Welcome to Angels and Demons. This is the story of Angel Hawke, completely fleshed out. This first part will be Act one of Dragon Age 2, as told by Angel, rather then by Varric - who missed some things. DA2 and all property belongs to BioWare and TGP. I'm just sort of borrowing it, and Angel. Big, huge thank yous go out to Arquen over at BSN for putting up with my terrible spelling, my thens, my becauses, and my run away coma problem! Please please, critique. Love, hate or otherwise! Your comments are always appreciated.

We're trudging through Darktown. I've had the misfortune to be in Darktown at least eight times since coming to Kirkwall. All of them have been a liaison between the Red Iron and the Coterie. Every. Single. Time. I'd have to work with the Coterie, and I would silently whisper a thanks to the Maker that my uncle didn't owe them a debt. At least, if he did he hasn't used Carver, Aveline and I to pay it back. Yet.

So, we're trudging, because its what you do when you're walking through the Undercity, trying to avoid breathing the choakdamp that permeates everything. Holding your breath. Because its awful. Horrible. Demons and Carvers socks and that mysterious stain on Gamlen's bed are childhood bad dreams compared to the smell of Darktown.

We, as in Carver, Aveline, Varric, and I. I can hardly believe that I met Varric a week ago. We've been in Kirkwall for a year, and how I never managed to meet Varric till a week ago is beyond my comprehension.

"I still can't believe we haven't met you before now, Varric." I say, as we're trudging through some horribleness that I'm desperately trying not to look down at, in the middle of Darktown. I'm trying not to breath through my nose. I feel bad for Varric, or maybe envy him. He's much lower to the ground.

"It's probably because we were spending all our time with the Red Iron." Carver chimes in, in his usual Carvery-way.

"If anything it was probably because you spent all your time in the Blooming Rose, and I spent all my time hauling you out of there." I jest lightly. Sometimes, I love just how easy it is to make Carver blush. Just now he turns beet-red from chin to hair-line. He sputters a rebuttal, but it really does no good.

Varric laughs, and Aveline rolls her eyes. I think Aveline is used to me, at least she aught to be by now. I like her, she's.. Aveline. There really is no way to describe her without using words like sister, but that particular word is a raw wound for me, and reserved for someone else that I'm not sure I want to think about just now. Especially not when we're trudging through Darktown.

"Are we even going the right way? 'Where the lit lanterns are' isn't exactly the best directions." Aveline expresses. She's worried. It's really all she ever does, worry about my safety and Carver's safety. She doesn't really know Varric, but I'm sure given enough time, she'll worry about him too.

"Of course we're lost. My sister is in charge." Carver grumbles, because that's pretty much all he does. Maker love him, he's my brother and I'd never survive without him, but sometimes I could throttle him for all his bitching.

"If you'd like to take the lead, brother, I'm sure your perfect maleness can lead us out of this horrible stinking darkness. Perhaps straight to the brothel?" I tease and he turns red again. Varric chuckles. Aveline sighs.

"From what I know of the Undercity, and it probably could fit into your mothers thimble, Hawke, we're only just around the corner." Varric adds, confirming my thoughts. I might not have been here enough to know every dark corridor that dropped off into the nothingness of the old mining tunnels, but I knew enough to know that the clear path usually leads places. Hopefully the one we are currently on leads to the place we're trying to be.

"Also, there's a line of refugees, which is a good indication that we're close." he chuckles.

I smile down at Varric. A week, but I already feel like the Dwarf was the best friend I'd ever had. Which is nice, because I have never had a lot of friends. Acquaintances, sure. Lots of them. I had a whole gaggle of giggly teenage girls who hung on my every word back in Lothering. Half of them had huge crushes on Carver, which is absolutely more horrifying than it sounds. Friends though, never had many of those at all. Apostates never do.

"Huh, well what do you know. Lit Lanterns," Carver mutters, sounding impressed that I'd managed to not get them lost. As if all I ever did was get us lost. Ass.

"Shut up, Carver." I snap.

Those blue eyes of his are glaring at me now, and I am finding it very hard not to be smug, because he has, in fact, shut up. And here I thought this was going to be a bad day.

"This... the guard should really get down here more often." Aveline sounds strained. She's looking around at the ill Fereldens lining the walls by the double doors with the lit lanterns. The lot of them seem to be in various states of filthy, filthier, and horrifyingly filthy. The sight breaks my heart as much as hers, and for one more time I find myself thinking just how lucky we were to have Gamlen. Which is almost more horrible a thought then the lines of people in various stages of dieing.

"So now that we're here Hawke, how are we going to go about this?" Varric, always the planner. "I'd really rather not have to resort to violence if we can help it."

"Don't worry Varric. My Sister can just propose marriage for our maps. You heard her in the store." Carver snips. My ears turn red. I am going to have to kick his ass later, I swear. It doesn't matter, because I do remember saying that. Sometimes, my mouth just up and walks away with itself.

"Only if he really does have those killer eyes, brother." I say smoothly, thwarting my brothers attempt to embarrass me. Ah, another blue-eyed glare. Definitely a good day.

Varric chuckles again. I really think Aveline is going to have to pick her eyeballs off the floor if she keeps rolling them.. There's two doors. I decide the right-hand door must be the "in" door. I take a deep breath and push. I get no resistance so I must not be wrong. Good thing, too. It just reaffirms the fact that I'm never wrong.

We dodge a couple of refugees hovering around a little girl. She's hugging a privy-bucket, losing the contents of whatever it was she had eaten at some point today. Repeatedly. Once we skirt around them I notice a tall, blond man with glowing hands. Anders. He's in deep concentration, waving those glowing hands over the body of a little boy. The whole scene causes goosebumps to rise along my arms. Especially when the little boy suddenly sits up and starts coughing.

Another mage. There are tears in my eyes and my brain is yelling at me because what kind of crazy am I that the sight of another mage would bring tears to my eyes? Maker, I do miss Bethany and Father, though. It might just be worth all this trudging I've been doing today just to know another mage.

The air in the room shifts, suddenly, and I find myself blinking at the fizzle of.. well I'm not even sure. It's as if the veil itself, which admittedly is already stupid thin in this city, disappears entirely for a moment. The blond man is speaking, and his voice is.. off. Whatever is behind it is only there for a second and I could swear that his eyes were blue just a moment ago?

I must be seeing things. They're brown. Lirene was right. Those eyes are to die for. All emotion-filled and tortured. I'm not even hearing what he's saying, because my mouth is curling into a smirk. My mind is running, and I can imagine all sorts of ways those brown eyes could be looking at me. There's seriously something wrong with me.

"...Healing and Salvation. Why do you threaten it?" Anders is saying, or at least that's all I manage to catch. He's standing there, holding his staff and his hand as if his body is saying, "Hey, come closer and I'll turn you into a frog. A frog fried by lightning."

I'm not sure it would be horrible to die like that, if it meant he would keep looking at me with those eyes. Of course while my mind is still running, my mouth goes off too. Because its my mouth, and I have no control over it. "I thought Wardens were all about death and taint, not healing and salvation."

I hear Aveline's eyes roll. I swear. Carver groans, because he's Carver. Varric? Varric chuckles.

"Did the Wardens send you? I'm not going back. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser-Pounce-A-Lot. He hated The Deep Roads."

More eye-rolling from Aveline, coming right up. "You had a cat named Ser-Pounce-A-Lot, in the Deep Roads...?"

"He was a Gift. A noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a Genlock once. He swatted the Bugger on nose. Drew blood too." he's smiling, this Anders, at the fond memory of this cat he apparently had once. He kept right on talking though, and his face fell just as fast as it had perked. "The bloody Wardens said he 'made me to soft'. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine."

I can't stop my mouth from asking,"So you came here to escape the Wardens then?"

"You say that like its a small thing. Yes. I'm here because there's no Warden Outpost. No Darkspawn. A whole host of refugees to blend in with, and some reasons of my own."

"But.. I thought joining The Wardens was for life?" My father had taught us every scrap that he could about The Wardens. Which wasn't much, considering that no one outside the Wardens ever talked about what being a Warden was like. So, I'm curious.

"That's... only partly true. The 'horribly tainted by the Darkspawn' and 'plagued by nightmares of the Archdemons' parts don't go away." Now I'm interested, because those are bits about the Wardens I didn't know. Besides, he really does have pretty eyes. "But it turns out if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties."

Ooh, a smirk. I like smirks. I do my very best not to ask if they really do have parties, because we're not here to find out information about the Wardens, curious as I am. I suppose now is as good a time as any to ask about the maps, so I do. "I'm part of an expedition into the Deep Roads, and we heard tell that you might have some maps. I'll pay you for them." I say, reaching down to unhook my coin purse.

"If I wanted money, I'm doing it all wrong. You have no idea what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested-.."

I nod and start to turn, because it is very clear we'll be getting no maps from this man, gorgeous as he is. Yet, he's still talking, "Although.." and I get goosebumps. Because that's usually a tell tail sign that my good day is officially over. "A favor for a favor? You help me, and I'll help you."

I take a deep breath, "Let's be more specific. I don't do anything involving children or animals."

Not even a chuckle. Damn. "I have a Warden map of the depths in this area. There's a price. I came to Kirkwall to help a friend, a mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The Templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you can have your maps."

"You want to make your friend an apostate?" I ask, my eyebrows officially eating my hairline. This was not at all what I expected, and I'm not exactly sure how keen I am at the idea of getting in trouble with the Templars. Behind me Carver groans. Because he's Carver and I expect nothing less from him. This time though he's not wrong.

"That's such a weighted term," Anders says, and I instantly realize that he's taken my question completely wrong. I am an apostate after all, daughter of one, sister even. "Andraste said magic should serve man, not rule it. But I've not met a Mage who want's to rule anything. It goes against no will of the Maker for mages to live as free as other men."

I need to make myself clear in this, even if it's going to piss off Carver and irritate Aveline. I know my brother so well, because Carver groans again when I say, "Forcing mages into the circle is not the way to prevent the rise of another Imperium."

Now its his eyebrows that eat hairline. "That's.. not usually the response I get. Perhaps we'll work better together than I expected."

I return his smile and ask, "What do the Templars know of your plans?"

Anders' smile is gone. "I don't know. I had been exchanging letters through a maid-servant in the Gallows. Then, the letters stopped coming."

Karl, this mage's name is Karl. I can't help it, I say, "Tell me about your friend."

"His name is Karl Thekla. He was sent here from Ferelden when Kirkwall's Circle required new talent. His last letter said that the Knight-Commander is turning the circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cells, refused appearances at court, made tranquil for the slightest crimes. I told him I would come."

"Are these accusations true?"The whole idea of the circle being a prison horrifies me. One wrong step and that's where I'll be, if they didn't just outright kill me for being an active apostate.

"Ask any mage in Kirkwall. Over a dozen mages were made tranquil just this year. The more people you ask, the worse the rumors become."

Well, duh, that's how rumors work.

It didn't matter, he believed what he was saying. So for once I put on the filter and didn't say what I was thinking. Miraculously... However I couldn't stop myself from saying, "I would help any mage in such circumstances, map or no."

Carver apparently can't stop himself either. "Better make this good, then, Sister. We're risking a lot by angering the Templars." I swallow my breakfast trying to re-emerge, because Carver is absolutely right. I'm not even sure what Varric and Aveline think, they're being amazingly quiet.

He smiles at me, and I feel my insides turn to jelly. I can't tell if it is of his eyes and that smile or If it is because I just agreed to free a mage from the circle.

"I would welcome your aid. I have already left a note for Karl to meet me at the Chantry after dark. Join me there after dark, and Maker willing we'll make sure that no matter who's with him, we'll all walk away free."

Now we're leaving, because there's more patients flooding in from outside. I ask him if he wants some help and he declines. I really should insist, but Carver's glare isn't the brotherly glare I enjoy getting, but a real, true I'm not happy glare. I do have to at least try once in a while not to piss my brother off. Besides I promised Aveline we'd go check out that ambush she keeps talking about.

So I bid farewell to Anders, and he's smiling and I am elated because Lirene said she's never seen him smile, and I've seen him smile at least 6 times since we began talking and... and I'm being dragged, literally, because Carver's gotten a hold of my arm.

"What is wrong with you?" he hisses at me when we get outside. I chuckle. My best Varric impression.

"What, can't a girl flirt with an adorable healer?" I hiss back, both hands on my hips now that he's let go of my arm.

"You can flirt with whomever you bloody well please. Shag him for all I care! I don't give a rats ass who you find attractive, sister. I'm concerned about the deal you just made with him! Templars, Sister? Are you insane?" he's livid, and I'm only more amused now than I was before we met Anders. Because irritating my brother is one of my favorite things in life to do.

"Mm, possibly but because I have to put up with the likes of you." I throw back. "We need those maps, and he's not wrong. You know he's not. Father would have said as much."

"Father wouldn't have wanted you throwing that life we gave you away for a pair of pretty brown eyes, sister."

Low blow. I'm not amused anymore. Now I'm just pissed. How dare he... the life he gave me.. I I... Ooh! I bristle, my magic fizzling up around me and makes every non-ponytailed hair on my body stand on end. A good shock aught to make him shut up. I reach out to grab him...

Aveline steps between us. She's like the best-est non-family member family member ever. Sort of like a mother, only big, and orange, and .. sword-ee. She hisses that there are refugees all around and looks at me with that, "Don't do this here" look in her big green eyes that both irritates the shit out of me more, and calms me down. Because she's right. The middle of Darktown, surrounded by Refugees trying desperately to eat, wasn't the best place to sling my magic.

"Fine. Aveline, lets go see about that thing of yours. I could use some fresh air."

I am a horrible person. Absolutely out right rotten. I'm sitting here, on a crate, in Anders' clinic, flirting endlessly with a man who just killed his former lover. That's right. Former Lover. Killed. Yep. HORRIBLE. Not that I've come to expect much less from myself. He's standing here, pouring his heart out about some deal he made with a spirit of Justice and I am flirting with him.

This seriously comes out of my mouth, "At least he can't complain about his looks." I kid you not.

He grins, though, which is a-fucking-mazing, because he has about the best smile I've ever seen in my whole 24 years. Hands down. Okay, never mind that because the smile fades and he's mister broken, hot mage again.

"No, you don't want to do that." He's saying, shaking his head at me, pushing away my horrible timing and my mouth that keeps wanting to sputter more horrible one-liners at him. Because he's cute and I'm totally uncomfortable with the idea of death, at least the particular death that happened not more than three hours ago in the Chantry.

Karl Thekla. He had been Anders' lover. Or at least that's the bet that Varric and I have running. He didn't actually say as much. Probably because he figures I'll be creeping out at the idea of two dudes. But, I'm not. It's kind of hot. And who am I to judge?

"Had we met a year ago, we could have had something." He's still talking. Goodness he's hot. I should probably pay attention because he's blowing off my advances. This is fine because they were totally inappropriate and, just killed his lover. I'm a horrible person.

I have to stop him because he's still talking. "Anders..."

"No, Angel, I will just hurt you... I'll break your heart, and that will kill me as surely as the Templars."

"Anders," I plead, because did he just say he'd break my heart? "Stop. Please, just for a moment. I... I'm sorry. My mouth just sort of runs. Ask Carver, or Varric, or void, ask Aveline. Seriously." I swallow, because its totally true and I am a horrible person. "I'm just... The whole tranquil thing with Karl scared me. I..."

"You what?" Now he's curious, which is good, because we're not talking about my horrible flirting anymore and the fact that he just told me he would hurt me.

"I, well... He was special to you."

He laughs. Maker his laugh is beautiful. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Nope, not at all. Varric owes me 5 sovereigns." My mouth has a mind of its own, the traitor. "But.. I'm pretty good at reading people. I spent most of my life watching for Templars or other people who might turn us in." I grin, only slightly apologetically.

He smiles lightly, "So you really have never spent any time within the Circle?"

"No, not a day. Neither did my sister."

"You've got a sister?" He asks, his interest piqued farther. It's nice because when he smiles mister broken depressed mage man disappears in an instant.

I feel my insides wince because its a rough topic. He notices it, and start's to apologize. "Is that too personal? I'm sorry, it's not my business..."

"No! No, it's not" I jump quickly before he can pull away again. I like this man. He reminds me a little bit of my father. I miss the void out of Malcolm Hawke. "She.. died. When we were fleeing The Blight. She put herself between my Mother and an Ogre, if you can believe it." My voice catches, just a little.

"I'm so sorry. She sounds very brave. She'd have to be brave to get in the way of an Ogre." His voice is sad, and those maker-forsaken brown eyes are full of warm emotion for the sister of mine he's never met.

"Hmm, that she was. Anyone would have to be to put up with having Carver for a twin." I snicker as he gapes, and he does a little bit, because he's met Carver.

"She was Carver's twin?" he asks, his face and voice full of amusement now.

"I know. It's hard to believe anyone is related to Carver, let alone that he had a twin. It's true though," I put both my hands up in front of me and grin, "Makers honest truth."

"Do you miss her?" He asks, carefully. His smile is still warm, though, so there's a good sign.

I sigh, and run my fingers through my hair, which I actually took out of its loose hold for the moment. Because I like to pretend I'm attractive when I have all my dark hair pooling around my shoulders. It helps me forget that I'm not. Also, I was just flirting with him. Anything to help.

"Every moment of every day. She was all the best parts of me." I smile, but my tear-ducts are threatening to betray me. I tell myself its just because its been the longest day ever. That it's like 3am and I haven't slept in at least 24 hours. I'm totally bull shitting myself.

"And, you know, because she left me alone with Carver... and he's an ass." I joke, because its all I know how to do without shutting down and having a panic attack in this man's clinic.

He smiles, and I yawn, which is totally a cover, but I suddenly just want to go home. Not to Lowtown, but to Lothering. Home. With Malcolm and Leandra. W=ith Carver, and Bethany. I can't though and It hurts.

I smile and stand, and extend my hand to shake his. "Thank you, Anders.. for the maps. And, for offering your help. I.. we're going out to Sundermount in a couple of days to make a delivery. You're welcome to join us if you'd like. Maybe get out of Kirkwall for a bit?"

He wraps his hand around mine, and I kid you not wraps is the word because his hand is twice the size of mine. Which is kind of hot, actually. Then he says, "I'd like that," with that ridiculous heart-melting smile of his.

It takes me a whole 3 minutes of staring at those pretty brown eyes of his, and blushing because he's staring too and not at all trying to run away screaming while I'm holding his hand. Finally though we mutually let go and I head out the door.

I'm home, if you can even call Gamlen's little rat-spit of a hovel home, after the longest day of my life. An ambush cleared for Aveline, a wine cellar full of slavers cleared out, a Chantry full of Templars sent to the maker... and one tranquil mage given freedom. The whole thing leaves a horrible taste in my mouth, and I'm utterly thankful that it's almost dawn and everyone else is asleep. Otherwise I'm sure Gamlin would be yelling at Mother. Which is what I usually walk into.

Instead, I walk into the dog. Trip over him, actually, because he's asleep in front of the door, and its dark outside. The dog grunts, but otherwise doesn't move. He sleeps like Carver, my Mabari does, like ten sacks of dead rocks... My Bebouse. I had contemplated calling him Carver for a while, just to be a bitch, because Carver was whining about the fact that the dog had chosen me and not him.

The dog had been named after Carver in the end. A nickname that Mother had lovingly called him. "My sweet Baboo" was how it had started. At some point it had mutated into,"Bebouse". The naming of the dog was totally Bethany's idea. It was a glorious choice, because it was a revenge naming. Carver had cut off her braid while she had been sleeping.

Even better, because he still answers to it. Almost two years removed from Lothering, when he's a big, strong 19 year old man and can take care of himself! Mother could call out, "Bebouse!" and both brother and dog will come running. Hours upon hours of amusement.

I am terrible. I'd never change the name at this point though. It's a good memory of Bethany. Endlessly laughting as Carver pouted and Malcolm just shook his head trying to hide his own. Mother had coddled the pouting 12 year old Carver, which made it that much funnier. His mean spirited sisters howled at his misery.

My conversation with Anders reminded me just how very much I miss my baby sister. It's dark and I sit in the only chair I can find, which is next to the cold fireplace. I don't really want to wake mother and Carver up trying to crawl into the bunks. Also, I want to wallow in my loneliness for a while. I don't do tears well in front of other people.

Bethany and I, we used to sit in the dark, whispering secrets and playing with our magic. Little spells, in that big bed we shared with Carver until he was 10. Then one day he had announced in his big man voice all cracking and shaky that he wasn't a girl and needed his own space! Bethany... with the big chocolate brown eyes that were always so full of love and laughter. I miss her so much. It feels like I'm missing my heart.

Mother always said Bethany had our grandmother's eyes. Big, brown, and warm. Mother, Carver, and even Gamlen all have the same eyes. Blue. They came from the Amell line. Those blue eyes could be scary when paired with that stern Amell don't fuck with me look. Mother and Gamlen had that look down pat. Carver's never been able to master it. His look is more broody than threatening.

My whole life I listened as my Father, Malcolm told me that a person's eyes were everything. There was so much that can be learned about someone through their eyes. He said it was Mother's clear blue eyes that had been the catalyst for what made him need to know her. He'd told me the story time and time again during travels.

He had returned to Kirkwall after years of being away. Being within the city was not something he relished, but he was on a job for the Red Iron. They were keeping him protected from the Chantry's gaze. He saw her, big blue eyes, clear and honest, set into a pretty face that had been wrinkled in indignation. Apparently, she had been yelling at a man who'd grabbed her rear and was giving him that Amell stare.

It had been love at first sight for him, and he managed to sneak into a Hightown party a few days later disguised as an entertainer. Just so he could meet this woman with the bright blue eyes. Fast forward a few weeks later and the two had eloped and left Kirkwall far behind. Mother told me later, after Malcolm's death, that she had been pregnant with me. Their love child.

I wipe my tears away, though they don't stop flowing. My eyes are betraying me. Evil things that they are. I'm sitting here in the dark, thinking about Bethany and her chocolate eyes. Thinking about Father, my big strong Malcolm, with his larger then life stories and his own liquid gold eyes. Hawk eyes for a Hawke. My eyes. I hate crying. Mother says that women are built to cry. That its a good thing to embrace your emotions and understand them.

I'm sure it is better, for some people. Embracing... femaleness. Emotions are supposed to be a woman's shield. Yet, my whole life has been about suppression and control. I'm a mage. My Malcolm always pressed this. Losing control over your emotions only ends up leading to things exploding and stuff being set on fire accidentally.

I'm still sitting here, and I'm finally sobbing. Sobbing quietly so that my Mother or Brother or, Maker forbid, Gamlen doesn't hear me. Because I miss them, and I miss home. I let myself cry in the dark, even though I hate it. I loathe my eyes for even allowing the tears to form in the first place.

There is a lot of hate in me. I hate crying. I hate Darkspawn. I hate carrots. I hate that I miss them, that I have to miss them at all. Neither of them should have died. Malcolm had been bigger then life. That The Wasting had taken away almost everything of him was..

The man that was my father, who was all liquid-gold eyes and big booming laughter. The man who had kept us safe, taught us control.. "Let your magic serve what is best in you, not that which is most base." he'd say. He was a good man. In the end, though... there was nothing left of him but that laugh.

He laughed, because I had told him some stupid joke I'd heard in the Tavern. I wasn't equipped to deal with it, all the slowly fading into death that my Father was doing. Yet I'm the one who had to deal, because Carver was to angry and Bethany and Mother were sobbing in the kitichen. So I sat with him, in his final hours, and told him jokes. Right up until he closed his eyes, and his spirit finally crossed to The Makers side.

I swallow hard and sigh Its a heavy kind of sigh that's full of I'm officially done crying. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, or.. this morning, or whatever time it is. Instead I stand, swiping at my face until the wetness is good and dead. I wipe my running nose on my sleeve. My chest aches from loneliness but it doesn't matter. I pick my stave back up and step carefully over the dog so I don't kill myself or break my nose on the stone landing or something equally me-ish. I'll go to the Hanged Man. They're always open. Besides, right now I could use a drink.

I am ever so grateful that the Hanged Man is literally around the corner from Gamlen's little hovel. I let the spear-end of my stave clickity-clack against the stone as I walk, using it like a walking stick rather than an instrument of fiery death. Carver is going to kill me tomorrow when he finds out, and he'll have to take the Whet stone to the tip, I'm sure. Thank The Maker that Father taught him how to care for a bladed stave as well as other blades.

He taught me too, but I'm a bitch and always make Carver do it. He's got to be good for something. You know, besides being a pain in the ass and a constant source of my amusement.

I push the door open, and the sounds and smells of the Hanged Man slap me in the face. It's wonderful because even at four in the morning it is busy. Maybe it is a little bit more drunken dock worker dodging his wife at this hour than I'd like, but there's a fire and whiskey and I absolutely need both right now.

I make my way over to the bar and order a drink. Corf has long since head to bed, and one of the other two bartenders are here instead. I have no idea what his name is, but he's cute in that scruffy bartender sort of way. I give him my best Angel smile, all golden eyes and dark eyebrows. He gives me a glass of the most expensive whiskey, and doesn't charge me.

I wander away from the bar with my clay mug that I'm sure the bartender that isn't Corf didn't boil and contemplate for a moment if maybe I shouldn't drink it. It's only a passing thought, and I head up towards Varric's suite. He told me a week ago that I was welcome to come and go as I pleased. I had yet to actually find out if it was true but, no time like the present, right?

The doors open, and there is Varric sitting in his big stone dwarf chair thingy. He's sorting through mounds of paperwork. At four in the morning. He doesn't even look tired. Varric is a bad ass mother fucker. I swear. It really is a shame he and I are so much alike. I could fall in love with a man like Varric. Alas, it could never work out.

"Hawke! Glad to see Norah passed along my note to whats-his-name." Suddenly any notion that I might have had about actually charming my way to a free drink went out the window. So I take a swig, a great one at that because its been a long fucking day, night... thing. Then I flop ungracefully into one of the chairs at the table.

"Varric why are you even awake at this hour?" I ask incredulously, because I cannot wrap my brain around it.

"I never sleep. Someone has to keep my brother alive," he chuckles. "Did you bring the bottle with you, or do I need to ask Edwina to bring it up?"

"Edwina," I say, and take another swig off my mug. I notice he doesn't ask me why I'm still awake. I like Varric. He gets me. It's rare considering nobody else seems to.

He nods and after a few moments of me nursing my cup and him rustling papers he speaks again. "So we got the maps. How's the money situation coming along?"

"Mm," I grumble because I am starting to doze off a bit. It's warm in here, and the whiskey is smooth, and Varric asked me a question so I need to answer. "Pretty alright. Aveline assures me that the captain of the guard will be plenty thankful for handling that situation. We've also got that contract from the Chantry. Not that the chantry should have any love for me, but..." I shrug.

"No worries about that, Hawke. I made good and sure that no one saw us coming or going. Speaking of Blondie..." his voice is telling, even if he's still staring at the papers in front of him.

Edwina has materialized from thin air carrying the bottle of whiskey that my cup had been poured from. She grunts at Varric, setting the bottle down with a thump before wandering away again. It will always, forever and a day from now, be a source of wonderment for me at how Varric manages to summon alcohol up with out uttering a word.

"Ah..." I say as I watch Edwina wander off. After a second or two, when I'm sure the waitress has managed to vanish down the stairs and around the corner, I respond to the question that was not a question, "No worries Varric. He's cute, I'll admit, but I'm not really in any hurry to die a horrible death at the hands of every Templar in the Free Marches for him."

He laughs, "At least not yet?"

"At least not yet." I concede. I've known this man a week. He knows me so well. I'd be scared if I wasn't so, well, me. I pour us both a glass, and a clean one at that because they are Varric's glass tumblers. I know are clean because I washed them myself. Then I drink, because I need a drink after tonight.

Varric just lets me drink, not really touching his own poured glass. We sit in silence, and It's nice. I don't have to fill the void with mindless babble or even feel the need to want to. He's like my best friend for life, and I've known him a week. I'm lounging, with my legs slung over the edge of the chair and my head propped up by the elbow on his stone table. He doesn't care that I'm not poised or perfect. He doesn't care that I'm not a graceful lady.

He just lets me be me. Angel Hawke, Ferelden Apostate.