A/N: The Hawke mentioned here is my Siona Hawke, definitely not the one from the Vivat Hawke series that starts with Warden. Not the same continuity. Also, warning for a major character death.

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Varric puffed heavily, lungs aching as if they were like to burst as he crested the hill just outside Kirkwall. He paused at the top, dropping his gear and flopping over onto the soft grass. That whole Leandra thing had been a mess. He shuddered, then pulled the wineskin from his bag, taking a huge gulp. An awful mess. He didn't know if Hawke would ever fully recover.

"At least the breeze is nice up here, though. Right?" His hand caressed the cold stone before he leaned back against it.

Picking up his guitar, he began to tune it, his thoughts returning once more to Bethany. She'd been gone a long while already, but he couldn't help thinking about her, times like this. He'd been so relieved when Hawke said she wasn't going on the Deep Roads. Varric didn't tell her he agreed, but she had no business on such a trip. Too dangerous. Safer in Kirkwall. Aloud, he only told her that someone should stay with their mother, and now she was gone, too. Maker, what a mess. He sighed. Some people found trouble, and some people made trouble, but Hawke had trouble following her like a stray dog, hounding their every step.

He strummed a chord, nodding when it came out right, then poured some more wine into him before clearing his throat. "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone," he sang in a raspy baritone.

Bethany taught him the song, and wasn't that perfect? He'd sat just strumming nothing on the guitar, and she jumped in with those lyrics, slow smile growing as she watched him struggle to keep up with the chord changes for the unknown tune. Maker knew where she'd learned it. She either hadn't known, or wasn't saying, but that was okay; Varric liked a little mystery. In return, he'd taught her a few chords on the guitar. She hadn't been much good yet; her sound was more "alley cats yowling before either a fuck or a fight" than anything resembling music. That proud grin on her face when she got a chord right was worth all the discordant noise when she frequently didn't.

"It's not warm when she's away," he continued. She'd done better at the card games he introduced her to. Kid could bluff like nobody's business. Or maybe it was just that she smiled so big, all innocent, and no one could bear to call her bluffs. Hard to say no to her in general. She'd insisted on teaching him to knit, Stone knew why. He would have bet good money he'd never pick it up, but he sat there obediently knitting and purling under her watchful eye.

His fingers paused in their strumming to stroke at the scarf he wore, silky-soft fuzz against his fingertips. It was plenty chilly enough for a scarf. Sure it was. He hadn't made this one, though.

She had.

Varric strummed his chord again, leading himself back into the music. "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone," he sang, and wasn't that the truth. Before she'd gone, it had gotten to where he almost had to stop calling Broody "Broody." Even that sourpuss had learned to smile around her. And incidentally, learned to stop painting all mages with the same brush. Shit, he was practically arguing for leniency toward mages before she'd gone. Good character growth, for such a traumatic past. A shame he'd probably revert, now she was out of the story.

"And she's always gone too long …."

Way, way too long. He blinked, his eyes watering at the truth of that line. He was used to people coming in and out of his life, but Bethany's smile … he'd never get used to the idea of losing that. She was just so sweet to everyone. Hawke got the credit for pulling them all together as a family, but it was Bethany who'd made it feel like one. It was Bethany who told Broody and Blondie to play nice; Bethany who cleared her throat pointedly when Aveline and Rivaini started sniping at the dinner table, whenever enough of them came together to break bread. What were they going to do without her?

"Anytime she goes away." Suddenly choking, Varric grabbed for his wineskin. It just wasn't right. He rubbed at his chest where the familiar ache started again. He told himself it was the arrow-wound, but he knew better. She'd healed that right up; it wasn't the missing arrow that still hurt him so.

Picking up his guitar again, Varric placed his fingers once more, found his chord. "Wonder this time where she's gone." He kept expecting to see her around corners. Broody was even worse, poor kid. His eyes hollow and soulless, but they kept flaring back to life … every time a door opened, he became briefly animated again, strange necromancy that made a living man seem alive. Someone had to do something to pull him out of it. If this was a story, Varric would be tempted to have him turn himself in to his old master. Brutally angsty. People would weep. Unable to stand her not being around anymore, he goes …. But that hurt, too. They'd already lost too much of the family.

"Wonder if she's gone to stay."

What would they do the next time one of them got sick? You couldn't bother the healer for every damn case of the sniffles. It had always been Bethany with the warm soup, Bethany with the extra blankets, Bethany reading to the patient, no matter how many protests that it wasn't necessary. Varric had always appreciated it; she'd actually blush when she got to any racy scenes. He'd bet Fenris loved it too, just discovering the joys of the written word. Not to mention, listening to her read through those same racy scenes …. Broody must have incredible self-control, for her to not have gotten herself into trouble this whole time. Kind of a shame. He wouldn't mind watching them try to deal with wild little half-elf mages.

"Ain't no Sunshine when she's gone." Varric's voice cracked, his throat aching. That damn mage should never have gotten sick. If Blondie hadn't gotten sick, he would have gone on the Deep Roads. He should have gone. What, the damn healer couldn't have taken care of his own sniffles? Stupid croupy thing that left him too weak for a long journey after he did the damn healing. Magic was worse than useless for some things. He shuddered again, telling himself it was the cold breeze, and never mind that the scarf was keeping him warm enough to bake muffins.

"And this house just ain't no home." His voice was little more than a whisper now, pushing past the lump in his throat. His vision swam, and he reached blindly for the wineskin. Hawke walked around her big mansion like a ghost now, slack-faced and seemingly confused. He knew she must blame herself. She'd agreed reluctantly, but once Sunshine had argued they'd need a healer in the Deep Roads, just in case … she could hardly say no, could she? And Hawke had agreed, bringing Varric, Broody … and Sunshine.

"Anytime … she goes away."

Tears ran down his face openly now. Broody had howled when she hit the ground, forgetting that Blondie wasn't there. "Get Anders!" he'd screamed, his eyes wild. Varric closed his eyes, though he didn't need to to remember that. There were a lot of things he'd forget, but that note of desperation when Fenris called for their other healer, his nemesis, wasn't one of them. Even if Blondie had been there, there wasn't anything he could do to stop the taint. Broody knew that. They'd all known.

And then poor Broody insisted on carrying her back every step of the way, refusing to let anyone else touch her.

"And least he got you back here," Varric murmured, his hand running over the words on the smooth, cool stone behind him.

The wind blew again, and this time it chilled him, suddenly too cold with the sun setting behind the hill. "You don't mind if I cut this visit short, do you?" he asked, packing his wineskin away and strapping the guitar to his bag. The smooth stone, marked only with her name and "Beloved," did not answer. Varric hesitated a moment longer. He shivered, but his feet stayed rooted, unwilling to leave so soon.

"See you, Sunshine," he finally muttered, turning to make his way back into the town that no longer felt like home.