Varric considered taking a swan dive off the keep if he didn't get out of the damned meeting in five minutes. The room was stuffy and stale, he'd run out of ale ages ago, and he was nearly certain Hawke was sleeping with her eyes open. If his legs were longer, he'd kick her chair just to watch her fall out of it.
He didn't even know what the nobles were discussing anymore. They were supposed to be figuring out how to raise funds to re-equip the city guard. Unfortunately, it looked like it would just be damn easier to pulls some strings and pay for it himself.
He was still pondering how best to bring this damned gathering to an end when the door burst open, hinges protesting noisily. Hawke startled awake in her chair, blearily staring at the slobbering mountain of fur that had barged in, knocking one lord off his ass and onto the floor before jumping up at the table and barking at Hawke.
"Lucia, down." Hawke reprimanded mildly. The mabari barked again, tongue lolling happily from the corner of her mouth. The dog jumped off the table, before attempting to crawl under it to get to Hawke. It would have worked, if the mabari wasn't massive. The dog shook the whole table, sending glasses and papers flying. Hawke laughed, shaking her head as she stood.
"Messere Hawke, your hound…" One of the counts began.
"Isn't she sweet?" Hawke cooed in delight. Varric snorted and Hawke's mischievous blue eyes flicked to him. "She must be hungry. You know, I watched a mabari eat a man once."
The count's jaw snapped shut with an audible click and Varric pushed himself away from the table. "Well, that's it for today then." He stated firmly. "Let's get your maneater her meal, Hawke."
Unfortunately, Bran ambushed them as soon as they emerged. He looked particularly harassed and his beady eyes fixed on Hawke immediately. "I told you I needed the seating chart by this afternoon! How am I supposed to…"
Hawke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Bran, I don't give a damn if they stand. We've got real problems, you know."
Bran, as he always did when he was talking to Hawke, began to turn an interesting shade of red. He looked apoplectic and directed his bulging gaze down at Varric. "Bran, you need to relax. You're going to have a stroke." Varric advised.
"Stand! You'd ask the oldest and most respected nobility in Kirkwall to…"
Hawke pushed past Bran without another word, beaming at the tanned elf mounting the steps. "Sending Lucia to fetch me? You've certainly earned a reward, Ser." Hawke purred, slinging her arms around Fenris's neck.
Fenris raised an eyebrow, but even he looked pleased with himself. "It was not my idea, sadly. I have finished your blasted chart."
"No! Really?" Hawke's smile broadened as she took the proffered papers from Fenris, flipping through them with a relish before turning on her heel and damn near throwing them at Bran. "Look, done."
"You… allowed your… husband to do this?" Bran tried, to his credit, to keep his tone carefully neutral. "With respect, I hardly think Ser Hawke is qualified…"
Hawke's smile took on a sharp edge as Bran looked down at the pages. He read them, slowly, his brow furrowing. "Well, they appear fine…"
"I believe all feuds, marriages, trade deals, and estate boundaries have been taken into account." Fenris said dryly. "Although, it will most likely change twice more in two days."
"I did not expect such a grasp of the nuances from…from..." Bran stammered.
"An elf?" Varric supplied helpfully. "Or the Champion of Kirkwall's husband?"
"I think you should thank him." Hawke tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear with deceptive casualness. "Don't you think he should, Varric?"
"A public thank you." Varric decreed. "Perhaps a toast to his effort during dinner this evening?"
"That is not necessary." Fenris shook his head in distaste. "Perhaps Bran has something useful to accomplish. Elsewhere."
Bran took the dismissal as the merciful escape opportunity it was. Hawke glared after him, then tipped her chin to look back up at Fenris. "Thank you, amatus. You should have let us torture him some more, though."
"I did not actually complete the seating charts." Fenris admitted. "I had assistance."
It clicked with Varric immediately, even as he saw the wheels of Hawke's mind turning. A broad grin split his face. "Where is she?"
"Aveline is hiding her in your quarters, she did not wish to have the nobles linger in curiosity. Perhaps one of the few things Cadash and Aveline both agreed upon." Fenris added with a smirk.
Varric nearly rolled his eyes. He shouldn't have been surprised that both women treated each other with barely disguised suspicion under a veneer of casual politeness. Despite leaving the Carta behind, Maria certainly hadn't let go of old habits that rose Aveline's hackles. Refusing to leave doors locked, meddling and poking her nose everywhere, breaking into buildings through what she charmingly called 'alternative entrances' rather than going through the front… It was enough to set Aveline's teeth on edge. It reminded Varric of Aveline's initial relationship with Isabela. He half expected to find out one morning that Aveline had tossed the Inquisitor into a cell to sober up. On Maria's side… well, trusting authority rather went against her nature. Even when she was an authority all on her own now. Which was, Varric thought, the only reason Aveline hadn't arrested her.
His stomach jumped nervously, reminding him that he hadn't seen Maria since he'd sent that letter. He'd slipped it at the end, after detailing the whole sorry mess he'd gotten himself into with Viscount's crown. He'd spent the day hiding from everyone in Hawke's garden watching the kids play and he'd thought of a girl with light red hair and gray eyes, smaller than the two hellions that ran the Hawke household ragged, but still…
One line. So I think we should have a baby before our lives go to shit again.
He regretted it nearly as soon as he sent it, but it was too late to take it back, so he waited on tetherhooks for a rather firm response to his momentary lapse in sanity. Instead, as she usually did, she shocked him with an almost resounding yes, let's do it.
That was as full of enticing possibilities and rather complicated problems as a no would have been.
The Viscount's rooms existed in a perpetual state of controlled chaos, mostly because Varric had stepped into the first time and immediately felt like he'd walked into a tomb. Nobody had ever bothered to remove the items of the last Viscount, and it was littered with personal mementos, the other man's clothes, and family letters.
He'd retreated to Hawke's immediately and hired a crew to do something with it. Of course, it wasn't done yet. The room had been scoured, furniture disposed of, and walls properly painted, but he still lacked most of his own furniture and there were some worrying structural issues that needed fixed. The only room in his quarters close to finished was the bedroom, but it was still separated from the sitting room by nothing more than a flimsy curtain.
The entire space was strangely empty when he opened the door. Aveline must have been damn serious about hiding Maria if she scattered an entire dwarven work crew with nothing but threats and her glare. Chest sat proudly in the center of the room, one flung open and rummaged through. There was a familiar looking jacket arm hung forlornly over the side. The curtain hiding his bed from the workers had been wrenched open, revealing the bed and a pitcher of water on a nightstand.
He heard a murmur of voices from the balcony, a sultry laugh.
Varric followed it like a fish on a hook, peering around the open door. Rainier leaned back against the railing, shaking his head in amusement as Maria gestured grandly from her precarious perch beside him, mouth moving quickly.. "So, Sera kicks the back of the chair, and…" Her eyes flicked to the movement at the door and she stopped suddenly. "Varric!"
Her eyes sparkled with joy and she flung herself from the railing and into his arms. He barely had time to laugh, to inhale her sweet cinnamon scent, to take in the warm weight of her in his arms before her fingers slid into his hair, encased in smooth buttery leather and her lips pressed against his demandingly.
Varric, helplessly, followed her lead like he usually did, breathless with the sheer relief that she was back. In one piece, despite herself. She nipped playfully at his bottom lip and he groaned, hands fisting into the cloth at her waist and tugging her closer.
"Maker's balls." Thom muttered, casting his eyes down hastily. "At least wait until I take my leave."
"Bye Thom." Maria sighed against his lips as she pulled away briefly. He could feel her heartbeat somewhere against his own, as if it was his own. Varric barely registered Rainier's hasty retreat as he lifted Maria off her feet and brought her lips jealousy back to his.
"Sweet Andraste, I've missed you." He whispered hoarsely as she wrapped her legs against his waist. He'd missed her like a lyrium addict, desperate for his next hit. Like a drunk reaching for his next cup with shaking fingers. But desire made his fingers more deft, not less as he tugged the laces on her shirt open in one smooth tug, letting his lips trace down her jaw and hover over her hammering pulse. "We should talk, Princess."
Before she could answer, he laved his tongue over that trembling pulse point and listened with delight to that little whimper that escaped her throat. "Later." She moaned, tugging his hair from the tie. "I need you."
He dropped her onto the low bed, agreeing wholeheartedly that coaxing every little moan and delighted gasp out of her was far more important than talking. Her laughter was breathless and pleased as she undid the laces at her breeches. Those beautiful gray eyes were blown as dark as the sky before a storm, her lips curved wickedly in anticipation.
"Are you still drinking the tea?" He asked, tamping down the nervousness as he looked down over her.
Something flashed through her eyes so quickly, he didn't know if he'd seen enough of it to give it a name. Fear, maybe. But her smile resolutely stayed in place, warm and beckoning. "No. Is that going to be a problem, Tethras?"
Blood was pooling in places that made it hard to think clearly, because that statement shouldn't have caused a larger, possessive surge of lust to crash over him. "We're doing this? We're actually doing this?" He questioned instead, watching as she slowly rolled her hips, peeling the fabric away from her creamy thighs.
"Yes." She answered with smug determination. "We are."
Helplessly, as always, Varric followed.
Varric let his fingers trail gently over the curve of her hip, up her abdomen. It was a path he knew well. He'd been traveling it for over two years, and he never tired of it. There was the scar from the mine shaft she'd fallen down, the one that saved her life in Haven. Another one from a Venatori's spell that had burned through her armor up closer to her chest. On her hip was a healed gash from the time a dragon had nearly knocked her off a damn cliff.
Being Inquisitor had certainly not been a safe gig until recently. With that thought, he let his gaze drift surreptitiously to the green mark glowing in her right palm and the spiraling lines of magic that glowed through her alabaster skin like veins. They came to her elbow before stopping, flickering faintly with every breath she drew, every beat of her heart. Once, he thought mournfully, it had stopped at her wrist.
"Stop staring." She muttered sleepily, shifting against him and pressing her bare back more insistently against his chest.
"I'm not staring." He lied, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. She made a noise that indicated she wasn't buying it, but she didn't turn to face him. "I'm admiring you. Hard not to do, honestly. How does anyone in Skyhold get anything done with you wondering around looking so tempting?"
That made her smile, he could see it from the corner of his eye. He let his hand dip gently to the curve of her stomach, gently tracing from her sternum to her navel. He didn't know whether he felt giddy or sick. "You know, it is highly unlikely even you're that potent, Varric, to do it in one shot." She teased.
"You should discuss that with Isabela. She tried to get me named a paragon of manliness." He whispered, nuzzling into the hollow of her ear. "Still, it's happening. We're going to… Maker, we're insane."
"You're just now figuring that out?"
He laughed, letting his arms tighten around her. She hummed contently. "Besides." She continued sleepily. "Hawke and Fenris have kept fledgling alive. How difficult could it possibly be?"
He chuckled and nipped at the lobe her her ear. "I'm telling them you said that."
Before she could respond, Varric heard a timid voice from outside the curtain. "Hello? Help?"
"Hey kid." Varric greeted with a groan, pulling away from Maria as she shifted, grabbing the sheet. "Give us a minute, Cole."
"I was helping a guardsman with creaky elbows, so I picked the locks to get the oil. Aveline is angry. I tried to talk about copper marigolds and that made her angrier."
Maria twisted the sheet around her as she stood, shaking her head so that her loose red hair bounced and gleamed in the lantern light. She grinned at him roguishly over her shoulder. "Well, I think we did alright parenting Cole at least, hm?"
"How would you like to be announced for dinner, my lady Inquisitor?" Bran hovered at Maria's elbow as she pulled the long satin gloves up her arm. It didn't quite hide the glowing mark through the thin material, the light pulsing beneath the satin. Hawke, perched on the edge of Maria's trunk with Fledgling balanced on her knee, was glaring daggers at the pulsing mark.
"Balls, did Josie not send that?" Maria tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. "She has a list of titles and how they're supposed to be used. I've not got a clue, really."
"Ambassador Montiliyet did send it, but she did not mention if you wished your Free Marches titles to come before or after the others. Custom dictates…"
"Free Marches titles?" Maria echoed, perplexed, shooting Varric a look. "Did you ennoble me while I wasn't paying attention?"
"Not yet." Varric shrugged easily. Hawke snorted behind her hand.
"The City-State of Kirkwall has a traditional place for the official mistress of the Viscount. Since Master Tethras has not been officially crowned, your current title is Official Mistress of the Viscount-elect." Bran continued sanctimoniously, ignoring the rather dangerous narrowing of Maria's eyes. Hawke had lifted her hand to her mouth, blue eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Tradition dictates that Kirkwall titles take precedence within Kirkwall."
"This is not a real thing." Maria declared, tossing back her head. "If this was a real thing, Josie most certainly would have warned me."
"It has fallen into disuse. Viscount Threnhold had many mistresses and never bestowed upon any of them the title of official mistress. None of the other Viscounts openly kept one."
"Kept." Maria repeated softly. Varric winced, it was the same tone of voice she'd used on the the Grand Duchess before exposing her crimes to the world.
"...I apologize, my lady Inquisitor. I thought your relationship was an official one." Bran seemed to finally realize the trouble he stepped in, taking a reflexive step away from the furious dwarf. Somehow, the finery she'd found herself in only seemed to make her more frightening.
"Did you know about this?" Varric found himself suddenly on the wrong side of those burning gray eyes.
"Not even a little bit. I swear." Varric protested, holding his hands out in his defense. "Tell him to hang it if you want."
"I was only thinking, my lady, any children from your relationship would have rights if you are the recognized mistress." Bran pleaded. "They would follow any children from a legitimate marriage…"
"Bran, I'm going to save your life and tell you to leave. Now." Hawke stated calmly. Maria's face had flushed nearly the same color as her hair, her silk clad fists curling into themselves.
"But I require an answer…" Bran tugged at the collar of his shirt, eyes swinging between all of them helplessly. The only one unaffected by the tension, Fledgling himself, babbled in delight as he tugged on his mother's necklace.
"I'm not going." Maria seethed, turning on her heel. "And you can fuck off."
In several long strides, Maria stalked out to the balcony, slamming the door behind her. Varric grimaced after her before turning an accusing stare at Bran. "Well, now you can tell them the Viscount's going to be late to this damn event."
"You can't be late, Varric." Hawke reminded him brightly. "It's your party. But, the Champion of Kirkwall isn't attending without the Viscount or the Inquisitor. If you'd be so kind to let my husband know, Bran?" Hawke's smile was full of threat. Bran, mercifully, finally took the hint and nearly ran out of the room. Hawke frowned at the balcony door, then at Varric.
"You know, you could just marry each other if this is going to be a problem." Hawke whispered.
"Hawke, when is my love life ever that simple?" Varric muttered.
"Is anyone seriously going to stop the Viscount of Kirkwall from marrying the Inquisitor?" She asked, standing impatiently and tapping her foot on the ground.
No, at this point nobody probably could. In fact, several people from the guild had asked in extremely roundabout ways when they could expect a wedding. And yet… as a member of the guild, Varric would still have to go to them and ask for their permission to marry anyone. And that would be humiliating, although he'd take it on the nose for Maria.
He wouldn't subject her to a public debate about her background or social status. The guild only welcomed her because there was more fear of pissing off the Inquisition than any real desire to include a Carta dwarf in the gaudy sphere of the Merchant's Guild. Inquisitor Cadash really couldn't do anything to please them, behind their hands they sneered at the way she dressed, her filthy mouth, even the sensuous way she moved across a room.
Maria didn't complain because Maria never complained, she just soldiered on. Magic hand, massive demons, Orlesian politics, snobby deshyrs, they were all the same to her.
Maker, and Varric loved her for it.
"What has happened?" Fenris had appeared in the doorway, sweeping the room with a suspicious glare.
"Long story short, Maria's got a new title she doesn't like very much. Did you know there's a special place in Kirkwall for a Viscount's Mistress?" Hawke asked as Fledgling squirmed in her arms, his chubby fists reaching for Fenris. Fenris plucked the child from Hawke's arms, scowling in displeasure.
"She is the Viscount's Mistress. People will talk regardless of how they announce her." Fenris stated evenly.
"Fenris, it's a bit patronizing." Hawke's gleamed with understated sympathy. "Bran just basically called her a kept woman."
"Bran is an ass and an imbecile."
"Fenris, when Eli starts repeating those words, I'm blaming you." Hawke crossed her arms over her chest in marked disapproval. Fenris merely sighed, eyes fixing on the door before he crossed the room and threw open the balcony door.
"You are his mistress." Fenris declared bluntly out the open door. "And people will say it regardless. You are being childish to sit here as if it can be ignored."
Maria said something that was lost in the wind. It sounded suspiciously like "Fuck you, Fenris." Hawke sighed.
"Do you think the nobles of Kirkwall do not laugh at the Champion's elven lover? The runaway slave?" Fenris asked. "And yet, I am here. I would expect the Herald of Andraste to be braver. Are you not here to support Varric?"
This time, there was no mistaking the blistering swear words coming from the balcony. Fenris withstood it easily until Maria pushed past him, back into the room, ears still red but remarkably more composed. She paused at the desk, grabbing the strand of pearls she'd laid there.
"Tell Bran he can fucking do whatever he wants." She muttered darkly.
"Maria, you don't have to." Varric approached her gently, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "It doesn't matter."
Maria took a deep breath, letting it out in a great exhale before she looked at him. Tenderly, she reached up and stroked his cheek, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Not right now. But it might. Someday soon." She whispered against his skin. "And I'm here for you, I promised I would be."
"The only thing you promised was that you'd smuggle me out if I changed my mind." Varric pointed out.
"Well, that's still an option."
She smiled, brilliant and somewhat sad. Varric took her hand in his, moving it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Let the show commence, Princess."