a/n: Consider this chapter a bit of an intermission before the final few chapters, because it's more a collection of scenes rather than anything coherent and/or linear. Even though all of this is in a single chapter, each scene could have happened basically any time since Hawke first arrives at Skyhold. I didn't want the whole story to be depressing and sad, so I wanted to take this chance to show Hawke having fun and making friends. Because she does kind of have a knack for it. How else do you explain her pal-ing around with people like Merrill right next to people like Anders? Or Aveline and Isabela? Face it: Hawke is some kind of supernatural force where everyone is just drawn to her against their will. She's like a magnet for literally every kind of person. And I love that about her.
As to what's in the box? Of course I know, but I'd rather leave it to your imagination. c: Also, why is Sera so hard to write for? Hot damn, Cole was easier than she is.
e l e v. e n
As the moth sees the light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards the Light.
Transfigurations 10:1
"You aren't quite what I expected." No fewer than six people had said this to Hawke since her arrival at Skyhold, and she laughed every time she heard it. She never knew what people were expecting, but apparently a light-hearted, sarcastic mage with little to no regard for societal standards was not it. Alice had said that she expected someone a little more somber; Hawke had said something to the extent of, "After you've seen what I've seen, you stop taking Life seriously anymore." Varric told her that everyone probably expected some great and powerful mage who preached about changing the future; when she was finished laughing, Hawke told him that, "If I could change the future, love, I would be on a beach somewhere right now with a drink in one hand and at least six ridiculously attractive men and women attending to my every whim."
But the point stood: whatever anyone had heard about Champion Hawke had distorted her into little more than a character of myth. So she took joy in proving to anyone who cared to give her the chance that she was - regardless of how the stories depicted her - decidedly human.
"All right," she told Sera as she finished tying an unnecessarily elaborate bow with the ribbon wrapped around the box on the table between them. "I managed to successfully pull this one on Aveline four times."
"Four times?" Sera burst out in laughing surprise. "Andraste's arse, she didn't learn after the second? Or third?"
"Which made it all the funnier," Hawke said with a wide grin. "A week after the first one, I gave her the second 'gift' as an apology, and she looked at me like she'd be stupid to open it after the last one. So I told her that it would just be crazy to try to pull the same trick on her twice, which - of course - is exactly what I did."
"And it worked twice more, still?" Sera pressed eagerly.
"Same story both the third and fourth times," Hawke confirmed. "Just told her, 'Aveline, really? You really think I'd pull that again? I'm hurt that you think I'd be that stupid.'"
Sera laughed again, slapping the table. "You're something else, Hawke; can't believe you've done half the stuff you say."
"That, and more," Hawke confirmed, pushing the box across the table. "Remind me to tell you about the time I convinced Lady Abelton her garden was haunted."
"Oh, yes please," Sera agreed, standing and snatching the box from the table. "Should deliver this before the ice melts, though. Thanks." She smiled, but before she left, she turned and said, with a crooked sort of smirk, "You're not quite what I was expecting, Champion. Varric got it all wrong in his dumb book."
Hawke chuckled. "That's what I keep telling him, Sera, trust me."
- x -
"All right, let's hear it then!" Sera plopped down on the wall next to her. Hawke didn't seem all too surprised, and just glanced at her new companion with a smile. "The Lady Whosit's haunted garden."
"Ah, right," Hawke said. "First," she said instead, closing the book she was reading, "how'd Cassandra like the present?"
Sera giggled in a not entirely non-nefarious manner. "She spent the afternoon looking for me. Made her waste her precious training time."
"Perfect," Hawke said with a smile. "All I ever see her do is beat on those dummies. Or recruits. She'll appreciate the unplanned break, I'm sure."
"Right?" Sera agreed, swinging her legs. "Can't wait to pull it again next week. But tell me about Lady Appletown."
"Abelton-" Hawke correct with a slight chuckle.
"Whatever," Sera interjected in little more than a mumble.
"-but," Hawke continued, "I like Appletown better, admittedly, so let's stick with that. She was an old thing, lived next door to me, and didn't care for much except her garden. I used to see her out there all the time, fretting over the flowers, or making sure everything was at just the right angle to see the sun. So one day, I decided she needed some excitement. Wasn't easy, though; Appletown didn't like me much already, so it was hard to talk to her.
"She did, however, have a handful of servants that tended to the garden, and they were much easier to approach than the Lady herself."
"Really?" Sera interjected. "Weren't you some noble twat back then? You did dealings with gardeners?"
"Hopefully not so much of the 'twat' part, but technically noble, yes. And of course I did," Hawke said. "You Red Jennies know what you're doing; figured I should take a page out of your book."
"Hey, good on you, Champion; didn't think you were the type."
"No one ever does," she said with a smile. "So, I manage to find one of her servants in the market, and ask him how he felt about causing a little mischief in his mistress' precious garden. No real vandalism, just some fun. He agrees. Appletown knows her garden inside and out, down to the exact angle of rotation of the statues and number of petals on the flowers, so I explain the plan: for the first week, every day before she wakes up, he - and probably some others - needed to move or rotate each furnishing just enough to be noticeable, but not so much that it was immediately obvious. Then, during the second week - when she's probably noticed something seems off - each morning, change the placement of potted plants; so instead of having a row that's rose, violet, fern, fern, violet, rose, make it fern, rose, violet, violet, rose, fern."
Sera giggled. "Bet that drove her mad."
"Of course it did, because the servants happily played along. I would hear them arguing with her from my balcony every morning. 'No, Mistress, I swear to the Maker, I never touched those pots; I'm just as surprised as you are!' She was just frail enough to believe them, but not so much to ignore the issue. It gets better."
"Better!" Sera exclaimed. "Oh, yes, let's hear it. Did you have them paint the flowers different colors?"
"Y'know," Hawke said, looking at Sera, "that's actually better. I wish I'd known you back then. No, I wanted to use the third week to make her think that the spirit of a dead gardener was haunting her. So I procured some props - spades, pages from gardening books, things like that - and made them look older. Then had my new servant friend bury them in the freshly tilled soil. Maker's ass, when she found those, she completely lost it. Ranted and raved for days, calling the City Guard in case it was actually vandalism, the Templars in case it was magic- but they all found nothing. No magic, no clear signs of vandalism, nothing. So she was left with only the conclusion that it must be a spirit of someone who's passed on."
"You really did it!" Sera said with a laugh. "You made her think there was a ghost?"
"Of course I did," Hawke assured her. "I don't do anything half-assed. And I know she believed it, because I wanted to do one last thing before moving on to my next project. I needed to see for myself how she was handling it, and not from my window.
"So, one morning, when I saw her leaving her estate, I hurried to leave mine as well. 'Oh, Lady Abelton,' I greeted her cheerfully; she nearly jumped out of her skin, too," Hawke said with a chuckle. "Poor thing was skittish as anything. 'Lady Abelton,' I said, 'I couldn't help but hear that you've been having some trouble with your garden lately.' Even though I knew she didn't think much of me, she was pretty desperate. 'Oh, Mesere Hawke,' she whined, 'oh, there's a ghost in my garden. Please, you've done so much good for this city, and you're just such a wonderful woman, please won't you help me?'"
"Just like that?" Sera asked teasingly. "All that praise heaped in and everything?"
"Oh, of course," Hawke said very seriously. "I received praise everywhere I went, didn't you know?"
"I'm sure you received something everywhere you went," Sera muttered with a smirk.
"Anyway, I told her that I'd be happy to take a look," Hawke continued. "And I made a show of it, too, poking around in the petunias and examining the lemongrass. Finally, I told her that I would need to consult a friend, and would return the next day."
"Ooh, who'd you consult, then?" Sera asked excitedly.
"I had done my research, right?" Hawke said, unable to stop from smiling. "I already knew exactly what I was going to tell her to do, but I wanted it to seem more official. So I dragged Anders into it, because he was always better at pretending to be serious than I was. I told him exactly what he needed to say, and the next day, we went back to Appletown's garden, and he looked around, and made a show of 'reading the garden's aura'. Then - and I have no idea how he managed to keep a straight face, but he did - he told her that in order to be rid of the spirit, she would need to bring in a Helicodiceros muscivorus."
"A what?" Sera interrupted, but gleefully, knowing it had to be good.
"It's this big, fleshy flower that blooms on sunny days, massive, difficult to care for in Kirkwall's climate- but the important bit is, it's commonly called the 'dead horse arum lily'."
"Maker's tits!" Sera burst out into a noisy fit of laughter. "You got her to plant a shite-smelling flower in her garden!"
"I did," Hawke agreed proudly. "She had made a fuss over it, insisting that Anders must have been mistaken about what the spirit wanted, but he assured her that all the spirit wanted was to see the lily bloom, just once, and then it could be at peace. So she did. A week later, there was this big pot in the middle of her precious garden, with this bud that blossomed a few days later into an absolutely gorgeous bloom. But, the servants told me, it absolutely smelled like death. They were far too happy to care, though, because for an entire month, Lady Appletown had been too distracted by the supposed ghost in her garden to worry about things like little bits of gold missing from her vault or sacks of potatoes and flour from the kitchen."
"Hey, no way," Sera said incredulously, punching Hawke's arm lightly. "That was you! I knew Appletown sounded familiar. I'd heard something about some Friends out that way being able to raid a noblewoman's coffers because she'd been distracted by an imaginary demon or something. Never knew you were involved, though."
"What, really?" Hawke asked. "I had no idea. I was just trying to make my mornings a little more interesting," she insisted. "So you're telling me that my prank helped the Red Jennies in Kirkwall?"
"Sounds like it," Sera said with a smile. "So thanks, Hawke. On behalf of the Red Jennies, I owe you a drink."
"You're a very curious woman, you know that?"
"You're trying to distract me."
"I am, but that makes the statement no less factual."
"Factual? And what about me is so curious, exactly?"
"Well. You're not quite what I expected."
Hawke laughed, pushing a pawn forward on the board in front of her. "Check. And what were you expecting, exactly?" she asked Dorian, sitting back in her chair. "I'm just a Fereldan-turned-Marcher; certainly nothing like you pompous Vints. Were you expecting some magister wanna-be?"
Dorian chuckled. "No, I was not expecting that. But I've heard stories about you. Escaping the Blight? Rising from nothing? Killing the Arishok? And let's talk about that- defeating him in one-on-one combat, was it?"
"Duels are easy; you've only got the single opponent to focus on. It's when you have arrows and blades from all directions that the challenge appears, nevermind the skill of your enemies. It's your move."
"And I absolutely agree," Dorian said, glancing at the board. "But regardless, it makes your story almost heroic. The dashing hero defeating the power-mad villain all on her own?"
"Dashing, am I?" Hawke asked with a smirk.
"Or beautiful; have it your way," Dorian corrected, moving a castle to take her pawn.
"I do prefer 'beautiful', thank you," she said, considering the board. "I don't suppose you heard anything about what happened up north once news of the Arishok's death reached the rest of the Qunari?"
"Oh, I certainly don't know," Dorian brushed the matter aside. "I'm sure they immediately sent someone to clean up the mess, and then aggressively ignored the disgrace."
"That does sound like them," Hawke agreed. "All I know is that they finally cleared the wreckage of their dreadnaught and issued an entirely unsatisfactory apology." She moved her queen away from his knight. "You still haven't told me what you were, indeed, expecting of me, then."
"Well, you seem far too… comfortable," Dorian said, to which Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Do you not think about how you, personally, have shaped history?" he continued. "Kirkwall alone will always have the name Hawke etched into their collective memory for centuries to come, nevermind the Qunari, Fereldens, and whoever else you've met along the way."
"Your move, sweetheart."
"Does it not bother you to know that the world will always look at your arrivals and departures - and, of course, participation - as events of rather severe gravity?" Dorian moved a pawn forward with barely a glance at the board. "So, to answer your question, I was expecting a woman who had forgotten how to laugh."
Hawke looked up at Dorian with the slightest of patient smiles. "You think that - because of my unwilling place in history - I should have forgotten how to have fun."
"Simply put, yes," Dorian agreed.
She took his pawn with her own. "Check. You're probably right," she said. "But I've always believed that the only goal in life should be to achieve happiness. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, if you aren't happy, you are simply failing at life. Why else should we be put upon this earth? If the Maker does indeed exist, the Chant of Light says He put us in this world and gave us an unending desire for satisfaction- or, in other words, happiness. And if He doesn't exist, then this world and the small space between birth and death we each call life, is truly all we have, and we should therefore enjoy it as much as possible. Either way, if I should forget how to laugh, then there should be no reason to continue living. I am distracting you, I know, but it's still your move."
Dorian smiled at her and took her pawn with his queen. "There's a wisdom in your words that goes beyond your years, Hawke."
"Is there?" She moved her queen forward. "Because I was just talking to keep your attention elsewhere. Checkmate."
He laughed. "You devious minx. I was wondering what you were doing with your queen earlier."
"I learned a few things from Varric," Hawke said, "not the least of which is how to talk my way out of situations. You almost had me with those pawns, actually. That's when I decided to bring up Tevinter."
"Ah, I was wondering why the sudden change in conversation." Dorian looked over the board. "Color me impressed, Champion. You know what you're doing after all."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she said with a light shrug. "I mostly just make it up as I go. It's always more fun when you have no idea what you're doing."
"Don't let historians hear you say that!" Dorian said with a laugh. "To think, the legendary Hawke had no idea what she was doing throughout life, had no master plan. They'd call you a fraud."
"A fraud?" Hawke giggled. "All right, how about this then: I've always heard that 'the journey is more important than the destination', but I thought that aphorism was oversimplifying. The destination is always important to keep in mind, but it's the journey where the memories are made," she said with a smile. "And if that little adage didn't trick them into thinking I was the messiah they were expecting, I don't know what would. New game?" she asked, beginning to reset the board anyway.
"Of course. You won't distract me this time."
"We'll see. Have I told you about the time I killed a high dragon?"
"Nice try."
"Oh, but you want to hear this. I was just on my way to check in on the Bone Pit, when out of nowhere..."
Cassandra had been training all day. Like every day prior. She didn't like the downtime between excursions with the Inquisitor; it made her anxious. She always felt like there was something more to be doing.
Hawke would watch her sometimes as the Seeker hacked away at the training dummies or sparred with the soldiers. Unlike Cassandra, Hawke was perfectly content with the downtime. She had found so little of it in recent years. Even the moments while traveling with Anders when there was little else to do besides enjoy the evening, Hawke found herself grow increasingly antsy as the silent, calm minutes drew longer. Though there had been truly nothing to do during those moments, she would invariably find something to do to busy her hands and mind.
So watching Cassandra work out her anxiety on whatever her target of the day happened to be had become almost therapeutic for Hawke. Regardless of her contentment, however, Hawke also found herself very curious about the kind of woman the Seeker was, beyond the obvious conclusion of "singlemindedly driven".
"So tell me, Seeker," she greeted Cassandra one afternoon, making the woman jump with surprise. "Does a warrior of your caliber truly gain anything from fighting an unmoving target?"
Cassandra swung around to see Hawke leaning against the nearby stairway that led to the ramparts above; the Champion was smiling easily, mindlessly folding a bit of paper in her hands that she glanced at here and there. "Oh, Champion."
"Hawke is fine," she said. "It's what everyone else calls me, anyway."
"All right, …Hawke." Cassandra watched the other woman carefully, as if expecting the conversation to reveal some kind of trick. "You are referring to the training dummies."
"I am," she agreed. "Surely you would gain more by fighting someone who might fight back?"
"When striving to perfect a particular maneuver, a stationary foe provides simply a target to focus on," Cassandra explained, if a bit curtly. "If I aimed to see how the moves worked in practice, then I would be sparring with another swordsman."
"Ah, that does make sense," Hawke agreed, glancing down to the paper in her hands as she worked out a tricky fold. "You do seem to be one for perfection, from what I've gathered."
"Was there something I could help you with?" Cassandra asked.
"You're a Pentaghast, right?" Hawke said, looking up with a slight grin. "Dragon hunters of Nevarra? A noble line, as well. You're probably, what, fifty-somethingth in line for the throne?"
"Seventy-eighth," Cassandra corrected sharply.
Hawke chuckled. "I see. You know, you don't need to be quite so hostile towards me. I'm going to assume that it has something to do with your animosity towards Varric?"
Cassandra heaved a sigh that seemed more of a huff. "Perhaps. Your presence here betrays his loyalties, making him a tenuous ally of the Inquisition's, at best."
"Eloquently put," Hawke said with a nod, looking back down at her little project, which was starting to take form. "But Varric is nothing if not loyal to his friends. And he does have friends in the Inquisition, Seeker; I wouldn't worry so much about him when you have much bigger enemies to focus on. Let me ask you a question, then."
"A question?" Cassandra asked, sounding a little surprised.
"When you interrogated Varric back in Kirkwall, before this mess, what exactly were you hoping to find out about me?" She looked up at Cassandra with raised eyebrows and a patient but curious smile.
"The truth," she responded simply. "What happened at the Gallows sparked war in nearly every corner of Thedas. You had no small part in the event, and I set to find out whatever I could that might help put an end to it."
"You mean, you wanted to find me, so I could put an end to it?"
"I-" Cassandra began to deny it, but Hawke's knowing smirk told her that Varric had already revealed the truth to his friend. "Yes," she said instead. "The people trusted you, even if - at the time - I couldn't see why, and we thought that might be useful should the Inquisition become a reality."
"I see." Hawke shrugged a little in a noncommittal sort of manner. "I'm not much of a leader, honestly; probably for the best you found Trevelyan. But I must say, I've been incredibly curious about your purpose ever since you surprised us by snatching Varric right from the streets of Lowton that evening."
Cassandra's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"
Hawke continued, focusing on the nearly-completed figure in her hands, and missed the other woman's astonishment. "I figured he was just delayed by bandits that night; imagine my surprise when he comes back to the Hanged Man and tells me that he was actually forced to tell my story to a demanding Seeker."
"What?" Cassandra repeated.
The piercing tone of voice caught Hawke's attention, and she looked up with a suddenly guilty grin. "Oops."
"He said he didn't know where you were!" Cassandra burst out, taking a step towards Hawke, brandishing her finger threateningly as though it was more dangerous than the sword at her side.
"Well," Hawke began with an uneasy chuckle, "technically he didn't. I could have been at the Hawke estate, or in the Hanged Man, or even in Darktown-"
"He said he didn't know how to contact you!" Cassandra snapped, eyes narrowing to sharp slits of anger.
"Technically-"
"He lied!"
Hawke just shrugged. "He does do that, y'know."
Cassandra threw her hand aside with a disgusted noise, turning on her heel. "That little- I knew he wasn't to be trusted, I knew-"
Hawke appeared unexpectedly at her side and held up the paper in her hands to quell the stream of curses and rage. She had folded it into the shape of stylized sunburst, not unlike the Chantry's symbol. Cassandra looked taken aback. "Let's pretend, for a moment," Hawke began, handing her the little sunburst, "that, years ago, some men or women showed up and dragged you to a dark room and demanded to know where Justinia was."
Cassandra looked down that the paper figure in her hands, then back up at Hawke, who was aimlessly meandering around her while glancing out towards the main courtyard. Hawke looked rather unconcerned with the information she had just revealed, and it was that that made Cassandra listen.
"And you had sworn to Justinia," Hawke continued, "that you would protect her secret location, no matter who demanded it of you. These people questioning you were armed and angry. Would you tell them?"
"I-" Cassandra frowned. Considering hypothetical situations had never been much of a strong point of hers. "I don't- that's hardly- Are you comparing yourself to Most Holy?"
"Certainly not," Hawke said quickly. "But it is the only situation I think that you might be able to relate to. So, would you tell your interrogators where she was hidden?"
Of course she wouldn't. Cassandra looked down at the sunburst in her hands. She knew the point Hawke was trying to make, but that made her surge of anger towards Varric no less real. "Regardless, Varric should have-"
"And why wouldn't you tell them?" Hawke cut her off, but with a smile. "Because…?"
Clearly, however, Hawke was not going to drop the topic until she had made her point. Cassandra sighed. "Because I trust her."
Hawke chuckled lightly. "We all do silly things for our friends, Seeker. Varric was willing to lie to his kidnappers and forceful interrogators just to protect someone he cared about. Is that not the sort of person you want on your side in this conflict?"
She was right, but Cassandra was finding it difficult to let this slide. Varric not only knew how to contact Hawke, but he was hiding her in Kirkwall. Cassandra and Leliana had been so close without knowing it. If only Varric could have understood the gravity of the situation, if only he knew what would have happened because she, Cassandra, had been unable to locate the Champion.
But what Varric had said a few days prior when she had confronted him about this very topic came back to her: "If Hawke had been at the temple, she'd be dead too."
The same thoughts repeatedly came back to her: if only things had gone differently, if only she had had more time, if only they had searched harder, if only, if only. But the reality was simply that things had happened this way. She and Leliana had been unable to locate the Hero or the Champion, and instead had found the Herald.
"Hawke." Cassandra looked up to see Hawke standing in front of her with a placid smile. "I'm… sorry. You're… you are right. Varric may not always be the most honest among us, but he has done nothing to deserve constant suspicion."
"Oh, now, I wouldn't say that," Hawke said. "Everything he says does need to be taken with a grain of salt or two. I don't blame you for assuming the worst until proven differently. Might make you a bit of a pessimist, but hey, if everyone is busy looking up and trying to find the bright side, they'll miss the dagger coming for their backs."
Cassandra considered the words for a moment, then looked down at the paper figure in her hands once again. "If I might be honest for a moment," she said slowly, "you… aren't quite what I expected."
Hawke chuckled with a teasingly melodramatic bow. "And you're welcome for that, Seeker. I apologize for the interruption of your training," she continued as she straightened and started towards the stairs. "But I just had to know a bit more about the woman who stole Varric away from me."
"You're welcome to take him back," Cassandra muttered under her breath.
Already halfway up to the battlements with a giggle, Hawke called back, "Don't tempt me."
"Bull."
"Hawke."
"Spar later?"
"Sure thing."
"No shield."
"Yeah? No staff, then."
Hawke laughed, plopping down on the barstool next to the Qunari and waving vaguely towards the bartender for an ale. "That's hardly fair. I need my staff to properly direct my spells."
"And I need the shield to properly angle your spells back at you," Bull retaliated with a smirk. "Yours are a little more focused than what I'm used to."
"Even against the Vints?" Hawke asked curiously, leaning forward with earnest interest. "Sure, I mean, Father drilled it into me that if I had any intention of casting a spell, I'd damn well better make sure that it hit only my intended target. But up in the Imperium, they're all about superior mages and magic and I don't even know because I find it all tediously dull. No way I'm any better than the average Vint."
Bull shrugged lazily as she received her mug. "Sure, there were some that had me fumbling on the defense, but on average, I'm actually pretty impressed how you compare against them."
"Aw, I'm flattered," Hawke said with a smile as she lifted her drink to take a sip. "I'll have to be sure not to oppress any of you non-mages or openly practice and then subsequently deny practicing blood magic, lest your opinion change."
Bull chuckled. "Just keep that sense of humor, Hawke. It's what separates you from them, and it's exactly the sort of thing we need in times like these."
"Sense of humor, hm?" Hawke mused, staring into her mug. "Oh, oh! All right, what's the difference between a Qunari and a wyvern?"
Bull gave her a steady look. "I'll bite."
"One's a huge mass of sinewy muscle that will tear your head off without provocation, and the other has four legs." Hawke beamed childishly at him.
"Cute," Bull chuckled, making Hawke giggle. "Jokes, then? How about this one: why do the basra walk on two legs?"
Hawke's brow furrowed, and she tilted her head to the side while she considered it. "Hmmm. All right, why?"
"Because otherwise they'd be mistaken for qalaba."
It took a moment for the Qunlat vocabulary to resolve itself into recognizable ideas, but then Hawke laughed. "I get it! Because we're stupid. That's a good one. I'm going to have to use that sometime. I never figured you brutes understood humor, let alone had jokes."
Bull shrugged, draining his drink. "I actually picked that one up in Orlais. Some noble's idea of a self-depreciating joke after dealing with some Qunari, I think. But I liked it."
"Ohh, it is a good one," Hawke agreed. "All right, did you hear about the Nevarran noble that hosted an exceedingly terrible hunt?"
"Hm," Bull grunted with a smirk playing at the edges of his expression. "No?"
"He had fire spat at him and was eaten alive- and then the dragon showed up." Hawke grinned another of her juvenile grins, and Bull chuckled appreciatively.
"Of course; should have seen that one coming. You have a joke for every occasion?"
"It pays to be prepared!" Hawke quipped cheerily. "And I do so love those terrible little jokes. People laugh more because of the absurdity or stupidity, rather than any actual comedic content."
"I can see that," Bull said. He considered Hawke for a long moment while she got through a bit more of her drink. "Let me ask you something, Hawke: were you always like this?"
"Like what?" she asked, twisting in her stool to better face her drinking companion. "This beautiful? This charming? This witty?"
"Yeah, yeah," Bull waved it all aside with a snort of laughter. "I meant, were you always… hmm." He realized he couldn't actually phrase the question in a single adjective. "Did you always have this fondness for bad jokes?"
"Eh." She waggled her shoulders a bit. "I've always been a sucker for puns, and I could never help but pick up bad jokes."
"Sure, but- Look, it's no secret what you've been through. Were you like… this," he gestured casually at her for effect, "during all that?"
Hawke laughed, which Bull thought was an odd reaction to the question. "Of course! You basically said it yourself: if there's ever a time when shitty humor is important, it's when the world is falling apart. If I can make even one person laugh in an apocalypse, I've done my job. If everyone gets so focused on the depressing fate of everything, and they forget to laugh and smile, they forget what they're fighting for. So if I can ask you a question: why do you ask?"
"Well." Bull shrugged. "You aren't quite what I expected."
Hawke laughed again, slapping the bar. "Of course not!" she agreed through the laughter. She seemed to be endlessly entertained with this statement. "Because I'm not what anyone expects. And that's the beauty of being me." She drained her drink and stood. "If you were expecting me, I wouldn't be able to defeat you every time we spar," she told him with a smirk.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Bull grumbled. "But you slipped up last time, gave away your strategy. I'm going to be using that to my advantage next time."
"I bet. Training ring at sundown, Bull. See you then."
"Varric." Hawke had slipped into the main hall without fuss, despite the nobles that Josephine was chatting with, and appeared next to Varric at his table. "Who's the uptight mage with the attitude?"
Varric, as usual, had been busy sorting through some documents - today, it was some finance reports that had become exceedingly boring to peruse - and had barely looked up to his friend. "Are you talking about Vivienne?"
"I don't know," Hawke admitted with a lazy shrug, glancing at his work. "I saw her in the courtyard earlier, and she told Cullen to stop dragging his feet because it made him look like… oh, and it was such great imagery. Something like 'a low-born pig farmer', I think."
"That's Vivienne," Varric confirmed with a slight smirk.
"Ah. Because she clearly seems to think she's better than everyone else, and I want to talk to her-"
"Please don't."
"-to see why." Hawke smiled, but it brought Varric no amount of comfort. "Why not?"
"Bubbles, you're a wonderful woman-"
"I know."
"-but you will not get along with Vivienne," Varric told her, looking up at her seriously. "She's First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle, she's the leader of the loyal mages, and she will have nothing but contempt for you."
Hawke chuckled. "What else is new? Who doesn't have contempt for me?"
"The difference is," Varric pressed, "Vivienne will have no problem expressing it to you in words that you may or may not understand."
Hawke looked taken aback, but perhaps a little too dramatically. "Varric! I'm hurt. I have quite the vocabulary. I'm sure I will understand whatever she has to say. After all, how many ways are there to say, 'party to the breaking down of society'?"
"Don't antagonize, please," Varric told her as she stood.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Play nice, Bubbles."
"I always do." She leaned over and pointed at one of the papers. "Column four doesn't add up." With a cheerful little wave, she disappeared into the nearby stairwell.
Varric watched her go, then looked back at the report in front of him. "Damn," he muttered, picking up his quill. "She's right."
- x -
"Vivienne?" Hawke poked her head through the door on the upper level to make sure the mage was indeed there, and in a position to be interrupted. "Or perhaps you'd prefer Madame Vivienne?" she continued, ascending the smaller set of stairs to reach Vivienne's little living area. "Or even First Enchanter Vivienne? Maybe just ma'am?"
Vivienne looked over to her with thinly pursed lips that made no effort to hide her disdain for the way in which she had just been greeted. "Ah. Hawke, isn't it? Or, perhaps you prefer Champion?"
Hawke chuckled, leaning back against the railing that overlooked the hall below. "Hawke is fine, really. I would say you could even call me by my first name, but no one does that anymore."
"Indeed," Vivienne agreed shortly. "I've heard much about 'the Hawke', making a name for mages all over Thedas."
"Oh?" Hawke, however, had picked up the slightest hint of disgust in the elder mage's tone, but didn't know what to do with it. "Er. Yeah, I guess so. Actually- actually that's kind of why I'm bothering you."
"Bothering me?" Vivienne scoffed very lightly, in clear agreement of the statement. "Bothering me for what? Are you hoping to hear someone else praise you for what you've accomplished? Another kind word to justify the decisions you've made?"
Hawke smiled. "Quite the opposite. From what I've heard, you're the one I need to talk to if I want an honest account of what my actions have done for the name of mages everywhere."
This seemed to surprise Vivienne, but she hid it by turning away. "Is that so."
"People revere me because they've heard twisted stories of what I've really done, and as those stories work their way from ear to mouth to ear, they become fantastical and unbelievable when compared to the truth. But you, Madame Vivienne, are a very practical and realistic woman. You, I'm sure, can see the truth of the matter. And it's that point of view that I'd like. If you'd be willing, that is."
Vivienne turned to look at Hawke with a patient, measured gaze. "My dear," she began, "you did nothing good for the plight that my fellow mages insist hounds them at every moment. You are an apostate who slipped through the cracks in both the Fereldan and Kirkwall Circles, and as a result, became complacent in your imagined freedom. That complacency led you to support steps to destruction of the relationship between mages and Templars, mages and the public, and mages and other mages. What you've done for 'the name of mages everywhere' is to help turn them into something that should be feared."
Hawks nodded slowly. Vivienne's words were harsh, but true. It had always been a thought in the back of Hawke's mind that her reputation - as a mage, especially - had caused more problems than it solved. Even though she had done nothing but help wherever she could, she had accepted that she would never escape the reality of being an apostate. "I agree," she said finally. "But mages were already feared. Being able to pull power from the very air around us lends to a certain apprehension from anyone without that power. Or... am I wrong?"
The First Enchanter was watching her as she spoke; her lips were no longer pursed, and something about Hawke's acceptance of her rather severe assessment of the younger woman's life let her relax, if only a bit. "You are not wrong," she agreed. "But you are willing to admit that your actions as an apostate-"
"Did nothing to help the situation," Hawke finished for her. "I absolutely agree."
The elder woman considered the blonde for a very long moment, and Hawke didn't shrink under the scrutiny, instead meeting the half-contemptuous, half-curious gaze with her own serene smile. Finally, Vivienne let slip the smallest of smiles. "I am surprised, my dear. I've heard that Hawke was a brash, stubborn, single-minded woman with little regard for what's important. And yet, you are quite the pragmatic young woman. You're not quite what I expected."
Hawke chuckled brightly. "Usually, I'd agree with you; but under the circumstances, I believe a thank you is more appropriate. I appreciate hearing that from you, First Enchanter."
Vivienne allowed a chuckle so light it could have been mistaken for an exhale. "May I ask you a question, my dear?"
"Of course," Hawke agreed. "It's only fair."
"Do you regret anything you've done?"
"Quite the question," Hawke remarked with a subtle smirk. "Are you hoping to hear that I regret everything? That I wish I had been sent to the Fereldan Circle when my magic first became apparent? That I wish I had never stayed in Kirkwall?"
Vivienne shook her head once. "I wish only to hear the truth."
"Oh?" Hawke put her hands on the railing behind her and leaned back to look at the ceiling. She exhaled slowly, then smiled. "Well. The truth is, then, that I regret nothing." She looked back at Vivienne, expecting the disapproving frown. But she was met instead with the same patient, empty expression as the First Enchanter waited to hear it all. "Every decision I've made, everything I've done, has led me to this point, right? To be with the people I'm with, to forget the people I've left behind. And if I enjoy where I am - or, at the very least, if I accept where I am - I can't really complain about what happened up to this moment, can I?"
"And do you enjoy where you are?" Vivienne asked in a tone that was neither judgmental nor accepting.
Hawke smiled with a little giggle. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here, would I?"
Vivienne nodded. "You are a surprising woman, my dear."
"That's my goal."
