The Fourth Time: Hawke's Birthday Party

It was hard to say no to Leandra Hawke. When the invitation came to him via a well-dressed courier, Varric quickly penned a reply and sent it back. Things between him and Hawke were just fine, but ever since her little confession, he wasn't sure if pushing things past the tipping point was a great idea. He was fine, she was fine - but fine wasn't where they'd been before.

He hated the word fine.

And he had lots of ideas on how to push.

A candlelit dinner in his suite. His low voice in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was. His hand sliding up her thigh, bunching her dress and making her grip the arm of the chair.

A dozen roses sent every day of the week, with a note but no signature. Just clues, riddles she could put together and solve. She was a smart one, his Hawke, and the answer she'd get would be him. He'd lead her to some place outside the city, surprise her, show her the stars she was always staring at every time they walked the Wounded Coast at night.

A hand on the small of her back, gently pushing her toward his door with a simple answer for her. "I've been waiting for you to find me, Hawke. But now I'm done waiting."

He cast a glance over at a chest of drawers tucked into a corner and grinned, remembering supple brown leather, emerald green silk, and golden embroidery. Hawke wouldn't know what hit her.

The night of the party found Varric stomping up to Hightown, decked in his usual coat with the finer one tucked away in a bag slung over his shoulder, Bianca guarding it, and him, fiercely. He didn't need the unwanted attention a handcrafted jacket any thief could spot from fifty paces off would get him tonight.

He met Aveline and Donnic at Hawke's door and walked in behind them. "Color me impressed," he said to Aveline's back.

"Don't start," she shot over her green silk-clad shoulder, but her eyes were twinkling.

He held a hand up in supplication. "I wasn't. You look good."

Donnic put an arm around his wife. "She does, doesn't she?"

Aveline smiled at him and Varric shook his head, chuckling as the two headed off, undoubtedly to find Hawke. He went the opposite direction, to an empty room to swap coats and stash Bianca. No need for her now, unless the party was raided by Qunari. And they didn't strike him as the cheese and Antivan wine type.

He walked out of the room to find the main floor covered in dancers and in the middle of the group, Hawke….in the arms of Sebastian. She was in blue silk, a flowing thing all colors of the sky and ocean, her dark hair loose about her face. She was laughing, looking straight at the man who held her, and he was smiling back, one arm gently looped about her waist, the other holding her hand as he guided her.

Varric swallowed hard, shoving pride and jealousy down as the couple moved closer. He was easily within eyeline now and he didn't want his emotions playing about his face. None of this changed his plans, but it did prove to him that he was deeply in love with Namia Hawke.

The thought should have startled him, but it came as easily as large sum calculations, storytelling, or ribald jokes about Rivaini. He loved Hawke, every piece and part of her, and he wanted her to know.

Now, tell her now.

As Sebastian and Hawke came closer, Hawke spotted him and smiled. He smiled back, warmth melting the bit of frost that had coated him when he'd seen her with Choir Boy. It didn't matter. She didn't love Sebastian. Of that much, Varric was certain. He knew Hawke too well, knew her emotions and her expressions too well.

Tell her, you fool. Grab her hand, steal her from Sebastian, lead her away. Confess everything.

Varric gave himself a shake, shushing the voice. "Not right now," he muttered to himself as he heard the song draw to a close. "We wait for the opportune moment."

You've been waiting for years. How much longer are you willing to sit on the sidelines while others vye for her affections? Choir Boy certainly has her attentions right now.

And he did. The dance had ended, but Hawke was still very close to Sebastian, talking to him so softly Varric couldn't hear them. Sebastian was smiling, blue eyes fixated on Hawke's face, but then Varric saw that gaze dip ever so briefly down to Hawke's generous cleavage and he had to stifle a laugh.

You can put the rake in the Chantry, but you can't take his eyeballs out of his head.

If he'd been in Sebastian's position, he'd be looking, too. Hawke had a magnificent bosom.

So he watched Hawke with Sebastian and came to a decision. He knew he needed to tell her how he felt. Just not tonight. He didn't want to ruin anything when her mother had put so much effort into throwing her daughter a birthday celebration.

So….if not now, when?

Varric batted a hand in the air and the voice, thankfully, shut up.

The night went splendidly. Hawke was surrounded by those who loved her and spent the whole time smiling and laughing, looking more happy and loved than Varric had ever seen. On his way out the door, very late into the evening - or early in the morning, depending on how you wanted to look at it - he bowed to Hawke with a flourish and kissed her hand.

"Goodnight, birthday girl. I hope it went exactly as you wanted."

Hawke grinned at him. "It certainly did, serah." She laughed as Varric lingered over her hand, making exaggerated kissing sounds, and gently pulled away after a moment. "You're in quite the mood. What's got you so happy?"

He winked at her. "Can't I just be happy that you're happy?"

Her eyes softened and she sank to her knees in front of him. "Well now, that's quite a declaration."

Varric shrugged. "Not really. It's what happens when people are friends, Hawke."

She put a hand on his shoulder and he sucked in a breath. "Is that what we are, Varric?" she asked quietly, eyes searching his face.

He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. "For years now, and hopefully many more to come."

You idiot.

Her face fell just a fraction but she didn't move. Something like determination crossed her features. It was a look he'd seen many a time when she was bartering in the markets or trying to talk Blondie out of his clinic.

Now he was about to be the center of her bulldog-like tenacity, and part of him wanted to run in the other direction. A determined Hawke, with all attentions and focus narrowed on one target, was a sight to behold….

….when you weren't in the bullseye. Something akin to a bastard child of terror and lust blossomed in his belly and he knew he wasn't going anywhere fast.

"I hope so, too," she said, fingers creeping from under his grip and going to the fine embroidery on his jacket. "Not to change the subject -"

Liar.

"-but I don't think I've seen this jacket before, Varric. Or this tunic." She smiled wickedly at him, teeth shining in the candlelight. "Did you dress up just for me?"

"What, this old thing?" He flicked the lapel with a finger. "It's just something I had laying around."

"Mmm. Well, it's gorgeous." She tugged just a little and drew him closer. She radiated warmth, smelled like jasmine and wine, and looked like a goddess, hair coming undone, eyes glowing, lips parted.

He couldn't help himself. He raised an eyebrow and said in a low voice, "Well, if you really wanted to appreciate my clothing, serah, you should get a better look." Varric ran a hand over the exposed embroidery of the tunic, eyes flashing playfully. "You don't see this kind of craftsmanship just anywhere, you know."

Hawke immediately ran a fingertip over the edge of his tunic, practically purring her response. "I expect not. It looks custom, Varric. I mean…" and she slid that finger over, tracing the exposed skin of his chest, "most tunics don't gape so."

Evil, brilliant woman. Trying to undo me with a touch? It takes more than that to rattle a Tethras.

"No, they don't. And yes, it's custom." He couldn't help but smile a little right before he said, "And if you like the front, you should see how it makes my ass look."

That did it. She broke right then, doubled over laughing, one hand on the floor, the other wrapped around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his stomach. Varric laughed along with her, feeling any tension leave the room and with it, part of his heart.

You wanted her to take you to the floor and ravish you like in your novels, but real life doesn't happen like that. You should know better.

He frowned for a moment, and then wondered, But if not now, when? When does all this tension and all the flirty exchanges of words actually lead to something?

It was the same question from earlier in the night, and he still had no answer. For all his bravado, when it came to Hawke, he was weak. A weak, besotted fool who adored the woman at his feet and would do anything for her.

When her laughter died down and she finally pulled her head up, she was still smiling. At least you can do that right, he thought ruefully. But he smiled back, never one to put his fears or his burdens on her.

"Oh, Varric," she said, reaching out to brush hair away from his face. "My dear, sweet, Varric."

Here it comes. The rejection. Even after all she's said to you, it'll be, "We're such good friends, I don't want to spoil that."

Varric braced himself. He'd heard it before, kindness laced with heartbreak.

He forgot that Namia Hawke, even after years in her company, could still stun the hell out of him.

She leaned closer, still smiling, but her eyes had darkened. Her fingers traced his cheekbone, then slid down to his jaw. "My dear, sweet, filthy-minded Varric. Can the birthday girl get a kiss from the only man she hasn't kindly asked to leave her home?"

Before he could respond, she leaned in and whispered, "I did that on purpose, by the way. The whole kicking everyone else out before getting on my knees and asking you to kiss me."

Holy shit.

And like any smart man who had a beautiful woman on his knees in front of him, asking for a kiss, he did exactly what she wanted.

And when she asked for a second kiss, and then another, and then dragged him up the stairs to her bedroom, he realized he had his answer.