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fanfoolishness · 2 years

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under a new morning sun (4/?)

Turns out, being trapped in the Fade isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Rogue Min Hawke learned this at Adamant. Luckily for her, her lover Varric Tethras refused to believe that she was really gone.

Varric rescued Hawke from the Fade with the help of the Inquisition, but there were consequences. Spending time in the physical Fade has left them Fade-touched: Varric is now a dwarf who can dream, and Hawke has developed mage abilities. Together, they’ve returned to Kirkwall for a well-deserved rest.

Old estrangements, new powers, and ghosts from the past make for a homecoming that doesn’t exactly go as planned, even as the Inquisition’s mission marches on and Kirkwall struggles to rebuild. Hawke must find a way to master her newfound magic and strike a path forward with family, friends and Varric at her side.

Chapter 1: Rearranged | Chapter 2: Making the Rounds | Chapter 3: In the Evening Hour | Chapter 4: The Message | Chapter 5: this is fine

Chapter 4: The Message

Varric found the bed empty the next morning, sunlight streaming through the window to highlight the rumpled covers. He groaned. The bed was comfortable, but it still wasn’t familiar, and his muscles protested rolling over and getting out. They especially had a lot to say about the part where he had to hop down to the floor.

Yeah. He needed that stepstool.

He got dressed, running a hand through his hair, and yawned. Something nagged and pulled at him, as if he'd forgotten something big, but nothing came to mind.

He wandered down to the library where he found Hawke sitting at the writing desk. The shades of the window were drawn wide, and the east sun lit up Hawke and her stacks of books, giving her a golden halo around her bed-rumpled hair.

“Morning, Min.” He pulled up a chair beside her and she gave him a tired grin, then a sweet, quick kiss. “That’s quite the collection you’ve got there.”

“They’re not mine,” said Hawke. She flipped through a tome about transmogrification, then picked up another on dreamwalking. “I recognize a few of Anders’ books on the shelves, but I don’t know where the rest of these came from.”

Bethany leaned against the doorjamb, joining them from the hall. “They’re from the Circle,” she said. “After the explosion and the battle with the templars, most of the mages simply fled. I realized when I came back that a lot of the books wound up being sold in Darktown or by ‘collectors.’ If I see one, I buy it. I’ve been sharing them with the mage colony on the Wounded Coast.”

“Dad always wanted a library like this,” said Hawke, rubbing dust from her nose. “He’d have been delighted.”

Bethany smiled. “He always did have his nose in a book, didn’t he? He would have loved these. It was so hard in Lothering. Anything related to magic, he had to hide. Here --” She waved an arm. “Mad to think there aren’t templars running about looking for these things now.”

“The Inquisition’s changing things,” said Varric. “Doodles -- uh, Inquisitor Lavellan -- she’s a Dalish mage. The mages with the Inquisition are free to come or go as they want, and the only templars out there now are the ones who haven’t heard the news that there’s a new power in town. And word on the street is that when they do elect a new Divine, she might well keep it this way.”

He swallowed. Oh. There was that nagging feeling again.

I should get back. Work’s not done yet.

Bethany took a seat near her sister, showing her a page on beginning magic theory. Hawke leaned in, her brow furrowed, ice-blue eyes intent and focused. She was beautiful. And he thought, Just a little longer. Please.

***

Hawke groaned. “I just don’t understand how you’re supposed to feel something intangible. You’re telling me the Fade doesn’t just bother me at night now, but that I can reach into it when I’m awake? That's how the whole magic thing works?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it does sound rather counterintuitive,” Bethany conceded. She concentrated, and whorls of frost began to shimmer on her outstretched hand. “I’m not bringing the frost out of nothingness. I’m reaching for the Fade. Reshaping reality, for just a little while.” She shook her hand and the frost dissipated.

Hawke held out her own hand. “So you’re saying I just have to focus… and find that thing that doesn’t feel quite like me, and use that? Somehow?” She stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth, and closed her eyes, wondering if that might help. Fewer distractions and all that. Her fingers twitched, and she imagined heat, remembering the way she’d nearly caught her bed on fire after Varric rescued her from the Fade. Find the fire. Make it real. See how it feels --

“Ack!” she sputtered, opening her eyes. Twitchy little flames danced over the back of her hand, leaping off in drips and drops onto the table below them. She waved her hand frantically, but the fire only coalesced into a warm glowing ball surrounding her hand.

“Sister!” Bethany grabbed her flaming hand between her own, ice blooming instantly around them. The fire extinguished and Bethany turned her attention to the table, snuffing the little flames that had been attempting to establish themselves in books.

Hawke sat down on her chair with a whump, her legs trembling. “I didn’t like that. Not at all, Bethany.”

Bethany shook her head. “Why do you think I always told you I hated magic? It’s wild. We do what we can to control it, and I know the Maker has His reasons, but I’ve never wanted it. I’m sorry you’re stuck with it now.” She sighed, brushing away flakes of ash from the table’s surface. “It doesn’t help that I’m not quite sure the best way to teach you. Dad had his Circle training to share with me, but I’m sure I missed things.”

Hawke stared at her hands. They looked perfectly normal -- warm brown skin, nails chewed, as usual, to nubbins, calluses where her dagger hilts rested in her palms. But a moment ago fire had flared from them.

Magic. She’d have been thrilled, if she were a starry-eyed twelve-year-old, to be like Dad and Bethany at last despite the danger. Gaining magic at thirty-five? It was an altogether different sort of feeling. She gazed at the fine network of wrinkles that she’d begun noticing more and more on the backs of her hands.

“I’m willing to try if you are,” she said carefully. “I’ve got to at least learn enough to be safe. But if you don’t like it -- the teaching -- I don’t want to make you. Merrill can help, when she's not working with the other elves. And maybe your contacts at the Wounded Coast would be willing. And --” She hesitated. “I could always go to Skyhold. The Inquisition’s mages…”

“No, sister, I want to help you. I’ve just never had a student before, that’s all.” She ran a hand through her chin-length hair. What once had been jet-black was now streaked with threads of gray. A Warden effect, maybe. “We’ll figure something out.” The smile Bethany wore was faint, but it seemed genuine.

Hawke opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Molossus barking, a booming rattle that made the bookshelves shake. “What the --”

“Must be someone at the door,” said Bethany. “He takes his guard duties very seriously.”

Hawke got to her feet to see what the dog was barking about. Her stomach tightened. Molossus had never used to bark like this for guests or visitors before she’d left Kirkwall, but she wondered if it was a sign of him getting older and warier.

The barking stopped as Hawke entered the sitting room, where she noticed Varric’s papers strewn all over the corner desk. The sight made her smile. It reminded her of Anders and his manifestos, back before everything had changed.

The front door slammed and Varric entered the sitting room, Molossus panting at his side and wagging his nubby tail. Varric carried a vellum scroll in his hands. Automatically, Hawke reached out a hand to take it.

“A message for me already?” she asked with a grin. “I suppose word’s gotten around quickly. What’s it this time, someone asking the Champion to achieve world peace? I'll get right on it, of course.”

Varric lifted his head, his face drawn. “I’m sorry, Sparrow. This one’s for me.” He tilted the scroll and she saw the mark of the Inquisition’s eye, stamped in red wax, staring back at her.

Hawke stiffened. “I thought -- I thought there might be more time.”

“You and me both.”

Varric cracked the seal. Molossus sniffed the scroll, then gave a dismissive, unimpressed woof and trundled back to his bed. Varric scanned the pages of vellum, then paused. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

“I have to go,” he said abruptly. His hand formed a fist, crumpling the pages he held. “This is -- I have to figure this out.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Corypheus?” Hawke asked urgently, laying a hand on his shoulder. She caught a glimpse of blocky dwarven script on one of the pages, which puzzled her. Why would the Inquisition contact him in a language he rarely wrote or used?

Varric slipped the crumpled pages into his pocket. “Not exactly the wannabe god in question, no, but it’s still bad. I need to take care of this.” He took her hands in his, and she could feel a tremor in his grip, even through his gloves.

“... I’m not sure when I’ll be back. All I know is, I have to see this through.”

Hawke bent to kiss him, his mouth firm and slick against hers. She let out a long, shivering breath. “I could still go with you. You know Corypheus is my mess to deal with, just as much as yours or anyone else’s.”

His grip on her hands tightened. “Please, Min,” he murmured. “I can’t tell you what to do. But losing you in the Fade --” His voice cracked. “I can’t handle that again.” He gazed up at her, his mouth drawn tense and thin, his eyes puffy.

There were a thousand things she could say. She could turn on the charm, flash one of those smiles that got him weak in the knees -- by his own admission -- and make her case. She could put her foot down and insist that he had no right to keep her from her duty. She could lean on the fact that they’d only just been reunited, and wouldn’t it be better to be in the fight together? She could joke about how sentimental he was being and to knock it off, she was going with him.

But she was so tired.

Tired of years of running. Tired of years of grief, of losing Mother and Carver and Dad, of losing Bethany to the Wardens and Anders to his convictions. Tired of the wounds she’d already taken, in Ostagar, in Kirkwall, in the Fade.

If she followed Varric to yet another fight… would there be anything left? Could she do that to him again?

To herself?

She wrapped him in a fierce embrace, squeezing him so tightly he grunted. She laughed through the urge to cry. “All right, you stubborn dwarf. Consider me in temporary retirement. At least for now.”

He laughed too, and she released her grip on him slightly, just enough that he could stretch up on tiptoe to graze a kiss across her chin. “Hey. I’m happy with that.” He gazed up at her, his eyes bright.

“Damn well you’d better be.”

“I love you, Sparrow.”

“Love you, Varric. More than you know.”

****

It didn’t take him long to pack. Then again, why would it? He’d been living out of a pack more or less for months now. Sure, Skyhold had room enough for a bed and a writing desk, and a fire in the Great Hall he’d claimed after no one else paid attention to it. But it wasn’t home. Wouldn’t ever be. He stared at his pack, laden with ink and vellum, sealing wax, three of his best fountain pens; artificer supplies, oil and bolts for Bianca, rain gear and a good water-skin. It was the pack of a nomad.

It’s temporary, he tried to tell himself. Just until the Inquisition could succeed, could figure out how to destroy Corypheus and keep the world from burning down or getting overrun by demons. He could put up with it for a little bit longer. Couldn’t he?

The letter burned in his pocket, a weight far heavier than anything in the pack.

He settled his crossbow and his pack on his back, cinching them tight and secure. There was a ship crossing the Waking Sea tonight. He ought to be back in Skyhold soon enough. And from there…. His gut twisted. He didn’t know where they would be going, but he knew it likely wouldn’t be good.

He headed down the stairs, where Hawke and Bethany were waiting.

“I’m sorry to see you go, Varric,” said Sunshine, frowning. “It’s been like old times, having you and Min back.”

"Well, at least we're not in bunkbeds, scrounging odd jobs just to get a bite to eat," said Hawke cheerfully. "I don't particularly miss those bits of the old times."

"Fair point," said Bethany. She tilted her head. “So what has the Inquisition got you doing now, Varric? Hopefully nothing as mad as entering the Fade again.”

He forced a chuckle. “Uh, that was probably a one-time thing,” he said. “We’ll likely face down some red templars and horrible demons no one's ever heard of before, you know, normal Inquisition weirdness. But I’ll keep you both posted.”

Bethany reached out, brushing a hand across his arm. “Let me know if you get further news of the Wardens,” she murmured, quietly so that Hawke wouldn’t hear. “I’ll return to them if they regain their sanity… but I think they’ll need some time to prove it first. You understand.”

Oh, he understood.

Bethany straightened up. “Good luck to you, Varric. Come back soon, won’t you?” She turned to her sister. “I suppose I’d better give the lovers a bit of privacy for a proper goodbye --”

“Oh stop it, you!” Hawke giggled. "Maker's breath, you're worse about this than when we were children and I liked the baker's boy in town."

“Well, the difference is I didn't know the baker's boy. But knowing Varric means I can make merciless fun of you both," said Bethany with a lighthearted laugh. "And I shall, as it's my sisterly duty. Never forget it." She retreated into the library, and Hawke and Varric were left alone. Near the hearth, Molossus slumbered, snoring loudly and contentedly.

Varric stared at Hawke, for once lost for words.

This was stupid. He was the writer here, and this was a goodbye they both had known and accepted was coming. Sure it was a temporary one -- Maker, it had better be -- but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t sting. He should have taken the time they had on the journey here to write something stirring and romantic, something to sweep her off her feet and get her through the coming separation.

Shit. This was why he’d told his publisher no more romances.

She closed the distance between them, laying a hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing back and forth. “I’ll miss you, you know.” Her eyes glittered. “Oh, Maker’s balls. I told myself I wouldn’t cry. Bollocks.”

He laughed despite himself, reaching up and laying his hand against hers. Her touch felt so good. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I wanted some grand speech for this. I’d declare my love for you -- again, that is -- and you’d swoon so much you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

“Oh, don’t think I don’t know what I could do with myself,” she purred, and he flushed scarlet. Well. That was an image that was going to get him through the next couple nights, that was for sure. She let out a gale of laughter, sniffing at the end. “Oh Varric. I don’t want you to go,” she said, voice softening. “But I understand you’ve got to see this through.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. I’ve screwed up too much not to. Time to pay the piper. But the words were stuck in his throat. “I’ll write you as much as I can, Sparrow,” he murmured. “Even if it’s just bullshit and gossip. Every day, until the next time I can get back.”

“That’s the Varric I know and love,” Hawke said throatily. “My dear dwarf. I’ll be all right, you know. But you’d better come back to me in one piece. I insist upon it.”

Varric opened his eyes. Hawke’s smile tugged to one side, soft and sad and sweet. For a sudden moment he was seized by a memory of her in the Fade, lost and injured and starving, desperation writ in every line of her. She made it through, he told himself sternly. She’ll be fine. But me…

“I’ll be back. Safe and sound,” he said, and he hoped to the Maker and everything else that he wasn’t lying.

The letter in his pocket pressed heavily against him, its broken seal and folded edges still palpable through the weight of his duster. A letter forwarded unopened from Skyhold, a letter written in dwarven codes that even Leliana and her spies couldn’t break.

A letter from Bianca.

#dragon age: inquisition #hawke x varric #varric x hawke #hawkevarric #dragon age #min hawke #varric tethras #under a new morning sun #i have 7 chapters complete now; i've been trying to keep at least 3 chapters ahead before i post the next. we'll see how the next week goes

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