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bigasswritingmagnet · 2 years

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Lady Faucon

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Pairing: HawkexVarric

Summary: Varric discovers they have backup at the Winter Palace, and that Hawke is better at acting like the noblewoman she technically is than he ever thought she could.

AO3 Link

Varric really wished Josephine had picked a less...conspicuous color for the outfits. Maybe green, or grey, or a dappled pattern that would allow him to melt into the shadows completely unnoticed. In blazing red he’d managed to slip away from his eager, noble fans by the skin of his teeth.

He’d really thought Bartrand’s galas were the peak of excruciating social gatherings, but he had not reckoned with the Orlesians. Bad enough to have to wear an uncomfortable suit and listen to annoying music, but he also had to deal with fans. He’d take assassins any day of the week.

A flash of red in the corner of his eye made him look up, expecting to see the Inquisitor coming for another chat.

It was not the Inquisitor.

A noblewoman was approaching, hands hovering in that very Orlesian pose that always made him think of particularly dramatic figurines of Andraste. Though her face was hidden behind pale green mask, he could tell from her body language that she was focused on him.

The flash of color was from a thick sash tied around her waist. That was very...un-Orlesian of her. A few subtle tweaks here and there were acceptable, but this was not subtle. The vivid red stood out like a beacon in contrast to the deep or muted colors of the Orlesian court.

He braced himself as she approached, and put on an expression of mild interest -- not particularly welcoming, but not rude. It was important to be tactful. Just like at the Merchant’s Guild, Varric wasn’t so concerned about upsetting people as he was with not getting stabbed later on.

The woman stopped a touch closer than was polite and bowed slightly.

"Please pardon my forwardness," she said in the well-bred accent that was starting to grate on his nerves, "but may I be so bold as to inquire if you are truly the Varric Tethras?"

"Yep," he said, putting on a vaguely pleasant smile. "That's me."

"Oh wonderful!" She clasped her hands together. "I had so hoped it was! I am such a fan of your work!"

Her mask completely covered her face (pale green, with delicate carvings of flowers and vines, didn't know enough about the symbolism, ask Vivienne later), but he could feel the rabidly enthusiastic smile she was giving him.

"Uh, thanks. Always nice to meet a fan."

"Oh, I am your biggest fan in all Orlais! I have all of your books, even Swords and Shields! I have them almost memorized!"

Oh boy. Obsessive fans were terrible at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. He had to think of a way to extricate himself from the conversation, and fast, before she started asking for vials of his blood to wear on a necklace, or whatever.

"But my absolute favorite was The Tale of the Champion! Hawke is such a compelling hero, no? She sounds like the smartest, cleverest, most beautiful woman in the whole world! What is there not to admire? It is little wonder you fell in love with her, for who could not! Such a charming, brave, elegant--"

Varric was seriously debating whether he should just cut and run, when she leaned forward eagerly and the light caught her eyes: sparkling with amusement at his expense, and lyrium blue. He'd know them anywhere.

"Hawke?"

She winked, then straightened and placed a shocked hand on her chest.

"Why monsieur, I don't know what you mean! I am a member of the de Ghislain household! I have never even been to Kirkwall!"

Varric glanced around, making sure they weren't being watched.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "How are you here?"

"I'm backup!" she whispered, dropping the accent but oozing with glee, "Secret backup."

Varric felt like he should protest, just on the principal of the thing, but really, he was glad. The night would be a lot easier to get through, knowing she had his back. Not to mention it was going to be absolutely hilarious watching Orlesian nobles obliviously rubbing elbows with a Fereldan peasant.

"Gotta say, that's a pretty good accent Haw-- uh..."

"Oh! Forgive my rudeness!" Hawke said, accent firmly back in place. She dipped a small curtsy. "I am Lady Marie Faucon, handmaiden to Lady Amelie de Ghislain, daughter of the Duke de Ghislain, and personal acquaintance of Madam de Fer!"

It was a good lie. Handmaidens were a copper a dozen, their status within their mistresses' households rising and falling like the tides. A woman from a very minor noble household might go entirely unnoticed for years, but favored by someone like Vivienne, could rise to her mistress' right hand overnight.

"Faucon? Seriously? You don't think that's a little on the nose?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said airily. Varric supposed it might help that no one would even imagine that Hawke might show up at the Winter Palace in disguise. Especially not that disguise.

"You sure you can pull this off? I mean, you've got the dress and the accent, but...I'll be frank, milady, you are about as subtle as a brick wall."

Hawke flicked open her fan with a single, practiced motion that amazed Varric, and fluttered it coquettishly.

"Only because I wish to be, Monsieur Tethras! My mother insisted that I learn the skills of the nobility. Etiquette, conversation, dancing--"

"Dancing?" Varric managed to keep his voice quiet, but only just. "Your mother made you take dancing lessons? How did I not know about this?"

"A woman never reveals all her secrets," she said airily. Dropping the accent again, in a rare serious tone, she went on. "Trust me, Varric. The Inquisitor and I worked this out with Vivienne. We've got all the stories straightened out. I'll be fine."

"And the rest of us weren't informed because...?"

"The fewer people who know I'm here, the less of a chance someone blows my cover. Cullen doesn't even know."

"Alright, but if someone stabs you because you can't remember someone's third cousin twice removed, I'm not helping you."

"This is Orlaise, not the Merchant's Guild. They'd wait til after the party, at least." Hawke glanced out at the crowd. "I have to go mingle. They'll get suspicious if I talk to you too long." She stepped back and curtsied again. "An honor to meet you, Monsieur Tethras."

Varric fought back a smile and bowed.

"Likewise, Madam Faucon."

Hawke turned and drifted back towards the crowd, her posture, her walk, even the way she held her fan, indistinguishable from the nobles around her. It was astounding. Ten years of being practically inseparable and she still managed to surprise him. The sash was a clever touch, too. It made it easy to spot her in the crowd so the Inquisitor would know where and who she was, and it was scandalous enough that it would be the primary focus of anyone she spoke to.

"I see you've met my "ward"," Vivienne said, much amused, as she drifted up to him. "I should have known she was planning to surprise you like this. She was very insistent that you not be told."

"I didn't even recognize her," Varric admitted. "I’ve known her for ten years and I couldn't pick her out of a crowd if I tried."

"Don't take it to heart, darling. She's a phenomenal actress."

"And apparently well educated in the aristocratic arts, which I also didn't know."

"She is a noble, my dear."

"This is the first time I've ever seen her even remotely act like one."

"And yet she does it so naturally. Who knows? Perhaps when our task is concluded, I might introduce her to court properly."

"You want Hawke to play The Game?" Varric asked, aghast. Visions of particularly snobby nobles being frozen to the ceiling danced through his head. He'd once seen Hawke set her dog on the son of a minor count for calling Merrill "uncultured", and Merrill hadn't even understood what he meant until someone explained.

"Perhaps," Vivienne said, in that vague and mysterious tone that meant argument was pointless and would be ignored. "I must speak to the Marquis du Chat before he leaves. Try not to spend all night hiding in corners. It's most unbecoming."

Varric decided that the best way to avoid being cornered by the nobles was to stay on the move and as close to large objects as possible. Unbecoming or no, he'd rather not spend the evening being grilled about the details of his books, or what he was going to write next, or (and the thought made him shudder) how much coin it would take to become a character in his next story. That it let him keep an eye on Hawke was an added bonus. He couldn't follow her too closely, just in case someone get the wrong idea, but she was easy to spot at a distance.

Maker, it was so strange. She was utterly unrecognizable. All the little quirks and ticks that any person had, that Varric knew by heart, were completely changed. Hawke talked with her hands; when she got excited, anyone standing too close risked getting smacked in the face. Lady Faucon was demure and reserved, rarely moving her hands from their default position. Even discounting the accent, her voice was different. The low, airy tone always dripping in sarcasm was gone; the new voice was slightly nasal and a higher pitch, almost squeaking when she grew excited.

He wasn’t sure if he was more impressed, or disturbed.

Leliana appeared in the corner of his vision. She drifted by, in no particular hurry. Without pausing or looking at him, she murmured "It's time." Varric allowed himself a mental sigh of relief. Finally. The sooner they got this done, the sooner they could get out of here.

Shit. Shit. Who would have thought it was the Grand Duchess? She was good, Varric had to admit. He was almost impressed. Almost.

Adaar did not appear impressed, but Adaar took things like attempted assassinations very personally. After a lifetime dealing with the Merchant's Guild, Varric had become pretty immune.

The second they walked into the grand ballroom, Varric was looking for that flash of red. They were all getting looks, walking into a party armed and armored, but Varric didn't care. He had to be sure Hawke hadn't gotten caught while he was away. Not that he didn't have faith in her abilities, but these days, Varric got nervous any time Hawke was out of his sight for longer than ten minutes. He should really work on getting over that.

"Just look at her," a woman sighed, leaning on the railing overlooking the dance floor. "Lady Faucon is so elegant. I wish I could dance like that."

"She's not that good," her companion scoffed.

Trying not to catch their attention, Varric edged towards the railing until he could see down. There she was. Hawke was quick on her feet in a fight, but this was different. She glided across the floor, each step perfectly in time with the music. Her partner was a man a few inches taller than her -- a rarity, since Hawke's six feet usually had her at least at eye level with most men. Her hand was on his shoulder, his on her waist, both turning in perfect harmony, effortlessly navigating around the other dancers.

Varric felt a sudden, strange tightness in his chest. He wasn't much of dancer, never had been. It was boring, and took forever, and it was hard to hold a proper conversation when you were trying to remember where your feet were supposed to be. He certainly wouldn't be able to keep up with a beat like this. And he still wished, just a little, that it was him down there with Hawke. It was a terrible idea. His own mediocre skills aside, the height difference would make it laughable. But it still stung when the song ended, and Hawke's partner bowed to kiss her hand.

"Let all gathered attend." The steward's voice rang out across the ballroom, and everyone turned to look. Shit. He hadn't been paying attention. Looking around quickly, he spotted Adaar, moving through the crowd, gaze fixed on the Grand Duchess. Varric stepped back, giving himself enough room to pull out Bianca at the first sign of trouble. Hawke, on the other hand, showed no signs of concern. She was simply another noblewoman watching her Empress, hands folded demurely at her waist.

The Empress was talking, something about how great Orlais was, probably, but Varric wasn't listening.

"Grand Duchess!" Adaar's voice split the air. "Stand down!"

Inquisition guards pushed themselves between the Empress and the Duchess, closing in on all sides with swords drawn. Florianne was faster. She stabbed the man behind her in the gut with the knife in her hand, sliced the throat of the one in front of her-- and screamed in pain as a small throwing knife buried itself in the meat of her arm.

"For Corypheus!" the Duchess cried, clutching her wounded arm. "Kill them all!"

Down on the dance floor, Hawke slid more knives from beneath her sash. One, two, three, and her knives found new homes in the throats and hearts of Venatori agents descending on the guards.

Florianne ran for the exit, Adaar hot on her heels. As they disappeared outside, Hawke hiked up her skirts in both hands and took off up the stairs. Bull reached the door first -- people tended to scatter in the face of an oncoming qunari at any speed -- Varric and Hawke came in a close second, Vivienne not far behind. Out in the courtyard, the fight had started in earnest. Florianne, in a ridiculous display of speed and agility, backflipped off the top of a fountain seconds before it exploded under Adaar's firebolt.

A bow had materialized in Hawke's hands; a quiver on her back. Drawing an arrow, Hawke flicked her wrist, and a bright red light wrapped around it. Nocked the arrow, drew it back, sighted, fired. Her shot was off, Varric could tell, unless she was trying to bring the venatori down non-lethally. The muttered curse was a bit of a hint, too. Fortunately, the arrow burst into flames, igniting the man's fancy harlequin suit. Varric made a note to tease Hawke about not practicing later.

It was thrilling to fight with Hawke again. Even with her out of her element (so to speak), even after all this time, they fought like a matched set. She'd freeze a man in place, he'd shatter him with an arrow. He'd pin a man's foot to the ground, she'd blast him into the next century. It was so much like old times Varric had to stop himself from calling out a kill count.

Varric almost wished the fight could have lasted longer, just to hang on to that feeling, but Adaar was--as always--a force of nature and tonight, a force of nature who had been forced to spend an evening tiptoeing around and making polite small talk. You'd feel sorry for the Venitori, if they weren't so terrible. It was a little like watching ants trying to fight a hurricane.

By the time Adaar had finished, the courtyard was mostly rubble, smoldering shrubbery, and corpses. Adaar and Vivienne were looking down at Florianne's body with matching expressions, a mixture of contempt and satisfaction. Iron Bull was pretending he wasn't fussing over the slash to the arm Adaar had taken from one of Florianne's knives.

Hawke was gasping for breath as she approached them.

"They do wonders to the figure, but Maker, these things are hard to fight in," she said, hand on the corset around her waist.

"I think you did pretty good, Hawke," Bull said with a grin. Hawke huffed a grumpy sigh.

"I guess the magic arrows rather gave it away."

"No, I figured it out a few hours ago."

Hawke's shoulder's slumped.

"Hours?" she said, almost whining. "What gave me away?"

"Body language. Not yours," he added, and jerked a thumb at Varric. "His. There's only person he gives that look to, then suddenly he starts pointing it at a woman no one had ever met before tonight. Wasn't hard to put the pieces together."

Hawke shoved Varric's shoulder.

"You used to be so good at deceit and subterfuge," she complained.

"Don't take it personally. I'm trained to look for this sort of thing. Guarantee Cullen and Josephine didn't figure it out."

Hawke brightened, clearly pleased.

"What look?" Varric demanded, disgruntled.

Before Bull could answer, Adaar interrupted.

"Talk about it later. We need to get back inside." She gave them a rare smile. "Good work, everyone."

"Aren't you going to take the mask off?" Varric asked Hawke as they began to climb the stairs.

"Certainly not," Vivienne said. "Announcing to the entire court that you deceived them is simply not done. Subtlety is everything. Lady Faucon may declare herself an agent of the Inquisition, but she cannot declare herself an impostor."

Hawke shrugged, uncomfortably. Varric was starting to get the impression Hawke wasn’t enjoying this as much as she’d made it sound.

And then it was all over. Well, the civil war and the fighting and sneaking were over. Despite the attempted assassination, the arrest of Gaspard, and the death of the Grand Duchess, everyone was still there, dancing and eating canapes like nothing had happened. It was so...Orlesian. Even the Merchant Guild parties broke up when someone got stabbed. To Varric's surprise, Lady Faucon's new friends hadn't been at all upset that she wasn't entirely who they thought she was. On the contrary, her being a secret agent for the inquisition apparently only made her more interesting.

Vivienne informed them they had an hour and a half before it was not impolite to leave, and everyone but her was counting down the minutes. It was a testament to his exhaustion that it took Varric some time to realize he hadn't seen the flash of Hawke's sash in almost fifteen minutes. Hawke had somehow managed to slip away.

Everyone was inside, now, called by the Empresses' big speech and all wanting to whisper about the events of the night. That meant the grounds would be deserted, which meant Varric had a pretty good idea where Lady Faucon might be. She might be unrecognizable in her disguise, but underneath it, Hawke was still Hawke.

He made his way down to the lower gardens, which were blessedly cool and quiet after the noise and heat of the party. Varric didn't normally go for the whole nature thing, but even he had to admit that the gardens were beautiful, if a little over-sculpted.

He followed a winding path through the trees until he found her. A small patio was surrounded on three sides by a trellis of rosebushes, which in full bloom hid it completely out of sight of the ballroom. Hawke was sitting on a stone bench inside, mask and hat carefully balanced on the seat beside her, headscarf pushed back to hang around her neck like a hood. It was strange to see that familiar face over Orlesian finery, but at least she was being herself now, terrible posture and all.

She didn't react when he first approached, though he was sure she heard his footsteps on the gravel path. The music from the ball filtered down from the open doors of the ballroom and Hawke was tapping the toes of her embroidered slippers together in time.

"So apparently attempted assassination is not grounds for ending a party," he said conversationally. Hawke looked up and gave him a tired half-smile.

"If they did, all their parties would end early." She looked exhausted, that bone-tired sag she got when she was well and truly tapped out.

"You alright?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine. It's hard, being someone else for that long. I had to play the Game, and keep track of all my lies, and remember what my laugh was supposed to sound like..." She sighed. "I'm ready to just be me again."

"I'll be honest, Hawke, I'm glad to hear it. No offence, but I didn't really like Lady Faucon all that much."

"Neither did I," Hawke admitted with a grin. "I'm afraid that's rather the point. I'd go crazy in a week if I had to put up with all the fancy dresses and pretentious dukes day in and day out. I'm going to take a guess and say you didn't have any fun either."

Varric snorted.

"Are you kidding? That's nothing compared to the parties the Merchant's Guild throws. For starters, there was only one attempted assassination, and no one asked me about my opinions on lyrium prices."

"At least you didn’t have to talk to anyone.”

"Only because I spent the entire night hiding from all the people who wanted to talk to me."

"Next time I'll start a rumor that you're incredibly short tempered and violently attack anyone who asks you about your books."

Varric put a hand over his heart and gave her the most over-the-top look of adoration he could must.

"That might just be the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

"Someone has to protect you from all the big bad nobles." Hawke sighed and looked up at the roses around her. "It wasn't all bad," she said distantly, reaching out to trace a petal. "The dancing was nice."

Varric knew she was thinking about Bethany. He'd never met her, and neither Hawke nor Carver spoke of her much, but he remembered both of them mentioning how much Bethany would have liked to be at the estate, to wear fancy dresses and dance at parties.

He looked up at the ballroom again and blinked in surprise. Standing where he was, outside the cover of the rosebush, he could see one of the big balconies that jutted out from the ballroom. Iron Bull was dancing with Adaar. She had been very aware of what the Orlesians would think of a qunari--they were wearing uniforms so the court couldn't snicker at an oxman in a dress. The balcony was in full view of the ballroom, which meant no doubt the nobles were watching and whispering, but neither dancer seemed to have eyes for anything but each other.

Hawke looked up when he held out his hand.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Serrah Hawke?" Varric asked, in his fanciest noble voice. For a second Hawke just stared at him. A slow smile spread across her face, her real smile, the one he knew by heart.

"I would be delighted, Master Tethras," she said, and took his hand.

#vhawke #hawke/varric #dragon age #dragon age:inquisition #varric tethras #hawke

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wickedwitchofthewilds · 1 year

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14DA Lovers

@14daysdalovers Prompt: Hart

Fandom: Dragon Age:Inquisition Pairing: Diana/Solas

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The hart looked at Solas balefully, his mouth moving as he mashed grass between his teeth. Full antlers sprouted from his head. Red fur gleamed in the sunlight, rippling like flames. The hart shook his head, dropping his gaze as he dropped his head to pull more grass free, dirt clinging to roots while he chewed.

“She was a gift,” Dennet said, jerking his chin towards the hart. “A clan wanted to honor the Inquisition. Think our Inquisitor is a bit too hefty for this one though.”

Solas hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing. Their were only so many breeds of horse that could carry a Qunari on its back. A hart might be able to for a short while, but it wasn’t a reasonable mount for long term travel for Ash Adaar. He held out his hand. The hart cautiously sniffed Solas’ fingers.

“I asked Sera, but I’m sure you can imagine her response,” Dennet grunted.

“I can.”

“He seems to like you,” Dennet said, watching the hart press his nose into Solas’ palm.

“He is curious,” Solas remarked.

“He’s yours if you’d like him.”

Not true. Nothing here was truly Solas’. There would come a time where he would leave with nothing but the clothes on his back. But for now…

“I would be honored.”

“Good.” Dennet shuffled away to deal with other mounts in the growing stables.

Solas stroked his fingers down the hart’s snout as the animal snuffed in pleasure. A worthy mount. The Dalish had their failings, but this hart had excellent caretakers. Solas wondered if it was saddened by the loss of its previous master.

“She’s beautiful,” a soft voice drawled behind him.

“He,” Solas gently corrected. “Females do not have antlers.”

“Oh.”

He turned to face Diana, meeting her wide, dark eyes. Soft brown hair was twisted away from her face and tied together with a cord of leather. Soft lips curved into a gentle smile as she regarded the hart.

Solas held out his hand. “Here.”

Diana stared at his hand as if it might bite her before she placed her hand in his. With his fingers over hers, he pressed her palm to the soft fur between the hart’s eyes, and together they stroked the snout.

“Is he yours?” she asked.

“For now.”

Her eyebrows drew together and she frowned. Sadness clouded her eyes and he didn’t understand why. Could she tell that he did not intend to stay? She was perceptive. Knowing things that others should not be able. Did she know about him? He would have to find out.

Her thumb brushed his knuckles, callouses rough against his skin. In her time with the Inquisition, she had become a formidable warrior. She trained often with Adaar and Iron Bull. Both determined to make sure she could defend herself should the need arise. The scent of elfroot and embrium curled around his nose. The rest of her time was spent with the healers, helping and learning, and she had been invaluable help after the fall of Haven.

“Are you prepared for Adamant?” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure why the Inquisitor asked me to go. I’m not the kind of fighter she needs.”

“Is she taking you to fight? Or is she taking you because you are useful in other ways?”

Diana sighed. “One day, I’m not going to know something and that day terrifies me.”

“You are afraid they will turn on you?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Perhaps.” Solas was no stranger to betrayal. “I do not think you have to worry. Your lovers care for you a great deal.”

The loveliest shade of pink crept up her neck and cheeks. More of it lingered below her collar and he ensnared his curiosity and shoved it down. Diana was still unknown variable, her secrets only shared to those she trusted most, and despite her growing comfort around Solas, he was not considered one of them. She was not for him and he would not fool either of them by currying fondness between them when he knew he could not uphold his end.

Diana stepped away, carefully pull her hand from Solas’ grasp. “I should go. I promised I’d meet Josephine for tea.” She gestured to the hart. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

He watched her retreat, waving to Dennet before leaving the stables. He fought the urge to follow. To question. To pick at her mind and find his answers. But he stayed still. Controlled himself.

Solas was nothing if not patient.

#note to self #14dalovers2023 #14DALovers #solas #diana #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition

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