Chapter Text
Of course it was raining. It began yesterday when the skies above them, in some seemingly coordinated omen along with Meredith’s death, opened up and began deluging them with the Maker’s disapproval. Now a new morning was dawning but her outlook on the days ahead remained as grey and dismal as the haze that surrounded them.
“How do you know that we can trust this captain?” Anders asked, glancing about the tiny abandoned dock.
She squinted against the rain. “Right now he’s the only one I trust.”
Like an apparition a small craft appeared on the water. They watched it approach until a loop of thick rope flew from the mist and landed at her feet. Hawke wrapped it tight around a mooring as a stout figure jumped down onto the dock beside her.
She turned to him and something resembling a smile flashed briefly across her face. “Varric, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Likewise, Hawke. I think the whole world’s gone mad in the course of a few days.” He glanced over to where Anders stood. The mage wouldn’t meet his gaze though, only pulling his cloak tighter around him as if it offered him obscurity in Hawke’s shadow. “What wrong with you, Blondie? Did you find your cake isn’t quite as sweet as you imagined?”
“Leave him alone,” Hawke muttered under her breath.
“Oh, tough crowd today. Alright, let’s get moving them. You’re not getting out of here by magic, are you?” He raised an eyebrow in jest but it was lost on the morose companions. He waved away their gloom and helped them onto the boat. As soon as they were on board Anders slipped away into the cabin. Hawke watched him go and though she ached for respite from the damp and the chill herself she remained on deck with Varric. They stood in silence as he guided the boat back out into open waters.
“Boy, she’s a beauty, Varric. How much did you need to need to buy off her owner with – ten, fifteen silvers?” She toed a piece of the upturned, weathered wood flooring with her metal boot and it cracked and splintered easily with the pressure.
Varric smirked. “Well considering that most of the available boats in Kirkwall were either belly-up, burning, or loaded with templars, I didn’t think she was such a bad find.”
Reality seeped back into her situation and just as quickly as it appeared, her humor dissipated into the mist. Despite their proximity by the wheel, Hawke stood angled off from him arms locked in each other and distantly pensive. There was really nothing to see out in the glistening fog but her gaze remained locked on some distant unknown.
“Hawke?”
For a moment there was only the eerie ambiance of the lapping water and the occasional creak from the boat’s frame. She brushed a lock of rain-slicked hair from her face. It did no good for either of them to pretend like she wouldn’t eventually open up to him.
“It’s been ten years, Varric.”
“Since you came to Kirkwall?”
“Since the last time my world happened to be destroyed by unspeakable violence.” She tried to laugh but the sound was brusque and bitter. “I thought I had left this behind me when I tried to make something of myself. Turns out that, in the end, I’m still just running away.”
“When the alternative is to be hunted and burned at the stake as a martyr, I think it’s a reasonable course of action. Besides, I wouldn’t discount your achievements so lightly – just because you can’t keep your estate and fancy clothes and title and riches…. Which, by the way, feel free to bequest to me in your absence.”
“Be my guest.” He thought he saw a flicker of amusement flash across her face.
“As I was saying though, I’m sure the name of the Champion will be on a lot of lips in days to come. You may have left Kirkwall but that doesn’t mean you’ll be forgotten.” Then he reached over and slung an arm lightly across her shoulder. “I can personally assure that you’ll have a long, illustrious future in the storytelling of Varric Tethras.”
“A more enviable fate I shall never find.”
“I thought so.”
Hawke pulled over a small crate and set it down next to him. They passed the time together like that while the boat slipped quietly over the water. The scenery didn’t change much across the hours except for an errant gull or a leaping trout but neither of them seemed to mind. After the chaos of the last few days it seemed a blessing to sit, peaceful and still, side by side with a dear friend.
At last the shoreline came within view again. Hawke stood and stretched but felt worse for it. An ache of regret was forming anew in her stomach along with the lingering ache of exertion in her limbs. Her spirit threatened to tumble downward once more until she felt Varric’s hand on her shoulder. A simple gesture but needed; a firm squeeze to remind her of what needed to be done. She took a deep breath and went to rouse Anders.
“Where are we?” Anders asked as he rubbed his eyes and acclimated to the grayish light of the rainy afternoon.
“A fishing port just outside of Highever,” Varric answered. “News travels fast but I think you’ll have a few days headstart. Go to the city and find a merchant caravan to travel with. Beyond that, you’re on your own.” He gave Anders a long, steady gaze. “And for the Maker’s sake, Blondie, no magic.”
To this Anders didn’t respond but he stretched out a hand. “Thank you for everything, Varric.”
“Don’t mention it.”
No sooner had they dropped the handshake when Hawke scooped Varric up in a heartfelt embrace. He was momentarily taken aback before shifting his weight and accepting her into his arms. “I’m going to miss you,” she sobbed into his shoulder.
“Now, now, Hawke, it can’t be helped. Every story has a beginning and an end. That’s just the way it goes.” He pulled away from her ever so gently. He reached up and brushed a tear away from her cheek. “And think of this way: now a new story can begin.”
She didn’t want a new story; she wanted her life in Kirkwall. Which was exactly the same thought she’d had as they ran from the fire and the wreckage that used to be Lothering. Maybe in time, this wouldn’t be so bad – wouldn’t tear her apart anymore. Right now though she couldn’t help feeling like her world was shattered beyond repair.
“Where are you going to go?” Anders said.
“Oh, wherever the wind takes me. The Merchant’s Guild had a number of business opportunities I might follow up with. Or, I might settle some roots for a bit as caretaker at the old Amell place. You know, keep an eye on things for Hawke.” As an aside to Anders he added, “She made me beneficiary of her assets on the boat ride over here.”
“Did she, now?”
Hawke shook her head in mock exasperation. “You know Varric and his tall tales.”
“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Listen, Varric, if you need to find me–“
“No, Hawke, I don’t want to know. It’ll be better for both of us that way.” Her eyes clouded over with sadness for an instant before she realized that he was right. He usually was. “Take care of yourself, Champion. Okay?”
She nodded and swallowed back the sorrow in her heart. Varric turned and jumped back up onto his ship. Before she could change her mind, she stepped away from the boat and into a now foreign land. One where – for a few days at least – they would not be The Champion and The Fugitive but just a woman and a man. She had to admit the idea was comforting. How long it would last would be something entirely different.
She looked ahead up the dirt road. In the distance stretched a myriad of low hills dotted with tiny wooden houses. The air carried the sound of a mabari howling and she smiled in spite of herself. It was ironic really, that she found herself back in Ferelden at last.