Something's Brewing
A/N Credit (or blame ;-P) for this one is shared with my partner in crime Snarkoleptic, because after learning how the Hawke in Mundane Magic got so nimble and graceful, a nickname was put forth that became the core of this story. Now if we can only convince Bioware to start producing it in limited quantities... Also, this is rated M for teh secks, and it does get a bit dark as the chapters emerge ...
Drowning Your Sorrows
Hawke had never seen Varric so distracted. Angry, yes. Disappointed, even. But depressed? Never. It made her downright uneasy to see his normally twinkling brown eyes flat and distant. It had been quite a few days since they had returned from rescuing Yevhen's foolish sons, but some of the darkness of the Deep Roads still clung to him like a cloud.
She took a deep gulp from her mug and swallowed hastily. "Ah, that really hits the spot," she said loudly, in an attempt to pierce his apathy. "Absolutely delicious." She fought to suppress a shudder of nausea.
"Hmmm? I'm sorry Hawke, what was that?" The dwarf put down his mug, untasted, and looked at her with a slight frown pulling one corner of his mouth to the side.
"I was trying to snap you out of it, but at this point I'm beginning to think nothing short of setting Bianca on fire would get your attention, Varric. What's wrong? You've been in a funk for days." Impulsively, Hawke reached across the corner of the table and took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly.
"Hey now, don't be doing that," Varric protested, trying to free his hand. "If Blondie sees us getting all cozy like this, I'm liable to end up as a little heap of ashes." Hawke could hear a bit of the old bantering tone entering his voice and grinned, still holding his hand tight.
"Don't be silly, Varric. He's is the one who told me to come see you. I would have been by sooner, to take care of disposin of the rest of the loot we brought back, but I've had some Hightown business that needed squaring away. Now, tell me what has turned the incorrigible Varric Tethras into a broken husk of a duster."
The storyteller put his other hand over hers and smiled sadly. "What is it about dwarf brothers, Hawke? What turns them against their own family? I'll be the first to admit Bartrand and I were never close, but what would drive him to betray me like he did? And Yevhen's boys - Iwan turned on Merin and Emrys. Even in Orzammar - Bhelen killed one brother and framed the other... What is it about us, Hawke?" he repeated morosely.
She thought for a moment, then shook her head in disagreement. "It's not just dwarves, Varric. You never got a chance to meet Carver, but you should ask Aveline about him sometime. I loved him, even if he was a petulant git most of the time - but we were never really on good terms. Growing up, I could tell he resented me almost as much as he resented Bethany, simply because Father spent so much time teaching us.
"And judging from a few of the tidbits that Sebastian's let drop, he had the same problem with some of his brothers. It's just the nature of the beast, I guess. Maybe they think they're overshadowed. Maybe they want more power or acknowledgement. I'm just glad I got a good brother as my closest friend."
Varric's eyes met hers for a long moment, then the dwarf colored slightly and looked away, clearing his throat. This time, when he moved to free his hand, Hawke let it go with an exaggerated sigh and a fluttering of eyelashes, so that he laughed outright.
She nudged his mug across the tabletop towards his near hand and raised her own half-empty cup, holding it out silently. Varric picked up his drink and gently touched the mug to hers before draining it in one long draught, then watched as she used her usual method of downing the rest of her drink in one gulp and grimacing.
"So, Hawke, you still haven't developed a taste for dwarven ale?" he said, mouth twitching in a slight smirk, apparently having recovered most of his usual good spirits.
Instead of replying, Hawke merely belched and waved the evidence away, and Varric smiled fully. "Don't ever change, Hawke. What would I do for stories without you to give me ideas? Now, what say we look into what we picked up from that foul place and decide what to sell where..."
After setting aside a small share of the coin for the companions who had gone on the rescue, the balance of the money was earmarked for Anders' clinic and Lirene's shop. Next, they went through the assorted weapons and odd bits of salvageable armor and decided whether to sell them in Hightown or Lowtown.
All of the accumulated detritus and miscellaneous junk would be funneled to the templar-sanctioned vendors in the Gallows - that being Hawke's favorite way of leaching coin from the Order to spread amongst the refugees still in Darktown - not to mention the fact that it also gave Anders a sense of vindictive pleasure to imagine Meredith up to her neck in torn trousers and piles of pebbles and worthless trinkets.
Finally, there was only one item left. Hawke hefted it in her hand, turning it to catch the light of the candles and fireplace, watching it glitter. "Well, there's lyrium in it; that's plain to see, but what the damned thing is is beyond me," she said in frustration. "Maybe I should just give it to Sandal and see what he can do with it ..."
"Wait just a minute, Hawke," Varric said suddenly, and held out his hand. She passed it to him, raising a questioning eyebrow. The dwarf trailed a finger around the outside of the metallic circlet and then nodded. "Corff," he bellowed towards the door.
They heard a muffled response from the lower level of the tavern, and Varric poured them another mug of ale apiece while they waited. When Hawke made a face at her newly-filled mug, Varric chuckled wickedly. "What's the problem, Hawke? I thought you said it was delicious."
She sighed ruefully and gulped down the first half. "I should have known you heard me, even if you didn't look like you were listening," she gasped after she swallowed.
"Best trait a storyteller can have," the dwarf agreed amiably. "I just listen, and fill in the exciting bits later on..." He stopped talking as the blond bartender hurried into the room.
"What can I do for you, Messere Tethras?" Corff said, puffing slightly. Hawke saw Norah was hovering right outside the door, ready to fetch drinks or store up gossip.
"What do you think this is?" Varric held up the metal loop for the man's inspection.
Corff peered at it, and smiled in recognition. "It looks to be part of a still, Messere. A finely crafted one, too. No discoloration or corrosion. Too bad our old brew master drank himself over the wall last year - he could have used it."
"So that's why you never seem to have anything drinkable here anymore," Hawke muttered quietly.
Corff nodded sheepishly at her observation. "Aye, mistress Hawke, all we have now is what's produced by enthusiastic amateurs from market leavings. If we could only find another proper brewer or vintner, we'd have more repeat customers and less cases of the blind staggers."
Hawke jumped up from her chair and snatched the hoop back from the storyteller. "I think I just found my latest quest," she said fervently, and darted past the gaping bartender and the lurking waitress. "Anything will be better than more lichen ale. Take care of distributing the rest of the haul, will you, Varric? I've got an idea, but it might take a while to line up."
Varric thanked Corff and waved Norah in to collect Hawke's mug and refill the pitcher for him. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Sometimes he almost wished ...but it was only a passing fancy. Someday he would find himself a nice, sturdy casteless woman with a wicked sense of humor. It would be a good enough life, if not quite as much fun.