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Hawke sank into the chair opposite Varric and propped her legs up on the table. It was how they had started most days since their partnership, and Varric was both unnerved and assured by how normal it all felt.

"What's on the schedule today, Varric?" There was nothing in her look or tone that suggested anything unusual had happened to her recently, although something was off about her, and Varric couldn't quite put his finger on what.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that she wanted to pretend nothing had happened—after all, so did he—but there was part of him that stung a bit knowing that she actually could pretend nothing had happened. "I thought we were going to the Gallows."

Deep sorrow crossed Hawke's face and she shook her head. "Can't. Meredith would never let Bethany go, and I can't risk calling attention to her and having Meredith punish her for my actions." She hesitated, and Varric braced himself, but what came out when she spoke was a different topic altogether. "Any news on where your brother landed?"

"Nothing. And I've been looking very hard."

"Just make sure you let me know when you find him."

"Trust me, Hawke, you'll be the first."

She sighed and nodded, shifting in the chair. "I should go help Mother pack … but I really don't want to, and I don't think she wants me there."

"You really bought her old house?"

"Of course. It was what she—and Bethany—wanted. Now Mother can move in her high society circles again. If she can ever stop crying."

"It's funny … I thought maybe once you had your money, you might want to go back to Ferelden."

Hawke wrinkled her nose. "Mud and cold and farms as far as the eye can see? No, thank you. I like Kirkwall. Warm rooms, something always happening, always people around …"

She lifted a hand in the familiar gesture to push her hair off her face, but her hair wasn't in her face—for the first time since Varric had known her, the sides of her hair were pinned back. He noticed the detail uneasily, wondering if it meant anything.

Before he could follow up on the thought, Hawke gave a sudden laugh. "You know who showed up at the door of the mansion while I was signing the deed? Bodahn and Sandal. They've decided to take a break from raiding the Deep Roads for dwarven treasure and have offered to come work for me. Servants. Can you imagine that?"

Varric tried hard, but he couldn't imagine the strange young dwarf and his merchant father as servants. "You do attract unusual people, Hawke."

Hawke caught her breath at his comment, trying to be subtle about searching his face to see if he meant 'attract' in any personal way that would allow her to bring up what had happened last night, but it was clear from the way his eyes dropped to the paper in front of him that he had not meant that at all.

Before she could think of anything else to talk about, the bartender, Corff, came over to the table, bending over to speak quietly into Varric's ear. Varric's eyes flashed and his fist clenched. "Pay them what they're asking for and add it to my rent this month. And let me know if you hear any more rumblings. He's got enough trouble."

"Of course." With a nod for Hawke, Corff returned to the bar.

She lifted her eyebrows in question at Varric, who shook his head. "The Coterie. They're threatening to squeal on Blondie again."

"Really." Hawke was never entirely sure she trusted Anders—or his spirit companion—but he did good work in Darktown. Without him, a lot of people would die. "Well, maybe we should let the Coterie know we don't appreciate people threatening our friends."

"Discreetly," Varric cautioned. "We don't want to draw attention to him, either."

"Good point." She tilted the chair back on two legs, crossing her arms and looking up at the ceiling. So many of her plans for after the expedition, for having money, had revolved around Bethany, around making a better life for her sister. With Bethany gone, with her mother's dream of returning to Kirkwall society achieved, what was there for her to do now?

She had thought, maybe, there was something between herself and Varric that could be explored, but—apparently not. Mina didn't know why he had sent her away, and she wasn't about to ask.

If she wanted sex, there was always Isabela—the pirate had made that very clear, no strings attached. She occasionally surprised something in the eyes of both Anders and Fenris that made her wonder how many of their fantasies she featured in, but there was no chance of starting something with either of them that wouldn't come with a web of strings she didn't want.

She couldn't go to the grand old mansion she had bought, because her mother was still weeping copiously about her sister and still blaming Mina for what had happened; she couldn't go back to Gamlen's, and wouldn't have wanted to if she could have.

Right here, at this dirty table in this filthy bar across from this handsome, if closed-off, dwarf, was as close to a home as Hawke had. If the price for keeping it was to pretend that she couldn't still taste his all-too-brief kiss, couldn't still feel his hands in her hair, then she would pay it.

Across the table, Varric cleared his throat. "So … you want to take a walk down to the docks and see if anyone attacks us?"

"Now you're talking." She got to her feet. "What are we waiting for?"

"Nothing. Not a thing." Varric put his papers and quills aside. "Lead on."