Chapter Text
At least I know he likes dark-haired humans, Brinna thought wistfully, watching Varric flirt shamelessly with the barmaid Norah, who was grinning and trying not to giggle. Brinna knew for a fact that Norah prided herself on being too tough to make blush, but if she wasn't mistaken, the pretty barmaid's cheeks were pink.
Brinna smoothed a hand over her own dark hair and frowned. Did he prefer blue eyes to brown like hers?
Varric Tethras had that effect on people, especially women. Elf women, dwarven women, humans like her. Especially humans like me, she thought, mentally sighing. She was so stupid, pining after him the way she was.
What was she to him? His best friends' crippled baby sister, nothing more. Self-consciously she rubbed her right thigh, fingers brushing over the divots in the skin where twisted muscles dipped and left gaps. In her mind, she heard the sounds of that horrible day running from Lothering. The snap of Bethany's spine, Carver's scream of grief and pain before he, too, was silenced. Ronan and Leyna's battle cries, her own howl of agony as the ogre caught her by the leg and shook her, just before it turned to solid ice and shattered from her siblings' winter magic.
She'd always been a sickly child, ever since she was born. At first she'd been declared a stillbirth - Leandra was just too old now, they said, and four children was enough anyway. She was born blue, and it took her a minute to cry and breathe. She was a miracle, her mother said. A miracle she survived. A miracle her mind wasn't stunted by the lack of air. A miracle she'd made it through her first winter.
Asthma haunted her childhood, and running from Lothering had turned her lips blue. She just wasn't fast enough to get away in time when the monster caught her, and now her leg was ruined and her hips uneven for life.
It could be much, much worse. She could be paralyzed or dead. Instead, she walked with a painful limp and sometimes a brace. She wasn't wearing her brace right now, since she could usually manage walking from Gamlen's place to the Hanged Man. Or rather, she could manage limping that far. She was really regretting not bringing her brace now, though, especially with all the stairs she'd had to climb.
"Brin! Didn't see you there. What are you doing all the way up here?" Varric's smoky voice startled her out of her reverie, and she smiled reflexively.
I wanted to see you.
"I'm not about to let some stairs get in the way," she grinned. "Not when there's a sneak peek at your next book on the line."
"Ah, a fan! I knew it." He chuckled. "What're you doing, hiding in the corner? Come sit with me."
Her stupid heartbeat jumped and she tried to breathe evenly. "It would be nice to sit down," she agreed, and took a few halting steps to the table where he sat.
She tried to keep the pain off her face, but he must've seen it anyway. As she sat down, he wordlessly pushed a flagon of elfroot potion toward her. She grimaced and drank it in three swallows, ignoring the clinging sweetness of the taste.
"Thanks," she muttered, embarrassed. "Probably gonna have to spend tomorrow in bed again, after today."
His brow furrowed, and he seemed to want to say something, but he'd probably seen how embarrassed she got and didn't want to make it worse.
"In that case," he finally said, "mind if I ask you a couple questions? If I'm writing about Hawke, I should know all the Hawkes, don't you think?"
"Mm-hm." She nodded. "Go ahead. But I swear if one more person asks me if I can still have sex-"
"Whoa, hey! Who said anything about being so creepy and invasive?" He held up a hand and wouldn't meet her eyes.
Was he…blushing? No. No, he couldn't be…did dwarves even blush at all? She had no idea. It must be a trick of the light.
She smiled again, apologetic. "Sorry. It's just…I've been asked before, multiple times, and it gets old fast. There's a certain kind of man who sees me as an easy target who can't run or fight." She looked away and rubbed her arm. Silence fell between them. Awkward silence? Not quite, but she couldn't place a name to its quality. She looked up to meet his eyes.
He was furious, his jaw clenched and eyes hard. She'd only ever seen him this angry once, when some Merchant Guild noble had called his mother a drunk.
She swallowed nervously, her stomach fluttering.
"Varric?" She said softly. "What did you want to ask…?"
He huffed out a sigh and shook his head. "Sorry, Brin. I just can't stand that kind of behavior." His brows drew together and he pursed his lips. "Listen, Brin, before I go on…anything like that happens again, you come find me, ok? Or even just use my name to get out of trouble, if you have to."
Her heart nearly stopped. Was he just being protective of a friend's sister that he saw as a little girl? Or was it something else?
"I…" she swallowed hard and nodded. "Ok. Yeah, I will."
"Good girl," he said with that crooked grin that made her stomach turn somersaults. Her cheeks flushed red. Good girl? Why did he have to say it like that? Why did she imagine him saying that to her in…other contexts?
Her skin felt too hot, and it was hard to breathe.
"You ok, sweetheart?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Fine. I'm fine. Just drank that potion too fast."
He blinked slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. She wanted to sink through the floor and die.
"Alright," he shrugged. "So tell me - what's an ogre like up close?"
"Honestly? They stink like rotting meat." She shuddered, remembering the massive hand clutching her leg and lifting her upside down. "They've got this rubbery skin like…like a bronto almost? And they're cold." Shivers rose on her skin; she rubbed her arms, chilled under the thin cotton sleeves of her peasant dress with its white shift and brown over-apron. "Blighted land, blighted creatures…they're always cold, or else festering hot, but usually cold. It's like poison's leached into the air and soil and even flesh. Like nothing will ever be whole again."
Like me.
She didn't say it, but he could see it in her eyes. He must have, because he took her hand and squeezed it. His palm was rough and warm, his fingers thick and calloused from holding Bianca.
"Brinna Hawke," he said, his voice low as he leaned toward her, "you're a whole person. Got that? You're not broken. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."
Sudden tears sprang to her eyes, and she leaned back, turning her face away. He was just humoring her because he felt sorry for her. There was no way he actually wanted her. Not her, such a broken, pathetic creature, a subject of pity and scorn, not desire.
"That's sweet, Varric," she murmured, gently pulling her hand free. "Thank you. I should get home, though. Gamlen is too lazy to cook and the others are busy, so nobody will do it if I don't." She stood up with a wince, rubbing her leg, and started toward the stairs.
"Brin…" his voice was soft, almost pleading. "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?"
"No. Nothing." She forced a smile and turned back to him. "I'm just tired, and I have to pace myself." It wasn't a lie, she really did have to budget the little energy she had with care. "Come visit me at the house sometime. Sherry misses your treats when you're gone."
Idiot! Stop this before it's too late and you embarrass yourself.
"I'll come see you this week," he said, and it sounded like a promise. "But why don't I walk you home, sweetheart? It'll be easier if you got someone to lean on."
Say no, her sensible self insisted. Let him off the hook. He's just being nice.
"I…I'd like that," she said softly. "There's no railing on the stairs down, which makes it…a bit precarious for me."
He stood up and offered her his arm. He wasn't that much shorter than her, since her growth had been so stunted; she was maybe a head taller than him at most.
It was nice to feel tall. Leyna was almost a foot taller than her at 5'8, while Ronan was well over six feet.
She took his arm, leaning her weight on him to take the pressure off her leg.
He didn't offer to carry her, thankfully. She always felt so helpless when people did that, and not in a good way- helpless like a baby bird fallen out of the nest, instead of a grown woman with agency who willingly ceded control to another.
But Varric never made her feel like a helpless baby bird. He listened when she talked, laughed with her, got angry on her behalf. He made her feel more like a person.
As he helped her navigate the stairs, her stomach sank like she'd swallowed a peach pit.
She was so stupid.
Why couldn't she stop herself from falling in love?