A/N: Results of a dare! Co-written with Esmé and proofiemonster.
Hawke squinted under the dull lamplight of her room as she hunched over her desk. Letters, letters, and more letters bundled one over the other. Who knew there were so many literate people in paranoid Kirkwall? Ever since she was named Champion she had been getting letters by the cartful and more than half of them from people she didn't know. Or recall. No one should fault her for that, she encountered and/or ruined so many people on her way to the top. Still, she took time to skim over the scrawlings. After all, she gathered most of her fortune through answering 'Help Wanted' letters.
Nearing the bottom of the pile, Hawke opened a brightly colored envelope. As she pried open the wax seal she caught a faint floral scent emanating from its contents. From experience she inferred the sender was probably woman. And Orlesian. And most likely she may have bedded the wench. Smirking, Hawke folded open the letter and expected it to be an exposition on her clever tongue.
…
She lifted an eyebrow. It wasn't.
Hawke read over the pleasant handwriting once again.
Dear Champion of Kirkwall,
I am an avid follower of your esploits, as detailed by your good friend Varric Tethras. It was inadvertent, truly, as I used too frequent the Hanged Man. You're victory against an high dragon just to recover your friend's signet ring was inspiring! Alas, I am abcent from the tavern these days and unable to hear more of your adventures. But the town cryer's accounts often mention you, so I am not entirely without.
Perhaps you could encourage Varric to chronicle your adventures in a weekly cereal? Or you could write it yourself! I have heard you tell tales yourself and you have as much talent as your dwarven friend. Your bring inspiration to this tired old soul.
Truly yours,
E. Rigby
Hawke looked at the letter for a while before setting it aside. That was certainly new. Not that she never received poorly spelled letters of adoration. What made it novel was that it had a suggestion for her to take up a new hobby. Smiling, Hawke picked up a parchment and quill, mulling a story in her head. She would make sure to add a dedication at the end.
Hawke stretched luxuriously as she lay on her bed, throwing an arm over Merrill's narrow shoulders and drawing her close. Meanwhile, the elven lass shuffled through the pile of envelopes on her lap. She had recently discovered that reading letters with Merrill was a pleasure; her offhand remarks and curious reactions were always a riot. Moreover, it was an excellent way of acquainting her with human peculiarities. Hawke nuzzled the elf's sensitive ear as the latter pried open a random letter.
"M-ma vhenan," Merrill managed even as she shivered through Hawke ministrations, "this one smells like posies."
"Hmm," Hawke mumbled as her gaze moved to the letter. The familiar stationery and handwriting evoked a memory. "Oh, I think I know who this is," the Champion harped as Merrill unfolded the letter. She lay her chin on her lover's shoulder as their eyes moved over the letter.
Dearest Serah Hawke,
I cannot express how delighted I am that you have taken up writing! I was enjoying myself so much that my resident healer and other patients gave me odd looks as I read. What am I to do but share your account of the duel against the Arishok? They were so impressed upon learning that I inspired a luminary such as yourself to start a new endayvor. I especially fancied your manner of describing how the Viscount's severed head lolled about in the carpet. Morbid, of course, but masterfully written! Oh, how I wish I could read more when I reached the end. I have no doubt that a story personilly written by yourself brought you closer to the hearts of Kirkwallers such as I. More than just an adventurer, we are getting to know you as a person.
I wait for the next instalment with much excitement and trepadation.
Respectfully yours,
Eleanor
P.S. And I've gifted each of my friends a copy of your cereal, hence you need not worry of lost revenew. Again, you have my gratitude.
"Oh, poor thing!" Merrill exclaimed, putting a hand over her mouth. She looked mournfully at the letter.
"What is it, Love?"
"She mentioned 'healer' and 'patients'. Is she sick?"
"So it seems," Hawke said absently as she took the fragrant letter from Merrill and tucked it away in favor of another.
"Perhaps we should refer her to Anders," Merrill said as she leaned against Hawke's shoulder, watching the woman tear open another letter.
"I don't think we should, Love," Hawke replied and pressed a kiss to Merrill's forehead. "His clinic is for the downtrodden and supposedly a secret," she added and proceeded to read the next letter. She frowned. It was another mortgage offer. She crumpled it and moved to the next.
Merrill, however, refused to move on. "How about Bethany then? Maybe she knows of good healers in the Circle."
"Perhaps," Hawke obliged with a sigh. She put down the letter and looked fondly at the woman beside her. "I'll write her back and refer her to Bethany."
Merrill nodded and smiled brightly. "And publish something light next time, something with less beheadings..." she trailed off then clapped her hands. "Oh, and make it a romance!"
"Of course, Love, anything you ask," Hawke said with a chuckle as an idea formed in her head. She already had a title in mind. It would be an entirely new genre, at least.
Hawke groaned and carelessly dropped pieces of her armor as she proceeded into the estate with Bodahn following closely to pick up behind her. The latest errand for the Knight-Commander sent her on a wild goose chase that lasted for weeks. If only that frigid bitch didn't have her sister she'd tell her to sod off. Or maybe try her hand at bedding her. Merrill would understand; it was for mage welfare, after all. Smirking at the thought, Hawke discarded the last of piece of her armor and looked at the mountains of letters that had piled up on the bureau during her absence.
"A lot of letters arrived while you were gone, Serah!" Bodahn piped, looking comical as he was hidden behind the large pile of armor in his arms.
"Obviously," Hawke sighed as she sifted through the dozens of envelopes. By now she knew what was trash simply by looking at the wax seal on each letter. She then noticed an individual pile of similarly colored envelopes on the corner of the desk. She frowned; it was almost as tall as the rest of her other letters combined. Hawke picked up the topmost envelope and recognized the seal as Eleanor's. An inexplicable chill ran down her spine as she unsealed it. The usually neat handwriting seemed scrawled, as if written with a frantic hand. She drew a shaky breath and began reading.
Messere,
I worry about you. I have written you a letter everyday since your latest work was published yet I receive no response. I have asked the messenger if he had delivered my missives and he assured me he did. Somehow I do not believe him. Only your delicate script can put me ass ease.
In case you haven't received my other letters, let me reiterate my unending gratitude for worrying for my health. An unfortunate soul such as mine do not deserve your kindness. I'd have consulted with your sister but I am afraid of offending my healer—he has done a fine job thus far. I assure you, I am in good hands. As I've mentioned before it only hurts at first and I've become acustomed to it. I am only unconscious for five hours a day now.
But pray tell and again I ask—is your latest work based on facts or your wild imaginings? It was a beautiful tale, a downtrodden woman taking in a Dalish exile. And then the woman strikes it rich and falls in love with the Dalish against all odds! It is the workings of a fairy tale, serah! But if it's true then how unfortunate! I do not mean to be disrespectful but you deserve better, messere. A noble, or at least a human would be much better for you. Oh, the thought alone makes me feel faint. I shall write as soon as I rise, serah. I hope you respond soon.
Forever yours,
Ellie
Hawke stared wide-eyed at the letter, unable to decipher the feelings that burned within her; rage, horror, or pity. She was likewise torn between ripping all of Eleanor's letters apartor just burning them. She decided on the latter. As she dumped the letters in the fire she made a note to take Merrill out to dinner. Mage welfare or not, suddenly even the mere thought of cheating on her elven lover became all the more abhorrent.
"Bodahn," Hawke called as she stared at the crackling papers kindling the fire.
"Yes, messere?"
Hawke produced the empty envelope of the letter she read and furnished it to Bodahn. "Burn any letter with this seal, understood?" she barked, unable to hide her disgust.
The dwarf bowed deeply. "Yes messere, as you say."
Hawke, along with the entire crew, sat in their usual table in the Hanged Man. Isabela had finally returned after a three year absence and true to form, used it as an excuse to have a celebratory drink. Hawke being Hawke, was only too glad to indulge her friend. She raised a full mug of ale to her friends. "To Isabela! May she stick around this time!" the Champion cried. Isabela chortled and slapped Hawke on the arm. Still, everyone cheered, even stick-in-the-mud Aveline, then downed their respective drinks.
As Hawke slammed her empty mug upon the table, Corff the barkeep tapped her by the shoulder. Hawke narrowed her eyes at the ragged parchment in his hand. "For you," he said as he offered the note.
Hawke took the paper with a raised eyebrow. "Who's it from?" she asked, tone slightly slurred with alcohol.
Corff shrugged. "No idea, a mousy woman in a cloak asked me to give it to you not five minutes ago." Before Hawke could interpose another question the barkeep left to attend another customer.
Hawke unfolded the parchment as she scanned the tavern for anyone matching the description. No one did. Isabela, snoopy as ever, peeked over her shoulder to read the letter. "Who's it from?" the pirate queried.
"Dunno," Hawke mumbled as her eyes tried to focus on the paper. She almost threw up upon recognition. Smudges, smears and scrawled handwriting notwithstanding, she knew who wrote the letter.
Eleanor.
She was about to rip the parchment to shreds when Isabela snatched it from her hands. "Ooh, letter from a paramour?" Isabela chided as she held the paper far away from Hawke. Merrill blanched while everyone else's heads turned towards the Champion.
"No!" Hawke protested and lunged, but Isabela evaded in time, hopping off their shared bench. She scowled as Isabela waved the paper before her, taunting her with it. Despite her absence Isabela still moved as fast as she always did. Sighing, Hawke slumped her shoulders and crossed her arms. "It's this lunatic who keeps writing me letters."
"Lunatic, you say?" Isabela echoed, as if in doubt. To Hawke's displeasure, the pirate began to read the letter out loud; loud enough it could be heard through and above the constant buzz of the tavern.
"Hawke, my Champion! How could you be so heartless?" Isabela raised a brow then looked to Hawke, who had buried her face in her palms. Still, with a smirk, the pirate proceeded, this time putting some emotion with it. "I wear my fingers to the bone, regardless of the pain wracking my body just so I could write these letters to you everyday, and still you do not reply. You've also stopped publishing your life! Am I such a passing..." Isabela snorted, tears forming in the corner of her eyes as she soldiered on. "F-fancy to you that the endeavor I inspired you've already abandoned? You are no different from the other wretched urchins in this pustule of a city; cruel and heartless! Do you see these smudges? They are tears I shed for you!"
Everyone in their table almost fell over their seats laughing. Hawke, graceful Champion that she was, resumed trying to snatch the paper away from Isabela. A futile effort. Even as Hawke and Isabela danced around each other the latter continued with her oratory.
"Please, please! I beg you. Write me. Chronicle more of your exploits. However cruel you may have been I shall forgive you, as long as you do this for me. Love, Ellieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."
As she reached the end Isabela stopped moving thus Hawke finally managed to snatch the parchment away. She could not rip it to tiny enough pieces. Once Hawke was done with that she stomped on it. Stomp, stomp stomp. Isabela and Varric watched with unabashed amusement; Merrill, Sebastian, and Anders looked worried; while Fenris and Aveline frowned. Hawke was breathless and covered in sweat by the time she stopped vanquishing the poor paper. She finally addressed the audience of her outburst.
"What?" she cried.
"Sounds like you have a stalker," Varric quipped.
Merrill turned to Aveline and asked, "What's a stalker? Is that someone like Isabela?" The pirate in question smirked and before she could say anything, Aveline answered the query.
"Much worse, Merrill. A stalker is a lunatic who is so obsessed with another they try to insinuate themselves in that other person's life, even if unwanted."
"Oh," Merrill mouthed before her face crumpled with concern. "What a pitiable thing."
"Yes," Aveline agreed with a nod, then turned to Hawke. "Do you want me to look into this?" the Guard-Captain offered.
Hawke shook her head. "I don't want to trouble you with this, she's just a harmless fool."
Fenris raised a hand. "I could—"
"No Fenris you may not hunt her down and crush her heart from within."
Fenris sulked.
"I have a suggestion!" Isabela piped as she raised her hand. Hawke was just about to say she didn't want to hear any of it until she saw a familiar glint in the pirate's eye. A wide smile slowly dawned in the Champion's features. Isabela returned the smile and followed:
"A fuuuuuun suggestion."
Eleanor waited by the windowsill, eagerly awaiting her Champion's reply. Yes, yes, her Champion. Hawke may not know it yet but she and her were meant for each other. It had been three days since she complied with the Champion's request; sure, it was hard finding sufficient ink to cover her breasts and parchment large enough to stamp them on. But if it meant reuniting in word and ink with her Champion, so be it.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. The knock was followed with the time-worn cry of "A letter for you, serah!"
The woman stumbled over the chair she was sitting on and rushed to the door, revealing a very surprised runner. Her eyes immediately landed on the Amell seal upon the envelope's flap. She didn't even bother with a greeting and snatched the letter away, slamming the door on the lad's face. Prying the envelope's contents could not be done fast enough as she ripped all sides, almost tearing the letter itself as she pulled it out. Eleanor screamed at the little tear, crying and cursing to the Maker for making her damage the precious handwritten note from her dear Champion. She took a moment's breath before she slumped to the door and with her heart in her throat she proceeded with reading.
Eleanor,
Thank you for your breasts. They are lovelier and fuller than the wretched elf's. I would bet my smalls that they are even prettier in person. My entire arm is sore from stroking myself all night. I cannot wait to meet you soon.
Also, I must confess. A secret no one else knows, not even the elf. I want no secrets between us, dear Ellie.
I am a man. I disguise myself as a woman because I cannot help but wearing woman's clothes, they are beautiful and sparkly and make me feel very very pretty. Also, because I am so pretty I cannot stand wenches lesser than I sullying the beauty of the fairer sex. I hope you can forgive me for the deception.
I shall wait by the ledge in the Bone Pit.
Truly yours,
the Champion.
P.S. I have included an etching of my manhood. Please marvel at its sizable glory.
P.S.S. Please send me a stamp of your womanhood next if you want to know whenwe should meet by the Bone Pit.
...
Eleanor never wrote to Hawke again.