Chapter Text
Varric was an accomplished liar.
He was brought up in Kirkwall. It came with the territory. Varric had pulled cons, some spanning decades, without an ounce of doubt. The Merchant’s Guild could attest to it. Though, on second thought, some of Varric’s crowning achievements were executed away from their gaze. With Hawke, everything was an adventure.
Years later, when The Seeker bared her teeth, Varric did not falter. It had not been easy to placate Cassandra. Lucky for him, Varric was no stranger to embellishment. No lie was too grand.
It had been four months.
Four months with the Inquisition, and Varric could keep his lie no longer. The Inquisitor risked everything at Haven. They lost much. Their fortress. Their men. Their invincibility. Continuing his deceit was in poor taste, even to Varric’s standards.
He’d been at Skyhold for less than a day. Shortly after his arrival, Varric was put to work. Before the events at Haven, Curly had an army of mages and Inquisition soldiers under his command. The grunt work fell upon those who had yet to put in their dues. Now, with their dwindled numbers, Varric could hardly justify seniority.
Blackwall and Varric were charged with clearing the rubble to the right of Skyhold’s main bridge. It was grueling work. Blackwall miscounted for his height on more than one occasion. Lucky for Varric, the apothecary had not yet settled into the castle. It was several minutes before Varric was ready to return to their task.
Once the last plank of rotted wood was cleared, Curly set them free. Blackwall invited Varric to join him and Sera in a game of cards, but Varric chose to forgo the offer. It served none to wait a moment longer; his confession was long overdue.
Settling down next to the castle steps, Varric began his note. He scribbled down the first two lines without thought. In the years following Kirkwall’s uprising, these lines had become commonplace.
“Junior—Relay the following to Edyiss. If possible, let her know the choice is her own. –V.”
Underneath, Varric transformed his angular text into something more fitting of his station as an author. He shifted the page from his right knee to the flat surface of a nearby supply crate.
“Killer,
I’m hurt. If your brother didn’t sit you down (with quill in hand!), would I ever hear from you? I know you are still reading, Junior. That was in no way a compliment.
How are you feeli
How am I? I almost got buried under a mountain. So kind of you to ask.
Overall, things are going to shit. Remember Corypheus? He’s vying for a sequel. If Lavellan hadn’t pulled through, you may have read your last letter. Well, pointedly ignored your last letter. I never know if you actually read these things.”
Varric paused to read his words. His eyes caught on the slim black line running through the center of the note. Junior might mind his thoughtlessness, but Hawke would not care. Varric chuckled darkly to himself and picked up his quill.
“Speaking of Corypheus, there is a favor I have to ask…”
Varric finished the letter, and looked around for one of Leliana’s agents. He searched the courtyard for purple robes.
From a nearby crate, Varric heard a sharp SWALK. Upon further inspection, the case housed a dozen of Leliana’s demonic ravens. Varric approached, and the birds clicked their beaks. Like him, they had yet to find their place in the castle.
The spymaster would not mind if he borrowed a single bird. Would she?
One raven, with particularly ruffled feathers, took a chunk out of Varric’s index finger. Varric cursed in pain and quickly brought the finger to his lips. At least it matched the cut Varric received earlier when Blackwall “accidently” knocked the back of his axe into Varric’s skull. From there, it took several minutes to get the ravens to agree to his plan.
Surprisingly, it was the nippy Raven that took his note. As Varric watched the bird fly off into the mountainside, the other Ravens squawked happily.
Now, Varric had to wait.
--
The response came two days later. It was short and written in Carver Hawke’s crisp hand.
“She’ll be there.”
Hawke was coming to Skyhold, and there was only one thing left for Varric to do. He never had the urge to come clean over a lie before this ordeal. Varric was not looking forward to notifying the Inquisitor. He was rather unsure how to approach her. In the last few days, they had all been adjusting to the change. Varric hoped that his confession did not tip him out of Lavellan’s favor. Perhaps actually seeing Hawke would…smooth things over.
Varric set out to find out.
The Inquisitor was gathered in the main hall with her closest liaisons. Cullen furrowed his eyebrows as Varric interrupted their little gathering. Varric considered his approach. Perhaps it would have been better to approach the Inquisitor without her guard. There was little he could do about it now. Varric continued to saunter forward
“I know someone who can help with that,” Varric said with a faux smirk. “Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory.”
Varric was nothing if not a performer…and a liar. His eyes caught the Inquisitor’s as he mentioned her heroism. This was, of course, entirely her fault. If she had been cowardly, like any normal person, Varric would not be in this predicament. If the Inquisitor was average, Hawke would be safe with her brother. She wouldn’t need to come to Skyhold. She wouldn’t need to see Varric. She wouldn’t be compelled to follow yet another damn request. Another one of his requests.
But… the Inquisitor was exceptional, and in need of Hawke’s guidance. With a sigh, Varric continued the speech he prepared.
The glimmer in Leliana’s eyes as Varric mentioned his “old friend” was enough to give any man pause. Fortunately for him, Varric does not possess the basic survival instincts of most human men. Lavellan’s reception was not gracious.
“I don’t have time for a meet and greet, Varric!” Lavellan huffed.
She brought her palms to her temples and began to draw circles.
“You’ll get a lot out of this. And…It’s probably overdue.” Varric grumbled.
The Inquisitor seemed wary of Varric’s request. Hawke was to arrive, regardless. He would not have her come all this way for nothing. Varric threw up his arms in a depleted last attempt.
“…trust me. It’s complicated,” Varric hummed.
That part was certainly true. Hawke was a complicated woman. If Junior was to be believed, she was complicated far before Varric had known her. Back then, she had bark and bite. Kirkwall’s champion had a barbed tongue. Her glare would keep even the lowest of Lowtown from raising their blade. That was then.
Now, things were different. Now, it was more complicated than any of them could know.
Lavellan’s face softened at Varric’s tone. She, understandably, had a great amount of responsibility hanging on her shoulders. There was little time for distraction. Even so, it looked as though Varric had accomplished his goal. After his speech was finished, Varric turned his back on the newly appointed Inquisitor.
“I know one thing.” Leliana whispered as Varric reached the hall doors. “If Varric is bringing who I think he is, Cassandra is going to kill him.”
At least he’d get to see Hawke first.
--
A week passed with no sign of Hawke. Lavellan had taken Solas, Iron Bull, and Cole to the Storm Coast in search of requisitions. Perhaps it would have been easier to employ the Inquisition’s forces, but at least it got the Inquisitor away from the castle. He had been hoping to see Hawke before explaining this mess.
While en route to take Blackwall up on his offer for a game of cards, Varric caught sight of commotion among the battlements. One of the soldiers was sprinting up the main steps to another recruit on patrol.
“It’s her,” the soldier breathlessly gasped. “Like HER, her. Jim didn’t believe so at first. She wasn’t even carrying a staff! But one of the Nightingale’s women vouched for her. Never seen Jim look so terrified before!”
“Maker!” The other soldier groaned. “If the Commander didn’t have me stationed here…”
Varric did not stick around to hear the soldier’s chatter. If Varric could read a scene, and he could, she was here. He made his way over to the main gates.
From a distance, she looked as she always had. The memory of Hawke, prancing devilishly around Kirkwall, brought a sad smile to Varric’s lips. In her glory days, Hawke’s staff was haphazardly slung across her back. Even in broad daylight. Varric knew well that Hawke was never one to resist pulling in a crowd.
Now, no one seemed to give Hawke any attention. With the exception of the soldier at the main gate, and the two soldiers from earlier watching from above, no one seemed to care about Skyhold’s newest arrival. For one selfish moment, Varric preferred it that way.
He regretted it immediately.
“Edyiss,” Varric barked, pushing past a bustle of working soldiers.
By the time they were on equal ground, Varric was out of breath. Hawke stood in front of him, her long limbs dangling awkwardly. Now that he was closer, Varric could see that Hawke’s white hair was tied tight. She had long bangs now, enough to cover the top half of her eyelashes. The soldier had been correct, there was no longer a staff boldly harnessed to her back.
Even so, this was Hawke. His Hawke.
“Right.” Hawke stated, nodding slightly. “Where is the Inquisitor? Your letter says that I am here to see her.”
And…there goes the moment.
The two of them stood in silence for a moment. Varric suppressed an annoyed huff.
“Oh,” Hawke corrected herself. “and I’m happy to see you Varric.”
A tight pang went off in Varric’s chest. Hawke had said she was happy to see him. How he longed for this to be true. But nothing in Varric’s life was that simple. Always complicated.
“No, you’re not.” Varric sighed. Hawke’s mouth opened to protest, but Varric kept her from talking. “And that’s okay. Did Carver tell you to say that?”
“Yes. I am also to say I missed you.” Hawke deadpanned. Her lips pulled up into a heartbreakingly familiar smile. “Fuck you, dwarf.”
Well, shit.
“Edyiss, stop. Shit.” Varric whispered. He wrung his hands together. This was wrong. Familiar, but wrong. “Carver thinks it’s better when you do that. It might be, for the Kid. But it isn’t. Not for me.”
“It’s what we used to do...” Hawke noted.
Hawke brought her slim fingers and tangled them into her shaggy bangs. She clenched her fist, and tugged her silver hair from her forehead.
“Before.” Hawke said.
When they had first met, Varric noticed the pale blue tattoos spiraled across her face. Her dark eyebrows were always furled in disinterest. He noticed her hair, pulled into an un-functional clump between her shoulder blades. Now, when Varric looked upon her face, could see only one thing.
Hidden beneath Hawke’s bangs sat her latest tattoo. The little the rays licked away from the center in every direction. Branded across her pale forehead, sat a semblance of the golden sun.
The brand of the Tranquil.
Varric felt it then. He’s felt it since Kirkwall, but seeing her now…it came back full force. Tranquil or no, Varric was in love with Hawke. He was in love with a woman who wouldn’t (couldn’t) love him back. She couldn’t ever know. He owed it to her.
“Before.” Varric agreed.
Hawke and Varric turned their backs on the main gates.
Varric was an accomplished liar.
And this secret, he vowed to keep.