Kill me w a berustair kiss
The look on Varric’s face, she was certain, would hauntBerúthiel to the end of her days.
Gone. Stayed behind. That it had been Hawke’s own choice didnot in any way lessen the burden, or lighten the crushing weight of it. Shecould not even take comfort in having Alistair beside her; because how couldshe know, really know, if her motives had been pure? It was logical, of course.The Wardens needed leadership, and he was ranking. Without him, they would bedecentralized, would fall apart into a weaker force, just at a time when shemost needed strong allies. It made sense. It was pragmatic, like all herchoices were pragmatic.
But Maker, did it hurt! Because of course she loved him,too. Of course she did. More deeply than she’d even known, until the moment ofchoice had come and she had looked into honey-colored eyes and known. It was pragmatic, but it wasemotional, too. Even sentimental. She’d saved him at least as much for herselfas she had for her fucking cause.
The Inquisitor held herself together as long as she had to.Her chin was high and her narrow shoulders were back, her spine long andstraight. The weight of her armor was a help, making her move in a certain way,grounding her and reminding her of who she was now. She said the things she hadto say, and made her face twist into the expressions it had to wear. Shewondered, all the while, if Varric could ever forgive her. She wondered if itmattered if he did. She knew it wouldn’t stop her from making the next harddecision that arose, because nothing could. She was using these people, and shewas using their willingness, and using their belief. She had to. It was herjob.
The Inquisitor held herself together, but once the door toher borrowed chambers in Adamant had closed, Berúthiel slumped and her facecrumpled. Only Alistair’s strong arm, suddenly around her waist, kept her onher feet. With a low cry, she turned and flung herself against him, tearssoaking into the neck of his gambeson as she shook and shuddered there,breaking down the only time she could, with the only audience she could allow.
But there were few things more uncomfortable than embracing aperson in full armor, and one of those was doing so while in full armor oneself.It could not last, and Berúthiel, for all her anguish, was not much given totears in any case. She broke away and looked at him a moment. His skin wasstill as filthy as her own, stained with demon ichor and the clinging fog ofthe Fade and worse things, probably. His eyes looked suspiciously wet as well,but after her own show of weakness she was not about to comment.
She opened her mouth and found no words waiting. They couldtalk about it later, maybe. For now, all she wanted was him, and theirfilthiness be damned. She leaned in and kissed him hard, muffling his surprisedsqueak with her tongue.
