Chapter Text
At this hour, the Hanged Man habitually reached a level of quiet that was otherwise unheard of in the popular, yet still somewhat unsavory, establishment. An hour yet before official close, most of the rooms had been let, their inhabitants now peaceably sleeping off the effects of the poor quality ale that bore a strong resemblance to stale horse piss if you were lucky. Even the weathered ceiling beams above indulged in a series of tired creaks and moans as the vermin who inhabited the attic settled themselves down from their own nightly carnival.
Hawke sat at his usual table with Varric, both men chuckling yet neither certain just what it was they found so humorous. They were the last remaining this night, and about an hour and a half ago the tired barmaid on duty had ceased any illusion of subtlety in regards to her desire to see them gone, Champion or no. The looks she gave them as she scraped a fresh layer of straw across the floor and paused to crack her aching back had reached impressive levels of venom. “Arse-licking-shit-stain-nug-humpers,” she could be heard to chant when she reluctantly came over to top off their mugs.
“All right, Hawke,” Varric said, using his thumb to swipe tears of mirth from his eyes. “Level with me.”
“Level with you?”
“Judging by the abysmal state of my tab, I don’t think I’d be wrong to assume I’ve got you plastered enough to earn a little bit of honesty tonight.”
Hawke chuckled and leaned back – a bit unsteadily – in his chair. He crossed arms that were far more muscular than any sane mage had a right to as he glanced through the window slats to the darkness outside. A thin line of pink had begun to pierce the horizon. “I do believe ‘tonight’ has become ‘tomorrow’,” he pointed out, his voice slow and thick, heavy with drink and amusement. “And I’m not quite sure how to take the fact you think you need to get me liquored up to earn honesty from me. Really, I’m injured.”
“Heartbroken, I’m sure,” Varric grimaced. He took a drink, considered his words, then offered a humorless smile. “Did I say honesty? Maybe I meant I want to tell you something you aren’t going to like to hear and I was hoping to get it out without having my ass set on fire. I get those two mixed up.”
“That’s not fair.” Leopold Hawke had once been a hard man. Six, seven years ago, the dwarf’s concerns would have been valid. But he liked to think he had grown in the time since their first meeting – and if the old self showed his hand from time to time, it at the very least had become the rare exception, rather than the rule. “You can tell me – tell me anything.”
“Don’t go all sappy on me.”
“Should I start singing romantic ballads?” Hawke offered, reaching for his mug.
“Maker – remind me not to let you at the hard stuff again.” Varric finished off his drink with one deep pull for bravery, then set it aside and waited a beat, watching his friend carefully. “Hawke. You need to get laid.”
Mid-sip, the mage choked on his ale, then spit it out, an impressive amber spray arching across the fresh straw in a manner that made the barmaid throw her hands in the air and disappear into the kitchens in disgust. Varric waited as Hawke coughed and heaved and otherwise attempted to expel the foul brew from his lungs. When at last the mage turned a furious amber eye on him, Varric merely folded his hands atop the table and smiled.
“Well. That was dramatic.”
“You – I didn’t – why - ?” in that moment Hawke bore a remarkable resemblance to a soaked cat – spitting, shoulders hunched, eyes aflame. If he hadn’t had so much to drink he probably would have had better presence of mind than to go quite so red in the face.
“I did say you weren’t going to like it.”
“You little bastard.”
Varric pretended to examine his nails. “It’s no secret, Hawke. We all know it’s been three years since you’ve gotten any,” he said bluntly. “And you’re a virile man – one who’s under a lot of pressure. You need to take care of yourself, for all our sakes. Make sure your needs are met. Heh, can you imagine the outcry: Champion of Kirkwall Dies from Violent Explosion of Blue Balls.”
“Why Varric,” he said, teeth clenched. “I had no clue you cared so much about the state of my balls.”
The dwarf didn’t miss a beat. “You couldn’t handle me,” he stated. “Look – I’m just saying a trip to the Rose probably wouldn’t kill you. Maker knows you’ve got the coin for it now. No one’s asking you to settle down and get married – I just wanted to point out that a little stress relief might not be remiss.”
“I don’t see you going down there.”
“I’m not the all-powerful Champion. And unlike you, I keep my personal business personal. You don’t know what I do or don’t do.”
“I don’t even know how everyone found out about that night!”
“Well…we aren’t blind, Hawke.” The dwarf couldn’t have stopped a chuckle if he’d tried. Not that he tried.
Hawke grunted, looking away with a scowl as he scraped both hands angrily through his hair. “Did you two plan this?” he demanded at last.
Varric stared at him a moment. “Me and…the Elf?” he asked, earning another disgusted grunt.
“Aveline,” Hawke corrected. “She said almost the same thing to me yesterday. Well. She didn’t go so far as to suggest prostitution as a means to an end, but her heart was in the same damned nosy place.”
Varric’s brows rose. “Well then! You see? Point made. If even Aveline thinks you need to stop this crazy mooning over one unstable elf, then we’re definitely on to something! You can’t go on living like a Chantry sister and making sad puppy eyes at the guy for the rest of your life. It’s past time to move on.”
“I do not make sad puppy eyes at him,” Hawke said firmly, his voice gone cold. When the dwarf continued to remain unimpressed by his obvious anger, he broke his glare and looked away. “It’s…true that things didn’t quite work out the way I was hoping,” he allowed at last, tightly, “But I respect his decision. He – I – we’re friends.”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s true, damn it.”
“You still think he’ll change his mind,” Varric corrected. “Hawke. It was one night.”
“Right. And we got over it. We’re friends. That’s all.”
“And I’m the Divine’s left tit,” Varric snorted. “Look – you and I are friends, too. But if you looked at me the way you look at him there would be a whole other set of concerns you and I would be talking out right now.”
Hawke sat back in his seat again, hard, crossing his arms and clenching his jaw as he tried to get his temper under control. “Keep imagining things all you like,” he said at last. “It doesn’t hurt me. I do feel sorry for you, though.”
“You keep saying that, but all evidence points to the fact I hit a nerve.”
“Tell me how you all found out. If I’m to endure everyone I know sticking their long noses in my business, I at least deserve to know the truth.”
Varric shifted suddenly. “Those details don’t matter,” he said with a cough. “But like I said – even if we hadn’t known, we’d still know.”
“My mother told you, didn’t she?”
“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.” Varric checked his mug, even knowing it was empty. The barmaid had not returned. “I think it’s time we call it a night – er, day,” he corrected, glancing at the ever-brightening windows. “We should both get some sleep, clear our heads. You, ah – you in a state to make it home all right?”
Hawke grunted, pushing up from the table. Fighting his temper only made him feel petulant. He wasn’t sure which was worse – lying to Varric or having the fact the dwarf knew he was lying shoved so plainly in his face.