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The last few hours had been a somersault of emotions for Varric. His lover had fallen off a bridge, into the Fade itself, but most importantly, she’d returned. Hawke’s tent at Adamant Fortress wasn’t large by any definition of then word, but it wasn’t like Varric needed much in the way of space. He wrapped his arms around Hawke’s knees and buried his face in her thighs. “You’re alive,” he said wondrously, as though physical contact itself couldn’t dissuade his fears.
“Of course,” Hawke answered, threading her fingers through Varric’s hair and pressing her closer to him. Neither of them were particularly tactile people, not when it came to comfort, but even they could make an exception for this. Besides, Hawke was right there, it would be so easy to hook his thumbs in the band of her breeches, tug them down…
Andraste knew he was at just the right height for it. He moved his hands as he locked eyes with Hawke, and there was no mistaking the look on her face.
They’d always had the best sex (made the best love, if one was into those sort of sentimental descriptions) just after they thought they might have lost one another for good.
“Hawke,” Varric started, before correcting himself, remembering what she’d told him about what she liked to be called when they were together alone like this. “Marian.”
Hawke wriggled her hips in anticipation and flopped back onto the bed, and Varric was more than happy to follow. Part of him wanted to say he’d follow Hawke anywhere, but that was the point of contention, wasn’t it? There was nothing actually stopping him from leaving the Inquisition and accompanying Hawke to Weisshaupt. Yet, however much he hated admitting it aloud, he felt needed, useful, here. It was one of the main things he and Hawke had in common – they were a pair of self-sacrificial idiots at their cores, buried underneath layers of charm and deception.
“Don’t tease me,” grumbled Hawke as he lowered himself into position. “Andraste’s tits, Varric, I swear – ”
But whatever request (demand) she had of him was lot to the Maker when a tree fell right onto their tent. A human shaped tree, all pointy and sharp angles, right through the door flap. “Champion—” said a remarkably familiar voice, yet quite unlike no tree Varric had ever known.
It was Cassandra Pentaghast.
Varric had seen Cassandra in many different states (angry, mostly, but it turned out there was a sense of humour under all that armour, who knew?) but he didn’t think he’d ever seen her completely speechless before. Despite his frustration at the intrusion, it was almost worth it just to see the look on Cassandra’s face. And besides, she hadn’t even started throttling him yet.
His days might now be numbered but he would die a happy man.
The Seeker’s eyebrows were raised so high they almost disappeared into her hairline as she gaped openly, looking at Varric, then Hawke, then back at Varric. “You’re lovers?”
Was it Varric’s imagination, or was Cassandra’s voice less accusatory than he’d expected?
Varric slowly peeled himself away from Hawke; there was no point in keeping up any deception or pretences. As he opened his mouth to speak, a witty barb at the tip of his tongue, Hawke interjected. When she jumped to her feet, Varric couldn’t help but think she struck a most imposing figure. At her full height, Hawke could see eye-to-eye with the Seeker.
Well, literally, at least. Figuratively was a whole other matter.
Hawke crossed her arms over her chest, emphasising her bust in a most pleasing but distracting way if Varric did say so himself. “Yes?” Hawke asked, a twinkle of amusement in her eye. “Is that so unexpected?”
Cassandra glared at Varric as though he’d been the one to ask the question. “You never said a thing,” she snapped, nostrils flared. A dangerous look, all things considered. He’d been on the pointy end of her temper far too often of late. If his lies kept Hawke safe, though, well… He had no regrets.
Drawing himself up to his full height (which was far less impressive than Hawke’s), Varric regarded Cassandra coolly. “We’ve already had this conversation, Seeker.”
The reminder of their recent confrontation, interrupted by the Inquisitor, caused Cassandra to deflate, just like he thought it would. He almost felt guilty for reminding her of it, but only almost. He pushed the feeling down. Yeah, that sympathy could go right back to where it came. “You’re right,” Cassandra said, clipped, resigned, acknowledging Varric with a small incline of the head despite her eyes still darting between the couple the whole time, as if she couldn’t believe the truth. How ironic. As she straightened up, she said, “I apologise for the intrusion. It’s just… “ She trailed off, as though unsure whether to add her next remark.
And then she continued anyway, just like Varric thought she would. It wasn’t like Cassandra to keep her thoughts to herself. “You know, I always had my suspicions.” Colour high on her cheeks, she spun on her heel and fled.
As the flap of the tent fluttered as Cassandra hastily exited the way she came, Varric couldn’t help but laugh. That whole encounter had been more of a thrill than he had anticipated, even if his heart was still hammering in his chest from the dual proximity of two powerful women, one who likely wanted to kill him and another he very much hoped didn’t. He returned his attention to Hawke, intent on resuming where they had left off, when he realised Hawke was now regarding him with a thoughtful look on her face. As he caught her eye, she averted her gaze, instead looking at the space Cassandra had so recently departed.
“Remind me,” Hawke started as she sat back down on the bed, her tone laced with exaggerated casualness, “to never let her meet Isabela. Think of all the friend fiction they could write.”
Varric’s brow furrowed. Try as she might, Hawke couldn’t fool a fellow liar. He sat beside her on the bed, their knees close enough to touch yet still apart. “Something’s wrong,” he said. Not a question. Just an observation of facts.
Hawke inhaled deeply. Still not quite looking at him and keeping her voice deliberately calm, she remarked, “Your friends here don’t know about us.”
Giving into the temptation to provide his lover with at least some small modicum of comfort, Varric reached out and placed a hand against Hawke’s leg. She looked down at where their skin touched, and to Varric’s relief, didn’t pull away. It takes all his self-restraint not to chuckle. Instead, he ends up mumbling in response. “I wouldn’t exactly call the Seeker ‘a friend’.”
Rolling her shoulders and lifting her head at long last, Hawke answered, “But nobody here knows at all.” Her tone turned more sarcastic, more like what Varric usually expected from her. “Am I your dirty little secret?”
With those words, coupled with the look in her eyes, Varric could finally tell what Hawke was really asking: are you ashamed of me? His thumb rubbed soothingly against her skin, and he found himself both hating and blurting aloud the first thought that came to mind. “Maker, Marian, have you seen yourself? You’re twice my size. There’s nothing about you that’s little.” It was some small relief, however, that he’d remembered to use her given name, just the way she liked.
Hawke snorted in repressed laughter and brought one of her hands down to lay atop Varric’s. She deserved better than a joke about their respective sizes. He needed to tell her what he meant, what he truly felt, right from the heart. He swallowed thickly before confessing. “I wanted to keep you safe. I didn’t think I could keep you safe like I wanted if people knew the truth.” He gave her hand a little squeeze before continuing. “I guess there was part of me that liked that it was between just the two of us… and well. Most of Kirkwall.” He hoped she would pick up on what he was leaving unsaid: I’m not ashamed of you. I could never be ashamed of you. I love you.
“You can tell people now,” Hawke said, the tension in her shoulders easing as she leaned against Varric, resting the weight of her body against his. It seemed that perhaps he had gotten his message after all. “Maybe don’t go shouting it off the rooftops or writing it into any books, but … you don’t have to keep me safe any longer.” She was right: it wasn’t like Hawke’s location was top-secret anymore. She was right here, next to him, where she belonged and yet could not remain.
He let the chuckle escape him this time. “Cassandra’s not a gossip but I fear we might be hot news by breakfast.” Twisting to face her properly, his gaze slowly traversed her body as he asked, “Anyhow, I’ve never known you to be the quiet sort.”
Hawke laughed, warm and rich and full of affection. Her spare hand drifted upwards to cup Varric’s chin. “Shut up,” she said, as she pulled him into a kiss. They would do their best to enjoy this one last night they had together in each other’s company.