Disclaimer: BioWare owns all characters and apparently my soul. I can't write anything, except Dragon Age! *grumbles* Also, credit is due to *aimo on deviantART for the line "generous breasts, bountiful thighs." :D
The soft clinking of her distinctive armor gave away her presence. No one else would have been able to identify which of the armored men and women downstairs was heading for his door, but he was a rogue with a spy network to maintain. And as a member of the Merchant's Guild it was essential to his survival to know who was making late night calls to his suite.
She breezed in like she owned the place, which she kind of did, after she partnered with him to buy the Hanged Man. The Champion of Kirkwall, his best friend, and business partner carefully unstrapped her broadsword and leaned it up against the wall. He merely cocked an eyebrow as she softly closed the door and turned to face him.
"Ah, Hawke, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Waving his hand toward an empty chair, Varric stood and filled a clean mug from the fresh pitcher of ale on the table. With a slow nod of acceptance she sank to his level at his side. Raising the mug to her dainty lips she took a sip before speaking.
Varric was used to her quiet, contemplative moods and had learned over the years not to rush her, so instead he watched. Her brunette curls were pulled back into a half up-half down style she favored, her gray eyes seemed dim tonight, and he could see the restlessness in her body language as she spun the mug between her long, calloused fingers. It had been a while since he'd seen Hawke so unsettled. A small frown tugged at the dwarf's lips and he refrained from pushing her for information.
Heaving a sigh, Hawke's soft voice broke the silence. "You loved her, didn't you?" That was not what he had been expecting. If she'd said something about Meredith or Orsino his brain would probably have processed her words better.
"Huh?" Yep, his eloquence was failing him at the moment. Hawke idly twisted the ends of her hair around her fingers, still not meeting his eyes. "You'll have to be more specific, Hawke. If you are referring to Bianca's namesake, you know I'll never tell." Varric smirked, but it faded when she shook her head no. His brows drew together in confusion. "Who, Hawke, who did I love?"
Hawke swallowed thickly and whispered, "Bethany." Varric's world shifted and suddenly everything felt like it was upside down or underwater, because drowning would explain why he was gasping for air like a dying man. His partner still wasn't looking at him, choosing to stare at the cold, hard stone instead. "That's the second time in a month I've heard you telling a story about the Champion's sister."
"It's a side piece about your rise to power, Hawke." The storyteller tried to continue and divert her attention, but Hawke stopped him a glance. He shivered to see that the light in her unusual gray eyes was gone.
"No, Varric, it isn't. 'Hair black as a raven's wing, lips the color of fresh berries, generous bosom, and bountiful thighs' – I've never heard you describe me, the city's Champion, in such glorious detail." She gave a hollow laugh. "Somehow, I always come out sounding fat, while my sister, who died because of your brother's treachery, sounds like a princess from a fairytale."
The dwarf's heart stuttered. He'd never realized that Hawke actually paid attention to the little details. Vainly, he sought to think of a way out of this awkward discussion. Her next words, though, were cause for a heart attack.
"She told me about you two…before we went to the Deep Roads." Varric closed his eyes in pain, unconsciously clenching his hands into fists, and there would surely have been marks in his palms if not for his leather gloves. Hawke kept talking about the things he had tried so hard to forget so he could bury the agony. "Bethany was so young and she knew that going into the Deep Roads could be the last act of her short life, so she made a choice. So chose you, probably because you are a gentleman and a good friend, to be the man…to love her for one night. Unlike a fairytale princess, she did not wish to meet the Maker as a virgin."
Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult for the dwarf as the memory of that night flashed across his mind. He had tried to turn her away, to let her down gently, but she'd only smiled. "This is why I chose you, Varric, because you are a good man and would never want to take advantage of me. But you aren't taking advantage of someone who is more than willing." The warmth in her lively brown eyes and the reassurance in her smile had stilled his protests. Without regret, he had taken the young girl to his bed and loved her the way she deserved to be until they were both sated. When morning dawned on the couple the next day she'd kissed him sweetly and left him dazed and confused regarding his feelings for the younger Hawke. It was only after the Blight began to ravage her body and she begged for a quick death, that Varric knew his heart had truly died in the Deep Roads.
He opened his eyes when he heard a chair scrape across his floor. Hawke was leaning against the fireplace, casting her face in shadow so he couldn't read her expression, watching him with predatory eyes. Grimacing, he opened his fists and flexed his stiff fingers, "What do you want me to say, Hawke? You've known for years. Why bring it up now?"
Hawke gave a bitter laugh. "I guess, I'm just jealous. Ridiculous, isn't it, to be jealous of a dead sibling? But it wouldn't do for all of Kirkwall to know that their precious Champion is a virgin." Hanging her head she used her hair as a partial shield. "Nearly thirty years old and I've never had a lover."
Varric gaped at her in shock. "But…but what about the elf? He wears your house crest and a red armband! Everyone thought he was with you." Hawke rested her head against the cold stone wall and shook her head slightly.
"He's with Orana. I caught them one day and they swore me to secrecy. He wears my crest because she lives under my roof, but it's not because of me. And don't bother mentioning the rest of them. Isabela is gone, Maker take her, and the other two are mages with more problems than I want to take on." Angrily, she shoved her body away from the wall and turned her gaze to the stunned storyteller.
"Am I so drab…so ordinary, that no man in this entire city finds me attractive?" Varric could only shake his head. "Then why? Why am I nearly past childbearing age without a single tryst to show for it?" Hawke crumpled into the chair at the opposite end of the table, not even trying to hide the large tears that slid down her cheeks. She laughed mirthlessly at the shocked expression on her partner's face.
"I'm sure you are wondering why this even matters. I'm the Champion of Kirkwall, I slay High Dragons before breakfast, and I take down entire covens of blood mages without batting an eye! But I'm still a woman – I have feelings, I have moments when I would love to be curled against another warm body at night, someone who lets me be fragile. Or have you all forgotten that I am a woman?"
Varric looked down to hide his embarrassment. In all honesty, he hadn't thought of Hawke as a woman in many years. The bulky armor, her brutal strength, the quiet rage that simmered under the surface before a skirmish – it was quite difficult for him to see her as anyone, but Hawke. The Hawke he knew didn't have feelings or needs; she was a machine, relentless and efficient in dealing with Kirkwall's scum.
His silence was answer enough. "I see," she replied coldly. Varric raised his eyes to look at the sad woman across his table. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but her erratic breathing told him she was holding back sobs. He wanted to say something, anything, to make this better, but his silver-tongue was useless tonight. They sat in awkward silence as Hawke's sobs relented and she regained her composure. Her gray eyes were rimmed with red when she opened them again and Varric felt like the biggest nug-licker in all of Thedas.
Without a word she stood and re-sheathed her sword. Barely turning her head she spoke at the door, "I only wanted one man to notice me in all of my time here. I realized that I loved him a couple of years ago and was too proud to say anything. I'm afraid I lost my chance."
He jerked his head up at her words. "I'm sure you can catch this mystery man's eye. You're not nearly as helpless as Aveline," he chuckled at the memory of the guard-captain's unusual courtship. Hawke shook her head sadly. "Who is he, Hawke," he asked gently.
"You," she breathed before leaving his rooms, her armor clinking down the stairs, leaving Varric to restart his heart. They both knew there was room for only one Hawke in his heart, and even though she was long dead underground, she was alive in his memories and he would never be able to let her go.
"Oh, Sunshine, I'm so sorry. I think I broke your sister. Please forgive me, Bethany." Varric downed the last of his ale and went to bed where he dreamed of both Hawke women and what might have been in another life.
A/N: I don't normally ship Varric/Bethany, but this ficlet has been floating around in my head and I had to write it. This will remain a one-shot. Sorry for the sad ending.