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Varric never really liked the docks. Sure, they were busy and buzzing with energy and very much part of his beloved Kirkwall, but frankly that only barely makes up for the salty smell, cold sprays of seawater, and the mildly terrifying possibility of being knocked off the pier into the waves. Still, he takes that hop in the discomfort zone for a simple reason.
"Fio!" Varric yells towards the end of the pier, eyes scouting the crowds of sailors and dock workers until they happen upon a head of red hair. The head turns and beams at him, already approaching with running steps, a high-pitched squeal of joy ringing through the crowd as she throws herself at the dwarf. Varric laughs, catching the elf in a bear hug. “Shit, be careful or you’ll knock me over.” She always smells like the sea.
Fiotriel simply laughs and squeezes harder. “What are you doing here? I told you I’d come find you-”
“Can’t tell me not to use an excuse to slip out of the office.” Varric pulls back from the hug and steps out of the way of a sailor carrying crates, before tugging Fio with him towards the steadier land. “I had to get Bran off my back somehow.” With an amused snort, Fio follows along. “Ah, of course. And totally not because you actually missed me these few months."
“Noooo. Strictly avoiding business.”
Now out of the way of the busy sailors (and off of the pier on steadier ground, to Varric’s relief), Fio grabs him by the cheeks. “Tsk, you look half dead, tesoro ,” she scolds, “like a ghoul.”
“Ever so blunt. I feel dead too. The office is my graveyard and Bran’s my reaper.” Varric manages to mumble from between her palms before moving them aside. “At least let us catch up before you start fussing.”
No words need to be exchanged for both of them to start walking straight in the direction of the Hanged Man as if on instinct. With a hand on her back, Varric lets himself be tender for a moment. “It’s good to have you back here, Fox.” He’s rewarded with a soft smile and a sharp nudge of fingers between his ribs. “Yowch! I take it back.” He laughs, rubbing his side. “Growing soft.” Despite her remark, the elf leans down to bump their foreheads together, nearly stumbling over the cobblestone as she does.
The remainder of their walk along the dusty streets of Lowtown passes by quickly with a summarized report of what’s new with the city’s gossip and what’s happening across the sea in the now healing south, with little word from Skyhold since Adaar disbanded the Inquisition and even less so from the man himself.
“Sweets is too busy on his self-declared honeymoon, I hear. I bet he’s somewhere on the road to Minrathous as we speak.”
As happy as Varric feels about the Inquisitor’s newfound peace, their worries are far from over. A nasty reminder of that hits his eye on the corner of the Hanged Man. “Ah. We should intervene.”
Fiotriel follows his gaze and perks up immediately, knowing her job. “Yup.” A few quick strides and she’s shoving herself between two struggling figures, a man who looks straight out of Hightown’s streets and an elven woman who’s shielding a couple of shivering kids behind her back. A quick glance and Fio has already quickly determined what’s going on and breaks the scuffle. Varric watches as she whips toward the human. “Oi! Piss off, ya dog.” She always hisses like that when she’s mad .
Varric follows suit. “Right, settle down. What’s going on here? You three- no, four, you okay?”
The elven woman, visibly shaking, shoots a look at the man that Fiotriel’s now keeping at arm's length and then drops to check on what’s presumably her kids. Despite the two’s intervention, she doesn’t look relieved at all.
“No. This man is accusing my children of-”
“WITH REASON!” Pipes up the noble that Fiotriel is still holding in place, miraculously managing to keep him down.
Ignoring that, Varric focuses on the elf and her kids, hands on his hips. “Trouble, I assume. Why don’t you tell me what’s up.”
A quick recap of the events leading to the scuffle ensues as the elven woman shakily explains losing her kids in the corners and crooks of Lowtown, looking for them the entire morning until running into them at the corner being chased by the human man for apparently stealing his coins.
Taking in the situation, Varric nods. “Hmm.” Every day is the same.
With a snap of his fingers to draw Fiotriel’s attention, he steps back to handle the man who’s now stopped struggling but still looks disgruntled as Fiotriel stands between him and the elves. “Fox, switch up.” Fluidly they swap places and Varric goes to try and soothe the human man as Fiotriel kneels next to the shivering kids, clearing her throat in an attempt to sound softer.
“Hey, pups. Whatcha got there?”
The kids seem to be comforted by the softer tone. To their mother’s horror, one of them, the tiniest, extends a hand holding a little pouch towards Fio. The sailor picks it up and jingles it a little, listening to the clear sound of coins clinking in the pouch. “Look at that, good girl! This some treasure you found, hm? Where’d you find it?”
Tiptoeing up to Fiotriel’s ear, the little elf girl whispers despite her siblings’ attempts to tell her not to snitch, “That angry man dropped it and- and- and mama’s said it’s ok to keep something if it’s lost and it looked lost so I took it.”
Fiotriel shoots a look at the elven woman who now looks mildly ashamed that her lesson wasn’t very clear on the time required for something to be lost. “Right.” After a moment of looking over the elves, starved, scruffy, and afraid, she leans in to whisper to the little elf girl. “You did a good job spotting it and trying to bring it to mamae, okay? But next time be sure to not get caught.” With a wink, the elf drops around half of the coins in the pouch to the little elven kids’ hands and stands to straighten up with the remaining coins. Always sharing what the rich won’t. Someday she’ll get her fingers chopped off.
She makes a gesture for the elven family to scoot before more trouble can happen and returns to Varric, who has managed to convince the nobleman that he did not get pickpocketed and that that’s just what happens to anything dropped in Lowtown.
"Sorry about that, sir. You know kids.” Fiotriel hands the now significantly lighter pouch back to the human with a mockingly sympathetic tone that nearly seeps disdain, disdain that luckily flies over the noble’s head just as much as the suspicious lightness of the coin pouch did.
“Unbelievable, I say. Utterly nonsensical.” With a huff, the man stomps off, finally ending the scene.
With a nearly synchronized long breath of relief, both the elf and the dwarf are left standing at the corner of the Hanged Man, alone. “Maker’s balls.” Varric rubs his eyes. “Did you have to give away the coins? He didn’t notice now but he sure as hell will. Maybe. Hopefully not. But maybe.”
Fiotriel has the decency to look a bit sheepish. “What? He won’t need it. Those kids do, tesoro , they really do. I could’ve counted ribs.”
“Don’t you tesoro me, Fox. You just delayed the paperwork that that noble’s gonna inevitably cause me. I suppose I should pat your back for holding your temper back for once.” Despite himself, Varric smiles. I gotta grow a damned spine.
His smile is as quick to fade as it was to appear. With a sigh and a nudge, he steers the pair’s course back towards the Hanged Man. “I’m sure you see what exactly hasn’t changed a bit in the few moons you were gone.”
“The people are still struggling. Please at least tell me that you folks up there are doing something?” Fiotriel’s the first one to push the door open, and the warm smoky air and stench of ale flooding the senses is comforting. At least that never changes.
As Varric steps in, Fiotriel closes the door after them and they beeline towards the corner table.
“I’m doing what I can, but you know how the people up there with me are. Some couldn’t give a shit as long as Hightown’s plaza stays polished.” Slumping into the creaky chair, the dwarf waves to the tavern keeper, and soon their table’s blessed with a few tankards. “It’s a mess in here. And I thought it couldn’t get much messier after the whole Breach bullshit, but here we are. Everything below the highest streets of Lowtown is about as bad as ever, that part of Kirkwall never changes.”
Fiotriel sits and kicks her legs up on the table, earning a tut from her companion she ignores and knocks back her tankard. “But you’re working on it.” She points out and places the mug down on the table to instead pat Varric’s shoulder and give it a warm squeeze. “You’re doing something about it, you’re trying to help the people, you’re cleaning up this mess. That’s as good as it can get, no?”
Varric lets out a vague huff. “It could be better. It’s better when things change, for… you know, the better. Tell me I’m doing enough again when we don’t find starving people or warring gangs under our noses.” The last words are mumbled into the tankard, lips already touching the ale in his mug that he suddenly roughly sets on the table again, startling Fiotriel to quickly yank her legs off of the table. “I mean, they made me Viscount because nobody else-”
“Because nobody else wanted the cursed job, I know.” Fiotriel moves her chair closer to the dwarf’s and leans her chin on his head, wrapping an arm around her friend. “I know. And you couldn’t say no.”
The two let out yet another synchronized sigh.
A moment of quiet.
Fiotriel’s fingers pry the tankard from between his hands and she steals a sip from it.
“Hey! If you think you’ll cheer me up by stealing my drink, my only solace-” Once again despite himself, Varric laughs and reaches over to try and grab his drink back. What did I say about growing a spine again...
"No, I just wanted to see if yours tastes any better.” She grins and holds the mug up above the dwarf’s reach. “It doesn’t.” Satisfied that she got her friend to smile, Fiotriel sets the tankard back in his hands and focuses on playing with her own - already empty - mug. “You know, you better take it easy tonight. Bran will smell the Hanged Man on you.”
Varric snorts and waves to the waitress passing by, signaling for a refill.
“About time I give that man his weekly heart attack. A Viscount’s got to have some fun to balance out all the cleanup work.” He winks Fiotriel’s way as the waitress refills the pair’s tankards and goes on her way.
“You’re right, tesoro .” Fiotriel kicks her legs back up on the table and raises her tankard for Varric to toast.
“Here’s to cleaning up.”