Drifting Roads | AO3 - Tumblr | Hawke/Varric | Mature | 14,000 words
This Never Happened | AO3 - Tumblr | Varric/Anders | Mature | 1,448 words
Forgive Me, Father | AO3 | Hawke/Anders | Explicit | 2,272 words
The Truth Between the Lines | AO3 - Tumblr | Hawke/Varric | Explicit | 2,590 words
A Mother's Fear | AO3 | Trevelyan/Cullen | Teen | 500 words
All In | AO3 | Rook/Varric | Mature | WIP
What Comes Next... Revenge | AO3 | Rook/Neve & Varric | Teen | 1,718 words
Memories | AO3 | Rook/Neve & Varric | Mature | 690 words
Varric is working on his next masterpiece. At least, that is what his publisher keeps telling him, though not without some requested changes. Romance is not usually Varric's specialty but if the readers demand it, he had better deliver. Unfortunately, Hawke stumbles across the rough draft of his manuscript.
Rating: Explicit
Relationship: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Tags: Inquisitor Hawke, Wintersend, Holidays, Friendship, Smut, Established Relationship, Isabela Being Isabela
Skyhold, Hawke has left it too late to get Varric’s Wintersend present in time (or so she thought). Meanwhile, Varric has smuggled the perfect present into Skyhold for Hawke.
A small, self-indulgent holiday story about Inquisitor Hawke. Chapter 1 is a cute holiday get-together; Chapter 2 is where good stuff is (just read the tags first when following the link).
Written for Weekly Words from @thehangedmancreatives
20/12/2025 Character finds a secret room.
You say that but you found your way in regardless, Solas replied, a smile threaded through the voice that echoed in her mind. As you always do. Finding your way into the quiet places. Now you linger there, consuming what little peace I have left.
She swallowed and played a simple tune. Dust motes shivered in the sunlight and a wisp appeared in the corner, chirping to itself as it began to drift across the room. The air behind her shifted and… changed. She felt a presence, oddly intimate, settling along her spine.
Hands—his hands—ghosted at her waist. The heat of them, when there should be none, made her breath catch. She looked around, turning to look over her shoulder, but there was no one there. He is not there, she told herself before turning back to the piano. Her shoulders tensed as his fingers traced the line of her ribs, curving around her stomach as an invisible weight settled against her back.
You wear my thoughts thin, he whispered at her ear. Every note you touch, every step you take in rooms I left buried.
She braced herself against the piano, palms flat on the wood. The instrument hummed softly under her hands and she moved to play a gentle tune from her forgotten youth. His presence pressed closer. A kiss brushed the curve where her neck met her shoulder—there, and then there again—each one a promise he never quite finished.
Written for Weekly Words from @thehangedmancreatives
13/12/2025 There was only one tent…
This Never Happened
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Hawke & Varric, (brief) Anders/Varric
Tags: There Was Only One Tent, Survival, Sharing Body Heat, Awkward Boners, Mistaken Identity, No Sex
Escaping the ancient Thaig and wading through the endless darkspawn was only the beginning of their journey to safety. More dangerous than all the enemies was the Deep Roads themselves and Varric has a clever way to help Hawke warm up. Unfortunately, it does not go as he expected...
Written for Weekly Words from @thehangedmancreatives
13/12/2025 “…why are you looking at me like that?”
I realise, you just kissed a girl and now I’ve got you chasing leads.
Valka had just been kissed by a woman, by a human, by Neve fucking Gallus. And now as she blindly pursued Neve through the alleys of Dock Town, her mind raced as she processed the earlier events on the dock. They were friends, nothing more. Sure, they teased each other, but Valka did that with everyone. It was her way of dealing with the constant danger they lived in. It was all in good fun—until suddenly it wasn't.
But Neve? Neve was a woman. A beautiful, intoxicating and exciting woman. Valka’s thoughts raced, darting between confusion and something else—something unfamiliar and dangerous. And she had no idea what it all meant.
Their hunt had led them through the maze of Dock Town in search of more clues, all pointing towards Aelia, but as they sat in a small noodle bar, Valka barely heard a word of the case. Neve’s voice was there, filling the space, but it was muffled. All Valka could think about was her—the way she smiled, the way her lips felt against hers.
Somehow, they had ended up at Neve’s apartment. It was small, cluttered with books, trinkets, and the scent of something sweet in the air. It felt like just Neve. Valka stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, her heart pounding, unsure of how to act or what to say.
Neve sat on the edge of the bed, casual as always and her gaze fixed on Valka. With a playful grin, she reached out, her fingers brushing Valka’s hand before pulling her closer. The movement was effortless and before Valka could process it, she was standing right in front of her.
Valka’s breath caught. Suddenly they were the same height and Neve was looking right at her with a look that was playful. But there was something else too, an intensity to it that Valka had never seen from Neve before, and it made her stomach flip in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
“Why…?” Valka stammered, words tumbling out of her mouth in a clumsy mess. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Neve’s lips curved into a knowing smile. She studied Valka for a moment and then her eyes softened as she seemed to recognise the nervous energy radiating off Valka.
“Because you’re beautiful,” Neve said, her voice gentle. “And you’re not used to someone saying that, are you?”
Valka’s breath caught. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. She fumbled, her mind racing in every direction at once.
“I— I’ve never been with a woman before…”
The confession came out in a rush and tangle of words as Valka’s mind raced, finally catching up with the realisation and possibilities of what this was.
Neve’s expression softened further, her eyes wide as she studied Valka. She gently cupped her face. “It’s okay,” Neve whispered, her thumb lightly tracing Valka’s cheek. “There’s no pressure here. We go at your pace, alright?”
“I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” Valka admitted. Saying it out loud made it all feel more real.
Neve’s smile deepened and she leaned in slowly, her lips pausing just a fraction from Valka’s own. “Then let me show you,” Neve murmured. “Slowly. There’s no rush.”
With that, Neve kissed her gently. It was soft at first and then, as Valka responded and leaned into the kiss, Neve’s arm wrapped around her body, her hand sliding across Valka’s waist as she pulled her closer.
When Neve finally pulled back, Valka stood frozen, eyes wide in shock, her lips still parted in stunned silence.
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Rook/Lace Harding
Tags: Wintersend, Holidays, Kissing, Fluff
Rurik’s first kiss with Lace left him spinning but that did not stop him wanting to kiss her again. With Winterend as a good excuse to spent time with her, Rurik tries to impress her with a special gift and a sight not seen by many outside of the Arlathan Forest
Read on AO3 or below…
Rurik really had not meant for the moment to feel so formal but with Lace smiling up at him, her cheeks pink from the cold and eyes bright, he found himself standing a little straighter and he clutched the small wrapped bundle in his hands. He had invited her back to Arlathan Forest, just the two of them for once, and now they were there he found himself embarrassed at the gift he brought for her.
“Wintersend already?” she teased, brushing a stray flake of snow from her coat. “You know you didn’t have to get me anything—”
“I, uh… didn’t get it,” Rurik tried to explain but the words jumbled on his tongue. “I made it.”
Her brow rose and he quickly pressed the gift into her hands before he could lose his nerve. Lace untied the ribbon and peeled back the bright cloth, peering at the gift within.
Nestled in the fabric was a compass. Its casing was warm brushed metal and the lid was etched with delicate flowers. Inside, the face was precise and orderly, numbers neatly ringed around the edge in gilded gold, and the needle glided with effortless grace, its twisting shape reflecting the flowers on the case. Lace lifted the compass and stared at it in wonder.
“Rurik… this is beautiful. You made this yourself?”
Heat climbed the back of his neck. He rubbed at it awkwardly, wishing suddenly he’d done this with the others around so his gift could just be one of many. “I’m… good with making things, you know, especially things with metal. I just… I wanted it to be something useful but at the same time… pretty like you.”
She laughed softly and he felt his cheeks flame as the words spilt from his mouth.
“Rurik…” She stepped a little closer, tilting her head so she could catch his gaze. “You could’ve given me a rock you tripped over on the way here and I’d still think it was wonderful, because it was from you.”
She brushed her thumb across the metal casing, admiring it once more before looking back up at him.
“But this? This is incredible. Useful, beautifully made, and it might actually be the prettiest thing anyone’s ever given me.” Her cheeks flushed as she added quickly, “and for the record? I, uh… really like it when you say things like that. Even if it makes you turn as red as a nug in summer.”
He cleared his throat. “Well there’s, uh, one more part. C’mon.”
The trees swallowed them as they entered the forest and the evening was beginning to cover the forest in shadows. Snow lay thick over the trees, muffling sound and turning the path ahead into a winding streak of silver. Rurik led the way, his boots sinking deep as his breath clouded the air. Lace followed close behind.
“Where are we going?” she asked for the third time.
“You’ll see,” he replied, trying very hard not to grin.
The climb was short but steep—a scramble over old stone and jutting roots. Rurik reached the top first and turned to give her a hand up. She took it, smiling and flushed from the effort, and Rurik felt his skin warm at her touch. He pulled her to the edge of the lookout and the view spanned across the valley.
And then Lace looked up.
Her breath caught.
Above the treeline, the sky shimmered with drifting rivers of colored light—endless waves of green and violet rolling slowly against a blanket of stars. The lake below glowed with the reflection and the snow-blanketed forest caught the ethereal radiance and returned it like a thousand tiny mirrors.
“Maker’s breath…” Lace whispered. “I’ve never seen—Rurik, this is…”
“I thought you’d like it,” Rurik explained bashfully. It was a sight he had seen many times growing up in Arlathan but to outsiders, he knew it was an amazing sight that left many awestruck.
“Like it? It’s… incredible.”
She stepped forward, awestruck, and the lights painted her skin in shifting hues. Rurik watched her and the wonder on her face, his heart quickening as he stared at her. He moved closer, heart thudding and the cold long forgotten.
He reached for her hand. She looked down at their joined fingers then startled as she began to pull back from his grasp.
“Rurik…” she murmured, swallowing. “Maybe we shouldn’t. My powers… you know they’re worse around you. I don’t know why. And when I’m nervous they just—I don’t want to hurt you.”
Their first kiss might not have gone so well. The rush of magic had floored him, the touch of lyrium through her veins had left him spinning. That did not change a thing. No matter what, Rurik wanted her. He tightened his hold on her hand, unwilling to let her go so easily, and tugged gently so she turned to face him.
“Lace… our ancestors were carved out by Titans themselves. Whatever’s in your blood—” he pressed her hand briefly to his chest “—is in mine too and it is not something I fear.”
Her eyes searched his, a mix of both anxious and hopeful, and he stepped closer. The light reflected in her eyes and he brought one hand gently up to her face, cupping her cheek as he stared at her face. Every part of her was beautiful and he found himself distracted as he studied the freckles across her nose.
“I can handle it,” he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet her gaze. “I want this. I want you. And I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to step back.
She didn’t.
Their lips met, hesitant at first, but then the ground beneath the world seemed to thrum with the rhythm of a forgotten song. Power flared through Lace, racing along her veins in sudden, bright currents of glowing blue. Rurik felt it surge into him—through his fingers, his lips, everywhere that his skin met hers—and there was a rush of power that resonated with something ancient inside him. The magic surged through him, spinning his senses in a way that was only second to the feel of Lace’s skin beneath his own.
Lace gasped against his mouth, but he held her tight, pulling her to his body as he let the magic wash over him. By the gods, he wanted her. He had from when they first met and every moment since—with every gaze, every touch that sent his senses into a dizzying spell and kept him enthralled.
When the kiss finally broke, Lace stared up at him, her eyes wide. She looked shaken and her lips parted slightly as if she was torn between speaking or kissing him again.
Rurik lifted a hand and brushed his thumb along her cheek. Her skin glowed faintly beneath his touch, as though the light in the sky had settled under her skin. He began to feel his head spin again and she wrapped her arms around his body, holding him steady.
“How do you do that, Lace?” he whispered. “One kiss and I’m a mess.”
<< Previous Work | Part 7 of (Not So) Happily Ever After | Next Work >>
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook, Illario Dellamorte/Rook
Tags: Angst, Break Up, Farewell, Unrequited Love, One Shot, Ficlet
Camille is done with the Crows, done with Treviso, and done pretending she can thrive in a life built on secrets. But leaving is not as simple as she thinks and the threads of the life she built for herself in Treviso threaten to bind her there.
Read on AO3 or below…
Lucanis knew this was coming, deep inside, ever since Camille had moved to Treviso to be with him. It was obvious the Crow’s life did not suit her. It never had, not truly. She had never been a woman for shadows and secrets; after years of living in the Necropolis she belonged in the sunlight, in places where things grew.
And now she stood in front of Caterina’s desk—no, his desk now—and her voice broke as she uttered the words Lucanis had feared.
“We met at the worst of times, Lucanis, yet we saw the best in each other. I saw someone who could be more than what they were... who could leave it all behind and build something new. But you haven’t. You’re still in that world, and I…” She paused, her breath shaky. “I cannot stay in it anymore.”
His heart stuttered.
She’s leaving. You knew it all along. You just didn’t want to admit it.
Lucanis ignored Spite but the ache of the truth gnawed at him. He looked at Camille, searching her face for any hint that she might change her mind. “Camille... must you go?”
You must stop her!
Camille stared through him, the way she always did when she knew Spite was speaking.
“Spite, enough,” she said, traces of magic whispering through her voice. “This is about Lucanis, not you.”
At her words, Lucanis felt Spite still within his mind.
“Is this about—” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.
Camille shook her head in disbelief. “Not everything revolves around you Dellamortes.”
“I had to ask. I know you have been close, spending time with him.”
“He’s a friend,” she protested. “One that I needed. How is that any different from all the letters you receive from Minrathous?”
That cut deep. He knew his accusations were not fair but even then a small seed of doubt lingered in his chest. Lucanis rose from the chair and walked towards her, kneeling down as he took one hand in his.
“I can leave the Crows,” he said. “I will. If that’s what you want…”
Camille’s face tightened but her eyes softened. “You will never truly leave. You will always be one of them and you could not walk away any more than I could give away my magic.” Her voice began to shake and tears formed in her eyes. Lucanis resisted the urge to stand and wipe them away. “I do not know how to live with that anymore, Lucanis. You’re always a step away, a shadow of someone I used to know.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words feeling like they might choke him but they were all he could give her. “If you must go?”
“I have to.”
“I love you, Camille.” The words came out more desperate than he meant. “And I always will.”
“I know,” she whispered, voice trembling as she turned away.
She did not look back again as the door clicked softly shut behind her.
———————
He had been hearing rumours all week, the mutterings around the Crows that she was leaving. Lucanis had been locked in his study since then, refusing to speak with any except Viago, and Illario figured there must be some truth to the matter.
Illario should have worried for his cousin, perhaps even pried open that door and tried to talk sense into him. But every rational thought fled under the pounding rush in his chest.
He had to find her before she left without hearing him say goodbye.
Moving quickly through the corridors, he made his way toward the wing where her chambers sat tucked away, tracing footsteps he knew too well. He had approached a dozen times with words ready on his tongue but never knocked.
Tonight he didn’t intend to hesitate.
But as he turned the last corner, he stopped short. Teia stood guard outside the door, arms folded over her chest, and she did not look surprised at his presence.
“No, Illario. This is not appropriate.”
“Please, Teia, I have to speak with her,” Illario pleaded.
“You Dellamortes have caused her enough heartbreak. She does not need this turmoil.”
“Please, Teia.” His voice cracked despite his effort to control it. “Just one moment. I have to…”
“You know she hates goodbyes,” Teia counselled.
“So do I.” His voice was barely a whisper. “But I can’t let her vanish without hearing me out. Without… without telling her what she deserves to hear.”
By some miracle, Teia stepped aside and Illario slipped inside before she could change her mind.
The chambers were tidy and a travelling chest sat neatly packed on the rug. Camille stood by the window, staring at the garden outside, as though she were already halfway miles away.
She didn’t turn at first. “So you’ve heard.”
Illario swallowed. “Everyone has heard. But I needed to hear it from you.”
“I cannot stay. I tried for Lucanis but this life,” she shook her head, “I cannot.”
He stepped closer. “Then let me come with you.”
“Illario—”
“I will go. I’ll leave the Crows behind. All of it. For you.”
“You know…” She let out a shaky breath. “That is what Lucanis promised too.”
Illario flinched.
Camille continued. “Neither of you can. You were born into this life. Shaped by it. Leaving the Crows is not just walking out a door. It is killing parts of yourselves you don’t even recognise yet.”
He took another step until he stood directly before her.
“Maybe he couldn’t,” Illario stated. “But I can. For you, I can.”
She lifted a hand but faltered halfway, so he reached out and took her fingers in his. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm.
“Let me try,” he whispered. “Please.”
Camille’s breath caught and Illario’s keen eyes noted her free hand curled at her side, nails biting into her palm.
Part 1 of (Not So) Happily Ever After | Next Work >>
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Female Hawke/Sebastian Vael
Tags: Angst, One Shot, Ficlet
In the years following the Chantry explosion Varric watches as his best friend, now the Viscountess of Kirkwall, waits for her prince to return.
Read on AO3 or below...
It started out as a joke. It always did with Hawke. This time it had been a jest between her and Isabela, a drunken dare between friends.
Do you think you could seduce the priest?
It all started the first time Sebastian had joined them for a drink at the Hanged Man. Varric had sat and watched as Hawke and Isabella spent the evening teasing the poor man, until his face was red with embarrassment and he fled back to the Chantry. That was the first of many nights of drinking and cards that the priest joined them for and, over the years, they all watched as Sebastian spent more time at the Hanged Man and less time in prayer. The jokes from Hawke continued accompanied by the small flirtations, accidental touches, anything Hawke could do to get Sebastian to react.
Varric noticed that, somewhere along the way, the jokes became real for Hawke. Not in a ‘lightning bolt struck me’ way but a growing affection that turned into love. Forbidden love with a man who was not free to love her in return. Hawke, who’s charisma and presence opened many doors, did not fully comprehend the situation she found herself in. A battle against the Chantry for Sebastian’s affections and, as everyone could clearly see, Sebastian himself was drawn towards Hawke though he kept turning back towards the Chantry.
Six years it took them. In the end his love for Hawke overwhelmed his love for the Maker but even then there was still another condition to meet.
I will offer you no less than a prince.
Yet in the past two years Sebastian had failed to deliver on his promise and Hawke still sat in Kirkwall waiting.
They wrote often, of course, and Varric knew of various meetings over the last two years. Secret ones, hidden from the eyes of the Free Marches. He saw his friend live for those small moments, the joy of hidden letters in official missives from Starkhaven, the optimism at news the political deadlock might finally be resolved. Varric also saw the sadness in her eyes that she tried to hide from all others. It could not last and the questions would start to haunt her mind.
Why am I not enough? Does he even love me?
That much Varric knew from his own bitter experience. The doubts sneaking in. The resolve to break away from the situation only to be drawn back in at the next letter or visit. The self-loathing on recognising the hopelessness of the circumstances but unable to find the resolve to find another path.
The Prince of Starkhaven and the Viscountess of Kirkwall, that was what he promised Hawke, and now Varric saw his best friend wearing a crown she did not want, waiting for a prince who might never come.
If Varric were a braver man, one willing to admit his own faults, he would tell her and save her from the existence that was his own life.
Written for Weekly Words from @thehangedmancreatives
29/11/2025 A character reads a letter they were never meant to see…
An additional scene that ties in with Duty & Desire explain just how Isabela knows the truth about Bianca.
Isabela slipped into Varric’s room. The door creaked only the tiniest bit, just enough to make her pause and roll her eyes.
“Honestly, Varric, investing in a drop of oil wouldn’t kill you,” she muttered.
Varric was out with Hawke, drinking at some high priced establishment in High Town to celebrate their return from the Deep Roads and, frankly, Isabela was curious and had nothing better to do. The place was a mess. Maps and notes lay curled on the desk, drafts of his writing scattered in a way that was either deliberate chaos or the result of a writer slowly losing his mind. She nudged aside an empty whiskey bottle with her foot.
“Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding.”
The desk drawer wasn’t even locked. That almost offended her. Inside, tucked beneath a pouch of coins and a set of disorganised quills, was a folded letter. The seal was broken but she did not recognise it.
Varric,
I thought about ignoring your last letter, you know. Not out of anger—don’t flatter yourself—but because it reminded me of everything I’ve chosen and everything I can’t go back to. The workshop is thriving, the commissions keep coming and my family… well, you know that part.
But your last letter, Varric. You’re heading for the Deep Roads? What nug-brained scheme is Bartrand dragging you into this time? If you get yourself killed down there, I swear—
And then nothing. Months of no letters or a single word about your fate. Something to tell me you were still alive. Do you have any idea what that did to me? I reminded myself you always come back, but by the Stone, Varric… even a stubborn idiot can reach the wrong end of its luck eventually.
If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m coming to Kirkwall myself. Don’t test me on this. I will march into that decrepit city, drag you out of whatever chaos you’ve dived headfirst into, and throttle you before I even ask what fool thing you were trying to prove.
Just send me something. A line. A word. Anything that tells me you’re still out there, irritating the world the way only you can.
And for what it’s worth, I still (the letters were scribbled out angrily). I shouldn’t admit that. Look, even after everything I don’t want to see you dead.
Bianca
Isabela stared at the looping signature in shock.
“She’s real? She’s a real woman? I thought she was… shit!”
She read a few lines again just to be sure she wasn’t hallucinating. She almost put the letter back but then she noticed another sheet tucked at the back of the drawer, crinkled as though shoved there in frustration.
Naturally, she took it.
Bianca,
I’m fine. Mostly. Fine enough. I am alive.
Got your letter. I shouldn’t have—no, that’s not what I meant. I’m glad you wrote. I just… Andraste’s ass, this is harder than fighting darkspawn.
You shouldn’t worry about me You always worry too much I don’t deserve that kind of
I didn’t mean to scare you. The Deep Roads trip wasn’t supposed to take so long. It wasn’t my idea. It was my idea, actually, but you know how it is. Bartrand gets greedy and suddenly I’m trudging through the Deep Roads wondering why the Stone hasn’t crushed me for being an idiot.
But I’m alive. And I’m back. And every time I try to write that down, my hands shake like I thought I’d never see you again like I keep imagining you waiting for a letter that never would come
Look, I am safe thanks to a new friend. I think you’d like her. Or hate her. It’s hard to tell but either way it would be bad for me. Perhaps it’s best if you two never meet.
You asked me to send you word that I was safe. Here’s a whole page and none of it says the thing I mean. I miss you. I shouldn’t miss you.
I know you made your choice and I respect it, I do, but it doesn’t stop
Maybe I’m not supposed to say any of this. Maybe it’ll just make things harder for you. It does for me. But you have the life you built. The one you deserve and I’m not going to ruin that.
But I wish that things had been different. If I’d asked you to stay If I’d been braver
No. None of that matters. You made your choice and I never did.
Forget it. I’m rambling. I’m alive. I’m back in Kirkwall. I’m… fine.
That’s what you wanted to hear, right?
Isabela sat on the edge of Varric’s bed, the half-written letter dangling from her fingertips. She read the last broken line twice. The sentence had ended abruptly, ink trailing off as though the quill slipped from his hand. There was no signature.
“Shit, well that… that is something.” Her voice trailed off as she read it again. “Oh, Varric. You poor idiot. You’ve gone and tangled your heart somewhere you can’t reach it.”
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe, Alistair/Isabela
Tags: Romance, Angst, Royalty, Politics, Arranged Marriage, Secret Relationship, Mutual Pining, Friend With Benefits, Infidelity, Pregnancy, Fertility Issues, Archive Warning for Later Chapters
Warning: Major Character Death
The Fifth Blight had ended and Ferelden was beginning to rebuild. With Alistair Theirin crowned as king and Caitriona Cousland as his queen, the nation celebrated a union fit for legend of the two Grey Wardens turned royal lovers. Yet, behind the facade of royal splendour, their marriage was forged not from love, but from duty and sacrifice.
Determined never to fall in love, Caitriona had resigned herself to her fate as Alistair's queen. At least, until a fateful journey to Vigil’s Keep to assist the Grey Wardens. And Alistair, having spent his whole life under the orders of another, begins to learn that being king allows him certain freedoms he never would have expected.
Beneath the weight of expectations and loyalty to the throne, desires and temptations arise that will challenge the foundations of their lives.
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Tags: Angst, Mild Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Anders/Female Hawke, Minor Female Rook/Neve, Infidelity, Hawke is a Complicated Mess, Hawke left in the Fade
Warning: Major Character Death
The Fade is dangerous for any mortal bold enough to enter. The Fear penetrates the mind, twists all thoughts yet through it all, Hawke makes a decision to save what matters.
Read on AO3 or below...
I cannot see the path.
Perhaps there is only abyss.
Trembling, I step forward,
In darkness enveloped.
- Trials 1-13
Standing at the edge of the battlements alongside the Inquisitor, Hawke was sure they were facing certain death. It had been a quick siege , just as the Commander had planned, yet the confrontation with Erimond quickly fell apart. Varric remained at Hawke’s side while Alistair and Blackwall and Dorian stood to the other side of the Inquisitor as the team faced down the terrifying dragon.
This had to be the end.
With a loud explosion Hawke found herself falling but instead of death, there was a flash of green light and then…
“Well, this is unexpected,” Alistair said as he looked down at the Inquisitor below.
“Is this… are we dead?” Hawke asked. “If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”
“No, the Inquisitor did something with the mark,” Alistair answered. “Opened another rift. I think we are in the Fade.”
“Well, shit,” Hawke said. ‘The fucking Fade.”
From then, it was running. Hawke was glad she remembered to wear her comfortable boots but even then it was rough going. Demons, monsters, nightmares. The Fade through it all at them. She had experienced the Fade before, the betrayals and all, but this was nothing like the previous time. This was real. Physically, really in the Fade. For once in her life, Hawke could not even see a path out of it.
Spiders! It was always spiders and now there was a fucking spider demon nightmare chasing them.
Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god?
It was getting into her head. Into everyone’s head. With each comment Hawke could see their resolve crack, just a little, enough to create a weakness.
Did the king's bastard think he could prove himself? It's far too late for that. Your whole life you've left everything to more capable hands. The Archdemon, the throne of Ferelden... Who will you hide behind now?
The demon knew where to hit. All their weaknesses and fears exposed to all.
Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric.
Still the group moved forward, step by step towards their escape. A brutal fight led to an advantage, a small one, but enough to make the last push to the rift. They just needed to make it to the top of the stairs.
So they ran.
Hawke looked ahead and she could see the rest of the group waiting. It was just her, the Inquisitor and Alistair with the Nightmare closing in fast as it leaped forward and blocked the path.
Shit, why did it always fall to her. She should run. This was a Grey Warden problem, let a Grey Warden solve it. Yet she knew that after this, the order would need strong leadership. They would need someone like Alistair. Hawke looked between the Inquisitor and Alistair but movement caught her eye at the rift. She could see him turning, spotting them paused on the stairs. He would run to them, Hawke knew that, he would not leave her side and it would end in his death. Yet another tally of someone she loved against her life.
~
“I know I have made a mess of things, Varric. I always do.” Hawke paced nervously as the Inquisition camp prepared for the siege. The fortress of Adamant loomed in the distance and the apprehension of the upcoming battle was in the air.
“It is nothing that can’t be fixed.” Varric replied, trying to calm Hawke’s nervous energy. She stopped pacing. With a huge sigh she collapsed on the ground, scooting across to sit next to Varric with her back against her pack. She leant in and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Look, I’d rather not talk about it all now. We will talk when the battle is done. I promise.”
“I know, Hawke, I know.” Varric paused for a moment. “This isn't your battle. You could leave tonight and no one would judge you.”
“Only if you come with me.”
~
And in that moment she did what she had to do.
The world faces the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment… and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.
The words from a decade prior echoed in Hawke’s head. She glanced again at the figures near the rift before turning to the Inquisitor and Alistair.
“Go. I’ll cover you,” Hawke said. “Say goodbye to Varric for me. Get him out of here!”
Alistair nodded, grabbed the Inquisitor’s arm and ran for the rift.
Hawke faced the nightmare. If only she knew how to fly.
---------------
It had been nearly a week back at Skyhold yet Inquisitor Gwendolyn Trevelyan had barely seen Varric. He hadn’t spoken much on the return journey to Skyhold and his presence had been missed in the grand hall. She made her way to his chambers and hesitated before knocking on the door.
“Come in,” Varric called from inside. Gwen pushed open the door and saw him standing before the fireplace. He looked rough, like he hadn’t slept in weeks and his eyes were red from crying. Gwen stood awkwardly and was unsure about what to even say. She hadn’t planned that far ahead.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Hawke was on a Merchant Guild hit list?” Varric began. Gwen shook her head. “Hawke’s uncle got into an investment scheme with a couple of Merchant Caste businessmen. They took a lot of people’s coin in order to arrange the import of wandering hills from the Anderfels. A delicacy, I’m told. Their weird, foreign foodstuffs arrived… alive. And one of them, true to its name, wandered off in the middle of the night.”
Varric looked up at Gwen, a catch in his voice as he struggled to continue. Not knowing fully what to say, Gwen stepped forward and hugged Varric. He froze, unsure at the gesture, and then wrapped his arms around Gwen’s waist in a tight hug.
“Shit…” he muttered.
“What happened next?” Gwen asked as she stepped back with a tight smile on her face.
“The Guild traced the shipment to Hawke’s include, but as usual, he was so far in debt he couldn’t see daylight. So they went after Hawke instead. They sent guys from the local Carta to Hawke’s estate one night. Five big dusters, armed to the teeth. They kick in the door, and Hawke yells, ‘You’re just in time!’ And drags them over to a game of Wicked Grace. They played two hands of cards before the city guard showed up to take them away. A couple of them became regulars in our weekly game.”
Varric began to smile, a small chuckle forming amongst his works. He sat back down in his armchair.
“They wandered out of the house in a daze. No idea what had just happened. Never came back. Hawke just had that effect on people. I always wanted to tell that one. Thanks.”
“I am sorry,” Gwen began, “I tried to get her out of there.”
“I know,” Varric said sadly. “I know Hawke, once she makes her mind up about something very few people could change it.”
Gwen sat on a stool next to the fire.
“I didn’t know her as well as you did. Maybe you could tell me some more stories?”
“I’ve got some time.”
A few hours later Gwen left the chamber and she knew that, while it would take time, Varric would heal. She chuckled to herself at some of the stories he told. It was no surprise they didn’t make it into the Tale of the Champion.
Inside his chamber, Varric sat at his desk and considered what to do next. He supposed it was time, he had been putting off the task long enough. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the bundle of letters. He would need to send them. The rest of her family and friends deserved to know what had happened. Hawke’s latest letter was on top. He grabbed a knife and broke the seal and stared at the four words scribbled on the page.
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Tags: Inquisitor Hawke, POV Varric Tethras, Eventual Romance, Mild Smut, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Denial of Feelings, Accidental Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love
The world is burning and the Chantry thinks that Varric Tethras holds the key to their salvation but he just wants to keep his best friend as far from trouble as possible. Unfortunately, trouble is what Hawke specialises in and, despite Varric’s best efforts to keep her away, she has found herself at the centre of everything. Now the whole of Thedas sees Hawke as their saviour and Varric is still just trying to protect the one person he cannot stand to lose.
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Tags: Angst, Mild Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Anders/Female Hawke, Minor Female Rook/Neve, Infidelity, Hawke is a Complicated Mess, Hawke left in the Fade
Warning: Major Character Death
As the Inquisition prepares for the attack on Adamant Fortress, Hawke visits Varric late at night. Neither is willing to face the past but the pair are forced to confront the extents which they go to in order to protect the other.
Read on AO3 or below...
Through blinding mist, I climb
A sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base
Endlessly far beneath my feet
The Maker is the rock to which I cling.
- Trials 1-12
A cold wind blew through the halls of Skyhold. It was quiet with many residents having turned in for the night and the remainder seeking shelter at the tavern. The Inquisition was on edge as preparations were in place to travel to Adamant Fortress to confront the Grey Wardens. Hawke pulled her cloak closer against the cold as she made her way through the quiet keep, seeking Varric’s chambers.
Hawke pushed the door open, she and Varric never worried about pleasantries, and was happy to step into the warm room. It was small, but cosy, with a small desk covered in papers and books situated at one end. The curtains were pulled, blocking the snowstorm that raged outside. Varric sat at the desk, working by candlelight, as he focused on the parchment before him.
Varric looked up at the sound of the door.
“Hawke!” Varric exclaimed, a broad smile on his face. “Not that I mind your company, but what has brought you here tonight?”
“I did not mean to interrupt,” Hawke said as she closed the door behind herself.
“Oh, I am just dealing with correspondence from Bran plus there are a few from the Prince of Starkhaven. Any excuse to avoid his letters is most welcome. Have a seat.” He gestured to the armchair opposite his desk.
Leaving her cloak and pack by the door Hawke sat and made herself comfortable. Varric took in her appearance. The last two years had been rough on Hawke, that much Varric could tell from the letters they had shared, but seeing her in person highlighted the toll of the years. Her red hair was shorter than it used to be, but it still curled around her face, and her skin was paler than he remembered. Varric noticed she held a bundle of letters in her hands and she clutched them tightly.
“Obviously the inner circle gets some perks around here,” Hawke said with a laugh, “the rest of us are left with tents and cold bunk rooms.”
“You should have mentioned it, Hawke, I could have sorted out better accommodation.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Besides, I will be leaving in the morning.”
“What do you mean?” Varric asked sharply.
“I met with the Inquisitor earlier. She asked that Alistair and I scout out the Grey Warden fortress ahead of the main force.” Hawke paused, waiting to see Varric’s reaction. “We are set to leave in two days and help Leliana’s scout establish a forward camp.”
Varric frowned at the news. “I don’t know why she is sending you to Adamant Fortress. You aren’t part of the Inquisition and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll talk to the Inquisitor tomorrow.”
“I doubt you’ll change her mind and even if you do, there is still Cassandra and Cullen to contend with.”
“Curly owes you a few favours and I’ll just have to remind him of that. As for Cassandra, I kept her away from you once and I’ll do it again.” There was a firmness to his voice that Hawke couldn’t place.
“Look, I’m going, Varric, and that’s final.” He frowned at Hawke but she continued without letting him interrupt. “I just have some business to deal with before I go. You do know that I am thankful for your management of the Amell estate the last two years. There is more though, I need you to keep these safe for me as well.”
She handed Varric the bundle of sealed documents. He noticed his name written on the top document.
“What are these?” Varric asked. He shuffled through the letters noting the names on them—Aveline, Carver, Anders, all the old crew.
Hawke continued. “There is a copy of my will. Plus some letters I would need delivered if I don’t come back. I trust you can make sure everyone is taken care of.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t leave these with Anders.”
“He isn't…” Hawke hesitated. “He is better than he was but he really isn’t stable these days. I don’t want him worrying. Look, I know you have your issues with him but if anything happens to me, please just make sure Anders is looked after.”
Varric could tell Hawke was leaving something out but he couldn’t guess what it was except that it related to Anders. He looked at her with the question in his eyes and Hawke matched his gaze. She was always good at holding her own secrets as his many losses at Wicked Grace over the years had proved.
“Just take them. I need to know everything is taken care of.” Hawke’s voice broke a little as she said this and she fidgeted with her hands, like she always did when she was nervous.
Varric sighed, placing the letters in his top drawer. He noticed her relax at his action yet his own emotions were rising at the thought of Hawke at Adamant Fortress. Years of fighting had taken its toll on his best friend. He could see how the years had worn her down and the situation with Anders weighed heavily on her. She deserved a break.m, freedom from politics and war.
“I should not have asked you to come,” Varric said, his voice full of regret. “Yet again, I am the one who put you in danger.”
“It’s not your fault, Varric.”
“But I’m the one who brought you to Skyhold. The one who has put you in the path of danger, yet again.” His voice rose in anger, not at Hawke but himself.
Hawke rose from the armchair and stared down Varric. Her face was getting flushed and Varric remembered what it was like to face her anger.
“Danger I put Thedas in by letting Corpheus escape! Released by my blood and I couldn’t even kill him properly. Everyone in Thedas is under threat and it’s my fault. This fight is as much mine as the Inquisitor’s.”
Varric stood and stepped towards her. He had seen that determined look in her eyes many times over the years, usually before she launched herself head first into danger. Hawke stood very still as the magic began to flare over her hands. He was sure she wouldn’t set him on fire. Well, relatively sure.
“You don’t have to be here, Hawke,’ said Varric gently, ’you should go home. Be safe and stay away from this shit.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Varric. Someone needs to be there to keep you alive. I certainly don’t trust any of the Inquisition to.” She gestured out towards the rest of the castle as she said this. “It has to be me,” Hawke said as her voice caught a little, hinting at the anxiety she was masking with anger.
“Hawke,” Varric said sternly, “I’m not going to die.”
He gently grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake to bring her back to reality.
“You can’t know that,” Hawke said with a quivering voice. “Everyone I love is doomed. My parents, Bethany. All dead. Carver is cursed for the short life of a Grey Warden. Anders is an abomination. It is only a matter of time before something happens to you. I will not let that happen.”
“You could have stayed away. Stayed safe. It’s not your responsibility to fix the whole world.”
“I was always coming to Skyhold.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me to! I will always come if you ask and if it takes my death to save you, then that is what will happen.” Hawke’s voice rose angrily as she struggled to hold back tears.
“You are not dying! I am not dying!” Varric yelled back at her. Hawke startled back at the sound and her eyes narrowed. Oh boy, he was in danger of being set on fire now. He stepped further forward, his body close to Hawke’s as he continued in a gentler tone. “But I need you to be safe. I need to know you are safe.”
Varric looked up at her, one of his hands brushing the hair back from the side of her face before moving down to cup her cheek, pulling her gaze down to his. The air was thick with anticipation. Their friendship had always been a delicate balance of laughter and attraction. One small step from either of them threatened to destroy that balance.
“Varric…” Hawke whispered, her breath quickening at his touch.
Varric gently pulled her face down, his nose brushing against hers, their breaths mingling. Time slowed and both remained still, focused solely on the other.
“You are not allowed to die, Hawke, because I cannot imagine a world without you in it.”
With those words Varric breached the distance between them, kissing her softly with a hint of hesitation fueled by the prospect of changing years of friendship. Varric drew back slowly as he watched her face carefully for her reaction. His hand remained cupping her face as the only physical contact between them.
“Hawke,” he started, “Alys…” Whatever Varric was going to say was lost as he stumbled over her name, unusual of him to be lost for words.
Just hearing him say her name like that sparked something within Hawke. Yes, there was Anders but the recent years were not kind on their relationship and, following the events in Kirkwall, they more clung to each other out of familiarity than affection. But Varric had always been there, always been her friend and despite him turning down her advances years before, she still held feelings for him.
To Varric’s surprise, she kissed him back.
There was an urgency to Hawke’s kiss. Her hands gripped at the collar of Varric’s shirt as he wrapped one arm around her waist, supporting her weight, as the other hand tangled in her hair. There was a dizzy relief, a rush of adrenaline, as the feelings suppressed for over a decade of friendship came rushing to the surface. There was no time for delicate actions or talk, just the rushed euphoria as clothes were quickly removed as the couple tumbled on the bed.
Varric paused, breathing heavily as he looked down at Hawke. He could scarcely believe that this was happening. Years of longing, mistimed advances and other lovers had never let him dare dream it might actually happen. He has to be careful though. She was broken after everything she has been through. Hell, he was a bit battered around the edges himself.
He kissed down the side of her neck, nibbling at her skin as he tasted her. His hand slipped down between them, feeling her need as she writhed under him. Her hands grasped at his back, drawing him closer, trying to touch as much of his skin as possible.
“Hawke,” Varric began softly, “are you sure?”
“Damn it, Varric, I need you,” she moaned against his ear. With that small permission, Varric repositioned himself and thrust into her with rough desperation. All thoughts left Hawke’s head. Corypheus, Adamant, Anders. None of it mattered, just her and Varric.
His hands came up and interlocked with Hawke’s, their eyes locked as they lost themselves to the sensations. He tried to be gentle, to slow down and savour the moment, but with Hawke’s urging, he succumbed to the pleasure.
“Hawke,” Varric moaned, his forehead pressed against hers.
It had been so damned long, for both of them, and it was rough and urgent. With each thrust she ground her hips back against him, desperate in seeking her fulfilment. Years of friendship, flirting, other lovers, all culminating in this moment as they desperately sought release with each other.
Sliding his hands down, Varric grabbed underneath her and tilted her hips up toward himself. With the change of position, Hawke’s moans grew louder and she finally was tipped over the edge. As she convulsed around him Varric followed, repeating her name over and over as he came crashing down.
As his breathing steadied, Varric shifted onto the bed and lay beside Hawke while keeping her close. He noticed tears forming in her eyes and, without saying a word, Varric gently wiped them away. Varric pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. Whatever she needed from him, he would be there.
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked quietly.
“Of course. Stay as long as you need to.”
---------------
The soft glow of sunrise filtering into the room, waking Varric and he reached out his arm expecting to find Hawke still beside him. The bed was empty and the empty space cold and unwelcoming. Of course, he should have known last night wouldn’t have changed Hawke’s path. She was travelling to Adamant Fortress whether he approved or not.
Varric rose, donning a robe to guard against the cold, and noticed her pack gone and the letters she had given him before sitting in the middle of his desk. There was a new letter in the pile, freshly sealed with wax and bearing the words Varric, I am sorry, Hawke.
Tempted as he was, Varric knew this was not the time to read this letter, nor the others, and he sighed as he moved the letters back into his desk drawer.
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Tags: Angst, Mild Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Anders/Female Hawke, Minor Female Rook/Neve, Infidelity, Hawke is a Complicated Mess, Hawke left in the Fade
Warning: Major Character Death
A decade of friendship is challenged as Hawke is once again drawn back into world-changing events on a mission to protect those she loves and, as always, Varric is left to deal with the fallout. But their story does not end there. When Hawke is not at Varric’s side when he needed her the most, she has to come to terms with the outcome.
Chapter 1 | AO3 - Tumblr
Chapter 2 | AO3 - Tumblr
Chapter 3 | AO3
Chapter 4 | AO3
Chapter 5 | AO3
Chapter 6 | AO3
Chapter 7 | AO3
Chapter 8 | AO3
Chapter 9 | AO3
Epilogue | AO3
Author’s Notes:
This fic is one that is very personal. After eight years of this story rattling around in my brain, I finally wrote it down and it got me back into fanfiction after a long, long break (a whole other story in itself).
When I wrote it, I thought Dreadwolf would never actually be released yet it did get announced as Veilguard not too long after. The story, originally with a complete ending, got an extra chapter leading into the release and after, well, it became my therapy story for dealing with the ending of Veilguard.
It is very personal and tied heavily to my headcanons for my main timeline, hence the Rook tie ins, and will tie into my Rook/Varric fic All In.
Also a warning, a lot less proofreading happened back then and I’m slowly working my way through checking the chapters and fixing.
Rating: Teen
Relationships: Female Aeducan/Varric Tethras
Tags: Dwarven Politics, Wicked Grace, Dancing, Flirting, One Night Stands, No Smut
The Fifth Blight has ended. After leaving the Grey Wardens, Sereda thought her time topside was finally over. She would soon be named Paragon, more revered than even the King himself, but until then she is at her brother’s command. And that is how she ended up representing House Aeducan at a trade negotiation with the Merchants’ Guild. But bored by the endless arguments over treaties and tariffs, Sereda finds unlikely company to keep her amused.
Read on AO3 or below...
The pouch hit the table with a satisfying clink, bouncing once before settling in front of Varric. A few heads in the Hanged Man turned, lured by the unmistakable sound of coin.
“Fifty gold,” Hawke said. “Told you I’d get it.”
Varric gave a low whistle. “Knew you’d pull it off.”
“So,” Hawke said, dropping into the chair across from him, “you think Bartrand will go for it?”
“Course he will. Gold is the only language he speaks.”
Hawke signalled the server for ale. She stretched her legs out under the table. “You know,” she said, tilting her head at him, “you brother doesn’t really strike me as the charitable sort. Not even when it comes to family. So how’d you talk your way into being a partner?”
Varric accepted the mug set in front of him and lounged back. He propped his boots on the table like and lazily swirled the ale. “Oh, you’ve got him pegged. But would you believe me if I told you the honest truth?”
“Doubtful,” Hawke said. “But try anyway.”
“My stake,” Varric began, raising his mug, “came from several highly respectable sources.”
“Respectable?” Hawke arched her brow. She was intrigued despite herself. “I’m listening.”
“First,” Varric said, counting on his fingers, “a very lucrative investment in a revolutionary new surface fungus. Turns out it wasn’t edible. Or valuable. Or strictly legal.” He waved that one off. “Long story.”
Hawke snorted.
“Then there was the time I won a writing contest. Prestigious stuff. Judges said they’d never read anything quite like it. Mostly because someone misplaced the other submissions.”
“Varric,” Hawke complained, though her shoulders were beginning to shake with laughter.
“All right, all right. There may have been a tiny incident involving a noble, a locked strongbox and the world’s most understanding guard captain.”
“Seriously? Guard-Captain Jeven would never.”
He sighed dramatically and lifted both hands in surrender. “Fine. You want the real truth?”
“That would be nice for once.”
“My stake,” he said, leaning in with a smug grin, “was graciously bestowed upon me by a beautiful dwarven princess—right after she wiped the floor with me in Wicked Grace.” He tossed in a wink for good measure.
Hawke let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she pushed her hair back. “Maker’s breath, Varric. That might actually be the worst lie you’ve told me all week.”
“Perhaps it would be better if I told you the whole story.”
---------------
Sereda Aeducan had forgotten how heavy the air felt on the surface and how vast it felt in its emptiness. There was no comforting presence of rock over her head, no steady Stone beneath her boots. Just wind, rustling trees and a sky so vast it made her feel small in a way she deeply disliked.
She had sworn, after the Blight, that she would never return here again.
But her brother, King Bhelen Aeducan had other plans. He wanted to formalise a trade agreement with the Merchants’ Guild, arguably the most influential organisation among the surfacers.
The estate chosen for the meeting lay far from any settlement, a sprawling stone manor nestled in the foothills outside of Ferelden. The shutters were drawn tight and the sunlight was banished in deference to the Orzammar delegation, leaving the meeting chamber awash in wavering candlelight.
They had travelled most of the way via the Deep Roads, a week of steady marching through dark and echoing caverns. Once they reached a surface exit there had been heavy curtain-covered carriages waiting to carry them the rest of the way to the estate. Every dwarf in the delegation had been cloaked and veiled, their attire in accordance with the Assembly’s latest decree to allow all topside representatives remain properly connected to the Stone.
Sereda wore it with minimal complaint. She had been to the surface before, after all. She had spent a year fighting the Fifth Blight as a Grey Warden yet after returning home, after feeling the Stone around her again, she had known she didn’t belong aboveground. Not truly.
Negotiating the formal recognition of the surfacer clans—workable alliances, trade stability, oversight, taxes—was a process she had not cared about before her exile and liked no better now. Yet Bhelen, with that charmingly manipulative smile of his, had declared she would attend as a representative of House Aeducan.
Now she sat at a polished table, hands folded, pretending to care about negotiations that had long since dissolved into bickering.
“…official oversight must be formalised if the surfacers expect recognition…”
“...recognition we’ve earned without the Assembly’s permission…”
“...your records are incomplete…”
“...your records are out of date…”
She yawned and let her gaze wander across the room. Anything to keep her eyes open.
And then landed on him.
A dwarf she did not recognise lounged at the far end of the table. She had noted him earlier, briefly, when she had entered the room. While the other surfacers had stood and bowed, vying for favour with House Aeducan, he had remained seated. Now as everyone else sat stiffly in the formal timber chairs, he had tipped his back on two legs and balanced with an infuriating ease. A silver coin danced over and through his fingers, catching light with each twist. His shirt hung partially unbuttoned, exposing a stretch of tanned, muscular chest that absolutely did not belong in a formal political negotiations.
Surface-born, no doubt. Or a troublemaker. Likely both.
Sereda realised, with mild irritation, that he seemed to be the only one enjoying himself.
Her gaze lingered a moment too long.
The dwarf’s eyes flicked to hers.
He winked.
Sereda’s expression did not so much as twitch. She straightened in her chair, forcing her attention back to a merchant explaining tariffs in excruciating detail.
~
Sereda slipped out of the council chamber the moment everyone began arguing over tariff clauses for the third time. The meeting was meant to be about reopening trade routes but it had quickly devolved into a contest of who could shout ‘tradition’ the loudest. One side, the nobles that had accompanied her on Bhelan’s request and on the other, the various kalna that made up the surface dwarves and controlled the Merchants’ Guild. She was not sure which were yelling louder but she decided that she needed space, well, as close ss she could find in this crowded estate.
A small sitting room stood cracked open at the end of the hall. Perfect. She ducked inside, her cloak catching at the doorframe, and she’d barely closed the door when she froze.
Someone was already there.
A dwarf lounged in a chair by the fire, boots propped on a low table and a glass of amber liquor in hand. He looked up, eyebrows lifting with unmistakable amusement. She recognised him from the meeting—the surface dwarf, the only one bold enough not to stand and bow when she entered. That meant he was either important or very foolish.
She turned to leave. The last thing she needed right now was to deal with yet another self-important idiot.
“Don’t rush off,” he said easily, swinging his boots down. He stood and strode over to her. “Varric Tethras. And you’re… well, you hardly need an introduction.”
Up close, he was about her height. His shirt hung half-buttoned and unlike most dwarves she knew, he was clean-shaven.
“You were in the meetings before,” she said. “Why are you hiding away now?”
“House Tethras has two brothers—the one who will restore glory to the name and the screwup. You can probably guess which I am. But you’re here too, hiding from the tedium and all the stuffy chatter. A dwarf after my own heart. Never could stand the boring details myself.” Varric grabbed a decanter from the side table and dropped back into his chair, topping off his mug. “Drink? It takes the edge off.”
“So you always behave so casually when you meet a Paragon?” Sereda asked, the disdain slipping into her voice.
“Not a Paragon yet, princess.” The title rolled off his tongue like an insult rather than an honorific. “From what I’ve heard, the Assembly’s still debating. Could be months before they make anything official.”
“What would a surfacer know of the intricacies of Orzammar politics?” Sereda scoffed but took the seat across from him.
“You’d be surprised what we know up here. Perhaps more than you do.” Varric studied her openly, his eyes shifted from hers to sweep across her covered body. “I do wonder, though, about the lengths you all go to when you visit the surface. What’s with—” he gestured vaguely at her heavy cloak, gloves and veil “—all of that?”
She crossed her arms. “King Bhelen intends to increase trade and that means dwarves will have to travel the surface again. The Assembly has decreed the precautions that must be taken so that the Stone sense can be preserved.”
“Stone sense—seriously?” Varric tilted his head. “You’ve already been topside for over a year. Grey Warden duty and all that. Didn’t that… you know… do the damage already?”
Her jaw tightened beneath the veil. “I nearly lost it once,” she said. “I will not risk losing it again.”
“Fair enough,” Varric said. “Still, it would make you a hell of a player at Wicked Grace. No one could ever spot your tells. Do you play?”
“I have never played. It is not a fitting game for one of my station.”
“Call it ‘broadening your horizons and expanding diplomatic relationships’, princess. Besides, it is more interesting that what is happening out there. I’ll teach you.”
Sereda smiled faintly despite herself and nodded slightly. Varric poured a glass and pushed it towards her. She accepted the drink and took a small sip, her face still shielded by her veil.
Varric explained the rules with theatrical flair and he demonstrated each trick with ease. Sereda listened intently and her brow furrowed she tried to memorise the suits and rules. They played three rounds, each ending in her swift defeat. The first was to an obvious trick she overlooked, then to a bluff so blatant Varric apologised mid-hand and finally to a flourish of cards she never saw coming. By the end, she was certain he was cheating but unfortunately she was equally certain she wouldn’t have noticed even if he was.
Varric leaned forward, elbows on the table, studying her with awed respect. “Sereda Aeducan, Hero of Ferelden, future Paragon of Orzammar… you are the absolute worst Wicked Grace player I’ve ever met. I’m going to tell so many people about this.”
“You will not.”
“Oh, I definitely will.”
Sereda pushed her chair back, ready to leave, but she reconsidered. “One more.”
He smiled, delighted. “That’s the spirit.”
She lost again.
~
The council chamber rang with raised voices. Another meeting and another round of haggling but at least they were close to finishing the trade agreement between Orzammar and the Merchants’ Guild. Only the finer points remained, yet one of those 'finer points' now threatened to derail everything.
Sereda had endured a great deal of foolish suggestions that day but Bartrand’s latest—that she marry him to formalise the union—made her vision narrow and burn red-hot.
“Absolutely not!” She shot to her feet, eyes blazing as she faced the burly dwarf across the table. “Such a suggestion is an affront to the House Aeducan.”
Bartrand leaned back, folding thick arms over his chest as though he were the reasonable one in the room. “Now, hold on. Don’t go taking offense where none was meant. A political marriage would solidify the partnership, show both sides we’re committed. Your House gains a strong tie to the primary source of influence among the surface dwarves. The Guild gets legitimacy in the eyes of Orzammar. Mutual benefit. A binding contract in blood is stronger than any ink on parchment.”
Lord Helmi rose partway and gently set a hand on Sereda’s arm. “Perhaps we should hear him out,” he murmured.
She snapped her arm free. “Not a chance.”
Her glare cut across the room. “We are here to formalise trade relations, not to provide legitimacy to upstart surfacers. House Aeducan already holds the power. We will not shackle our name to a surfacer—least of all to some bitter exile desperate to cling to his family’s past.”
Bartrand’s face darkened but Sereda had no more patience to spare. She turned on her heel and headed for the exit, her steps ringing against the stone.
Varric was seated near the doorway, reclining with his arms crossed, and his gaze following her, unreadable as ever.
She moved past him without even slowing.
~
The ballroom was alive with music and chatter but Sereda had stopped paying attention to any of it an hour ago. She’d endured the speeches, endless questions about Orzammar’s intentions and spent the evening dodging Bartrand who sought an answer to his proposal. And now, as the music began for another round of dancing, she was simply furious—at the politics, at the nobles and, most of all, at Bhelen for insisting she attend.
The skirts of her gown swished with every irritated step she took, the metal embellishments on her scarf tinkling with each dance. Yet again she was veiled, but in a way that skirted declarations of the Assembly's decree. The light, gauzy fabric of her headscarf was pinned close to her hairline, revealing the intricate metal headdress she wore, and it was draped artfully around her body in a way that barely concealed the way the neckline of her gown plunged daringly.
With a drink on one hand, she sought refuge away from the dance floor and, as much as she hoped, Sereda doubted it would be enough to keep the surfacers away.
“Well now. Didn’t expect to see you hiding out so soon.”
The dwarf from earlier—Varric—approached with a lazy grin, giving her a short bow before extending his hand.
Sereda let out a scoff.
“Best offer you’re going to get, princess,” Varric said calmly. “Bartrand is heading this way and trust me, you’d rather be dancing with me.”
Annoyed but unwilling to be cornered by another of Batrand’s proposals, she took his hand. His grip was steady and surprisingly warm. A moment later they were moving across the floor.
“So,” Sereda said, “after your brother’s failed proposal, they send in the second choice. Am I to negotiate with the younger, charming brother now? Perhaps you are Bartrand’s next offer.”
Varric laughed. “Andraste’s tits, no.” Sereda startled at hearing a surfacer curse from a dwarf. “I’m not the marrying type. And unless duress, I avoid Guild business whenever possible. I am only here this week because I failed to come up with a good excuse in time.”
They swept through the next turn and their movements aligned with the steady rhythm of the music.
Varric continued, “Look, if you’re looking for advice—”
“I’m not.”
“—I’d give it anyway.” He smirked. “Pander to Bartrand a little. Stroke his ego. He doesn’t actually expect Bhelen to marry off his sister to pacify the Merchants’ Guild. He just wants… assurances.”
“Orzammar does not provide ‘assurances’. The Merchants’ Guild needs us more than we need them.”
“Keep telling yourself that, princess.”
He sent her into a spin and caught her again with the kind of easy grace that suggested he’d done this a thousand times.
“To be honest,” Varric said, lowering his voice, “all Bartrand cares about is the connections. He has grant plans for House Tethras on the surface. A solid Orzammar marriage would help him strengthen his own control over the Guild. Surely you’ve got a cousin lying around—one whose absence from Orzammar might conveniently benefit your own political future?” He gave her a knowing look and Sereda scowled at him. A surfacer simply could not understand the complexities of Orzammar politics. He must have guessed her thoughts and he added, “It’s all different up here and on the surface, princess, but some things never change.”
Their steps aligned again, bringing them face to face in the center of the floor. Without missing a beat, Varric eased his hand around her waist, drawing her close as they moved together. She allowed it, stiffly at first, then gradually found herself matching his rhythm and they glided across the floor to the beat of the music, his warm hand pressed firmly against the small of her back.
Sereda narrowed her eyes. “Why are you trying to help me?”
Varric’s expression shifted. There was something more serious beneath the charm. “Because I know what family can be like,” he said.
“And if you’re not here for marriage prospects or Guild meddling,” she pressed, “what do you want?”
He blinked, caught off guard. For the first time all evening, he seemed uncertain at her words.
“For Bartrand to take me seriously,” he admitted. “Just once. He’s planning a big expedition—Deep Roads, lots of risk, lots of reward.” He hesitated, as though he’d said too much already. He probably had. Bhelen did not approve of surfacers laying claim to his territory but, for her own reasons, Sereda saw no reason that she should tell him this information upon her return.
“But he won’t let me buy in. Says I should stay home and ‘mind the family affairs’. If I can help him with this deal, maybe he will reconsider…” Bitterness crept into his voice before he continued. “But he also needs the gold badly. If I could just find a way to—”
The music slowed, stopping whatever it was that Varric was about to say and he guided her through the final turn. He held her a fraction of a moment longer than necessary and then, with a courteous bow and a cheeky grin, he stepped back.
“Duty calls, Your Highness,” he said lightly, giving her one last look before slipping smoothly into the crowd.
~
Sereda knocked once on the door before pushing it open. Varric looked up, startled—he had clearly been turning in for the night. His boots sat abandoned by the dresser and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Your Highness?” he blurted. “What in the sodding hells are you doing here?”
Sereda stepped inside, barely paying any attention to his discomfort. “I came to thank you for your advice earlier.”
“Couldn’t it have waited until morning?” He gestured vaguely toward the seating, still stunned at her presence in his chambers.
She sank onto one of the lounges and set a small bag on the low table. It clinked softly. Varric, suddenly flustered, turned away to grab his shirt. Sereda watched him pull it on, taking in the strong definition of his arms and back, and wondering how the supposedly idle younger brother of a merchant ended up built like that.
Varric reached for a flagon and two cups. “Wine?” he offered as he sat opposite her.
“Please.” Her smile was hidden behind the veil as she tugged off her thin gloves, laying them neatly beside the bag.
He handed her a cup and her bare fingers brushed against his. The cup trembled in his grip and Sereda hid her amusement behind another small sip. A sweet Orlesian port. For all its faults, the surface did have better selection of wins than Orzammar. Among other things. The thought idly crossed her mind as she stared at Varric.
“So,” Varric said, recovering somewhat, “what’s your real reason for barging into my chambers in the middle of the night, princess?”
“Call me Sereda,” she said dismissively. “But were you not listening before? I wish to thank you for your advice. I spoke with Bartrand—“
“Ah,” he muttered. “That advice.”
“—and he agreed to a betrothal with a cousin of mine. She isn’t an Aeducan by name, but we share blood on her mother’s side. Her father hoped to use her for a political marriage to strengthen his own standing with my brother.”
Varric frowned. “Wouldn’t this help him with that goal?”
“Normally. But I’ve also appointed my uncle as diplomatic liaison to the Merchants’ Guild. He cannot refuse the connection, after all my brother demanded this negotiation be successful, but he gains far less from it than he thinks. Plus, he must accompany his daughter to the surface which gets him away from his influence on Bhelen.”
“Huh.” Varric leaned back. “That’s clever.”
She inclined her head. “I know.”
“Still, why here? Why this hour?”
“To repay you.” She raised her cup again, taking a small sip under her veil, her eyes focused on Varric. “Look, it is simple. Tell your brother this plan was your idea—that you coaxed the spoiled princess into striking a better deal to the advantage of the Merchants’ Guild. If you wish his respect, use my information and get on his good side before the news spreads.”
“Then,” Varric began, glancing at the bag sitting on the table between them, “what is this?”
“Gold. If he still cannot see sense in your partnership, you said he always needs coin. Consider it… a gift.”
“I can’t take your gold,” Varric said quickly.
“Why not? It is more useful to you than to me.”
“It just wouldn’t be right.”
Sereda nudged the bag toward him. “Then win it from me.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Wicked Grace. One game.”
“And if you win? I can’t match your stakes.”
“If I win, I get the satisfaction of besting you. I’ll even make it fair this time and I won’t hide my tells.”
She reached for the delicate silver loops that fastened her veil and slipped them free. The gauzy material drifted down across her pale skin. Varric’s breath caught, his eyes widening as he finally saw her face unobstructed. Sereda smiled to herself. This would be easier than she thought.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “One game.”
Quicker than Sereda could imagine, and yet she had no idea where from, Varric produced a deck of cards. She now knew the rules well. After Varric’s first lessons, she had begun to memorise them during tedious trade meetings, letting numbers and suits occupy her mind while other dwarves postured. The game was a dance of probability and deception, both of which came naturally to her.
But Wicked Grace was far more than the cards. It was reading the person across from you and tonight Varric was not subtle at all.
His gaze kept returning to her face, to the thin, translucent scarf draped around her shoulders, slipping dangerously close to revealing the low-cut neckline of her gown. Each time she leaned forward, the light caught on the small ornaments at her brow, drawing his attention like a moth to flame. His eyes kept drifting—her mouth, her eyes, the line of her collarbone—anywhere but his hand of cards.
Varric’s plays were rushed and his bluffs were weak. His focus was all but shattered.
In her final move Sereda laid down her winning hand on the table. A slow, satisfied smile curled at her lips.
Varric did not even look at the cards.
He rose, walked around the table without breaking eye contact, and sat beside her. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body.
“Sereda,” he murmured.
He lifted a hand, pausing against her skin only long enough for her breath to catch, then slid his fingers beneath the scarf still draped over her hair. He brushed it back with surprising gentleness. The ornaments woven through her braids chimed as the fabric slipped behind her.
She parted her lips to speak, though she was not sure what she would say.
But Varric leaned in first, and kissed her.
The kiss stole her breath before she could think. It was warm and gentle, far more careful than she expected, and she pulled back before she even realised she was moving. Her breath came quick and she stared at him with wide eyes. Varric stopped instantly, hands lifted slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to reach for her or give her space.
“Sereda?”
Her pulse was loud in her ears. She swallowed, touched his cheek lightly and whispered, “Varric… this is just one night.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. “Just one night.”
His lips found hers again. This time, she didn’t pull away.
---------------
“So, you believe me now?” Varric asked.
They were tucked away in the quiet of his chambers, the door shut against the noise of the Hanged Man. Hawke was sprawled across the couch, boots kicked up over Varric’s lap, and she stared up at him in surprise.
“You fucked the Paragon Aeducan?” she blurted out.
“Don’t be so crude, Hawke,” Varric said, leaning back against the couch with a smug look on his face. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
“Sounds like you did a whole lot more than kissing.” Her sly chuckle slid into a grin. “Wait—does that mean Bartrand is engaged?”
“Technically yes.” Varric sighed. “There are some terms, a successful deep roads expedition being one of them. If he pulls this off, his marriage could give him the legitimacy in Orzammar that he has desperately sought even since our father’s exile.”
Hawke tilted her head, studying him. “Did you ever see the princess again?”
“Nah, she promised me one night and that’s all it was. Some things are best kept that way.”
