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The Hanged Man was always lively on Friday nights. The drunks of Lowtown swarmed it like flies with fresh honey. All the tables would be stocked up to the brim. Drinks were bound to be downed left and right; and only the truly fortunate – or unfortunate, based on your own opinion – witnessed the best games of Wicked Grace there were.
Hawke might’ve influenced those numbers just a little bit.
Not only was Hawke the esteemed Champion – she played like one too. She always threw all her shares straight in, and tonight wasn’t any different. It was reminiscent of how she often fought in battle; bold, brave and perhaps too cocky. She took a firm swig from her drink and Varric grinned as she slapped a couple hearty sovereigns on the table.
“You sure you want to bet that much this early in the game, Freckles?” He asked, fingering the cards and shuffling them rather smugly. “I’d be careful if I was you, especially after your last loss.”
Her righteous grin only widened. “I’m feeling lucky.”
Varric smiled and only shrugged, “If you say so.”
Everyone else threw their own bets in and the game began, Varric being the first to draw. The game pressed on. Isabela naturally was ever the cheat, snatching and tossing matched cards as if they were muscle memory. It certainly gave Varric and Hawke a run for their money – quite literally.
“I’m starting to suspect you just have matching suits in your sleeves, Isabela.” said Hawke, who took another sharp swig of her drink.
Isabela smirked, then winked. “I do have them, just not up my sleeves.”
Hawke laughed and downed yet another deep gulp. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Beside her, Anders quirked a brow and placed a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to go easy on the drinks, Hawke. They aren’t going anywhere.”
Hawke, slightly tipsy, furrowed her brows. She slapped a matching suit of cards that earned her a set of Tevene curse words from Fenris. “I know that. What? Worried about me?” She light heartedly teased, tilting her head and grinning as she collected her wins.
“Something like that.” Anders said and pulled out his choice of cards, one that had Hawke gawking. Two Knights, one of Mercy and Compassion stared her straight in the face, only mocking her loss.
Varric leaned back in his chair and a laugh barked from his amused grin. “Blondie’s got some skill. You’ve been practicing?”
Anders shrugged, smugly looking over at his earnings. “I suppose you could say that.” He then looked over at Hawke and smiled, yet Hawke couldn’t find his harmless smile anything other than challenging and demeaning.
Hawke might have drank some more in retaliation. The mugs were being gulped down faster than any Fereldan drunk could manage. What was Hawke if not competitive? Her hard work was all for naught, as Anders seemed to take the winning card in his last draw. A victory that Hawke and the others found less than celebratory.
“I’m surprised,” Isabela purred. “Looks like I’m not the only one with tricks up my sleeve.”
Anders proudly chuckled. “I suppose I was just lucky.”
“Traitor,” hiccuped Hawke from beside him and Anders chuckled again. “–blighted traitor.”
Varric collected all of the cards, “Looks like you lose again, Freckles.”
“Nu–uh. One more...one more game.” She managed out, and Varric shook his head.
“No can do. Not when you’re so loaded you can’t even speak properly. We’ll have to continue this some other time.” He said, and ignored Hawke’s pout. Varric then looked at Anders, his head nod gestured to their drunken leader. Anders got the hint and collected his new rewards before he brought his arm underneath Hawke.
“C’mon. Up we go.” Anders said, lifting Hawke’s weight with the light force of his shoulder. She stumbled upward and a soft hiccup bubbled out of her, followed by a drunken groan. Both of her arms flung to his neck and looped around it, her head suddenly bumped into his chest. Anders, though surprised, sighed. “That works too, I suppose.”
Goodbyes were exchanged and Hawke was dead set on hugging each and every one of them before she had to leave. Like a leech, she latched back onto Anders as he escorted her out of the hanged man. Hawke was a strong woman and it was a wonder that Anders didn’t immediately topple down with how hard she held onto him.
He barely made it past Lowtown itself before Hawke suddenly spoke. “Andersssss…” Amother hiccup bubbled out of her. “Let’s dance.”
The face Hawke had when he looked down at her caused a slight thump in his chest. Her eyes were hazed thanks to the alcohol and she had the dopiest grin on her face, and the moonlight caressed her face in the most adoring way. It was hard to refrain from admiring her like this. Her hands around his neck pulled him down closer than he thought possible, their noses near damn touching. If he wanted to focus on something else, it would be impossible.
Finally, he whispered. “What’s a dance without music?”
“We can make up our own.” She insisted and he smirked.
“And what’s your plan if either of us choses a different melody? If we’re off beat?”
“Something tells me we’ll have the same idea.” She grinned and took one hand away from his neck. He interlocked their fingers, and his spare arm curled around her waist.
They both smiled at each other, a shared smile, as they back into each other’s footsteps and twirled through the Lowtown breeze. The melody wasn’t something they could hear. It was more felt. It moved them, hips swaying and turning on heels. His eyes fell closed and in the moment of content darkness, his heart fell to a stop as Hawke’s head slowly fell into his chest.
He couldn’t imagine how long they’d been there, swaddled in their silent melody and wrapped in each other and if he were honest, he couldn’t care less. He’d rather time not exist at all, if it meant he and Hawke would be dancing like this forever.