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Varric watched from the battlements every day, heart heavy as the cold wind of the Frostback Mountains whipped against his cheeks. She hadn't written him in days, and even the Lady Nightingale was concerned with the lack of reports from the front lines.
The last message he received was from Dorian, the parchment tucked in his tunic right next to his heart. The letter had been examined so thoroughly that it was now soft as velvet, and despite having every line memorized he pulled it out once more just to ensure he had not missed something important.
Sparrow has been badly injured in the fight against the Ferelden Frostback. Dragon is dead. Solas has done what he can but she needs rest. Will return to Skyhold soon.
Such a short note from the Tevinter mage only made worry grip Varric's heart tighter. If it was severe enough to cause Sparkler to lose his natural elegance, then he feared what state his little Sparrow was truly in.
Sparrow, the nickname had popped out during one of their many ventures into wilds of Thedas, and it had stuck with her. It was now even her code name within the Inquisition, though Varric frowned every time he heard others call her what was for him alone.
Carefully, he folded the crumpled parchment closed before storing it back in the safety of his low v-neck tunic. His hand brushed against the cold metal pendant that hung around his neck, a gift from Lea that she had forged herself in the fires of Skyhold not long after they first arrived. His fingers wrapped around the star shaped trinket instinctively, and he sucked in a ragged breath as he allowed himself one lone tear that fell to the muted stone below.
“You better come back to me,” he swore with eyes tightly shut against the flood of his breaking heart. Every day he held this post, scanning the east for any sign of the woman he held most dear.
As the sun faded behind him and stars twinkled above, he finally turned for the loneliness of the Rest. The scouts that patrolled the battlements avoided the hollowed eyed dwarf, a mix of pity and understanding on their faces as they stepped aside solemnly for his passing.
Surprisingly, Cassandra had been the first to offer him some small comfort when the news broke. In her abrasive way she tried to draw out his sarcastic side, but her attempts only met with him staring blankly ahead as if she wasn't there.
Bull had been next. The Qunari could not hide his good intentions beneath his battle scars, and at least the dozens of pints they drained had allowed Varric a much needed few hours of sleep.
Even Cullen attempted to help him, though his ‘pep talk’ was mostly awkward neck rubs and generalized clichés.
In truth, there was only one thing that could right the well of pain dwelling within him. One woman who could tease that good-natured grin from his lips and restore the sarcastic humour from his soul.
But alas, she was clinging to life in some makeshift camp in the Hinterlands, and he was left with only his grief to hold at night.
A heavy sigh escaped him as he laid his hand upon the door of the Herald's Rest, silently praying to the Maker that the drink was strong enough to drown him tonight.
*~*~*
Something pulled at Varric’s ale addled mind. His eyes cracked open to take in the rough wooden surface of the corner table he had taken to sleeping in since Lea had been injured. It was too painful to stay in her room without her, though his back ached fiercely from the awkward position he had passed out in.
The pull came again, stronger this time. When his vision finally focused, he found this source of his irritation in the form of Sera poking him with a stick.
“Oi! Ya big smelly bum!” she cried with annoyance as she realized he had finally woken up.
“Buttercup, this is not the time,” he groaned as his arms covered his head to drown out the pounding caused by too many lights and sounds.
“Fine! Just thought ya’d wanna know what the birdie dropped off. Hate birds. Smelly rats with wings. But I like this bird. Inquisitor and all. Good people.”
Birdie...Inquisitor…
“Shit!” He bolted up as he finally made sense of Sera’s jumble words. “Where is she?”
“I dunno. Bunch of people showed up. Was supposed to be all hush hushy no talk talkie. Took her in with the Big People. Ya know, the important types. Think us Little People aren't important. But yer important to her. She asked for ya. I think ya should go.” She stood there staring expectantly at him, a hint of ‘I will kick ya if ya don't move’ clearly flashing in her eyes.
“Thanks,” was all he managed to grumble before he stumbled off towards the main keep. Despite his annoyance that only Sera had the decency to come wake him, now Lea was all that mattered.
*~*~*
“Varric, I- I didn't think you would be awake,” stammered a guilty looking Cassandra as her cheeks heated beneath his furious gaze. She was standing guards at the door to the Inquisitor's quarters, and it was taking his last shred of restraint not to push past her and up those stairs.
“I need to see her,” he stated flatly as he crossed his arms over his chest, forearm muscles bulging as he openly challenged the Seeker.
“She is- unwell. I don't think it's a good idea.” Cassandra was making excuses, her eyes shifting as she avoided his gaze. An ominous feeling settled over Varric, but he was getting into that room even if he had to fight a dragon himself.
“Cassandra, move.”
The uncharacteristic order from him was all it took to have her stepping aside with wide eyes of shock at his behavior. He brushed past the Seeker and took the steps two at a time to reach the upper loft of the Inquisitor’s quarters.
He was glad to find her alone. Soft firelight was the only thing that illuminated her sleeping form as he silently crept towards her. His hands ached to reach out and brush the stray hairs from her bandaged cheek, but he restrained himself and instead kneeled down next to her so he could examine the damage.
Half of her face was hidden beneath muslin and the scent of elfroot. Her left hand, her shield hand, peeked out from under the sheets, carefully bandaged though he could still see the bruised tips of her fingers and the soft glow of the Mark shining through. She looked so small and fragile laying perfectly still, his warrior broken and battered while he could do nothing to help.
“I love you,” he whispered as the words tumbled forth. Even in this state, she was more beautiful to him than any hidden treasure in the Deep Roads. And he would have traded all the gold in Thedas to see her whole again.
“Varric…” Her voice broke as she called to him, throat cracked from days of disuse as she was roused from her sleep. She could hardly believe it was really him kneeling before her with head bowed and eyes brimming with unshed tears. The healing potions had dulled her senses, and she reached out with her one good hand to cup his stubble lined cheek. She had to be sure he was real this time.
“Hey Sparrow.” Despite everything, he grinned when he said her name. Nothing was more precious than hearing her speak once more.
“I love you too,” she replied with her own gentle smile. It was difficult to speak, and painful. Just moving caused her discomfort, but she found it easy to ignore now that he was here.
“You did it pretty bad this time, huh?” he chuckled jokingly as he reached up to envelop her hand with his own, rough thumb skimming along her soft skin in comforting circles.
“Kind of like that time Hawke fought the Arishok?” she teased as she relaxed into the joy of having him with her once more. It was so easy to fall into their old routines, and she saw the twinkle in his honey coloured eyes that told her he had a story to spin for her. Maker, she would never grow tired of his wild tales.
“Did I tell you about the time Hawke and I fought off an entire gang of bandits by ourselves? Well, Broody was there but he had been knocked out cold when their leader-”
And just like that, he retold her countless familiar yarns until she drifted off to sleep once more, a contented smile on her lips at being reunited with him.