Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was back.

Hawke knew that much, but everything else was harder to pin down. He’d thought… no, he’d expected that Alysia would come find him on the battlements once she’d debriefed with her merry band of map-oglers. A little egotistical of him, perhaps, but they’d had a routine. A routine he found comfortable and soothing; a routine he’d missed while she was away.

It hadn’t been completely boring during those three days, not with Iron Bull and Sera left behind as well. They’d gotten into trouble once or twice, caused a little mayhem and gotten spectacularly drunk, but there was still something missing. He wasn’t lonely, exactly, and if he’d grinned and climbed to their spot as soon as he knew she'd returned, it wasn’t because he’d missed her. Not a bit. He’d missed the walking and the bickering, that was all.

So he’d waited… and waited… and waited. The sun was dipping below all the fucking mountains that he couldn’t tell apart and his grin had turned to a dark scowl before he admitted the truth to himself. She wasn’t coming and he’d been a fool to wait so long, to think talking with him would be the first thing on her mind. The ‘why’ of her absence wasn’t really that important. Maybe she hadn’t missed this… whatever it was they had as much as him. Maybe some Orlesian fop had finally managed to impress her, and she wouldn’t come out of respect to the dandy. Maybe she’d just finally realized what everyone else knew; he wasn’t worth her time. These days he was more a curiosity than anything, and it didn’t take most people long to get what they wanted from him. A few words about the Arishok, Blood Mages, Meredith and Orsino and they were off, giggling and whispering. Alysia had, no doubt, slaked her curiosity and moved on to people who mattered.

“Fuck.”

“That what you do up here all day? Don’t get me wrong, snarling and cursing at the sky isn’t the worst hobby you could have, but-“

“Go away Varric.” The bitterness in his voice wouldn’t be enough to warn away the dwarf, he knew that. Making a concentrated effort to lighten his own mood, he watched the self-professed storyteller saunter towards him, then lean casually against the stone next to him. “Really, Varric, you should go. I have more cursing to do, and then the blaspheming, and then of course the bitter weeping over my staff. Busy apostate night, and having you here only makes it seem pathetic.”

“Perish the thought. I’ll just stand here quietly and take note of how manly you make weeping seem.” Jarod expected him to continue, or launch into a story about what had happened at the Winter Palace, but instead there was only silence. Glancing over, he caught the troubled, pensive look on his friend’s face, and it made him worry – Varric was almost never visibly upset. “Look, even if you and Dimples don’t talk about how you walk up here all the time, I know you do. If you’re up here waiting for her-“

“Wait, Dimples? That’s what you call the Lady Inquisitor?”

“Not the point, Hawke. If you’re up here for her, you’ll have a long wait. Things at the Winter Palace were… well let’s just say it’ll be a great story, but living it was worse than drinking bronto piss. The nobles there were almost as bad as members of the Merchant’s Guild. Toss in a few mentions of Paragons and a yearning for tunnels full of nug-dung and I’d feel right at home.”

“That bad?”

“Oh yeah. Ruffles and Nightingale were in their element, of course – they enjoyed all the scheming and intrigue. They like the Game so much I’m surprised they don’t drag Dimples into it more often. Curly got mauled by a lusty crowd of Orlesian admirers, which was my favorite part. Sparkler dazzled and thrilled as the mysterious and dangerous Tevinter mage, the Seeker glowered, and Bianca and I hid in the vestibule whenever we weren’t killing things.”

“And Al- the Inquisitor?”

“She… did her best.”

Maker’s tears, what did that mean? He couldn’t picture Alysia doing anything but charming the masks off the Orlesian courtiers. Not only was she smart and reasonably funny, she also had the weight of the Inquisition behind her. She was the bloody Herald of Andraste, and that whole country made piety both real and pretend an art form. How on earth could Alysia not have impressed them? “What happened, exactly?”

“I honestly don’t even know where to start.” The dwarf would have sounded amused, but there was just a hint of resigned sorrow in his voice. “Even if she’s a Trevelyan, she’s still a mage; they didn’t like that. I think the only way she could have made a worse first impression would be if she were a Qunari. Once she got inside, she went all wide-eyed and awed by the display.”

“It was her first time seeing anything like that.”

“Yeah.” Varric sighed, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “Ruffles forgets that the Inquisitor wasn’t really raised a noble. The Circle doesn’t throw a lot of parties, from what I understand. Orgies and demon summoning are the standard forms of entertainment. Anyway, she was so distracted that she tripped over her own feet. Tumbled down the stairs and almost took Gaspard with her; he moved quick enough to get out of the way. The herald announcing all the important people didn’t. So there she was in a heap on the floor with everyone staring, all tangled up with him and doing her best not to look miserable. It only got worse from there.”

“Andraste’s holy knickers, how could it get worse?”

Though he could hardly believe it, the night had indeed gotten worse, and Varric detailed everything for him. From getting caught sneaking around in the servant’s quarters to arriving back at the ball after all three summoning bells had rung; from spilling wine on Lady Mantillon to tracking blood all over the carpet after foiling several assassins from Tevinter. On and on went the list of little missteps and small embarrassments, and Jarod was left nearly speechless. That still wasn’t the worst of it all, however.

When she’d tried to warn Empress Celene and the court that Grand Duchess Florianne was the mastermind of the assassination attempts, they hadn’t believed her. In fact, she’d made such a poor impression on them before that point that they’d laughed at her. Varric said it had started as snickering from a few people, and then it spread until the whole court was having fun at her expense.

That had made it easy for Florianne to strike.

“She blames herself, and I think Josephine does too. Leliana was more pragmatic; she’d already suggested that they should let the assassination succeed.” How the spy master could think Alysia would do that, Jarod had no idea. The Inquisitor hated senseless death, and he knew she would have fought tooth and nail to keep the Empress alive if she’d had the chance. He also didn’t miss the fact that Varric was no longer using nicknames for the two advisors; he clearly disapproved. “Curly got her out of there pretty quick after we took Florianne down. We stayed just long enough to endorse Gaspard, and then he hurried her out of there like he had a dragon on his heels. Josephine and Leliana wanted to stay for the speeches, the empty mourning and the celebration of a new Emperor. They do love the Grand Game.”

“Not much of a fucking game if you ask me. Games have winners.” Holy Maker, but Alysia must be miserable. No wonder she hadn’t come to the wall to take a stroll – she’d be holed away somewhere, beating herself up. Jarod doubted either Leliana or Josephine would try to comfort her, and Cullen was all elbows at that sort of thing. Most of her friends were that way, actually, except for… “Varric, why are you here talking to me? She could use a friend right now, poor girl.” Damn them all, she was so young and so unprepared for the viciousness that came from attracting noble attention. At least he’d had a little practice with the vipers in charge of Kirkwall before he’d been made the Blighted Champion; she’d been too busy closing rifts, battling demons and saving the world to attend many social functions. An oversight her advisors would surely move to correct.

“She could. But I’m not the friend she needs right now, Hawke. If I find her, we’ll talk about nothing, I’ll tell a story, and then she’ll lie through her teeth and tell me she’s fine; it’s what we did all the way home.” Another sight left the dwarf, and he used one hand to rub his chin while the other reached behind him to give Bianca a brief caress. “I can’t help her right now because she doesn’t want me to. She might feel a little differently about the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Varric, if she doesn’t want to talk to you, she definitely won’t want to see me. You could get a dead man to wake up and tell his story.”

“Of course! I couldn’t call myself a master of storytelling otherwise. But I don’t think she wants to tell a story right now.”

“Either way, she clearly doesn’t want me.” Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Jarod kicked the wall once, then again before leaning forward and bracing himself on it. He hated feeling helpless or useless, and just then he felt both. “She knew I’d be here, and she didn’t come. If she wanted to see me-“

“There’s no way she didn’t take a beating in that War Room, Hawke. My guess is she’s off licking her wounds somewhere more private.” Varric paused, watching his face closely. “Look, I think I can get her up here. If I do, will you just talk to her?”

Would he talk to her? He didn’t think it would do any good, since he was shit at making people feel better. The only person he’d been able to ‘comfort’ was Fenris; all the elf needed was a bottle of wine to smash and someone to rant at. Everyone else was so complicated and he always made an ass of himself. Really, he’d be doing her a favor if he told Varric ‘no’ and just went back to the empty, crumbling room he was nesting in.

“If you can find her and she’ll come… I’ll talk to her.”

Grinning, the dwarf pulled out a piece of vellum, a quill and an inkpot (Maker, where had he been keeping it all?) and handed them over with a flourish. “Ask her to come, Hawke. A meeting with you under the stars and the moon… How could she resist?”

“I don’t think-“

“Write her, Hawke. I think it’ll get her here, and Bianca thinks it’s sweet.”

He knew Varric well – the dwarf was quite possibly his best friend. That knowing was what got him to grab hold of the vellum and quill, swearing under his breath the whole time. If he didn’t do this, Varric would never leave him alone and Alysia definitely wouldn’t come to see him. So, using the last rays of the dying sun to see, Jarod wrote the blasted note.