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Someone broke into Varric’s apartment.
Again.
He ran through the list of usual suspects and began crossing them out one by one. Magic was clearly involved, the leftover energy gave him a bit of a shock when he grabbed his doorknob. So Rivaini was off the hook. No sign of blood or whiff of sulfur, which meant Daisy probably hadn’t come by to water the plants she insisted he needed.
That left three witches. Sunshine would have patiently waited outside, so she could be discounted. Anders… well, it could have been Blondie, but somehow Varric doubted it. Blondie hardly ever came to visit anymore, and never uninvited. His friend was too busy working himself into a frothing rage over the templars in the undercity most of the time.
So. Hawke.
Varric shoved the door open and peered around his tidy apartment. Sure, he preferred the bustling arts district to the ritzy section his brother favored, but Varric was no starving artist. Everything screamed comfort, from the plush, worn leather sofas to the rich, mahogany bookshelves lined with his eclectic collection. His laptop sat, undisturbed, on his coffee table with his empty mug from the morning still beside it.
On the other couch, however, the Champion of Kirkwall sat in a nest of her own making. She had wrapped herself up in his comforter like the apartment was freezing, but she hadn’t thought to turn on the heat, which she was more than capable of doing. She had a takeout container opened in front of her, chopsticks impaled in half eaten noodles, and a cartoon featuring brightly colored, implausibly proportioned women playing on his TV.
“Hawke, if you didn’t save me an eggroll I’m kicking you out.”
She didn’t turn from her chosen entertainment, but she waved in the direction of his kitchenette. “I brought you a whole damn meal. And beer. You’re welcome.”
“What are you watching?” He asked, shuffling off his coat and throwing it over the counter. He swaggered to the fridge and opened it, withdrawing the still lukewarm container. Hawke hadn’t been here long, then.
“Fuck if I know.” Hawke tipped her head to the side like an over-inquisitive parrot. “It’s on one of those strange Nevarran channels you get.”
He opened the container and peered into the half-eaten remains of his portion of the takeout. He glared playfully at Hawke, who’d finally turned to watch him as he discovered her treachery.
“I was hungry.” She defended with a sly grin, folding her arms on the back of the couch and resting her head on them. “Where were you?”
“Tracking down those ingredients Blondie wanted for his ‘make my demon cat less crazy’ spell. Do you know what Sela Petrae is made of?” He muttered darkly. Hawke grinned evilly.
“Why do you think I said I’d help him find the Drakestone?”
“I hate you.” He groaned, rubbing his forehead.
Hawke smiled, suddenly sweet. “No you don’t.”
He didn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit it after finding out he’d spent all morning asking for crystallized urine. He grabbed his own chopsticks from the counter and ambled over to Hawke on the couch, collapsing beside her.
“You worried about him?” Hawke asked, slim fingers worrying the frayed edge of his comforter.
“Nah.” Varric lied easily. “He’ll be fine. He’s just having a mood.”
“Yeah.” Hawke lied through her teeth too. “I’m not worried either.”
They needed a change of subject. Varric gestured with his shoddy utensils at the TV screen. “Can’t afford your own cable?”
“Like you’re paying for cable, serah.” Hawke huffed, settling back into the cushions and resting her head on his shoulder, an easy, light pressure that felt as precious as gold.
Varric waited, spinning the silence out until Hawke finally relented. “I’ve been having nightmares again.”
Nightmares. Cards spelling out portents of doom. The same refrain now for weeks. Kirkwall lurching into the next disaster, but none of them any wiser as to what it was. Hawke stared, unseeing, at the TV, while she recounted her dream. “I’m at city hall, standing on top of that awful dome with the naked statue. But the statue isn’t there, it’s me. I’m encased in bronze just like it is, and the metal is melting, scorching my skin. I have wings, but the feathers are falling past my fingertips and I know I’m going to fall. The world is on fire underneath me and I… I’m watching from the center of the flames.”
“One question.” Varric couldn’t bear to see the strain weighing her down, making her look old beyond her years. Shit, she was just twenty-five. Too young for all this, by far. “That statue on top of city hall is naked Hawke. Out of author’s curiosity…”
She laughed, like he knew she would, swatting him with the edge of his own blanket. “You’re awful. My premonitions of doom are jokes to you, is that it?”
They weren’t, he’d seen too many of them come true, but he also knew by now they couldn’t stop them. Worrying themselves into an early grave wouldn’t help. May as well go laughing.
“Andraste, Varric. Get me out of this place.” She swung the blanket off the couch and stood, a bundle of nervous energy. “I’ll text Fen and Merrill. You grab Bela. Let’s go do something fun.”
“Hanged Man is right downstairs.” Varric offered. “I think the special tonight is their own special brand of watered down…”
“For fuck’s sake. No, I don’t want to drink.” She babbled, wrapping strands of dark hair around her fingers. “Let’s do something exciting. Oh! The aquarium, down at the harbor. Let’s…”
“Rivaini’s banned.” Varric smirked. “Someone caught her teaching a man to fish behind the shark tank, if you catch my drift. Besides, Broody will complain the whole time about the smell.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Hawke sighed. “The Rose has…”
“A two for one special for templars right now.” Varric advised cheerfully, careful to note the tension that immediately rose in Hawke’s shoulders. “Best leave Daisy out of it if we go there.”
“Alright.” She huffed. “The amusement park…”
Varric held her gaze and raised one solitary eyebrow. “Don’t you remember the go-karting incident?”
Hawke bristled and crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at him. “That whole thing was blown wildly out of proportion.”
“I’m still paying bribes for that mess so Aveline doesn’t find out. The fact that you didn’t get tossed in the Gallows that night is a miracle.”
Hawke waved his concerns away dismissively. “Details.”
“We’re emphatically not welcome at the amusement park, Hawke. Cops will be called. We’ll have to explain ourselves to Aveline. I’ll develop ulcers.” Varric bemoaned.
“Your chest hair will wilt and fall out. Dogs will howl in the street.” Hawke collapsed back on the couch, dramatically, half on top of him. She nearly knocked his noodles from his hand. “Varric, I’m dying of boredom. It’s an ignoble end for the champion of Kirkwall. Do something. Anything.”
He sighed wearily and sat his container on the table while Hawke’s eyes glimmered expectantly. He drummed his fingers on the table lightly, rearranging his schedule in his head. “Bianca.”
“Varric?” The AI answered brightly. Hawke perked up immediately.
“I need you to make arrangements to rent a car under one of my pseudonyms. A fast one, something sexy. We’ll bring it back late Sunday night.” Varric rubbed his stubbled jaw thoughtfully.
“Modified for Dwarven use?” Bianca chirped.
Varric looked at Hawke. “You gonna drive?”
“If it’s sexy, of course I will.” Hawke purred playfully. “Where are we going?”
“I’m gonna let the humans take the wheel, Bianca.” Varric stretched his arms above his head. “Work on cancelling whatever shit is on my calendar tomorrow.”
He wrapped one heavy arm around Hawke’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “We’ll go wherever you want. Caveat is, I’ve gotta be back on Monday.”
“Important meetings to avoid?” She teased, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
“You know it.” He yawned into his other fist. “There’s a music festival in Ostwick on Saturday. Casinos in Markham are always a good time. I’d even let you drag me to Starkhaven.”
“If we go to Starkhaven, we’ve gotta take Bethy and Sebastian. I could use a damn break from their canoodling.” Hawke tapped away at her phone. “Who’s playing in Ostwick?”
“Fuck if I know.” He was far too old to be keeping track of that shit.
“You’re so helpful.” Hawke sighed. “Bianca?”
“Chantry Oblivion, The Infamous Nugs, Refuse Project, and Tool of Anarchy.” Bianca offered. “There are smaller, lesser known bands at side stages.”
“Ugh.” Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Markham it is then.”
“Too much heavy metal?” Varric picked his chopsticks back up with his left hand.
“If I wanted to listen to people screaming I’d go to the Gallows and stand between Orsino and Meredith.” Hawke grumbled. “Bela’s in. So is Merrill.”
Of course Rivaini was in. She’d be at the door any second, bag already packed. Varric shoveled another bite of noodles into his mouth and watch as Hawke looked up, eyes fastening on the windows lining his apartment, the ones looking out onto the broad swathe of shops and galleries. Her face went slack.
“You should put a piano there, Varric.” She mumbled.
He nearly choked on his mouthful of noodles. “What? For stone’s sake, why? Rivaini would just be bringing men in here whenever she wanted the experience of fucking on it instead of making the trek to your place.”
Hawke shook her head, frowning, before dropping her head back to her phone. “I don’t know.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “It was a thought. Something with Ostwick. It’s gone now.”
Thank Andraste for that. Hawke resumed her grin and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “C’mon then. Let’s pack up your chest hair and go.”