When Hawke awoke that morning she found herself alone in the bed. Outside, the lively chatter and closing of doors indicated the maids were going about their daily chores, visiting the rooms. She squinted and gathered she had overslept. When she emerged at the doorway, she met with the grumpy glares of the awaiting maids. She had probably held them up by not being up and out of the room.
"Morning," she muttered, rubbing her sleep swollen eyes, a tired expression on her face, her hair uncombed.
"Serrah," they acknowledged patiently.
In the main room of the tavern, she found Bethany and Anders conversing over a platter of various breakfast meats. Merrill had joined them and sat expectantly before an untouched loaf of dark bread.
"Where's everyone?" Hawke croaked, smacking her dry lips.
"Rough night?" Anders asked.
"First: good morning," Bethany censured her. "And second: it's about time you got up."
"Aveline had to go back to headquarters, Fenris had to go home and brood, Isabela went back to bed, not sure if alone, and Varric had business to attend to," Anders tallied.
"Muh," she puffed, dropping onto a chair around their table. "That could mean anything with him."
"He said to order breakfast—it's on him today."
She grinned impishly.
"And what the fuck? So you order the meek people special?" She poked at the hearty slabs of blood sausage. "We should get the quail with almonds or something outrageous—make him foam at the mouth," she chuckled.
She looked at the bright-eyed elvhen woman.
"Merrill…you missed a hell of a sleepover last night. We giggled, did each other's hair, and fought to the death against assassins!" she teased.
"Oh!" she interjected. "I heard all about it. Also: something about how Aveline snores?"
Bethany and Anders groaned as they remembered.
"What's this here?" Hawke prodded the stout loaf of bread.
Merrill grinned, sitting up in the chair excitedly.
"I baked it myself!" she announced.
Out of the corners of her eyes she caught Bethany and Anders shaking their heads discreetly.
"That's pretty amazing, Merrill! So that bastard landlord of yours finally sent someone over to fix that busted oven?"
Merrill continued smiling, not replying. Hawke tilted her head expectantly.
"Well…noooo," Merrill began cautiously. "I…I used a little magic."
Hawke cast a curious look around the table.
"So you bombarded the bread with fire bolts? Is that why you're here now? Because the alienage has been burned to the ground?"
"Blood magic bread," Anders mouthed so no one could overhear them.
Bethany shook her head reproachfully.
"It was actually safer than using a real fire!" Merrill argued.
"Sorry, Merrill. I prefer my bread without a side helping of abomination," Hawke apologized.
Merrill looked completely crestfallen.
"It's perfectly fine!" she insisted, upset. When confronted with the skeptical stares, her shoulders slumped forward, discouragedly.
Hawke had a soft spot for the mage. Merrill meant well. Maker knew her good intentions had wrought an inadvertent share of mishaps, but she doubted the petite mage had a mean, selfish bone in her that a demon could latch onto.
"You know what? This looks delicious. I'm having some!" She deliberately made a show of seizing the knife and cutting a large slice.
Merrill's eyes widened with glee.
"Oh, yes! Please do!"
"Yep. Any moment now," she declared, eyeing the dark slab on her plate.
With a deep breath she brought the bread to her mouth and bit off a small piece. All three watched her wordlessly.
A little chewy and heavy, but overall Merrill can start her own demonic bakery.
"Delicious," she declared.
Merrill's smile was radiant.
"Thank you, Hawke. I am so happy you like it. I baked it for all of you," she said sweetly.
That's it, you ingrates!
Hawke reached for the platter and cut another two slices.
"Here," she slapped a slice down on Bethany's plate. "Eat the bread," she ordered testily.
Bethany winced.
"It's fucking delicious," Hawk growled.
She grabbed the other slice and rammed it against Anders closed mouth.
"Eat it. Now," she threatened.
When Varric returned, he found all three munching morosely while Merrill clasped her hands delightedly.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Anders and Bethany glared at him.
"We are enjoying some fine bread made by our very own Merrill here," Hawke mumbled, swallowing a large bite.
Varric sat beside her and signaled Hemming to bring him a place setting.
"It's demonic bread," she told him quietly when Merrill began talking to Anders about something else. "Baked with love… and blood magic."
"Maker!" Varric cast her a panicked glance. "Should you?..."
"How can I say no?" she shrugged. "She looked so sad when no one would touch her bread. She baked us all bread. Who does anything for us for free, out of the kindness of their hearts? It's not bad—I mean, recipe could use some tweaking: we could probably do some damage if we used it as ballast on a trebuchet—but it's good, hearty stuff. I am sure it'll put some hair on my chest…and perhaps some horns on my head," she confided.
Varric pressed his lips, holding back a chuckle. He speared a slab of ham with a spare knife and sat back in his chair.
She watched him surreptitiously and tried not to start when he raised his honey-colored eyes back to her.
"So where were you off to so early this morning, Messere Tethras?"
He laid down the knife.
Those lips, she admired, trying not to stare. The memory of those shapely lips brushing hers the previous night was putting her in a little dither.
"Old acquaintance is in town," he replied cryptically.
"Dwarven Council shit?" she wondered.
"No," he shook his head, brushing his hand over the table's surface.
"Is this something from one of your 'associates' from the Carta, Red Iron?..."
He shook his head once more, hastily.
"The Jousting Troubadours?…Qunari Chantry Choir?" she teased. He snorted lightly. "Hope I don't seem too nosy, because I AM totally being nosy," she grinned.
"No…" His expression clouded. "It's someone…from a long time ago. Really long, rambling story," he apologized.
Hawke folded her arms over the table and rested her head over them while peering at the dwarf's face.
Huh. Seems serious, she concluded, recognizing the troubled stare.
"Is it the shift lady?" she whispered in a spooked tone. "Is she here to kick my ass for wearing her stuff?"
At that Varric's expression softened.
"You are such a jerk."
She smiled.
I don't like to see him upset, she thought.
"It's…someone I was involved with when I was younger. She's in town for a bit. Wants to talk. Needs a favor. I don't know if I want to go through with it," he sighed.
"Would I know her?"
"No. Bianca doesn't live in Kirkwall anymore—passes through once in a while only."
"Bianca?" Hawke leaned in closer, stupefied. "Like of Bianca-Crossbow-of-Mayhem fame?"
Varric contemplated her with amused surprise.
"Shit—you do listen when I tell you stuff! I have to be careful!"
Hawke felt a little shiver run down her spine.
He's gonna do it for her. Because he's that kind of guy.
She offered him a slice of Merrill's bread.
"Here—have some! You'll feel much better: maybe the voices you'll start to hear in your head will give you some good advice!"
Varric's lips curled up into a half grin.
"All right. Let's do this, Daisy!" he announced, grabbing his piece and ceremoniously tapping it as if it were a tankard against Hawke's hunk of bread.
They could barely contain their laughter when they caught glimpses of each other's faces chewing the bread laboriously.
Hawke didn't want to think of this other woman who had laid claim to Varric's affection and appeared to still loom large in his sentimental landscape.
Because she had her shot and blew it, Hawke reasoned, tearing through the last of her slice. I might just be his good buddy, but I get to be by his side.
I wish, though— Her eyes shifted away. I need to stop this nonsense. This is fine! she told herself curtly. And it's better than nothing at all.