Title: Yours or Something Like It
Words: 35k
Summary: Written correspondence between Blythe Hawke and Varric Tethras from 9:31-9:41 Dragon.
Pairing: F!Hawke/Varric

Notes: For sparksflyupward on Tumblr in the 2015 Hightown Funk exchange. I had a lot of fun with their lovely sarcastic redheaded archer Blythe Hawke for inspiration, and I don't normally try to pull of 'letter' fics, but their prompt for "Letters written back and forth between Hawke and Varric keeping each other up to date on their adventures" was like a siren's call to me. Lots of humor, because it's Hawke and Varric, and lots of angst, because it's Hawke and Varric. Biggest of thanks to Nina and Guada, my unstoppable proofreaders.

9:31 — Lowtown
Scrawled notes delivered via runners, delivered to the care of Corff at The Hanged Man and nailed to the front of Gamlen Amell's door

RUMOR: LTWN JOB W CTRY. DRKS A HM LTER? - VT

—

You could've just waited to tell me that this afternoon. Why waste the ink?

Also, yes, sure, fine. Some writer you are, Beth and I are still scratching our heads at all the shortcuts in that note. Took us ten minutes to decypher it.

—

Ran out of room on the parchment. (Some writer I am? You took three words to give the same answer and you're on my back about "wasting ink.") See you lot at the seventh bell.

9:31 — Lowtown, The Hanged Man
Single napkin passed across the bar, partially stained with ale

I can't be the only one noticing we've gathered quite the little posse. Shove some misfits together, murder some spiders and blood mages, repeat the process with another group. Are these actually just blind auditions for the expedition, or are you in the habit of recruiting followers like this every time you skip to a new town to weed out the weaklings?

—

You got me. I'm actually just trying to find someone tough enough and stupid enough in the big city that can drink you under the table and win back the coin you took from me last week. Presently all of my bets are on the tattooed elf.

—

I wouldn't count Rivaini out, you can see now she's on her fifth and doesn't seem to be slowing down. Shit, I'mrnning outof

9:41 — Lowtown, Gamlen Amell's Residence
Single note on the back of a receipt, shoved underneath the doorway

Final processings for the Elimination of Those Big Fucking Dragons in the Bone Pit from Monsieur Hubert, Paid to the Order of:

Blythe Hawke: 2g

Bethany Hawke: 3g

Varric Tethras: 1g

Aveline Vallen: 1g, 10s

Unless my calculations are incorrect, congrats on swindling your first 50g from the esteemed suckers of Kirkwall, which I will promptly take from you to invest in a month-long scavenger hunt of picking at the dirt! Ah, I wish my father were alive to see us now.

—

I doubt your father would've approved of a human co-running an expedition to rediscover lost dwarven treasure, but thank you. Ready whenever you are.

9:32 — Deep Roads, Lost Thaig
Notes shared on paper darts tossed across a dwindling campfire

Homesick?

—

Are you kidding? I couldn't wait to get out of there. This lot's snoring isn't anything compared to Gamlen's.

—

Your tent isn't next to my brother's.

—

What's wrong with him, by the way? I thought he'd cheer up now that we're finally down here.

—

You expected him to start dancing for joy?

—

He could at least have taken that stick out of his ass by now.

—

That's our default temper in the Merchant's Guild, m'lady. Come to our next meeting, I'll show you.

—

I'll pass. Are all dwarves this thrilled about digging around in the dirt or is it just the Tethras family?

—

I'm trying to enjoy the scenery. Here's my attempt: Isn't that rock next to Bodahn's wagon great? Looks like my great-uncle.

—

Yeah, that stalactite hanging ten meters above your head is really taking my breath away.

—

GOODNIGHT, Hawke.

9:32 — The Hanged Man, Varric Tethras's Suite
Note left at a bedside table

You probably won't wake up until after noon given last night, so I sincerely hope you check your nightstand in the morning and don't think low of me to believe I ran off without a word or something.

I'm not gone because it's one of those... yeah. I just remembered Fenris wanted to go hunt down Hadriana in the morning and I was supposed to meet him an hour ago. I'll be back tonight, I'll find you in the bar. Or you'll find me, or whatever. (We always end up running into each other anyway, have you noticed? Maybe this town is too small for us.)

Anyway, the point of all this: I enjoyed last night. But I know from experience that morning-afters do weird things to people, so! I wanted to make it clear I'm still interested. If you are also Still Interested, then… I don't know, leave a lit candle in the window, and I'll come up. If I don't see a light, I can take a hint and… yeah.

But come on, can we not do the whole forget-it-ever-happened shit? It was awesome. I know you enjoyed yourself. I definitely enjoyed MYself.

Maker. Please don't be mad.

9:32 — Lowtown
Parchment delivered to Varric Tethras at the Hanged Man, reply returned to the Amell Estate

My mother's still pissed. At me. As am I, now that I think about it. Mind if I crash at yours and maybe lose control of my shit for for a while? I can offer your weight in drinks of Corff's finest. (I can afford to do that now, apparently.)

—

Light's on, as always. Head on up whenever, I'll be here with a bottle and an ear.

9:33 — Lowtown Alienage, Merrill's house
Scrawled messages on single napkin

I was drunk.

—

I thought we agreed not to pass notes like schoolchildren since Isabela made fun of us last time?

—

This is an emergency.

—

Uh-uh. Wicked Grace bets are a binding contract. No exceptions or take-backs for intoxication.

—

We'll continue this when I don't have a raging headache from our esteemed Guard-Captain's latest lecture on the perils of diving into the Fade after drinking.

—

Ready to go in ten?

—

No, but I will anyway. Us, Daisy, and the spikey elf out to save an apostate trapped in dreamland? I'm starting to realize Aveline has a right to be concerned, considering 3/4 of this team is technically still drunk. This should be entertaining.

—

Make a mental note to put this one in your next book and let's get going.

9:34 — Hawke Estate, Blythe Hawke's Nightstand
Undelivered letter scrawled into personal notebook

I'll grant you, the hero needs some close shaves to gain some traction and woo an audience, but you've gotta

I'm gonna try to get all of this out in one sitting before you wake up or start bleeding or something again. (Maker, can you not do that before my heart calms to a normal rate again?)

It was never just a story. I don't know what you need from me anymore. Bartrand was right. Do you regret saying saying yes when we first met? I'm so sorry for Bethany. I'm sorry about this Arishok shit. Thank you for signing onto the expedition. Thank you for coming with me to confront my brother. I'll quit with the rumors about your love life. You're not allowed to do anything stupid again for at least another six months. You're going to make it out of all of this, and I'm going to make all of this up to you.

Blondie says you're not to leave that bed for two weeks, and no strenuous exercise or fighting for at least five. You're not to touch an arrow until All Soul's Day. I'm not so far gone to sit here an entire fortnight, but if you wake up without me here, I'll

I'm gonna run out of candles at this rate.

9:37 — Gallows to Lowtown
Message delivered by runner

GALLOWS NOW. BIANCA + XTRA AMMO

9:38-40
Various letters sent from varying locations and mediums

Haven't heard from you in a while. Don't need a novel or address, but let me know you're alive? — V

—

Alive. Somehow. More later. — BH

—

I'm going to pretend this a normal relationship and we're going to write letters like normal significant others, dammit, because my tank is running on empty, I need something to go right and I'm guessing you probably feel the same after this whole mess, so imagine me rolling my metaphorical sleeves up and sitting down at my ideal polished wooden desk that smells of whiskey and parchment and not being hunched over a campfire shivering my ass off in Nowhereville, Ferelden.

Dear You-Know-Who:

How are you? It's been a year since we last laid eyes on each other, but that doesn't seem right. I've read my share of war novels, but this one doesn't seem to be following the formula. Kirkwall is still around, barely, last time I checked. It misses you too, as do its residents. You won't hear that out loud anywhere but the local spots, but you know how it is.

Fuck this.

It's miserable and cold and Orlesian here, Hawke. They're forcing me to wear those stupid Chantry hats and shoving snails down my throat, and I'm not sure which I hate more. One or both of those might be a lie. Save me.

— V

—

My Dearest Darlingest Dwarven Dalliance:

Blondie (Maker, it's easier to call him that now, I don't want to think about it) is safe and well and alone. At his request, I won't tell you where. We parted a little over week ago and last we spoke, he said he was going to double back and join some Starkhaven Circle refugees that we passed going the opposite direction, but he may've just been saying that to throw me off. At any rate, it's just me, Fenris, Bethany, and Isabela. Merrill should be heading back your way soon — if she's not there by Satinalia, please send out some of your scouts to look?

Is it awful to be relieved that

Keep writing, even if I don't respond. If I'm really in trouble, Isabela will get out word. That girl's not going down for all the gold in Thedas.

All my whatever,

You Know Who

—

Dear Red,

Shit. That's comforting, just write until I hear some bad news from your end? All right, if there's one thing I can do it's ignore trouble until it knocks on my doorstep. Let's see what I can dig up to pass the time.

It just occurred to me that I never told you what happened during my Chantry-sanctioned kidnapping by the charming Seeker Pentaghast. Well, she found me in my suite, just barged in one day with seven guards, no hi or hello or anything, and after a lovely exchange ("Varric Tethras." "You rang?" "You're under suspicion as an accomplice in the bombing of the Kirkwall Chantry and an instigator of the Mage-Templar War of 9:37 Dragon. If you resist arrest we are prepared to use force." "Fantastic.") For the interrogation itself I was actually escorted to your estate, which has really seen some better days (by the way, last I heard, Orana is fine).

You don't need to hear the details, but I fed her some bit about a dragon and added a few more than probably necessary, you'd like that. She called me on a few things but man, you should've seen her by the time I got to your duel with the Arishok — I think you've got yourself a new fan, Hawke. Sadly she's also the one charged with hog-tying and dragging you halfway across the continent to, for all I know, help us shoot arrows at a glowing hole in the sky, so do me a favor and don't get caught, yes?

In case this might keep you up at night, she doesn't have a clue about our… us, thank you very much. I wouldn't mind just telling her and playing it off like a joke so she purposefully wouldn't believe me. This unlikely fantasy has entertained me to the point where I am convinced that upholding a long-running inside joke with myself may actually make life interesting in Nowhereville. You know, she once asked me how I knew exactly how many freckles you have on your left cheek? I told her I was also your hairdresser and spent two years perfecting the art of curling your hair around that same jawline. I think I told the spymaster that I'm gay, and I told Cullen (remember him from the Gallows? He's gotten a new haircut) that I was your beard. Not sure who believes what at the moment, but that sure doesn't mean that I'm going to stop. (And if you have any suggestions, by all means do share.) Best form of entertainment when you're dragged halfway across the continent to wage war on demons falling from the sky: make your own.

Yours or something like it,

V

—

Dear You Promised You'd Never Call Me That Again,

My latest dilemma has been a two-week struggle to determine whether your bed was really as comfortable as I remember it, or if, like most things from Kirkwall, it's likely only the power of my memory. Bethany seems to think it's the latter. I think she's just never spent a night in your bed, but I'm not about to suggest she test to see for herself, so we'll have to agree to disagree.

How do you always manage to write so much? I've only written a paragraph and I'm exhausted. I don't know what else to say, so I'll just jot out whatever runs through my head: You still owe me 12 sovereigns. Today I had the first Ferelden-style meat pie that actually reminded me of home in eight years. I spotted a young man reading your Tale of the Champion in the market yesterday and Isabela said my face turned as red as my hair, I was laughing so hard. I miss the sound of Bianca's bolts whizzing through the air and saving my ass in battle. I miss you.

Also, why hasn't anyone ever told me that Brandel's Reach has spiders? Fuck Brandel. Fuck his reach. Fuck spiders.

Now I'm so angry at the thought of those nasty little buggers I don't even know how to end this. Good luck with your demon problem and all, but mine have eight legs and are far more likely to crawl into your sleeping mat at night. I think we both know who has it worse at the moment.

Bye,

I Can't Believe You Still Haven't Found a Decent Nickname For Me, Is It Really That Hard

—

Dear I Offered You Chuckles and You Threw It Back in My Face, What More Do You Want?,

Yes, my bed really was that great. I lived in that tavern for over a decade, do you think I'd treat myself to anything less than the best? (I'm sure it misses you, too.)

We've moved into Skyhold Castle. It's located in the mountains at the border of Ferelden (which is of course my preferred place to be when fighting demons, surrounded by mud on one side, Orlesians on the other, and rocks and nature below. Perfect). But give us a shout if you're ever in the neighborhood. It's hard to miss us, we're the ones with the huge ruddy fortress in the middle of Nowhereville, Ferelden/Orlais/Where-the-Hell-Ever.

Andraste's ass. Can you tell I'm tired of this shit? The Inquisitor just stopped 'round and asked if I was happy in my new quarters. You could shove a stack of parchment and set of quills at me and toss a mattress on the floor, and I'd find some way to contentment, but I still feel how bad Solas looks right now. Right, Solas is this bald elven apostate they have lurking in the Skyhold corridors talking to himself about the Fade (imagine Daisy but older, snarkier, and shinier). He's an expert, apparently, but complete nutter if you ask me. (Might start calling him "Chuckles," I'm sure he'd appreciate a good handle well bestowed.)

But. Yeah. You know where I want to be. I feel like everyone knows.

Speaking of grumpy elves, did you ever give our glowing tattooed friend your copy of Hard in Hightown, or did he grunt at that offer as well? If nothing else I could send him an autographed copy and he could barter it in exchange for bigger spikes to decorate his armor. That outfit combined with his shock-white hair still makes him look like an ostrich if you ask me, but maybe that's why nobody has.

Nightingale's agents will be at the east Nevarran border by Bloomingtide. Stay out of sight of the crows, both literal and figurative.

Say hello to what's left of the gang for me. Tell them what they already know.

'Till next time,

Aren't You Glad You Keep Me Around

—

Dear Not As Glad as I Would Be if You'd Stayed,

Fenris ran off to chase down some infamous Tevinter slaver we bumped into around Tantervale last month and forbade us from following. I passed along your info, so he may be contacting you whenever he does. Currently out of contact with him, Blondie, Merrill, and Isabela, who has decided to set sail to hopefully draw Templar attention elsewhere. She might be heading to Rivain, and she might not be. She instructed me to use exactly that phrasing when writing you and refused to say anything else.

Bethany is tired, as am I. Everyone else seems to just accept this whole thing and find some way to keep on going without needing to talk about it. It's been years and it still doesn't feel normal. Is it because we're refugees twice over now? We've lost two homes. You've lost one, but I feel like you'd understand.

Missing you feels like a hole in something crucial, but you knew that already. Or are we not both depressed enough to reason statements of the obvious as legitimate correspondence yet?

All my best and then some,

I Saw Some Sailers Playing a New Card Game and Turned to Call You Over But You Weren't There So Remind Me to Describe It with Hand Gestures Next Time We're Within Shouting Distance of Each Other

—

Fuck. Leaving for Hinterlands, no time:

Corypheus in Thedas. Yes, that one. O Mighty Demon-Slayer, care to assist? — V

—

On my way.

9:40 — Skyhold Castle, Varric Tethras's quarters
Note left on a bedside table, now flattened

Inquisitor wanted to get a head start on the dawn, so we're heading out early. Maybe two or three weeks?

No time to say goodbye our favorite way, otherwise I'd wake you up. Bringing the arrows you got me last Satinalia in Kirkwall. (Yes, I do use the gifts you get me, see!)

Didn't know what to say last night, but I'll say it now: I'm sorry reuniting with Bianca didn't go well. I guess it makes sense, but don't blame yourself. I get her, but I'd be mad, too. If you want we can talk about it more when I get back.

Don't have too much fun without me.

9:40-41 — Skyhold Castle, Varric Tethras's quarters
Undelivered: various notes, crumpled

I had — have a great ending planned out for the both of us, and it doesn't end with a giant fucking spider in the Fade.

I'll swap you Bianca, every part of her, for one more impossible escape. For me, Hawke?

You know it wasn't your fault. How many more times did I have to say so to convince you? Would once more have made a difference?

The candle's lit in my window. I'll be here, if you ever see it.