Sister,

Congratulations, I suppose, on becoming Champion of Kirkwall. I'm a bit late in saying it, but I only have your example for writing about important news.

You keep asking how I am. What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you about my dreams? Wardens get their own personalized set of nightmares, much different from anything I had as a mere mage. Or I could tell you about the darkspawn we've fought over the past few years. There are things down in the Deep Roads that would make surfacers shit themselves.

Oh, don't be surprised. You were in the army. Surely you didn't think I wouldn't pick up a few new words. I'm not a child.

You don't need to keep writing. I know you think you know best, but please - stop reminding me of everything I can't have anymore.

Bethany

Hawke showed up at the Hanged Man with her own bottle of wine. Bottles, in fact. One in her hand and one under each arm. She snagged a cup from Nora on her way through, and plopped herself down in Varric's room, dislodging a sheaf of paper from a chair. "Oops," she said.

"What's the occasion?" Varric asked, reaching for one of the unopened bottles.

"I can't spend the evening with my favorite dwarf without an ulterior motive?" Hawke poured herself a cup.

"Sure, but you usually don't come bearing gifts." Varric popped open his bottle and busied himself with finding a mug. He filled it to the brim, then tossed back half of it without even blinking. "So, what's up?"

Hawke stared morosely at the table. "Do you ever feel like nothing you do matters? Or only matters in the wrong ways?"

Varric cocked an eyebrow at her. "Strange talk coming from the Champion."

"Ha, yes. I didn't do the Viscount any good though, did I?"

"You saved Rivaini."

"And where is she now? Couldn't have done that good a job of it if she still ran off first chance."

"Ever think that says more about Rivaini than it does about you?"

Hawke took a sip of wine. "When one person does that, sure. When - " she stopped herself and redid the rest of that sentence. "When it's more than one, you start to wonder."

Varric leaned back and ran his fingers through his chest hair. "So this isn't about Rivaini," he said. He hesitated for a split second before asking, "The elf?"

Hawke stared into her cup. "No." Honesty compelled her to add, "Mostly not."

"Unless you've been holding out on me, that's all I've got."

She shrugged and swirled her wine, watching the candlelight reflect off its surface. Varric's chair scraped as he pushed it back and moved around the table. He leaned against the edge next to her and waited. Nosy dwarf. Hawke reached into an inner pocket and pulled out Bethany's letter. She handed it to him and went back to nursing her drink.

He read it in silence, re-folding it and placing it on the table when done. "Sunshine doesn't sound too happy."

Hawke hated how bitter her laugh sounded. "I thought you went in for exaggeration, not understatement."

"A good storyteller knows there's a time for both."

She threw back the rest of the wine and finally looked up at him. "I don't know how to fix this," she said bleakly.

Varric didn't answer right away, focused on smoothing the edges of the letter. "Maybe it isn't your problem to fix," he said finally.

Of course it was. "I'm the one who exposed her to the taint. I'm the one who made the decision to have her join the Wardens."

"You tried to do right by her. That's all you can do."

Hawke slammed her cup down. "I'm her sister! Her older sister. That means something!" Varric's eyes were far too understanding and Hawke looked away. "I'm supposed to protect her, not - " she cut off abruptly. Varric went thoughtful again.

"I'm the last person to give advice on this, Hawke."

Hawke snorted softly. "How would you tell it as a story, then? What makes the sister forgive the hero?"

"Oh," Varric waved one hand expansively. "There'd be a grand rescue, after which the sisters would fall into each other's arms, crying and swearing never to be at odds again."

"Bethany has probably had enough of my 'rescues,'" Hawke pointed out.

"Who said you'd be the one doing the rescuing?" Varric asked, and chuckled at Hawke's expression. After a second, her lips twitched and she started laughing too. If Varric noticed the edge to it, he was kind enough not to say anything. He let her wind down and topped off her glass.

"What about Blondie?" he suggested as she drank. "He might be able to fill in some blanks."

And she might even consider asking him, except for the fact that Anders had been increasingly distracted lately. Justice seemed to be lurking ever closer to the surface. The last time she'd visited, they'd barely exchanged three sentences before Anders started glowing around the edges. "He's been busy," she said.

"He'd make time for you."

"Don't."

Varric took the admonition in good grace. "Back to a grand rescue then? We could always tie you up in the Bone Pit and send a note to Sunshine about the horrible danger you're in."

"You're assuming she'd come."

"We'll go and get her first. Kidnapping a Grey Warden would make one hell of a story."

Hawke bent over the table, shoulders shaking with laughter, "Varric." He raised his glass and winked at her.

They let the conversation drift to easier topics after that. The wine wasn't a particularly strong one, and Varric drank the lion's share, but Hawke's head felt pleasantly fuzzy by the time they polished off the final bottle. Everything seemed a comfortable distance away and she might actually sleep untroubled that night. Hawke thought about Bethany's letter, to test the sensation. The hurt was still there, but removed and wavering, like she was seeing it through water. Or alcohol, she thought, and giggled.

She stood, slightly unsteady on her feet. "I'm going home," she announced, taking up the letter from where it lay on the table.

Varric's voice stopped her at the door, "Hawke." She looked back at him. "What are you going to do about . . ." his eyes flicked down to her hand.

"What else?" Hawke asked. She waved the letter, "I'm going to do what I think is best."