A/N: So, Chapter 3 already. I actually have some of the later chapters already written, but we'll get to that soon. Meanwhile, I hope Hawke is still funny, and my Varric lives up to the one in the game? Do let me know what you think about it! ^_^

Chapter 3: Interest

Varric

I had to admit, Hawke was a very persuasive man; he had managed to obtain the maps that Bartrand and I needed for the expedition, as well as a few more additions to our party. A week later, our motley crew had expanded to include the ditsy-but-adorable dalish elf, a blonde-mage-glowy Grey Warden, a broody-but-also-equally-glowy elf as well as a Riviani-pirate who had lost her ship. I gotta say this—our leader did not discriminate when it came to companions, even though the issues some of them came with did ring several kinds of trouble. Like the obvious way Broody and Blondie kept vying for his approval. Or the fact that unrequited love was blossoming. Hawke was even oblivious to the danger he was getting himself into.

But I get ahead of myself—this all began when he met the Riviani—Isabela.

It all started with the skirmish at the Hanged Man, which led to a duel, which then led to a slaughter in the chantry. A celebratory drink was called for and I was willing to bet that Hawke, as male as he was, followed the woman around with his eyes because of her very revealing outfit. He paid in kind for quite being so distracted, of course.

"So, why are you buying me drinks when you should be saving up money for an expedition I keep hearing about?" The woman purred, gazing over her tankard of ale at the inebriated man. No offense, but Hawke could not outdrink her even if he tried—and he was trying quite hard—not to mention the fact that she was cheating by swapping mugs whenever a chance presented itself.

The man smiled and his russet eyes were almost smoldering with an intoxicating heat—though he was very far gone from being sober. I also noticed that the two were sitting awfully close. "After we sell the loot we got from fighting your unfortunate duelers—we should have more than enough to cover some celebratory drinks."

This was true. Aside from a couple of blades which he had decided to give his younger brother and Broody, we were to fence everything else when the sun rose. These would fetch a pretty sum from my contacts, which would more than pay for the kegs we were no doubt downing amongst our lively party.

"Ah—a man who has it all figured out? Very refreshing in these parts—" She began, casting her eyes around the tavern. "Tell me then, would you mind if I stuck around for a bit? You know, in return for that business with Hayder."

This was apparently what Hawke had had in mind. You know, for a man who commanded so much attention, he seemed almost… naïve in his display of interest—striving hard for a suave demeanor but not fooling the Riviani. "I'd be very much honored— Captain Isabela." Perhaps what Master Carver said was true; that the eldest Hawke did spend too much time in the limelight to function like a normal person.

It sure made for an interesting story; Hawke—a man who had it all, but had absolutely no game at all around the women he liked.

xOxOx

Hawke

I woke with the heaviest of clouds in my head, a mustiness that clouded my thoughts—and with each movement I made, something ached; the swinging of my dull legs off the bed, the rush of feeling into my fingers—all the while not knowing just how I had returned the previous night.

I hated the taste in my mouth; the acrid taste that covered my tongue and the faint, the distressing hint of bile which bore testament to the copious amounts of alcohol from mere hours before. This was not the first I found myself like so, but each time, I swore it would be the last. One simply needed to develop a hollow leg for all that liquor—which I was working on, and failing.

Ugh, that liquor. The dratted mugs of ale I swallowed at the deplorable Hanged Man still swilled about my middle. Never again. But I remembered the lovely amber eyes that had coaxed me to drink round after round while their owner remained woefully sober. Ugh, Isabela. She had to think me an utterly green fool.

Staggering out the door, I promptly fell over Rush, the mabari—our long-suffering hound since Lothering. He had journeyed alongside us from Ferelden, chomping on darkspawn, roaring at debt-collectors, only to remain cooped up each day in Kirkwall with only Gamlen for company. He squirmed out from underneath me, before covering my face with spittle—in the most ghastly, yet endearing fashion that only he was capable of, while I just lay there, quite dazed. And soon, he was pulled off me by a very amused Bethany, who handed me a cool and damp cloth for my doggy-smelling face. The thumps Rush made with his loyally wagging butt made me cringe—in a bid to refrain from laughing aloud.

"Mother's worried about you, so she got Carver to go with her." Came my sister's voice, carefully low and soothing, in great consideration of my infirmity.

"Where?" I croaked, apparently only capable of monosyllables, but I was relieved to find that my voice was not completely gone, just very hoarse.

"Something about the estate. And a key. Here's some water." Or course, the great Amell estate—the one that mother hadn't totally forgotten, despite our estrangement with our noble grandparents.

But something was vaguely off—why were they going together? Mother should be staying here while the rest of us checked it out, it was no place for her—Carver should have known better. I struggled to my surprisingly steady feet without support, grabbing the staff-spears I had fashioned, all but dragging my poor sister to the door.

"We have to go, Bethany—they could be in danger," I babbled, quite certain that I had slurred a couple of words, but not caring anyways. She always understood Carver and me during our drunken stupors—and this time, I was only hung over. I squinted out into the glaring sunlight, and found the streets relatively bare. Lowtown's human traffic did not pick up till around mid-day, and that looked to be soon.

But Bethany did not respond in the same harried manner; she merely took the staves from me, chuckling in amusement. "Yes, big brother. Just one thing. You're going to have to put on some pants first."

"Maker's breath Beth—next time tell Mother to leave my pants alone—you never know when I'm going to stumble out of bed and straight into battle."

"But they were torn— quite disgracefully so. A gigantic rip on your ass— whatever did you do, fall on one of those dreadful spikes?" My sister hid a chuckle as she dutifully strapped her weapon to her back.

"I'm not entirely sure, but think I definitely would've remembered that."