Where we are
DISCLAIMER: I wrote this a while ago, but only just decided to do anything with it. For the record… this features my favourite kind of Warden and my least favourite kind of Hawke, to highlight a protagonist I barely tolerate. What an odd place to be.
Watching the Inquisitor have hormones was somehow both reassuring and horrifying.
Varric leaned over the rampart, bottle held loosely between his finger and thumb as he tried to figure out whether he wanted to cringe or cheer. It finally seemed Cullen had managed to spare enough free seconds to actually get something worth mentioning out of their Herald.
Of all people… Cullen.
That was part of the horrifying thing. The two most… pious people in this joint. He might have handled it if it was Dorian, or Bull, or even Sera; someone who could be a corrupting influence! But Cullen!
He wasn't even sure Cullen had balls to get blue!
He took a swig of wine and settled in to watch the awkward flirting. He was pretty sure they didn't know he could see them. And it wasn't like he was going to write this one down. So it was harmless to watch.
And… well, sometimes he needed the reminder that she was a woman underneath it all.
With Hawke… ah, with Hawke it had been easy. No matter how damned inspiring Hawke could be, no matter how much larger than life she was, she was always just Hawke. She still came down to the Hanged Man, still worried over her family, still cracked jokes and bought crappy gifts and damn it all but she had been just so human. Every step of the way.
Honestly, that was what Cassandra never understood. It wasn't Hawke's heroism that made her inspiring, it was her humanity. That… scrappy eat-shit-and-swallow-it determination against all odds that defined her. You wanted to be there with her, no matter how it ended, because… because she wouldn't give up. So why should you?
The Inquisitor, on the other hand… He took another drink, wincing as Cullen laughed, too loud, only to stop and cringe away like a kid whose voice had just cracked. And the damn Inquisitor just smiled like a patient little angel.
"Give me strength," he muttered, and nearly dropped his bottle at the sound of a soft laugh behind him. He spun around, and this time he actually did drop the bottle, because it was none other than Leliana strolling up behind him, apparently from bloody nowhere. "Nightingale. If that was a test of my observation skills, I would've been a lot happier just to tell you I don't measure up."
"Oh, I knew that already," she teased, and he blinked. She pretended not to notice, still walking forward like she wasn't the Left Hand of the Divine and one scary assassin bitch besides. "You are a merchant prince, Varric. You read people's faces, not watch the shadows. No, I was testing my own skills, nothing more."
"And I wasted a good bottle of Orlesian wine on it, too," he griped, because that was easier than pretending she didn't scare the shit out of him.
She smirked and hefted the hand that had previously been behind her back – another, much better bottle in her grip. Varric whistled. "Is that Antivan?"
"My friend Zevran sent it. Along with some dirty poetry I shall be leaving for Cassandra to find in her combat notes," she said, and Varric barely held back a bark of laughter. He knew the Nightingale had a sense of humour, but he hadn't seen it much himself. Honestly, she seemed even less mortal than the rest of them. Survivor of the Blight, companion to the Hero of Ferelden, Left Hand of the Divine and now SpyMaster to the Herald of Andraste. But here she was, uncorking the bottle with easy familiarity and holding it out for him to take. "I had forgotten how much he could make me laugh. I had forgotten many things of those days."
He tilted his head, intrigued by any hint of a story, but didn't ask, just took a drink. It was as good as it looked, though definitely meant to be drunk from crystal glasses, not like this.
"How long has this been going on?" she asked, folding one arm over the battlement as she took back the bottle. "Normally their trysts only last a few minutes before they get hauled off for more work."
"Maybe five minutes," he said, allowing her the distraction. Because she did still scare him, and he'd take what he got rather than risk pushing her patience. "But it looks like they're in for the long haul today."
"And making a mess of it again, I see. Honestly, you'd think neither of them had ever flirted before."
"It is pretty pathetic," he agreed. "But hey. Hawke and Sebastian spent three years with the chantry between them before they finally realised chastity's for chumps. I'll take this over another round of that, any day."
"Sebastian Vael, really?" she asked, and he glanced up, surprised by her surprise. "From your book, I thought it was Anders the Hawke loved."
"Nah. Blondie had it bad for her, but she had a thing for the unattainable," he said, and took back the bottle when it was offered. "But I can see why you'd see it that way. Hawke did a lot for all of us, but Blondie asked the most. Stupid idiot."
Leliana let him take several more drinks before taking the bottle back again. They stood in almost companionable silence, watching the flirting turn into kissing, and then something vaguely resembling making out. In the most chaste way possible, which was just weird.
"How do they do that?" he asked. "Stick their tongues down each other's throats and make it look innocent?"
"I think it's intention," she said thoughtfully. "It's not as it is between say, Dorian and the Iron Bull. It's about love and admiration. Sex, if it ever comes, will be a secondary consideration."
He hummed, aware she was smiling at him again. Neither of them mentioned Bianca.
"If it makes you feel better, this is not the most ridiculous romance I've ever seen," Leliana continued briskly. "That honour goes to the current king and queen of Ferelden."
"What?" He laughed despite the company. "Isabela swears up and down she slept with them in Denerim. No way the king got two beautiful women between the sheets if he's worse than that."
"If the Hero had wanted it, he could have had three," Leliana said mildly, and Varric grinned, his grin only half as lecherous as it would have been with anyone else.
"Really, Nightingale? Now there's a story I wouldn't mind hearing."
"It is not much of a story to tell," she said, but her smile was fond, her eyes distant as she watched the Herald and her Templar. "The Hero of Ferelden is an amazing woman. Strength, beauty, and cunning, all dedicated to saving those around her, and caring for those closest. It is very difficult not to love her."
"But?" he prompted quietly.
"But she loves her king, and he loves her far more than I ever could," she said, and smiled gently. "And I am content to be her friend. Are you not content with what little Bianca can give you?"
When she looked down, he met her gaze as best he could, weighing the words for what they were and what they really meant. But, in the end, he had to admit, "Most of the time. I could've loved her a whole lot more, though."
"If choices had been made differently," she noted. "So many things could be different, if only."
He chuckled. "True enough."
They returned their attention to the Inquisitor, who was finally getting a little less chaste. She and Cullen were starting to pull at one another – her feet were leaving the ground for moments at a time as she tried to gain height on him, and he was only too willing to help, even as that overbalanced them both. Varric idly wondered if Cullen would be any better at keeping his feet than the Inquisitor, who seemed to spend half her time adventuring sliding down steep slopes.
Hawke had never had that problem. Never walked too far, never jumped off anything she couldn't land from. Had a terrible habit of stubbing her toes because she misjudged corners, but her feet always found a solid path. For someone whose life spun so terribly out of control so often, Hawke had always seemed so rock-steady when moving forward.
Varric could count on his hands the number of times he saw Hawke properly falter. One hand, actually. Her brother, her mother, and after it all went to shit. Damn fool Anders.
"So what was so terrible about the royal couple's romance?" asked Varric. "I promise it won't see a day on the printed page."
"It was all Alistair," Leliana said, and took a long, practiced drink of wine before squinting at the memories. "He was too awkward. Too inexperienced in women, both for romance and life. In the man's defense, he was raised in the chantry to be a templar, and they looked down on such things. At least he wasn't embarrassed by his lack of experience. That can be such a problem in some men."
"I should tell you about Hawke's brother Carver some time," he said with a laugh. "Now there was a boy with inadequacy issues."
She giggled, and something warm curled in his chest. She should do it more often, he decided.
They remained silent for a few moments, but both frowned and straightened as Cullen pushed the Inquisitor up on the wall. Normally, with anyone else, it would have been a good decision. It allowed her better leverage and left his hands free to wander.
But, sure enough, barely a minute passed before the Inquisitor was true to form, leaned back just that little bit too far and promptly overbalanced, right off the wall. She yelped, but it was conveniently covered by dual shouts of alarm from Cullen and the poor guard she fell onto.
Varric choked and Leliana clapped a hand over her mouth, but neither dared make noise to give away their position. No matter how tempting it was to burst out laughing as the Inquisitor leapt to her feet with the expected "I'm fine! It's fine! Everything's fine!"
"Now come on, Nightingale," Varric said, as the Inquisitor tried to explain she was just taking one of her infamous shortcuts and Cullen tried to appear to be anywhere but where he was for any reason other than the one he was. "No way the King and Hero of Ferelden were worse than that."
"No, I must confess, while they were ridiculous, and Alistair was hopeless, the Hero always brings out the best in him. Even in flirting," she admitted. "But this is a man who began asking me how he should woo her with the question 'You're a woman, right?'."
"Wow. Is it true his first words as king-intended were 'this is normally the part where I realise I'm naked'?"
"Sadly, yes," she said, and handed him the bottle again. "Again, I will defend him by pointing out he was a little more concerned with the fact the love of his life had just proposed to him in front of the entire bannorn."
"What, like he wasn't expecting it?" he scoffed, but Leliana shrugged.
"At the time, they were both Wardens. They counted each day they survived a lucky one, and each day they had together was a blessing. And the choice should never have been hers."
"I did always find that weird," Varric admitted, taking another drink. "Why do people put all these important decisions on the shoulders of people who don't want to make them? Hawke never wanted to be a part of the war between mages and templars. I bet your Warden didn't want to be queen."
She shrugged again. "I believe the Maker chooses the best people to make the best decisions. As his children, all we can do is support and protect those he puts in place to make them."
"Right…" he said slowly, judging her expression carefully. He hesitated another moment, then decided to throw all his chips in. "You know I could have told Cassandra where Hawke was, all those years ago."
"And had I reason, I could have told her where the Warden went," she said, turning her head to meet his gaze so he couldn't flinch away. She was steady and scary, every bit of her the Left Hand, but the look in her eyes was familiar. He suspected he'd had the exact same one when Cassandra finally told him she was looking for Hawke for help. "We are all a part of the Maker's plan, Varric. Had he wanted us to put them in the Inquisitor's place, we would have."
He stared at her for a long time, not really sure what to make of that. In the end, he had to ask, "Why didn't you want the Warden to be Inquisitor?"
"It was not so much a matter of want. I would like nothing more than to have my Warden by my side again," she said. "But we all have our part to play. As much as the Warden is a hero, she is not an icon. She is no symbol, no agent of change. Just as Hawke was no leader of armies or strategic master. There are things our Inquisitor can do that neither of them are capable of. Tell me, Varric: had you given up Hawke, made her leader of the Inquisition all those years ago, do you truly think she could do what our Herald does?"
He looked back down at where the Inquisitor was now talking with Cassandra. The seeker had come running when she heard all the shouting, and now she was interrogating the Inquisitor to make sure she was alright. He wondered if she would have done that for Hawke.
Hawke… Hawke had been at the centre of so much change. Varric liked to pretend that Kirkwall would have blown up no matter what, but the simple truth was that it wouldn't have gone down the way it did if Hawke hadn't been there. But could she really have done what the Inquisitor was doing now?
Probably. Conquering keeps, fighting demons, all of that? If not for the rifts, then yeah – she probably could have done all of it. Probably a lot faster too – the Inquisitor was amazing, but she didn't fight the way Hawke could. Hawke probably wouldn't have looked quite so attractive in the process, given how scruffy she usually was, but beggars wouldn't have been choosers.
But it wasn't a question of could. Would she?
Would Hawke ride around the countryside, claiming regions for the Inquisition? Would she send armies and attend balls and… and make the sacrifices that the Inquisitor did with only a dark look and a nod? Would she be able to place an ideal so far above the lives of so many individual people?
"No," he mumbled, and Leliana nodded. "She'd be dead already."
"It is this kind of a truth that leaves us where we are now," she said. "It may be the choice of people, or the will of the Maker, but we must trust that things are the way they are because they should be."
"And what do you think it is, Nightingale?" he asked, unable to keep some of his frustration out of his tone. "You think the Maker's responsible for all this? It's not just… luck and chance and the Old Gods screwing with us?"
"I… I no longer know," she said. "Three years ago, I would have said it was the Maker's will. A year ago, it would have been nothing more than chance. And now… as I speak more to the Inquisitor, I… I realise…"
She trailed off, and he nodded, just as she had. "She kind of makes faith a little more tangible, doesn't she?"
"It is a curious test," she admitted. "One I would never have imagined."
"Think we're passing?"
"I only know that I would not make my choices differently," she said, and then smiled, straightening up like a woman much older than she looked. "We are, after all, where we are meant to be. Don't you think?"
"Yeah," he said, and smiled wider when she gestured for him to keep the bottle. "Yeah, I'm good here."
"A pleasure speaking with you, Varric," she said softly, and they both inclined their heads in farewell. "I have a commander in need of teasing."
He chuckled and turned back to watching the Inquisitor, leaving his fellow storyteller to her work. He was good where he was.