Contrary to his usual habits of indolence, Varric was bustling around the Hanged Man like a nug with its head cut off. But it wasn't every day Hawke was allowed out of her house for the first time after defeating a Qunari Arishok in single combat, and he was throwing her the biggest "Champion Party" Kirkwall had ever seen. That it was most likely the only Champion Party Kirkwall had ever seen didn't bother Varric in the least—he was happy to be creating the legends that other people would later try to top. If they could.
Corff had laid in bottles of actual honest-to-the-Maker champagne for the celebration, and had promised to see that Hawke's glass was kept filled. First Enchanter Orsino had been watching over Hawke's recovery personally since her nearly fatal duel with the Arishok, and had pronounced her fit to be out and about only a couple of days ago. She hadn't done anything with the permission so far; she'd been holed up in that dark, lonely house just like her ex-lover, the broody elf. It wasn't something Varric liked to see in her, so he was coaxing her out with a rousing celebration.
Everyone was arriving, milling around the room, lifting their glasses to one another, getting the party started. That had been Varric's idea, so that Hawke could walk into the party when it was in full swing, rather than having to get it started herself.
And it worked perfectly. She walked in the door and everyone turned and raised their glasses and cheered for her. Her familiar self-deprecating wry smile greeted the hubbub, but it faded as she searched the crowd, and Varric wanted to charge up to Hightown and kick the ass of that broody bastard forthwith. He had worked his tail off for this party—he'd cajoled Blondie out of Darktown and practically dragged the Choirboy out of the Chantry. He'd had to hold up the next four issues of Hard in Hightown to convince Aveline and the Big Guy to take the night off, and he had carefully selected all the people Hawke liked best from Kirkwall other than her team—Tomwise, and Worthy the dwarf runesmith, and Lady Elegant the potion maker. Everyone short of Sunshine, immured in the Gallows, and Rivaini, Maker knew where, was here, and Hawke could only see that the elf hadn't made it.
She covered the disappointment almost as soon as it surfaced, and accepted the glass of champagne Norah served her, making her way toward Varric, and he hid his resentment of her continued obsession with the elf under his usual charming smile. "Hawke!"
"Varric, this is … too much." She raised her glass in response to a toast from Daisy, whose reddened cheeks indicated she'd be passing out soon. "You've outdone yourself."
"Glad you like it."
"It's definitely worth leaving the house for, and I wasn't sure anything could be."
"See? You were getting too comfortable up there; I had to get you out somehow. What would we all do without you?"
"Maybe you'd occasionally get out of the Hanged Man." She grinned at him, and he was glad to see the humor back in her face, even if there were still shadows under her eyes and hollows in her cheeks.
"Perish the thought," he said, giving Hawke an answering grin, but she didn't see it. The door had opened, and immediately her head snapped up. Varric didn't need to look to see for himself who it was—the sudden color that flooded her face told him all he needed to know.
He had to give Broody credit—if Varric had been the one to convince Hawke to attempt suicide-by-Qunari on behalf of a city that had taken from her everything she cared about, he wouldn't have dared show his face at a party in her honor. But the elf had plenty of gall, if not any sense of timing or decency.
To the best of Varric's knowledge, the elf had not been to visit Hawke once since the duel; he had fled the Viscount's Keep while she still lay bleeding on the floor, and hadn't had the nerve to face her since. Varric could see in her face the precise moment she remembered that; her back and shoulders stiffened and straightened, and she lifted her chin to a proud angle that only Hawke could carry off without looking snooty.
He wasn't sure which tugged at his heartstrings more—the soft, longing look she'd worn at her first sight of the elf, or the hardness in her blue eyes as he came closer. Both indicated that she'd never recovered from the night she and the elf had spent together. Varric itched to know the details of that story, but there was little chance he ever would. It was clear that whatever had happened, it cut too deep in both parties to be discussed.
The elf had come face-to-face with her now. "Hawke."
"Fenris." She had command of her voice as well as her face, and if Varric hadn't known as sure as he knew his own name that she was still in love with the broody bastard, he'd have thought she didn't care a whit. "I'm glad you could make it."
"Yes. I—am glad to see you looking so … so well." It was rare that the elf stumbled over his tongue this much, and Varric took a savage delight in the other man's discomfort.
"I hope your last few weeks have been uneventful." Hawke was really pouring on the deep freeze, and apparently it was too much for her to sustain, because she lifted her head in response to nothing that Varric could see, and lied through her teeth to the elf. "Aveline appears to be looking for me. If you'll excuse me." And she skirted lightly around Broody in Aveline's direction.
The elf's green eyes and lyrium-marked face held so much naked pain that Varric couldn't stay angry at him. Whatever he had done, whatever reasons he'd had, it was clear that he was paying a high price for it.
"Is she truly well?" he asked Varric anxiously. "She is not just pretending to be recovered to avoid giving anyone trouble?"
Varric shook his head. "Physically she's fine. Emotionally …" He shrugged. "Hence the party."
"I see." Varric almost—almost—felt like a voyeur, glimpsing the longing in the elf's eyes. "She saved the city … but at great cost to herself. Again."
"Exactly." It was on the tip of Varric's tongue to ask why the elf had suggested the single combat, why he had risked Hawke's life that way, but he supposed events explained that well enough. Defeating the Arishok had allowed the Qunari to leave, and only Hawke could do that. "I think she's tired of losing what's important to her in the name of protecting Kirkwall. Can't blame her for that."
"No. No, we cannot." The elf turned to look in Hawke's direction. "Perhaps we owe it to her to … make certain what is important to us."
"And what is that?"
The elf looked down at him for the first time, tearing his eyes off Hawke. "Possibly … freedom. I am not entirely sure."
"Why don't you figure it out then?" Varric said, hoping it would be the nudge the elf needed to do something about the coldness between himself and Hawke. Proud though Varric was of his friend for covering what appeared to be a hopeless love, she needed the elf in ways that she would never admit to, in whatever form he appeared in her life. Keeping him at arm's length was no good for any of them.
"Perhaps I shall. Yes." The elf nodded with sudden decision. "Please tell Hawke I am sorry I could not stay for the rest of the party, but that I will be at her side the next time she has a task to perform."
"Will do." Varric watched the elf leave, casting a last lingering look in Hawke's direction, and then made his way through the crowd to his friend's side. She turned to look at him affectionately, and he began the task of rebuilding her spirits.