Varric looked down at the bed, taking a deep breath to calm himself after the memories he'd brought up by telling the story. "So, Hawke, now you know. Did it make you feel any better?"

Hawke smiled softly, eyes closed. "Thank-you," she whispered.

Varric nodded, unsure if the lump in his throat was from the memory of Bianca, or the knowledge that his best friend was dying. He sighed, knowing this was the last time he'd ever see her.

"Varric?" Hawke's voice was small and weak.

Varric took her hand. "I'm here, Hawke. Right here."

"Leave this part out of my story."

Varric laughed dryly. "I promise, Hawke." He watched her for a moment and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "You take care, Hawke." He stood, not wanting to watch her die any more than she wanted to be watched. He turned and walked out of the room, not even looking at Orana as he left, though he was silently thankful at least one person had remained with Hawke through everything.

A week later, a funeral was held for the Champion of Kirkwall. All of Kirkwall as well as most of the Free Marches were in attendance, with those closest to her in the front rows after carrying her body to the pyre. Varric stood beside the pyre before it was lit, and silence fell over the crowd. He swallowed, collecting himself before speaking. "Hawke wasn't just Champion of Kirkwall. She was champion to all of us, even before being given the title. She-" for the first time that anyone was aware of, Varric's voice cracked and he had to calm down before continuing. "She was always ready for a joke to lighten the mood, but she knew there was a time to be serious. With bravery, she defended the city she came to as a refugee and grew to love. She was the truest friend, and-" He swallowed, "and she will be remembered with the love she carried for all of us. When we tell a joke, we will do so in memory of our Champion, our Hawke." He nodded and stepped away from the pyre. He didn't look at the others who had come to attend, knowing there were some missing. Isabella had never returned after betraying everyone, Anders was dead, and Fenris? Fenris, who had stolen Hawke's heart then broken it, only to promise never to do so again, hadn't even shown up for the funeral. Varric doubted if he'd even visited Hawke while she was ill, or if he'd even cared.

The pyre was lit and the glow of the flames illuminated all their faces. Aveline bit back her tears and clutched Donnic's hand as she ran her other hand over their daughter's hair. She looked away from the pyre, not wanting to see her friend being burned. On the horizon, she thought she saw two silhouettes outlined by the sunset. She stared at them, unsure who they were or if they were truly there, but she had a theory. Before she could decide what to do if her theory was correct, however, her daughter tugged on her arm. She looked down into her young face. "Mama, why are they burning her? What if she wakes up, she'd be on fire!" There was a muffled forced laughter from anyone who heard the innocent girl, and Aveline closed her eyes. She didn't have the heart to answer, and she doubted she could trust her voice.

Standing on a hill overlooking the funeral, was Isabella and Fenris. They stood apart from each other, tears in both their eyes. They each had separate reasons for standing away from the actual procession, but they shared the main reason that no one could understand but Hawke. Well, Varric could understand, but he was all but required to attend because he gave the eulogy. Hawke had never been one to glorify death, and would never have wanted anyone to see her die or view her corpse.

Varric looked at the flaming pyre one last time. "Sleep well Hawke. Say hi to Bianca for me." He turned and left, unable to stomach it anymore.