BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

A/N: TRIGGER WARNING. Warning about someone's potential suicidal episode ahead.

The plot thickens. Well. Not really. Most of this ties closely to straight canon, although I can see why they wouldn't out-and-out say what's going on in the game.


28. Observator – Varric

Hawke pushed down at his newest nagging worry, absently offering thanks as the serving girl – must be new; don't think I've seen her here before – set a pitcher of ale and a bowl of stew on the table beside him. He hadn't asked for the pitcher, though he'd gone down to the bar to have his mug topped off enough this evening that she must have thought to save him a trip once his food landed in front of him. Definitely new, if she thinks being nice to the custom is the way to impress anyone in here.

And Maker, where was that dwarf? It wasn't like Varric to be late for anything. Hawke was sure they'd said seven bells, and here it was gone half past and not a chest hair in sight. He hadn't felt guilty for making himself at home in the dwarf's private rooms; he'd been welcome here for long enough that Corff only blinked anymore when he didn't head straight up.

He doesn't show soon, I'll already be three sheets to when he gets here. Well, that's all right then. He thinks I'm funny when I've had a few, and Maker knows with all that's going on lately having a head tomorrow's a small price to pay to let it all go for a while. If that thought happened to coincide with his reach for the pitcher to pour out another, it was just a happy coincidence. It occurred to him as he noticed the mostly drained bowl in front of him that he hadn't eaten all day.

Ha. Must not have, if I got this far without wondering if the meat of the day had a name before it ended up in the stew. All right, that's not fair. Corff wouldn't do that, although some days he might be better off if he did…

Hawke was ready to raise a search party after the eighth bell came and went. It wasn't impossible that Varric had some business or other keeping him, but he'd at least have sent a runner with an admonition to stay sober until he could join in. Something wasn't right. Belatedly, Hawke looked over at the hearth and saw Bianca on her mount, so it wasn't likely there was any danger, but… He was about to head down to find – all right, after all that ale, call out for – Isabela, to ask if she'd heard something when he caught sight of the dwarf double-timing up the stairs.

"What bloody time do you call this, then, Varric? Bianca was starting to worry, and you know how she gets."

Ignoring the barb, Varric snatched up Hawke's mug and drained it in a single go. Refilling it from the handy pitcher, he drained it again, repeating the motions until there was nothing left to pour out. "Mark it on your calendar, Hawke. I'm about to tell you something serious without any jokes to pave the way. Had a meeting in Darktown; ran a bit long, thought I'd be here before now or I'd have plucked an urchin and sent him running. I stopped by the clinic on the way back to see Blondie since I was there anyway."

Varric paused, taking what seemed to be his first breath since rushing up the stairs. More focused now at the mention of Anders's nickname, Hawke sat up, shifting to the edge of his seat in the process.

The dwarf caught the mage's eye and continued. "He came over all eloquent, telling me what a good friend I've been to him over the years. You know me and humans crying, so I tried to shove him off. Then he went digging in this box and came up with a pillow that he tried to push at me, telling me it was his mother's and he wanted me to have it."

Weighed down under as much ale as it was, a memory managed to bob to the surface for Hawke. "The one she made, that he didn't remember carrying out with him the day the Templars took him?"

"That would be the one. I got nothing out of him, Hawke. After I told him I didn't want the damned pillow he just moved on to the chatter, normal Blondie mode. But I gotta tell you, something's not right there."

Well and truly drunk, Hawke tried to grasp through the haze for the significance of what he was hearing, and came up empty. "Why would…"

"Sodding stone, Hawke, how many have you had?" Varric waved away whatever answer he might have gotten, turning now to face the fire. "A man doesn't just give away something he's carried with him for his entire life for no good reason. He does it because he wants to be remembered. You know, Hawke, because he thinks something's going to end? Or maybe because he knows it is and wants to make some last grand gesture? Something's going on, and if anyone's going to figure it out, it'll be you."

When no response came after a moment, the dwarf turned around, ready to urge his friend into action.

The mage was already gone.