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Maker, it was a relief to be back in the Hanged Man again, dreadful ale, sticky floors, fetid stench, and all. Varric leaned back in his chair, for once free of all the papers and half-written story ideas that usually cluttered the table in front of him. Tonight, he was glad just to be sitting here among friends, the view across from him no more disturbing than the face of a beautiful woman.
Okay, so the face was Hawke's, and Hawke on her own was every kind of disturbing. But it was a disturbance Varric was familiar with. And for tonight, her focus wasn't on him.
She was leaning forward on her elbows, watching the back-and-forth between the Rivaini and the broody elf, both of whom were pretending to be stoic and unmoved, even dour, and completely failing to hide the glow of happiness that surrounded them. Even Varric could see it, and he liked to invent his romances rather than watching them bloom.
"So you're really running away with Isabela, to be a pirate for the rest of your born days?" Hawke asked.
The elf narrowed his eyes at her. "You have spent too much time in the company of this unusually hairless dwarf, Hawke. You are walking a fine line between poetic and—"
"Sappy," the Rivaini finished. "That was sappy."
Hawke rolled her eyes at both of them, but her smile was wider than Varric had seen it in a long time. "You're not afraid she's going to run you aground chasing after Qunari treasure again?"
It was the Rivaini's turn to narrow her eyes. "As you perfectly well know, they engaged me in battle. I was just trying to get away. Sailing into the storm was a gamble. Took care of the dreadnought, but did us in, too. Can't win them all." With every semblance of casualness, she lifted her mug and drained it, but Varric could see the tension in her. Very little touched the pirate, but the loss of her crew in that storm had left deeper scars than she was willing to admit to.
"Where I come from, we would call that insanity," the elf offered, but with sympathy in his voice.
The Rivaini shrugged. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
"Are you aware you're speaking in clichés?" Hawke asked.
"Are you aware of how many daggers I'm carrying?"
The two women stared at each other, the silence just beginning to turn uncomfortable when the elf said, in a tone bordering on smug, "I am."
"You sure about that?" The look the pirate and the elf shared was just as uncomfortable, but in a different way.
"I suppose there are ways I could find out."
"Not at this table, you can't," Hawke said firmly, breaking the moment.
"Tell me, Rivaini, really. After all this, isn't the life of a pirate going to seem a bit … dull?" Varric gestured around them at the bustling tavern.
She laughed. "I might just have to steal myself another Qunari relic."
"Over my dead body," the elf growled.
"The scary thing is, I don't know if you're joking. Either of you."
"Of course I'm joking. I'm not getting involved with those people again. And Fenris's body is no good to me dead."
Varric could have sworn the elf blushed.
"After all, he can't do that thing where he sticks his hand into people if he's dead, and I intend to make so much coin off that." She smirked at the elf across the table, and he glowered at her. "Besides, I have something much more glamorous in mind."
"Oh?" Hawke asked.
"Yes. I think this time, I'll steal the Queen of Antiva. There's no way that could go wrong."
"And what are you planning to do with her?"
Another look across the table, this one less of a smirk and more of a leer. "Oh, I have a few ideas."
The elf rolled his eyes and sighed, but his blush deepened.
Hawke shook her head. "You are too much, you know that? Still … it's nice to see someone's having some good luck around here."
His green eyes suddenly serious, the elf leaned forward, looking at Hawke. "The Templar, Samson, the one who was reinstated on your recommendation? He is back in Lowtown, begging for coin to buy lyrium dust."
"Really?"
"He said there was no place for him in the Templars while Meredith is 'running the show'."
"That's too bad. I had hoped for better for him."
"Hawke, you should take him seriously. The Knight-Commander has gone a bit loony, from what I hear, seeing enemies everywhere."
"She's always been like that," Hawke said dismissively.
"From what I hear, the situation worsens every day."
Varric looked across the table at Hawke, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the tension in her jaw. She knew that Meredith had slid further into madness; she knew that it was only a matter of time. She also knew that her sister had insisted on returning to the Gallows, and that she lived there safely only as long as Hawke kept Meredith placated.
To distract her, and possibly himself, he slapped a deck of cards on the table. "I thought we were playing Wicked Grace tonight. It's been entirely too long since I've been able to take the elf's coin."
"You wish, dwarf."
He did wish. The elf had the Archdemon's own luck at cards, and he didn't even cheat. Varric very much wanted to know his secret.
His own secret was about to affect his game. Hawke had reached for the cards, riffling them deftly in her slender fingers, and Varric couldn't help watching her, thinking about what those fingers could do …
The elf cleared his throat, and Varric realized that at some point while he'd been lost in contemplation of Hawke, she had dealt. He tried to focus on his cards, but the game had been lost before it began.