She Never Misses
By R2s Muse
A/N: Takes place during DA:I in the Fool's Errand Universe, just after the events of "Gentle Resolve," but it's not necessary to have read any of the others.
"Did you know that she never misses?" Varric said off-hand to Marian Hawke.
Malika Cadash worked to block out Varric's boast and the rest of the tavern noise, focusing instead on her breathing and the straw-filled target before her. She inhaled slowly, the only sound her heart in her ears counting two beats, and then released a measured breath perfectly in time with the practiced snap of her wrist. Her throwing knife flew end over end to land with a satisfying thud in the direct center of the target.
She straightened and the tavern noise came flooding back in, including a growing buzz of anticipation from the onlookers. Most bets had been placed on Cullen even though she had matched him for every throw so far in their impromptu contest. At least it gave her something to do that made drinks at the Herald's Rest feel less like she and Varric were on some kind of double date with Cullen and Hawke.
Hawke snorted from where she sat across from Varric at their nearby table. "She never misses?"
"Nope." Varric broke into a grin.
"Well, neither does Cullen," Hawke said loyally as Cullen stepped up to the line and took aim.
Cullen darted a sour look at Hawke before extended his arm to point his dagger at the target once, twice, before releasing. The dagger landed just right of center, halfway to the edge on the second red concentric circle marked in red paint. "Damn." A low moan emanated from those in the crowd who had lost money on Cullen.
"Mostly," Hawke muttered into her ale.
"Thanks, Grace," Cullen said archly, his tone confirming for Malika that his usual endearment for Hawke was not intended as a compliment.
"Oh, no need to feel bad," Varric said, unable to stop grinning. "Cullen's skill helped drive the odds in Malika's favor." He placed his hand over the pile of coin sitting between them on the table top, but Hawke smashed her hand down atop his before he could take it.
"Double or nothing?"
"You sure you want to take that bet?"
"Try me," Hawke said, baring her teeth.
"If you insist," Varric said, finally breaking eye contact with Hawke to glance a belated question at Malika.
Malika shrugged. "Let them lose their money."
"Oh ho, so confident, are we?" Hawke said, a competitive glint rising her green eyes.
"Are you?" Varric replied.
"Cullen can pin a sparrow by its eye at 100 paces."
"When Malika was eight, she ended a gang war in Ostwick on the success of one knife throw."
Malika blinked once, twice, but otherwise managed to school her expression at Varric's utter fabrication. She believed in straight talk, almost as much as she believed in keeping her private life private, and here again, Varric continued to test those beliefs. But Malika could also appreciate a good bluff, so she remained silent.
"Well, she may be good," Hawke said, "but Cullen was the best knife thrower at the Gallows. None of the other templars would compete against him after a while."
"And instead, I had to add knife instruction onto my duties once Meredith found out," Cullen grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"How better to show mastery than to teach it?" Hawke said, pointing a finger at Varric for emphasis.
"Oh, Malika has even taught Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows a few things about throwing knives," Varric shot back.
"Oh really?" Hawke did not bother to hide her disbelief this time, knowing Varric too well.
Malika also knew Varric. Well enough to know that he would continue to fabricate and share such stories about her, even if he were to know true stories from her past. Because he was a born storyteller and would never betray her confidence. Even so, perhaps his lies would sound more plausible if based on a kernel of truth. It gave her food for thought for the next time he tried to pry past her barriers.
"Enough," she said. "Double or nothing. But from here." She motioned for Cullen to step behind a line in the flagstones that was several paces further away from the target. Anticipation in the tavern roared to life again and coins clinked as new bets were placed.
Cullen adjusted his stance at the line, rolled his neck and shoulders, and then shared a long, heated look with Hawke that was so intimate Malika felt compelled to avert her eyes. He turned back to the target and with one smooth motion, pitched his knife to land in the center of the target. A chorus of glee rang through the tavern before it settled back into watchful silence. Hawke looked like she would burst with pride.
Malika took her turn at the line and narrowed her concentration down to the target, forcing herself to tune everything out. A breath in, a breath out, and her blade flew true, sinking without fail into the center of the target. Her focus widened back out at Varric's whistle of appreciation.
"Nicely done, My Queen!" he called. "See. She never misses."
Normally, knife throwing was just another tool in her toolkit, like poison or negotiation, but Malika could not help but smile to herself at Varric's praise. And the new nickname. She had been asked several times where it came from, but no one else needed to know why he had started privately calling her the queen of spontaneity.
"Tied again," Hawke mused. "Further back?"
"If Cullen can handle the distance," Varric said.
"Can the Inquisitor?"
Malika shook her head at their playful taunting and Cullen chuckled softly. "After you," she said, motioning for him to take position.
Cullen narrowed his eyes at the target and carefully lined up his arm.
"Never misses," Varric repeated, and Hawke glared at him.
Cullen frowned in concentration and wound up his arm, letting fly. A low groan sounded in the room as Cullen's blade fell just off the mark. "Damn," he muttered, shaking out his offending hand and stepping out of Malika's way.
Hawke's mouth thinned in disappointment before she turned a speculative look on Varric. "So, speaking of missing . . ." Hawke started, swirling the ale in her tankard, "you were missed the other night after the memorial. Everyone was looking for you." Hawke's eyes flitted to Malika as she lined up her next throw. "Looking for you both."
Malika's cheeks warmed at this reference to her slightly drunken midnight stroll that night with Varric on the battlements. A stroll that had ended in her spontaneously kissing him and earning the new nickname, much to their mutual surprise.
She took an extra moment to aim her next blade, closing one eye. She tried to block out the room again, which swelled with the sounds of disappointment and gloating as coin began to change hands prematurely in anticipation of her win.
"Oh?" Varric replied, trying to sound uninterested, but Malika could hear the undertone of defensiveness. Was Varric embarrassed? Regretful? They still had not spoken openly about that night.
Malika took a shaky breath in for two counts, the ambient noise still clamoring in her ear. As she started to exhale, Hawke said, mischief in her voice, "Yes, there was some rumor that you two had absconded together. If you know what I mean."
Then, Malika's fingers slipped just as she released the knife. It sailed forward but hit just below center. She gasped along with the crowd, which fell into a shocked silence for a moment before erupting again in disbelief.
She missed! She actually missed. She never missed. She spun back to the others, her cheeks uncharacteristically flaming with mortification.
Both Varric and Cullen were round-eyed in surprise, but Hawke only smiled knowingly. "I thought so." She patted Varric's hand. "No coin today."
"Well, that was unfair," Varric groused.
Cullen shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sorry about Hawke. But you know, she never misses."
The End
A/N2: I haven't forgotten about these characters, and with my limited time, I'm slowly stepping forward toward a big relationship milestone for Malika and Varric. Once I have time to replay the Bianca scenes in DA:I. Coughcough. So hopefully more soon, but thanks again for reading!