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Varric had watched from the other side of the courtyard while the two Hawke women argued with Bartrand. He'd been wrong about them—the name Hawke had grown to be something people respected in Kirkwall. At least, in certain parts of Kirkwall. Mina Hawke's sharp tongue and firm grip on her broadsword had been an asset to Athenril's smugglers, one that had kept that gang on the top of the food chain while others had gone down in the chaos.
When, inevitably, Bartrand turned the Hawkes away, Varric followed them through Hightown, waiting for his chance. They were a well-matched pair, the two sisters. Both tall, dark-haired, and shapely. But while one sister tried to fade into the background, the other walked with a swagger to rival the size of her sword.
As the time for the expedition grew closer, Varric had found himself buying into some of Bartrand's wild speculations about the riches to be found in the Deep Roads. But, in the way of things, you needed riches to get riches—they couldn't actually afford to go on the expedition. That was a closely guarded secret, but the longer it took them to get started the harder it would be to hide. No, they needed to get a move on. And for that, they needed a partner. A front person. Someone who was as hungry for money as they were—not hard to find in Kirkwall—but also someone who had the skills to get things done. Preferably for coin. After careful observation and a lot of listening, Varric had settled on Hawke as that person.
Now it just remained to convince her.
He found his opportunity to introduce himself when a pickpocket stole her purse. She must have been distracted—she was really too good to let something like that happen so easily. But Varric was ready, aiming Bianca at the kid's shoulder and nailing him to the wall. Advancing on him, he plucked the purse from his hands and tossed it lightly in the air, well aware of the picture he made in the process. He yanked the crossbow bolt from the boy's shirt and sent him on his way before turning to the Hawke sisters.
Throwing the purse back to Hawke, he twirled the crossbow bolt in his fingers. "How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service."
"Thank you. I think." Hawke's voice was smooth, and cool, her eyes green and equally cool, as she sized him up.
"I wanted to apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn't know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw."
"But you would?"
"I would. What he doesn't realize is that we need someone like you. And if he did realize it, he would never admit it. I, on the other hand, have vision."
"I'm sure you do." Hawke stowed her purse, watching him warily. "But what makes you think we can help? You know nothing about us."
He had to admit, it stung. Hawke had been in the Hanged Man at least a dozen times, walking right past his table, and apparently never noticed him. But he didn't let it show. "Au contraire, madam. You've made quite the name for yourself this past year. The Coterie has been squeezing small smugglers out left and right—except for Athenril. And why? Because of you two. The name 'Hawke' is on many lips these days. Not bad for a Fereldan fresh off the boat."
Hawke raked a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her face. "You must have heard of my sister, as well, then."
Varric was startled—he had been so focused on Hawke, he had nearly forgotten her sister was standing there. Usually he wasn't so easily distracted. Still, Hawke was the name, and the sword, and the one who was going to make their fortune. "A little," he said. "She's welcome to come, but I'll leave that up to you."
He nodded at the sister, who flushed and moved a little behind Hawke. "I'd rather you take the credit," she said.
"Your secrets are safe with me," he assured her. He was more than happy to help them hide the fact that she was a mage, if that was what it took to win them as partners.
Hawke narrowed her eyes at him. "Tethras. Related to Bartrand Tethras, then."
"My brother. Normally the Deep Roads wouldn't be my thing … but I can't allow the head of the family to go down there alone." If he let Bartrand go alone, he'd never see a penny of any profits, was what he meant, but he didn't see the need to tell them that. If Varric had learned anything in his lifetime, it was the importance of what not to say, and when not to say it.
"You're going awfully far out of your way just to hire another guard."
He carefully calibrated his laugh. This was the tough part, the part he was going to have to convince her of. "We don't need a guard … we need a partner." Stepping closer, he lowered his voice. "The truth is, Bartrand is close to tearing his beard out trying to fund this expedition, but he can't do it on his own."
"So you're suggesting what, exactly?"
"You invest in the expedition—with me there to vouch for you, and fifty sovereigns in his hand, he can't refuse."
Hawke looked at him, and down at her admittedly shabby armor, and back at him again. "One of us isn't in our right mind, and I'm not sure it's me."
"You need to think big. There's only a brief window after a Blight when the Deep Roads won't be crawling with darkspawn. We're in that window, but it's closing fast."
"So you try to hit up an impoverished Fereldan refugee for fifty sovereigns. Makes sense to me."
"Hawke. The treasure you find down there could set you and your family up for life."
"If I had fifty sovereigns, I could do that without having to go to the Deep Roads."
"Apparently you can make fifty sovereigns go a lot farther than I can," Varric said dryly. Hawke eyed his coat and his crossbow, her silence eloquent. "Well, probably you can," he admitted. "Still. We work together, you and I, find some odd jobs that people are willing to pay for, before you know it, you'll have all the capital you need. What do you say?"
Mina studied the dwarf in front of her. She had seen him in the Hanged Man—he rarely stirred from his table. Now he wanted to work with her to find odd jobs enough to make fifty sovereigns fast? "Just how bored are you?" she said abruptly.
He grinned, a genuine smile this time, not studied. "Beyond belief."
"What do I need you for? If all it takes is doing odd jobs, I can get there on my own."
"Then what's been stopping you so far? You were ready to hire on as paid muscle." He shook his head. "You need someone with connections, and I know everyone in this city worth knowing, from Hightown right down to the Undercity. I also talk a lot—but unlike most people who can say that, people listen to me. I've been waiting for someone like you to stumble into the Hanged Man, someone I can build a legend around. Give me a month, and everyone in Kirkwall will think you flew into town on the back of your own personal dragon."
Hawke and Bethany exchanged a quick glance, but there was no indication this dwarf knew how close he was to the truth.
"And if you don't need me for that," he went on, "there's always Bianca." He pointed at the crossbow on his back.
"You named your crossbow?"
"You didn't name your sword? Besides, she's a beauty. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" he cooed.
"You're a very odd dwarf, you know that?"
"The lack of a beard didn't tip you off?"
Hawke chuckled. "You look better without one."
"Well, aren't you the flatterer. So, are we partners, or what?"
It was a crazy idea, and she was crazy for falling for it—but it wasn't as though they had so many other choices available to them. "We're partners."
"Perfect. Meet me at the Hanged Man tonight and we'll get started."
With a nod to Bethany, Varric walked jauntily away.
"This could be a terrible mistake," Hawke said.
"Or it could be the making of us."
"I guess we'll find out."