Thank you for reading!
Hawke pulled the hood of her cloak more closely around her face. It was travel-stained and worn, as were her boots, and her armor was lived in and well-used. Only her daggers were gleaming and sharp, and they stayed carefully in their sheaths. No one glancing at her would imagine her to be the Champion of Kirkwall, as if such a person had ever really existed.
Still, as she stood in the line of pilgrims before the great gates of Skyhold she was hard put not to fidget openly, worrying that someone might recognize her.
As she drew closer, she found that she needn't have worried—the harried guards at the gates were nearly overrun by the stream of people trying to enter, and they had very little inclination to do more than mark down her—fake—name.
Inside, she looked around her with intense curiosity. This Inquisition's new base was still very much under construction. People scurried everywhere, the sound of hammering filled the air, punctuated with curses, and it looked very much like a place that was being reclaimed from the ages.
In the midst of all these people, how was she ever going to find the one she sought, while avoiding the ones she didn't want to be seen by? Dwarves were everywhere, as were elves, and one Qunari, easily spotted above the crowds, with horns that branched out far enough to make doorways a real problem for him.
Most of the buildings were still in enough disrepair to be unusable, Hawke noticed, moving along with the rest of the pilgrims, gawking at everything around her. Varric would be wherever there was a table and a mug of ale, of that she was certain. And she would feel him when he was near her, of that she was even more so.
A raven fluttered down next to Varric's table, pecking at a scrap before it hopped up in front of him. He gently took the message from its leg, feeding it a bite of his lunch as a thank you, and it flew off again to the rookery. Nightingale had made certain that was the first place finished. No one else had a place to work out of yet, but she did, up in her tower.
Not that he blamed her. A spymaster needed to protect her privacy viciously.
He unrolled the scroll, his heart thudding when he recognized the handwriting. Bianca. She wrote somewhat cryptically that she had learned something about red lyrium, that she was still investigating, and that she would find him when she knew more. That was it. Typical Bianca, all business. He rubbed a thumb over the signature, trying to feel the subtext beneath the words, trying to feel that she missed him, that she needed him, that she—
The hair on the back of Varric's neck prickled, and he looked up, directly into the face of a pilgrim in a dusty cloak, and his heart came to a shuddering halt as he recognized the green eyes he still dreamed about every night.
Hawke put a finger to her lips, stopping him almost before he realized he was rising from his seat, and she gestured to the battlements, reasonably deserted at this time of day.
Varric held on to the table as she disappeared so entirely into the crowd that he wasn't sure he had actually seen her, trying to remember how to breathe, how to move, how to think.
Hawke. Mina. Maker's breath, how he had missed her.
He'd missed her so much, he wasn't sure he could trust himself around her. Even sitting here, he could remember the silky texture of her hair in his fingers, the way her mouth felt … He took a deep breath, and instead of heading straight for the battlements, he made a detour into the disaster of a main hall, which no one had yet started to clear out.
Phoenix was there, with the full slate of advisors. Just what he needed when he had to pull her away for a secret mission.
"Corypheus said he wanted to enter the Black City, that this would make him a god," Phoenix was saying as he leaned a shoulder against the doorway, unnoticed for the moment.
Nightingale shrugged eloquently. "He is willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won't matter if he's wrong."
"What if he's not wrong? If he finds some other way into the Fade …" Curly let the words trail off.
"Someone out there must know something about Corypheus!" Phoenix cried in frustration.
Varric recognized a cue when he heard one. "I know someone who does." As they all turned to stare at him, he picked his way across the rubble. "I sent a message to … an old friend who has crossed paths with Corypheus before. She may be able to help."
He felt Nightingale's sharp eyes on him, and steadfastly refused to meet her gaze.
Phoenix stepped forward. "I'm always looking for new allies. Introduce us."
She sounded like the Inquisitor already. "Come with me, then. Better for the two of you to meet privately."
Hawke waited on the battlements, leaning over, watching the activity on the ground. You could see that it wouldn't take long to get this place up and running, and she smiled when she recognized Cullen down there, busy with all the myriad details.
At last she spied the person she had been waiting for. Varric was approaching, but not alone. He was with a red-haired woman. Hawke swallowed her disappointment. If she had expected passionate kisses in response to her arrival, or declarations of undying love, she had forgotten who Varric was. Apparently being kidnapped from Kirkwall and dragged here and nearly blown up multiple times, if she understood the stories correctly, hadn't changed him.
Still—that didn't stop her breath from catching when he finally stood there in front of her.
"Inquisitor, meet Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall."
Hawke gave him a pained look before dragging her eyes off his beloved face and onto the sharp features of the Inquisitor. "That title should never have existed."
"I understand you know something about Corypheus," the Inquisitor said without preamble.
"Yes. I killed him," Hawke answered, her voice equally chilly. "And you don't want my advice. Did you hear what happened in Kirkwall? My advice nearly tore that city apart."
At that, the Inquisitor unbent, letting out a bitter laugh. "My advice got Haven burnt to the ground. It sounds like we have a lot to talk about."
Hawke glanced at Varric over her shoulder. "I see why you stuck around."
Varric considered pointing out that he liked angry women, but that was too true for comfort, so instead he said, "Whatever happens, it'll make for a great story."
He could see the sadness in Hawke's eyes when she responded. "And if it doesn't, you'll just make up something better."
"Not better. Just … safer."
Rosalind looked between the two of them. There was a whole conversation happening there that she wasn't part of. And while she sympathized, there was no time for subtext. "If you killed Corypheus, how was he alive to attack Haven?"
Hawke shook her head, trying to think it through. "Maybe it's old Tevinter magic, or maybe his ties to the Blight somehow brought him back. The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he had some … connection to them. He used that to influence them."
"He got into their heads, messed with their minds. Turned them against each other," Varric added.
"The Wardens have disappeared," Rosalind said. "Could they have fallen under his control again?"
"I suppose it's possible." Hawke thought of Alistair. "If so, maybe we could free them. If we can find them. I have a Warden friend who was worried about corruption in the ranks. He said he would meet me in Crestwood, but I haven't heard from him since."
"You should talk to Leliana. She's been worried about the Wardens."
"I'll do that." Hawke faced the Inquisitor, holding out her hand. "Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I'd killed him before. This time, I'll make sure of it."
"He's mine, too. I owe him, for Haven. I'll take all the help I can get to track him down." They shook hands, the Inquisitor's grip firm. "Much remains to be done. You'll go to your Warden friend?"
"I will. You'll meet us in Crestwood?"
"Absolutely." Rosalind nodded at Varric and left the battlements, leaving Varric and Hawke staring at each other.
"Maker, Hawke."
"Varric …"
"Mina," he corrected, a smile touching the corners of his mouth.
She wanted so badly to reach for him, but she was afraid if she did that he would evade her, and that would break her heart.
"How is Sunshine?"
"I hear she's fine. Aveline smuggled her away, has her hidden somewhere under a new name, starting a new life."
"And the others?"
Hawke shrugged. "Hard to say. Isabela and Fenris are on the high seas, Merrill may still be with the elves in the Kirkwall alienage. I haven't had a lot of chance to catch up with people. Trying to keep my head down. Varric … come with me. Please."
"I—" He wanted to, so badly, to never be parted from her again. But— "I can't. I have to see this through."
"Too noble for your own good, Tethras."
"I learned from the best, Hawke."
They stared at each other for a long moment. "I'm coming back for you, Varric. When this is over … I'm not taking no for an answer again."
He smiled. "Consider me warned."
She turned and left him there, afraid that if she didn't, she'd never be able to.
Hawke arrived at the top of the rookery stairs in time to see Cullen handing Leliana a small scroll. He gave her a brief nod as he went by, not recognizing her in her worn cloak and hood, but Leliana did. "Serah Hawke. It is nice to see you again." She gestured at the scroll. "Names of those we lost at Haven."
"Were there many?"
"Too many. I … keep wondering if I could have done something different."
"How?"
"When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information. If they'd stayed in the field, they could have bought us more time."
Hawke shook her head. "I may not be an experienced commander, but I know the value of a good retreat. You save your men to fight another day. You can't waste them on the first attack."
"My people know their duty. They know the risks. They understand that the Inquisition may call on them to give their lives," Leliana argued.
"Your instincts were right. You saved them so they can do their jobs for the Inquisition."
Leliana stared at the scroll in her hand, then nodded. "Perhaps you are right. At any rate, you did not come up here to comfort me. I am sorry that you saw me like that."
"We're all human, much as rumor may paint us otherwise. I came up because you were asking about Grey Wardens."
Pulse leaping, Leliana stared into Hawke's green eyes. "You have … news?"
"I have a friend who is a Warden. He is concerned about his fellows, and has gone to investigate. I am meeting him soon, and the Inquisitor said she would follow. He mentioned your name, actually."
"Alistair?" The name rushed from her lips before she had the power to stop it. "He is alive?"
"He is. Or was, last I heard from him."
"What can I do to aid you on your journey?"
"Nothing. This is mine to do. He would run from a large force. Apparently—apparently the other Wardens tried to kill him before he fled. It was hard for him."
"It would have been," Leliana said softly. "Thank you for telling me. If you see him, will you—" She stopped herself. No. There was no time for sentiment.
But Hawke understood anyway. "Of course." She turned on her heel and was gone, leaving Leliana to clutch the table, tears welling in her eyes. For Haven, for her people, for Alistair … for herself.