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The body of a fallen--and unskilled with a blade, despite his boasting when he was alive--highwayman rose up from his cold, breathless slumber. Its sprawled limbs, that had decorated the street a moment before, jolted in animation. It hopped to its feet, as though yanked by some unworldly puppeteer's strings.
Had he not been the one to shoot the thug dead himself, Varric Tethras never would have believed it.
"You!" the thug proclaimed with a thunderous new voice that echoed all through Lowtown. Judging by the grunts, slurs, and gags the highwayman had made before the dwarf shot him, this voice was very much not his own. Not natural. "I have found you! I require your aid!"
"Well, shit," the dwarf marksman blurted out, his deft fingers still fastened against Bianca's trigger. "You've got a funny way of showing it."
The highwayman marched towards the dwarf with great determination, as though crossbow bolts were not wedged in the shoddy slits of its armor and pierced into its neck. As it drew closer, Varric could see its skin was a bloodless, ghastly white. Its lips were drained and cracked. Its eyes were dim; no more than little sacks of milk rolling in the cracked skull, waiting to leak dry. "Varric Tethras," it proclaimed. "I am a spirit of love, using this body as a vessel, so that I may reach the world of the living and speak to you with mortal tongue."
The dwarf winced. "Uh, you're not really my type."
"You do not understand."
"No, no, I don't. I've never even heard of a 'spirit of love'. You're probably a demon..." He raised and angled his trusty crossbow, so the tip of the bolt aligned with the corpse's stilled chest cavity.
"It is true, we spirits prefer to remain in the Fade. But we are real, and we are many. You are... familiar with the spirit of justice, are you not? I am of a kin, an embodiment of pure love."
"So what?" snapped Varric, unimpressed, "I'm supposed to help you because your Justice's second cousin twice removed?"
"I have traveled to your world to bring guidance to one very dear to you. The one you call, 'Hawke'."
The mention of his dear friend made his heart skip. "Hawke...? What could you want with her?"
"I have crossed the Veil so that I could guide love to her, so that she might know its greatness. So that her burdens may be eased in its embrace."
Varric's lip flared as he scoffed. "Hawke doesn't need any help. If she wants to love someone, she can find and get them herself."
The possessed corpse's pale eyes lowered, loosened jaw swinging, as if the dead body were trying to display emotions it could no longer feel, and the spirit could not know. "You do not understand," it said, "I simply wish to bring the opportunity of love to her. I wish for love to always have a chance in this strange world. It will be her choice and her choice alone to accept it or not. Here..." With opened hands of peeling skin, a droplet of golden light budded from its palm. It expanded and lengthened, formed edges and a point When the gilded glow faded, all that was left was a single crossbow bolt. "Take this. I've embedded this bolt with my powers. You will strike it at the one she loves, so that once he gazes upon her, their true feelings will be realized."
"Okay, I really AM going to shoot you now," the dwarf spat out, "I'm not gonna trick some guy into loving Hawke! She would never want that, and she deserves better."
"You are her dearest friend, are you not? Do you not wish for her to be happy?"
"Of course I do! Shit, Hawke deserves to be happy more than anyone in Kirkwall. But she doesn't need magic arrows to make that happen."
"This is not magic, not as you understand it. I will not create love where none exists. I shall only assist what is already there to flourish. There is already the arrow, the target. The shot is aligned. Everything is already in place. All that is needed is for someone to pull the trigger."
Bianca's latches clicked with readiness, but the corpse approached without flinching. Varric felt a soothing warmth coming towards him, like gentle spring sunrays. The warming feeling wobbled him off guard, allowing the possessed spirit to take his hand and plant the bolt in his grip. The marksman was awash with a peaceful, simmering sensation, which rooted in his fingers and spread throughout his body, bloomed in his stomach, swam in his blood, and swirled in his head.
Because Varric Tethras knew what love felt like.
He sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll do it. So who's the lucky target?"
"I cannot say."
"Aww, come on! You're giving me a spirit-love-bolt but you won't tell me who I'm supposed to shoot it at? That's bullshit."
"I will not interfere will the matters of mortals directly. I only bring you the tools so their fates can be assured. You are her friend. Trust your heart, you will not fail her."
"Fine," he moaned, "but can you at least give me something to go by so it doesn't take forever? Is it a man, a woman... something else? Is it a human, even?"
The spirit's voice gritted with a guttural groan. "Very well! It is, in fact, a man. I will tell you that and no more."
"Well, that narrows it down to about half of Kirkwall... he IS in Kirkwall, right?"
"Farewell," wisped out of the corpse before plopping onto the streets like a sack of dry meat.
***
The next day, Varric made his way up the massive stairs that connected Lowtown to Hightown, twirling the magic bolt in his fingers. "I always DID think Hawke's story could use a little romance," he mumbled to himself, "as long as it's what she wants... Just have to find a nice guy, shoot him, and make sure he sees Hawke. That shouldn't be too hard. And I've known her long enough, I'll know the right guy when I see him." He puffed up his finely threaded chest and clenched the bolt tight in a determined fist. "Yes! This will be no problem! Time to become Varric Tethras, Matchmaker Extraordinaire, and find the hero of this tale her love interest. A paramour for my partner, a beau for my buddy, a laddy for the good Lady Hawke!"
With added vigor in his step, the dwarf hopped up the last step and strutted into the market square, his marksman eyes swiftly bouncing from wall to wall. He shifted past crowds and scanned each man he saw, but found himself frowning within minutes. "Nah, too young, too old... not enough meat on his bones... WAY too much meat... Shit, I forgot that I'm the most eligible bachelor in Kirkwall. If only Hawke were a dwarf... but there's got to be a close second somewhere? ...Okay, a distant second, but a second all the same. Now where could he be? Maybe I should head back to the Hanged..."
"Off with you!" a familiar voice snarled, its deep and hostile baritone marking its owner even from a distance.
"I haven't done anything!" said another voice that Varric recognized right away.
"Of course!" thought Varric, "If the feelings are already there, it's got to be someone she knows!"
While the voices continued to bicker, their voices riling with anger, Varric sprinted to the side of the street and tucked himself behind a building of towering tarnished white. He poked his head out and watched Anders and Fenris argue by a line of vendor stalls.
"Why don't you stop barking?" sneered Anders, "before someone has you hauled off the streets."
"The only one who needs to be removed from public is you," replied Fenris, filtering his anger through shut teeth, the hate of hits words steaming from between the slits. "And I could do that. Very easily."
"Keep your voice down!"
"Mind your tongue!"
Varric rolled his eyes as he unhinged Bianca from her holster. "Time to break this little tiff up...hmm..." As the enchanted bolt clacked onto his crossbow, the dwarf's face soured. "Which one of them is it, though?" he thought. "Elf or Blondie? It's got to be one of them, who else is there?" The fingers of his free hand tapped upon the stubble on his chin as he contemplated. "Hawke and Fenris DO get along as is...the whole friends-turned-lovers thing is always heartwarming, people eat that shit up. Seems like something Hawke would do... On the other hand, she and Anders never see eye-to-eye. If they become lovers it would be a torrent of rivalry and passion! That's a page-turning romance right there!"
Varric held up Bianca, tender finger on the trigger. He could feel the power in the bolt resonating, a subtle glow and a soothing heat that caressed his face. He looked back at the arguing men as they began to shove each other. The shot had to be made, now and as quickly as the marksman could manage.
He shrugged as he aligned his weapon, the tip of the magic bolt facing Anders's chest. "Sorry, Broody. Call me biased, but I just think Anders could use it more."
With squinted eyes he straightened his aim. The market street was clean of incomers, though voices and footsteps surrounded. Nothing to block the perfect shot. In one moment, it was just Varric, Anders, and Bianca.
The bolt shimmered, golden light flickered as it jutted from Bianca's groove like a tiny flame spit from a dragon's mouth. The beginning of a smile cracked in the corner of Varric's mouth. An intruding voice and a flash of blinding white deflected the bolt's journey. The shot was so fast, so straight and true, the dwarf's mind could not process it that he had missed until it was over and done.
A simple yet goal-shattering, "Have you two...ugh!" echoed in the aftershock, in a foreign brogue that enveloped Varric in goose bumps.
"Oh shit," said the dwarf as he watched the bolt pierce through Sebastian's back. It seeped into his armor and phased through his body. Once it prodded out of his chest, it came undone, bursting into little particles of light, like a swarm of fireflies drifting apart in the breeze. "I shot Choir Boy! I had the perfect shot and he just... Andraste's lacy girdle, the one time I DON'T want to shoot him..."
"Sebastian?" said Fenris with a tilted head, swatting away the last bit of light like it were an insect buzzing in his face. "Are you well?"
"Yes, what was that all about?" said Anders, looking at the brother with a disdainfully raised eyebrow. "You just came in and...grunted at us."
Sebastian did not answer right away. His hands hovered over his heart, his blue eyes glazed, as if staring into another world. His lips quivered, "Have you two... have you...have..." was all that came out.
With a defeated sigh, Varric trudged towards the group, and spotted Hawke approaching at the same time. Normally the confident clack of her armored march and the faint scent of honey that clung to the strands of her dark hair would delight the dwarf. Instead he was left with a twist in his gut. "Moment of truth, I guess," he thought. "Maybe... it won't work? I mean, Hawke and Sebastian? Of all the people she could love, him? That makes no sense!"
"Gentlemen?" said Hawke with a thick and steady calm as she inserted herself among the four men, raising her brow, as if sensing the hostility and suppressing it with her presence. "I trust you're all behaving yourselves?"
Fenris cringed with guilt and bowed his head. "Of course, Hawke."
"Yes, yes, we know well enough to mind ourselves in Hightown," said Anders. "I do, anyway."
Hawke frowned. "Anders..."
"Fine, fine! Fenris and I were just... cranky."
She turned to the dwarf. "And I assume you're staying out of trouble, Varric?"
"Who, me?" he answered, his voice weak, eyes on the ground. "No... no trouble today, Hawke."
She turned to the brother, and her eyes widened upon his clouded, stumbling disposition. "And... are you all right, Sebastian? You look a little sick."
"I..." His gaze was fixed upon her, like she was the only person in the world. His mouth was still shaking, breaths jumbled out. "I am... fine, Hawke. Never better, in fact."
"Oh, that's a relief. For a moment I thought you would have to take a leave of absence. I know you lead the service tonight, I was... looking forward to it."
His eyes popped as a grin stretched wide. "As...as am I."
"Well, good. Now, I have some things to take care of. I'll see you all soon."
Varric, Fenris, and Anders watched Hawke step away, but her eyes remained on Sebastian as she waved goodbye. When she was gone, the dwarf looked at the brother; his eyes were still fogged, back hunched, and a childish smile smeared across his face, his fingers still wiggling in a goodbye wave.
"Ugh, stop waving, Choir Boy," groaned Varric, "she’s gone."
"Sebastian?" Fenris said again. "Were you going to ask something?"
"Yes," added Anders, "you were saying something before you... got weird."
"Have... have you..." The brother stuttered, trying to force an answer, but he ended with a dreamy sigh. "Have you... ever noticed how wonderful Hawke is?"
The elf and apostate exchanged blank stares while Varric grunted, "Well... shit."
***
"No, no, that's awful!" proclaimed Varric as he tore his notes, the fresh ink running along his fingers. "What was I thinking when I wrote this? Spirit of love? Was I drunk... ugh, I could use a drink."
"Did someone say drink?" said Isabela as she emerged from the cabin and onto the edge of the bridge where Varric stood. She saw the dwarf, hunched over the edge of the rocking ship, and patted his back. "Are you okay? Seasick again?"
"Nah, Rivani, not this time. I was just... thinking about a story. I started to write a first draft, but it's no good. I'll have to start over."
"Aww," the pirate cooed, "I'm sure it wasn't that bad. What kind of story is it?"
Varric watched the shreds of parchment drift along the curls of salty air, and scatter along the water. They were all soon lost to him and out of sight, swallowed by the sunlight horizon like the silhouette of Kirkwall, far in the distance. “The one story I never quite figured out.”