Later that night, Hawke sought refuge in the Hanged Man, as per usual. It seemed that despite the drastic changes in power and the threat of bloodmages, people still found time to sit, drink and be merry.. Or, as merry as one could get passed out drunk in the corner. A cynical smirk crossed Hawke as she gazed toward the giant hanging man dangling over the entrance. Both a welcome and dreaded sight. With a deep breath, she mustered her courage before shoving the door open. No telling which group of drunken citizens waited inside. The men and women who insisted on the gorey details of Hawke's adventures? Or perhaps the slumming nobles that found it their sole right to tell Hawke what a horrible job she was doing? Still, the stench of alcohol, sweat and blood felt like a balm as Hawke entered. And after a moment of lingering worry, she was pleased to find no one shouting at her or calling her over. If only she could remain this blissfully invisible at all times.
"Hawke! Over here!" a familiar voice called, breaking her out of her wistful fantasy. Invisible, yeah right.
"Evening, Varric." Hawke smirked and made her way over, intent on ignoring the sudden stared and hushed whispered as people realized who had entered. Thanks a hell of a lot. "How is my favourite dwarf?" She crooned, sinfully sweet. He must have felt the sting of sarcasm, since he had winced and gave an apologetic smile. Like she would've gone unnoticed anyways.
"Great, now that you're here. We wanted to have a chat with you." He gestured to the seat infront of him as the woman at his right called out for another round. She then turned smiling eyes onto Hawke, and they both grinned at each other.
Ever since she met the beautiful pirate captain, Hawke had found a quick attraction to her. Not just because of her perfect dusky complexion, sinful gaze and ability to hold more liquor than ten men combined, but because they shared more ideals and dreams than initially thought. She had a sharp wit, jokes so inappropriate that even Varric blushed, and knew her way around a dagger or two even better than Hawke did. There was never any doubt that the two of them would become such good friends. Even if she'd known Aveline longer and considered the guard-captain a friend as well, there was nothing quite like spending time with the rowdy pirate captain in the Hanged Man.
"'Ello, Hawke." she smirked, already easing a full cup across the table. Hawke took it gracefully, downing half of its contents without a thought. The ale burned down her throat like liquid fire, washing away the last of her tension and relaxing her muscles. She heaved another sigh.
"That...was exactly what I needed after the hellish day I've suffered." Hawke whined, letting the ambient chatter and laughter hum into her suddenly very comfortable body. Isabela laughed, an infectious purr that had Hawke grinning along with her.
"That's me. I'm a helper." She rose a hand to her chest, eyelashes batting provocatively. Hawke chuckled, swirling the contents of her cup.
"I'll say. You've 'helped' yourself to my blades more times than I can count." she quipped, not missing a beat. Isabela laughed again, naturally drawing gazes from nearby men by the way she tossed her head back. The woman leaned forward again, tapping her fingers against the full bottle in her grip.
"What can I say? I see what I like, and I take it..' her warm brown eyes narrowed to stare intensely into Hawke's green ones. Going along with it, the redhead leaned in to grasp the bottle Isabela held, hand just above hers, their contrasting skin tones going well against the black tint of the bottle. Hawke pulled the bottle a little closer, as if to snatch it, but Isabela had leaned even closer, not willing to relinquish it to her grip. As if they were the only ones there, Hawke sighed and met Isabela's sensual grin with her own.
"I wasn't complaining, love..." she purred, leaning in until they were mere inches away. Heat lingered between them, breaths mingling, tasting of booze. Isabela licked her lips, and—
"As much as I'd love to watch you two make out, I really did have something to talk about." Varric interrupted, causing an uproar of, mostly, male shouts of disapproval. It was only then that Hawke realized that the whole tavern had fallen silent with rapt attention on the two women. She was used to stealing attention by being playfully flirtatious with the pirate, but not on this scale. That must have been drunker than originally suspected.
Laughing amongst the patrons, Hawke tossed herself back and rose her legs up to rest on the table. As if anyone would tell the Viscountess to put her feet down. Isabela smiled like a cat with a mouthful of cream. An analogy that had Hawke snickering, bringing the pilfered bottle to her lips for a nice drink. As if nothing happened, the pirate summoned another, politely accepting a bottle from one of the half dozen eager gentlemen suddenly at her side. And though she gave them a grateful smile, no further attention was granted. Smug, they both turned their gazes onto Varric, as the surrounding noise started up again. Just as amused by their antics, he chuckled a shook his head.
"That was almost as bad as that night you two tried pulling a double-seduction on poor Corff." he murmured, subtly tilting his head to indicate the tidy blond standing behind the bar counter. Both Hawke and Isabela turned to look at him, and when he happened to glance their way, Isabela gave him a saucy little wink. The flustered barkeep fumbled the glass bottle in his hand, effectively spilling its contents all over the counter. Hawke snickered, watching as the red-eared man turned his back to them. The posture immediately reminded her of the Seneschal, and her smile quickly died.
Her thoughts had been so cluttered with the Seneschal all day that she hadn't even remembered doing any sort of work. Which wasn't unusual for her, but something whispered in the back of her mind that she'd forgotten something important. Wasn't that just beautiful? She mused, tipping her head back for another generous swig of ale.
"Maker's breath, Hawke. Slow down or you won't remember anything until tomorrow." Varric warned.
"Isn't that usually the point? I've had a piss-poor day Varric, so excuse your silly outlandish stories for one night and let a girl—"
"I know where Anders is." he interrupted in a hushed tone. The booze collected on her tongue suddenly went tasteless. Even Isabela stopped to stare at the dwarf. Somehow managing not to choke on her own drink. Hawke forced herself to swallow, the lump of ale sliding down her throat with a painful squeeze. She stared at Varric in disbelief. Surely he was joking. As usual, right?
But something in his severe gaze wasn't right. Gone was the usual twinkle, a charm that rivaled hers, silver tongued enough to tell you sweet lies with such a relish you no longer saw the barrier between reality and fantasy. No, this time the storytelling dwarf was dead serious. Anders?
"You're shitting us, right dwarf?" Isabela attempted to laugh, though even that sounded strained. Varric shook his head, making the lump in Hawke's stomach grow more solid.
"If it were anything else, Rivani, I would be." After a brief glance upward, Varric leaned in, mouth a grim line. "I've had an ear out for Blondie's whereabouts. For a long time it really looked as if he'd disappeared completely. Until recently..." The happy-drunk Hawke had begun to feel now fell sour. It really was Anders, wasn't it? The main cause for Kirkwall's problems. And by association of the Viscountess, Hawke's problems as well. After destroying the chantry, with the Grand Cleric still inside, Kirkwall had erupted into chaos. It had taken weeks to calm things down, and even now the chantry was still in repair. It had been before Hawke was officially recognized as Viscountess, so she'd assumed Seneschal Bran had handled the bulk of the mess. When asked why he hadn't filled the position himself, Bran insisted being Seneschal was hassle enough.
Now that things were reasonably calm, search had begun for the mage responsible. But the renegade mage was slippery, she knew all too well. Having been running from templars and grey wardens all his life, Hawke knew Anders didn't need her help keeping safe. And she had truly wanted him safe. Despite all that happened, Anders was still a friend. Beneath all the lies, betrayal and lack of trust, she still—
"Hawke? You okay, hun?" Isabela asked breaking through her deep thought. Blinking, Hawke focused on the pirate captain's curious frown. Reality slid back into place, and Hawke realized she had gripped the bottle in her hand so tightly her knuckles went white. Swallowing, she let her grip loosen, eyes fixed on the table.
"Where is he?" she croaked, voice hoarse from the tightness in her throat. Isabela and Varric exchanged looks.
"Hawke... I think you should-"
"Where. Is. He." Hawke's shift in tone was almost a growl, eyes never leaving the table. Someone had drawn something inappropriately phallic on the tables surface, but it failed to raise her spirits. If Anders could be found, she was the only one who could do it. She would make damn sure she got to him first. She deserved that much.
"Well, I can't say for sure," Varric hesitated, worry heavy in his tone, "But rumor has it the 'Great Healer' who broke the chains binding mages everywhere is still nearby. In the only place common folk and templars are too afraid to search..." Varric trailed off, letting Hawke piece it together. There was only one place she knew that was so safe, yet so dangerous at the same time.
"The Deep Roads?" She whispered, the beginnings of a headache burning behind her eyes. At Varric's grim nod, Hawke's breath rushed out.
"But don't the grey warden's travel the Deep Roads?" disbelief plagued Hawke. Anders had hated the Deep Roads. It made little sense that he would hide there. Why hadn't he traveled out of the Free Marches? What was he waiting for?
"I wondered that myself. But you know how he is. A few grey wardens aren't enough to scare him away."
Varric was right. If Anders had fled to the Deep Roads, a place he knew better than the back of his hand, he could hide comfortably without fear of prosecution. For a while, anyways But it still didn't answer the question of why he was there. Why had he hid, rather than do what he did best, and run far, far away?
The brief image of the mage smashed into the front of Hawke's brain. The tall blond, face dusted with an attractive stubble, a saucy little smirk as he lured Hawke by the chin into a small alcove out of sight to their companions, eagerness shining in his blue eyes, and kissing her senseless in a rare and treasured moment of frisky playfulness. The memory hit her like a rampaging ogre, assaulting her senses; the feel of his lips on hers, the scratchy stubble, his strangely alluring masculine scent, of wild trees and hot nights. The breathless way he whispered her name, just before his tongue dominated her inviting mouth, tasting of thunderstorms. His irresistible blue eyes, pupils widened with desire so that only a thin band of blue remained.
"Hawke?"
Those moments were so rare. One moment, he'd be skulking behind the group, mumbling about templars, the next he's commenting on how sexy Hawke looked covered in blood, a devilish light dancing in his eyes. He had been excitingly confusing. A mystery, begging to be unraveled. Especially when he did that thing with his magic that—
"Hawke!" someone called louder.
Snapping out of her haze, Hawke sat up straighter, blinking. Varric looked worried, but Isabela looked...unhappy. Very unhappy.
"You okay? You look a little strange..." Varric, ever the watchful father-type, frowned and reached to take Hawke's drink away.
"Just a little?" Isabela sneered as Hawke danced the bottle out of Varric's reach. Disapproval was so heavy in her voice, it was almost as if she knew what Hawke had been thinking. With where her thoughts had been going, she wasn't surprised.
"I'm fine, Varric." She did her best to ignore the memory as it threatened to overtake her again. Destroyed the chantry, killed the Grand Cleric, started a war between mages and templars, broke your heart; her silent mantra, fingers gripping the bottle tightly. "I'm going to find him."
"What?!" The two shouted as one; Varric surprised, if not downright relieved, Isabela...angrier. What as her problem?
"Now?" Varric questioned, oblivious to the pirate's growing anger. Or perhaps ignoring it on purpose. Hawke shook her head, no intention of moving for a good long while.
"Of course not." Hawke huffed, taking another swig to ease her frazzled nerves. The two just stared at her.
"You sure you're okay?" Varric was still visibly worried, but Hawke waved him off, plastering her usual smile to ease his troubles.
"Of course! We're just going to have a nice chat." Hawke grunted, taping fingers against the bottle. Varric leaned back, apparently satisfied. Isabela, however, wanted nothing to do with it. Pushing from the table, she stood and stormed out, going relatively unnoticed as she exited the Hanged Man. They watched her go, Hawke's brow furrowed.
"What bit her ass?" half drunk, she hissed in the general direction of where Isabela had stormed off, then took another drink.
"For once, I have no idea." Varric murmured, his own thoughts closed off. The tension seemed to sift to nothing after that, giving Hawke time to work up to that memory-less state of inebriation they mentioned earlier. Every sip felt less and less relaxing than the last. Too much was on her mind. This whole day was just one big nug-shit. Nothing could quite make things worse.
"Serah Hawke!" a booming voice lanced through Hawke's headache, making her eyes pop open.
Nothing, expect perhaps Seneschal Bran coming by for a visit.
"Maker, Hawke. What did you do to the good Seneschal to make him so damn pissed? Kill his cat?" Varric whispered around his glass, the playful twinkle back in his eyes. Hawke could only groan as the Seneschal made his way over, steps loud and damning. She didn't dare look at him, even as he now stood at her side.
"And how, by Andraste's tits, did you find me here?" The woman growled, a whole lot more disrespectfully than intended. Even Varric choked on his drink in surprise. Bran, however, took it all in stride, leaning over to hiss in her head.
"I followed the stench of chaos and failure. Have you no concern for Kirkwall? As Seneschal to this sorry excuse for a Viscountess, I cannot permit such an important figurehead to be seen slumming with riffraff while Kirkwall has demands that must be met!" He sounded furious, one hand firmly planted on her shoulder, lacking all the gentleness of their earlier conversation. Hawke winced and finally looked up at him, all of Thedas' disappointment resting in the Seneschal's fiery gaze. It was all she could do not to shrink away from it. When she had flinched, Bran's hand tightened, lips pursed and jaw tight. Thankfully, Varric had recovered, interrupting with a good-natured smile.
"Come now, Seneschal. Isn't the Viscountess allowed a night off once in a while?" he offered, practically flinching when the man's faze cut through him.
"There is a difference between a night off and every night off, Ser dwarf. And Serah Hawke has been neglecting far too many of Kirkwall's concerns too take such liberties." Bran growled, piercing gaze back onto Hawke, at the moment trying not to list too far to the side, nearly toppling over. Varric cleared his throat.
"Ah, as you can see, our dear Viscountess is a bit too...occupied, to fully understand her mistakes at the moment. Perhaps you should reprimand her when she's awake and sober? Might I suggest early morning, when her headache is in it's early stages?" Varric turned on the charm, grinning up at the Seneschal. He released Hawke's shoulder, after subconsciously catching her from the topple and leaning her more fully onto the back of her chair. He thought for a moment, staring down at her unfocused eyes, fixed on the ceiling with a hazy concentration.
"Perhaps...you are correct, dwarf." He finally settled on a thought, straightening and adjusting his cuffs. "I will speak to Serah Hawke on the morrow." shoulders relaxing, he prepared to leave.
"While you're here, why not stay for a drink? Help you relax a little? Hawke is a funny drunk." Varric laughing, eying the woman, who had begun to complain incoherently to the ceiling. The Seneschal watched her for a moment, an unshared thought crossing his face. A moment passed before he set to leaving once more.
"A generous offer, but I will have to decline. A man of my standards has little need for such...company." The proper man dusted at himself and wandered back to the entrance. Varric watched him go, curiously looking back Hawke. If he wasn't mistaken, he would've sworn something happened between them.
"Varric! The ceiling is falling again!" Hawke gasped, horrified. The dwarf only chuckled, shaking his head. No use asking about it now.