He'd been watching her for a long time.
Within her first year of being in Kirkwall, Hawke had done many things to make a name for her self. When the underworld was littered with that last name and the actions that had followed along with it, the sly dwarf knew he had to get at least a sight of what this Fereldan wonder was to see if the stories could possibly true. After all, Varric knew good stories when he heard them, being a master storyteller himself. If there was merit to these tales, he would know, and if there wasn't, well then it would just be another night to wrap up in the Hanged Man with the bitter taste of ale and disappointment stinging his lips once again.
He'd tracked her to Lowtown and all around Kirkwall, following leads and listening to more stories along the way. Each time he grew more impressed, but also more skeptical. The excitement was almost tantamount, and he was beginning to have a strong desire to be able to tie a face to the fastest growing household name in the Free Marches. He knew that he might have something special here if he was able to catch up to her. It was just a matter of doing so without being noticed.
Weeks had rolled by with little to no progress in finding the up and coming hero, and Varric found himself uncharacteristically ruffled by this. The dwarf believed himself to be, in many ways, the owner of these streets. Very little happened that he didn't have some hand in, and even less happened that he didn't know about. He'd traced the blighted stories to Darktown, following up on leads about the work Hawke been doing for Athenril. A very impressive smuggling record, he had to admit. Very few Fereldans were making it as well as Hawke seemed to be. She was coming up fast in this city, and that impressed Varric a great deal. This Hawke might prove to be just the type of woman that Bartrand and he were looking to help with the Deep Roads. But there was still one thing that Varric couldn't understand, and it was driving him insane. How was it that this woman, Hawke, was proving to be so good at eluding him? Did she know that he was on her trail? Was she more perceptive than he had given her credit for? Sitting in the Hanged Man, Varric poured over these thoughts as he allowed himself another ale to be poured into his cup.
He almost didn't hear the door open to announce a new patron arriving.
Normally Varric paid no heed to the comers and goers of the tavern. Most were low life ruffians who posed him no threat or value. Perhaps it was his wistfulness, or the desire to be distracted by the untypical feeling of failure that made him look up. Later, as he would retell the stories to others, and eventually, even himself, Varric would come to describe his decision to look up that night as nothing more than the will of the Maker.
He knew her immediately from the descriptions he had gathered, but he had never once considered that they would never do her true beauty justice.
She had the most piercing brown eyes he'd ever seen on a human. Her features were soft and lady like, the true face a noblewoman should wear, but the features were bent to show that she had seen great harshness throughout her life and was no one to be fooled with unless you were suicidal. Her short-cropped hair was windblown, but somehow made her look even more feminine and beautiful. Her cheeks were somewhat rosy, but that only added color to her otherwise pale complexion. It betrayed neither naivety nor youth, because her formidable stance (and weaponry) betrayed either as being a characteristic. No. Hawke was a woman, and a beautiful one, and a dangerous one.
Moreover, Varric, who was not one to normally find humans attractive, felt a stirring deep within him that was more than a little uncomfortable and made him happy that he was alone and virtually unnoticeable in the corner of the Hanged Man. He watched her and her companion, a younger woman with similar features and complexion to Hawke (most likely the sister that he had heard tell of) stepped next to her, wearing a similar frown. For a moment, Hawke's eyes met with Varric's and he felt his heart drop. Had he been found out? Had he been betrayed? Impossible!
But it was over in an instant. Her eyes passed over him without notice, and he breathed a sigh of relief (and felt a twinge of disappointment if he wanted to be truly honest with himself). Whatever the two women were searching for, they must have found it. The younger woman, a mage by the looks of the staff on her back, frowned and pointed in the direction of an elderly man with slicked back, greasy gray hair huddled over an empty cup at the bar. The elder Hawke nodded and each headed in the general direction of the man.
This, Varric had to see.
He sidled out of his chair and tiptoed through the crowd, shuffling up behind a pillar so that he was just out of eyesight of the two women and the man at the bar. He couldn't hear what they were saying, of course, the blasted music was too loud as was the drunken rambling of most of the sailors and soldiers that frequented this place all too often, but he could see their expressions and not a person among the unhappy trio looked at all too pleased with their current situation. The elderly man kept waving the two women away, going so far as to try and push the eldest out of his line of sight. Apparently she had stepped between him and a rather attractive redhead in the seat next to him. Hawke's hand ripped through the air and grabbed his wrist as he attempted the motion again, and he seemed to understand that the young woman was no longer playing nice. He glared up at her before casting his face downward in defeat.
For all the beauty afforded her, Hawke's gaze looked as though it never lost its sternness. She appeared as mad as an ogre who'd just sat it's bare ass down on a bed of coals, and though Varric had only just seen her for himself, he was willing to bet she was at least five times as dangerous. And Maker, was she also beautiful! The stirring began again deep within the dwarf, and he started to allow himself to wonder what her legs looked like underneath all of her heavy gear. He followed her slender neck and imagined the dainty curves of her shoulders beneath the gargantuan armor and broadsword on her back. He wondered how smooth her skin might be and just how beautiful those curves would appear in a few Orlesian silk dresses. He thought many a thing that any scoundrel would consider upon catching sight of a beautiful woman, but being a gentleman, the dwarf kept them to himself.
The man Hawke was now harassing paid his tab and then the three of them walked out together, the elder in the forefront looking both embarrassed and furious. Varric watched them leave with great excitement and a hint of sadness. But he was determined to meet up with these two women again, and personally become acquainted with the elder lady Hawke. He smiled to himself as he made his way quickly back to his table. Bartrand, his brother, was looking for a partner in their latest scourge into the Deep Roads. Perhaps if Hawke got an anonymous tip for the job, it would give Varric his chance to make an impression on the lady.
The sly dwarf laughed to himself. "Varric, you've still got it," he whispered upon finding his table again.
To his disappointment, he found his ale gone and the table reset in the assumption that he had left for the night.
"Oh, Andraste's ass," he spat.