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If anything, Hawke was glad Varric had dragged her out to this icy haven, if only so she had the opportunity to see her best friend again.
At least, that was what she insisted.
There certainly wasn’t any meaning in the funny feeling in her stomach whenever she looked at Varric, no, and it wasn’t as though he happened to look better with age and a degree of authority. And Hawke certainly wasn’t going to say anything about how she was glad he still kept the open shirt look going – okay, that she’d admit; Isabela had been right about the chest hair, and everyone knew it. Hawke didn’t know, either, why she felt the need to look away whenever he met her eyes with an affectionate smile. It was probably the drink. Yes, that was it. She wasn’t used to drink of this quality – or any quality, really, after the piss they served at The Hanged Man.
Hawke missed The Hanged Man badly.
She missed her misfit friends. She missed the days before being Champion of Kirkwall – messing around in Hightown sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong and solving problems (or making things worse, depending on who you asked). Sighing, Hawke rested her head on her hands as she looked out at the mountains. She supposed this was Varric’s home now. There wasn’t really a place for her here, she knew. Awful, really, considering her home had been with Varric for the last several years – when she’d lost her family, he’d been there for her, flirting, buying her terrible drinks, giving her good advice, keeping an eye on her friends. Trying to solve problems without her number one problem solver (and eye candy) was hard.
“Hawke, I was wondering where you’d run off to,” the dwarf himself, of all people, found his way outside to the ramparts where Hawke had settled herself. Hawke turned to beam at Varric, but found it difficult to meet his eyes. “Something wrong?”
“Oh, you know me,” Hawke replied, her voice, as ever, made melodious in humourous tones. “Not used to being around so much authority without somebody threatening to arrest me.” She chuckled, but the smile did not meet her eyes – and if there was anybody who’d pick that up, it was Varric.
“Hawke…”
“I’m fine, Varric, really. Don’t they miss you back in there? Far be it from me to separate the Inquisition from their reliable dwarven operative, now.” Leaning on the wall, Hawke stared out across the sky, realizing that she was being childish, but choosing not to care. Marian Hawke had never been known for her responsibility. She couldn’t help herself, at any rate. She was tired – exhaustion lined her face and thinned her gangly frame. As did jealousy – the Inquisition had the camaraderie she so desperately wanted. But Hawke stood alone.
“Hawke, I’m sorry.” Well, that got a reaction. Startled, Hawke turned around to face Varric, eyes widening. No, he had nothing to apologize for. He’d already explained the situation, and she’d agreed to come to Skyhold willingly. She was certain she had nothing to offer the Inquisition – nothing they couldn’t already handle themselves – but she was happy to have the opportunity to see Varric again, at the very least.
Even if simply looking at him made – she was loathe to admit – her heart start pounding as though she were a girl with her first crush. Although, Varric probably was her first crush, now that she thought about it. There had been boys before she’d gone to Kirkwall, but Varric had been the first one she’d really seen as anything desirable. Of course, he also happened to be her best friend, so she’d never acted.
Now, though? With what most believed to be the end of the world approaching, chances of survival at an all-time low, and Hawke essentially a fugitive while Varric was a respected agent of the Inquisition?
“Oh, fuck it,” Hawke muttered, before swerving around and pressing her lips to Varric’s. It wasn’t a romantic first kiss with him, by any means. Her lips were cold, closed, pressing against Varric’s with desperation, not tenderness. She closed her eyes – he didn’t, looking instead somewhat shocked. “Shit.” Realizing what she’d done, Hawke sunk to her knees (it took a while, her legs were particularly long, a fact Varric had jokingly complained about on occasion). “Now all I need is for it to start raining, that will really set the mood,” she joked, as a flash of lightning illuminated the area, before rain began to pour. “I didn’t even know I was a weather mage.”
“Shit, Hawke,” Varric started, clearing his throat. “No wonder there was no romance in the Tale of the Champion…especially if that’s how badly you kiss.” There was nothing Hawke could do but laugh at this point. This had turned out to be an utterly disastrous reunion – Varric had been scolded by Cassandra (before the Seeker had asked Hawke to sign a copy of the Tale of the Champion, all the while scowling at her), Cullen had expressed concerns over Hawke’s presence (a fine reunion that was), and now this. Perhaps it was apt that the Champion of Kirkwall bring disaster with her, considering all the rumours and gossip about her role in the fall of Kirkwall and the Mage-Templar war.
“Varric, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.” Sincerity. If there was anyone Hawke could confide in, it was Varric. Probably. Unless that awful kiss had ruined things. Hawke shivered. She hoped it hadn’t – the Inquisition needed him, of course, but she needed him more. Sometimes, it felt like he was the only person she could rely on. Certainly couldn’t rely on herself half the time. “I should go.”
As her mouth formed more apologies, the words were silenced by the feeling of Varric’s mouth on hers. This time, it was Hawke who looked shocked, but she quickly melted in to the kiss. It was certainly more enjoyable than the last one. Despite the rain sending shivers up her spine, the kiss was warming, welcoming. It felt right, somehow, as though that was always how it was meant to be. Lips parted as arms wrapped tightly around each other – Hawke’s having more reach than Varric’s, naturally. Small gasps and sighs of contentment were elicited from both parties; they pulled apart flushed, ecstatic.
“Does that mean…” Hawke breathed, “That your tell-all autobiography’s going to have some fine scandalous drama, Varric? Kissing a human, oh my.” She laughed, this time her laugh meeting her eyes.
“Hawke, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Bet you 5 sovereigns it’s not as long as I have,” Hawke spluttered, shaking with equal parts cold and laughter. “Isabela was right, that chest hair really is irresistible. That, and your charm. You’re the most handsome and clever dwarf I’ve ever known,” she babbled. She had no idea what to do from here (which wasn’t exactly a strange scenario for Hawke), but she hoped above hope that this time, things didn’t go tits-up.
“Having met the same dwarves you have, I’m not sure that’s high praise.” Varric chuckled, as he took Hawke’s hand in his own. “Come on, I can’t have you freezing to death on me. Kissing in the rain is a fantastic cliché in novels, but kinda impractical when you actually do it.”
“Come now, Varric, you can’t tell me you regret it,” Hawke joked, pouting comically.
“No regrets. Except that awful first kiss.”