#let the man kiss his dwarf bf

[punkdeaf]

hawke x varric is so fucking underrated

[trvelyans-archive]

my part of an art exchange with @pegaeae !!! logan asked me to write the weDDING for his hawke and her bf varric tethras and How Was I To Say No. thank you for being patient even though i took forever to finish and thank you for being okay with me writing way more than i think either of us thought i would !!! there’s a wedding but there’s also some angst, some fluff, some in between stuff... you get the idea ;) <3

without further ado... *drumroll*...

Varric Tethras did not consider himself to be a lucky man.

In fact, he was sure he was unlucky, if anything, even though he would never admit that out loud. He barely managed to leave Kirkwall with his limbs intact, and he only did because Hawke was as unlucky as he was and they had gone through all of that shit with the Qunari and the templars and everything in between together. If she hadn’t been there, saving his ass time and time again, keeping his head on straight, he’d have been killed by one of the many people who had grudges against him much sooner.

Hawke keeping him alive, he thought, was probably why he loved her.

Well, that wasn’t the only reason – there were plenty of reasons to love Hawke and plenty of reasons why Varric did. She had a wicked smile that could convince anyone to do anything, eyes that were bluer than the sky over Kirkwall on the rare day it wasn’t raining, and even he had to admit that he was, when it came down to it, a shallow man. What could he say? The woman had nice hips. 

And she cared about him and listened to him and made him feel safe. She joked around with him and didn’t get offended when he joked back. She had the loudest laugh. And he loved her.

When Varric fell through the Fade rift at Adamant and landed hard on the stone, the first thought he had was of Hawke. He didn’t think about the blood staining his fingertips or the shreds in his coat. He didn’t think about the demon that was, quite literally, the stuff of nightmares. He didn’t think even think about the Divine or the Fade or the Wardens. Instead, he thought about Hawke - where she was and if she was okay. His vision was still blurry and his limbs were still throbbing as he pushed himself up from the ground and looked around madly for her.

“Where’s Hawke?” he mumbled as he braced his knees against the ground and pushed himself up higher, searched for her even harder. No one seemed to have heard his pleas. “Where’s Hawke?” he repeated to the person nearest to him.

It was Cassandra. She said nothing – instead she stared back at him, features softening into something he couldn’t read. He was about to say something else when there was a thunderous noise behind him. He whirled around to find the Inquisitor trying to close the rift that they had all fallen from – on the ground at the Inquisitor’s feet was Hawke, blood smeared all over her clothes and forehead and a pained expression on her face.

Varric, on wobbly legs, ran over. He didn’t listen as the Inquisitor began to talk and he didn’t listen as concerned and worried voices rose from the group of Wardens. Instead, he focused all his energy on Hawke, and she hadn’t even stood up when he threw himself onto her, sending them both crashing back to the ground once more in an ungodly heap.

She felt so broken when he wrapped his arms around her. “Hawke,” he whispered through a wheeze as a cough rose in his throat from the dust in the air around them, “I was worried about you.”

Hawke chuckled humorlessly, squeezing him tighter, thumping the heel of her hand against his back to help clear his throat. “Back at you, dwarf,” she murmured, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “By the way, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re bleeding.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, so are you.” Varric pulled his head away from her and traced a cut above her eyebrow with his thumb. “What happened in there?”

She didn’t respond for a moment – instead she stared at him, her eyebrows suspended in question, and when he didn’t say anything, she jerked her head at the people surrounding them. “People are going to see,” she said under her breath.

But people had already seen – Varric knew that much when he realized Cassandra’s eyes were locked on him from across the courtyard. And he didn’t give a shit, anyway, not when Hawke nearly just died without Varric having the chance to say goodbye or tell her he loves her or kiss her one last time. They had always been careful about being romantic around other people. They had always tried to keep their relationship a secret - it was safer for the both of them if no one else knew. Now, neither of them were ever safe no matter where they went or who they went with, and there wasn’t any point in hiding it. Besides, he didn’t want to a wait a second longer to touch her.

Or he couldn’t wait. Or both.

“I don’t care, Hawke,” he chuckled, dragging his fingers up her face and pushing them through her hair, a smile cracking open the cut on her lip. “I’ll take every opportunity to be with you I can get after what just happened to you, to us. After not knowing if you were going to come out of that rift behind me. That’s the scariest shit that’s ever happened to me, Hawke, and that’s really saying something.”

The smile on her face died as her watery gaze flitted over to where the rift had just been closed. Varric, confused, followed suit, pushing himself up from her body as he did so. The Inquisitor, Theran, was standing alone on an overturned pillar, wringing his bloody hands as he choked out a speech to the remaining Wardens, struggling to keep himself together. Varric couldn’t blame the kid. Besides that, though, Varric couldn’t see anything else, and Hawke had looked so haunted. He didn’t understand why. He turned to face her again.

“What?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he moved his hands to her cheeks and shook her head to get her attention. “What, Hawke?”

“Mahariel,” Hawke whispered, squeezing her eyes shut until the creases in her forehead turned to canyons.

Varric looked over his shoulder and felt his face fall when he realized what he had missed and what was missing. The Warden Commander, who had journeyed through the Fade with them, was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t too worried about it at first – she had probably gotten lost in the commotion, or perhaps she had run off to find the healers. She was bleeding pretty severely when Varric last saw her, after all. But Hawke let out a strangled sob, and tears cut sharp lines through the layers of dust and dirt and blood on her cheeks, and he felt his bones buckling beneath him.

“Where is she?”

Theran was approaching them. He murmured Hawke’s name in a way that was different than his usual sweet, honeyed tone – it was clipped, cold, and then Varric realized how hard the Inquisitor was trying to hold himself back from crying, how close the dam was to breaking. Once he reached them, he didn’t say her name again. He must’ve realized too. Instead, he just knelt next to her and Varric and held his hand out.

“She stayed in the Fade, Varric,” Hawke managed to get out as she covered her face with one hand and gripped tightly onto Theran with the other.

“What?” Varric asked, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them as both started to break. Yes, she had been wounded, but she had been alive. She couldn’t have died in the few seconds between Varric’s escape from the Fade and then Hawke and the Inquisitor’s. “Why?”

“A creature blocked our path after you and the others escaped,” Theran explained. “Someone had to… stay back and fight it off.”

“I said I’d do it!” Hawke interrupted. “I told her I –“

She was cut off by a violent sob. Varric slid his hands under her back and lifted her up from the ground, cradling her against him, tilting his head to look at Theran and trying to focus even though his own vision was blurring with tears. Varric wasn’t a crier, but after everything that had happened, he let himself. No one would care much, anyway. “Go get a healer, kid,” he instructed as gently as he could manage. “You’re in bad shape.”

“But –“

“I’ll take care of her,” he said. He wasn’t sure if there was much he could do, but he wanted to be alone with her – it would be easier to calm her down that way. “You… take care of yourself.”

Theran hesitated. There was a pregnant pause before he stood up, wiping his cheeks and limping away from them with the rest of the injured Inquisition party. Hawke only cried harder after he left. Varric held her closer, his grip stronger. It’ll be a long trip back to Skyhold, he thought as he buried his nose in her hair and let his own tears fall.

And it was. He didn’t know what was worse, seeing Hawke sad or seeing her happy only to have the smile crushed like a bug beneath a boot. At night, when the army stopped travelling and set up camp, they’d sit around the fire with the other members of the Inquisition’s inner circle and eat the stale stew prepared by shaken up Inquisition soldiers and play cards or exchange stories and Varric would think that finally Hawke was fine, but eventually, each night, Varric would catch her watching Theran fiddling with his Dalish vambraces, turning to say something to the empty space next to him only for the words and the smile to die on his lips, and Hawke would quickly retire to their tent, leaving Varric to hurry after her with his arms open and empty.

He thought returning to Skyhold would be better. They’d keep a wide berth from everyone else for a while and Hawke would finally get time to recover from her wounds, both physical and emotional. She hadn’t been too close with the Warden-Commander, but they were friends, and Varric knew she felt guilty about leaving her behind in the Fade. He also felt guilty to be thankful that she had, and it only got worse when they stepped through the passed the fortress’ gates, weeks after the battle at Adamant had ended.

The Warden-Commander’s husband, Zevran, was waiting on the steps for the Inquisition’s arrival, a small elven girl sitting next to him. When the sea of soldiers finally parted to reveal Theran and Varric and Hawke at the centre of it, he ran over. He looked tired but expectant, and Varric quickly grabbed hold of Hawke’s wrist and dragged her in the opposite direction. It was not a conversation that either of them could or should have been around for, especially not when the night before had been one of Hawke’s worst, but they hadn’t even left earshot when the two men began to talk and she stopped in her tracks.

“My wife is not with you?” Zevran asked. “Where is she?”

The question was met with a answer of silence. “She…” Theran’s voice was hoarse. “… Isn’t with us.”

“Did she go off on another one of her crazy adventures without telling me?” Zevran chuckled. “She does that a lot, you know, and leaves me to take care of the baby! Not that I’m complaining, of course, I love my daughter. She’s not a baby, now, anyhow. Do you know where she is, however? I had a great many things I wanted to say to her and tell her about, but I suppose I will just have to send her a letter.”

“You… can’t.”

“Hawke, come on,” Varric urged quietly, but when he tried to pull her away she wouldn’t budge. She was rooted to her spot like a statue. Her face had gone pale to match.

“What do you mean?”

“There was a creature… I’m sorry.” Theran swiped at his eyes. “Lyna is… gone. We were trapped in the Fade, and I - We fought a nightmare demon, but before we could escape, our path was cut off by this creature, and she… She insisted that she stay behind to fight it… She sacrificed herself so Hawke and I could live.”

“I…” Zevran took a step away from Theran and stared at him, a smile still on his lips, disbelief painted on his face. “What? She is… dead? Or she is… in the Fade? I…” Varric had never seen the man at a loss for words before. “I… She cannot be dead. Surely, you must be mistaken -”

“It’s complicated, but…. I can’t explain it right now.” Theran’s face crumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

He brushed past Zevran and Dorian, who had come up to greet him and instead was left watching as he ran away up the stairs. It took a moment for Varric to catch the mage’s eye, but when he did, he jerked his head after the Theran. If anyone could make him feel better, it was Dorian, and if he couldn’t, then they were all in trouble. Dorian hurried after the Inquisitor, leaving Zevran alone by the front gates. He stared at the ground with a blank look on his face as the small elven girl next to him – his daughter – began to tug at his sleeve.

Varric looked over at Hawke to find her already crying. He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him as he led her up the stairs. “You need some sleep,” he murmured. “And a hot bath.”

He didn’t even know if she was listening until she muttered, “And you.” To that, he smiled.

“Alright. Whatever you want, Hawke.”

But not much made her feel better. They tried to play chess in the garden on sunny afternoons but she’d catch sight of Theran weakly tending to his plants and have to return to Varric’s quarters. They tried to eat dinner in the main hall only to find Zevran’s daughter trying to convince him to eat as she ignored her own bowl. They tried to walk along the battlements on crisp mornings when the sky was clear and cloudless but they’d have to turn around once they reached the Warden-Commander’s office and saw the furniture being carted out from it. It seemed like they couldn’t go anywhere in Skyhold anymore.

Besides the chapel. Ironically enough, considering they were two of the biggest blasphemers to ever grace the face of Thedas (which he told her late one night as they were curled up on the pews, resulting in a tearful giggling session on her behalf and a relieved one on his).

It was a small room, filled back to front with candles and well-worn copies of the Chant stacked from floor to ceiling in haphazard piles. Hawke would sit next to Varric as he leaned against the wall with her legs slung across his lap and her head tilted against his shoulder and she’d watch the candles burn and burn until they were down to the very bottom and then she’d wait a few minutes for the warm wax to cool before sculpting them back into misshapen versions of their old selves. It felt poetic. And that was annoying.

He hated the chapel. She did, too. Both of them felt stiff and uncomfortable and awkward, and she joked one night as they wandered back to his quarters that she didn’t even want to talk about her feelings with the statue of Andraste staring down at them. “She’s judging me!” Hawke exclaimed, blue eyes alight for the first time in weeks. Yes, she was ranting and raving like a woman who lacked a good night’s rest, but Varric cherished the outburst of energy anyway. “She’s just… judging me, Varric!”

“Then let’s find someplace else,” he suggested simply, continuing down the stone walkway when they reached the door to his quarters and passed it.

As it turned out, the battlements were nearly abandoned at that time of night, save for the occasional soldier or two who passed by with their eyes locked on the horizon. It was a little colder than it was during the day – that mountain breeze was about as unforgiving as Cassandra was – but it was… calmer, too. And the both of them needed someplace calm to be.

Hawke planted herself in front of one of the parapets and stared out at the white, empty expanse in front of them, a sigh escaping her chapped lips. Varric stood behind her, winding his arms around her waist and hugging her close. Another thing he loved about Hawke – she was always so warm. “When I die –“

“Nope.” Varric buried his face into the back of the jacket of his that she had donned earlier that day. “We’re not having this discussion.”

Not because they didn’t need to have it – they absolutely did. He just didn’t want to talk about it any more since it had been one of the only things running through his head for weeks and the topic was growing tired. He was growing tired.

“Give the estate away,” she continued, ignoring him. “Garrett and Anders won’t need it. Put it to good use - an escape route out of the city for mages o-or something.”

She was beginning to tremble. Varric held her even tighter, inhaling deeply, reveling in mingling smells of them both on his jacket.

“Or give it to Mahariel’s husband,” she added quietly. “It’d be a nice place to raise a child. Lots of light in the morning. Not too far from the market or the Viscount’s Keep. He deserves it after what I did to him.”

Varric drew away and spun her around by the hips. “Hawke –“

“It was my fault,” she seethed through the spit pooling in her mouth, wiping her wet lips on the back of her hand. “I should have stayed and helped, or convinced her to come with me, or –“

“And then what?” Varric demanded. It felt like a dam somewhere within him had finally burst and at once, a tidal wave of emotions came rushing out of him. “And then you’d have died, too! What would that have solved, Hawke? Tell me, ‘cause I’m trying to figure it out myself!”

“She has a child! And a husband!”

“And you have me!” He gave a bitter laugh. “I mean… Shit, Hawke, I know you’re down in the dumps, but doesn’t that matter to you?!”

“Of course it does!” she argued, eyes blazing.

“Really?” he asked. “Because it doesn’t feel like it! You’ve seen me through Bartrand and that mess with the mages and templars and everything that came before and everything that came after and… What do I have to say or do that would convince you that losing you would kill me?”

She stared at him, taken aback at his outburst, stepping away from his as her eyes filled with tears.

“Shit.” Varric ran a hand through his hair and reached out for her. “Look, I’m sorry, Hawke –“

Her hand slipped out of his grasp. “Go to bed,” she urged him quietly.

“No!” he replied with a disbelieving, humourless laugh. “I’m not just going to… leave you here –“

“Please, Varric.”

There was a moment of silence and then he took a step away from her, too, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly, eyes locked on the snow coated stones of the battlements. “Fine,” he repeated, throwing his hands up in defeat, “I will.”

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t upset with her and upset with himself. He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t crushed that she was so miserable and that he couldn’t convince her not to be. He had been trying his hardest for weeks and weeks to make her feel better, but knowing that there was nothing he could do… it made him feel like shit. The whole situation made him feel like shit.

With that, he turned to leave, but lingered a moment longer to add, “I… love you, Hawke. I hope you know that.”

He had already begun walking away when she said it back.

She didn’t return to his room until a few hours later. He had finally managed to nod off when he heard the sound of the door creaking open and, afterwards, the sound of her boots squeaking as she hesitated at the threshold. As if he was going to turn her away. Varric, groggy and grumpy but glad she didn’t stay out all night, shuffled over in bed to make room for her beside him, not bothering to look up to see if she would take him up on the wordless offer.

Eventually, as he expected, she slid beneath the covers. Her nose was cold as she pressed it to the nape of his neck and pushed his hair out of the way, nuzzling the top notch of his spine. The last thing Varric did before falling asleep was grab her hand and hold it tight against his chest and, despite everything, smile.

This, begrudgingly, became their routine. Hawke would spend most afternoons cooped up in Varric’s room, sitting in front of the window and reading, too uncomfortable to go anywhere else, and, after his work for the day was done, he’d bring her dinner and then take her on a walk of the battlements until the sun was long gone. But it didn’t feel any different to what they were doing before – in fact, it felt worse. Hawke wasn’t getting any better and both of them had all but stopped trying to make her.

He was taking up a bowl of stew to her one night when he passed by the chapel to find the door open and Cassandra kneeling inside. Usually, he wouldn’t have stopped. He might’ve closed the door for her or he might’ve just kept going. But that night the door creaked loudly as he pushed it open with the tip of boot and he grimaced as Cassandra whirled around.

It was almost funny how her eyes first looked to the top of the doorframe and then dropped to Varric’s height with obvious disappointment. Almost funny, but not quite. “Oh.”

All she had to do was say one word and he already regretted joining her.

“Hello to you too,” he mumbled, turning around, ready to leave as quickly as he had come. The sound of her clearing her throat made him halt.

“How is… Hawke?”

As if you care was the first response that formed on his tongue, but he realized that was unfair – besides, she didn’t need to care just to ask if one of her allies was healthy enough to be helpful again. “Not great,” he answered with an honest sigh.

“The Fade was an ordeal for us all,” she tried to say in comfort.

“Yeah, and yet you and I feel well enough to leave our quarters.”

Rarely did anything shut Cassandra up. That did.

“Anyway… I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he mumbled, “so I’ll –“

“You want something from me.”

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “What?”

“What is it?”

“You think I…” He shook his head. “What could I need from you, Seeker?”

If anyone had watching them, the comment would’ve come off as harsh, and he’d have come off as an asshole. Their relationship – the strained thing that it was – was antagonistic at best, and it took him a moment to realize that she seemed to be offering whatever it was she thought he wanted with genuine concern.

“I don’t know,” she said plainly, shrugging as she stood up from where she had been kneeling in front of the statue of Andraste. “I would normally offer to pray for you, but I think that the Maker would smite me if I tried.”

Varric tried to hide his snort of laughter.

And then she smiled at him – an earnest smile – and he looked to the floor. “I just… don’t know how to show Hawke how badly I need her,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“The Varric Tethras? Needing something?” Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast making a decent joke? I never thought I’d see that day, either.”

She strolled towards a pew pushed up against the wall and sat down. Her hand raised as if she was going to pat the seat beside her and beckon him to sit down, and then she just clasped it in her lap with the other.

Andraste’s tits. When did things get so weird?

“I’m trying to think of what some shitty protagonist in a cheesy Orlesian novel would say or do,” he muttered, “but I’ve done it all. Everything I can think of… and it’s not enough.”

Cassandra laughed, and Varric glared at her, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Marry her.”

His heart nearly leaped into his throat. When he tried to speak, nothing came out, and he could see Cassandra rolling her eyes.

If Hawke were here, she’d be rolling her eyes, too.

“Shit,” Varric murmured breathlessly, “you’re right.”

“You of all people could use a promise of devotion or two,” she said in an almost informative tone as if she needed to convince him any further. “Hawke, too. The pair of you live and breathe sacrilege.”

But the insult fell on deaf ears – Varric had already turned on his heel and was sprinting out the door, spilling soup on the floor beneath him as he went. “Thanks, Seeker!”

She might have given him a reply, but he was too far away already to hear it.

His quarters were empty when he reached them, the front of his shirt dripping and his hairline beading with sweat. A part of him was relieved Hawke wasn’t there – he had no idea where he’d put the damned thing the last time he took it off and she’d get suspicious if he spent an hour searching for something he refused to tell her about. The bowl clattered rather unceremoniously to the floor as he hurried over to his desk, talking to himself as he went

What the fuck was he going to say?

Would he give her a proper proposal or bullshit his way through it? Hawke might like the charm of a blustery, bullshitted thing, but… like Cassandra said, it was supposed to be a promise. And Varric needed her to know that this promise was going to last them through the Fade and back and back again… and back again, probably, knowing them.

A proper proposal it was.

He slid the Tethras signet ring onto his thumb, grabbed a warmer coat, and headed for the door with one last glance at his quarters - then, at the last second, he hurried back to his bed and made it.

“This is it, then,” he said to himself.

He pushed through the door and shut it firmly behind him.

Hawke was standing at her usual place on the battlements and she didn’t turn to face Varric as he approached, crunching snow under his boots and whistling under his breath. Fluffy flakes fell all around her and clung to her coat, cloaking her in what looked to be swathes of heavy white cotton, and when he reached her he raised a hand to wipe her shoulder clean until he could see the familiar, well-worn leather of his coat – well, their coat now, he supposed – underneath.

“Hi,” she greeted with her eyes closed. He continued to dust her off until he could make out the colour of the scarf she was wearing – pale blue, he noted, just like her shirt and her stockings and everything else.

“Hey,” he replied, chest filled with a familiar warmth at the sight of her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good, actually.”

He smiled. “Cold?” he suggested. She giggled.

“Cold,” she agreed as he slipped his hand into hers and leaned his head against her bicep. Despite everything, Varric thought, he still loved being with her. They fit together so perfect. “Anyways…” He heard the smirk on her lips before he even looked up. “Something tells me you didn’t just come here to flirt.”

Damn it. She knew him too well for him to be able to pull something on her. He should’ve guessed. “If you think that’s me flirting, then I’ve been doing a shitty job in wooing you,” Varric grumbled, trying best to divert the conversation away from his failing deception.

“You wooed me the second you shot a bolt at my would-be thief’s head,” she teased.

If she didn’t sound so hopeful, he wouldn’t have relented. He’d have talked a little while longer, or he’d have tried to surprise her, or he’d have tried to cheer her up first. But she already looked… happy. Or happier than she’d been, at least. And he’d do everything he could to try and keep her that way.

So he pulled away, hiding his hand in his sleeve so he could brush the pad of his index finger over the ring adorning his thumb.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said. A few seconds of silence passed in which she was clearly waiting for him to continue before she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Oh?”

A heavy lump was going in his throat. It was the first moment that it occurred to him she might say no, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit it threw him off and nearly convinced him to pretend it never happened.

Nearly.

“And… Uh…”

He heaved a great, dramatic sigh, holding his hand out to her – well, he flapped it at her, more accurately, an ineloquent sort of thing that almost made the both of them laugh if the conversation hadn’t taken such a serious turn. “Do you remember this?” he asked her, curling his hand into a fist and holding the ring’s face in her direction.

“Yes, I do,” she answered quietly.

He wasn’t surprised. She was the one who had given it to him, after all – or, rather, given it back to him after his bastard of a brother pawned it off for some money to put towards their Deep Roads expedition. Varric had been furious when he found out, and though he eventually let Bartrand believe he had gotten over it, he never really did, and he kept an eye out for it wherever he went even though he didn’t really have any hope that it was still in Kirkwall.

He hadn’t expected to ever find it. He didn’t expect Hawke to look for it, either.

She had her legs kicked up on his headboard, the rest of her body sprawled beneath it across his orange-and-golden blanket like a cat in a sunbeam. The most delightfully devilish smile that was teasing the corners of her lips matched that attitude, and Varric couldn’t help but laugh, sitting a short distance away from her.

“What?” he chuckled, taking his glasses off and tossing them onto a pile of crumpled papers next to him.

“I’ve been meaning to give you something,” she announced, tilting her freckled face away from him to look down at the pocket she was wrist-deep in.

“Oh yeah?” he replied.

When she pulled her hand back out, she was clutching something in her fist, but quickly closed her fingers around it so he could see. “No peeking,” she told him. “It’s a surprise.”

“If it’s one of those leather whips they sell in the Hightown Market, Hawke, you know what I think about those -”

To his surprise, she bent over, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it at his face, shutting him up with a dull whump. “It’s better,” she responded. “Close your eyes.”

As his heartbeat began to pick up in his chest, he tried his damned best to look as ambivalent as possible. To Hawke’s enemies, the suggestion of a surprise would not be a welcome one; to her friends, it would be more than such. To Varric? 

“This better be good,” he answered as begrudgingly as he could pull off while he bit back a grin, dutifully following her orders and shutting his eyes.

Nothing happened at first – there was the sound of papers and fabric rustling and the occasional soft grunt that Varric would’ve smiled about had he not been so nervous. And feeling like a fool, too. He didn’t get nervous about anything, and yet his best friend had a surprise for him that left him feeling sick.

It took him a second or two to realize she was waiting for him, and he cracked an eye open.

She was sitting up, cross-legged and close to him, so close that he didn’t realize what his gift was because he couldn’t even see it until he finally looked down to where her fist was practically pressed up against his chest. There was a flash of gold and red in the light as angled her hand back and forth, showing off the gift in a theatrical manner. He couldn’t quite make out what she was showing him until he grabbed her gently by the wrist and eased her to a stop.

And then it hit him.

He felt his jaw drop, then, sitting on his bed with her in Kirkwall while she held the signet ring out to him with a smug look on her face. “Is that the Tethras signet ring?” he asked her.

Standing on the Skyhold battlements, however, Hawke’s jaw didn’t drop. Instead she watched completely silent as Varric took off the ring and held it between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting his hand so that it glinted in the silver sliver of moonlight piercing through the clouds.

“It’s the Tethras signet ring,” she told him finally.

“It is,” Varric replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

Hawke’s gaze flicked back and forth between his face and the ring, taking a step closer so that the distance between their bodies was practically nothing. “And… what?”

Varric looked up at her, forcing a smile. He’d better pull the bandage off quick. “And I wanted you to have it.”

“Why –“

“And I wanted to know if you’d marry me, Hawke.”

The words came out quickly and slurred like he was a man drunk. He sounded that way, anyway, and since Hawke wasn’t expecting it, he was sure she might think that he was, too. Afterwards, there was a profoundly long silence.

He wasn’t drunk, but at that moment he couldn’t wait for the conversation to be over so he could be.

Of course she wouldn’t want to marry him. After everything that happened in the Fade, after seeing Zevran feeding the Warden-Commander’s baby alone in the great hall, after Kirkwall –

“Varric?”

He had squeezed his eyes shut. It took Hawke’s finger hooked under his chin and the feeling of her breath washing over his face for him to open them again.

He immediately looked away, however. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked –“

“Of course I’ll marry you, Varric.”

There was a grin so radiant on her face that it outshone the moonlight peeking through the clouds above them. Varric felt blinded. “Really?” he asked, stammering in disbelief.

“Yes!” she replied. “Yes! Of course! I’ve been waiting, you idiot!”

Hawke let out a happy whooping sound, throwing her arms around his waist and hoisting him into the air. Varric, not knowing what else to do or, perhaps, not wanting to do anything else, began to laugh. He couldn’t help it. For a moment – one long, shining moment - he felt truly weightless.

And then they both fell hard onto the slippery stones, each landing with a string of various strangled ‘ow’s that were only drowned out only by the sounds of them beginning to laugh again.

It was a while before they picked themselves up – in fact, Varric had resigned himself to sleep there when Josephine, bleary-eyed and blinking, hurried towards them with Theran at her heels.

“What is it?” the ambassador demanded, nearly tripping over her own feet as she came to a sudden stop in front of them. “Are there assassins?”

Hawke, lips as blue as her eyes and teeth chattering at the pace of an Orlesian flute during an opera, held up the Tethras signet ring adorning her thumb.

“We’re getting married!” she exclaimed with a wheeze.

Josephine, clearly having thought there to be a more urgent matter, stared at them for a moment before eventually letting out a good-natured huff. “Well… congratulations,” she told them with a smile, smoothing her slightly messy hair down against her head. “That’s wonderful to hear.” And then, under her breath, “I’m sure the Seeker will be pleased…”

“Au contraire,” Varric interjected. “It was actually her idea.”

Josephine’s manicured eyebrows nearly flew off her head. “Really?”

“Yeah. Believe me… I was surprised as you are.”

Theran had been watching the conversation unfold with his hands folded behind his back – as he stepped forward with a kind smile, he held one out to both Hawke and Varric respectively. “Congratulations,” he said quietly. “I’m… very happy for you.”

Hawke looked at his hand for a moment before taking it. “Thanks,” she replied, beaming at him as he helped her up.

“Yeah, thank you,” Varric said. “I hope you don’t mind having it in Skyhold…”

Before Theran could reply, Josephine stepped forward. “I think that is a great idea!” she said, eyes already sparkling as the gears in her head began to turn. “It’ll be good to boost everyone’s spirits, especially after what we faced at Adamant.”

At the mention of it, both Theran and Hawke became silent, and Josephine touched a hand to her mouth. Varric wasn’t about to ask everyone to stop mentioning what happened at Adamant – there was no way to get around talking about it sometimes – but he tried to avoid it as much as he could, for Hawke’s sake as well as his own. Josephine must have realized that.

“Well…” She cleared her throat. “If that’s all, Varric, then I hope you do not mind if I return to my quarters…”

“Of course not,” Varric said with his best attempt at an easy-going smile. “Goodnight, Ambassador.”

“You, too,” Josephine said. “Hawke. Inquisitor. You have a good night, as well.”

Theran nodded in response and waved her good-bye while Hawke turned to Varric again, cupping his stubbly cheeks in her damp hands and running the back of the ring over a scar near his nose.

“Let’s go to bed, too,” she murmured, her hair falling in front of her face as she bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I think we should… celebrate.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing,” Varric said as the two of them exchanged crooked smiles. No matter what sort of mood he was in or how much brooding he had been doing, she always knew exactly how to smile to make him feel better. She pulled away and, while she slipped her hand into his and dusted snow off their jacket, Varric looked towards to where Theran was still standing on the battlements, staring out at the snowy mountains.

“You should get to bed, too, kid,” he suggested. “You know how Sparkler is.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes moved over to him and a bemused expression flickered briefly his face. “I do,” he responded with a curt nod. “You’re right. Goodnight, Varric. Goodnight, Hawke.”

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” Hawke answered as Theran turned on his heel and began the long, lonely trek back to his quarters.

Varric made a note to check in with him before they left for the Arbor Wilds. He had been spending so much time with Hawke that he didn’t realize until now how wounded Theran must’ve been, too.

Poor kid.

“So,” she said then, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Engaged.”

“Engaged,” Varric agreed, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. He tugged on her arm. “Did you ever think we’d get here?”

“Oh, no. I thought some templar would’ve killed me years ago.”

He chuckled in agreement. That made two of them. “And yet, here you are…”

“Here we are,” she corrected. “Even after everything that’s happened, here we are, alive and…”

As she trailed off, Varric squeezed her hand. “Alive and well,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, half to him and half to herself. “I mean… getting there.”

That was something, at least. Varric kissed her shoulder, leaving a lip-shaped imprint in the layer of snow, and then stood on his tip-toes to kiss her cheek. “Well, I’m gonna be there with you the whole way,” he told her as smirk teased his lips. “Not that I have much of a choice anymore –“

She shot him a glare full of daggers and rammed her knobbly elbow into his side. “Ow!” he exclaimed, yanking his hand out of her grasp. “I was kidding, Hawke!”

“Mm-hmm.” Hawke wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close as they rather clumsily walked together towards the lights in the windows of the tavern that appeared like orange phantoms between the flurries of fluffy snow. “You might want to take it back anyway, since I had some very nice things planned for us tonight and I’m not sure if a naughty man such as yourself deserves them anymore…”

“I take it back,” Varric replied as he tipped his head back to look up at her. “There’s nothing in the whole of Thedas I want more than to marry you, Hawke, and I’ll be damned if something or someone tries to stop me from doing just that.”

She dropped a kissed to his nose, nudging open the door to one of Skyhold’s towers with her shoulder. “We better get planning, then.”

And they did. Varric’s letters piled up on the desk in their room until spilled all over the ground and Cassandra’s patience grew very, very thin, but he didn’t particularly care. Wedding planning was a lot more work than he expected. Not only did he have to spend hours arguing with everyone – particularly Dorian – about what decorations he and Hawke were going to decide on and what food they were going to serve during the celebrations afterward, he also had to figure out what he was going to wear.

Hawke didn’t have the same problem he did. They had only been engaged for two days when he sealed and sent away a velvet sack full of sovereigns that was payment for her wedding dress. “And I don’t even get to see it,” he grumbled as he passed it to the courier standing besides Skyhold’s front gates.

Hawke, standing behind him with her hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, gave an unsympathetic laugh next to his ear. “You’ll get to see it when we’re getting married,” she told him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Isn’t that enough?”

“What if it doesn’t even fit?” he asked.

Hawke spun them both around, pointing them towards the tavern.

“Josephine was very particular about getting my measurements right,” she assured him as they began to struggle up the stairs. “I think she’s more excited about this than we are.”

Varric didn’t doubt it. He wanted to marry Hawke, of course, and there was nothing that could change that, but the whole ordeal felt like a little too much, especially when he wanted to do it as soon as he could. It was just their friends attending, after all - it didn’t need to be some big thing. But Josephine insisted, and then Hawke insisted, and… well, he’d do anything to make her happy, especially now and especially when he wasn’t sure how long it’d last until something else came along and crushed her.

Though Isabela being in Skyhold made that seem a little less likely. He had been mildly horrified when Hawke said she invited Isabela to officiate their wedding – “She officiated Mahariel’s wedding as well!” she informed him rather matter-of-factly without even catching herself – and yet… the thought of seeing her again was a damn nice one.

They had to trudge through ankle-deep snow in Skyhold’s courtyard just to reach the front gate on the day of her arrival. To Varric’s absolute delight, she was still wearing her pirate hat, though the edges were weighed down with snow.

“This had better be worth it,” Isabela said with her usual smirk. “My fingers falling off wouldn’t be good for anyone. And please tell me Carver is coming - I want to see that silver hair of his in person…”

“He’s coming,” Hawke replied, “though I think you’ll be disappointed about his hair.”

“Carver’s coming?” Varric asked as the two women embraced. It seemed that Hawke had done even more for the wedding without him than he even realized. He wasn’t surprised, though. Once she put her mind to something, she’d do it or die trying. He knew that all too well.

“He’s due here the day before the wedding, but…” Hawke shrugged, reaching up and smacking one of the heavy feathers hanging down from Isabela’s hat out of her face. “We’re not having without him.” Varric couldn’t help but agree.

Isabela grabbed Hawke’s arm and took off towards the tavern, tugging her along easily despite the height of the heels on her pirate boots in the snow. “What about big brother Garrett? Will he trudging through the mountains ass-deep in snow just to see you walk, as well?”

“He and Anders are helping the wardens recover after… after Adamant,” Hawke answered before Varric could jump in.

It was the first time she had said the name in weeks. She hadn’t even spoken of Adamant at all since the night of Varric’s proposal. He supposed that the less she brought it up, the less she thought about it, which was something he fully supported, but he couldn’t help but notice the faltering in her step as she spoke about it for the first time in a long time.

Isabela stopped, then, slowly turning on her heel to look at Hawke. “Yes, about that -”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hawke interrupted with an uncomfortable laugh. “At least not right now. We should celebrate that you’re here, instead!”

She didn’t notice the obviously concerned glance that Isabela shot in Varric’s direction before grinning. “I suppose the bride-to-be should be the one to claim all the shots… as long as I get to choose what drink is in them.”

“Deal.”

The two women hugged again once more, long and lingering, before starting off towards the tavern again.

Hawke was quiet that night when she and Varric returned to their quarters, stepping through the piles of papers and unwashed clothes on the floor of their quarters to get to their dresser and then, eventually, their bed.

“… I still can’t believe she almost out-drank Bull,” Varric laughed as he pulled his tunic over his head and threw it onto the chair that stood untucked from his desk and untouched for days. “She doesn’t even look like she’s aged a day since Kirkwall. I mean, how does she –“

He turned around to see Hawke sitting still and staring out the window. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it had become an unwelcome one, and also one Varric didn’t think he’d again see for a while. Letting out a sigh, he watched her for a moment, her shock of short red hair fluttering in the breeze coming in through the slit in the window and her blue eyes even bluer with a watery sheen, before padding around the room to blow out all the candles but one and then joining her on the bed.

“You’re allowed to be happy, you know,” he said gently, sitting against the wall and reaching forward to ease her back down into his lap.

“I know,” she replied on a hitched breath, closing her eyes as he swept her hair from her face and ran his fingers through it. “I mean… I think I know. I want to marry you, Varric, that hasn’t changed. But then I remember the look on the Zevran’s face or I see him and his daughter looking so lost without Mahariel and I…”

She swore to herself and Varric grimaced.

“I know,” he said. “You think I don’t struggle with shit like that too, Hawke? We all do! This place, this country… Everywhere you look and everywhere you go, there are warzones and dead bodies and…”

“And what to we do?”

Tension enveloped to them for what felt like a thousand years when finally Varric cleared his throat. “What I’ve learned…” He bent forward so they were face to face and he hung there, wordless, until she cracked an eye open. “Is that we just gotta really… take life by the tits.” He kept talking through her laughter. “And we’ve gotta live. We’ve gotta live for the people that didn’t and for ourselves, too. ‘Cuz you don’t want to die thinking ‘I wish I married Varric’, do you? I certainly don’t! Some day when some assassin runs me through, I want to think, ‘I’m glad I married Hawke because I fuckin’ love my wife.’”

She met his eyes. “Wife.”

“Damn right.”

There was a giggle at the back of her throat. “Just a short time away, now.”

Time had gone by so quickly he could barely believe it. On the other hand, however, he felt like he’d been waiting for it for centuries. “Yeah,” he said, “let’s hope those assassins don’t come early, then.”

He left Hawke laughing, crawling to their bedside table and blowing out the last candle he had left aflame before joining her beneath the blankets and hugging her very close, whispering reassurances in her ear until they both managed to fall asleep.

In the days leading up to their wedding, Varric spent a lot of time thinking. He watched Skyhold’s workers string up fake frilly flowers on the walls and tested various meals Josephine had laid out for him to taste and sat in on war table meetings about what the army was expecting to face when they travelled to the Arbor Wilds at the end of the month and he thought. He thought about Bartrand and Isabela and Anders and Fenris and Aveline, and Knight-Commander Meredith and Enchanter Orsino, and he even thought about Carver occasionally but, mostly, he thought about Hawke. He thought about how grateful he was that the Maker, if He was really out there, made their paths cross that day in Kirkwall. He didn’t know what he’d do without her.

Varric was not a man to play down his talents. He knew what he was good at, what gifts he had, and he took great pride in them. But he was most proud of the fact that a woman as wild and as wondrous as Hawke loved him and kept loving him each and every day even when the world tried its hardest to split them apart.

And they were getting married. Ha! If only Bartrand knew their little expedition to the Deep Roads would lead to this.

Carver arrived the day before the wedding as planned but he was thoroughly miserable – he had been caught in a snowstorm on his way up the mountain and spent two days in the Inquisition camp in the valley. When Hawke and Varric met him at the front gate, his cold glare and hard frown were almost a match for the ice he was unsteadily standing on.

“You’re lucky I was already in Ferelden for Warden work,” he grumbled as Hawke launched herself at him. “If we weren’t as disorganized as we are, then I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to come for this.”

“Oh, drop the act, Carver,” Hawke scolded into his neck as he tightened his arms around her waist. “I know you’re happy to see me.”

He rolled his eyes at Varric but his frown was gradually easing into a smile. “Yes, well… after what happened –“

“No Adamant talk,” Varric cut in almost a little too harshly. “Not until after the wedding, at least.”

“Right. The wedding.” Carver put Hawke back down and patted her shoulder. “Good to see someone’s finally going to make an honest woman out of you.”

“Oh, Carver… No one could make an honest woman out of me. Especially not Varric.”

He laughed, reaching up and running a hand through his hair – black for the most part with the faintest hint of silvery tips. Varric hadn’t even noticed them before.

Maker, they were all getting old. But it was a good feeling.

“I suppose that’s true,” Carver said. “By the way… I couldn’t help some scouts talking in the valley –“

“Yes, Isabela is here,” Hawke replied.

Carver gawked at her. “How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”

“Because I just knew.” She grinned at him. “And, by the way, she’s excited to see you.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

She linked her arm through his and led him towards the tavern, where the ship captain was already waiting for the both of them, talking all the while, and Varric followed behind slowly, face turned toward the clouds.

Skyhold had been hectic in the days before Carver’s arrival. Not only in preparation for the wedding but for the Inquisition’s journey to the Arbor Wilds, as well. No one had much of an idea as to what they were going to face, and they wanted to be ready. And if they weren’t ready… well, they didn’t want to leave Skyhold weighed down by regrets. The wedding had come at the perfect time.

Dawn came slowly on the morning of their wedding after a much-needed sleep, and with it came Hawke’s early departure. “It’s bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day,” she said after Varric awoke, planting her hand over his eyes before he even opened them so he couldn’t look at her.

“All these rituals,” he murmured as he puckered his lips to kiss her palm.

“I want to do this right,” she replied. “I want something to go right.”

“It will,” he assured her. “Everything with you and me always goes right.”

He wasn’t wrong. He hoped she knew that, too. If something was going to go well, it’d be their wedding. He had made sure of it. Hawke moved her fingers just enough to lean in and press a quick kiss his lips. “I need to go,” she whispered against his mouth. “So no peeking.”

“No promises,” he said, pulling her in for a second kiss and then, after a happy hum of approval, a third.

After she had gone - without Varric daring to take even the sneakiest of glances, as per her wish - he dragged himself out of bed and set up a small looking glass on his desk to stare at himself in. Unlike Hawke, no one was clambering to help him get ready, so he supposed he’d have to do it himself.

Of course, that was when Dorian knocked on his door. Well, knocked on it and then promptly opened it.

The morning blurred into the afternoon in a haze of boot polish and a hasty last minute wash of Varric’s nicest white shirt and, before he even caught a moment to sit down and catch his breath, it was time to head to the chapel. Hawke wasn’t there when he arrived, nor was Carver, but Isabela was standing proudly beneath the statue of Andraste with her pirate hat jauntily tilted on her head and an entertained expression on her face as she examined it. He walked over to her, wringing his hands together.

She turned around at his approach. “You should see some of the paintings of Andraste I’ve seen…” She gestured towards it and frowned. “This doesn’t compare in the slightest.”

“No? I heard dresses made out of stone were very in-style these days.”

“They couldn’t have even painted the skirt white or shown a bit of leg. How boring.”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “You should tell the clerics in the Grand Cathedral that. I’m sure they’d love your input.

“Hmm… I should go to Orlais soon, and if not to piss off the Chantry than for the wine. And the cheese, too.”

“They do have good wine and cheese,” Varric said, shifting back and forth on his feet. “Is there anywhere you’re looking forward to go after this is all over?”

“Here and there,” she answered. “And I’m hoping to make some more coin before I do. Actually, you know, I was thinking about it last night… This is, what, the second wedding I’ve done?” She turned to him with her hip cocked. “I should start charging for this. Cruises and weddings by Isabela – now that has a nice ring to it.”

“How about honeymoons?” Varric chuckled. “After this Inquisition business is over and done with, Hawke and I might need to get away for a while. Before going back to Kirkwall, I mean.”

“You don’t even need to ask,” Isabela replied. “I have missed my favourite drinking buddies.”

“Yeah, well… We’ve missed you, too.”

She was about to say something else when her amber eyes slid over to the door and her smirk grew into a smile almost as wide as the brim of her hat.

In the time he had approached Isabela and started talking to her, everyone else had been seated in the few pews they managed to keep in the chapel after setting up all of the decorations, and as soon as he followed her gaze he could see Hawke and Carver standing in the doorway, silhouetted so strongly by the bright sunlight in the garden behind them that they were nothing more than two shadows. Only when they stepped further into the room and the door was shut tightly behind them could Varric really, truly see her.

“Andraste, eat you heart out,” Isabela commented under her breath. He didn’t even hear her.

Varric had seen many things over the years. He had seen Orlesian paintings smaller than the nail of his thumb and taller than the ceiling in his room back at the Hanged Man. He had seen all sorts of statues – marble, gold, bronze, silver. He had seen Hightown during thunderstorms and Lowtown during hurricanes, and he had stood in the Kirkwall harbour and seen every colour of every kind of sunset that one person could see, and yet nothing – nothing – was as beautiful as Hawke was. He told himself he wasn’t going to cry, but… he couldn’t really help it when he began tearing up. Especially not when she was tearing up, too.

The dress was pretty – white, with flared sleeves and embroidered flowers – but she could’ve been wearing a sack for all he cared. In fact, she could’ve just emerged from the Maker-forsaken swamps in the Fallow Mire with twigs sticking out from her hair and mud caked on her face and he would’ve thought she looked perfect.

When she reached him, they were both crying, and whatever speech Isabela was giving went unheard. Varric was trying to wipe the tears from Hawke’s cheeks at the same time she tried to get him to stop laughing and it wasn’t until Isabela cleared her throat that they remembered other people were there and that they were listening. The ceremony was short. Within minutes, they were being prompted to kiss one another while the small crowd of spectators in the chapel began to clap and cheer them on.

Hawke twined her arms around his neck and leaned in close. “Husband,” she murmured to him.

“Wife,” he murmured back before he pressed his lips to hers.

Night had fallen as the after party finally rolled around and they headed into the great hall. The room, already, smelt of booze and Ferelden stew, and though both of them were eager to sit down and talk to their friends, instead Varric and Hawke took up positions by the door to the garden where members of the Inquisition greeted them and congratulated them as they entered. Cassandra, to their surprise, shook both of their hands. She might’ve even winked at Varric.

Afterwards, there was dinner, and after that, there was cake. They even popped open a bottle of some fancy Orlesian champagne that Hawke and Varric both drank more than their fair share of before finally passing off to Carver and Isabela. The whole ordeal was the same as their relationship – a little messy, a little chaotic, but also warm and loving, and Varric was so unbelievably happy. Which, he thought, he deserved. Both of them deserved it.

They didn’t get many wedding gifts, but they got a few. Theran’s in particular surprised them both. “I don’t really know how to give you this,” he began uneasily, holding a rather large crate in his arms that Varric swore was moving of its own accord.

They shared a look.

“It’s not something deadly, right?” Varric asked.

Theran looked upset. “No, it’s not! Well… maybe,” he replied. “But… um… look, maybe it’s best if you opened it?”

He set the crate on the ground. As Varric crouched down to remove the blanket covering the top of the crate, however, he was surprised to find that something else – the thing inside - did it first. After some rustling and some untangling on Theran’s behalf, Varric and Hawke were presented with a small puppy.

Huh.

“It’s a… well, it’s a girl. You can name it whatever you like. I thought it might be fun for the two of you to have one, a-and I thought that if you ever needed comforting then, you know…”

“You got us a dog?”

The colour bled out from Theran’s face at Hawke’s surprised tone. “If you don’t like her, I can always –“

In her usual fashion, Hawke threw herself onto Theran as she hugged him, and it was only his strength that kept them both from falling to the ground. “I love her,” she whispered excitedly into his hair. “Thank you so much, Theran, for everything.”

He was blushing when he set her back down, wringing his hands nervously, eyes dancing around the room. “I don’t know if I have much to be thanked for –“

“You do.” Hawke planted a firm hand on his shoulder, her tone light yet insistent at the same time. “You’re a good person. Don’t get too down on yourself, okay?”

He looked like he was going to cry. “Okay,” he said, nodding to himself. “Okay. I won’t.”

She smiled before giving him a gentle shake and nudging him in the direction of the musicians. “Looks like a certain someone is waiting to dance with you,” she said, lifting her eyebrows in Dorian’s direction. “Go have some fun.”

For the first time since Adamant, Theran looked at peace. “Okay, I will!” he chirped, dashing off towards the makeshift dance floor and leaving them with a puppy at their feet that he, within seconds, came back to scoop up in his arms. “Though I’ll probably… bring her upstairs for tonight,” he said sheepishly. “Just in case you… Yes.”

They all knew very obviously what he was implying, and even Varric felt himself beginning to flush. “Thanks, kid,” he said good-naturedly, waving Theran off. “Take care of her and then go dance with Sparkler. You earned it.”

As Theran pushed through the crowd with a crate and a puppy in his arms, Hawke turned to Varric and smiled. “Do you have any other surprises for me?” she asked.

“Me?” Varric hadn’t planned on getting a dog. “That was all him.”

She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “Is it gonna hurt your feelings when I tell you that that was the best part of my day?”

“Yeah, a little!” Varric replied haughtily. “But hey, I’ll make it up to you…”

Hawke quirked an eyebrow as he snaked an arm around her and hugged her close to his chest. “And how are you gonna do that?”

He let his lips ghost over hers before abruptly pulling back and leading her towards the dance floor.

“I’ve been practicing my dips,” he announced to her as she groaned and rolled her eyes and trudged after him. “You’ll be veeeee-ry impressed.”

“And if I’m not, then you’ll get us another dog?”

“I make no promises.”

Neither of them were particularly majestic creatures, and their dancing certainly wasn’t, either, but it was fun, especially when Hawke accidentally broke both of her shoes and received an amused scolding from Josephine and especially when they were almost kicked off the dance floor for being too tipsy (but they played the ‘marriage’ card to get a special pass). Hours passed, however, and by the time midnight came, the two of them were the last ones to be dancing after everyone, save for Isabela and Carver who were flirting in the corner, went to sleep.

“… And I thought it’d be too much if I asked you if I could sleep in your bed.”

“Yeah, but you did anyway.”

“Yeah, because you offered!” Hawke protested.

“Only because you were drunk and I wasn’t convinced you’d be able to crawl yourself back to Gamlen’s house and get there in one piece.”

“Hey.” She frowned at him and punched him playfully on the arm. “I’d barely make it, but I’d still make it.”

“I know you would,” Varric replied. “You’ve got all the determination of a mother bear and all the grace of one, too.”

She punched him again, more times than he could count, until he kissed her to get her to stop.

“Do you ever think about that?” she asked once they had taken up their dancing positions again and started twirling around even farther in the room. “Being parents? Having kids?”

The thought had crossed his mind once or twice, but he’d never wanted to bring it up before. “We already have a kid, now, don’t we?”

“I mean other than the dog,” she tutted.

“Well… yeah, a few times, a guess,” Varric answered in truth. “Why, do you want some?”

Her blue eyes twinkled. “It’s certainly something we should talk about more,” she told him, though he could tell in the wistful look on her face that she had more than made up her mind. “But, as of right now… I think we have our own private celebration to get to.”

He hadn’t realized it, but she was tugging him down the length of the great hall towards the doorway that would, eventually, lead them to their quarters.

“Oh, do you now?” Varric said, bemused.

“I do indeed.” She squeezed his hands. “And I had another bottle of that champagne sent to our quarters…”

Varric would never tire of hearing her say that.

“Well then, wife,” Varric replied with a grin, “lead the way.”

They didn’t do much sleeping that night, though, nor did they do much of anything else – they ended up lying half-clothed on Varric’s floor, Hawke knuckle-deep in his chest hair while he played with the lacy hem of her nightgown, talking about whatever they could think of off the top of their heads. Occasionally they got up to refill their tankards, and on one occasion Hawke dared Varric to sneak down to the kitchen and steal a cinnamon roll fresh from the ovens – which he managed to do without getting caught, though a suspiciously familiar Antivan accent called out to him at one point from Josephine’s office – and they… laughed. They talked and they laughed until the sun was rising and Varric convinced Hawke to move to the bed (which she did, eventually, after plenty of protesting).

Both of them were drifting off to sleep when Varric, his face previously pressed up against Hawke’s chest, drew away and looked up at her.

“Are you happy, Miryam?”

She scoffed and didn’t even bother opening her eyes as she answered. “With you, Varric?” she said. “Always.”

Hawke fell asleep almost immediately after, but Varric didn’t. He was awake until the sun came up and long after. There was a certain serenity to just being there with her in silence – no war table meetings, no responding to letters, no warding off Cassandra, just being there with Hawke and playing with her hair as she slept next to him. It was the most at home he’d felt in… probably his whole damn life.

He never thought anyone would mean this much to him, but Hawke did. She’d waltzed her way into his life, latched her fingers around his wrists and seared her smile into the backs of his eyelids, and never let him go. And he was thankful. Not only had she saved his life a thousand times, but she made him laugh and smile a thousand times a day, and, most of all she made him feel so at home. His things were not his things anymore, his quarters not his – they were theirs. And he felt so damned safe with her, because, when the world threw demons and mages and templars at the two of them, Hawke and Varric threw them right back.

After some consideration, Varric decided that he was a lucky man, after all.

[klrkwall]

Honey tastes like vinegar

— the temptations from demons have flirted with hawke for the many months he had been left in the fade. he flirted back, hoping it’d one day lead to his freedom. he’s finally free, yet is convinced he is imprisoned. the honey of his freedom tastes like bitter vinegar.

set after inquisition, garrett hawke has made it out of the fade and the demon’s temptations. he is still convinced he is imprisoned. hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. prompt sent in by my bf “don’t tempt me.” 

— ; garrett hawke is hinted to be trans in this fic with his bare chest, which he is. so if that may make you dysphoric do not read. it’s very, very vague tho.

if you like please consider giving a reblog <3 

under the ‘keep reading’ line. 

“Don’t. Tempt. Me.”

Fenris glances at Garrett with a concerned look, reaching out to grab his arm but watches as the Champion flinches away. His heart broke the first few times Garrett had flinched away, but now was used to it. “You’re one of them.” The elf inhaled slowly, doing his best to keep it quiet. He looks to the silent man who flinches from every being who touches him. “Tempt you of what?”

“I will slay you down myself, demon. You have taken everything away from me, I’ll take away the form you have of the man I love.”

Garrett Hawke. Once a man who used humor in the most inappropriate situations, sarcasm to the town’s greatest leaders who sought to tear him down and drown him in the river of blood that he had created, the one who watched his family die one by one like apples falling from a tree and molding as they were left abandoned on the ground for weeks, much like Bethany’s corpse in the deep road, Carver’s corpse after the ogre had torn him to pieces and much like Leandra’s corpse when it collapsed after the blood mage who reshaped her had been defeated. He was a man with no patience, but was nothing but patient after Fenris had left him after memories stabbing him in the back on their first night together, when Merrill needed assistance with the demon she had been with for years, when Isabela needed assistance with her theft of the Qunari relic, when Anders had blown the chantry up. He was an angel with blood on his clothes. He was sent from above, perhaps not the maker, but somebody else.

Fenris did not flinch at the words. Garrett held an icy glare while Fenris held a soft gaze, the intense staring interrupted by Garrett’s grumbling stomach. “The sounds your stomach make – annoy me. Come, let us find you something to eat.”

“Truly you couldn’t kiss me first? If you are a demon pretending to be Fenris, you could be kind like last time. Feed me a feast, take a warm bath then we make some pretty damn good love all night long.” Garrett complains, looking away from Fenris and towards the door. “Nope. I’m not some demon looking to kiss your feet or coddle you. You’re Hawke. Garrett Hawke, a strong man who is more then capable of fetching himself his desires.”

Garrett scoffs then laughs. “How do I fetch my desire to get you out of my face? You’re a demon who lives for no other purpose then to taunt me. Taunt, taunt, taunt. Fuck off.”

  The bowl is half empty when he is finished with it. Fenris is pleased but doesn’t let it show. “I suppose that is good enough. You actually are eating.” Garrett groans. “Okay mother. Yeah – If I ate anymore of that piss tasting stuff I’d probably be dead for real. No more of this fade crap-“ He pauses for a moment, coming to a sudden realization as he reaches for the bowl. “Actually, hand me that bowl. Maybe the rest of it will finish me off.”

Fenris rolls his eyes and yanks the bowl away, clearly unimpressed and begins to finish off the rest of the bowl. “I believe my food preparing and making skills are quite decent, excuse you.”

“I prefer the ravishing feast that left me full for days and mouth watering for the next meal course.” Fenris arches his eyebrow, not convinced as he finishes off the bowl of food and leaves Hawke to walk over to the door. “Go to bed, no bedtime story tonight.” The elf teased as he walks out the door, shutting it to allow Hawke some privacy.

Garrett sighs, he turns his attention to a mirror in the room and notices his worsened condition. His eyes that carried bags now were over cumbered with them, strands of his raven hair were falling out, his skin was littered with more scars and a lighter pale then before. His body dropped weight – noticeably.

Confusion was a word that summed up thousands of emotions that Garrett had felt. In other confrontations with demons who posed as his family, friends – Fenris. He was healthier, booming with laughter, body surrounded with hot water, stomach full of the best food in all of Thedas. He was healthy – nobody needed his help anymore, he could focus on himself.

Instead, he was no longer the strong champion, only the weak walking corpse of what the bold spirit left behind. In his mind, he was the next apple to fall from the tree of the Hawke family and left to rot on the ground for weeks, months, years to come.

He scoffs. “Psh, looks like the fucking demons are getting more aggressive with their realities.” He runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the worry that zapped his body and overflowed his body.. “Couldn’t even make me look attractive. “ He undoes his casual clothes, sliding them off and slides on comfortable trousers. Garrett climbs into the small bed, covering his body with a blanket as if it was a shield from the demons that looked to haunt him and tear his mind open mentally so it’d mess with him physically.

  “How’s the bastard?” Varric slides over a tankard of some wine for Fenris who accepts it and gulps down a sip immediately. He brings his shoulders up then down quickly, a shrug. “As best as could be, suppose. He has moved on from the mad suicidal phase. We went on a walk a few days ago – to get out of the room, and he nearly jumped off the bridge. He truly thinks I’m a demon who seeks to harm him.”

The dwarf winces, noting the amount of stress Fenris must be under. “So, Broody, you got a plan to break Hawke out of this demonic spell?”

“At the moment, I’m not coddling him like the demons have. The demons that have took my body as a form to fool with Garrett have given him nothing but love, amazing feasts, warm baths, treating him like a king.” Another pause, to sip the wine that tingled his throat. “I’m simply treating him how Kirkwall treated him. No special treatments, just the bare minimum to keep him alive.”

“Ah yeah, that’ll show him you aren’t some demon and you’re actually his husband.”

A flush rises to Fenris’s cheeks, chuckling softly as he sips his wine. “I… am not his husband, we have spoken of exchanging such titles.”

“Is that a title you want some day?” The dwarf asks, he is taking mental notes of Fenris’s demeaner. He can read anyone as if they were one of his novels, he knows Fenris is flustered and a secret hope lingers within him. “Someday, I’d like to be his husband yes. It’s a future I hope he and I have together.”

“Trust me, Broody. Hawke is absolutely whipped for you. You’ll be his husband one day, and your wedding will be held in Hightown, I’ll have the whole town bowing at your guys’s feets and kissing the ground you walk on.” He continues his fantasy and it would be a lie if Fenris was listening with hope. He would like to wed Garrett one day, he and Hawke rarely ever speak about it. Yet it was a fantasy both dreamt of.

  Morning creeps quickly and this time, there is so sunshine pouring through the windows like the other fantasies Garrett has lived through. Outside, it is storming and rain drips off the window. Fed up with being inside for the past month, he slides light armor on, getting used to the multiple buckles and grabbed two of his silver knives that had been used to create puddles of blood over his ten years in Kirkwall and he heads to the training part of Skyhold.

 Fenris sits on the grass with a book in his hand, the words just slipping through his eyes and out his brain. The words are scrambled, he does not pay attention to them. Instead, he pays close attention to Garrett who wears a piece of what Fenris predicts to be curtain over his eyes to shield them from seeing his target.

His target – a stuffed tummy, Garrett is practicing throwing knives. Fenris watches as one strikes through the dummy, stuffing peeking through the new rip.

The former Champion lifts his blindfold, glancing at the knives he threw. One sits near between the eyes, surely to take out an enemy no matter how powerful. The other, just above the crotch. He snickers, then bursts into a fit of giggles. How childish. Fenris thinks but a smile creeps upon his face, letting the song of his love’s laugh play on repeat in record of his mind.

“Hey, Fen.” Fenris’s white eyebrows shoot up, he does not look at the words on paper anymore and instead up at Hawke. A sudden urge to cry reaches his desires, words scramble at his throat and his mind is halting them, won’t let them drip out like they need to. That was the first time in – months, that Garrett had spoken any part of Fenris’s name.

Fenris attempts to act in a casual manner, glancing up from his book. “Can I assist you, Hawke?”

“C’mon, try to be a nice demon and be somewhat affectionate you brood.” He sits next to Fenris, even though they are close there is still a large amount of distance between the two. Yet, Fenris could not help but feel that the road is smaller now. The simple action of saying his name was enough to bring them closer. “I have told you, I am not a demon. I am offended, why should I act affectionate if you believe I, your love, am a demon?”

Garrett groans, clearly frustrated as he rolls his eyes. “I dunno, cause you’re some temptation demon?” He shrugs.  “More like a bitchy demon right now.”

“I do not think that is such a demon.”

“Could you induldge me a little bit, please?” His soft plea is almost enough to tug at Fenris’s heart. He should not give in, yet he does a little bit and presses a soft kiss to the top of Garrett’s greasy hair. “There. Now, go continue your training and leave me to read.” Garrett lays his head over Fenris’s thighs, the rain pouring on the parts of them that are not covered by the sheltering roof that is keeping Fenris’s book from becoming soaked. Fenris goes to move his legs in shock, but Garrett hands onto them as if it is dear life.

“Just… Just let me for a moment, please.” He begs, his voice goes softer.

Fenris lets him.

They sit like that for a few moments. Garrett presses a soft, shaking kiss to Fenris’s clothed thigh and tears threaten to spill from his eyes. And they do. They fall onto his love’s trousers and he whispers.

“How I wish you were real. How I wish this were real. How I wish, but – “ He laughs. “- This universe takes everything from me. I should’ve known Corphyeus and his fucking minions would take you away too.” Garrett is fuming, his hand clenches into a fist and is near ready to punch something but he stays. “Nothing ever stays.”

Fenris does not respond. Garrett’s words are replaced with the sounds of the rain. What Garrett did not know, was the demons were replaced with Fenris.

  “Would you mind telling me how you choose to leave Hawke behind in the fade?” Fenris demands an answer. The Inquisitor – the one who stands in front of him with his back turned to the former slave, has the answer that Fenris wants. He turns around, Fenris recognizes the face. The most memorable thing about it, the scar that traveled over his eyebrow and over his eye.

“Fenris.” Elora greeted. His old friend, stands there with anything but a welcoming look. The one who was responsible for Garrett’s fucked up mindset. “Hawke… It was between him or Alistair. Alistair represented a whole organization –“

“A whole organization gone mad! One who serves this lord that is Corphyeus! They were foolish enough to give in- “ Elora interrupts him. His look is the look of somebody who took a bite of a sour edible. “An organization that needed to be rebuilt. Would you like to be wiped out come the next blight?” Silence.  “Hawke gave himself up, sacrificed himself. He knew the risks, I allowed him to run in. It was a sudden decision left up to me!”

“He is damaged. The demons have taunted and twisted him inside and out.” “Fenris. You and I both know Hawke is not broken, he is bent.”

 Fenris knew that. He understood that Hawke is not damaged, he knew that if Hawke would not return from the fade like he had been blessed with – he would be okay one day, he knew that losing Hawke was definitely a nightmare that could become a reality.

“You – You are right. I apologize, Elora.” The inquisitor chuckles. “A sour reunion. Not the one I was dreaming of.” Fenris shakes his head. “I regret my words, I apologize. Let’s have a drink later, friend.”

  Fenris returns to Garrett over Varric with one of his sharpest knives. Sweat drips down his forehead, a bunch of Varric’s shirt is bunched in Garrett’s tight gripped fist. “YOU! Continue to taunt me! By possessing the form of my best friend! No longer you damn demon.” Garrett laughs in a nervous manner, Varric has his hands up as the fool continues to negotiate his life.

“Hawke, Garrett, it’s me! Your best friend! I’m not some fuckin’ demon!”

Garrett laughs once more. “You believe I’m going to fall for those foolish words once more?”

Within a second, Garrett is restrained and is pushed against a table. Varric takes a few quick breaths and stands back up from leaning against the table, he looks at Fenris who is pinning Garrett down. His knife is still being tightly gripped in his hand.

“Garrett…” Fenris’s tone is a warning shot. He does not need to speak the words for Garrett to understand what he wants. “This is the only thing I have any possible hope of protecting me, you fools!” His words are a roar, he is trying desperately to be the predator but he is the prey. He is the prey of many, he is convinced that Fenris and Varric are now the predators waiting to rip him open once more.

“Drop the knife.” Fenris commands gently. Garrett rolls his eyes and shakes his head the best he could. “Hell with you, demon.” He growls.

Varric goes to rip the knife from Garrett’s closed fist. Fenris shoots him a glare and shakes his head. The dwarf looks at him as if he’s mad, yet backs up anyway and obeys Fenris’s instruction.

“Fine, Garrett. You keep the knife, or you drop it.” Fenris steps away from Garrett and stands there, with a calm posture and emotionless look painted on his face. His arms cross. “You going to stab your best friend? Do it. If you’re convinced the demon will leap out of him and you are sitting in some fade puddle, awaiting for possession, or another demon to screw with you.”

A realization hits Garrett. Yet, so does confusion.

He turns his back to both his best friend and love, he shakes his head in frustration. “You… the other demons – the dreams, the realities, maker… - They all did what I wanted. I had control.”

“Reality does not give you complete control, Hawke.” Varric announces with a gentle tone. Fenris steps forward and gazes at Hawke, holding his hand out. “You have complete control over this, Hawke. Hand me the knife or don’t.” He pauses, letting it sink in. “You have control.”

There is then silence. Garrett glances down at the knife, then to Varric and finally settles a gaze on Fenris. “I have control…” He mutters, tucking his knife in his sleeve. “I’m keeping it.” He announces, Fenris nods.

“I don’t expect a dagger in the throat by the time I wake up.” Varric hopes as he walks off, leaving the two to be alone.

 I have control. Garrett realizes.

 A week later, it is still pouring in Skyhold. Garrett and Fenris decide to sit outside, identical to the one day last week when Garrett was venting at the dumbies with his knife tossing.

Garrett’s trust in Fenris built up slowly each day, separation made them stronger. Each time Garrett realized he had control over whatever he wanted to do and the demons simply would not coddle him, and knew that others would not submit to him slowly convinced him that perhaps, this was a reality. Or a very, very cruel nightmare.

Garrett finishes stabbing the dumbies, practicing knife throwing and slides his protector into his pocket and searches for Fenris with his eyes. He finds he is near the garden where the witch – Morrigan would stand with her son, Kieran. Garrett walks over to him, knows he can turn away anytime.

He knows he has control over himself, and others have control over themselves.

He chooses to walk, eventually walking turned to running and he ran up behind Fenris and hugged him from behind in a tight hug. One of his arm goes across Fenris’s torso, identical to one of his buckles and one slant of an X. The other, forms the other slant of the X.

Tears begin to stream down his face again, overwhelmed with the amount of love he has for Fenris and the amount of fear that this wasn’t his love. That this wasn’t the real Fenris.

Fenris is shock by the sudden impact and lets it show, so Fenris can let Garrett know this is reality and he felt other emotions then simply wanting to make everything perfect for Hawke. To let the ground be clean of the blood he spilt of his enemies. He slowly slides his hand over one of Garrett’s, allowing him to speak first.

“Please –“ He begs. “Show me… Show me you are Fenris, show me you’re the man I love – Maker’s breath, please, Fenris. If you are there, show me you’re you. Show me you’re Fenris.” He begs. The begs tug at Fenris’s heartstrings as if they are the puppet. Yet, Garrett was the puppet for the puppeteer’s – the demons – amusement for months. The elf nods and slowly slides his free hand into his pocket and slides out the red scarf that had been worn on Fenris’s wrist for several years since the first night they had slept together.

Before Garrett could object, Fenris begins to tell the story that only he would know.

Fenris is spooned in Garrett’s arms, his back against the chest of the man he had been in love with for some time. Garrett sits up a few minutes later and gets up from the bed, Fenris watches him with curiosity as he watches Garrett make his way across the room, suddenly uncomfortable from the lack of chest to lay against.

Garrett scrambles through a small box, clearly full of meaningful possessions. Two minutes later as Fenris is about to call out for him, Garrett pulls out two things and quickly walks over to Fenris, sitting on his side of the bed and slides the possessions over to Fenris. He gazes down in curiosity, holding one of them.

One was a crescent. Of the Amell symbol, and the other a red scarf.

“Hawke…?”

Garrett coughed nervously. “Its uh – I know I’m not the gift master but uh,” His words were scrambled. Fenris smiled slightly and softly chuckled. “You for once are at a loss of words, a rare sight indeed.” He softly teased. Garrett shot him a playful glare.

“I just…” He silently asks for permission to take Fenris’s wrist, which is granted and he ties the red scarf around it. “I… don’t have anything other, better – really. So, I guess this is to show that I’m serious about you. About… us.” He confessed.

 Even when Fenris left two hours later, Garrett did not regret giving him the crescent or the scarf that was tied with the promise of Garrett loving Fenris. He sat there, hoping Fenris would realize he was serious and would wait for him. No matter what.

 “Only… Only you would know that. Only Fenris would know that.” Fenris nods, understanding the sudden realization of his love and how confusing it must be. “I am Fenris, last time I checked.” Garrett hugs Fenris tighter, tighter then he had in a very long time. He shudders, tears spill in Fenris’s white locks as Garrett buries his face in it.

“You – You’re Fenris.” He spins his love around and strokes his cheek, rushing to kiss Fenris’s cheek and he does. He then kisses his forehead. His other cheek. His nose. Fenris chuckles, eyes closing as Garrett presses soft kisses upon the thin skin of his eyelids. Then, what he had been waiting for several months for, he feels Garrett’s lips press against his.

They kiss like that for a long while, taking short breaks to catch their fast pacing breaths.

“Maker – Maker, Fenris I am so sorry.” Garrett allows his words to scramble and flow out messily, knowing he could not plan them and let them come out in good form. Fenris brings his hand to Garrett’s cheek and softly strokes it. The touch is painful for both, it is a touch they have both ached to have for several months. A simple touch they fear would not happen again.

“It is understandable, Garrett.”

“I suppose I should go apologize to Varric.” Fenris grins. “You did nearly stab the man to death, convinced he was a demon.”

“Wouldn’t shock me. With the filth he writes.”

    It’s later that evening, they are in their personal quarters and Fenris climbs into the cold bed with Garrett who is waiting with open arms. Fenris lays on his bare chest. Garrett laughs. “You enjoying my manly pillows?” Referring to his open chest.

Fenris rolls his eyes, softly laughing. “Absolutely.”

This was simple. It was a simple evening for any other couple in Thedas, but this was the long awaited reunion Garrett and Fenris had prayed to the Maker and or any other creator out there. Garrett fell asleep soon after and Fenris admired his beloved’s slightly relaxed face. His body wasn’t completely free of the tension, but some was released.

The warrior presses a gentle kiss to Garrett’s shoulder, allowing his lips to linger on the skin of the man he loved dearly before pressing another one out of pure indulgence. He lays his head over Garrett’s chest once more, listening to the heart beating.

“One day soon, perhaps I will ask you to be my husband. I do not think we will get a better time then this.” He begins to ramble softly, aware that there is the small possibility the sleeping Champion could hear him. “But for now – you are my love, bounded to me.” He looks up, pressing a kiss to Garrett’s chest.

“Thank you for trusting in me, Garrett.” He could feel tears poke at his eyes. “Welcome home, welcome back, we missed you.”

Soft whimpers leave Fenris as he tries not to shudder, not allow his sobs of happiness and relief to wake Hawke out of his well-deserved slumber. “I – I have missed you.”

Garrett hears every word.