#varric fanfiction

[variaoftevinter]

hawke x varric

fem!hawke x varric, mention of fenris x hawke i wrote this literally over two years ago (never posted) and just edited it a bit, enjoy!

content: v light smut, hickeys, b0ners, conversation about sex

Hawke and Varric were sat as always in the back room of the Hanged Man, hidden away from the rest of the rabble— to her preference. She never made a fuss when they got a table in the front, but she always got quiet-- surprising for someone as seemingly sociable as her. She said she doesn’t like when people watch her eat. The barmaid walked over and placed a bottle of dark wine and two chalices in front of them. Varric filled both of their cups. 

“I believe we have to keep tradition and get shitfaced, madam,” Varric said. She groaned. “What’s wrong?”

“Trust me, it’s not that I don’t like getting drunk,” she said with a smile, “it’s just that I black out every damned time. Without fail.” He laughed.

“It’s reassuring to know Hawke is bad at something. I’ve never seen someone handle their alcohol as poorly as you. Even Daisy.”

“We have no clue what those Dalish could be chugging on.”

“Hawke, how the hell could they make wine out there?” 

Hawke took a swig from her cup.

“Blood magic.” 

Varric groaned.

“That one was terrible.”

“I thought the delivery was pretty good!”

“I won’t deny you that,” 

She chuckled, her cheeks already flushed. “No one delivers like you do, Hawke.”

“That’s for damned sure. They don’t call me the Whore of Kirkwall for nothing.”

That one earned a hearty chuckle from the dwarf. 

“You’re lucky I’m working to help your reputation, that would be quite the fucking legacy.”

“What’s wrong with being a whore, Varric? I’ve been one all my life. I know how to get what I want from people, fucking is one of the ways I do that. It’s methodical. Often times I know exactly how to get someone off, like clockwork. Or a machine, or something.”

“Isabela’s really rubbed off on you.”

“She certainly has.”

Varric, mid-drink, spat and sputtered into his wine.

“Maker, woman!”

“Oh come now you’re not some prude, are you? Goodness, it’s like I’m sat with a chantry mother.”

“My innocent ears!”

“You’ll be alright,” She said, and refilled both of their now empty cups. “I never really here you speak of sex, come to think of it.”

“Truth be told, it’s not my favorite pastime. There is a lot more to a connection than that, at least for me,” He said. Hawke leaned forward, intrigued. “I have to know a woman, intimately, before it can come to that. I’ve tried casual sex, but it’s just far too vulnerable. It might sound sad, but I have to be able to laugh with that person. It’s such a serious matter when it’s with a stranger.”

“Laughter and sex, huh?”

“It’s necessary, yes. Absolutely.”

“Interesting. In all my days I’ve never experienced that.”

“Well,” he laughed, “I highly recommend.”

“Sex is often how I get to know a person. I don’t know why, but I greatly enjoy it. It tells me all I need to know about a person. What they want from you, if they’re a giver, if they’re a keeper, even.”

“I’ve never seen you find a keeper.”

She flinched at the comment. He quickly apologized.

“I have found keepers. The question is if I’m what they want.”

“Hawke, I don’t know how you couldn’t be. You’re a good, good woman. I mean it.”

“Well, people have specific tastes,” He raised a toast to that. “Like you, Varric. Your commitment to Bianca is unwavering, and that never ceases to confound me.”

“She’s a good bow. She’s sturdy, and-”

“Varric.”

“Right... You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh trust me, I do. She doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’re hung up on that broody elf, aren’t you? I could say the same for you. He has hurt you again and again... I suppose like she has to me.”

Hawke took a sip of her wine. Varric followed suit.

“You can do better than him, Hawke.” He repeated.

She sighed. “There isn't anyone better than him, in my eyes. But you can do better too. You deserve someone who does need you.”

“You need me,” Varric said. They looked at each other. “If we both can do better then where does that put us?”

She laughed loudly and genuinely— which was a rare sight.

“Maybe that puts us right here in front of each other.”

“What are you saying, Hawke?” Whatever bluff she had, Varric called it. They held eye contact for a moment.

“What are we, Varric? I mean, I’ve never had a friendship like this before.”

“Neither have I,” Varric said. “Family?”

“Maybe…” They locked eyes again. Varric furrowed his brows. 

“I’ve never really liked a woman that wasn’t a dwarf.”

“I’ve never really liked a dwarf.”

“Fair,” he backed off. They thought for a moment. “We’d be good for each other.”

“I… yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she decided. “We would, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, sure. Absolutely.”

She took a sip of her wine. Varric simply watched. His eyes made their way to hers. She looked back, setting the chalice down. He shifted in his seat.

She stood up. Varric inhaled, tilting his head up to look at her. She stepped over to him in his seat, and laid herself across his lap. He slid a hand over her rump. She brought a hand to his chin, rubbing her thumb gently across his scruffy facial hair as she lifted his face up to hers. They kissed— only for a moment, then pulled away to look at each other. Neither could discern what the other was feeling so they went at it again. As their lips pressed together they wrapped their arms around each other, enveloping them in one another’s embrace. This kiss lasted longer. Slowly, gently, the tip of Varric’s tongue brushed against her lips. She parted her mouth for him, letting him in. They continued. His left hand still wore a leather glove. He gripped her jaw with it, keeping her right against him. She felt him start to press against her, growing hard. She whimpered.

“Fuck.” He whispered. 

She tried to stifle a laugh, to no avail, giggling down his throat. He pulled away, resting his hands on the armrests of his chair.

“What?” He demanded, embarrassed.

“What do you mean, what?” She said, still in his lap, her face almost touching his.

“You laughed in my mouth!”

“You just said... I just felt bad. Or guilty I suppose.”

“Why?”

She leaned in, and started to kiss his neck. He tossed his head back, groaning in surprise. Slowly, she bit and sucked at him, until the skin turned deep red.

“Because,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, “I have you right where I want you.”

And with that, she rose from their shared seat, grabbed the quarter-full bottle of wine, and started to walk away.

Varric, unsure of whether to cover his neck or his bulge, awkwardly stood up and started to follow.

“Hawke! Maker’s breath, wait, woman!”

[thatwildwolfart]

Everyone read Out of the Fade, Into the Fire by @whiskynorocks. It's a beautiful, heartwrenching and heartwarming story about recovery, pain, love, family, and moving on, and I can't recommend it enough.

[lostinthewiind]

Way With Words

Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

Genre: Fluff

Rating: All ages

➤ True to his nature as a renowned author, Varric has always been better at expressing himself through the art of written words.

The sound of Varric's quill scratching against parchment sent a chill up your spine—one that scratched a particular itch you didn't even know you had. Perched in his usual spot at the wooden table in front of the fireplace, you sat across from him, watching intently as he frantically worked to get everything down before he forgot even a single, minute detail.

"You don't have to release the book tomorrow, you know," you told him. "Take a couple of days to enjoy the fact that we saved Thedas. Surely that's deserving of a night or two off."

You could tell that Varric had only slightly registered what you had said, his quill faltering for a brief moment before continuing to whip from left to right across the page. Again and again. Flip the page. Left to right. Again and again. New page.

The fireplace crackling behind you lit up his face, basking his features in a warm, orange glow. In this light, you could see clearly as the wrinkles of his forehead deepened; and if you watched his facial expressions closely enough, you could tell which ones were permanent from age and which ones were temporary from stress.

When a pocket of gas escaped one of the burning logs with a loud pop, Varric's eyes shifted up from his work. In that moment, as his eyes darted toward the fire behind you before focusing on your face, you clocked the exhaustion he was trying so desperately to hide—or ignore. His gaze caught yours just long enough for you to notice the dull hue of his usual bright, brown irises.

He flashed a superficial smile before returning to his work. Word after word, he recounted the tale of the Inquisition from the moment he met you to the moment Corypheus was finally defeated.

"Varric." You reached across the table and caught his hand in yours. You felt as the tight muscles in his grip loosened. "Take a break."

Varric's hand twitched in your hold. "I can't. I don't want to forget anything important."

"That makes one of us." You exhaled slowly. "There's so much I wish I could forget. So much I have forgotten."

"Someone has to tell the story. Might as well be me." He smiled again, but this time it seemed more genuine. "Besides, no one else will give it the right amount of flair."

"I would expect nothing less from the legendary author of Swords and Shields." You chuckled. "I'm sure Cassandra is chomping at the bit to read about all the behind the scenes romances of the Inquisition you no doubt have all the insider information on."

That caused Varric to laugh, and finally, the rest of his body relaxed. Quill dropping onto the page, the sentence Varric had been in the middle of writing was left temporarily forgotten; the retelling of a past story was put aside for the making of a new one.

"I really don't know why she likes that garbage, but hey, I suppose there's an audience for everything."

"You're too hard on yourself. It's not that bad."

Varric quirked a brow at you. "Don't tell me you've read them?"

"I've read a few chapters."

Varric hummed, amused. "And?"

"I can see the appeal."

A bark of a laugh. "I never took you as a romantic, Inquisitor."

"I'm full of surprises."

"So I've come to learn."

Suddenly eager to get a sneak peak at you favourite author's newest work, you reached out and grabbed one of the first pages Varric had written. The ink was already dry, the scribbled words a duller shade of black than the newer pages.

Varric didn't protest. Instead, he watched intently as your eyes scanned the page. "Let me know if I missed anything."

"There's details in here that I don't even recall happening," you assured him. "But it's kind of bland. For a romance author, this isn't very flowery. Where's that so-called 'flair'?"

"Such a critic." Varric tried to snatch the paper away, but your sharp reflexes won. "This is just the first draft. Only the facts. The flair comes later."

"Thank goodness, because if this is how you end up describing me in the final copy, I'll hunt you down." You cleared your throat before reciting the words in front of you. "'Inquisitor. Small woman. Prisoner turned ally. Glowing hand.'"

Varric shook his head. "Like I said. The facts."

"Nothing about my bright eyes? My charming smile? Not even a throwaway line about how incredibly beautiful I am?" you joked as you relinquished the page so Varric could put it back in order with the others.

"This isn't that kind of book, Inquisitor."

You leaned back and felt the warmth of the fire on the nape of your neck. "Of course." You smirked. "But if it were, how would you describe me?"

Varric pretended he didn't hear you and instead went back to his writing. His pace was noticeably slower now though, more thoughtful. Something else was on his mind and he was having to think more about what he was jotting down instead of just letting it flow.

"I was a newborn in this world—a world I had lived in all my life, yet somehow I didn't recognize any of it. I stepped out of the fade, my memory lost and a glowing hand gained." You closed your eyes and described the series of events from your point of view. "I had just closed my first fade rift. I was overcome with fear and excitement, a slurry of emotions that had no business mixing. When the possibility of being able to close the breach was mentioned, he spoke. 'Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever.' A man. A dwarf. Handsome, and I could tell he knew it from the way he showed off his abundance of chest hair for any and all to see. But my eyes were drawn first to his crossbow, the weapon he had used to save my life moments earlier; the weapon he would use to save my life more times than I could count."

When you opened your eyes, Varric was staring at you, eyes wide. Speechless.

"It doesn't have to be a romance for it to be romantic," you told him. "Life and death is just as beautiful as any love story."

Still silent, he swallowed hard. Then, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment, he began to write; this time with all the fervor he had possessed originally. Arm resting at the top of the paper, he shielded the words from your eyes.

Head resting in your hand, you sat and watched as he wrote. When he reached the bottom of the page, he stopped and handed it over. "Like any author, I'm better in the written format," he said.

You nodded and began to read.

"No," he corrected. "Out loud. Read it out loud."

"Okay," you chuckled. "'All hope had been lost and then she appeared, stepping out of the fade with determination etched into her features and bright eyes that held the future in them—the world's future ... my future. From prisoner to ally to friend, the more I learned about her, the fonder I grew.'"

You paused and looked up at Varric. He nodded his encouragement. "Keep going."

Your throat suddenly felt dry and your chest tight. "'She was beautiful. She still is beautiful. But she's also so much more than that.'" You were reading slower now, your breath catching on the words. As Varric reached out to take one of your hands in his, your grip on the paper with your other hand tightened. "'Anyone who knows the Inquisitor could tell you that she is smart, brave, kind, compassionate, and so many more wonderful qualities. But not everyone could tell you about the way her smile always reaches her eyes, no matter how exhausted she is, or the way she sleeps so lightly that the faintest gust of wind could wake her. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who gets to see the way she curls her hair around her finger when she's feeling playful. Then I pray I'm the only person who gets to see it, because the thought of anyone else making her feel that way causes a sickening feeling to snake its way through my veins. She is-'"

"She is the most incredible person I've ever met in my entire life," Varric took over, having memorized the words after somehow only writing them once. You suspected, however, that they had been within him for a long time. As his hand held yours firmly and the pad of his thumb ghosted over the inside of your wrist, you shivered. "And as things come to an end and time runs out, I think of the past and dread the future because for all of the brave things I've done by her side, I don't know if I'll ever be brave enough to tell her I love her."

You felt a tear fall down your cheek and moved to quickly wipe it away. "If you're that good with words, maybe I should read more of your books."

Varric smiled as he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "For you, I'd write down my every waking thought."

"You don't have to." You folded up that paper in your hand and tucked it into your pocket. "This is more than enough."

Varric let out a nervous chuckle. "You're killing me here, love. I gotta know if you feel the same way. Please, put an old man's aching heart to rest."

Standing up, you leaned across the wooden table and cupped his stubbled jaw in your hand and felt his entire being soften to your touch. "Of course, I love you too." You gently pressed your lips against his. With a relieved exhale, he melted into the kiss.

When you moved to pull away, his hand shot up to the back of your head and held you in place, lips ghosting over his, so he could savour the moment. "Just so you know, I'm not putting any of this in my book," he whispered. "I'd like to be the only person to know that you smelt like smoke and tasted like elfroot tea the first time we kissed."

"Cassandra will be so disappointed."

"Me? Disappointing the Seeker? That's never happened before." He grinned as his hand slid down from the back of your head to caress your cheek. "Now come here. I'm suddenly craving the taste of elfroot."

[evangeleatrevelyan]

So thrilled with this absolutely stunning portrait of my OC Inquisitor Evangelea Trevelyan I commissioned from the wonderful @starsandskies!! 💜💜💜

You can read my ongoing fanfic “Lovely” about Evangelea’s love story with Varric Tethras on AO3 here!

[ruiningsalads]

Happy Friday! Maybe for Varric/Cassandra: "I never had the courage to ask you if you'd kiss me."

another drabble for @dadrunkwriting!

"That's another drink, Seeker!" Varric crowed gleefully.

"Ugh." Cassandra threw her cards down and picked up her tankard. "I don't know why I agreed to this."

"Because I'm incredibly charming," and he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She choked on her drink and nearly spat ale all over the table. As she coughed and struggled to regain her breath, Varric shuffled the cards.

"You're supposed to drink it, not inhale it," he offered with a smirk.

"Quiet," she wheezed, red-faced.

"How about a new game, since you're so bad at cards?" He set the deck aside and hefted his own tankard. "Truth or drink. You ask me a question, and I either have to tell the truth or take a drink."

Cassandra eyed him suspiciously. "You, tell the truth?"

"It's been known to happen. Now, what do you say?"

"Fine." She squinted at him for a moment before asking, "How often are you staring at the Inquisitor's rear while we are traveling?"

That made him laugh. "As lovely as she is, I'm not really into elves. Besides, I think Chuckles would have something to say about it."

"That wasn't the question," she challenged.

"Oh, fine. I don't stare. If I happen to look, it's because she stepped into my line of vision, and that's Andraste's honest truth."

When she didn't challenge him further, he asked, "What about you? Has anyone caught the eye of the Seeker? Perhaps a handsome commander?"

"Cullen?" It came out as a startled laugh. "Maker, no!"

"No? Then who?"

Cassandra's face reddened, and she swiftly took a drink.

"Spoilsport," Varric chucked. "Your turn, then."

She peered at him thoughtfully. "Have you started on the next chapter of Swords and Shields yet?"

"Of all the things you could ask me, you choose to ask me about my crummy romance serial?" He shook his head disbelievingly. "No, I haven't."

Her shoulders slumped the tiniest bit. "But you should."

"That's debatable," he snorted. "But now, a real question: when was the last time you were truly afraid?"

He watched as she sucked on her teeth for a moment. "When that giant picked you up and would have thrown you, were it not for the Inquisitor's quick thinking."

A wide smile spread across his face. "Aw, Seeker, I'm touched."

Pink bloomed across her cheeks. "Same question to you," she demanded.

"Right now," he admitted before he could think better of it.

Her brow wrinkled with a frown. "What?"

"Because... Because I want to kiss you, but I'm not sure if you'll throw another chair at me."

He watched her lips part as the breath gusted out of her. Then, so quietly that he almost didn't hear, she murmured, "Only if it's a bad kiss after how long I've waited."

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 1 - The Demon of Vyrantium

This story will have spoilers from the game. Like entire quests. If you don’t want those don’t read this. You have been warned.

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: The gods strike at D’Meta’s Crossing. Neve suggests hiring the Antivan Crows and the most respected mage killer out there, turns out he has problems of his own.

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: graphic violence, mentions of slavery, cursing, let me know if I missed something it's so long I lost track

A/N: I told you I’d take more creative liberties with the next one didn’t I ;3

Prologue DATV Masterlist Chapter 2(WIP)

I sat across from Neve and Harding at the circle table in the lighthouse to go over next steps.

“So. We stopped the ritual,” Neve said.

“And Varric paid the price,” Harding answered.

“Hey. Varric made his choice to go talk with Solas. He knew the risks. We all did,” I said.

“And now Solas is… gone. And we’re here, wherever here is—besides in the Fade,” Harding thought.

“Solas called it the lighthouse,” I told them.

“He did?” Neve questioned. “When?”

“While I was out cold. He showed up in my dream, and he’s really mad that we stopped his ritual.”

“Good,” Harding said smugly.

“He’s also trapped in some kind of prison in the Face. Not happy about that either,” I explained.

“You’re sure that wasn’t just a dream? It’s a reasonable reaction,” Neve said.

“Solas can speak with people in their dreams. Even kill them,” Harding told her.

“I’m safe on that front. I bled a little when I got knocked out. Enough that he can gripe at me, but not enough that he can make my head explode.”

“So Solas is using blood magic. Like any normal mage would to play with your mind,” Neve replied.

“But he’s not a normal mage. Like I told you, he’s an elven god,” Harding said.

“Putting together a nice ritual doesn’t make him a god,” she shot back.

“The gods of my people were incredibly powerful,” I interrupted their squabbling. “I don’t mean they were powerful like a skilled mage. I mean they destroyed entire cities. They shattered mountains. So no, they might not literally be gods, but they’re a lot worse than whatever you’re thinking.”

“Alright. Well, we’ve stopped the ritual, and there doesn’t seem to be an immediate danger. For now. You’re certain Solas can’t use blood magic to affect your mind?” Neve asked.

“I’m certain that if he could he already would have, but I’m still pissed at him as ever. I’m not certain of anything else, but we’re not out of danger,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Harding asked.

“Solas had two of the other elven gods imprisoned. When he got trapped, they escaped.”

“So those things we saw come out of the fade when the ritual went wild… those are…” Neve’s voice faded.

“Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. Two of the ancient elven gods that Solas rebelled against. Solas warned me about them being evil, which is pretty rich coming from the guy who just tried to tear down the Veil,” I said.

“You don’t believe him?” Neve questioned.

“No, that’s the problem. I do believe him. He said they were horrific tyrants.”

“Tyrants so powerful elven history remembers them as gods,” Harding added.

“Solas says Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain drew on the blight for power and became corrupted. That was when he imprisoned them.”

“So instead of one… god… running around, we have two. And they’re not just powerful, they’re blighted,” Neve scowled.

“We need to get out there and stop them,” Harding said firmly.

“Just like that? Without Varric? And you’re still getting back on your feet,” Neve looked over at her.

“I’m fine. We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“We need to investigate. Figure out what we’re dealing with before we rush in and make things worse,” Neve told her.

“And how many more people will get hurt—get killed—while we spend time investigating?”

I cut them both off. “If Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are worse than Solas, we can’t go in blind. We need to know what they can do and what they want.”

“But we only have Solas’s word about all of this,” Harding said.

I shrugged. “Then let’s go investigate for ourselves. We find out what we’re dealing with, and then we take our shot.”

“Fine. The eluvian led us here instead of back to Minrathous.”

“Let’s hope it goes back to the ritual site,” Neve said. “Maybe we can find some clues at the scene of the crime.”

“All right, then. Let’s get back to the ritual site,” I said.

—------------------------------------

The second we stepped through the Eluvian, a group of Veil Jumpers were running at us for their lives. Some kind of old elven construct was chasing them, swinging a massive golden axe at their heads. One of them, a woman, was using her magic on a device in her hands, trying to stop the construct, but it didn’t look to be working.

One of them got knocked to the side against a boulder, groaning from the impact. An older dark skinned elf parried the swings of the mighty axe, giving the girl time to work. The construct swung past the elf, the blade going through the device in the girl’s hands. As the device broke, the construct shut down, falling limp.

Harding seemed to know the older elf and the girl. She addressed them as Strife and Irelin. She told us that she met them with Varric when they first started the hunt for Solas. Veil Jumpers, she said they were called, experts in ancient elven magic.

Strife told us millions of artifacts are being faulty and coming alive because of Solas’s ritual, pointing the finger at us because we were supposed to stop him.

I informed him that we did, in fact, stop him, but Solas was now trapped in the Fade and two of the Evanuris escaped. The Veil Jumpers knew the extent of the horrors the Evanuris caused centuries ago. 

“I was really hoping Solas was lying about all of this,” I told them.

Strife frowned. “The god of lies, but some things are sacrosanct, even to him. He might be a bastard, but he’s a damned sight better than the Evanuris.”

I snorted. “No kidding.”

They still had dozens of Veil Jumpers unaccounted for, but Irelin said if we could find Bellara Lutare it would be a massive assist. Apparently, she was the best there is at working with the ancient elven artifacts. She was off looking for one before the ritual shook everything loose.

Harding told them we would go and get Bellara, but I told her to stay behind and help the Veil Jumpers because they needed her. Definitely not because she was still injured and way too stubborn to see sense.

—--------------------------------------

“Protocol is to wait at least a week before sending anyone to look for me, I’ve only been gone for three days,” she said, twisting her hips back and forth in place like a child being scolded.

“Well, things have taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid,” I told her. “Our gods are back and they’re trying to take over the world.”

“Our gods… I need a moment,” she said.

“Take all the time you need. It won’t help, unfortunately, I’ve known for days and it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet,” I replied.

“That is quite a predicament.” She sighed, looking around. “All right, but I need your help first, I’m on to something big here.”

“Just tell me what you need,” I smiled.

“We’ll take what we can get,” Neve told her.

As it turned out, Ancient Elven ruins could be tricky. Barriers and old mechanical devices that were rare in these times. Luckily, it was pretty straightforward to figure out and Bellara was a great help finding our way through the ruins. Whatever work she had done with elven ruins and artifacts would definitely come in handy.

It was all fine and dandy when we found what we were looking for, except for the ogre that decided to pay us a visit and try to wreck our shit.

A lot of its attacks I could parry or at least redirect. Some I could only dodge, and I spent most of the fight doing so, shooting firebolts in between its attacks.

It finally fell, and I sheathed my dagger, fighting to regain my breath. 

Bellara found what she was looking for, the “Nadas Dirthalen” or the eighth archive or the archive spirit. Pick whichever you want to describe it, it was an artifact crafted with the knowledge of the gods and it could give us information we might need. If she could fix the crystal, that is.

We headed back to the Veil Jumper camp and they told us one of the towns they work closely with had gone dark. A place called D’Meta’s Crossing. With everything going on, it likely wasn’t a coincidence. Harding rejoined the three of us and we boarded a boat to go check it out.

—----------------------------------

D’Meta’s Crossing was on the far side of the lake. It was bleak when we approached on the water. 

“This isn’t right,” Bellara said. “The dock usually has people bringing goods to market, bartering and shouting… It’s always busy.”

“Stay sharp,” I said as I climbed out of the boat.

The main entrance to town was barricaded. Clearly not to keep anything out. We moved to the side, seeing a smaller barricade. I pulled myself over it, eyes going wide as I dropped down. The place reeked, and there was blight everywhere. These masses, they looked like rotting tumors, not the decay or stagnation of the normal blight, this was alive.

There were cysts that popped like blisters when fired at or hit with anything and exploded. The second I stepped foot in this place I felt I needed a shower.

We moved further in, sticking close together. There was a villager standing by a home completely taken over with the blight.

His face was drained of all color and his eyes were black. “What happened here?”

He stared at me. Well, through me. “Keep them inside. Listen to the mayor.”

My brows furrowed. I waved a hand in front of his face. Unresponsive. “What’s controlling them? Blood magic? The blight?”

We moved deeper in. The town square was even worse for wear. There were bodies everywhere taken over by the blight-cysts. We continued on, keeping an eye out for survivors. There was no one that the blight hadn’t taken over, either their bodies or their minds.

We came to a part of town blocked off by a wall of the blight. A bright red bulb pulsated at the center of it. I shuddered, taking a couple steps back and blasting cold from my fingers to minimize the explosiveness.We had gotten through it, but only a narrow passageway. Squeezing between a corridor of the blight was not on the top of my bucket list.

I would desperately need a bath after this.

We came to the other side and a giant mass of the blight stood in the center. At the center of it looked like a person was being held there.

“Mihlva!” Bellara gasped, running over to one of the bodies.

“One of your fellow Veil Jumpers?” I asked, watching the blight tendrils wrap around them and pull them away. I moved to the mass at the center. The man in it was moving. “Bellara!”

She looked over. “Jahel! He’s alive!”

“Bellara?” The man groaned.

“We’re going to help you… we’ll get you down, Jahel,” Bellara said.

A tendril snaked around his neck. “No… listen. The gods… the gods have returned. I saw… them. I heard their voices.”

“The gods did this?” Bellara questioned, panic evident in her voice.

“A blood ritual,” he said. “To release the blight. The villagers… they said they needed power… Bellara… be careful…” That tendril looped around his neck twice over, caressing his lips as he spoke before tightening around his throat.

His body was strangled, blood spilled to the cobbled streets, the blight pooling at our feet. The ground shook, and I heard someone shout for help.

We ran through the remains of the village, shooting down the blight we could along the way. Coming through an archway of it, we came out to the other side of the village. A man was wrapped in barbed fleshy pink tentacles, a writhing mass of the blight.

“Help me! Hurry!” He yelled, panicked.

The ground shook and a dragon shot up into the sky, screeching as it landed, crushing debris underfoot.

“No! Please!” The man yelled as the writhing mass drew tighter around him. I looked between him and the dragon, feeling my chest tighten. I stepped forward, putting two fingers to my lips to produce a loud whistle.

It took a step toward me, and I stared it down as embers floated from its mouth. After a moment, as though fighting a command, I watched it back off and fly into the horizon, roaring as it went.

I took a breath, approaching the man in the mass. 

“I know you,” Bellara said. “You’re the mayor of this town.”

“The village… the people… are they…?”

“Blighted. Dead. All of them,” Harding said.

“You gave them to the gods, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” Bellara spat.

The mayor sobbed. “They were in my head… infecting my thoughts. They made me do it… Please, help me!”

“Deep breaths… Tell me what happened,” I said gently. If it really was blood magic he may not have been acting completely of his own will.

“I tried to protect people. You have to believe me. The gods told me to lure the Veil Jumpers to the center of town. The others were to be rounded up and kept safe. They would be the first to witness the glory of Ghilan’nain’s new creation… She showed me gold. So much gold…”

“So you brought the Veil Jumpers to the middle of town…” I said.

“For a blood sacrifice!” Bellara cut me off.

“Because the gods needed power,” Neve concluded.

“Did you know what the gods would do?” I questioned him.

“The Veil Jumpers… they were just strangers. I thought if they were taken first, everyone else might be spared.”

“So you did know!” Bellara yelled.

“The gods exploited his greed and fear,” Neve said.

“I’m supposed to feel sorry for him? I say we leave him right here,” Bellara said.

“But I’ll die. The blight’s everywhere. What if the dragon comes back?” He panicked. “I understand what they do now. I won’t be tempted again! I swear!”

“Rook?” Harding asked.”

I sighed. “Let’s get him out of there.”

“What? This entire village is dead because of him.” Bellara argued.

“I know.”

“Then why spare him?”

“We don’t kill people. Not like this. We’re not murderers. We’re not like the gods. We are better than them,” I explained. “If we leave him to be a source of their power we’re no better than he is.”

“Thank you… I think,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for your gratitude,” I snapped.

“Then if I may offer some advice: steel yourself. I felt their power, the promises they made. It’s irresistible.”

“Then try harder next time. Don’t make me regret saving you,” I said firmly.

“Yes, of course. But you should be worried about the rest of the world. Or this will be our future.”

—---------------------------------

We made our way back to the Veil Jumper camp. We were speaking with them when an old friend of the Inquisition, Morrigan, made an appearance. She told us to find Solas’s ritual dagger and that the eluvian at the lighthouse should go anywhere there is an existing eluvian. Bellara offered to come with us to fix it.

I just wished Varric was here to give better advice. He was always stronger at speeches than I was. Doing this without him to guide me felt wrong.

Neve, Harding, and I made our way back to the ritual site. After a wild goose chase after a darkspawn that stole the dagger, and watching Harding get possessed by some kind of new strange dwarf magic—which doesn’t exist, mind you—I was ready for a nap.

We came back to the Lighthouse and talked about Harding’s new abilities. I encouraged her to explore them but be wary. It wasn’t like any magic I’d seen before, and dwarves didn’t have any connection to the Fade, so it was completely new territory.

I went up the stairs, seeing a new area branched next to the hall leading to the infirmary. I could hear Varric snoring from here. At least I knew he was still alive.

I headed down that hall, pushing the door open to see an aquarium of sorts. There was a bookshelf to the right and a wardrobe to the left. In the center of the room was a chaise lounge with a bookcase behind it.

I saw my pack sitting in front of that bookshelf. Neve or Harding must’ve brought my pack in here. It made sense, it was a better place to sleep than the infirmary. I suppose I could spare a few moments to unpack my things.

I pulled Varric’s shaving mirror out, placing it on the bookshelf behind where I would be sleeping. Varric and his life lessons. I asked him how we were supposed to stop Solas, and he gave me the mirror.

“Take a long hard look in it, kid. It’ll always show the face of a hero who can get it done,” he said.

I don’t know if I see a hero’s face, but it’s a face that has seen a lot. Got a few new scars. Some that show up in a mirror, some that don’t. But Varric believed in me then, and he believes in me now. I can do this.

I moved to the small armoire on the right side of the room, placing an elven scroll down. A peddler gave it to me after I saved his caravan from bandits. He said the scroll went back to even before Tevinter. Said that elves had a rich history, “even more than the rest of us.”

Too many humans look down on us, even though elves were here first. It was nice to have someone see how much our people have done. I just wish I could’ve been a part of it.

On the opposite side from the mirror, I put my broken chains. I helped a lot of Minrathous slaves escape to freedom the night I met Varric, including my mother. Freed only to be killed in the chaos. Another time Varric had shown up for me. I remembered his hand on my shoulder as I wept over her.

“Come on, kid. It’s time to go. I’m sorry.”

Then the magisters cracked down in retaliation, and the Shadow Dragons decided I was too much trouble to keep around. We could have taken a stand and dared the magisters to come after us. At least people are free because of what I did.

I sighed, brushing my fingers over the cold metal before going to sit in the chaise lounge. Carefully, I laid back, letting my eyes drift shut. I was wound tight despite my exhaustion. I don’t know how long it took me to actually fall asleep.

I woke in the Fade, Solas’s voice already penetrating my thoughts. “Back so soon. It must have been worse than I thought.”

“Hello, Dread Wolf.”

“Ah, but perhaps I am mistaken. You may be here to correct me, to tell me that my concerns were unfounded. I am, after all, remembered as the god of lies, treachery, and rebellion.”

Haunted, hopeless, hurting… a voice nagged at the back of my head. No, not nagged. Soothed. 

“So you’re gonna be insufferable about it. See, this is the reason nobody likes you,” I told him.

“I led a rebellion for centuries that culminated the creation of the Veil and the destruction of the elven empire.”

“Okay, this is among the reasons nobody likes you,” I corrected.

“My information was accurate. Now you realize that the danger is real.”

“I need to know what the gods are planning,” I said plainly.

“You are asking for knowledge no mortal in this world is privy to,” he replied. “If I am to share it with you, I need to know what makes you the right person to lead the fight against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

“Well, for starters, I’m the only one here,” I said, throwing my arms out and looking around the desolate prison. “And I stopped you, didn’t I?”

“You disrupted the ritual.”

“Yeah, I did. Even though I’m nowhere near as powerful as you. Even though I’m just a slave.”

His brow furrowed, and I saw him blink as the only hint of surprise. “You were a slave?”

“Yeah. Varric said you hated slavery. I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.”

He only nodded. “Your plan is to tell me how powerful you aren’t?”

“I met Varric when he asked the Shadow Dragons for help with freeing an old friend from Venatori slavers. The Shadow Dragons had a safe plan that wasn’t going to work, and Varric wasn’t the only one with something to lose if we failed.”

“So you and Varric led an armed rebellion and dealt a devastating blow to the Venatori,” he finished for me.

“You did your research,” I said, looking him up and down.

“I would’ve been a fool not to. You and Varric were pursuing me for the better part of a year. I needed to learn who was hunting me.”

“Then you obviously also know that powerful opposition doesn’t frighten me. I find a way to get the job done, whatever it takes.”

“I suppose I was not so different when I started.”

“No,” a voice said, inches from me and lightyears away all at once. “You were not different. You are not different.” The voice of a friend.

“Cole.” Now, I did see the Dread Wolf’s surprise evident in his expression. “How did you…”

“You are trapped,” he said. “She is hopeless, haunted, hurting, just like before. Escaped one master just to be fighting another. You are not different,” Cole said, looking up at Solas. “Hello, Solas.”

“Hello Compassion,” Solas dipped his head in greeting. “It has been an age.”

“You left the Inquisition to free us, but it didn’t work. Instead you freed them. The Evanuris.”

“Someone got in my way,” Solas leveled a condescending glare at me from his high horse—or at least his slightly higher piece-of-floating-rock.

“People were dying. I heard their screams,” Cole said. “The Veil needs to stay.”

“Oookay, this is all fine and good, but what are you doing here, Cole?” I asked, turning to him. “I thought I’d seen the last of you when Dorian freed me?”

“I felt the Veil weaken, and I knew. I knew it was Solas behind it, I always knew, even when he didn’t want me to, even when he hid it from everyone else. I went back to that place where it’s still weakest, and I felt your despair. I followed it here.”

“The gods need two things to reclaim their dominance of the world,” Solas interrupted, clearly growing bored. “First, the blight. What exists in this world is a bare fragment of its power. The rest is imprisoned… until they release it.”

“What would they need to do to free the blight, and how do we stop them from doing it?” I asked.

“They will need to pierce the Veil to reach the blight’s prison. My lyrium dagger is one of the few artifacts capable of doing so.”

“We’ve already recovered it from the ritual site.”

“Excellent,” I could’ve sworn he almost looked proud, but I doubted the smug bastard was capable. “Then they will have to make their own. That will give you time. The second is followers. They have called themselves gods, and what is a god without worshipers to sing their praises?”

“I’m not gonna bend a knee to blighted murdering monsters just because their ears are pointed like mine. I don’t think many other elves are going to either.”

“Agreed. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain care little for the elves. They will find worshipers among those hungry for power. Tyrants and bullies. The cruel and corrupt, who fear their own vulnerability and seize any chance to feel strong. If you hunt them, they will lead you to Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

I laughed without humor. “You want me to pick fights with tyrants and bullies? Sounds fun.”

“I gave no orders. All I can offer are suggestions.”

“I’m on it. What else?”

“The Vi’Revas, the Lighthouse eluvian, can take you anywhere, if you master its secrets. Have you done so?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got one of the Veil Jumpers working on it. She’ll get it sorted, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Yes. I suppose we will. And when you speak with Varric, please tell him that I… regret what happened.”

Cole put his hand on my arm, and the world spun for a moment before I opened my eyes. We were in a grove, the stars above us, trees towering around us.

“Woah.” I put a hand to my head. “Where are we?”

“The Fade.”

“Right…” I took a seat in the grass with a sigh.

Cole crouched down, fingers fidgeting with the blades of grass. “You feel heavy again. Like before.”

“Varric picked me up to help him, but I disrupted the ritual, Varric got hurt, and the gods escaped. That doesn’t much feel like helping.”

“Varric used to help me. He wanted me to understand things, I think.”

“I don’t know how to lead, Cole. I’m barely used to being in charge of my life.”

“You’re already leading,” he said simply. His head bowed, and he glanced back behind him, as though listening for something. “They need you, it’s time to wake up.”

I gasped sitting upright, my chest heaving and my palms sweaty. I hadn’t seen Cole in years. Not since I was a slave. Not since I was at my lowest in life. Shit…

I needed to talk to Varric. I wiped my hands on my pants, standing with a huff. Having Solas in my head might prove to be more hindrance than help if he wouldn’t let me sleep in peace.

I made my way out, rubbing out the kink in my neck, hoping he might be awake. If not, I would let at least one of us get some restful sleep.

I approached him, sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed opposite where he was sitting up against a pillow.

“So Solas told the truth about the gods,” he said as I sat down.

“You heard? It’s bad, Varric,” I shook my head. “If you’d seen D’Meta’s Crossing…”

“The team needs to act fast… and it can’t do that with me leading from a bed,” he said. “You’ve gotta take point on this.”

My chest tightened. “I can’t do what you do. I’ve barely been holding it together in the short time you’ve been out.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to do what I do. You just need to get it done. Rook, when I put this team together, what did I look for? A detective to find the Dread Wolf and a scout to get us the lay of the land. Exactly the people he’d expect me to recruit. Disciplined. Predictable. And then there’s you. Remember when we first met, kid?”

“Of course I do.”

“You risked your neck to bring down an entire slavery ring. Pretty much by yourself,” he grinned.

“I had help.”

“Sure. I got winded about five minutes in. You did most of the work. Ticked off a bunch of Minrathous big shots, but… You’ve got a knack, kid.”

I hugged my knees to my chest. “A knack for what? Almost dying?”

“Exactly. You’ve got a knack for finding a way through the wildest shit I’ve ever seen. With a plan that no one expects. You can do this,” he said with a softness in his eyes I’d only ever really seen when it was just us. The protective kind. “And don’t worry. I’ll still be here to talk if you need me.”

“There is something… D’Meta’s Crossing was awful. While we were there, we found one survivor—the mayor.”

“You took him back to the Veil Jumpers,” he said. Harding must’ve filled him in.

“Not everyone was happy about my decision…” I told him. “We’re just starting out and I’m already losing their trust.”

Varric sat up a little straighter. “The key to earning the team’s trust isn’t to only make decisions everyone agrees with. It’s showing the team that they can tell you whatever’s on their mind, even if they think you’re full of crap, and know you’ll listen. It’s showing them that you’re capable of making the hard decisions, even if they don’t agree.”

“When I took over at the ritual site, I had to make a call on who came with me to knock over that statue. It was the first decision I made leading this team, and Harding got hurt because of it.”

“You made a decision with the best information you had. Sometimes you do that, and people end up hurt. Or worse,” he said simply.

“What would you have done?” I asked.

“What would I have done? Probably gotten myself killed and failed to stop the ritual if you hadn’t stepped in,” he laughed. “A good leader isn’t someone who never makes mistakes: It’s someone who admits when they make one. That’s how you earn their trust.”

“Did Neve tell you about me talking to Solas in the Fade?” I asked.

“I had some good arguments with Chuckles back in the day. I can’t imagine being stuck with him in my head. But how are you feeling about it?” He asked.

“Your old friend is kind of an asshole, Varric.”

He chuckled. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall while the two of you get into it. Solas fought a rebellion against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. He didn’t want to be a god. But he’s also a lot older and more powerful than any of us. He looks at us like we’re toddlers.”

“So how do I deal with him?”

“Act like you’re as smart as he is, and he’ll be insufferable. Show him you respect his age and experience, and he’ll remind you he’s just a man. Honestly, pick whichever of those pisses you off less,” he grinned.

“He also asked me to tell you that he regrets what happened. Hurting you, I mean,” I told him, letting my knees fall back to either side.

“Chuckles is sentimental. He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals.”

“He seems the type. Cole visited me. I know last time I told you about him you said he was with the Inquisition. He came to my dream with Solas too, and he looked almost… regretful, if you could even call it that.”

“Well, shit. How’s he doing? What was he doing?” Varric asked, shifting slightly.

“Apparently, he sensed my despair when he was checking out the ritual site because of how thin the Veil is there. He followed it back to me.” I sighed, standing and brushing myself off, whatever invisible dust there was. “I’ll let you rest.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Rook. Hey, one last thing before you go,” he said. “I’ve been racking my brain thinking of contacts who might help us with these gods.”

“You got any ideas?” 

“Nothing. But being a leader isn’t about having all the answers yourself: It’s about knowing who does. Neve has connections to a whole world that Harding and I barely know. A world you barely got the chance to learn. Might be worth talking to her.”

“Will do. Thanks, Varric,” I offered him a smile. One of the few I was sure I would be able to give in the coming days.

“Any time, kid.”

I closed the door behind me so he could rest as I made my way out to Neve’s floating office. She told me we needed to hire the Antivan Crows, but specifically their most feared mage killer. The Demon of Vyrantium. I had heard of his work, and most of us in the wards and servants’ quarters revered his assassinations of our masters. They had given us plenty of reasons to side with the trained killer over them.

Neve said she set up a meeting with their bosses. Next, she said that we needed to take a trip back home. The Shadow Dragons of course made sense to take out the gods in the capital city of Tevinter where blood magic was strongest. We had done so much work against it and the Venatori, but I was a bit worried about seeing them again after the stunt I pulled. We trained to be the best at countering evil magic, it was time we proved it. Hopefully together this time and not just me and Varric.

The Antivan Crows seemed our best bet to start off. I wasn’t ready to go back to Minrathous yet. Not after everything.

Neve and I made our way down to the Vi’Revas, the eluvian, where Bellara was working. We watched her tinker with it for a moment before it lit up, showing the path to what Morrigan called The Crossroads. A spirit appeared beside it in tattered blue robes. Though I tensed instinctively, I felt nothing malicious from it.

“The wolf’s fang. You carry it now. Old paths. A new journey. Through there. I will wait,” he gestured to the eluvian before fading away.

When we entered, the spirit introduced itself as the caretaker who goes where they are needed. The Crossroads was a beautiful place in the fade. Paths branched out, the caretaker guiding us in a levitating boat to each island of Eluvians. This place was slowly becoming tainted, though. I could feel the blood magic and blight like invisible eyes or a forgotten touch. It caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

We made it to the eluvian leading to Treviso after killing some Venatori trying to take over the crossroads. Neve and I glanced at each other before stepping through. Treviso… One of the finest cities in Antiva, or so I’d been told. It was now under occupation by the Antaam. Hopefully our contact would still be able to meet us.

Neve and I made our way to the coordinates given to us, seeing a petit woman leaning against the railing of the bridge. She looked over as we approached.

“Welcome to Antiva. You must be Rook. Follow me,” she said, running off, leaving me to follow in her wake.

“And you’re Andarateia Cantori. Of the Crows?” I asked.

“Teia, please. Come, my associate Viago is gathering the others.”

We ran through the streets of Treviso, through the market and up the lattice on the side of a building. From there, we ziplined to a casino, the headquarters of the Crows.

“Welcome to the Cantori Diamond,” Teia said as we went up the stairs to the right.

As soon as I entered, I felt as though I was going to be interrogated, stripped of my valuables and tossed to the streets, if the expression of the woman eyeing me and the cane in her hand were anything to say for it.

Teia took up her spot on the left, a man with a very well groomed mustache to the right of her, followed by the older woman in the throne, and on her other side a younger man who looked way too charming for anyone’s good.

The man next to Teia spoke. “You’re the client?”

“This is Rook,” Teia said with a smile. “Did you want a drink? I promise not to let Viago near it.” It struck me how pretty she was. And the man next to her.

“Viago de Riva. Fifth Talon,” he introduced. “And this is Caterina Dellamorte. First Talon of the Crows.” He gestured to the woman in the throne.

“An honor. And you are?” I asked, glancing at the man beside her.

“Illario Dellamorte. Her grandson. What brings you here?” He asked.

“Right,” I took a breath. “My target is a pair of elven gods—or that’s what they call themselves. They’re ancient blighted mages. My detective says you have a man who brought blood mages and Venatori to their knees.”

“Lucanis,” Caterina said. “My grandson. They called him “the Demon of Vyrantium.” He was the one who did those jobs.”

“Sounds like there’s more to it,” I said carefully, tilting my head.

“Lucanis Dellamorte is dead. He was killed a year ago, now,” Viago said solemnly.

“What I say doesn’t leave this room,” Caterina said slowly. “The body our people brought back was not my grandson. It was dressed in his clothing, but it had been altered with blood magic to have his face.”

“My cousin is still alive?” Illario questioned. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” Something was off about Illario. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew that I would rather have dealings with Teia and Viago more than him in the future if we had any at all.

“His ship was attacked,” Viago interrupted my thoughts. “We knew someone sold him out… so you kept your suspicions to yourself.”

“But you’ve brought it up now. Why?” I asked, looking back to the First Talon.

“I’ve had eyes on the Venatori ever since they took my grandson from me. They were hunting your Dread Wolf. And what you did to his ritual threw them into disarray. They made mistakes. And now I have a location. The Ossuary. Where the Demon of Vyrantium is kept. Find this Ossuary. Free Lucanis. You’ll have your god-killer. And I’ll have my grandson.”

Something about the way she presented him twisted my gut. Like that was all he was, a weapon to be used and discarded. Even not having met him, the thought didn’t sit right with me. I knew what it was like to be seen only for what you could do for other people, and that was not a feeling I wanted for anyone else.

I wondered though, how a mage killer captured by the Venatori would feel about two Tevinter mages freeing him.

Illario led us to our lift to the Ossuary. I was almost relieved when he didn’t get in the boat with us. Surprisingly, he was the only Crow I had met so far that had major stab-you-in-the-back vibes.

We were boated out to the middle of the sea, the Crow mage with us parting the waters below us to grant us passage to the underwater prison. When we got there, bodies littered the sand, bloodstains running red. We passed over two dozen bodies as we made our way through the prison.

It seemed to have been some ancient elven ruins before being repurposed. It was a wonder it still functioned. If the wards on this place ever broke…

I didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened when the gods got released. I was more relieved I didn’t have to be the one fending off all the guards. We came to a Venatori barrier with three crystals connected to it that I beamed fire at before the barrier fell. A large corridor led down a set of stairs where a group of Venatori gathered.

“We don’t have to fight. We’re just here for Lucanis Dellamorte.” The mage in the center slammed his staff into the ground, the wisps of red blood magic gathering around its tip. “Get ready,” I said to Neve, who braced for a fight.

“Razikale, Dragon of Mystery. Lusacan, Dragon of Night. Hear your faithful call—”

A man in blue leathers flipped down from seemingly out of thin air, black and purple glowing wings sprouted from his back as he fell. He grappled the mage, pulling him as he spun so that the Venatori next to him stabbed straight through his comrade’s gut. He ducked as another sword came at him, kicking the Venatori in the gut. The cultist flew backward, impaling on one of the ice spikes surrounding us.

The man sprinted at the other two, a dagger in one hand and a rapier in the other. In a flash that was barely visible, he spun, slitting both of their throats before turning and putting his sword through the final cultist’s back.

He stood with his back turned to us, chest heaving. My eyes were wide. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here,” I said carefully.

His wings flapped and dissipated as he turned back toward us. “Who are you? Who sent you?” He asked, the thick accent of Antiva coming through in his voice.

Something about his presence was calm, assured, even though he just murdered six people before my eyes. It drew me in, and I wasn’t sure I would have the strength to back out.

“My name’s Rook. Caterina sent me.”

“Caterina…” He looked at the ground. “But… you’re not a Crow.” He put his hands on his hips.

“I’m breaking you out of here,” I told him. “But… you’re not just you. Care to introduce me to your friend?”

“Rook. He’s possessed by a demon,” Neve said carefully.

“It’s complicated,” Lucanis said with a slight shrug.

“Caterina promised us a mage killer if we could get you out of here,” I told him.

“I can still work,” he assured me.

“Good,” I smiled. “Cause I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.”

“They have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan. Crows don’t break contracts,” Lucanis said.

“All right, we’ll help. But in return, I need help killing some things,” I told him.

“I’ll owe you,” he said slowly.

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over. Let’s go.”

We made our way back through the prison, coming to a huge gap that none of us would be able to jump across.

“What are you—Fine. He says he can help. There is something in the Fade close enough to grab onto.”

I watched Lucanis’s wings come out, energy flowing from his hands and a large piece of floating cobblestone came into being. “All of that… came from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you,” Lucanis said honestly.

Eventually, we came to a room protected by at least six of the Venatori’s crystals powering the barrier. Behind it, was a massive garnished vial of blood. “Yeah, they can’t do anything subtle, can they?” I asked, aiming a beam of flames at it, making it explode on impact.

Through a close-by archway, there was a lift. We took it and it led to an audience chamber, a mage standing in the middle of it.

As we approached, Calivan did as all villains do, and started giving a long-winded speech. Something something, Zara said it would be ironic, he’s already the Demon of Vyrantium, now it’s just more literal. Lucanis smirked at me, glancing sidelong as Calivan went on his tangent, and I found myself smiling back. Something something she always leaves him to clean up the mess.

Maybe he should’ve picked someone better to follow.

I put my hands together, feeling the energy build between them as I loosed a death ray of fire and lightning right at his face. That’ll shut him up, surely.

Lucanis blinked at me as Calivan fell to his knees. “Sorry,” I said impulsively. “I know that was your contract. He was getting on my nerves.”

“Don’t be. Imagine how I feel,” Lucanis said, the corners of his lips twitching up. He spat on Calivan’s body. “The Crows send their regards.”

I glanced down at the ashen body, and when I looked up again I saw a purple version of Lucanis standing right beside him, and I blinked.

“The contract is done,” Lucanis said.

“Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet,” The purple man said. From what I was sensing, this was his demon. Though he was closer to a spirit, not quite monstrous yet. I opted to ignore him for now. Not drawing attention to it was likely safer at least for the moment.

Lucanis just stared at him blankly. “Lucanis? Are you alright?” I asked.

“Careful, they know. We’re not right.”

“You cannot see him. I wondered,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

“We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else,” I told him.

“Agreed. I think… it’s time I got some air.”

—--------------------------------------------

Back at the Cantori Diamond we found Teia and Viago looking at Illario who was leaned over against the table, breathing heavily. The two of them turned around and Teia’s face went whiter than I thought possible.

“Maker…” She said.

“Lucanis?” Viago’s eyes were wide.

Lucanis looked around at them. “What happened here?” He questioned.

Illario’s fist hit the table, and I flinched instinctively. “A message,” he snarled. “From Zara Renata. I can’t believe it. You’re home.” Illario put a hand on Lucanis’s shoulder.

“Zara… Her people got this close?” Lucanis asked.

“The woman who runs the prison?” I guessed.

“The Venatori witch who captured me,” he answered.

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe,” I said.

“Where’s Caterina?” Lucanis asked, eyes darting around at the three of them frantically.

“She’s…” Teia’s voice broke, and her head bowed with an impossible weight on her shoulders.

Viago came up behind her, hands on her shoulders comfortingly. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.”

“I got one of you back, only to lose the other,” Illario said, sounding devastated. I wanted to feel bad for him, but something still felt off.

“Lucanis…” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I need to work,” he said, shifting on his feet.

“Are you sure?” Teia asked. “You should take some time.”

“I don’t need time—I need a target,” he said darkly.

“You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” Illario questioned. How he didn’t understand was beyond me.

“Caterina gave me a contract. I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that’s done… I’ll come home,” he told them.

“I’ll return him in one piece,” I promised.

“Thank you,” Illario smiled at me. “Cousin. When you find Zara, I want—I need—to be there.”

Viago shook his head. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you—”

“No, Viago,” Teia interrupted. “Zara came for us here. In my house. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. Vi and I will hold down the fort.”

“I’ll give her your regards, Teia,” Lucanis said.

“For Caterina,” she looked around at all of us.

—--------------------------------------

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Well, kind of,” Bellara said as I walked in.

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both,” Neve replied.

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis leaned against the fireplace, one hand braced against it, the other on his hip.

“What’s everyone talking about?” I asked.

“Spite,” Lucanis looked back over his shoulder at me.

“The demon in Lucanis,” Neve said. “When a person gets possessed—the demon usually takes control.”

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just… molds them. However they want,” Bellara added.

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though,” Neve thought.

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s well… we’d have to, um…”

“You’d have to kill me,” Lucanis finished.

“That can’t be the only solution. Can’t we… reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade him to leave?” I asked.

“Talk doesn’t work on Spite,” Lucanis said.

“She won’t hurt you. How sweet,” Spite crooned, the ghost of his form next to me. He vanished and appeared in front of Lucanis. “I want to talk to her!” Lucanis kept his gaze on me, no doubt seeing my eyes track the demon.

“Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution,” Bellara said. I braced my hands against their chairs, leaning over them slightly.

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Neve said.

“All right. So, what’s next?” I asked.

“Let me talk to them! I want. To talk. To Rook!” Spite swung, punching Lucanis in the nose. Blood spattered, and Lucanis winced, his hand going to his nose.

Bellara and Neve stood. “Lucanis!” Bellara cried.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he said, putting his arm out.

“He’s done this before? Enough that you just… shrug it off?” I questioned, leveling a glare at the aspect of Spite next to him.

“He’d do this in the Ossuary. The Fade does whatever a spirit wants. Real walls and chains, not so much. Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.”

I leveled him with a stare that said I would absolutely not be leaving even as Bellara and Neve got up and left. Neve shot me a glance that said ‘be careful’, but I just nodded to her.

He put his hand back up against the fireplace and stared into the flames as I walked around the table, sliding up to sit on the edge of it.

“I thought you couldn’t see him. At the Ossuary…”

“I didn’t want him to know I could see him. That was the last thing we needed there,” I told him.

“You can hear him too?” He asked, looking back at me with furrowed brows.

“When I can see him or when he’s showing through you, yes,” I answered honestly.

“But the others, they can’t. Why is that?” He asked, looking at me curiously, if not a bit suspiciously.

I shrugged. “I’ve always had a connection to the Fade. In worse times I was in such turmoil a spirit of Compassion appeared in my dreams or pulled me out of reality if things got bad. And now that connection is stronger than ever. Some of my blood is circulating around in the Fade from when we interrupted Solas’s ritual. That’s how he visits me in my sleep.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I can’t stand him, I didn’t want him to be a problem for you too.” I just shook my head. “I would kill for a decent cup of coffee right now.”

“Have you? For coffee, I mean,” I grinned.

I saw the corner of his lip twitch up. “Not today. You’ve got questions. You might as well ask them.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, watching him. “You’re the best mage killer in the Antivan Crows. So how’d the Venatori catch you?”

“Someone set me up,” he said simply. “I had a contract for Calivan. In the Ossuary. I took a ship from Treviso to Minrathous. They were waiting for me. Knew which ship and when it would arrive. I don’t know how they convinced the Crows I was dead, but I woke up in the Ossuary with Zara gloating about it.”

“Blood magic.” I could tell him that at least. One thing I had the answer to. “Caterina said they had dressed the body in your clothes and altered it with blood magic to look like your face too. I can’t even imagine… I know she… “volunteered” you to work with us. Are you okay with that?” I asked sincerely.

“When the First Talon of the Crows gives you a job, you do it. Especially if she’s your grandmother. But, there’s plenty of reason for me to work with you beyond that, Rook,” he said.

“Such as?” I tilted my head, kicking my feet under the table.

“I owe you a debt, for one. And after a year in that hole, maybe I’m looking forward to stabbing a god or two in the back,” he answered.

“Two!” Spite hissed.

“The Crossroads can be dicey, but the Lighthouse is safe. Oh, and if you see a spirit around called the Caretaker, they’re friendly,” I smiled.

“After the Ossuary, that will be a pleasant change,” he said with a grin. After a moment’s silence, he put his hands on his hips. “You haven’t asked anything about Spite.”

“Based on what I’ve seen, I’d say he picked the right name.”

“He’s stronger when I sleep. So… I try not to do it much. No one was in the Ossuary by choice. Not even the demons. We both did what we had to, to get out of there,” he told me.

“I admire you,” I told him. “What you’ve been through would break most people.”

“I would not give Zara the satisfaction,” he smirked.

“I understand. Still, you must be a very courageous man,” I smiled.

“A very stubborn one, perhaps. But, that’s… kind of you to say. Leave Spite to me. If he’s trapped in this world, he has a good reason to fight for it. For now, I must honor our contract. Gods, magic, politics…” he hummed, the rumble in his chest trying to drag me toward him. “Things are going to get very bloody.”

I gave him one last smile as he turned back toward the fire. “If you’re stubborn, I’d say Zara picked the right demon. If I remember right, Spite is a demon of Determination,” I smirked, looking back at him.

His brows were raised. “Perhaps it was the only thing she got right. She was nothing if not fond of irony.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Please give me your thoughts on this. I missed Cole and he was so important to me in Inquisition I wanted him to have a role in this story too, however minor. Also the back and forth with Solas gets me every time XD

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list! <3

Have a good day lovelies!

[mrs-theirin]

“Bianca’s getting married.”

“Oh, I’m very happy for her. Is it to a charming Honda Civic? Or is that too young for her?”

Her joke didn’t land well. He sighed heavily. “The real Bianca."

Eden Hawke and Varric Tethras have been friends for 7 years. Their bond is unbreakable, which is why when Varric asks Eden to be his fake date to his on-again/off-again ex girlfriend Bianca's wedding, she agrees immediately. The two of them embark on the road trip of a lifetime, one they will never forget. ♫

Beginning | Last Chapter | Final Chapter

[moonsugar-and-spice]

🌧️ 8

Varric x Cassandra

Arriving in ultra-high fashion (which is to say egregiously late—but late usually beats never). Thanks for stopping by, enjoy!

Send me a prompt + a pairing and I’ll write you a ficlet. 

+++

The storm had rolled in fast. Wind tore at the trees, clouds roiled and flashed like an angry sea, thunder shook the earth. Within seconds, they had been drenched.

Beyond the windows of the forsaken hunter’s shack, the world was an ever-darkening blur of grey fury as dusk slowly siphoned the last of daylight. Rain lashed the neglected roof and stone walls with no sign of fatigue, weeping through cracks in the ceiling, drowning out their breaths and Cassandra’s restless footfalls.

She paced the cramped cabin, the soft clink of her armor keeping time. One-two-three relentless strides to an old carving block, dark stains sunken in and around the wood. Turn. One-two-three back toward the ladder that led to a sleeping loft, partially blocked by the drooping, water-stained ceiling. Turn. Sparing only occasional glances to where Varric slouched resignedly upon the single bench at the dust-ridden table.

Earlier that day, he and Cassandra had been scouting ahead, searching for a safe path through the treacherous wilds. The rest of their party had waited several miles behind, now likely hunkered down as best they could.  The two of them had been on their way back when the storm hit, had fortuitously stumbled upon the overgrown shack. The corpse of a long-forgotten fire lay huddled in the hearth, cobwebbed but dry. With a spark, the remains had wheezed back to life and now suffused the dingy place with a meager glow, a thin warmth.

Varric took another long draught from his flask. Already more than half-empty, by the diminished heft of it. The cabin’s door sagged on its rusty hinges, letting in sporadic darts of rain and a loamy tang. But the somnolent flames, the haze of liquor, Cassandra’s rhythmic movement all conspired to lull him into a trance. Firelight wavered over her set jaw and winked against her scar, limned the damp fringe still clinging to her forehead. She seemed caught in her own reverie—fingertips tapping against her thigh, eyes shooting daggers out the window on every turn, as if she might threaten the storm into submission.

Not that he would put it past her. If this storm had any sense, it’d start looking for a new job right about now.

As it was, Varric took advantage of the moment and let his gaze follow her.

Cassandra Pentaghast was a study in contrasts. Fierce, yet reverent. Imposing, yet merciful. Terrifying, yet… well, still terrifying. But beneath the warrior’s facade was a depth of compassion she seldom revealed. He had glimpsed it in her care for their comrades, in the moments of vulnerability she allowed herself. Her unwavering selflessness and mettle stirred and fostered within him a profound admiration. Though Varric often and habitually cloaked this fact in a timely jest or embellished tale.

And he knew her unrest here spoke to more than the storm’s fury. It embodied the mantle of a duty that seemed to settle more heavily on her shoulders. While each member of the Inquisition bore their share of the burden, Cassandra’s own personal conviction amplified the pressure she felt. The looming threat of Corypheus cast a long shadow over their every move. Delays felt perilous, every moment of inaction a potential disaster.

His flask thunked quietly on its return to the table, and Cassandra stopped just long enough to fix him with a look. There was the barest hitch of her breath as she blinked. A blooming flush as she realized he had been staring.

On reflex, she frowned anew, averting her eyes from his to the drink still wrapped in his hand. “Why do you always bring that thing with you?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. As if prompted, he lifted the flask to his lips and took another swig, shrugging. “Never know when it might come in handy.” 

With a scoff, she shook her head, even as the stern lines around her mouth yielded to something gentler. “You’re incorrigible.”

The grin he returned didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s part of my charm.”

The hearth rasped and sighed, their shadows shifting on the wall like phantoms. An insect scuttled across the floor. His gaze lingered on hers a beat longer than it should have before Cassandra broke it to resume her troubled circuit of the cabin.

There was so much he had been wanting to tell her, ask her, for entirely too long. But the time had never felt right, and on the rare occasion it might have, the words tangled his tongue and knotted themselves in his chest. He needed to know whether this thing that had been growing between them for months only existed in his imaginings. Though he didn’t think it did. So, when she’d volunteered as scout that morning, he had stepped up to accompany her, hoping to carve out a moment where that ever-choking anxiety might be tempered by the purpose of their movement, the lesser demand for eye contact.

The trek had afforded him plenty of low-pressure alone time with her. More than one chance to speak his heart. Yet when he’d finally had it, he choked. Again.

One of her boots scuffed against the slanting floor. He watched her a few moments longer, his expression dimming on an exhale. “Stop pacing, Seeker. You’re making me nervous.”

Cassandra paused mid-stride and turned, shoulders stiffening at his remark. “Stop drinking, then. You’re making me nervous.”

Varric huffed a singular chuckle, but it was a hollow sound, lost under the clamor of rain and wind. Raising both hands in a show of concession, he took the flask and set it across the table from him. It came down louder than he’d intended. “There. Happy?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer. He could almost feel it, the reprimand straining the leash of her disapproval. But at last, her edges softened in acceptance, the hands at her sides closing once before loosening.

A gust rattled the grimy windowpane. With it came a lurch in the cabin’s pulse, a rise in the tick-tick-ticking of rain that pooled in the corner, drained between decaying floorboards.

Varric held Cassandra’s gaze the way one might a flame in a draft. Delicate. Imploring. One wrong move and it might gutter.

“Come sit with me.”

Cassandra stood there, warrior-rigid and tall and still, as if weighing his request. In the pause that unfurled, he thought she might refuse, simply retreat back into herself and her compulsive restlessness, deflect any prospect of vulnerability.

But with a sigh laden with more than mere agitation, she crossed the small room.

Old wood creaked as she lowered herself onto the vacant side of the bench, her armor brushing against him. The cool damp where his shirt clung fresh made him shiver, but he was certain the prickling on his skin had more to do with the growing warmth of her beside him.

Varric felt suddenly very hot. Painfully aware of the way they both developed a keen interest in the veins of the table. He cleared his throat.

“We aren’t going anywhere tonight,” his voice husky with drink and nerves and firelight. “May as well make peace with that and get comfortable.”

Cassandra eased against the table, folding her hands in front of her. “I’m not used to being idle,” she replied quietly, her thumb circling a callus on the other, worn by her sword over many years. “And… I suppose this storm has me on edge.” 

Varric gave half a nod and murmured, “Storms’ll do that.” He didn’t say how it put him in mind of her—unyielding, a force of nature, starkly beautiful. Woe to anyone who got in her way.

The side of her thigh grazed his as she shifted. The hushed creak of her armor carried a whiff of damp leather and metal, sweat, a hint of cedar. And beneath it, a trace of something spicy-sweet he couldn’t quite place. 

Varric stared hard down at his hands. Caught between this yearning to break the silence and the fear of what might come of it if he did.

Amid the grooves and pocks in the wood, a name and date had been carved that he hadn’t noticed. He traced it with a fingertip until skin snagged against a splinter trying to lodge itself there. 

He wasn’t sure what he might be waiting for—some excuse to let the words die in his throat again, maybe. But it wasn’t coming. This longing that had been gnawing at him for months was eating him from the inside out. Every stolen glance, every not-quite-accidental brush of skin only added to it.

But, like most things stuffed into words, once said it couldn’t be unsaid. It left him adrift in a disorienting fog of doubt and want, uncertain which way to navigate. It was a strange and unpleasant feeling for him.

Without thinking, he reached for a familiar comfort. Halfway en route from the table to his flask, Varric’s hand was swatted from its trajectory. 

“I said stop drinking,” Cassandra bit with command. “We need to be ready at dawn’s light and I refuse to drag you back to camp hungover.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Muscle memory.” 

The half-hearted smile he offered didn’t stick, slipping away as he drummed his fingers in front of him. They twitched toward Bianca, who lay within arms’ reach, silent witness to his predicament, then stopped, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve instead.

“You know...” he began at length, “I’ve always had a knack for finding my way out of trouble. Give me an angry mob, a heist gone wrong, a burning trash heap of bad decisions, and I’d manage to fashion some joke or smooth remark to get me out. I found I could talk myself out of most scrapes, and drink my way out of the ones I couldn’t.”

With a subtle turn of his head, he dared a look and drew her gaze. 

“But, not this time.” 

Some deeper part of himself was grasping at his shirt collar, trying to pull him back from the edge of the cliff. But Varric knew if he didn’t extricate this thing in him now, there was a chance he might never. 

“This time, I can’t just evade it with humor or another drink, or even distance. Not out here, Fate knows what I’d give for a little privacy,” he added, but the chuckle that followed came out thin. Varric steadied himself on a breath, letting all trace of a joke drain away. “Because what I’m feeling won’t let me off that easily.”

He let his eyes brush from the slight furrow between her brows to the flickers of gold in her irises to the soft parting of her lips, curiosity transmuting to a charged, unfolding anticipation.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, what I’ve wanted to say for a while is…” Varric pitched himself toward that ledge, and jumped. “I’m in love with you, Seeker. And I had this crazy hope that maybe you…” He trailed off, blinking.

Cassandra had gone stock still, her eyes wide with something beautiful. Something fragile. Something terrible.

Silence fell like a wet, woolen blanket. The fire, the storm, every sound seemed to collapse into a dull hum. In it, he heard the ungainly sound of his own tight swallow.

Cassandra’s lip curled into a silent snarl, even as her expression betrayed something deep—an ache, a question unasked—before she grated out, “Tell me that when you’re sober, you idiot.”

The aftertaste of liquor turned sour on his tongue. Varric wanted nothing more than to suck the confession back into his chest and cork it tight. Fingernails bit into his clenched fists, knuckles taut and white, as he worked for something more to say, a way to take the sting out of her response.

She looked wrought in stone for as hard and unmoving as she sat, if not for her eyes scoring a pattern in the wood, every plink of rain like the fall of a hammer.

And then she stood, sharp as a blade, putting her back to him as she marched to the window and leaned gruffly against the sill. A couple of dead flies skittered in the harsh current of air she stirred. Cassandra’s shoulders rose and fell in stiff measure, the lines of her figure silvered in a flash of lightning, and he braced himself for her silence. For the coldness of her rejection to fill the space between them like an unbreachable wall.

But with renewed ferocity, she spun back, her eyes flashing hotter than the hearth. “You choose now, of all times, to say this? Half-drunk while we’re stuck in a putrid shack. You’ve been sitting on this for, how long? Weeks? Months? And now—?” She growled, threw her arms in the air, shook her head. “How can I even be sure it’s real, Varric? That it’s not just the drink?”

“Come on. I’m not that far gone,” he argued. Outside, the loose shutters clapped a shrill rebuke against the cabin’s walls. With a throaty sound, half groan and half sigh, his eyes slid closed and he rubbed his brow. 

She was right. He shouldn’t have said it, not like this. She deserved better. 

“It’s been there long before this drink,” Varric pressed, his voice gravel, dropping his hand to lock eyes with her again. “And it’ll be there long after. Drunk, sober, it doesn’t magically change how I feel.” 

Cassandra’s nostrils flared, and then she turned her back again, hands curling around the windowsill. But she didn’t lash out a second time. Instead, she exhaled, long and slow, her anger bleeding out, leaving only weariness.

“There have been… things… I’ve wanted to speak of as well,” she admitted haltingly, her voice softer. “But not tonight.”

A note of tension eased, like a grip uncoiling. Varric had been bracing for a clean break, something final, painful but uncomplicated. Instead, her words were a door left ajar, cracked enough to let in a sliver of hope that he hadn’t fucked up everything in this one untimely swoop.

For now, it was enough.

[malizanu]

Varric was young when he realized tragedy would always follow him. Bianca, the real one, was by his side as they silently digested the consequences of their love story. Like the most succulent meat, their flavor could only be savored through the death of the innocents. If this was the outcome, maybe they weren't meant to be.

Years later, when his brother died… No, when he killed his brother, it wrecked him, but still nothing compared to when he saw Leandra's life fading away, as Hawke tried to hide her pain for the sake of one last happy memory. Her mother died proud of her daughter. Like Varric, she saw the beautiful parts of a broken hero.

He stayed with Hawke for as long as she needed, and when Aveline and Merrill took her under their wings, he spent the rest of the week drunk.

"You smell like shit", said a voice by his door.

"Isabela!", soaked in bad alcohol, he would later remember that he forgot her nickname. If the woman noticed that — of course she did —, she said nothing.

"Hawke smelled like shit too", she tried, but her voice carried no trace of fun. Varric contemplated how long it would take the pirate to deal with what was going on with her heart. "I gave her a bath. Since Andraste's compassion blessed me today, should I bathe you too?"

"Hah! You wish, Rivaini, but Bianca will get jealous", he tried to smile and the expression felt so foreign.

"Oh, you flatter yourself too much. I'm sure if you bothered to install some legs, Bianca would run away."

"It'd leave me devastated, but you know what? It's better for her", Isabela gave him an odd look as he continued. "You should run away from me too, Isabela. Tragedy follows me. And now it also follows those I love."

***

I'm writing what was supposed to be a one-shot focused on the reactions of the Inquisitor's companions when Solas took the anchor. SUPPOSED because there's already 4k words and my Inky still hasn't woken up. Well, unfortunately as the story is progressing this bit needed to be cut, but I really enjoyed writing it so why not post it here, right? Hope you all enjoy it too!

[andrastes-strap-on]

The Inquisition as Fanfic tags (can’t explain why)

Dorian - porn with plot/porn with feelings

Sera - crack fic

Cullen - flower shop au

The Iron Bull - plot what plot

Cassandra - enemies to lovers

Vivienne - slow burn

Solas - angst/hurt no comfort

Varric - “there was only one bed”

Cole - high school au

Blackwall - hurt/comfort

Leliana - major character death

Josephine - “last updated a billion years ago”

[nvthedasmode]

The Dread Wolf's Grave

Notes:

Very short one-shot fic inspired by the quote; 'They asked "do you love her to death?" I said, "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.'

Lavellan's name is Harellan, 'Raven' is Varric's nickname for her.

One of Harellan's nervous habits is rolling coins over her knuckles.

Set sometime during early Veilguard, Solas presumed to be at the Lighthouse rather than in a separate prison.

First ever fic! I am not a writer! I am just a lil guy with a lot of feelings!

And I am so sorry I have no idea how to write Solas and Varric lol.

-----

To say that Varric was uncomfortable was an understatement. It was one thing to ask a dwarf to live on the surface, another thing entirely to ask him to make himself at home in the Fade. Unfortunately, he had little say in the matter. The Veilguard had settled themselves within a deep pocket of the Fade; a safe haven from the blighted elven gods now roaming Thedas, and thus far it had proven to be a wise choice.

Their new home was where he emerged from now, and the morning silence (save for Bellara’s excessive snoring) was a welcome indication that everyone was still fast asleep. Or, at least, everyone but the one elusive elf he was looking for. Once he was confident he had not woken anyone up with his heavy dwarven tread, Varric’s footsteps established a leisurely pace as he descended the stygian steps weaving from the gilded door of the Lighthouse to the shifting island below.

The Dread Wolf’s corner of the Fade expanded before him, shimmering masses of Fade-touched rock floating across the enchanted vista as unhindered wisps of magic soared above him like stars against Kirkwall’s night sky. It was brighter, warmer, but still as commanding as the area of the Fade the fear demon had ruled. Some of the silhouetted islands in the distance would have been large enough to cast a city the size of Starkhaven into complete shadow, and some dipped deeper than even the oldest of thaigs. Smaller rocks housed old and ruined walls, frescos of the fabled wolf glowing faintly from the veilfire sconces and causing him to appear equal parts treacherous and feeble.

The littlest cluster of rocks presented an assortment of ancient elven … trees, Varric assumed. Their metal base gave way to a spherical head that sprouted sharp, golden branches. They wove intricate shapes that moved to shelter a gleaming emerald centre, glinting like fire. This group veered closer to the island he now trudged along, glittering vines with blossoms as large as ponds wrapping themselves around the jagged surfaces and reaching out to grasp their neighbour - a complex walkway of mystic bridges that connected the islands, forming an imposing jungle that served as a shrine to what once was.

Far above him, when he thought to look, Varric could have sworn he could make out the slightest shape of an azure city, light refracting across the landscape as if it was pouring through a window in a Chantry cathedral. The sight was often cloaked in a calculated mist, as though his eyes were intruding on an intimate scene between two lovers - but every time he rubbed his eyes to see it clearer, it had vanished.

Varric had learned that the island he had called home for the past few weeks could shift its appearance depending on his old friend’s mood. While the Lighthouse remained the same, often the Veilguard would wake up to see their interim home had a different garden to explore, each one shaped from Solas’ lonely library of memories. Sometimes there would be luscious fields of green, emerald blades swaying to a song none but they could hear as perfectly round drops of dew dissolved into dazzling specs of light. Other times there were seemingly never-ending pathways; rivers of crystal gems creating a map upon the island, waterfalls replacing cities and curious wisps building toy castles from motes of magic. Once, when Varric awoke in the dead of night (or as close as one could get to that, in the Fade), he peered out his window to see Solas strolling Skyhold’s grounds, his tired eyes never leaving the figures of Cole and the Inquisitor as they helped to soothe a dying woman lying by the campfire, clutching a fatal wound. Had Solas reached out to them, Varric did not know, for he had quickly retreated back to his bed to allow his old friend his privacy.

Today, as Varric disembarked the steps, the soles of his worn boots met an impossibly soft sand that shifted gently beneath his weight. Something resembling seashells dotted the ground, their surface gleaming and moving in a way that made them look more like creatures than collectible souvenirs. Out of baseless paranoia more than respect, Varric carefully picked his way across the fabricated beach to the towering figure in the distance.

Solas stood at the end of the beach, the ripples of the ocean creeping along the sand to stop just shy of the tips of his feet, as though magic itself dare not disturb him. He stood tall, gazing across his domain with an expression befitting his name as the manufactured breeze lifted the ends of his coat. Hands clasped habitually behind his back, a single gold coin rolled lazily across his knuckles, causing tiny spurts of reflected light to shower across his long fingers. Any reasonable dwarf back under the surface might have mistook it for magic.

“Good morning, Varric,” came his familiar voice. He spoke in barely more than a murmur despite Varric still being numerous paces away, yet he heard it as though they were standing next to each other.

“And here I thought it was only Rook who had to listen to your voice inside their head, Chuckles,” Varric shouted back, scowling half-heartedly when he saw Solas’ shoulders betray a small laugh.

Solas patiently waited until Varric had made it to his side before speaking again, finally turning his gaze to his friend with a playful smirk on his lips. “Ir abelas, I did not want to deny you the pleasure.”

Varric let out an indignant snort. “I’m starting to understand why so many dwarves stay below the surface.”

“To avoid speaking with me?”

“Now, now, I didn’t say that.”

“You did not need to,” Solas responded curtly. Varric was glad to see the smile still lingering.

At least he hasn’t lost his sense of humour.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves crashing a few hundred yards ahead of them filling the space. Had he let his mind tune out for a moment, it would not have been unlike the mornings they had spent waking up to the sounds of the Storm Coast - Solas casting a protective barrier over the campfire before the Inquisitor burst into tears at the idea of going a single moment without her tea; Cassandra cursing from the edge of camp as she tried and failed to prove she could in fact approach a nug without scaring it away; Lace and Varric placing bets on how many more days it could rain before they all lost their minds. He wasn’t sure which put his back up more; being surrounded by suffocating grey and rain, slipping on lethal cliffs that never seemed to dry - or being in the Fade.

It was Solas who broke the silence first, as if sensing Varric’s unease. “How are you adjusting?”

Varric shrugged, stalling as he measured his response. It wasn’t in the nature of their relationship to lie to one another (or so I thought, he corrected himself), but he wasn’t about to start tearing apart his friend’s home either.

“I can’t exactly say I’m keen to settle down and start a family here, but I’ll give it to you - it’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” Solas sighed heavily, his eyes focused on something in the distance. “Imagine what it would be like without the Veil.”

“Chuckles, not now.”

“So, when would you propose-”

“I came here to talk to Solas,” Varric said morosely, feeling a pang of regret as Solas’ shoulders stiffened. “Not the Dread Wolf. How about you humour me, just this once? Then I promise we’ll go back to the uncomfortable ‘Child of the Stone’ and ‘Ancient Elven God’ dynamic.”

Solas silently met his eyes then, and the coin in his hands stilled as white knuckles wrapped around it tightly. Just like the painted walls on the islands floating around them, Varric could see his were tall but crumbling. Exhaustion and pain had sunk their bloodied talons into his sharp features, but under the wolf there was still the man. A friend that desperately wanted to get out.

“I’ve never been good at this sort of stuff,” Varric muttered, turning his gaze back toward the ocean, “but you left a lot of people behind. Good people, that missed you.”

“I am not unaware of that, Varric,” Solas replied. Varric could hear the sharpness to the tone, a warning that he should drop the subject immediately.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

“I mean, even Buttercup seemed upset - although she tried her best not to show it. With you gone, Cassandra became her next target for pranks, and we both know pissing off the Seeker is a dangerous choice at best - lethal at worst. I mean, I’m speaking from experience here.”

A quick glance to his right told him Solas was also very pointedly staring out at the ocean again, doing his best to look the picture of disinterest, but the ironclad set of his jaw gave him away. It always had.

“And Ruffles! I thought she would never stop accidentally adding your frilly cakes to the Val Royeaux order list each month. Eventually, me and the Kid-”

“Did you come out here with the intent to torture me, Varric?” Solas snapped, his proud mask melting away to pained anger as he pressed his eyes closed. His nose scrunched as he breathed through it, the waves that stretched before them stuttering and turning a sickly green. “Do you see me as so many of my People do? Do you also think me a heartless monster with no feelings?”

Against his will, Varric’s mind recalled his friend’s broken sobs as she read Sutherland’s reports about the monstrous demon that had plagued Skyhold. Her heart’s deepest regrets ravaging the place they had once called home, the scars of his past forever embedded in the old Inquisition fortress.

“No,” he sighed. “I don’t think that at all, Chuckles.”

Another deep breath from Solas. The water slowly began to settle once more, melting back to a cool, pure cerulean that would have made the painters at Halamshiral turn crimson with embarrassment.

“Then what can I do for you?”

“Remember,” Varric said shortly.

Solas opened his eyes to peer at Varric with confusion, and he could see the purple storm deep within them threatening to pour out and engulf the island they now stood upon.

Silently, Varric nodded to Solas’ hands, still held tightly shut as though he were frightened of dropping whatever was in them. Solas slowly unfurled his fingers, the gold coin nestled innocently in his palm, small dents pressed into his pale skin from clasping it so desperately. The purple storm observed it silently, eyes barely blinking as they stared.

“I saw you playing with it,” Varric said gently, feeling his friend was more a terrified Halla than the dreaded wolf in that moment. “Raven used to do the same thing, when she was nervous. Ruffles had to pry it from her hand when we went to the Winter Palace.”

Solas continued staring at the coin, his expression unreadable. “She gave this to me on the way to the Temple of Mythal,” he said tentatively, as though testing out the words in his mouth. Varric supposed this was the first time he had allowed himself to speak of her in years. “She said she had no need for it any longer, since she had …”

“Since she had your hand to hold,” Varric finished for him. “She said it loud enough for the entire camp to hear.” The memory almost made him smile himself.

A ghost of a smile tried to lift the corners of Solas’ mouth, but it faltered before it even began.

“I remember.”

Varric did smile then. I knew you were still in there, Chuckles.

“Do you still love her?”

There was barely a heartbeat before Solas tore his eyes away from the coin, wrapping his fingers safely around it once more before straightening to his full height and turning to look along the endless sands.

Varric felt the Fade change before he saw it. The sands before them rippled and swirled, floating smoothly into the air to reveal the harsh black rock of the island below. A deep shadow lurked over the area, a stark contrast to the vivid, colourful sky behind it. The sands shifted and formed a familiar image; tall swaths of darkness encircling a small enclave while a suffocating green mist rolled along the floor, catching Varric’s ankles and sending small tendrils up his legs that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. Paltry red spirits skittered around nervously, as if they were constantly running toward - or away from - something.

This was the graveyard from the Fear demon’s lair. Or - more accurately, Varric supposed - Solas’ memory of it.

There was a slight adjustment, however. Only one, solitary gravestone sat in the enclave. The stone it was made from looked sick, brimming with fear and unspoken terrors, its aura almost oppressive.

Varric approached it wordlessly. The words upon it were the same and yet not as he remembered - the elegant, smug carvings of the fear demon were gone, replaced by hurried, almost infantile writing that looked as if it had been carved with a very sharp claw.

‘Solas,’ it read. ‘Dying alone.’

It was only then that Varric saw them. A spectral version of Solas - his friend, Solas - appeared slowly from the darkness, smiling as he offered a gloved hand to the second figure that manifested. Harellan met his smile with her own, eagerly gripping his hand and laughing as he twirled her into his arms. The scarlet spirits, appearing to be calmed by the two newcomers, turned to watch, sweeping closer to the radiant scene that seemed to consume the darkness around it. Varric could hear the faint sound of a band playing from - somewhere? Nowhere? The memory of his friends didn’t seem to care, nor did they notice him or the cruel grave at their feet. They danced and looked at no one but each other, and Varric was irrevocably certain that they would dance forever if the world would let them.

The lonely voice came from behind him then. It was so thick with immeasurable pain that Varric could not bring himself to turn around.

“Speak of her over my grave, Varric,” Solas murmured, “and watch how she brings me back to life."

[highinhardtown]

I can never bring myself to Sacrifice Hawke, I can’t stop thinking of Anders, Of Varric, of any of them really. And picturing Varric having to write letters to everyone to let them know just hits real hard.

I claim to own nothing but the text.

Paper/Paper texture are from ibisPaintX

Background is a still of Skyhold

Fonts used are Asul and Berkshire Swash for Varrics Signature.

[queenofbaws]

in every sense of the word a Dragon Age II tale by TheIcyQueen

There’s something about the way Varric and her sister work together that Bethany just can’t wrap her head around. On paper, it all makes sense – they’re both dangerously persuasive rogues, quick to pick your pocket yet somehow quicker still to talk the coin out of your hand; they’re crafty, they’re cunning, they’re charismatic, and, in a pond like Kirkwall, their partnership doesn’t just make them big fish but sharks. Together, there’s no scheme they can’t pull off, no heist they can’t manage, no lock they can’t slip their way past… But there’s something else going on between them, too. Something Bethany, well, can’t quite put her finger on. Maybe she’s just imagining it. Maybe this is how all business partners act! After all, what else could it be? (Or: Five times Bethany thinks it’s all about the con, and the one time she realizes it isn’t.)

Read the full story on AO3!

[lostinthewiind]

Be Still, My Beating Heart

Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

Genre: Fluff + Smut

Rating: 18+

➤ 10 years after the Inquisition's victory against Corypheus, Varric is older, wiser, and greyer—and you're still as in love with him as you were 10 years ago.

Lately, it could be hard to recognize the passage of time. 10 years ago, a hole was ripped in the veil and threatened to end life as you knew it. Now, a hole has been ripped in the veil, threatening to end life as you know it. Cassandra had once rattled off some quote about those who didn't learn from history being doomed to repeat it.

That certainly fit.

In the grand scheme of things, life hadn't seemed to have changed much in the past 10 years. When he stepped into the room, however, the passage of time hit you like a ton of bricks. His once shorter, red hair was much longer and greyer now. His five-O'clock shadow was now a neatly trimmed, salt and pepper beard. There were two scars slicing through his right eyebrow. But most noticeable of all, his eyes had lost some of their light.

This was not the same Varric you had parted ways with 10 years ago, and yet your heart thrummed steadily against your ribcage just the same when you locked eyes.

"Maker, you're just as beautiful as the day I last laid eyes on you." Varric's voice was rough but quiet in your ear as you trailed kisses up and down his neck, arms draped loosely over his shoulders.

That morning, Solas was on a mission it tear down the veil. Tomorrow, Solas would still be on a mission to tear down the veil. But for that evening—for a measly 8 or so hours—it was just you and Varric, locked away in a shabby room in some inn, catching up on lost time.

You hummed softly before sitting back in Varric's lap, fingertips lightly ghosting over his exposed chest. "We have to stop meeting like this." You slid your hands up his chest and neck slowly until you were cupping his face. "The end of the world does not a romantic time make."

"After this, I'm done. I'm done saving the world," Varric said. He waited for you to lean down and kiss him once before continuing. "Once we deal with Solas, we're turning tail and finding somewhere quiet and peaceful."

You smiled softly. "And who is this 'we'?"

"You and me, doll. Who else?"

Your eyes flickered over to the corner of the room, where Varric's crossbow was resting against the wall. Varric let out a warm laugh.

"I'm smart enough to know when I'm the other woman." You adjusted your hips and felt Varric harden beneath you. An involuntary gasp passed through your lips as Varric sucked in a sharp breath.

"There's no 'other woman'." Varric gripped your hips hard and pressed himself up into you again, eliciting the same reaction from you both. "It's just you. It's always been just you."

You chuckled as you pressed you lips to Varric's, the kiss quickly deepening into something more hungry and needy. "You really expect me to believe there's been no one else in 10 years?" you whispered into his mouth.

Varric's warm tongue licked along your bottom lip before catching it between his teeth. "Doll, you know I like to talk a big game, so what I'm about to say next should prove to you I'm telling the truth." He buried his face in your neck and began sucking on the sensitive flesh there. All the while, his hips bucked upwards to meet yours, desperately seeking friction. "All we've done is make out a little and grind like teenagers and I'm seconds away from cumming. Trust me when I say, there's been no one else."

"Seconds away?" You gave an experimental roll on your hips. "Really?"

Varric let out a strained groan. "Fuck, doll, I'm serious. Don't-" His words were suddenly cut off by a choked grunt, and as his hips thrust upward, he bit down hard on your shoulder. "Fuck," he panted as he kissed the spot where he had left bitemarks in your skin. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

You, on the other hand, were the opposite of sorry. "Don't apologize," you told him. That warmth from your core had spread like wildfire to your entire being. "That was hot."

Varric chuckled under his breath. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but there's nothing hot about an old man's premature ... ending."

"Varric." You grabbed his hand and stuffed it down your pants, guiding his fingers over your soaked underwear. "That was really fucking hot."

Varric's eyes widened when he realized you weren't just trying to staunch the bleeding of his ego. "Oh, you weren't kidding. This is because of me?"

You nodded, unable to form words as his fingers prodded at your aching clit. When Varric's sheepish smile turned to a devilish smirk, you knew you were in trouble.

"I'm the luckiest man in all of Thedas." Varric pushed your underwear to the side and gathered some of the wetness on his fingers before pushing inside you. "And tonight I'm going show you just how grateful I am for that."

You threw your head back at the sudden but pleasurable intrusion. Cursing under your breath, you began to gently lift yourself up and down on Varric's thick fingers. The angle was slightly awkward due to still being seated in his lap, but no amount of discomfort could ever possibly overcome the ecstasy you were enveloped in.

"Varric," you moaned.

Oh, how he had longed to hear his name drip from your lips like honey again. There were many times where he had sworn that if he could just spend one last night with you, he could die a happy man. Now that he had you though, dying was the last thing he intended to do—not when he had just gotten you back.

You weren't sure when you had closed your eyes, but when you opened them again, Varric was staring up at you with a level of adoration you had never seen before. Finally, the light in his eyes had returned.

Calloused thumb moving to circle your clit, he smiled wide—a smile of pure, unabashed joy. "I can't believe you're really here. You're here and you're mine again." He pressed harder, the look in his eyes screaming for you to come undone for him. "I missed you every second of every day."

That tight coil inside you that had sat neglected for a decade had finally been brought back to life, and now it was ready to snap. "Varric." You planted your hands on his chest and pushed, trying to prevent the inevitable. "I'm gonna ... stop, please. You're gonna make me-"

"You're so breathtaking like this." Varric held you firmly in place, ignoring your pleas. "I could cum again just from watching you squirm and listening to you moan."

Sure enough, when you looked down, Varric was hard again. His erection was pressing firmly against the wet spot on his pants where he had already ejaculated.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "And there you were trying to make me feel sorry for you, old man."

"This is the effect you have on me," he said. "Now be a good girl and cum on my fingers so I can make love to you properly."

Thumb grinding hard into your clit, Varric's fingers curled tightly inside of you until you were seeing stars. Eyes rolled back, the muscles in your legs gave way as you climaxed and you sunk down all the way to the knuckles of Varric's hand.

After a few seconds, Varric pulled his hand out of your pants and gave your ass a gentle pat. "Up we go." He encouraged you to stand up on your wobbly legs and take your pants off. "Steady there."

As soon as you had disrobed from the waist down and Varric had pulled himself free from his pants, he hurriedly pulled you back down into his lap. Before moving any further, however, he decided to slow things down a bit.

"I want to savour this moment." His cock twitched against you and he pulled you closer for a kiss. "Maker, what I would give to stay in this shitty room with you for the rest of my life."

"Alas, someone has to save the world." You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging ever-so-slightly. "Again."

Varric hummed in agreement before pressing a kiss to the column of your throat. Deftly, his hands worked away at the buttons on your shirt. "I need to feel every inch of you pressed up against me," he explained as he helped you out of the rest of your clothes. Once his shirt was off as well and the two of you were completely nude, he pulled you flush against his chest and kissed you again.

Unable to deny yourself any longer, you began to fidget, slowly but surely lining Varric up with your entrance. Varric didn't stop you, and once his tip was prodding at that warm, wet hole he had dreamt about for a whole decade, he wasn't able to deny himself.

"Be gentle with me," he breathed into your mouth. "Slow and steady."

"Slow and steady," you repeated as you lowered yourself down inch by inch.

Varric's death grip on your thighs was enough for you to tell he was already dangerously close to finishing again. You had no room to judge though—not that you ever would—because you were teetering on that precipice just the same.

Once you had steadied yourself, you began to move. Immediately, Varric pushed you back down, nails digging into the soft flesh of your legs. "Not yet, doll," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Fuck, you feel so good. Too good. Maker spare me, you're too good for me."

"Please," you begged. That fire was raging inside of you once more, yearning to be extinguished. "Just a little. I promise I'll go slow."

"I don't want it to end. Not yet." His hands moved to cup your ass. Maintaining complete control, he guided your every movement. The feeling of his cock dragging along your walls caused you both to moan, one of euphoria and one of desperation.

One single stroke had left you both panting, foreheads pressed together as the two of you worked to maintain your composure just a little longer. Eyes closed, you sighed happily when you felt Varric's lips against yours.

"I promise next time will be less pathetic." He smirked against your lips. "Next time I'll make love to you like you deserve."

You shook your head, unable to picture sex better than this. This was what you were sure everyone craved—what people waited their whole lives for and some never achieved. Every nerve in your body was electrified—every touch lingering and leaving you wanting more.

"No," you told him. With that, you began to ride him properly—fear of finishing too fast be damned. "This is perfect."

"Maker's breath!" he cried out. Realizing that you truly didn't care if it all ended just as fast as it had started, he met your enthusiasm halfway and helped you bounce up and down on him. When he came not long after, he came moaning your name.

You weren't far behind, and as your second orgasm ripped through you, you clung to Varric and pressed into him as hard as you could.

"I missed you too," you returned the sentiment after replaying the entire interaction over again in your head. The mixture of Varric's hand running up and down your back and the sweat cooling sent shivers through your body.

"Well, better or not, there will be a next time. And it won't be after a decade apart." He held you close and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he could reach. "I'm not done with you yet—not now, not ever."

[stilliwait]

So I'm writing a Varric x Fem!Hawke fanfic...

I'm REALLY struggling to figure out a title for it though. It's going to be long, spanning from Hawke's childhood all the way to post-Trespasser. I have a rough outline of how I want it to go, but a title is tricky. SO I'm posting the beginning of the story here to see if I can get some inspo from ya'll. It's like the first 1/3rd of chapter one, though I'm open to cutting it here if anyone thinks this would be a good stopping point. I haven't published anything I've written in the better part of a decade, and I'm rusty.

Things to note pre-reading:

I've rewritten the canon slightly. Marian Hawke is a twin to Garrett Hawke, and they shoulder the burden of Champion together. The children all grew up in Kirkwall before Bethany's magic manifested and they had to run for Ferelden. Bethany and Carver both survive the trip back to Kirkwall.

Marian and Varric will, obviously, end up together, but it's a slow-ish burn. Still deciding how I want the story to flesh out in terms of timing on some of the scenes I've written, but they'll probably get together in secret pre-Deep Roads.

Varric's nickname for Marian is Rosie because she's thorny on the outside (with sarcasm) but soft on the inside. Rosie is when she's being a jackass, Rosebud for when she's showing her sweet and vulnerable side, which is rare.

Okay, thank you and happy reading! I will be posting this to AO3 eventually, but not without a title.

The Hawke children were always told magic ran in their family. With a mage for a father and a mother who’s ancestry held many mages as well, it wasn’t a surprise when one of their children was born with magic, though their father always joked that it ‘had to be the youngest’.

Maybe magic ran in their family, but Marian thought twins must too.  How else could someone explain two sets to the same parents?  First came herself and Garrett, older than her by two minutes.  They split the burden of being the eldest child, with Garrett shouldering the brunt of the family burden, and Marian housing all the guilt.  As they got older, she joked he had sucked all the energy from their mother, and that was why he sprang up over six feet tall, and she barely made it past five.  They both had a penchant for recklessness, though Marian was the first to point out flaws in a plan - ever cautious - while Garrett liked to run head-first and ask questions later.

Then came their younger siblings; Carver and Bethany.  Carver seemed to house all the middle child issues - brash, quick to anger, always trying to one-up Garrett with his competitiveness.  He was also the best at calming their mother when any fights happened, and his devotion to his own twin was unparalleled.  Bethany was born sunshine incarnate, and Carver did his best to protect his little sister from the horrors of the world. They all did. Bethany was the perfect youngest child, all smiles and joy and fun.  She could charm a Qunari if she tried hard enough, and she gave her kindness like a gift to everyone around her.  Marian wished she was more like her.

That’s how they survived fleeing Kirkwall as children; Bethany’s kindness.  Marian had grown up in the Amell estate with her siblings, and parents.  The story she was told by Leandra was thus:

Her grandparents were angry - Code for utterly pissed according to Garrett - that their mother had thrown away her engagement to Guillaume de Launcet, a Comte’s son no less, to be with a Circle Mage.  They were furious when they found out Gamlen had helped the couple be together out of love for his sister and her happiness.  Eventually, when Leandra wrote to them letting them know she was with child, they welcomed her home, their father Malcolm in tow.

Marian’s earliest childhood memories were of the estate.  Her grandparents doted on herself and Garrett with unabashed affection, and she remembered them even acting warm to her father.  Her grandmother Bethann would make cookies with her in the kitchen, smearing flour on the both of them as they laughed, and the cook would shake her head at them and pretend the cookies were delicious before secretly swapping them for an edible batch.  Her grandfather Ariside spent hours with her and Garrett in the library, teaching the twins to read and telling them stories of dragons and heroes and true love’s kiss. Her mother was happy to live in society, and her father did well for himself, working for her grandfather and hiding from the Templars.

When Bethany and Carver came along, it seemed that joy would continue.  “Two sets of twins!” her grandmother would exclaim to anyone they met.  “How did we get so lucky?!”  Despite the five-year age gap between them, Marian and Garrett adored their younger siblings, teaching them to walk and talk, and sneak treats whenever they were left to their own devices.  When the younger twins were toddlers, and she and Garrett were nearly ten, their grandfather started teaching them about martial weapons, just to pass the time and give their unending energy a healthy outlet.  He was pleased when they both threw themselves into it, spending hours sparring with wooden daggers, and even more thrilled when Marian showed promise in archery, his favorite pastime.

But with all joy comes strife, and the Hawke family was no different.  Bethany was six when her magic manifested, to the horror and shock of her grandparents.  Malcolm was heartbroken for his daughter.  There were only two choices for the family of a mage too young to control their power: Turn her in to The Circle, or go into hiding.  The Hawkes chose the latter, unable to part from their daughter.

Marian remembered leaving her grandparents home in the night, with tears down her face and her twin’s hand in hers, a promise from their grandparents that this was not forever, and they could come home soon.  That was the first time Garrett came up with a secret code, just for the two of them.  In the hold of the ship they boarded to Ferelden, he silently squeezed her hand three times, a stoic look on his young face, a silent I love you to his sister.  It was a promise between the siblings that they would survive this and come out okay on the other side.

They ran for months before finally settling on the outskirts of Lothering, a small but solid home waiting for them. Marian never thought to ask how they were able to secure such a place so close to a village, but as she got older she assumed her grandparents may have had something to do with it. It just made her miss them more.

Their father started tutoring Bethany, and Carver became jealous at how much time Malcolm devoted to the young mage.  Marian and Garrett did their best to distract him, dragging him to the local Chantry and asking the Templars and soldiers to teach them how to fight.  Carver was nine when he first held a shield, and the elder twins couldn’t have been prouder. He was a fighter like them, and the three of them sparred regularly, practicing the knowledge the villagers gave them.  As the years wore on, the militia became more and more impressed with them, and started to give the three ideas of joining the army.

When the children grew into teenagers, the Templars started to take notice of their little family, particularly their youngest daughter.  Marian did her best to distract the young men with her wit, charm, and no small amount of flirting. While Bethany never knew exactly why the Templars never took her in, Garrett quickly figured out what his sister was doing and was horrified.  He threatened several of the men within an inch of their lives, and they left the family alone.  Bethany started spending more time in the Chantry, much to their mother’s chagrin and anxiety, and she befriended the Sisters and Brothers of the church.  Her sweet voice singing the chant and her sparkling eyes when they read religious stories made her endearing, and if anyone noticed there was something special about her, they said nothing.

For a time, the family knew peace in their little village. But peace did not last for Hawkes for long.

When the family’s fourteenth summer in Lothering ended, so too did Malcolm Hawke’s life.

No one was quite sure what the illness was that took him, but it was quick, and it was devastating.  Leandra was broken at the loss of her beloved husband, and could hardly get out of bed.  Bethany cried for days after his pyre was burned, scared of being the lone mage of the family.  Carver retreated into himself, anger and guilt plaguing his features.  He barked at anyone who tried to talk to him besides his twin for weeks before settling into a resigned state.  Marian and Garrett both mourned quietly, taking care of their family in lieu of talking about (or even acknowledging) their feelings on the matter.  They kept the family fed, kept their mother from caving in on herself, kept Carver from starting too many fights in town.  Slowly, they pieced together their small lives, and Leandra began talking about returning to Kirkwall when they were able.  Surely if Malcolm could hide from Templars in plain sight, Bethany could too? None of her children agreed though, for their grandparents had long passed away, and the idea of returning to their ancestral home without the people that made it so was too painful so close to their father’s passing.

Life went on. A new sister joined the local Chantry, her lilting Orleasian accent so different and beautiful, and it was a big deal in such a small village.  Marian gravitated towards the girl, both for her sweet personality and her red hair, so similar to her own they could be siblings. Leliana was a breath of fresh air in the family’s life, and they often went to town to spend time with her, though she and Marian quickly became fast friends.  They would talk about the world around them, the Maker (Marian was skeptical and they had many kind-hearted debates), and even mage rights, though the latter was tip-toed around.  Marian knew her friend was observant, and it didn’t surprise her when Leliana made the occasional comment about Bethany.  But the secret was kept, and a strong friendship forged.

The girls would practice archery together, a surprising delight for Marian.  She hadn’t had anyone to shoot with since her grandfather in Kirkwall, and getting to learn how someone else pulled a bowstring and aimed the barrel was a welcome distraction from the stress of her day-to-day life.  Garrett would occasionally join in, Bethany even less so, and both were far inferior in skill to the red-headed girls.  They would laugh good naturedly, and Marian tried to help her brother improve where she could, but he was hopeless with anything that wasn’t a blade.  Carver continued to practice swords and shields with the local militia, and she caught him staring longingly at her friend more than once. If Leli noticed, she did not let on, but Marian kept an eye on his crush. She would kill her brother if he ruined the one friendship she had outside her family.

Three years passed, and the two sets of twins fell into their proverbial roles in the family.  Marian was the caretaker, making sure they had enough to eat and their home was relatively clean. Bethany was the peace keeper, smoothing over any fights and tiffs they had and charming the village into forgetting her potentially magical aura.  And the boys continued to hone their martial skills, until one day news of a potential Blight reached their ears.  Garrett and Carver were conscripted in the army, with Marian staying behind to protect their mother and sister.  She would never admit it, but the idea of war made her stomach churn.  Killing animals for food or bandits to protect her family was one thing, but monsters?  She wasn’t so sure she could keep her sanity in the face of darkspawn.

The day before her brothers left, Marian pulled her twin aside.  She and Garrett rarely tried to push their family into doing what they wanted, but in the face of a Blight desperate times called for desperate measures.  The evening found the siblings on the roof, laying back to look at the stars as they spoke.

“How hard do you think it’ll be to keep Carver alive on a battlefield?” Garrett asked, trying to spot the constellations their father had taught them.

“The most hard-headed man alive? I give you ten minutes before he tries to run at an ogre,” Marian drawled, lifting his hand to point to Tenebrium, their favourite set of stars.  It laid out above them in the shape of a great owl, though Marian always argued it more closely resembled a hawk.  “Do try to keep him from running head-first into danger, won’t you?”

Garrett shook his head at his sister, a smirk perched on his lips. “That’s like asking me to keep him from nailing Bethany’s braid to the bed posts.” They both snickered at countless memories of Carver doing just that, and Bethany shooting ice at his feet in retaliation.  When the laughter died down, a serious silence stretched between them, and Marian felt her brother lace his fingers through hers.

“What do we do if the Blight comes here?” she asked quietly.  She’d tried to bring it up before, but Garrett couldn’t be swayed.

“It’s not going to come here,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even sure this is a real Blight, no one’s even seen a dragon yet!” He had a pout on his face, like not seeing a dragon was somehow a personal offense to him, and Marian’s hand twitched to smack him, resisting only because he was leaving early the next morning.

“Garrett, I’m serious! We need a plan! Where do we meet up if something happens? I know you’re stupidly confident, but we’re Hawkes.” Her voice was quieter now, a little sadness peeking through.  “Shit seems to find us wherever we go.  I don’t want to be separated from you just because we didn’t discuss something.”  She felt Garrett shift beside her, and turned her head to face his, taking in his somber expression.

“I don’t know Mare, honestly.  Where could we go if a Blight was truly upon us? Denerim, I suppose, though I hear it smells like shit.” He still had a teasing lilt in his voice, and she tried not to huff that he wasn’t taking her seriously.

“Fine, don’t help me plan. All it’ll mean is you’ll be scrambling to find us when the world falls apart,” she sniped, annoyed.  Garrett reached over and ruffled her hair with his free hand, getting a squawk in return as she slapped his hands away.

“You worry too much, little sister.  Nothing bad is going to happen to us or our precious little village. Just breathe, spend time with your Chantry friend, and try not to get into any trouble while we’re gone. We’ll be back before you know it.” He was grinning at her, his tongue slightly sticking out between his teeth.  Marian pinched his side in retaliation, earning a yelp from him.  She tried to stay annoyed, but it was hard to be mad at her other half.  Mostly she was nervous. They’d never been apart for more than a few days, and the idea of him being gone for weeks with only Carver for company terrified her, both for his safety and sanity.

She deflected from her worries, ever the Hawke. “Stop calling me little sister Garrett, you’re two minutes older. It barely counts.”  She poked at him again, but he caught her hand in his and held it tightly. Three squeezes.

“I love you too, you prat,” she teased, and the two fell into companionable silence, watching the stars above them.

[ruiningsalads]

Hello, happy DADWC! For Varric/Cassandra, may I prompt: "Everything you said was just a lie, wasn't it?"

I have been dying to play around with these two!

a drabble for @dadrunkwriting

"Hey, Seeker."

Cassandra glanced up as Varric cautiously approached. She was sitting on a low stool in the blacksmith, her sword laid across her knees. In one hand, she held a whetstone that she hadn't used in several minutes, so lost in thought had she been.

"Hello, Varric."

He grimaced. "I almost prefer it when you yell at me. This quiet seething? It's unsettling."

"I am tired, Varric," she sighed, her gaze dropping. "I hate all the lying and courtly intrigue. A sword is at least honest in its intentions."

"You're too good for court, anyway." He peered at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Is that all that's bothering you?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched as she considered her next words. "Have you ever been honest with me? Or has this all been a game to you?"

"I've told you my fair share of lies, I won't deny it." He carefully reached out and took her hand between both of his own. "But there's also been plenty of truth."

Cassandra gazed intently into his eyes for a long moment, then sighed and looked away again. "I just... I need time to think, Varric. Please."

He squeezed her hand, then let it drop. "Alright. I'll be here when you're ready." As he went to leave, he hesitated at the door. "I wasn't lying when I said you're too good for court, Seeker. You're worth more than all of them combined."

The tiniest smile twitched at the corners of her lips.