undwarfy | Open post

Later on Hawke would blame it on the Blooming Rose, like so many others before her. She'd gone there alone (for once) to silently settle a debt of her uncle's, as she often did. He was an asshole, but he was asshole who was family, and for her mother's sake Hawke kept an eye on him and didn't let him get into too much trouble.

But this time she'd gone while feeling tired and out of sorts and antsy, irritable without having a real reason why. And this time when one of the whores had called out an invitation, on a whim, she thought, why the fuck not.

There were all sorts of reasons why not, of course. It was a brothel. Not really her style. If she got some annoying disease and had to go to Anders, he'd give her that disappointed, I thought better of you look. Her mother would have been furious. If Isabela found out, Hawke would never live it down.

But fuck it. She was tired. She just wanted to relax and feel good for an hour or so. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.

It'd gone wrong. Not that wrong. Denier had certainly tried his best. She'd closed her eyes and tried to just not think, to feel, to let him rub her back and stroke her chest and use his mouth, but his mouth was all wrong, especially the beard, there was far too much beard, and that was the moment when Hawke realized what was wrong and who she was unconsciously trying to imagine was using his mouth on her. That was when she groaned, stopped, got dressed, gave Denier a bonus for his trouble and to keep his mouth shut, and left.

When she got home she spent an hour punching and kicking her own shadow in the basement and seriously considered wandering Darktown looking for lowlifes to brawl, then decided it'd be better to wear herself out, have a bath, go to sleep, and try to forget the whole evening had happened at all.

But she didn't forget.

In all fairness, Denier did keep his mouth shut. Rose employees weren't just paid for their good looks. As it happened, Denier was some Carta rat's cousin and some Guild prick's favorite toy, so someone (let's call him Skeezy McGee) happened to be watching. When someone as famous and rare a brothel patron as Hawke buys Denier's time, someone notices- in this case, Skeezy McGee. Skeezy McGee made sure to be at Varric's next card game at the Hanged Man, telling Varric everything like a starving dog with the last pitiful scrap of filth.

In Varric's opinion, Hawke's extracurricular activities were her own affair. She was a big girl and could chase loneliness and ennui however she wanted- not everyone had an authorial career to drown in. Still, Skeezy made it his business by telling him about it over cards in front of several witnesses, so Varric had to deal. In this case, with raised eyebrows and an incredulous remark about what was and wasn't Varric's damn business. Regardless of how surprising it was to hear that Hawke went after a dwarf- not at all her usual taste, from what Varric could glean, and lacking the big soulful eyes and dick-sucking lips of her usual thirsty admirers. The thought of Hawke with someone else (especially someone that looks like his brother, gross) set Varric's teeth on edge.

Skeezy Mcgee, bless his stupid beard, kept at the conversation, going as far as remarking on what Hawke would look like (and how she'd be walking) if he had a go at her. Varric clenched his teeth and dealt the next hand. A few moments later, after an especially indelicate bit of cheating, Varric stood up and loudly reprimanded the shocked dwarf, causing enough of an outraged ruckus that Skeezy McGee got thrown out. Getting kicked out of the Hanged Man for cheating was a bit like getting kicked out of the chantry for praying, and someone passing by asked Varric what the guy had really done to piss him off. The next card game went more peacefully, and gave him ample time to think.

Why HAD she gone to Denier? Hawke never looked at dwarves, and often threatened Varric with bodily harm if he ever tried to grow a beard. He wasn't bad looking for a dwarf - all blonde hair and brown eyes - but that begged its own question, didn't it? Why run out on him? If she wasn't happy, why leave the Rose altogether instead of returning to the store shelves, as it were? In his experience, people only stormed out of expensive brothels if they had a moral crisis (unlikely), a religious crisis (unlikelier), or had some kind of weird personal issue.

By the time he saw Hawke again, a couple days later, he'd thought about it a lot. More than was healthy, he guessed. There was one thought that occurred to him, but it was stupid. Not even Varric was THAT egotistical.

Edited 2018-01-25 20:05 (UTC)

A few days later, Hawke is still feeling--there's no other word for it--pissy. There's that much more edge in whatever she says, try as she might to tone in down when speaking to those who really don't deserve her snark. She's that much more aggressive in combat. She drinks more. Not that much more--despite her jokes, Hawke almost never drinks herself to the point of incapacitated, her life is too dangerous for that to be a smart move--but more. She stops flirting playfully with Isabela, who rolls her eyes and tells Hawke she needs to get laid.

Hawke doesn't acknowledge this with a response, though she grimaces.

It doesn't help that she suspects word of her misadventure got around, even if it didn't get far. Someone asks her, innocently, what set Varric off at the Hanged Man the other day. Someone else asks her why Skeezy McGee is looking so black whenever her name is mentioned. She can put pieces together and get a vague idea of a likely bigger picture.

Fuck.

The day she snipes at Merrill, Hawke realizes things are getting out of hand. She apologizes, of course, and makes a point of helping Merrill with a few things before heading off to--not Hanged Man. There are other taverns in Kirkwall, and for once she finds a different one to drink in for an evening, one where she's less likely to run into people she knows.

Word of her misadventure didn't spread very far at all, in fact. Varric had cornered Skeezy in an alley later and made it extremely clear just how good it would be for him to learn to mind his own business. He felt a bit like a dog peeing on a tree, but if that ridiculous posturing was what it took to get Hawke a little goddamn privacy, then so be it. He told nobody why he got the shitty dwarf kicked out, which left everyone present to guess at the true story. The few people who'd been at the card table knew enough to keep their damn mouths shut. After catching himself looking at the door every time it opened, looking for jet hair and blue eyes, he thought he might understand their caution. He was acting like a possessive little shit with a crush.

Whatever. He jealously guarded all his friends. Merrill still had a cloud of money following her wherever she went, keeping her safe at night; Anders enjoyed peace and quiet to the tune of increasing Coterie payouts; Aveline was being followed by almost as many people as she had following everyone else; Fenris owed his living arrangements to a complex network of bribes and sexual favors that kept his Hightown block governmentally unmolested. His attachment to Hawke's honor wasn't that weird.

The fact that his chest ached a little after not seeing her for a week? Okay, maybe a little unusual. Realizing that she was avoiding him (they hadn't gone more than three days without seeing each other since the Deep Roads), Varric did something he rarely resorted to: checked up on her. Ever since he learned that Aveline had all her friends followed, Varric had immediately done the same thing. After all, it wouldn't do for the captain of the guard to learn about Hawke or Isabela's nonsense before he did. The people following Hawke, though- them he rarely checked on. She usually told him anything that mattered, and he heard tidbits from his other "little birds" often enough anyway. Hawke could handle herself better than the others, so there was rarely a reason to completely violate her privacy.

There's a saying about desperate times. A week without being harassed by one particular human shouldn't have counted as desperate, but Varric was beginning to feel... well, something, anyway. Something strange and vaguely itchy. So he checked his little-tapped spies, and found that she'd gone to a different tavern than the Hanged Man.

Alright, that clinched it: she was definitely avoiding him.

The next time Hawke visited that particular establishment, she'd find her usual table empty and reserved. On the table would be a note- stuck to the table, in fact, with a crossbow bolt, not unlike the pickpocket's shirt on the first day they met. The handwriting was curly and compact and most definitely not Varric's.

"Really, if you keep avoiding me, I might just cry. Trust me, nobody wants to see that. It's gross. Turns out dwarves have stony snot.

P.S.- your tab's on me."

Edited 2018-01-26 02:26 (UTC)

It's only the second time she'd gone to this tavern (she's jumped around to others for the past few nights), but as soon as Hawke sees a note pinned with a crossbow bolt, she knows she's caught. It might not be Varric's handwriting but it's certainly his style, the whole setup.

Double fuck. She reads the note. Triple fuck. It's not a surprise that he keeps tabs on her; she knows all about how he watches over Merrill and Anders and Fenris, it'd be much more surprising if she wasn't included. Underneath all that chest hair lurks the heart of a big fat mother hen watching her brood. And she didn't really think she'd get away with this game of stay-away-from-Varric for long, she just...hoped she'd come up with some answers more quickly than she has.

So much for that. She goes very easy on Varric's tab that night, though she does take a bottle home with her (he can't have people watching in her house. Probably). And when she does go back to the Hanged Man the next night, she already has Fenris and Aveline with her. Extra people should protect her from pointed, what the fuck, Hawke? questions for a little while until she can come up with some bullshit reason.

Because the problem is, Hawke's not a good liar. She can deflect with the best, but flat out lying, especially to someone who's a master of the art? You'd have to be a lyrium-addled Templar to fall for it.

Varric was teaching Merrill how to cheat at Wicked Grace, out of a firm belief that she deserved a fighting chance against Isabela. When Hawke came in, he looked at her with his usual welcome and beckoned her over, giving no indication that anything was unusual. Fenris and Aveline were with her, which didn't necessarily mean anything- but could've also been deliberate backup. Hm.

"Hawke! Aveline, terrifying as ever- Fenris, my favorite angry firefly, pull up a chair. I was just telling Daisy here about that Nevarran shoemaker who cheated by cousin Thorold out of fifty sovereigns and half a mansion, over a game of Diamondback."

Favorite angry firefly makes her chuckle, though Fenris just rolls his eyes. And once she's laughed at Varric's jokes she has to look at him. She fires off a brief apologetic smile, sorry I cheated on you with other taverns, something, and then it's all a determined effort to be business as usual.

With only mixed success. She laughs in all the right places, but she's...quiet> Hawke. Quiet. That almost never happens. And she almost never looks at Varric, even when he's talking. That's downright unheard of.

It didn’t take long to realize she was being weird. Maybe the others didn’t notice, since they weren’t the target of her weirditude, but Varric sure the hell did. Once he realized this, he proceeded to challenge the table to a drinking version of the card game they were playing, and cheated in exactly the right way to get Merrill drunk and Fenris absolutely sodding wasted. It took a few hours and was, admittedly, an extremely fun night, but soon enough Merrill toddled off to pick night flowers at the Docks. Shortly afterwards, Aveline dragged Fenris back to Hightown under threat of arrest if he got shitty- which, given his general “murderous and covered in spikes” status, was increasingly likely.

Once the venerable guard captain was off shepherding her angry murder flock, Varric turned his gaze on Hawke. They were both a little tipsy, so he felt the absolute need to be a smartass about it. “Just you and me now, Chuckles.”

Edited 2018-01-27 08:20 (UTC)

"I knew you were stacking the deck." Hawke groaned and leaned back in her chair. Of course Varric played them all. It's Varric. She should've left with Merrill, she knew she should have left with Merrill, and not just because a slightly drunk Merrill wandering off to the docks at night was a recipe for pain, and probably not Merrill's. "Don't be so smug."

Might as well ask him not to breathe, but it was worth a try.

To be fair, Varric didn't spare himself and Hawke. They'd both had a few drinks, which weren't by his design at all- any alcohol the two of them consumed was well and fairly earned. Still, his cheating was outrageous enough that he could only shrug and look... well, smug.

"I? An honest businessman?" S-so offended. "Serah, you accuse me of malfeasance at the noble game of Diamondback?"

It was because Hawke was slightly drunk that she was still here. She leaned forward again, emptied what was left of her mug, looked at the inside of it mournfully. Tempting as it was to get blind stinking drunk, it'd probably only make things worse.

She pointed a finger at him, meeting his gaze directly for almost the first time that evening. "You're as honest as Diamondback is noble. Which is to say, not at all. Don't think you can fool me, Varric, I know you too damn well."

"Once again, I am falsely accused of whatever it is that I'm accused of," he said instantly, the words coming out like a reflex. "Falsely."

He meets her gaze right back, eyes wrapped in his usual blanket of smartass warmth.

"Can I really be blamed if the elves can't hold their liquor?" Varric gave her a long-suffering look, much like one beleaguered parent might give to another.

She had to smile, if ruefully. "In this case? Yes."

Maker blight it. The smartass warmth got to her every time. It actually made her feel gooey.

She was in so much trouble.

Hawke groaned and covered her face with one hand. "All right, let's have it. Fire away." He had to want to ask her what the fuck was going on, or he wouldn't have deliberately gotten rid of her backups. And she could just go, but it'd just mean the conversation happened later. It might as well happen now while she was drunk enough that it wouldn't hurt too much. Hopefully.

Rather than pop off, Varric took a leisurely pull from his tankard. "Can't. Bianca's tucked away upstairs. She was a little too tired for socializing tonight."

After his leisurely drink, he put the tankard down slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, and buffed one of his nails nonchalantly. "Besides, I'm confident enough in our friendship to trust that if something were going on with you, you'd tell me."

A quick glance. Just enough to say what the fuck, Hawke, if there's something wrong, why wouldn't you tell me? Never let it be said that one can't be both a manly man and a dramatic kween.

Hawke managed not to scowl. She was jealous of a blighted crossbow. A crossbow. And whatever ghost rode with it, admittedly. Now she knew why she'd never quite dared to ask: she didn't want to know. Hearing Varric treat his crossbow like a lover was bad enough without actually knowing the story that went with it.

The nail-buffing and glance earned him a brief glare. "That was a low blow," she muttered. Deserved. But still a low blow.

His message thoroughly delivered, Varric returned his attention to his nails, looking for all the world like the sassiest queen on reality TV. The truth about Bianca was simply that keeping a crossbow at a card game made people uncomfortable, and coin didn't flow well when people were uncomfortable. Hawke knew that, everybody in his close circle knew that, and Varric was comfortable enough in this general knowledge that it never occurred to him that someone might forget or overlook it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hawke," he snarked, then immediately regretted it. Come on, Tethras, you're better than that. Varric sighed heavily and sat up, leaned his elbows on the table, and looked at her properly. "Shit, fine. Then I'll ask- what's going on with you, Hawke? You've been acting a... a little weird. Everything alright?"

His own princess feelings aside, Hawke visiting (and then storming out of) a brothel, changing up her routine, and avoiding her best friend were all signs that something was wrong or seriously bothering her. People didn't just suddenly act different without a reason. Something was wrong- maybe something at home, maybe news about Bethany. Maybe love life trouble. Who knew?

The only thing worse than Varric being a smartass was Varric not being a smartass. "It's not--" Hawke groaned and covered her face with one hand, which meant the rest of what she said came out a bit muffled. "It's no big deal. Just a...a minor, embarassing personal problem. I'll handle it."

And if you believe that, Varric, you should also know that she's the Black Divine. Her body language just screams that she's lying through her teeth, even if she wants it to be true. She's been less tense while dealing with a horde of Templars.

The giant flaming lie hits him right in the teeth, and he sighs heavily. "Look, Hawke, if you're embarrassed that I know about.." His voice drops lower, so only she can hear. "That thing at the Rose- don't be. I made damn sure nobody else knew, and the little twerp who told me decided to start minding his own business."

Said in a way that suggested that aforementioned twerp's decision was decidedly not a freely made one. He runs a hand through his hair and rubs his chin thoughtfully. The nervous energy is- well, much less than Hawke's, but more than he's used to. It's weird as shit having Hawke be weird at him.

"I'm not judging- we all deal with our shit somehow. I'm just worried that you're acting... off. Not to mention, avoiding me. I might cry."

Narrator: he will not, in fact, cry.

"No you won't. You wouldn't dare damage both our reputations by doing something like crying at me. And no, it's not the thing at the Rose. Though, thanks for that." It's not like going to a brothel would really do much to damage her, except maybe in a few people's eyes. Half the city goes to the Rose. If her mother were still alive that might be another matter, but as it is, anyone else who wants to judge can go to the Void for all she cares. So long as Varric himself doesn't.

She looks up at Varric briefly, then grimaces, resigned. Clearly, he's not going to let this go. She takes a deep breath. "There's this...person. Who I fell for. But they're not available, so I'm stuck. That's it. Shit happens, and all that."

The fact that this doesn't really explain much, particularly not why she's been avoiding him specifically, is something she's really hoping he'll overlook. Though she doubts it.

Varric wasn't sure if it was the Rose thing, but it was the first thing that popped into his head. Her actual answer is... a surprise, to say the least. In fact, it's so banal that he almost laughs.

He doesn't. There's a ghost of a smile as he says, "That's why you've been avoiding everybody? Well shit, Hawke, I'm exactly the person to talk to about that."

With that, Varric thumps a hand on the table and orders another round of drinks from Corff. "Sounds like we should talk to some ale about this."

"Not everybody," she mumbles, then regrets it. If he hasn't noticed that the only person she's been actively avoiding is him, good. She might yet get out of this with some semblance of dignity intact.

To say nothing of their friendship. Hawke really, really doesn't know what she'd do without that. It's such a cliche that it's laughable, but she doesn't. Otherwise she'd have tried her luck and to hell with the consequences. But what would she do without Varric to quip with and snark at and talk to? Whatever other stuff her heart (or the rest of her anatomy) wants isn't as important as that. At least, she hopes not.

But she takes another ale, because why not, what could go wrong, don't answer that.

Another person might not have caught that; the distraction of ordering ale and the noise of the tavern may well have easily carried that mumble away. Varric is a professional listener, and it gives him pause.

So. She isn't avoiding everybody. He'd tossed that comment out as a way of giving her cover, and possibly as a fishing line: seeing what he could reel in from her in response. He hadn't expected something quite so revealing.

Time to be an asshole. Okay, no, but it's time to be his usual nosy hilarious (in his opinion) self, with only a slight ulterior motive.

"So, I gotta ask- what did Denier do? Did he have bad breath?" He leans in, an amused glint in his eyes. "Did he ask you to call him Daddy?"

The drinks come and he slides it over to her, letting their fingers brush just a little.

Hawke looks briefly disgusted at the call him Daddy line. Ugh. No, no, no, ugh. The slight brush of fingers makes her pause enough for that look to fade, though. Her mind goes very briefly blank.

Then she shrugs. Nothing happened. Moving along. "Too much beard. It itched. Should've asked for Jethann."

What? That reveals nothing. The idea of her not liking beards is an old joke between them. They've spent lots of time making fun of outrageous Dwarven beards. Especially Bartrand's, of course.

Varric kept taking in information and evaluating even as he carried on the conversation. Typical disgust at the daddy line (as was intended): check. Typical reaction to an accidental touch: ...not check. The pause was brief but there; a flickering, hitching thing almost buried.

Interesting.

He wanted to do it again, just to see what she'd do. The fact that he spent most of his time wanting to touch her had... only a little to do with it, really. Probably.

"I guess he wasn't working that night," Varric shrugged. He happened to know for a fact that Jethann WAS working that night. "You probably made poor Beardy cry."

If Denier had ever had tear ducts, you wouldn't know it. He was the kind of guy who probably cried rocks.

"Why? He still got paid, and it's not like he had any more interest in me than I had in him." Hawke knocked back a long swig of her ale. "That's why I left. It wasn't what I wanted, and I knew it, and I couldn't pretend it was even if I wanted to." She shrugged. "So I left. Nothing more to tell."

Partial truth. It'd mostly been the beard. She didn't actually have anything against them in general, but it was impossible to close her eyes and pretend for even a second that it was Varric she was with if there was that blighted beard around. Also he'd smelled wrong. And talked wrong. And wasn't Varric.

...damn.

Yet Another UST Thing

infinite UST fractals

in the smallest grain of sand or largest galaxy there are still Hawke/Varric UST variations

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sorry too sleepy for anything but present tense for some reason

present tense was bound to happen eventually, i'll keep the faith

It's usually my destiny. Short sleepy last minute tag good night

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past tense god damn it

whoops sorry