A Toast
The large wooden door slowly opened, the oiled hinges on creaking ever so slightly as a man entered the room, he was tall with a large frame with square facial features that matched his physique and his brown eyes carried a hint of sadness in them. Standing in the doorway, he looked over towards the crackling fireplace, the only sign that someone was there was an arm that was draped over the armrest on a large book on the table beside him.
"Hey Stonehead," the occupant of the chair spoke up, acknowledging his visitor.
The man at the door cracked a weak smile at the comment. "Varric, you look like you could use a drink."
The dwarf in the chair smiled, letting out a slight chuckle that was heavy in sarcasm. "Here I thought you were finally coming to confess your undying love for me."
"I would, but then you would have to settle, and we can't have that, can we?" The large man said as he took a chair opposite the dwarf, pulling the cork on the bottle he was carrying and set it on the table firmly looking over at his friend.
"Listen, about Sarah…" He began and the dwarf raised his hand to stop him.
"I don't think she would have had it any other way. Her family was all waiting for her, I think now she was just looking for a way to see them again that wasn't giving up and I don't think she could have cooked up a better way. Problem is, I am having a hard time finishing her story."
"The Champion dies fighting a monster in the Fade, seems like a good ending to the story, if you ask me."
"Thing is," Varric said, taking the bottle and giving it a long swig and stared at it for a moment before returning it to the table. "I might have to toss this thing into the fire and start from scratch again. You see, I've been thinking."
Pierre leaned in, normally he would come up with some sort of wisecrack, but something told him this wasn't the right time and he was going to get a little insight into Sarah Hawke, the woman who saved his life and the life of the warden named Alistair.
"You know the nickname I gave her? Chuckles. She always had a wise crack, and no topic was ever off limits, and now I'm starting to think that her jokes and wiseass comments were less about humor and more about her dealing with the fact that she was surrounded by death no matter where she went. Her father died before the Blight in Ferelden and her brother died during their escape. She never really talked much about them, but when Sunshine died in the Deep Roads, I think that one was the hardest for her, they were thick as thieves. And when her mother died, I think that was it. Sarah's whole world was her family, and when her mother died, she didn't have anything left. Sure she had her friends, but she never got close to any of them, I think she knew she wouldn't be living to an old age."
Pierre couldn't believe all that he was hearing, he remembered a Sarah that was irreverent, sarcastic and in general someone who didn't take anything seriously, but hearing this was a clear sign that he was completely wrong about her, leaving him to wonder at what else he got wrong. "Maybe you don't have to re-write the book, just give it an ending that you weren't expecting. People like plot twists, right?"
"Yeah, they do," Varric said as he shook his head. "Sarah was one of a kind, she was unique. The kicker is, I thought I should write letters to her family to tell them what happened, but I don't know of any other family she had left besides Gamlen and I wouldn't call them even remotely close."
"Sounds like to me that you were as close a family that she had," Pierre said as he took a swig of the bottle."
"You're right," Varric grinned a little at this. "She said to me once that she'd cry herself to sleep if she returned to Ferelden without her favorite dwarf, seems the opposite to be true. That little scoundrel had a way of slipping into the heart of everyone she met, that was part of her charm," Varric said as he picked up the bottle, raising it towards Pierre.
"Here's to Sarah Hawke, the smart mouthed Ferelden with the quickest fingers and sharpest blades in the Free Marches. She may have been a scoundrel, but she was our scoundrel with a heart of gold. Wherever you are, I hope your ventures are profitable. Good-bye, Chuckles."