Name borrowed from the Hamilton song (unintentionally, but appropriately). Thanks for reading.
Bianca didn't know if it was a curse of the ancestors or just her own damnable luck, but there he was. The one-time love of her life.
He was sitting on a bench in the middle of the highly lauded gardens of Val Royeaux. A stack of parchment lay next to him just as it did in a hundred of her memories. Varric's hair had more gray in it than she remembered, but that was to be expected. It was years since she'd seen him.
Since she'd screwed everything up between them.
In the end, the decision to part had been a mutual one. They both recognized the changes of the years - they weren't the same crazy kids who had wanted to run away together. They'd forged lives outside of each other. Lives neither could truly fit in. She'd agreed with the decision and wished him well.
But Bianca knew that the red lyrium betrayal had poisoned even good memories. Any chance they'd had was shattered with that mistake. Then again, there were other broken promises. Maybe in truth she'd sealed their fate the moment she failed to meet him at the altar.
Either way, they'd never worked. And while he might argue, she knew she was the reason why.
Even remembering all this, Bianca approached him. Something about Varric Tethras had always been irresistible to her.
He'd paused in his writing and was taking in the sights of the garden. She feared for just a moment what his face would hold when he spotted her. Their final parting had been affable, but the events leading up to it were decidedly painful. Bianca remembered his face as he left her at the lyrium cave. She never wanted to feel that way again.
Varric turned her way and blinked when he saw her. There was surprise on his face, but also welcome. There was none of the anger she dreaded. And there was none of the adoration she remembered from days long gone.
"You're a long way from Kirkwall, Viscount," she greeted him, with a smile that she hoped came across as carefree.
Just as she hoped, Varric returned the smile and the quip. "You're one to talk. I didn't know Paragons were allowed above ground."
Her heart leapt traitorously for a moment at the thought that he'd kept up with her accomplishments. But there were only a few Paragons created in a lifetime. Even Kirkwall's dwarven community would know about her appointment.
Varric's role as Viscount of Kirkwall was perhaps less well known among her circles, but she'd been curious. She wished him well and wanted to know how things had turned out. So she kept tabs on the end of the Inquisition, and his election, and his marriage some short years later.
And she tried not to think about why she wanted to know. Or about why finding out never made her regrets go away.
"Congratulations, Bianca."
His smile was genuine, and for a moment she basked in what was still true after all these years. It still felt good to make him proud. "Thanks."
Varric leaned back on his bench, a book resting on his papers to keep them from escaping in the breeze that had come up. His voice was contemplative. "I never doubted you'd make it."
Bianca grinned at him. "Funny, I didn't either."
She'd wanted Paragon her whole life. From the moment she'd learned about the honor, she'd craved its recognition. And once her first invention, the Davri Seed Drill, had earned her the attention of Orzammar, the dream had evolved into a lifelong ambition.
No surfacer had ever been named Paragon. Not until her.
It was the red lyrium that did it. Not in and of itself, but all those hours of study and investigation had led to the discovery that lyrium was a living substance. That revelation opened the door to her next ideas, to the invention that tipped the scales and brought her the favor of Orzammar's houses.
Her greatest mistake became the key to her legacy.
She couldn't tell if it was a reward for her good intentions or a cruel twist of irony. Red lyrium gave her everything she'd ever dreamed of. And it cost her the person she'd have wanted to share that success with.
Not that she'd ever truly been able to have him.
"I bet Viscount surprised you though," she teased, pulling her own thoughts away from the things that haunted her.
Varric shook his head, laughingly. "Who would have thought Kirkwall would want someone like me in charge?" He smiled, fondly. "It's grown on me."
That wasn't at all hard for her to imagine. Varric practically had to be dragged out of Kirkwall to leave the city. And he was more of a leader than he thought. All her reports said the Marcher city was better than ever with him at the helm.
Before she could say anything to that effect, Varric had turned the conversation with a few questions. "How are you? How's Bogdan?"
When she'd married, Varric had been hurt. She knew that. For all his practicality, he had a writer's romantic heart. Yet he'd seen the purpose of the marriage and the influence it afforded her. Even in the years when they'd met up behind Bogdan's back, he'd never been disparaging of her husband.
And there was nothing insulting in his tone now. It was just strange to hear that question from this man.
"He's good," she said, not entirely sure what she should answer. "Things have been … better. We didn't marry for love, but I'm trying to make it work. That's new."
The honesty of the response surprised her. It occurred to her suddenly, and strangely, that she wanted Varric to know. That maybe this was an accomplishment she was proud of, too.
He nodded. "That's good to hear."
The question was one of those polite niceties that begged to be asked in kind, and so she managed it. "How's Pentaghast?"
Varric's face lit up. As cliche as that was, it was utterly true. In all their years of knowing each other, Bianca didn't think she'd ever seen Varric look so joyful, so content. He'd perfected the devil-may-care look of nonchalance, and the face he wore when playing Wicked Grace could pass as unscrutizably carefree. But the expression he wore now spoke louder than those for its truthfulness.
"It's Tethras these days," he reminded her, happily, and didn't seem to notice the way that picked a scab off her heart.
"Right."
"Cass is good," he continued. It's possible that he would have said more about their state of married bliss, but Bianca was saved from that pain by a fast moving blur of half-dwarven child. A pain all its own.
The little girl had been strolling through the gardens with a human caretaker. Catching sight of Varric, she'd rushed over as fast as her small legs would carry her.
Varric was ready for her. The child leaped, and he caught her in an exaggerated motion that drew squeals of delight from the girl. He cradled her in one arm - a practiced gesture - and murmured a greeting that made her laugh.
"I've got her, Bran," he told the human, then turned his attention back to Bianca. He nodded at the little one and gave her another radiant smile. "We're very happy."
"I can see that."
The child was beautiful. She was young, only three or four, but she was already too gangly to be fully dwarven. Of course, that was never in question because she had her mother's features. Dark hair, tanned skin, lightly freckled cheeks.
But she was also very clearly Varric's child. It was obvious in her eyes, her bearing, the way he held her in his arms. It was clear that she was his whole world.
Bianca's world was made out of stone, and gears, and veins of living, glowing rock. It had never seemed cold until this moment.
She never wanted children. She couldn't imagine herself as a mother and had never tried to. It wasn't in her blood. She nurtured ideas, gave birth to inventions, and that was exactly how she wanted it.
Even if - and those were dangerous words - even if she and Varric had found a way to work, her thoughts on motherhood wouldn't have changed. It wasn't for her, and that was perfectly fine.
But seeing him there with the little girl in his arms was like a puzzle piece clicking into place. This was exactly the life he was supposed to be living. She managed a smile, and the child returned it. "Looks like we both got everything we wanted."
Varric's eyes looked as though they could see through her. She fought hard against it. But there was no pity in his voice, just curiosity. "Did we?"
She looked at him, happy and loved. She thought of her work. Her staff, her status, the freedom she had as a living Paragon. The home she went back to too infrequently and shared with a man she hadn't chosen.
"We got enough."
