Authors and Critics
The night had set in over day. The curve of the moon hung high in the inky black sky, a calm air had settled over the angled peaks and towers of Hightown. The spiky scent of salt gently wafted the senses, carried over from the harbour to the south. A figure stood at a high window of the Chantry, tall and proud like the building itself. Her short blonde hair cut precisely and immaculately about her head. Her narrow, pale blue gaze surveyed the urban skyline before her.
Sister Petrice pulled the window closed with a last lingering look out at the city of Kirkwall. Her city. Not hers by divine right, nor by martial or democratic means. But it was hers all the same. She would do all in her power to protect it, to see it saved, no matter the cost. The qunari would not take her. If the fools in the Chantry, the Guard and even the Templars couldn't see that, then she certainly could.
A creak to her rear heralded the opening of the door. The Sister turned sharply. A silhouette stood on the threshold, strong and imposing. Its features lost to the glare of lamplight from behind. The Sister ignored the hitch of fear in her breast and summoned her steel.
"Who goes there?" The Sister snapped like a crocodile's jaw.
The silhouette replied by stalking into the room, shutting the door slowly in their wake. Its features settled into clarity. A tall, armoured figure stood there, commanding and impressive. Dark hair as sharp as the blade at her back and a smirk as memorable as the kiss of the summer sun. A figure of legend, hero and villain, depending on who one asked.
"Champion." The Sister breathed. "Why are you here?"
"Petrice …" The smirk grew salaciously.
"That's 'Sister' Petrice, to you." The blonde's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why are you here?"
"I think you know why … Sister." The Champion sauntered closer, her fingers deftly locking the door at her back before dropping the keys into a vase. The clink and clatter matched the pace of The Sister's heartbeat.
"Have you come for my head?" The Sister hated the nervous lump that formed in her throat, threatening to smother the defiance in her voice.
"Head?" The Champion regarded the Sister with a cocked head, her piercing blue eyes cut right through to Petrice's soul.
She chuckled.
"Yes, I suppose so … Head, heart, mind … body." The Champion said the last with a long, lingering appreciation of the Sister's body, still clothed in Chantry robes.
"Whatever are you thinking of, cur?" The Sister cried, incensed. Instinctively she pulled her arms over her delicate form.
"Many things, Sister, many things." Another smirk. "None of them for the Maker's ears. No, I think I'll save them just for you."
The Champion took a few precise steps towards the Sister.
"Not another step!" The Sister backed up against the window sill, nowhere else to run.
"I won't hurt you, unless you ask it of course." The Champion smirked.
"Whatever makes you think I'd ask for such a thing?" The Sister protested.
In place of an answer, a strong hand firmly but gently grasped The Sister's lower jaw, forcing her to gaze into the eyes of the Champion. She was mesmerising, this figure of legend.
"You'll find I can be very persuasive."
"The Grand Cleric will hear of this!" The steel of earlier had fled The Sister's voice. Her whole form threatened to buckle under the sheer force of the Champion's natural charisma.
"Of that I'm certain. I want the whole city to hear you cry my name."
The Sister had no more words left. Her heart hammering in her chest threatened to break free as the Champion leaned over to claim her lips and expertly manoeuvred her hand to -
"Ok, just what is this drivel, Varric?" Marian Hawke scowled dangerously at the dwarf in question. She hefted the manuscript in her hand with contempt.
"What? You said you'd rather be paired with Petrice than Bran, I'm just obliging." He took a deep draught from his flagon and sighed with relish.
Marian tossed the latest version of 'The Tale of the Champion' onto the table between them and sighed with her head in her hands. Varric merely chuckled at her expense and leant back in his chair leisurely. The Hanged Man was fairly quiet, still early in the evening for most.
"I thought it was quite exciting." Merrill chimed in helpfully. "I never knew you knew that Sister so well, Hawke."
"Merrill, I didn't." Marian groaned. "Definitely not like that anyway." She pointed an accusing finger at the offending text.
"Still, I think she's more you're type than Bran is, at least." Herah Adaar intoned with a barely concealed chuckle.
"That's like choosing between shagging two different types of darkspawn!" The Champion scowled.
"If you don't like it, Mari, why don't you just write your own?" Herah attempted to soothe, twirling her fingers into the back of Marian's spiky hair.
Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, former advisor to the Inquisition, fabled war hero … crossed her arms and pouted like a child.
"I can't write stories, not like this anyway." She muttered.
"Surely … you don't want to write like that?" The qunari was confused.
"I mean, I can't write the sort of drivel that people actually want to read!"
"… Oh?" Herah was still confused.
"Have you seen the rest of this?" Marian picked the manuscript back up again and leafed through it aggressively. "It's near wall to wall smut! I'm acting like a predator, or a sex fiend, or worse, in all of this! It's garbage, it's awful!"
"I'm sat right here, you know." Varric raised an offended eyebrow over his flagon.
"It's just the kind of thing people want to read!"
"Ah, I knew there'd be a backhanded compliment in there somewhere." The dwarf smiled, content.
"I could never write a thing like this." Marian tossed the text back onto the table with a huff. "Stupid book." She muttered to no one in particular.
Herah had to stifle another chuckle. Her lover was capable at so many incredible things. She'd done so much that most people couldn't even imagine. She was the sort of figure that writers – including Varric – would write tales of for generations to come. Yet here she was, pouting over not being able to write a book herself. A smutty book at that.
I've fallen in love with the biggest idiot in all of Thedas, Herah thought with a fond smile at her idiot.
"What's with all the commotion, my lovelies?" Isabela chose that moment to saunter over to the table, bottles in hand and Fenris in tow.
"Oh, Hawke is just upset because she can't write." Merrill smiled sunnily.
"I can write, Merrill." Marian sighed with a ghost of a smile. It was a long suffering sigh. "I can write perfectly fine. I just can't write the way a certain dwarf does."
"Few people can." Varric sighed as if it were the most horrible burden to bear.
"Which I'm sure we're all grateful for." Fenris smirked as he took a seat round the table.
"True enough." Varric took the jab in stride. "Imagine if I had to actually compete with other authors for your readership? I'd never sell anywhere near as well as I do now. Not worth thinking about."
Meanwhile, Isabela had picked up the book and was thumbing through it with interest.
"Hmm, not bad, not bad." The raider queen murmured, more to herself than anyone in particular. "A bit heavy handed with the metaphors during the sex scenes though. Some of these will go over most people's heads. Like: 'Her chest heaved with the passion of a thousand templars, all crying out at once in support of the Maker'."
"Very sexy." Marian drawled.
"Or how about: 'The doe of the Maker was caught beneath the hunter's broody gaze. The Champion's teeth – arrows that sunk into that supple pink flesh'."
"That's more of a simile." Varic corrected with a smile. "And hey, you've gotta leave something in for the noble types. Having an obscure hunting reference or two lets them kid themselves into thinking they're reading Genitivi's travels or whatever."
"You do know your readers, don't you?" Fenris shook his head with a sigh.
"First rule of writing, Broody."
"How about a non-smutty version for readers who aren't- Well, who have … a different taste?" Herah suggested.
"You were going to say 'who aren't perverts' weren't you?" Varric raised his eyebrow with a chuckle.
"Yes, yes I was."
"I could give it a go." The dwarf rubbed his stubbly chin. "Don't expect it to sell well though. Who'd want to read 'The Tale of the Champion' without all the saucy bits?"
"Not me." Isabela still had her nose in the manuscript.
"Exactly." Varric pointed to the prate as if to close the matter.
"Still, maybe you could make an exception, just this once." Herah gently jerked her horns a couple of times towards the still sulking Champion.
Varric narrowed his eyes in confusion for a moment before catching on.
"Oh, well, perhaps you're right. Maybe it's time I tried changing my style a bit. Stretch my writing wings, so to speak."
"Aww …" The Rivaini groaned. "But no one writes smut like you do, Varric."
"I'm deeply flattered." Varric sketched a bow in his seat. "And I don't think I've ever heard you so disappointed, Rivaini."
"I haven't been, not since Hawke told me she was spoken for anyway." She shifted her gaze to smirk evilly at the Champion and the former Inquisitor. "Although, that doesn't have to be a barrier. If Herah here wanted to join in, we could-"
"No." Marian and Herah answered together.
"Spoilsports."
"Anyway, forget the book. Don't bother with trying to change it." Marian threw her hands up before levelling a stern finger at the dwarf. "But I want a cut of any profits you make from this- this filth!"
"Duly noted." Varric said with a tone that had seemingly been used many times before.
"Good." The Champion nodded with satisfaction. "Now, who's up for Wicked Grace?"
"Oh, I am!" Merrill raised her hand enthusiastically.
"It better not be like last time, Mari." Herah smirked.
"Why not? I thought you enjoyed it?"
"Now this sounds like a story." Isabela leant in closer, resting her head on her hands. "A saucy one at that I'll bet."
"Well, maybe? A little? Kinda?"
"You really need to work on your storytelling skills, Hawke." The pirate sighed.
"I'm really better at showing." Marian smirked as she reached over to shuffle the cards.
"I am not doing strip grace in the middle of the Hanged Man." The qunari folded her arms with a pointed look at the Champion.
"Oh, ho, ho! I'm definitely in now." Isabela's grin was almost evil. "Come on Herah, I've been dying to see what the qunari keep under their armour, you know."
"We could go back to our place." Marian offered the qunari with an innocent smile.
Herah narrowed her gaze at her lover. When she was in the mood, the Champion could be almost as much trouble as the pirate queen. Having them in the same room together with a pack of cards was just asking for trouble. Still, she had enjoyed the last time, and Maker strike her down if that smile Marian was giving her wasn't awfully enticing …
"Fine." The qunari drawled finally. She turned to scowl at the pirate. "But I've got my eye on you, pirate. No funny business."
"Herah, my dear," Isabela fluttered her eyelashes so very prettily. "You can watch me all you want. I'm sure you'll want your everything on me by the end of-"
"No." Herah and Marian once again in unison.
"Spoilsports." The pirate pouted.