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It was a typical enough night, the sort that never made for good telling afterwards: Hawke, Varric and Fenris playing Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man. If Hawke was drinking a little--or a lot--more than usual, Varric chalked it up to the exciting day they'd had mucking through the sewers for Anders. The stink still hadn't quite come out of any of their clothes, much to the displeasure of Corff behind the bar. Not to mention that the absent mage was being odder than usual; though odder than usual was becoming his new norm.
"That's done for me." Hawke threw down his cards on the scarred wooden table and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Varric, you win again. Aren't we all surprised?"
Varric grinned and pulled his winnings towards himself while Fenris made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "How about another round?"
Downing the last of his ale, Hawke stood up, steadier than Varric would have expected from the hazy look in his eye and the flush in his cheeks. "Actually… Think I'll swing by the Blooming Rose. Anyone care to join me?"
His grin dared comment. Varric raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Fenris, who shrugged. If there was a story there, Fenris didn't know it.
"Finally talked Blondie into a little 'adventuring,' did you?"
Fenris looked pained. "Must I hear this?"
"Oh, Anders isn't invited." Hawke's face settled into a lazy smile, one Varric knew meant nothing good. Varric had last seen that expression during the weeks following Hawke's mother's death.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Hawke shrugged. "Just feel like seeing Madam Lusine's charming face. Maybe say hello to Jethann. No harm in that, is there? Now are you coming, or not?"
Fenris's mouth became a long thin line. "Much as I'd enjoy seeing you cuckold the mage, I've got better things to do."
"What, more brooding?" Varric grinned as Fenris rose. "Yeah, that's way better than a roll in the hay any day, elf. And here I thought Isabela--"
"Are you quite finished?"
"Not really, no." But Hawke was headed towards the door and Varric never liked having to run and play catch up, not when there was a story to be heard. He shoveled gold off the table into his coinpurse and waved a hasty goodbye to Fenris, who barely acknowledged him with a half-nod.
#
Hawke was not silent on the way to the Rose, but he'd always been good at that--talking about nothing to divert attention from whatever it was he really meant to be doing. Drinking actually seemed to improve this skill. Varric could usually manipulate Hawke into spilling sooner or later, but tonight was one of his rare failures.
Fortunately, Varric had never minded being rude. "What's eating you, Hawke?" he asked, when subtler attempts failed. "Don't tell me you and Blondie are fighting over the dog sharing the bed again."
"I'd rather not talk about Anders right now," Hawke replied, with uncharacteristic humorlessness.
"Which is exactly why you should."
The muscles in Hawke's jaw jumped and his hands fisted at his sides. Varric suddenly felt the weight of Bianca slung against his back. He told himself to settle down; Hawke had never taken a swing at him for all his needling, drunk as they sometimes got. He didn't think Hawke was about to start now.
"Fine, fine. No need to get testy," Varric said. "But you know I'll hear about it one way or another."
Hawke relaxed and the false smile returned; Varric resisted letting out a sigh of relief. "I still don't know how you manage to do that," Hawke said. "I know I didn't tell you about the sandwich thing, and I doubt--" He stopped, abruptly.
"Dwarf ears." Varric chuckled. "They're sharper than most folks give us credit for."
"Please tell me you don't have Bodahn spying on me."
"All right, then, I won't tell you."
"Ugh."
"At least I didn't ask Sandal--"
"No, I think I'm--"
The next three events occurred with a perfect sort of timing that typically only happened in Varric's stories: Hawke bent over and threw up, an arrow whistled over his head and embedded itself in the wall, and Varric narrowly missed being hit by both when he sidestepped a small divot in the road.
He had time to say, "Ancestors, Hawke, look out!" before another half-dozen arrows pounded into the beam just behind them. "Least they've got lousy aim," he muttered, pulling Bianca off his back. He saw Hawke straighten up, teetering, and squint into the darkness.
"Duck, you idiot!" Cocking Bianca, he sighted down her shaft.
Three Carta thugs revealed themselves as they launched another volley of arrows. Varric dodged behind a crate and made Bianca sing, picking off the nearest dwarf. Hawke was still somewhere behind him.
"You could take out those pointy knives of yours any time now, Hawke," Varric shouted. He was relieved when he finally heard the sound of metal sliding free of leather sheath.
And then there was no more time for wit; grim-faced dwarves came at them from all sides. A pretty little ambush. Varric cursed their lousy timing; if Hawke had been a little less drunk or Varric a little less distracted they might have avoided walking straight into it. He loosed a series of smoking arrows, hoping to buy a bit more cover, and then picked off the shadows still lunging after him.
Blood splashed his face. He mopped it away and saw Hawke moving at last, as fast as any Carta assassin, twin blades flashing. The only sign of the human's overindulgence was a slight wobble as he caught his weight after a dodge; then he was back in motion again, felling thugs like saplings under the sweep of a dragon's tail.
Varric grinned and sank a heavy bolt right through one thug's eye. "That's seven for me, Hawke, hope you're keeping up."
Hawke's answering laughter was cut short. Varric heard the unpleasant scrape of metal on bone. The clatter of a heavy body hitting the cobblestones. He swore and waved smoke away; maybe the smoking arrows had been a lousy idea. Bad enough, fighting by dim torchlight.
"Hawke? You all right? Hawke?"
Out of nowhere, a Carta thug appeared, sword swinging for Varric. His breath caught briefly even as his finger jerked in Bianca's trigger; the thug fell with a bolt through his throat and one of Hawke's daggers sticking out of his chest.
Hawke stepped after the falling body, into the light. There was blood running down his face, and more blackening the leg of his trousers.
"Well you could say thanks," Hawke grinned, resheathing his blades.
"Don't know what you mean." Varric uncocked Bianca and returned her to his back. "Looks more like you owe me for saving your butt while you were puking your guts out, hero."
Hawke winced. "Right. Thanks for that. Just don't include that in your next story?"
"Hey, everyone likes seeing their heroes land in the dirt now and then. Reminds them they're human."
Hawke winced again, and groped behind himself until he was seated on a barrel. "Damn. That one bastard really got me." He picked at the soaked fabric of his trousers and hissed. Varric could make out a long gash by the light of a nearby lantern. The wound was bad, but not life-threatening. It looked like Hawke could still walk on the leg, which was a good sign.
"Let's get you back to your place. Anders should be back by now." Varric reached towards Hawke, who shook his head sharply and struck Varric's arm away.
"No," Hawke said, dropping forward until his elbows were on his knees. "No Anders." He took another hissing breath between his teeth. "Maker, it hurts."
"Don't be a crybaby, Hawke," Varric said. "Blondie will have you patched up in no time." He paused, considering his next words. "… Unless you're afraid he'll be pissed once he hears where you were headed."
Hawke pressed his forehead into his thumbs. He laughed, a joyless laugh, and said, "Why'd you let me drink so bloody much?"
"Not your mother, hero."
"Right. Definitely not. Too hairy, and blonde."
"The estate's not so far. Come on. I won't say a word about the Rose."
"I don't care about the damn Rose," Hawke snapped, and then looked sheepish. "I just wanted--" He shook his head. "Never mind. It's… it's childish."
Varric settled on a nearby crate. "What? You can tell Brother Varric. Confession does a body good."
Hawked chuckled at this, a little, but didn't raise his head. "I can just see you in the Chantry."
"I could sing duets with Sebastian."
"There's a scary thought."
"Not as scary as me in one of those Chantry dresses."
"Robes." Hawke sat up, teeth clenched. "Anders--" He stopped again, opened and closed his hands, looked at them. "Anders claims they're easy access."
Varric studied him, wanting to ask, only saying, "And are they?"
Hawke turned his face away. Varric decided it was time to stop holding back.
"Blondie's up to something real bad, isn't he?" When Hawke didn't answer, Varric continued: "Tried to give me some ratty old pillow. Said his mother made it for him."
"Did he?" Hawke said, in a numb-sounding voice that Varric didn't like.
"Yeah. And I know I wouldn't give away something like that just because. So what's he gotten himself into this time? Or should I say what's Justice has gotten him into?"
Hawke's laugh was bitter. "Haven't a clue. Why should he tell me?"
"Right. Because you two haven't been snug as a pair of nugs over the past three years."
"Apparently not."
"Keep that up, Hawke, and you're going to turn out as sunny and sweet as the elf."
"Sorry," Hawke said, and he genuinely sounded it, which didn't comfort Varric at all. Sitting up, Hawke wiped a bloody hand over his cheek, only increasing the mess there. His eyes were faraway as he stared down a dark alleyway.
Varric waited. He had a knack for knowing when to just shut up and listen.
Eventually, Hawke said, "Anders lied to me, Varric. Lied right to my face."
"If this is the first time he lied to you, Hawke, you've had a pretty long honeymoon."
"No, I mean. It's never been--. This was different. I can't explain it." Hawke set his jaw stubbornly. "And then he twisted my arm into helping him at the Chantry…"
Varric shook his head. "Ah, Blondie…"
"And then he had the bloody nerve to tell me that he'd promised this from day one, hadn't he? Like that makes it better, because he promised. Well, good to know he's a man of his word, I suppose." Hawke's grin was more of a grimace.
Varric studied Hawke. "Bitterness doesn't become you, Champion."
"I know," Hawke said. He shook his head. "But I can't help it. I'm just so… angry." He looked away again. "This morning, in the clinic…" Hawke sucked in a deep breath, released it hard. "I thought we were really getting somewhere. There were so many good moments in the past three years, when he was all there."
"I don't know, Hawke. Last few weeks…"
"You don't think I bloody noticed?" Hawke snapped. "But at least we were fighting, together. I thought we'd just get through it. Silly me. How could I forget his 'promise'? This was all inevitable! The last three years were nothing! He'd already told me he would let me down and Justice would win, and I was the fool for not listening." Hawke threw up his arms. "And now he's going to--what? I don't even know! And I'm just supposed to… to stand by and watch and accept it!"
Hawke's entire being clenched, his hands fisted, his body curled over, his knees jerking towards his chest. He made an anguished noise, one that hurt Varric to hear; and then he laughed, miserably.
"Maybe I should've been more serious when I threatened to lock him up to protect him!" The tension drained out of Hawke and left him sagging, despairing. "I just thought I could help. I just wanted to… What good is being Champion if I can't even save him?"
Varric was silent, picking through his massive store of words for the right ones. But eventually he said, "Is that all?"
Hawke lifted his head and looked at Varric. His eyes were bright, furious. "What do you mean, is that all?"
"Never thought I'd see the Champion of Kirkwall go out with such a weak little whimper."
Hawke shook his head. "Why did I tell you of all people this? I must have been drunker than I thought."
"Tell me one thing, hero. You love Blondie?"
Hawke stared into the darkness. Eventually, he nodded.
Varric smiled grimly. "Well, I know he loves you. Maybe even Justice loves you, but who can tell with Fade spirits." He shrugged. "Here's the rub, hero. You knew from day one it'd be a fight for Blondie, maybe to the death--maybe to his death. But now you're ready to walk away. You're ready to give up on him, run away, just because he tells you it's inevitable. Is that what you're telling me?"
Hawke wouldn't meet Varric's eyes.
"Well, I don't buy that." Varric jabbed Hawke in the arm with one thick finger. "I've seen you take on a High Dragon. A varterral. A horde of darkspawn. What's one stubborn mage? The Champion of Kirkwall I know eats 'em for breakfast."
Hawke snorted. "You don't understand…"
"What's not to understand? Seems pretty obvious from where I am. The man you love is on a fast horse to breaking his neck. You either try and pull him off--risk getting pulled off a cliff with him--or you give up and watch him do it." He shrugged his shoulders so that Bianca settled more comfortably on his back. "But if you're just going to watch, then you might as well just go buy yourself something pretty at the Rose and forget Anders ever existed. I don't think anybody would hold it against you, frankly. In fact, you want that, I'll treat." He jingled his full coin purse. "What do you say?"
Hawke glanced over. His gaze was long and searching. Finally he said, "No… I don't think so."
Varric tilted his head. "You sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure." He was quiet, and then the corners of his mouth lifted. "Thank you, Varric. Never took you for a romantic."
"What can I say? The best stories are love stories at heart." Varric sighed. "I'm not promising you a happy ending, Hawke. Blondie may be headed straight to ugly. In fact, I'm pretty sure he is. But you've still got time to have a few good stories in between."
Hawke half laughed. "Well, nevermind. I suppose I'm just the cure for ugly, aren't I, with my dashing good looks?"
Varric clapped him on the shoulder. "There's the Hawke I know. Arrogant, full of himself, and undefeated."
Hawke grinned and started to stand, made a surprised noise and then sat back down, abruptly. "Ah, yes, right, exactly. So, with that in mind…"
Varric raised an eyebrow.
"…Think you could convince Anders to come get me? Ooh. So that's what extreme bloodloss feels like. I'd always wondered, you know."
Varric squeezed his shoulder. "Sit tight, hero. Be back before you know it."
#
The Hawke Estate was only two quick minutes away. But when Varric reached the door, he almost couldn't knock. He knew how this story could go: no Anders, no help, just one hero bleeding out in a thoughtless, pointless death. Most stories didn't have happy endings. Not even, necessarily, the Champion's.
"Now you're just being ridiculous, Varric."
He knocked, held his breath, counted to three. And then the door opened, and it wasn't Sandal or Bodahn or that creepy elf girl. It was Anders, in all his unshaven, weary, robe-wearing glory. "Hawke, I -- Oh, hello, Varric. Is everything all right? Is it Hawke?"
"Thank the Ancestors," Varric muttered, seizing Anders' wrist and dragging him into the dark.
This night, at least, would have a happy ending; and for that, Varric was grateful.