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It’s been three months after Leandra’s funeral. It’s been one too many nights alone in a mansion that’s far too large for just Marian, a few servants, and her mabari, Brutus.
So Marian’s at the Hanged Man with Varric again. Yet another night in a dingy, foul-smelling tavern with mysterious stains on the floor and walls, drinking ale that stripped away your sense of taste. She stares into her mug, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. There’s a small crowd of dockworkers in one corner. She knows their faces, but not their names. They’re celebrating one of their own—a pock-faced young man with pale brown hair—who’s getting married tomorrow.
Varric is just finishing up some story about avoiding another Merchant’s Guild meeting. It’s a fun one. It involved climbing out the window, stowing away on a fruit cart, and losing them in Darktown. Or was he hiding from assassins? She can’t keep track.
Varric doesn’t seem to mind. They drink in silence for a little while. Everything is dull. Cause and effect are hazy, even in things like a simple story told by a friend. Marian can’t imagine stepping outside and trying to unravel anymore mysteries or solve anymore problems.
But there are people hurting worse than her. She could be helping them right now. She gives coin to charities, but it’s not the same thing as getting out in the world and doing good with her own two hands. Kirkwall needs so much more help than even the most well-intentioned charity can do. It needs action.
But what if I make the wrong choice? What if my luck’s run out?Carver, dead as they fled from Lothering. Bethany, dead in the Deep Roads. Leandra, dead because of blood magic. Because of my own failure.
She wipes tears off her cheeks and sighs.
“Copper for your thoughts?” Varric asks gently.
“Nothing you haven’t heard before.”
“Well, tell me again.”
The crowd of dockworkers around the groom starts singing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.’
Varric winces. “Tell me something so I don’t have to listen to that mess.”
Marian can’t help but think of weddings, which makes her think of some recent conversations with her friends. Or were they even friends now? She takes another swig of ale. The world’s getting a little blurry around the edges. “I think I’ve ruined my life.”
That sounded a lot less maudlin in her head.
“I’ll have to remember that for my latest short story,” Varric says lightly, but he watches her with concern. “It’s a good hook. So, how have you ruined your life?”
“A story. Right.” She nods a few times, losing the thread of the conversation before picking it up again. “Let me…let me try to explain like I was a character in a story.
“Say you meet a man. He’s got a past, he’s been on the run, has a few intriguing yet tragic secrets. But even though the world’s treated him terribly, he still keeps trying to do good. He heals the poor without expecting anything in return. He wants his people to be free more than anything. He’s devoted, principled, passionate. Everything you could look for in a partner.
“And, one day, once you’ve gotten to know each other a bit, he flirts with you. A swift, gentle little show of interest. A bit goofy, in fact, and you can see that he used to laugh and smile a lot more than he does now.
“You turn him down. Tell him you’re flattered, but you’re not interested. He’s not overjoyed to hear it, obviously, but he accepts it. He’s probably thinking about how he’s an apostate, and isn’t he such a fool to think he could find love? But that’s not why you refused him. It has nothing to do with him at all.”
That was almost three years ago now. Hopefully, it’s water under the bridge. Unless it isn’t. How would Marian know? She’s awful at figuring these things out.
“So, that’s one man. There’s another who finds his way into your life. He’s so angry, and with good reason. Very similar to the first man, actually, though neither of them would see it that way. You want to help him, too. Everyone deserves a chance not to be hunted and abused. Everyone deserves a chance to be free of hate.
“He finds his way to your home after a terrible incident—causing another death. You try to tell him that you were worried about him, that he doesn’t have to be alone, and all of a sudden he’s trying to kiss you.”
She remembers the flare of lyrium along Fenris’ markings before he pushed her up against the wall. Her instincts kicked in and she swung him around, getting him into a headlock and demanding, “What is going on here?!” His embarrassed, “I…apologize. I dramatically misread this situation,” still makes her cringe. It’s not because you were a slave or because you’re an elf, she wishes she could tell him.
“After avoiding each other for a week, you finally say you’d like to put the whole thing behind you, and he agrees. You haven’t spoken of it since.”
Marian takes another long drink. The dockworkers are giving elaborate toasts to the groom, laughing riotously at each other’s jokes.
She glances at Varric, who doesn’t seem shocked by anything she’s said. He’s listening, that’s all. Sometimes you need a little preamble to get to the meat of the story. Especially when the storyteller keeps drinking.
“And then there are your women friends.
“You should have seen it coming with one of them. That’s what annoys you the most. She’s hardly subtle about people she’s interested in. But you think ‘Oh, she flirted with me, sure, but she’ll flirt with anyone! It doesn’t mean anything.’ And you don’t get on that well with her. She thinks you’re a self-righteous martyr who needs to solve all the world’s problems.
“So when she offers to have some girly fun with you, you don’t get what she really means. You think she means makeup tips or something. You’re around the same skintone, and she always looks amazing, so you’re rather excited.
“She did not mean makeup tips.”
Varric tries to stifle a smile. “Ahem. Sorry. Continue.”
“It’s not funny, Varric.”
“It’s a little funny….”
“Not when your friend strokes your cheek and you realize things have gone horribly wrong. It’s not funny at all!”
“You’re right. It’s not funny.” He clears his throat. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You have to turn her down. But when you play Wicked Grace a lot, you know that sometimes you get a bad hand. You figure she’s fine. You hope she’s fine. I mean, she could have anyone, so you saying no can’t mean that much.”
She rests her head in her hands. “But, Maker, your other friend is so lonely! She has no clan, and you’re one of her few friends. And she’s always doing such incredibly dangerous things. You worry about her so much. You try to prop her up, since she keeps talking about how silly and stupid she is. It hurts your heart to hear how she talks about herself, poor girl.
”Then, you deny her what she wants, and you have a huge fight. She comes to you to apologize and tell you to stop trying to save her. How can you say you’ll stop? You say you’ll always be there for her, that you won’t let her hurt her friends or herself, that you’ll protect her….
“And she takes that a much different way than you meant it.” She can still feel the brush of Merrill’s lips on hers, sweet and shy, just like her. “For a moment, you do nothing. You can’t hurt her. Not like this.”
Marian drains her mug, then gestures to the bar staff for a refill. “But you’ll have to because you can’t be what she obviously wants you to be. So you say it. And she takes it hard, because that’s just who she is.”
To Varric, she spreads her hands helplessly. “So, all of that. In a story. What kind of character is that, Varric?”
“It sounds like this character just hasn’t found someone they’re interested in.”
Marian feels a surge of disappointment, which is silly. Varric’s just thinking the way everyone thinks. “Of course.” With booze-born bravery, she blurts, “Only…what if they don’t want to be interested. What if they never have?”
Varric shrugs. “Then they’re not interested.”
Marian stares at him for few moments, waiting for him to crack. He must have a joke. Some little comment. ‘Everyone’s allowed their little eccentricities.’ ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ ‘Even the greatest heroes have their feet of clay.’
“But that’s a terrible character,” Marian tries to explain. “For a story or a novel or anything. Your books almost always have some romantic subplot, some lost love….”
“Well, sure. I write my books to appeal to the lowest common denominator. You don’t think I’m writing actual people, do you? Real people are too complicated for the kind of shit I write—too messy.” He scoots his chair nearer to her. “The world’s a big place. You’re not the only person who’s felt that way.”
He rests his hand on the table, palm up, then nods to it. A hand to hold, if she wants. Maker, when was the last time she just held hands with someone without having to worry about what it might turn into? Bethany, probably.
Still, Marian wants to keep things clear. “You’re not secretly in love with me, are you?”
Varric chuckles. “Not at all, Hawke. I’m spoken for.”
“Ah, good.” She rests her hand in Varric’s. Those callused fingers can twirl an arrow dextrously, pick a lock in under a minute, and skillfully disarm a trap. His hands have saved her life so many times these past three years.
There’s a particularly loud roar from the dockworkers, who burst into applause. The speeches seem to be over, and the group goes back to drinking.
“You’re taking this better than I expected,” she comments.
“Oh? What did you expect?”
Marian takes a long sip of her ale with her free hand. “Mother always thought I just needed to find the right person. Like I was a piece of flint, waiting for a spark.”
Varric chuckles, but his eyes are cold. “That’s rough, when a parent doesn’t understand you.” He knows something about that, though she’s never inquired what. Would he actually answer, if she asked? Or would he just spin another story?
Another time, perhaps. She can’t stop moaning about herself. “I like to think Father might have, but he passed away before I knew enough about myself to tell him. Bethany would gossip with me about attractive boys and girls, and then just wait for me to respond in kind. I never could. I had to fake it. ‘Oh, yes, the cute one with the blonde hair.’ Carver couldn’t have cared less, at least.
“It’s not even like I’m afraid of love. I just…don’t want it. No one hurt me, no one abused me…. I have no idea why I am the way I am. And now I’m paying the price for being different.”
“Right, the ‘ruined your life’ part. So how exactly did that happen?”
“I have no one. Oh, don’t get me wrong, you’re my friends and I love you dearly. You’re—” a lump forms in her throat “—my family.” Tears well up in her eyes.
“But…if I’d chosen one of them, I’d have a partner. A teammate. Someone to stick with me through thick and thin. Instead, there’s just Brutus. Bodhan, Sandal and Orana are servants. It’s different. My house is so empty.
“You’re supposed to have a partner. That’s how the story goes. Some nights I just wander the city, fighting off thieves and bandits. I stay out until dawn. I just can’t go home, not with Mother gone.”
Varric squeezes her hand. “I didn’t know it was that bad, Hawke.”
Her tears fall down her flushed cheeks. She wipes them away, huffing in irritation. I should be use to death by now, shouldn’t I?“There’s something about being the last, I suppose. The only one left.
“It’s not as if I’ll have children to fill the house.” She wrinkles her nose at the thought of making children. She can’t imagine ever getting naked with anyone, much less that. “Or, if I do, it will be out of desperation and not because I actually want them, which is not a good reason to have them. There’s just…me.
“That’s probably why I do all this fighting for all these causes. To make up to…to the world, I suppose? To make up for what I can’t be: a lover, a mother. Like I have to be the best, or else….” Her thoughts are all jumbled together. “Or else what am I? A seed that…that’s just going to remain a seed. It’ll never be a tree. And then a bird will eat me and crap me out….”
Varric is fighting not to smile.
“I’m baring my soul to you and you smirk. Villain.” But she nudges him to show there are no hard feelings. She was certainly straining that metaphor a bit.
“Sorry. And, by the way, lots of people make the world a better place without children.” He gestures to himself. “Some people aren’t planning to have any, in fact. They make their contributions in other ways.”
She frowns as she removes her hand from Varric’s. “You don’t need to convince me, Varric. I know that. But it’s different. That’s a choice…usually. There’s people that can’t have children or can’t find true love, but they’re at least trying. It feels…wrong. Selfish, perhaps? Not to be thinking about romance and family. Not to be—” she smacks the table “—trying.”
Now Varric does outright chuckle at her. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen much of this perfectionist streak of yours. I’ll have to remember it.”
She stares out at the bar, people watching, uncomfortable with her own intensity. The wedding party is drinking and talking loudly, smiles all around. That drunk who keeps going on and on about how he could have been king of Ferelden sitting in the corner, staring dolefully at his drink.
What must Varric think of her? There are mages being abused in the Gallows while the Chantry turns a blind eye. There are Kirkwall citizens preying on Fereldan refugees. So many people have it far worse.
“Hawke,” he says softly, “your friends would do anything for you. You know that, right?”
She snorts. “Am I even a friend to them? Or are they just waiting for the day I come to my senses and choose one of them? Is my friendship just their…their consolation prize?” Aveline is the only person she can trust on that account.
“If that’s really bothering you, you could ask them.”
She gestures so broadly that she almost knocks over her mug of ale. “Yes, because everybody is always complete forthright all the time! They always say what they’re thinking, and certainly when their heart is on the line!” She buries her head in her arms and groans.
“Or you could look at their actions. Have they treated you differently since you turned them down? Have they pulled away? Stopped spending time with you?”
“I haven’t actually spoken to Merrill about it except for when she paid her condolences.” Since her mother’s death, she’s wondered more and more if denying Merrill the Arulin’Holm was right. Shouldn’t she have trusted her friend more?
And what of her other friends? True, Anders, Fenris and Isabela didn’t treat her any differently, but what did that matter? Who knew what they were thinking?
Suddenly, she’s exhausted. She can’t lift her head from her arms. “I’m just going to go to sleep here, all right? Watch me so I don’t get pickpocketed or shanked, please. Or just leave me here. I’m wearing armour. Who’s going to try to shank me?”
“C’mon, Hawke, you can sleep in my room. I’m not sending you back home in this state.”
The thought of moving makes her groan, but she stumbles to her feet as Varric drags her out of her chair.
“Varric?” she slurs. “Thank you. Not just for the room.” Her conversations with her mother about her views on love hadn’t gone nearly as well. She would have understood, eventually, I think. She just needed time to accept that she wasn’t getting grandchildren.
She said she was proud of me.
“You’re welcome, Hawke.” Varric smiles up at her, and she feels so warm and happy that she has to hug him.
Varric jerks his head away as he accepts the hug. “Armour to the face again. Don’t you ever wear normal clothes?”
“I do! At my place. You should come ‘round. Everyone should.”
Varric keeps her balanced and moving along until they reach his room.
Suddenly, Marian remembers the young man getting married. “I should have bought him a drink. The groom. Groom-to-be. Why am I so selfish?”
Varric raises his eyebrow. “Yeah, you’re such a monster. Look, I’ll buy the kid a drink on your tab. Now get some sleep!”
She stumbles into his room and collapses on his bed. His room spins around her, making her close her eyes.
She said she was proud of me.
Marian feels better by mid-afternoon the next day. That evening, she’s getting ready for another nighttime jaunt when Brutus starts barking in the foyer. A few moments later, Orana knocks on her door.
“Your friends are here, ma’am,” she says.
Everyone’s standing in the foyer. Something must have gone terribly wrong. “What happened?” Only when she says that does she notice the packs on their backs and the bags they’re carrying. Did they have to go somewhere?
Varric steps forward, gesturing to everyone behind him. “I may have mentioned to everyone that you were feeling a little alone in the house.”
“We decided we could leave our rat-infested hovels and live with you for a time, if you want us,” Isabela says.
“Speak for yourself,” Aveline grumbles to Isabela.
A lump grows in Marian’s throat. “I can’t ask this of you.”
“You didn’t ask; we’re offering,” Anders points out.
“But…your clinic….”
“I’ll still go. The way there will just be a little longer, that’s all.”
“I can’t stay for long,” Fenris says. He’s not exactly looking at her—they’re both probably remembering the wall he’d pushed her up against weeks ago. “With Danarius still out there, I would not put you in danger. But I will stay for a few days and visit often.”
“I brought fresh berries, lethallan!” Merrill says. Her smile is a bit strained. “If…well, if you want some.”
“Of course I do,” Marian says. She’ll find a moment to talk with Merrill privately and apologize again for turning her down and denying her the Arulin’Holm.
Maybe she’ll find a moment to talk to everyone privately and explain this part of herself that troubled her for so long. Varric was fine with it. Perhaps the rest of her friends will understand, too.
She can just imagine Isabela’s reaction to hearing that she’s never made love. Well, maybe they won’t understand everything, she admits.
“And I’ve brought cards,” Varric says. “We can get a game of Wicked Grace going. You up for it, Hawke?”
Tears fill her eyes, again. She’s not sure when that’s going to stop. “Of course. Let’s get you all settled in. Maker knows, we have enough rooms for everyone.”
She leads them upstairs, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. She’ll never have true love, but she loves her friends so much. She'll always be grateful that they love her back.