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There was an intense wind blowing that night; a fierce dry gale came down through the Vimmark mountain pass and swept through Kirkwall strong enough to kink your hair, make your nerves twitch and skin crawl.
A night where every conversation in The Hanged Man ended in a fight or cold ale arrived in a dirty mug because the barmaid confused you for the guy who skipped out on her the night before.
Kitchen servants felt the sharp edge of the carving knife and thought about the price of freedom resting in their master’s necks in the dark. Anything can happen. You can’t make this shit up. Trust me. I know.
The barmaid gave me one of those looks. You know what I mean. She’d sized me up and decided I wouldn’t tip leaving me to shove my way through to the bar and get my own drink.
“Hey, Slick!”
The bartender saw me and shook his head. “Varric. Long time no tab paid.”
Slick was an old friend that meant he rarely watered down my drinks and usually forgot to overcharge me. Tossing a small pouch of coins to his greedy hands, I hoped it’d square us for a while. “Got anything for me?”
He looked at me with all the sympathy of mourner at a funeral. “Yeah and let’s just say, you’re not going to like it.” He gestured toward the back. “In your office.”
A long, hard stare toward the back left me unsure if I wanted to find out what was happening or run for hills. “Andraste help me, I’m just not that bright.”
Like Slick said, name’s Varric. Varric Tethras. Before you ask? No, I’m no hero, just a writer. All right, I’m a writer with a knack for ending up neck deep in shit. Why neck deep? I’m a dwarf. Not one of those children of the stone loving underdwellers, nope, give me the sunshine, a loaded deck and perfumed ladies.
Walking back to my rooms, I wondered what waited. I owed no one money, and I’d steered clear of crappy deals at least for the past week.
It didn’t take long to figure out the trouble waiting for me was the worst kind. You see, there’s two kinds of trouble in my world. The kind that swept you up into a long and drawn out quest or this kind-trouble with a capital “T” and that rhymes with “B” and that meant Bianca.
Some guys are content with frills and lace, pretty clothes and deep coin purses. Me? I had to pick the one woman in all of Thedas I couldn’t have and could get me killed on any day of the week.
Bianca knew just where to poke me to do whatever she wanted-whenever she wanted. And my real problem? The word no disappeared from my vocabulary whenever she showed.
A smarter dwarf would have turned around and skipped town for the south or even Antiva but not me. Standing outside my rooms, I saw her. Bianca sat in a chair, hands gripping the arm rest. A slight bounce to her leg told me the bad news-whatever brought her to Kirkwall wasn’t good.
I waited, trying to devise the perfect greeting; I wanted the first words I spoke to be suave and for once, catch her off guard. What happens when a wordsmith is at a complete loss? That’s an easy question. He comes across like a complete ass.
Standing there, I heard Bianca’s voice cut the silence quicker than a knife cuts butter. “I can hear you breathing, Varric, don’t strain yourself and come say hello.”
Come say hello. Simple enough, but with Bianca? It’s the beginning of the end. You see, Bianca’s married -very married. Not in the lovestruck till death parts us kind of way. Bianca’s marriage is more along the lines of, stay the hell away from her Varric or two families will find you and roast you like a stuffed nug at a dwarven naming day.
“Well?”
I couldn’t let her control the conversation, I’d end up looting the Chantry or breaking into the Circle tower for kicks. “Well, shit, Bianca. What do you want me to say?”
The way she looked at me, I’d never seen fear in her eyes. Not once. We’d been a pair when we were younger, trouble found us no matter where we were.
Don’t ask, I repeated the words in my head, don’t ask. The last time she’d found me I ended up hanging by my ankles over a crevice. Of course, we’d hijacked a caravan of stolen goods. It didn’t matter to Bianca’s family we’d recovered their property, only that I’d showed my face.
“Varric, I need your help.”
Of course she needed my help, no one steals away across miles and miles just to say hello. I needed to figure out the depth of the hole she’d dug and if I’d be able to climb out once Bianca pulled me in.
And then it happened. That moment when the complete opposite of what I’d intended to do and what actually happened led me down the wrong path. “How can I help?” Shit. You’re a world class idiot, Varric.
She turned to her right and grabbed something, giving me a change to sit behind my desk. I wasn’t ready for what I saw. The straw basket, large and long looked heavy as she tried to balance it. When I looked at the cloth covering it, I realized how fucked I really was. The pink fabric, dotted with little white flowers wouldn’t be used to transport goods, but it could cover a basket with a kid inside.
“You’ve got to be shitting me, Bianca! You can’t run away to Kirkwall with a kid and bring it here!” My mind conjured up at least half a dozen scenarios each one more vicious than the last, I was dead. Not just dead, but likely one of the most epic deaths awaited me in the history of Thedas.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m trying to stay ahead of the Carta here, all right? So, relax.” The way she laughed at my shock. Bianca had a great laugh, but it pissed me off.
“Right. The Carta. Andraste’s ass! What have you done?” No one with brains messed with the Carta. If Bianca had cheated them, stolen from them or even looked at them funny, we were as good as dead. Silly Varric, what’s a little dismemberment and death between friends? The walls closed in on me, temperature rising as if scores of rage demons had descended in my room.
“Would you stop?” Bianca stood, her precious package still covered by the blanket. Whatever she held wasn’t tiny, and the sharp edges couldn’t have belonged to any living creature. “Get the door, Varric.”
Get the door, Varric. Relax, Varric. More like kiss your ass goodbye, Varric.
She patted the blanket as if that would make everything better. “It’s a prototype. The only one in existence.” She stepped closer to me, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.
“Not this time Bianca.” I couldn’t see beyond the horrific deaths lining up to test their misery on me. She stepped closer again, holding out her demonic bundle. I didn’t want it, whatever it was.
“Varric. They’ll never suspect. Take her.”
Take her? Who was she kidding? The Hanged Man likely crawled with agents, the kind of ruthless scavengers who won’t wait until the body is dead before they strip it. “Sorry, Bianca. I’ve got to say no. Maybe I’ll regret sending you away someday. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but you’ve got to get out of here now. We’ll both regret it if you don’t.”
Bianca lifted the blanket. “I need you, Varric. She needs you. You’re the only one who can make her happy, don’t you see that?” I couldn’t know it, but beneath that perfect pink blanket rested my destiny.
She was the kind of perfect that few would ever know.
“She’s a self-loading, fully repeating automatic cross bow. I can’t tell you how I got her. She just fell into my lap.”
I couldn’t take my eyes from her. Polished brass winked back in the torchlight, promising me she’d never leave my side. Her smooth edges called to my eager hands. She needed me. She wanted me.
I reached for her, but Bianca managed to back away. “You’ve got to promise me something Varric.”
I couldn’t think, I barely breathed, all I knew-all I wanted to know was her. “Anything.”
“No matter how bad things get, no matter how broke, no matter what happens, you will protect her.” Bianca’s tentative arms brought my destiny within reach. “The Carta can’t know.”
I shivered with the first touch. All right, Varric. You’re relatively sane. You’re a writer and make a little coin. You’ve a knack for being at the wrong place at the right time. Let’s see how you handle falling for a weapon. Come on, tough guy! Do something really crazy. Swear to protect a crossbow. I knew I was gone the moment I’d laid eyes on her perfection, but the fact I argued with myself like siblings on a family trip solidified it. I was screwed.
“Varric! Promise me!”
Accepting her into my eager hands, I promised. I swore on my life never to leave her, never to let her needs go unanswered, much like her deliverer. I even had the perfect name picked out.
l-l-l-l
Silence hung as Varric finished his second story. The game was simple-tell two stories and the others had to guess which was real.
Bull laughed, smacking the dwarf on his back. “You’re full of shit, you know that Varric?”
“Boy meets crossbow? Varric, please.” Dorian pounded on the table. “I will agree with Bull. This was complete fabrication, I’m afraid. The other story is true.”
“You believe the other story? A noble woman gives birth to a boy with a sow’s ear?” The Inquisitor shook his head in disbelief.
Bull ordered another round. “Shit, yes! Varric never pays his bar tab.” Those gathered around the table laughed.
When the drinks arrived, the Inquisitor pressed Varric for an answer. “Was it really the first that was true?”
Varric coughed, looking off to his left at nothing in particular. His voice dropped in volume as he stared into his mug. “Yeah. The second was complete bullshit.”