I Digress
Side drabble in the fashion of the Bianca Hawke Trilogy

Pairing: Varric/f!Hawke

Summary & Author's Note: This is a brief-ish scene from before Varric learned Hawke's first name, takes place as part flashback and I technically consider it a 'prequel', though there will be a flash-forwards to someplace between parts one and two. No naughty fun-times, at least not detailed naughty fun-times in this one, just some fluff filler, a muse I had to sate before I could get back on track for part two.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The columns were ancient and decrepit, the floors that had once been darkly elegant marble were disintegrating slabs cracked open by extending, ominous red fingers of lyrium and the heat was unbearable. Lava made for sufficient, consistent lighting but the heat…how his ancestors had tolerated such conditions day in and day out was completely beyond him. The ceilings were collapsing in places and offering only room enough to crawl through while lying flat on the stomach, with crops of darkspawn sprouting around corners and grotesque beasties waiting in the shadows, and Varric had long since hit the end of his patience with this venture.

Anger, hotter than the molten rock was palpable in the air, impatience and hunger cutting in sharply to add fuel to the flames. Varric had not unclenched his fists in days, it seemed. Anders had been so good as to inform him he had begun grinding his teeth while he slept, and it accounted only for part of the migraine that had followed him since Bartrand had locked them into an ancient dwarven vault to rot. He moved diligently, one foot in front of the other with visions of his brother suffering endless tortures to spur him along. His aim had been lethally accurate, his attention unbroken and his companions had made great efforts to stay out of his way. Every once in a while he would catch Hawke's eye, her expressions varying between worry, impatience and an ire nearly as profound as his but she never said a word outside of combat commands. Fenris remained as stoic as always, spinning through enemies without falter and never failing to provide meat when they were running low. Anders had a comment or two about his lack of fondness for the Deep Roads, but aside from alerting the others to the presence of darkspawn he had nothing conversational to say. The black mood that encircled the troupe was contagious, for their foes had seemed equally as vicious and fatigue was starting to take its toll by the time they reached a suitable place to camp that night. Varric's nerve endings were feeling rather raw, the number of days they'd spent wandering in search of an exit escaping him but they pushed forward, diligently hoping the next turn would grace them with sunlight.

Heavily laden with gold and jewels, finery and rare crystals, the large key that had released them from the depths of a demon's playground, even all of these riches could not turn a smile on any face while they remained lost in the Deep Roads. Their meager camp was set up, memories of the colossal rock wraith that had assaulted them still fresh in their minds as they stoked a small fire and gathered around. Varric could not be certain if it was dinner or breakfast, but his feet ached from hours of walking and running and fighting, and they were all hungry.

"I think I may be having an allergic reaction to this place…" Anders mumbled, accepting a strip of dry deep stalker meat without great enthusiasm and Hawke snorted.

"I just want to hit something, over and over and over…"
"We've been hitting everything we come across! But, I must admit I wouldn't mind hitting someone in particular," the mage answered, the shadow of a smile touching his face and Varric felt his lip twitch. Being clever or sociable at the moment was going to be difficult, and he decided not to say anything. Hawke was not unobservant of his silence, and this night it seemed she would not ignore it in his favor.

"Think the bastard will make it out of here without us?" she asked, and Varric huffed.
"If we're lucky? We'll trip over his corpse on the way out."

Even Fenris seemed amused, but the conversation dropped away after as the meat was finished and first watch was drawn. Varric found a comfortable position at the edge of the nook they'd claimed, the others curling up on whatever soft clothing they had against the unyielding turf. Most of their gear was in the hands of Bartrand and the rest of the expedition, just one more reason to be so infuriated and Varric frowned openly in distaste. The raw nerve of that man unhinged him, but he kept his attention focused on the hall they had stopped in. An ominous opening about a hundred yards to his left yawned in the darkness, a soft amber glow from old lyrium and lava highlighted the outer edges of the walls and the walkway. Carvings of paragons beyond recollection studded the walls every few feet, wielding hammers and swords and axes, beards falling to their belts, their faces grim in the dull light. They had to be getting closer to the surface, the thaig they had plundered and the room they had been locked in was ancient and unrecognizable, no paragons mounting their steps, none of the trademark designs carved into the walls. The further they moved the more dwarven culture he could identify, but he was no historian and he certainly wasn't very good at judging direction when they constantly had to stray from the well beaten path and there were no stars to guide them. Most of the forks they had come across had been decided by a guess, a flip of a coin, or by a cursory glance if one way happened to be littered with corpses. Shadows played through the corridor in an eerie way, the flames from behind him making the black shapes dance, and Varric kept a taut grip on his crossbow.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

She was floating, a breeze lifting her higher as she soared through the clear blue skies, warm sunlight beating on her shoulders as a smile stretched her face. Absolutely weightless she ducked and dove lazily through clouds, birds soaring with her at times, a sweet smell on the air that reminded her of home, of the farm and the smithy and Lothering. She wore a pale green dress, cinched at the waist with a studded leather belt, shoeless with her hair flowing behind her. A ribbon tickled her cheek, and she realized she was wearing the dress her mother had made her for her tenth birthday, trimmed in white lace and embroidered with flowers. She'd hated this dress, had asked for boiled leather and mail to better practice in and instead her mother had given her something frilly and useless. Wearing it now she felt almost innocent again, the fabric soft against her skin and the unmistakable sense of freedom overwhelmed her. To fly away, maybe never to return, to never look back…

She flew for what seemed to be years, before little tugs on her skirts drew her eyes behind her. Boris, Carver, Bethany, mother and father held hand to hand, with fingers clinging gently to her clothing all stared up at her. They were smiling, they were happy. Her mother was laughing, Bethany wearing the robes she'd sewn herself, Carver proudly bearing his broad sword, her father with his dark brown hair and knowing blue eyes, and Boris with his gentle nod and familiar, soot stained clothes. And then she was falling, slowly at first but picking up speed, wisps of clouds and rain making her cold as they passed. Ash started to fill her lungs, the sky was blackening and the expressions on her family's faces were twisting in pain…

Before she could think to reach for them her father let go. Her mother cried out mournfully, Bethany began to sob and Carver scowled, enraged and staring directly at her. She shouted to her father as he disappeared, his mouth moving but making no sound. She begged for him to speak louder, she had not heard him, but he was gone, a tiny speck on the backdrop of a gathering storm. She looked back in front of her, the earth was coming up to meet them, lines marking distant farmlands still far enough away to make it seem as if she were reading a map. Rivers forked and cut through the green like veins, the subtle rise and fall of a mountain range separating a great expanse of ocean from a flat yellow desert. There was a soft ripping sound, a pressure at her shoulders and she clutched at the fabric. Looking back she watched in horror as Carver yanked and yanked, blood oozing from his mouth, his eyes black with corruption. Boris was giving her a bitter grin, coal black beard whipping in the wind and she realized she recognized that expression; it was the last smile he'd ever given her after forcing her to leave him to his fate. A heartbeat later the smith let go willingly, that determined, resigned look dignifying his features before Carver roared, his chest caving in and he lost his grip as well. The two flew away lifelessly to join her father, and Hawke felt tears building so violently she thought her head might explode.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Varric turned at the first whimper, seeing a huddled form shift and roll before determining that it had been Hawke who'd made the noise. He wondered if she were asleep, or if only moaning in stiffness from their travels, but returned his eyes to his watch regardless. It was not unusual that any one of them were to have nightmares from this place and the things they'd seen, Varric himself not immune to the anxiety that dominated their days. He occasionally dreamed, and when he did anymore it was of his brother literally stabbing him in the back, the resounding boom of the stone vault closing and locking, the massive amounts of rock and dirt and death hovering over their heads just itching to crash down on top of them. Near every morning he would awake covered in sweat, curses on the tip of his tongue and frustrated before his eyes even opened. He only hated more the fact that he'd dragged a woman like Hawke into this mess, she had done nothing to deserve such punishment and the more ragged and worn down she became the more he blamed himself.

The warrior was dedicated and honest, a person whom truly just wanted to do what was best for her family, including those close enough to her. Her easy-going nature and ruthless battle prowess had drawn him to her in the first place. After they'd come to an arrangement he found it was a mere bonus that she be quick witted with a sharp tongue and an uncensored opinion to keep things interesting, and Varric rather enjoyed her company. Trapping people he might consider 'friends' deep under the surface of the land was not how he liked to conduct business, and Hawke was a partner to top it all off. He sighed as he felt the guilt sneak up on him, resentment hot on its heels once more.

Another rustle and another moan almost made him stand, the sheer anguish in the sound putting him on alert. The other two men were unmoved, Fenris snoring lightly and Anders silent as the gray rocks that surrounded them. Varric debated on whether or not to wake her, he did not know if she would get louder but did not want to disturb her rest. An arm flung out from her side, grasping at the floor as if reaching for something, desperation in her body pulling the muscles rigid and Varric watched silently.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Heat was licking at her face, she was plummeting into the flames, her mother and sister still clinging to her with sharp nails and sobbing mewls. The ground was growing dark as it burned, roads were becoming visible, tree lines more easily noticed and she started to fear the gravity that was drawing her into its crushing embrace. A yelping scream rang in her ears, a final give of the seams in her dress and Bethany was gone in the blink of an eye, most of her green skirts leaving with her. She did not fade away as the others had, just vanished into the swirling vortex that was beginning to form around them and Hawke opened her mouth to scream. No sound made it out, though her throat felt burnt and raw when she stopped putting forth the effort.

Voices were ringing around her, and she spun in frantic circles to see where they were coming from, her hand reaching back in reflex to grab the hilt of a weapon though she had none. Anders flitted into view his eyes glowing an icy blue as Justice glowered at her, but he was gone with a brilliant red burst of energy before she could think to say something. Fenris and Isabella and Aveline and Merrill all drifted just out of reaching distance for mere minutes before becoming lost in the winds as well. Other faces, faces she had not seen in a very long time and faces she did not know entirely came in and out of focus, words in languages she did not understand reaching her ears. Her chest tightened as more details of the world below were becoming more visible, the blotchy shapes of buildings, the expanses of cities and lakes and large packs of wild animals. The smell of burning bodies became so thick she thought she would choke, and for a minute she forgot about her mother. When she turned once more the woman was gone, her voice whispering 'take care of your sister…' as her body grew smaller and farther away. Hawke was alone, surrounded by a violent storm, fire reaching for her like cracking whips, shards of ice stinging her cheeks and she couldn't tell if she was crying or bleeding. Everyone, the storm had taken everyone from her, she would die this way…

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hawke thrashed suddenly, part anger and part wretched sorrow, a line of tears streaming from the corners of her eyes and back into her hair and collar. Varric stood uneasy, glancing at the opening of their hide-out and the other sleeping men in turn. Never had he seen the woman so vulnerable, not in the months they'd been acquainted and to see someone so formidable shedding tears, even whilst dreaming was twisting his stomach. He decided he would wake her if she started to scream, or hurt herself, or hurt someone else, but until then he would let her be. It was just an old fishwives' tale, but it was bad luck to wake someone in the throes of a nightmare, they said by 'saving' them from their demons you took them on yourself and whether it was true or not Varric wasn't too keen on finding out. The greater fear was of touching the warrior and ending up with a broken nose or worse, and he shifted Bianca from one hand to the other.

After another moment he backed away quietly, he needed to keep an eye on the hall which was his current duty and just let Hawke ride through the worst of it on her way to a deeper sleep. She gasped so suddenly he almost tripped over his own feet when he turned back, but she hadn't woken up and he grumbled a curse under his breath. He was going to be jumpy until she calmed down, and taking a seat closer to her in case he needed to wake her quickly he settled into sharpening Bianca's bayonet quietly.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

She was plummeting into a burning city with unrealistically high walls, crumbling buildings lined blood stained streets filled with bodies, ravens circling and picking at the rotting flesh of men, women and children of all races, even Qunari. She thought she recognized the Hanged Man but she couldn't be sure, everything was moving so fast now. Soon she would be just another splatter on the cobblestone, another pile of meat for the scavenging birds to feast upon, and she felt the fear rising in her throat like bile. It was too soon, she couldn't die yet, not here and not like this, in this ruin of a city with no one by her side.

A sound started to drift up to her, she almost missed it for the screaming of the wind in her ears but it was there. Like the clanging of hammers on an anvil, the hissing of steam and the scrape of a whetstone. It was getting louder and louder until the metallic singing was all she could hear, and it was oddly comforting. Her dress was in ruins, the smog lifting from the raging fires blackening what was left of the fabric and her skin, her hair disintegrating in the heat until it was shorter than she'd ever worn it and nearing bald. Subtle colors were rising out of the black and red that awaited her, and a small plot of sidewalk came into focus directly before her. The stones were clean as if the battle that had taken the city hit everything except this one spot, where a dark figure stood alive and waiting.

She gasped, she was going to hit the person whoever they were, and they would both die. She flailed, arms and legs swinging wildly as she attempted to change course, to slow down, to do anything. But it couldn't be helped, it even seemed as though she were moving faster than before and her cheeks grew wet once more. This time she knew it was tears, and an unwilling resignation started to take over. She was doomed to take people down around her, and with her, no matter how hard she tried to fight against it or prevent it.

The whetstone was in the hands of the man waiting, he was working it over a wicked looking blade, strawberry blonde hair ablaze in color from the surrounding fires, a brown leather coat fitting snug around broad shoulders. Hawke squinted as the wind blew heavily into her face when the man looked straight up at her, a crooked smile and brilliant golden eyes and she heard her voice ring out like an echo in a small cave…

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Varric…"

His head snapped around, the stone in his hand poised along the edge of his blade and his eyes widening. Her voice had been so soft, but he'd heard the desperation, the surprise in her tone. Hawke had just called out his name in her sleep, and he sat completely motionless in his own shock. She was still dreaming, whether it was still a nightmare or not remained to be seen and he hoped his dream-self wasn't torturing the woman. It would be understandable if she was angry with him or felt mistrust towards him because of Bartrand, and Varric was overcome with the sudden need to make this up to her somehow.

Her fingers flexed, her tears slowing and the muscles in her legs relaxing. In case he may have missed it or assumed he was hearing things, his name slipped from her lips again, but it was relief he heard this time and his curiosity got the better of him. Kneeling closer to her side he placed Bianca just within reach, and held still to try and decipher some of the other words that were managing to escape.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

She wasn't sure when it had happened but her descent had slowed almost to a crawl over the last twenty feet, the sound of the scraping metal halting entirely and a new smell, a pleasantly masculine smell made her heart ache. It was as if everything around her had slowed, the roar of flames was a background lull, the screeching of crows was many octaves deeper, and the smile on Varric's face morphed gradually from sarcastic to sincere. She couldn't help herself; she reached out for him, stretching her arms as far as she could. Everything about him was suddenly so familiar, so reassuring and she wanted it, wanted to touch this feeling with her hands and press her nose into that shirt to breathe in that warm scent. She wanted it more than she had wanted anything in her life.

Hawke…

His voice, like a smooth barrel aged whisky resounded from a great distance, as if he were so much farther away than right beneath her and his arms came up in beckoning. Would he catch her, or let her fall? Was all of this too good to be true, the emotions confused, the mind manipulated? Was it just because it had been a very long time since she had arms to run into that did not belong to family?

Hawke.

This time it was closer and heavier, and she noticed that even though it was very much his voice she was hearing his lips were not moving. The grin was saddening, the eyes deepening until they were swirling pools but his arms still awaited her, and she pushed against the current that kept her moving. It felt like an invisible wall was holding her back, keeping her from her destination as long as it possibly could and she struggled against it. Sensations that were not congruent with her surroundings started to prickle her senses, cold stone against her cheek though she touched nothing, a wavering at the peripherals like heat waves dancing on a hot summer day. It was starting to dawn on her that this was all a dream…

Hawke!

Varric was standing as tall as he could; their fingers were inches apart and fierce determination set into the man's face. Details of him became vivid while all of the rest of the world was fading away, the golden stitching in his red linen shirt, the laugh lines around his eyes, the subtle smell of musk and ink she'd always associated with him, though she hadn't realized until just now. Hawke could feel every muscle straining, her nerves protesting the tension, if she could just touch his hand, grab a hold on his wrist he could pull her back to earth and all of this chaos, all of this loss and failure and misery would be gone. Somehow she just knew he could make it all better, could make all of this pain worth it…

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Hawke!" he called again, as loudly as he dared and when she made no move to wake he gave up and reached out for her.

The moment his hands touched her shoulders her eyes snapped open and she gasped awake, fresh tears immediately pooled at the corners of her lids and quick as lightening she was in his arms, her face buried in his chest. Her body quaked, all of her strength in her fingers as she gripped at his shoulder blades hard and shivered. Varric hesitated where he knelt, before he held her in turn, palms falling to rest nervously against her back. This was a side he had never seen from her, and the intimate touch had his heart racing though he couldn't say why. It wasn't like he'd never hugged another person before during a time of anguish, but this was Hawke he was dealing with.

"Thank you…" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and Varric tightened his grip.

He didn't answer, he didn't know why she was thanking him, but he held her all the same until she started to relax. When she sat up it seemed reality was finally settling over her, and she turned to roughly wipe away the wetness on her cheeks. It was obvious she was still shaken from whatever she had seen, and Varric reached into one of his deep pockets for the small flask he usually kept on his person during travels. It was nearing empty, but he handed it to her wordlessly and she took it, pulling deeply before screwing the metal lid back in place and returning it.

"I'll take over the rest of your watch." She said after a few minutes, collecting herself more fully but avoiding his gaze.

"That's not necessary…"
"I'm going to be awake anyway; you might as well take advantage of the extra sleep."

Varric stared at her, wondering if she realized she had been talking while she dreamt, wondering if she remembered dreaming about him, but he refrained from asking. He took a drink from the flask instead, and sat down with legs crossed between the dying fire and the fatigued warrior. He studied her profile for a heartbeat, noting the elegant lines that had been marred by dirt and blood, her dark auburn hair wild from lack of a brush, and for that heartbeat he thought he felt something deeper stir.

"We'll make it out of here, I promise." He heard himself saying, and realized too late he had spoken out loud. The reassuring words had been almost tender, and they brought Hawke's brown eyes back around to him, her face a little puffy from crying and the word beautiful passed fleetingly through his mind. It pleased him more than he could say when she smirked at him in a style he was more accustomed to seeing, before she rose from the ground on steady legs.

"You haven't let me down yet," she answered flippantly, but the sincerity was there for him to pick up on as she moved away, taking maul in hand and stepping into the hallway beyond. He watched her go, drinking the last from his flask before shaking his head. What a strange journey this was turning out to be.

.-.-.-.-.-.-. [Flash-forward].-.-.-.-.-.-.

"I do remember that night," Varric said, swirling a goblet of spiced wine and grinning at Hawke, who sat opposite him in a matching armchair. "And you're telling me this is why you chopped all your hair off?"

Hawke reached up and ran a hand through her ear length hair, the short strands flipping through her fingers, "That's just a coincidence; I was getting sick of it always being in my face."

She paused and narrowed her eyes, "And your avoiding my original question, did I or didn't I say anything in my sleep?" she asked, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, her foot rising and falling gently to an unheard beat. Varric took a drink lazily, watching the impatience starting to win over on his lover's face. He knew he would always enjoy pushing her buttons, especially when she made it so easy.

"I haven't heard you talking in your sleep before…"
"That's a lie, how else would Isabella know about that particularly alarming dream involving the Arishok…?"
"Another coincidence, or mayhap she peeped in your window."
"I'd hang her from the sill by her hair if I ever caught her spying on me, and you're lucky I didn't do the same to you for making my dreams part of the gossip circuit."

Hawke's voice took on that edge that warned him real frustration was on the horizon, and he toned it back a bit. The grand library in her home smelled of parchment and ink, the rushes adding a touch of cinnamon to the aroma and he contemplated his answer. The walls were adorned with coats of armor, the sigil of the Amell house, a proud eagle clutching crossed swords in dark green and white, coupled with the newly established sigil of the Hawkes, a dragon breaking away from thick chains in black and gold, small red details making it seem as if the dragon had just made a kill. A large idol from the Tevinter Imperium hung above one of the many fireplaces in the mansion, looming ominously over where they were seated and Varric made it a point not to stare at the monstrous face for too long. A book rested heavily in his lap, his person reclined comfortably in loose fitting pants and a linen long sleeved shirt that he had rolled up to his elbows. Hawke was dressed in a similar fashion, a heady bottle of wine between them on an end table made of polished mahogany and her newly acquired mabari war hound dozing at their feet. It was odd how much nights spent together made them forget how senseless their lives really were, but any amount of down time was well cherished and there was no one he'd rather spend it with than the woman in front of him.

They'd been here since before dinner had been served, and somehow the conversation had gone to the topic of dreams. Hawke had spent the better part of the last hour trying to remind him of that night lost in the Deep Roads, and he'd played coy until she got to the end. What he really wanted to know was what she had been dreaming about, so far she'd only told him she had lost her hair and woke up in his arms. It had been a nagging thought in the back of his mind ever since it had happened but never had he received an explanation for her outburst. He was willing to chalk it up to stress, but she had brought the topic back up after so long and he couldn't help himself from teasing her a little bit.

"Ok, fine. You did and still do talk in your sleep. I don't see how having that knowledge will benefit you in anything."
"It does in a way…do you remember what I said?" She was looking at him fixedly, though he couldn't decipher the expression it seemed to be a mix of passionate curiosity and apprehension. It made him stop as the memory of that night came back again, fresh as if it had happened yesterday. He would never forget the way she'd called out to him or the look in her eyes when she awoke to see him hovering above her worriedly, she had needed him and he had been fortunate enough to have been there for her. She hadn't spoken of it since, and he had assumed the dream had just gone away like dreams are want to do. No matter the circumstances or the end result it was only a nightmare.

"You said my name," he finally answered, and she cocked an eyebrow, though did not appear surprised.

"Were you saying mine?"
"When I tried to wake you, yes. And since we're questioning it, do you remember what you were even dreaming about?"
"I do,"
"Mmm, and are you going to tell me or do you expect me to beg for it?"

A smile lit up her features. "That's a rough call, I'm sure you could beg rather sweetly if needed."
"I beg of no one, my lady."

She sat forward in her chair, the wood creaking slightly as her weight shifted and she leant her elbows on her knees. A twist of hair fell across her brow, those dark eyes so much older than they had been in the first year he'd known her.

"I was falling, I was losing everything that mattered to me and you caught me. When I opened my eyes it was as if you had pulled me straight out of the dream itself." She said quietly, and his throat constricted, his expression softening. "You kept me sane while we were lost down there, even if you were a huge distraction for me after that."

He didn't miss a beat, "Please you must elaborate, how exactly was I distracting?"
"Did I say you? I meant Bianca, Maker what a sexy crossbow, and with such a sophisticated name…" She fanned herself with a touch of flare, and Varric cocked a brow. "She's just lucky you never leave her alone."
"Is that so? Hmph, I knew you were just using me to get to her."
"And now that you've found me out, it would probably be best if you leave, without her of course."

He threw his bookmark, a paper thin strip of polished wood at her and she leapt from her chair, laughing as she crashed into him and they fell in a tangle to the floor. The hound, Augustus he'd been named was up and wagging his stubby tail at the first bit of commotion, his coat freshly cleaned and glistening amber in the candle light. He barked happily, running circles around the two wrestling on the floor, Hawke's mirth filling the cavernous room and the house beyond before Varric got an arm up on her and pinned the lithe, flexible body beneath his in triumph.

"Do you yield?" he demanded in a playfully stern voice, and Hawke wrinkled her nose.

"Never!" she cried dramatically, and swung her legs up to wrap around his midsection before a surprising surge of strength put her back on top. He let it happen, though it was not often he ever went easy on her, she was powerful for her build and he enjoyed being the dominant roll, but every now and again he liked to see her exultant smirk, to hear her hoot and holler and carry on as if there weren't a care in the world except the wrestling match she'd just conquered. She was straddling him when he relaxed into the defeat, her smile contagious as she bent over to plant a loving kiss on his lips. He couldn't help it, between her smell and her weight shifting in his lap he reached up to wrap hands around her hips and pulled, effectively grinding against her and she gasped quietly.

"Mmm, none of that out here ser, you know how I feel about the others walking in on us,"
"I think those three have enough sense to stray away from sounds of passion rather than to seek it out."
"One could only hope, though I think Bodahn might be a closet freak…"
"You think this do you? Or are you just hinting at your own wild fantasies?"

She laughed, "Absurd!"
"I would whole-heartedly believe it if you told me you always wanted to be with two men, especially if it were specified to be two dwarven men," she wriggled in his grasp and he smirked. "Though I cannot say that I would be willing to share."

She stopped to look at him, something soft falling across her expression before she bent to kiss him again. "Nor can I," she murmured, and Varric took advantage of her distraction to roll her to her back. Another laugh bubbled up from her throat, her fingers running into his hair and her legs tightening around his waist. He kissed her cheekbone, and then her ear and her neck and she sighed.

"Well, I suppose since we won't be doing any of that sharing crap then, tis only fair if we give the poor buggers a chance to watch…at the very least." She said casually, and he leant back to look at her. "Just do me a favor, and make it a good show."

A devious grin spread on his face, and she shivered under that intense stare. "Don't worry, lover. After I'm finished with you, you won't ever dream about anything or anyone else…and neither will they."

~*~ [fin]