Always. Well, mostly always. Sometimes. A lot of the time. Her mouth does tend to run away with her now and then.
“You could always just send me as your messenger instead,” she offers with a far-too-innocent smile. “And then OH NO, I go horribly off-script and all the blame for impoliteness gets heaped on me with you getting apologies and sympathy for having to deal with my lack of tact.”
Aveline huffs out a disbelieving snort at that as she starts to work on her armor. At least it’s just a small spot on her gauntlet and not a huge blemish on her breastplate or something. Small mercies. Maker’s breath.
“You refuse to indulge in politeness because Kirkwall’s brand of polite is the same as the Orlesians’,” Aveline points out, scrubbing with all of her strength, as though the spot is responsible for all of her current troubles. “Mostly because Kirkwall has a bunch of Orlesians.”
Some of them can be tolerable; Aveline will give them that. Most are terrible and they give her a headache on the daily.
“And also because you can’t keep your jokes to yourself.” Or her bad puns or her sass or anything else. Which is partly why Aveline sticks around her. Hawke does make a good counterpoint for Aveline’s gruffness. But even beyond that, they’ve made an inseparable friendship and Aveline won’t easily let that go.
Another laugh follows Hawke’s suggestion and Aveline feels a good deal of her tension wash out of her. Leave it to Hawke to help her ginger-haired friend relax, even while working.
“How about we go punch some sense into them instead?” she suggests wryly, despite knowing that won’t happen at all. It would be nice if they could.
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branchandroot
Snarkwall verse
Date: 2017-11-18 07:27 am (UTC)Speak of the Devil and she will appear. Hawke walked through the small crowd that had gathered, and at the sight of her something in the air went chilly.
"I guess we'll finish this later," he said, uncharacteristically quietly. He turned away a little, and the crowd quickly dispersed.
Varric stayed turned away when Hawke asked, "Do you have a minute, Varric?"
She couldn't see the fondness mixed with bitter tension in his features. "For you, Hawke?" he said softly. "I have all the time in the world."
He meant to fall silent, to let her say what she came here to say, but something burst out of him unbidden. Turning to her, he said somewhat unkindly, "Congrats, by the way. People say you and that elf are- an item." Normally he'd be more verbose than this, but he's not sure talking too much is a good idea right now. "So. What's going on, Hawke?"
On some level, he was hoping it was just a rumor. There was never a shortage of them. If he believed half of them, Hawke would be linked to Anders, Isabela, her own brother, the Coterie leader, several templars, Meredith, Orsino, Sebastian, a high dragon, and the Arishok. This was probably a shitty rumor too.
((ooc: i found a youtube video of the scene that i'm using for this!))
no subject
Date: 2017-11-19 06:57 am (UTC)So she lobbed a joke at him, teasing as she always did. “Well, well, well. I never thought you were the type, Varric. I’m flattered.”
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Date: 2017-11-19 07:09 am (UTC)He hadn't felt that since the thaig.
A little 'heh' of a smirk turned into a drink from his tankard long enough to try and collect himself. It shouldn't have been that hard. Come on, Tethras, you practiced this. A quip about chest hair, a joke about Bianca, maybe a snerk about not being into humans.
"You should be," he said quietly, before belatedly trying to turn it into something sarcastic. Yes, Hawke, look at how wonderful he is. Of course you should be flattered.
"So," he continued bravely, determinedly arranging his face into a neutral friend expression. "Is it true? Or are we adding this to the Wall of Bullshit?"
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Date: 2017-11-19 07:39 am (UTC)He asked her a question. Right.
Word certainly got around fast. Of course, that was what he did. He heard things. Gathered information. She wondered how much he’d heard. How much he knew. Why she didn’t just tell him that yes, they were... something, but it wasn’t serious. Just friends. With a little something more. Not that it mattered, she guessed. It was probably for the best.
“It’s true,” she replied, stopping herself before she could add the word ‘enough’. Before she could tell him that they were friends with a few enjoyable side benefits. Maker, being in love with your best friend was really bloody difficult. “I’d say I was surprised that you heard about us, but that’d be a lie.” It was a little thin, as far as jokes went, but it was all she could manage. It was light-hearted enough. More light-hearted than she felt.
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Date: 2017-11-19 07:57 am (UTC)Still, it doesn't make the confirmation any less of a punch to the stomach. It was only through the force of his superhuman lying abilities that he managed to disguise the moment as a neutral, surprised little. "Huh."
"Yeah, well," came some fairly hollow smarm. "You know me, Hawke. Eyes everywhere."
Eyes everywhere? Seriously? What the hell was THAT? Pathetic is what it was. Andraste's tits, he was a 12 year old girl.
Through a massive force of effort (and a sucked-in breath that, somehow, managed to almost look like his normal put-upon sighing) he willed himself to be a goddamn man about this. To even hitch a smile up on his stupid face.
"Well, then- let me... be the first to- congratulate you." Those last two words fell a little flatter than expected. It was at the same time too sincere and too sarcastic.
But he couldn't bring himself to say anything negative. It was too close to truth, and truth was dangerous.
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Date: 2017-11-19 10:26 am (UTC)let me... be the first to- congratulate you.
It wasn’t necessary, he didn’t need to congratulate her... them. There was nothing... “I... Thanks, Varric.” No. This was better. Better he think that this was serious than realise who she was really in love with. THAT would just make things awkward. And she would hate herself if she destroyed their friendship because of her stupid feelings.
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Date: 2017-11-19 10:43 am (UTC)Shit.
"Shit. Come on, Hawke," Varric said appeasingly, some of his genuine snark creeping back into his voice. "Don't give me the kicked-puppy eyes. What'd I say wrong? Were you expecting a condescending big brother talk, or maybe some long-winded judgment? I'm no Blondie."
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Date: 2017-11-19 11:39 am (UTC)“Thank the Maker,” she replied without hesitation, sounding a little bit more like herself. “I don’t think Kirkwall could handle two of him.” And she was certain that she couldn’t. One Anders was more than enough. She managed a smirk, a little more teasing entering her voice as she sounded a little more like her usual self. “And you, say something wrong? I’m not sure that’s possible.”
She really needed to get better at the pretending everything was fine thing. At least with him. To the rest of Kirkwall she did just fine.
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Date: 2017-11-19 11:49 am (UTC)"What is it? You're gonna make me cry just lookin' at you." For the first time in this conversation he finally looked AT her instead of through her, really looked, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Something wrong? With Fenris? Whatever it is, you know I'm always here to listen."
He knew how Fenris got about mages. It was the only thing he could think of that would make her act all weird. That he had congratulated her- but maybe congratulations weren't in order.
Maker damn it. All he wanted was to puke some positive bullshit at her then drink alone.
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Date: 2017-11-19 12:13 pm (UTC)And have a few drinks. Or maybe Aveline needed a hand with something. Beating up some bandits sounded like a fine distraction.
“It’s nothing! I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re all fine. It’s great.” She sighed. “We’re just. Not. An item. Exactly. Right now. That’s all.” Oh Maker, this wasn’t going to blow up in her face at ALL somewhere in the future. Never. “But it’s okay, Varric.” Her smile was real, this time. Because what he said was the truth. He was always there for her. Always listened. “The same goes for you. You know that, right? You can talk to me about anything.”
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Date: 2017-11-19 12:33 pm (UTC)"That's- ah, shit," he said, cursing his own foot-in-mouth syndrome. Truth be told, it was a thin cover-up for the way his spirits lifted almost instantly. Ridiculous- her being single didn't mean a fucking thing.
In fact, it probably meant that he left her- if it was the other way around, Hawke would've just said that outright. Still, it was hard to school his face into the socially appropriate Supportive Friend. It wasn't easy to pretend not to be happy about it, but he managed. Mostly.
"Sorry to hear that, Hawke. Let me know if you want me to humiliate him in Wicked Grace this week. I'll make him walk back to Hightown in his loincloth at 2 in the morning."
It had his usual snark, but there was the faintest bite to it. The bite that would even suggest a walk of shame that, while funny, would be outright dangerous in Lowtown after dark.
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Date: 2017-11-19 12:44 pm (UTC)She couldn’t help the soft, fond laughter. She couldn’t. Because of course Varric would offer that. His friend was hurting and he cared a whole lot about the whole lot of them. “Varric, NO,” but there was too much amusement and fondness and lingering laughter for the words to hold any bite. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”
AND THEN SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT CAME OVER HER. She had no bloody idea, but before she could think, before she could stop herself, before she could silently talk some sense into herself, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “And the mental image of Fenris making a walk of shame back to his mansion will sustain me for weeks. Thank you.”
Oh she was so stupid. So. Stupid. Way to hide your true feelings, Hawke. Way to go!
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Date: 2017-11-19 12:51 pm (UTC)"What?" he asked, mockingly offended. "I'd give him his sword. Probably."
A wink. "However, far be it from me to deny a lady sustenance. You need a pick-me-up, gorgeous, you just call me."
A nickname. After four years.
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Date: 2017-11-19 01:29 pm (UTC)Bloody charming dwarf.
This time, her smile lit up her face. “Naturally. You’re always the first person I call.” Banter, at least, she could do. She wasn’t flirting. She wouldn’t... flirt. Okay, maybe it was flirting as much as bantering.
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Date: 2017-11-20 02:18 am (UTC)This felt right. Finally. And he could see that Hawke felt better too- most likely she could feel the upset of their familiar rhythm, or she was just wigged out by Varric being weird.
His hand twitched. He wanted badly to put a hand to her cheek, to brush that ridiculous strand of hair out of her face- but he turned the gesture into a reach for his tankard, instead.
"Well, as much as we both love talking about my sword..." He let the comment sink in with a wink while he took a sip of his ale. "I think there's some drinking to be doing, and a chair with your name on it."
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Date: 2017-11-23 06:41 am (UTC)lovedliked you, Varric. “Sass, too,” Hawke shot back, grinning. “Can’t forget the sass.” She could breathe a little easier, now. Things had fallen back into a more familiar rhythm, and it felt right. It felt better.“Second only to your chest hair.” Good. Yes. Drinking she can do. Drinking she can definitely do. “Yes there is.” And then she smirked and added, teasing, “And I do hope you mean that literally.”
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Date: 2017-11-24 06:33 am (UTC)He kicked the one next to him out from the table a little, and slid a tankard in front of it. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for the regular kind."
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Date: 2017-11-24 06:48 pm (UTC)She sprawls easily in the chair he kicked out for her beside him, her shoulder brushing his. She should probably move it, scoot to an appropriately friends-distance, but she didn’t. Instead she reached out for the tankard he offered.
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Date: 2017-11-25 01:52 am (UTC)Less filled. Not devoid of them entirely. He gave a trademark Roguish Wink at that.
Once up there, once settled in at his table (him in his glorious chair at the head of the table, her in the chair nearest), Varric put down his tankard, looking serious. As if this was the right time of night to start talking business.
"Actually, there is something we need to discuss, Hawke."
Varric went to a side table and pulled out what looked kind of like the piles of scrolls and maps and figures they used to plan the Deep Roads expedition. He plunked the pile down and unrolled a large map of what looked like a mansion of some kind.
"We need to be prepared for what's ahead, Hawke," he said seriously, his hands splayed to keep the map open. "Duke Jackass de Montfort's salon is only a few weeks away. I've done my best," his tone became doubtful, "but that only leaves us so much time to figure out what to steal."
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Date: 2017-11-30 11:22 pm (UTC)She’d lost quite enough in Kirkwall, without losing him, too.
Leaning back in her chair, she took a drink, watching him thoughtfully over the rim of her tankard. “And where he’s keeping it. Somehow I doubt Orlesian storage habits are any less annoying than the Orlesians themselves.”
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Date: 2017-12-01 12:31 am (UTC)They spent a few minutes going over the drawing of the estate. Varric kept dipping his quill into a well of red ink and circling spots that were likely to have valuables. "I know a guy who used to sell this putz- well, he sold a lot of things," Varric said blithely, explaining how he knew what the dude might have.
And all night, he kept stealing glances at her. When she wasn't looking, when she was drinking or laughing or leaning over to look at the map and her hair fell into her eyes like that. It was a shock just how hard the news of Fenris and Hawke had hit him. Varric had thought he maybe had a slight case of 'wow she's pretty huh' and nothing more, much like Merrill's cute little crush. But hearing about Hawke with someone else - something actually believable and credible (given the glances and the flirting and how they'd looked at each other and) - had struck him like a blow to the chest.
Now that he realized just how bad he had it, the dwarf couldn't stop looking at her.
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Date: 2017-12-01 03:36 am (UTC)And if it involved indulging Varric a little, well... he was a friend. Friends did that.
Leaning over the map, making careful note of everywhere that he’s circled in red ink, as well as entrances and exits and windows, all the usual sorts of information needed when planning a theft, she huffed a breath, blowing loose strands of hair out of her eyes and happened to look up. Happened to catch Varric looking at her.
She didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. She’d never seen it before. Her fingers stilled on the map. “Varric?”
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Date: 2017-12-01 05:13 am (UTC)"Hm? Oh, sorry, Hawke. Just wondering how you humans get anything done with those long arms and legs everywhere. You people are like spiders in skirts."
Of course, what came pouring out of his mouth was the stupidest shit in the world, but Varric didn't always have control over how his brain handled the on-the-fly falsehoods. It was a little like trying to control a stampede of wild horses. Sometimes masterful deceptions happened, and other times he insulted Hawke by calling her a spider.
Fuck.
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Date: 2017-12-14 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-12-15 12:16 am (UTC)By way of apology, he offered her a random sweet sitting on the table (what was it, one of those weird Nevarran candies Isabela stole the other day?), as if it were some kind of precious jewel. When Hawke reaches for it, he's going to quickly turn his hand to grab hers, and kiss the back of it like some kinda gentleman, all bowing and scraping and ~repenting~ for his insult.
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Date: 2017-12-20 10:56 am (UTC)Reaching out, she moved to pluck the offered sweet from his hand... only to be caught by surprise as he grabbed her hand in hers and kissed the back of it. Oh. That was... unexpected. She wasn’t blushing, she totally wasn’t blushing. He was just... being Varric. Putting on the most arch expression she can muster, she nodded. “That’s better,” she retorted, reaching over with her other hand to snatch the sweet and pop it gracefully into her mouth.
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Date: 2017-12-20 05:49 pm (UTC)Resuming the conversation after that was fairly easy. The topic drifted and wove in and out of Chateau Haine, wandering over the drinking habits of nobles and if what Aveline has under her armor was just more armor. Eventually they were discussing the particulars of Meredith and Orsino’s torrid love affair in between laughing at weird fan mail for Varric.
“I’m not saying he’s the top there,” Varric explained, leaning back against the table. Ignoring how close her knees were to his. “I’m just saying she wouldn’t be doing all the angry slamming.”
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Date: 2018-01-08 06:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-08 07:50 am (UTC)"Not enough ale, but maybe some weird fan mail," he says conversationally, taking a swig of ale and picking a random letter off the table. Without looking at it he wings it at her. This game is fun: open the weird fanmail, see if it's an uninvited critique, a marriage proposal, or someone swearing that they actually saw Donnen Brennokovic in Cumberland the other day, seriously!
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Date: 2017-11-19 10:01 am (UTC)But, once she looks at it, she might realize why it's that way.
"Tell your dwarf to keep his lies under control."
No signature. The handwriting is messy, like that of a child first learning letters. And there are little rips from what could only be a certain elf's clawed gauntlets.
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Date: 2017-11-19 11:06 am (UTC)And no matter how she pulled, and tugged, and braced a boot against the desk, she couldn’t pull it free. So she gave up and yanked the note free.
‘Tell your dwarf to keep his lies under control.’
“... my dwarf?” Okay, she officially had no bloody clue what was going on. Or what exactly Varric had supposedly done to anger Fenris. And her desk really hadn’t deserved that. Which is why, note in hand, she headed over to Fenris’ borrowed mansion. “Do you mind telling me what it is Varric has done this time?” She didn’t bother with a greeting. He should have known she was coming.
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Date: 2017-11-19 11:20 am (UTC)A little.
And he'd known his note was enough that she'd catch his meaning. And, behold, she did. Hawke was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. It took her longer than he'd thought to come see him, but the look on her face said she had just gotten it.
"Your dwarf is telling everyone that listens to him that a bloodthirsty ghost lives in this mansion." That annoyed him. "There were three separate groups snooping around outside. One brought a priest."
And it was all Varric's fault.
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Date: 2017-11-30 11:40 pm (UTC)A priest. Really. “But I can try and ask him to come up with another tale to tell instead. Something that involves less priests, perhaps?” Sorry Fenris, she was teasing you a little.
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Date: 2017-12-03 09:58 pm (UTC)"I'm starting to think that humans just don't make any sense. Ever. Because one group included a giggling girl who was excited to 'meet a real ghost'."
And this is coming from the elf that despises other elves, most mages and all priests and their associates.
"As if any self-respecting spirit would put up with her horse-laughter."
He leveled his best glare before waving a hand at one of the two chairs before the fire.
"I would appreciate it if I didn't feature in any of his stories. It defeats the purpose of trying to remain incognito and bribing Aveline to keep the city guard away. At this rate, I'm going to have to let Isabela see my underclothes. Or win more hands of Wicked Grace."
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Date: 2018-01-08 06:06 am (UTC)“Neither do elves, dwarves or Qunari. We’re all nonsensical, the lot of us. It’s something you learn to live with.” Teasing? Yes.
She is unfazed by his glare; she’s grown used to it. Even likes it. When it’s not aimed at a particular mage she happens to be related to. “I will do my best to get Varric to tone it down. He was doing it to try and protect you. To keep people away from the place you’re calling home for the time being. But it’s Varric, so it had to be a good story.” Reaching out, she settles a hand on his arm. “So there’s no need to resort to such drastic measures just yet. I’ll take care of it.”
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Date: 2018-01-10 07:20 am (UTC)"Fine, women make no sense." And that includes her.
And his glare is never leveled at Bethany. While he might not like mages in general, the younger Hawke sister is...kind and sweet. If more mages were like her and less like Anders or Merril or Hadriana or Danarius, he might like more of them. But glaring at Hawke herself is as useless as telling Varric to calm down his stories.
He looks down at the hand on his arm and tries to ignore the burn of her touch. She is not his, he has nothing to offer another person... And, yet...
"I doubt that you can stop him anymore than you can get Isabela to stop frequenting the Blooming Rose."
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Date: 2017-11-19 02:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-11-19 02:35 pm (UTC)The entire page is ruined and Aveline doesn't have the energy or patience ― if she's honest, it's the patience part that's destroying her at the moment ― to write up an entirely new one. Writing letters to people isn't her style; it's Varric's. At this point, she would love nothing more than to be able to give this job to him. But it's for the Guard Captain and that means her.
Aveline huffs out an angry breath, balling up the paper with little regard for how much ink she's going to get on her armor or how much scrubbing she'll have to do later to get it out. At least not until she's pitched the offending ball into a corner and realized there is a smudge on her gauntlet. Fortunately, a distraction in the shape of trouble walks in at that moment and Aveline gratefully turns her attention to Hawke.
"I need to scrub this patch of ink off, but after that I'm going on patrol. Could use a hand, if you've got one to spare."
In other words, Aveline would love company and a distraction. Help a girl out, Hawke.
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Date: 2017-12-01 12:36 am (UTC)She comes into the room fully, moving to perch on a corner of Aveline’s desk to be an annoying, overlarge paper weight until she’s ready.
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Date: 2017-12-24 01:16 am (UTC)Pushing herself gratefully to her feet, she leads the way outside where she can grab a bucket of water and start scrubbing her armor. Even if it is in the barracks.
"I always swore I would never be the letter-writer that Varric is, but suddenly someone's dropped this request from the Viscount in my lap telling me I have to be 'polite.'"
Aveline shoots Hawke a look that clearly says how much she dislikes having to smooth her words. She expects some sort of crack about that to make her feel better.
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Date: 2018-01-08 06:33 am (UTC)“You could always just send me as your messenger instead,” she offers with a far-too-innocent smile. “And then OH NO, I go horribly off-script and all the blame for impoliteness gets heaped on me with you getting apologies and sympathy for having to deal with my lack of tact.”
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Date: 2018-01-16 12:21 am (UTC)“You refuse to indulge in politeness because Kirkwall’s brand of polite is the same as the Orlesians’,” Aveline points out, scrubbing with all of her strength, as though the spot is responsible for all of her current troubles. “Mostly because Kirkwall has a bunch of Orlesians.”
Some of them can be tolerable; Aveline will give them that. Most are terrible and they give her a headache on the daily.
“And also because you can’t keep your jokes to yourself.” Or her bad puns or her sass or anything else. Which is partly why Aveline sticks around her. Hawke does make a good counterpoint for Aveline’s gruffness. But even beyond that, they’ve made an inseparable friendship and Aveline won’t easily let that go.
Another laugh follows Hawke’s suggestion and Aveline feels a good deal of her tension wash out of her. Leave it to Hawke to help her ginger-haired friend relax, even while working.
“How about we go punch some sense into them instead?” she suggests wryly, despite knowing that won’t happen at all. It would be nice if they could.