Work Text:
The hanged man was unusually quiet, even considering how late it was. Even Isabela had retired to her rooms an hour earlier.
Varric decided this would probably be a better time than any to get some work done on his next novel. Of course it was about Hawke, the woman had just killed the damn Arishok! She had been complaining about having to go to a meeting with Kirkwall's most important people tonight, and idly, he wondered how it was going. Varric pondered for a few moments before he remembered he was supposed to be writing.
He looked down at the paper, sighing as he calculated the cost of scribbling out words here and there. Eventually, his mind wandered back to where it was meant to be; Hawke's battle with the mighty Arishok.
He remembered it like it was last week- mostly because it was. Hawke and her comrades had boldly challenged the Qunari leader and won. Barely. Hawke was still recovering from a vicious stab to the gut. Several visits from a certain apostate later, and Hawke could walk around with minimal discomfort. Or so she said. More likely she was ripping stitches with every step.Varric smiled and wrote that down on a side sheet of paper.
He knew he would have to paraphrase the battle, leave out a few characters, and maybe change up some dialogue if he wanted his editor to even look at it.
With the battle replaying in his head, Varric set down his quill and wandered off to grab a drink. The man behind the bar smiled tiredly as he poured Varric a mug of ale.
"You about done drinking, Mr. Tethras?"
Varric blinked in surprise. It wasn't often he was called Mr anything. Of course, as a paying customer, he supposed he did deserve some respect.
"I'll still be up a while yet," Varric replied with a smile.
To his credit, the man did a decent job hiding his dismay. Varric smiled again as he paid for the drink, and wandered back to his papers.
The movement had brought some inspiration to him, and he managed a few pages of his tale before he heard the tavern door swing open. A draft ruffled his papers, and brought the smell of rain. When did it start raining? The dwarf looked up and saw a slight figure turning to close the door.
Even with a bowed head and hunched shoulders, Varric recognised his best friend and partner in crime from across the room. He stood and waved an arm in greeting.
"Little late to start drinking, don't you think, Hawke?" He called, ignoring the two or three other bar patrons. They mostly ignored him, as well, likely too drunk to care.
Hawke barely acknowledged him as she made her way first to the bar, and then to his table in the back. She slumped down and slammed back a shot of something strong smelling- and then another. Alarm bells and red flags started cropping up all over Varric's mind as she waved the barkeep over for more. She had yet to say a word.
"Uh, Hawke? Everything okay?" He asked as he sat back down across from her.
He gently shifted his papers out of the way of the incoming drinks- Maker, there were a lot of them. Either Hawke was expecting company or she had no intention of remembering the evening. Hawke silently paid for the drinks, ignoring Varric's question.
"Hawke?"
And slowly, she turned to look at him, her big blue eyes meeting his green. To his dismay, they were full of unshed tears. Varric's worried mind and eyes jumped to her torso, checking for signs of bleeding or other injury.
"Is it your stitches? Do I need to get Blondie?" He saw nothing, but it was better to ask, just in case he missed something.
"Champion," came a broken whisper. "They want to name me Champion of Kirkwall."
Tears threatened to spill over.
"Is... Is that a problem?" Varric asked, cautious.
He watched as her face crumpled and the words came in a rush.
"All those people... All those lives... I can't do it Varric I can't have that weight on my shoulders I can't- I'm not a hero, Varric." Once the words started, they didn't stop.
Neither did the tears. For a heartbeat, Varric watched in awe as the bravest person he knew fell apart in front of him.
"I'm not made to protect a city. I'm just one woman. I don't want this responsibility I- I can't-" and then Varric was standing and rushing around the table to Hawke's side.
With her still sitting, it was easy for him to wrap her shaking shoulders in his own arms.in his sideways hug, Hawke leaned her head against his chest. Resting his chin on top of her head, he murmured simple nothings in calm tones and let her cling to him.
"I'm here Hawke. You're not alone. I've got you. Breathe, Hawke, there you go. Don't forget to breathe." Still, she shook, her breath coming too fast.
Varric knew he could do nothing but hold her- she probably couldn't even hear him. He could feel her tears soaking his shirt, her hands vices on his arms, and still he whispered.
A few minutes later, Hawke's breathing slowed almost imperceptibly. Her head shifted and she looked up at him.
"What... What if I can't... Protect them?" She asked, in a breathless voice, eyes wide and panicky.
"Nobody is asking you to take up sole protection of Kirkwall, Waffles." Varric hoped the nickname will bring her back some, and it does. She took a shuddering breath, her mind doubtless still half a mile away. At least it's only half a mile.
"I still don't think I can... I can't..." Shaking her head, Hawke looked down.
"I know. But you won't be alone. You have your friends. Isabela, Fenris, Anders, we're all here. I'm here. Always." He felt Hawke relax a bit against him, and he sighed with relief.
"I'm right behind you, Hawke."