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pb1138 · 5 years

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A Reunion, Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Cassandra didn’t see Varric until the next evening. There were only a handful of people in the Great Hall today, Varric at his table and a few workers redoing some of the flooring. She walked over to him and cleared her throat. “I am surprised to find you alone, Varric.”

He glanced up at her, his quill still scribbling away. “The Inquisitor asked to talk to Hawke about Corypheus.”

“That is most practical.” She hesitated before gesturing at the seat beside him. “May I sit?”

He gestured to it with his unused hand, brow knit in concentration. She sat and allowed him to finish whatever he was working on, which only took a few minutes. Once he set his quill down, he sat back with a sigh and looked at her. “So, can I assume you’re here for more of the story?”

“I could come back later if you—” She started to stand but stopped when Varric held up his hand.

“No, no. This is good actually. Hawke doesn’t like talking about the Deep Roads. It just upsets her.”

“I would imagine it does, if what you told me the first time was true.”

“It was, but there’s a little more to it.”

Xxxx The Deep Roads xxxX

They made good headway into the Roads before they came across a caved-in route. Varric offered the four of them up to find another route, which Bartrand allowed. The rising hostility from him hadn’t escaped neither Varric’s nor Hawke’s notice. As they scouted ahead, she fell back to walk beside him, Fenris and Carver clearing the way ahead of them.

“So Bartrand seems a pleasant fellow.” Her tone was light, cheery, a stark difference than when she speaks to her brother. With Carver, she sounds drained, tired, annoyed, and he can’t say he’d blame her.

He snorted. “Not a word I would’ve chosen. But something’s up. He’s being a bigger ass than usual.”

She sighed wistfully. “Maybe he’s fallen madly in love with me but knows my heart is a prize ne’er obtained, and as such he is acting out in an attempt to distance himself from me and my affable nature.”

Varric chuckled. “The day Bartrand has a pleasant feeling is the day I grow a beard.”

They both snorted, catching the attention of the others. Carver rolled his eyes and pushed ahead, though Fenris’s gaze lingered on Hawke. She didn’t notice, however, as she adjusted her pack on her back. Varric studied the way the elf looked at their friend, and a pang of jealousy hit him. Confusion was fast to replace it, because since when was Varric the jealous type? Since when was he jealous regarding Hawke? Fenris looked back ahead, and Varric settled down, pocketing that new piece of information for detailed study at a later date.

Clearing his throat, he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “So, never, huh? What, is Bartrand not your type?”

“Unfortunately for him, no.” She halted for a moment and leaned down to her hair up into a high ponytail, securing it in place with a red ribbon made of silk. He waited for her, the others not noticing their pause.

“What is, then?”

“Hm?” She looked at him, her exhaustion becoming evident in her eyes. It had been nearly two weeks since they left, and still she had barely slept. Down here in the Deep Roads, she was beginning to look something of a ghost.

He nudged her as they walked. “Your type. What’s your type? Tall, dark, and handsome? Scrawny and stupid? Foreign princes with eyes as clear as ice, jawlines for days, and exotic accents?”

She laughed, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “Maker’s breath, Varric. We’ve spoken to that guy maybe twice! He’s pretty, yeah, but,” she sighed wistfully, her tone lamenting, “he’s married to the Maker. How can I possibly compete with that?” The two of them chuckled, and she took a drink from her canteen. “No, I don’t really have a type if I’m honest. I like anyone and everyone. Just not assholes like Bartrand.” She raised her voice. “I’ve already got one angry shit in my life who won’t leave, I don’t need another.”

Carver scoffed and threw up his middle finger over his shoulder. “I love you, too, sweet sister of mine.”

“Anyone and everyone, huh?” Varric chuckled, nodding thoughtfully. “That explains The Blooming Rose, then.”

“Hey, don’t judge. Serendipity and I have a special bond. She takes care of me.” She laughed once, softly. “But, alas. I’ve no love in my life. There is this one guy I’m pretty interested in, but I don’t think it’ll go anywhere.”

The jealousy was back, stabbing him in the gut. What in the Maker’s name was going on with him? “Oh? What gives you that impression?”

She made a point of trying to look invested in the stalactites hanging overhead. “He’s still hung up on his ex pretty badly.”

His…ex? She couldn’t mean him, could she? His heart fluttered at the thought, but before he could think of a teasingly witty remark, an arrow flew past their heads, and they were thrown into yet another fight against Darkspawn.

Varric hadn’t found another opportunity to continue their conversation, though he certainly hadn’t forgotten it. They’d found a way around pretty easily, the most trouble being a cavern full of dragonlings and a rather large dragon. Hawke had taken a bad hit to the shoulder, and without Anders there, she would have to handle the pain. Even potions weren’t enough to cure it completely, and despite her brave face, everyone seemed to see how badly it was bothering her. They’d started guarding her better, flanking her from all sides, and Fenris even insisted he carry her satchel despite her protestations.

They arrived at the thaig a day later, and nobody knew quite what to make of it. Bartrand was bewildered, confused, and Hawke was mostly in awe. Varric couldn’t blame her. He’d never been in a thaig before, but he’d seen renderings and drawings of them, heard stories.

Bartrand and the hirelings were busy exploring the main cavern, studying the strange red spires and the like.

“Let’s scout ahead, see what else this place might have in store for us.” Hawke shouldered her staff and grinned lazily at her companions.

Fenris frowned. “You are still injured, Hawke. Perhaps it would be best if we remained with the group.”

“Indeed, Sister. The last thing we need is you falling in battle. I’ll not be responsible for telling Mother I let you die.” Carver sneered at his sister.

She sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m fine, honestly. Maker knows I wouldn’t dream of leaving our poor mother at your mercy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t snip back, surprising them all.

“Well then. Let’s go see what dusty treasures we can find, eh?” Varric beamed at his friends.

On their way out of the main cavern, Hawke stopped and exchanged her random tidbits and treasures for potions from Bodahn. They talked for a while, Bodahn thanking them once again for finding Sandal, and though Hawke was a sarcastic person by nature, she was genuinely polite and almost pleased to speak with them. As they walked away, Hawke patted Sandal on the shoulder and gave him a cocky grin.

They halted at the top of a staircase and pondered the potential of a room not far away. It was pretty much unanimous that there would be nothing of true value, but it was worth a peak. They hadn’t made it more than six or seven steps before some 10 Shades appeared and began to attack them. Varric took up position in front of Hawke to help protect her as her casting was much slower than usual. Fenris and Carver flanked the horde, each of them sparing no expense. Just when it seemed that the fight was nearly over, a statue a few feet to Varric’s left came to life, though neither he nor Hawke seemed to notice it. With one fell sweep of its huge arm, the two of them were thrown against the far wall as if they weighed nothing more than feathers. Fireworks burst in front of Varric’s eyes, and though he could see what was happening before him, the images held no meaning, no significance. It took him a long moment to regain his senses. Fenris and Carver were both fighting with nearly all their strength against the monstrosity, and Varric groaned. It took him another moment to realize there were no spells being cast, no thunderstorms being summoned, no fireballs thrown, nothing.

“Hawke?” He coughed as he sat up, his whole body burning with pain. Panic began to well in him as he looked around, and when he finally spotted her a few feet away, he almost couldn’t breathe. Crawling over to where she lay, he looked her over for injuries. “Hawke?” Her head was bleeding from the back, but she was breathing if barely.

The sound of fighting behind him died out, and within seconds the others were sliding over on their knees to assess their fallen leader. Fenris dug in his satchel and pulled out a potion, ripping the cork out with his teeth. Wordlessly, Varric helped adjust her so she might be able to drink, and Fenris poured the thick liquid down her throat.

“Damnit, Sister, you’d better wake up, or so help me I’ll kill you.” Carver’s fists were clenched at his sides. As much as the two of them hated one another, some small part of them did love the other, somewhere way deep down.

They all waited on bated breath. Over the course of a few minutes, the bleeding stopped, and her breathing evened out. With a collective sigh, they relaxed, and Fenris and Carver both began to tend to their own wounds. Varric stayed by her side and took her hand in his. Under his breath, he sighed, “Always keeping us on edge, aren’t you?”

“Someone has to.” Her voice was weak, as was the smile that ghosted across her face. She turned to look up at him but winced.

“No, don’t move. You’ll just hurt yourself more.” He chuckled, more out of relief than anything else.

She sighed but obliged, dropping her head back to the ground. He helped coax another potion into her, and they watched as Fenris and Carver bickered over the proper way to bind a particular wound. “What a bunch of old biddies,” she whispered. The two of them snickered, and Fenris and Carver both turned to them bewildered which only made them laugh harder. Hawke held her side, obviously in pain, but for some reason that just urged her to laugh harder. Once they settled down, she was nearly crying, but her spirits seemed lifted. They sat in a circle for a while, sharing a loaf of bread among the four of them, Hawke drinking another potion. They talked about small things��what the thaig had in store, how shitty Bartrand is, what they would do with any money they found, and it was peaceful and happy. Even Carver seemed to have pulled the stick out of his ass for a while, and it was almost possible to imagine the two Hawkes as loving siblings. Almost.

Once Hawke felt well enough to walk, they returned to their mission and entered the new section of the thaig. It was remarkably well preserved, barely a scratch in the tall walls. Hawke had taken to using her old staff as a walking cane, a soft “tink” of metal on stone echoing off the walls around them, her newer, fancier staff hanging off her back.

They came to a new antechamber, large, sharp stalactites hanging precariously from the ceiling, a side wall blown through from a cave-in.

“I think there’s a chest or something up those steps.” Hawke gestured with her staff ahead of them and looked at Varric.

He nodded and adjusted Bianca on his back. “I think you just might be right. Let’s go.” He led them up the stairs but paused. It wasn’t a chest. It was a stone slab, and upon it lay an idol of some sort. He walked over to it. “You see what I’m seeing?”

“Is that…lyrium?”

“It doesn’t look like any kind of lyrium I’ve ever seen.” He turned behind him to where his brother had just entered the room. “Look at this, Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune.”

Batrand whistled. “You could be right. An excellent find.” Something was off in his voice, but Varric thought nothing of it.

Hawke went to pick up the idol and it sparked and glowed beneath her touch. “Not bad. We’ll take a look around, see if there’s anything further in.” Hawke tossed it to Varric, and a strange sensation flowed through his body, a warmth unlike any he’d felt before. Reluctantly, he turned and tossed it to Bartrand, and the warmth was gone.

Bartrand looked at the idol with a strange glint in his eyes and turned towards the door. “You do that,” he growled beneath his breath.

Varric turned back to Hawke and began to say something when she looked towards the door. Her eyes went wide. “The door!” The four of them ran to try to catch the door from closing, Hawke sliding down the banister to make haste, but to no avail. The resounding thud of the stone sliding into place echoed all throughout the chamber.

“Bartrand! It’s shut behind you!” Varric joined Hawke to try to heave the stone back.

From the other side of the door, they could hear Bartrand’s sinister chuckling. “You always did notice everything, Varric.”

Hawke and Varric shared a look, concern written across her face as she leaned on her staff. Bewildered, Varric thumped his fist against the stone. “Are you joking? You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?”

“It’s not just the idol! The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I’m not splitting that three ways.” There was a pause, and for just a moment Varric thought he could hear a sort of ethereal whispering before Bartrand called, “Sorry, Brother.”

“Bartrand!” He punched the door again, voice rising to an angry yell, “BARTRAND!” But he was gone. “I swear I will find that son of a bitch—sorry, Mother—I will kill him!” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and turned towards his friends. “Let’s hope there’s a way out of here.”

“Well, we’re in it now. This all part of your plan, Sister?” Carver scowled at Hawke, his arms crossed over his chest.

She scoffed at him, leaning forward on her staff. “Yes, Carver, this was all part of an intricate plan. Cave-ins and injuries and golums and betrayal, yes, absolutely. What, do you want me to apologize for not giving you the program beforehand? Well, just to be clear, I am fully expecting to come across at least a few demons and darkspawn before we reach the surface. Gasp. I know! It’s insane!” She glared daggers at him, hand sparkling where she held herself upright. “I don’t know what it is you want from me, Carver, but go look for it over there.” She gestured with her hand towards the back exit. He shook his head at her, teeth and fists clenched before he spun on his heel and stormed his way up the stairs.

Fenris did better to hide his anger at the situation than Carver had. He turned and followed the younger Hawke with a heavy sigh. Hawke looked down at Varric, her brow knit in concern. She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Varric. About Bartrand. And Carver, but mostly Bartrand.”

He looked up at her, into her crystal eyes, and part of him softened at the regret he saw there. He patted her hand and did his best to offer her a smile, though he knew it wasn’t quite all there. “No, Bells, I’m sorry. I’m the one who dragged you down here.”

She snorted, and the two of them set off. “Varric, you couldn’t drag me anywhere if you tried.” The two of them shared an empty laugh as they climbed the stairs.

Xxx

The path back to the surface was long, but after the rock wraiths it was almost no problem. In truth, the worst part was carrying all the gold they’d taken. About a week from the surface, they were sitting around a small campfire in a cave off the main road. Fenris had managed to find a small nug warren about an hour ago and now a rather large one was currently roasting over the fire while Fenris sat in the corner, cleaning and salting the carcasses of two others to make jerky.

They were laughing over some joke Varric had told, Hawke holding her healing side. Carver was the first to catch his breath again, and he moved to adjust the nug in the fire. “Garrett would’ve loved that one.” Hawke’s laughter cut out as if he’d punched her. Carver, for once, seemed to realize he said something wrong because he grimaced. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

She didn’t say anything, moving her legs out in front of her. Varric quirked an eyebrow at the newfound tension in the air. Fenris paused and tilted his head. “Who is Garrett?”

“He was—”

“We don’t talk about him.” Hawke cut Carver off sharply, voice steeled.

Carver scowled. “No, we don’t. We never talk about Garrett. And why is that again, Sister?”

The air in the cave dropped to below freezing in the blink of an eye as Hawke’s fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.” Her teeth were grit, fists clenched tightly in her lap, sparks dancing across her fingers.

“Oh, that’s right, because you got him killed. Just like Bethany. It’s all you’re good for, killing everyone who ever loved y—”

In the blink of an eye, Carver had been thrown back against the wall. Hawke was breathing heavily, her hand outstretched from the spell she had just cast. Fenris was standing in front of Carver almost immediately, guarding him from Hawke’s fury.

“Bells—” Varric was reaching out to touch her shoulder but the look she gave him sent an icy chill down his back. He withdrew quickly, and he must have looked at her wrong because shock flashed across her face before pain took over. She clambered to her feet, took her staff, and dashed out the cave.

Fenris looked at Varric, bewildered, before they turned to Carver. “Are you injured?” When Carver shook his head, Fenris scowled, lifting him by the collar. “Then what in the name of the Maker was that?”

Carver scowled back, pushing Fenris away from him. “Why don’t you go ask our glorious leader.”

Varric held his hand up to Fenris and shook his head. “I’ll go. You stay here and guard the idiot, make sure the nug doesn’t burn.”

Fenris nodded back to him, and Varric left after Hawke, Bianca slung on his back. He found her sitting against a derelict staircase, her knees drawn to her chest, tears streaming down her face. When she heard his footsteps, she wiped her eyes and turned her face away from him.

He hesitated, unsure of how to approach her, of what to say. Finally, he walked over and sat beside her, close enough to feel her presence but not to touch her. After a long time, she leaned over so her head was on his shoulder, her arms going around his arm. He worked to keep his breath steady so she was comfortable and reached over to pat her hand on his arm. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he whispered.

She shook her head and gripped his sleeve tighter. “N…No. I don’t talk about it…about him.” Her voice fell to barely a whisper, yet somehow it carried enough grief and pain within it to make Varric’s heart shatter. “I can’t.”

“That’s alright, Bells. We can just sit here, yeah?” He laid his cheek upon her head and placed his hand over hers.

They sat like that for a long time, nearing upon an hour before she pulled away from him. It was a slow movement, hesitant, like she didn’t want to let him go. “Thank you, Varric.”

Before he managed to get a word out, she was on her feet, a hand going to her staff. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear—” And there it was, the unmistakable sound of metal against metal, a fight being fought. They shared a look before they were running, staff and Bianca both at the ready. They arrived just in time to see Carver being overwhelmed, Fenris’s skin glowing as he fought off his own small army a ways away.

“Sister!” Carver’s voice was pained as he called from the fray, and she could just barely make him out amongst the Darkspawn.

They sprung into action, Varric knocking bolt after bolt as Belladonna cast vigorously. Their added assistance turned the tide, though the battle was far from easy. It dragged on for far too long, and by the time Fenris struck down the final creature, Carver was sitting against the cave wall, Hawke was leaning on her staff surrounded by lyrium vials, and Varric was making the rounds, pocketing any loot and gathering up the salvageable bolts.

Hawke took another, small vial of lyrium from her belt and downed it, then righted herself and made her way over to Carver. “Fenris, Varric, you guys hurt?” She knelt beside her brother who was clutching at his bleeding side and swatted his hand away to start healing him.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Hawke,” came Fenris’s dour reply.

“Psh, you know it takes more than a few ugly mugs to take me down, Bells.”

Hawke smirked as she finished up dealing with Carver’s injuries then pushed herself to her feet with a pat on his shoulder. It didn’t escape Varric’s notice that she did so with a slight stumble, their time down below the surface clearly beginning to wear on her. She made her way over to Fenris and began healing him despite his protestations, and Varric had to pause to smile at the scene. Much like her namesake, she acted very frequently like a mother bird, and they her children. Her hawklings, as it were. Despite the broody elf’s struggles, she made quick work of healing him, but it obviously took a lot out of her. Her breath came strained, winded as she spoke. “I think we should try to find some more defensible ground for the night to set up camp.”

Fenris nodded solemnly and began picking up some of the heavier bags while Varric set about snuffing out the fire. “I never was one for camping near Darkspawn, anyway. Takes weeks to get the smell out of my hair.”

Hawke snorted as she gathered some of the lighter packs and offered her hand to Carver to help him off the ground. “And goodness knows we can’t have that. Your horde of women will be beside themselves.”

They shared a chuckle while Carver scoffed. “Get a room,” he grumbled.

Hawke’s ear twitched and she side-eyed her brother. His voice sounded…off, and he was carrying himself strangely as though he were still wounded, though she didn’t see any injuries beyond the ones she had already healed.

They pushed further into the Roads and came to a wide cavern and a bridge. Hawke paused to survey the area and a realization hit her. “This part of the Deep Roads looks familiar.”

“So we’re back where we started, and in only 5 days. Not bad, eh.” Varric seemed overly pleased with their progress. Hawke had to admit, she was also rather impressed. She would be even more impressed if they didn’t still have a week left in their trek, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Think we could…take a break? I feel…wrong.” Carver did, indeed, sound off, but it didn’t quite register as an emergency in Hawke’s mind.

With a teasing tone in her voice, she called back over her shoulder, “I think all our stomachs are a bit tender right now.”

“I’ll wager it was all those dark mushrooms we found.” Hawke could always count on Varric to pick up on her sarcastic remarks.

“No, it’s…”

Hawke turned just in time to see Carver falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. She was quick to dart to his side, packs shrugged off her back as she went. “Carver!”

His face had paled considerably, and his eyes had clouded significantly. His skin was cold to the touch as Hawke cradled his face. “It’s the blight, isn’t it? Just like that templar, Wesley. I’ll be just as dead, just as gone.”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” Coldness had filled Hawke’s veins, her heart pounding in her ears. It was the blight. He was right. But damned if she was going to let this happen again. Not again.

“I’m not going to make it. Not to the surface, not anywhere. It’s getting worse.” Hawke shook her head, tears threatening to spill over her eyes.

Varric came closer to them, his heart aching in his chest. He shared a forlorn look with Fenris before putting his hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “We’re in the middle of nowhere… We can’t help him.” Hawke turned to look up at him, her breath catching in her throat, but he could only offer her a look of shaded pain. Fenris looked similarly hopeless, having set the bags down and standing off to the side, leaning on his sword with his hair in his eyes.

Varric stepped over to Fenris to give them some more privacy, and the two of them walked a short ways away to keep guard.

Hawke was struggling hard to keep it in check, to stop herself from openly weeping. She wouldn’t let her snotty face be the last thing he saw, so she tapped it down. She moved so that she was sitting, his head in her lap. After sucking in a trembling breath, she smiled down at him and stroked his hair. “D’you remember the day you ate that pie that mother made for your birthday?”

A shaky laugh escaped his lips as he nodded. “The peach one?”

“Father nearly whacked you with his staff, made you do the laundry for a whole month and Bethany kept ‘spilling’ things on all her clothes?”

The smile fell from his face. “I miss her so much.”

Tears filled Hawke’s eyes again as she nodded. “Me, too.”

There was a moment of silence before Carver reached up to hold her cheek. “I… I’m sorry. About what I said before. About Garrett.”

She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek which he brushed away. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Her head tilted back as she looked up at the roof of the cavern, trying to hold back her emotions. “You were right. It was my fault.”

“No.” His voice was surprisingly hard, given how weak he was. She looked back down at him and was surprised to see him scowling. “You had no way to know.” He winced as if something were hurting him and withdrew his hand. She placed a healing spell to his stomach, trying to stave it off. “I would have done the same, Donna.”

She nodded, smoothing his hair back. “Thank you, Carver.”

The light in his eyes was beginning to darken, and he took a raspy breath. His hand weakly found hers. “You’ll do it, won’t you, Sis?”

She swallowed hard, dryly, and managed a trembling whisper. “You always did ask for the world, Carver.”

His hand over hers squeezed, and a faint smile on his lips. “And you always gave it.” He reached up with a trembling hand and put his hand on the back of her neck, drawing her closer to him. Her tears dotted his cheek as they fell from her face. “It’s just you now. Take care of Mother.”

Fenris and Varric heard nothing for several minutes and shared a concerned look. Before they could turn back to see what was happening, they heard a clattering of metal falling on the ground then Hawke sobbing then her sobs quickly turning to shrieks of agony. They turned, then, and tears sprung to Varric’s eyes. She was leaning over him, cradling him to her, his blood pooling around them with a bloody dagger lying on the floor. Varric moved to go to her, to comfort her, but Fenris’s gloved hand on his shoulder halted his steps. He looked back at the broody elf with an expression of shock and agitation, but Fenris only shook his head slightly. Varric looked back at Hawke, his heart throbbing across his entire body, fingers twitching with the desire to hold her, but he knew Fenris was right. She needed some time. So, they turned their backs to her again and gave her the privacy she needed.

It was nearly three hours later that she stirred and lifted Carver’s head from her lap. She rose to her feet and picked up her staff before wordlessly turning around and heading back the direction they’d come. Varric jumped to his feet and cast Fenris a bewildered look before he ran after her. “Hawke!”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the two of them, Fenris rising to his feet with a confused expression on his face. Her voice was barely audible, wrought with pain. “Stay here. With…with him.”

“No, no way, Hawke. I’m not letting you go back in there alone.” He righted Bianca on his shoulder and puffed his chest out, standing his ground.

She stared at him for a long moment with unblinking, puffy eyes before nodding. “Fenris.” She looked past Varric at the elf. “Would you stay?”

Fenris nodded and bowed his head. “Of course, Hawke.”

Without another word or glance, Hawke spun on her heel and stalked off. Varric scrambled after her and fell into step beside her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye but didn’t try to press it. They walked on for a while before coming to a sharp turn which lead them to an abandoned way station they had scavenged earlier. Varric stood in the doorway and watched as she flitted about the room, breaking anything wooden she could lay her hands on, her staff leaning against a wall. After she had a respectable pile in the middle of the floor, she looked over at Varric. “There was a… a wheelbarrow… thing… down the road a ways.”

He raised an eyebrow at her but nodded, pulling Bianca off his back. “Sure thing, Bells.” It took him nearly half an hour to find the wheelbarrow, but thankfully it wasn’t crumbling like the rest of the Roads. The trip back to her took less than 10 minutes since he knew the way to go, but by the time he got to the way station again, the pile had nearly tripled in size. Hawke was leaned over a rather sturdy and heavy looking table and apparently the last piece of furniture in the whole place. From the tracks in the dust, Hawke must’ve been dragging it. Varric cleared his throat to announce his presence, and her shockingly blue eyes snapped to him. “I uh… I got the thing.”

“G… Good. Yes.” She looked down at the table again. “Would you mind loading the pile into it?”

He set his coat and Bianca against a wall and eyed her as he set about the task. “Sure, Bells.”

By the time he had the wheel barrow filled, she had managed to drag the table almost to the door but stopped to catch her breath, sitting on it. Varric walked over to her and leaned against the table, looking up at her. “You wanna talk?”

A long moment of silence stretched between them, so long Varric might’ve given up if it had gone on any longer. “I…” She clenched and unclenched her fists for another minute before taking a shaky breath. “I’ve gotten them all killed.”

Varric frowned and stood up straight, moving so he was directly in front of her. “Hey, no you haven’t.”

She shook her head and stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap. “All of them. Dead. Because of me.”

“Bells.” She didn’t look up at him, so he ripped his gloves off, reached forward, and took her hands in his. “Belladonna. Listen to me.” Her eyes drifted up to his face, filled with pure and utter sorrow. “You are not responsible for this.”

She shook her head and pulled her hands away from his. “You have no idea.” Without another word, and before he could get a word out himself, she slipped off the table and turned her back to him. She dug in her robes for a moment before pulling out her last giant lyrium vial and downing it. Before he could ask what she was doing, her staff was in her hand and she was casting a spell. The table lifted off the ground, and she followed it outside, leaving him in her wake. He watched her go for a moment before gathering his things and pushing the wheelbarrow after her.

They made good time getting back, much to Fenris’s obvious relief. He had taken Carver’s bedroll and covered his body with it, though Hawke seemed not to notice. The table she was magicking over hit the ground hard, and she doubled over, catching her breath. Fenris watched her then quirked his brow at Varric who just shrugged in response. “Hawke?”

She ignored them and took the wheelbarrow from Varric. They just watched as she built the wood up underneath the table, and realization dawned on them. A funeral pyre. Fenris walked over and gently halted her movements. “Hawke. Allow me.” She seemed surprised, but relented, offering him a weak smile.

She walked over to their stuff and started digging before pulling out a canteen and one of her tunics. Varric watched as she ripped a strip from the tunic and poured water on it, but she froze as she turned, facing Carver’s body. The fabric passed between her hands a few times, but neither her eyes nor her legs would budge. “Hawke.” Varric set his stuff down and walked over to her, holding his hand out. “Allow me.” Her eyes flicked to his, tears on the verge of spilling out before she nodded and passed him the cloth.

It wasn’t long before Carver’s body was cleaned up, and Fenris helped Varric carry it onto the table. Hawke watched, unblinking, the look on her face absolute, indescribable pain. The two men came and stood on either side of her, and Varric folded his hands in front of himself. “Do… you wanna say a few words?”

Hawke paused for a minute before she nodded. “I… Yeah. Yeah.” She took a trembling breath and stiffened, as though bracing herself. “Carver was… a tit. The… the thorn in my side. Hardheaded and stupid and just…” Her voice cracked, and she took another moment to steady herself, hiding her face amongst her burgundy curls. “But he was my brother. My baby brother. My responsibility.” Her fists clenched at her side. “H… I’ll… I’ll miss the shi… Him. I’ll miss him. But… Maybe he’s… maybe he’s with Bethany and Father and…” She couldn’t get the final word out, a choking sob breaking off her words. Varric reached for her arm but she flinched away, and no small part of his feelings were hurt by the action. Instead, she pushed forward toward the pyre and pulled two sovreigns from her pocket, placing them on Carver’s eyes. Varric and Fenris watched as she leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead and whisper something in his ear before she stood back. With a wave of her hand, fire sparked in the wood below the table, and Hawke watched as the flames ate their way up to her brother.

They stood in silence for another few minutes before Hawke abruptly turned and began gathering their things. Fenris gave Varric a concerned look before they moved to help, either man taking the majority of the items so Hawke did not have to. By the time they were all loaded up, Hawke was left with just two packs, her staff, and Carver’s maul which she had taken with an almost reverential amount of gentility.

“Let’s get out of this accursed hell.” She held herself strong as she lead the way, though the way she clenched her fist by her side did not escape Varric’s notice.

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itsworn · 6 years

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Widebody C7 Corvette Has the Looks & the Power

Enhancing the look of the new Stingray is no simple task, given how much effort GM put into the body shape. With extensive use of CFD (computational flow dynamics), Corvette engineers analyzed digital “ribbons” of airflow, allowing them to trace the path of a single air molecule in and around the body.

As a result, the look of the C7 wasn’t merely about styling, but aero driven in order to keep up with an increased focus on track performance. The airflow aspect had to not only reduce fuel consumption and optimize lift/drag characteristics, but also enhance several other areas, such as brake and differential cooling.

Space doesn’t permit covering all those technical aspects in detail, but it does indicate a decided shift in design emphasis. Looking back on the history of various Corvette body shapes, it hasn’t always been about functionality and pure aerodynamics. At one point, Zora Arkus-Duntov and Bill Mitchell differed about the shape of the C3 (produced from 1968-’82). Duntov, a race-bred engineer, wanted it to be smaller, lighter and more slippery. Mitchell, a marketing maven who understood how styling can impact sales, wanted it to be sexier even if that meant increased wind resistance. Mitchell won out, and the coke-bottle curves of the C3 became enormously popular.

Which leads us to Ivan Tampi’s curvaceous C7 conversion, called the XIK Widebody kit. (The initials are a play on the expression “it’s sick.”) The massive, bulging fenders make an impressive visual statement, as do a number of upgrades to the exterior, with extensive use of carbon fiber. So much so that it’s nearly unrecognizable as a Corvette, with the look of a European exotic.

The body conversion has 15 main components in all. These consist of front and rear splitters, along with a variety of vents, overlays and bezels. The interior also has cover pieces for the dash, console and door panels, plus suede-style Alacantara and leather upholstery.

The rolling stock is much meatier than factory, with Kompression Wheels’ Murci Twisted, measuring 20×10 up front and 21×14 in the rear, wrapped with Pirelli rubber (285/25/20 fronts, 355/25/21 rears).

Tampi didn’t come by these eye-catching Corvette mods easily. He has been muscling up a wide variety of cars for more than two decades. A self-taught automotive designer, as well as in composite technology and fabrication, he started out in the mid-1990s by creating a front bumper design for the Honda Civic in his garage while living in his parents’ attic in Los Angeles. He named the new design The Street Fyghter. It was such a hit that he followed up with The Street Fyghter II, and a full body kit as well, called Black Widow.

When Tampi shifted his attention to the Ford Mustang market his company, Ground Designs 2000, grew rapidly. Unfortunately, a number of other aftermarket companies took note of his success and splashed his Black Widow design for the Mustang and undersold him.

Fortunately, Ford was impressed by Ivan’s creativity and gave him two project cars to build and market: a Focus and an F-150. Ford asked him to create a body kit design to help promote its latest model vehicles. His Ford Focus design won Ford Choice awards at the SEMA show in 2003.

Despite his design achievements, Tampi took a business hiatus for several years, and pursued a venture in the fashion industry. But his automotive passion didn’t die, and he later came back with a vengeance.

In the summer of 2013, he completed a widebody kit design for the BMW Z4 and debuted it at the 2014 SEMA Show. Although it didn’t do as well as he hoped, he realized that the upcoming 2014 Corvette C7 was the hot ticket—no surprise there. While walking the SEMA show he took note of some new Corvette feature vehicles with widebody kits and said to himself, “This is right up my alley. It’s what I’m known for!”

Tampi got straight to work on some renderings. But one thing was missing: he needed a Corvette. He partnered up with longtime friend Bob Matias and formed a new company, Ivan Tampi Customs (ITC). This firm purchased a new Shark Gray 2016 Stingray in September 2015, yet there was still another challenge. Tampi had less than four weeks to transform his renderings into an actual widebody shape and make it to the SEMA show.

Not only that, he was taking his fabricating skills to a whole new level, in keeping with the GM technology that went into the C7’s design. Gone were the days of eyeballing the measurements to create a kit. Tampi made his carbon-fiber components with a much higher degree of accuracy and precision, using the latest in techniques for 3D scanning, Alias autocad and a five-axis milling machine.

While subcontractors provided the materials and technology needed to make the new widebody Corvette design, Tampi was hard at work on the physical aspects, and the new shape began to come together in short order. But it was still a daunting task, as he had to form the plugs, plus make the parts and pull the stock Corvette bumpers off and install his new design. All the while shaping and perfecting the fit, putting on all the trim pieces and then getting it painted and transported to Las Vegas. And all this would be accomplished by him and only him.

Ivan Tampi Customs debuted the XIK Widebody kit at the 2015 SEMA Show in Las Vegas as a feature vehicle. A few months later in 2016, Jonathan Vaknin was searching online for a custom design, looking at hundreds of photos. When coming across the XIK, he stopped in his tracks.

“It was amazing,” he recalls. “I fell in love!” He says he had never seen anything like it, and knew he had to have it.

After taking his car in for a fitting, it took Tampi about two weeks to install the body components. (ITC only sells a factory-installed body package, starting at $15K, not including paint, wheels, tires and interior upgrades). Then Vaknin had a custom mix of red with gold paint applied by Donlyson Auto Concepts, along with fitting new wheels and tires. All told, it took nearly four months. But he wasn’t done yet.

About a month after getting the car back, he shipped it to Tampi right before 2016 SEMA to get an interior redo as well. “It was a crazy build,” Tampi notes.

Once the car’s ultra-aero shape and cabin remodeling were completed, Jonathan was so wowed by the look, he’s decided to up the output to more than 1,000 horses by the 2017 SEMA Show, probably with a ProCharger supercharger and other performance parts. Not only that, he has a new paint scheme in mind. Some Corvette projects are never done. Vette

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jesusvasser · 7 years

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Extended Family: The Incredible Story of the Kircher Special and Its Long-Lost 300 SL Relative

When Jack Gallivan was a boy in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the middle of the last century, he and his brothers played a game. Their father was the publisher of The Salt Lake Tribune, the local newspaper of record, and in order to prove the Trib’s classified section worked, they would buy used cars out of the paper.

“We’d look through the Sunday listings, whittle it down, make calls, go visit, and take the finalists to the mechanic to check them out,” Gallivan says. “Of course, the sellers didn’t realize that we were kids making the [initial] calls.”

In the early ’60s, one of the vehicles they came across was a 1955 Mercedes 300 SL Gullwing. Gallivan’s father wasn’t a car connoisseur, but he responded to vehicles he found beautiful—classic dual-cowl Lincolns such as those driven by the Trib’s owner, an automotive editor’s MG TC, and the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia and Jaguar XK140 he purchased. The Gullwing was one of these vehicles. “He just fell in love with it,” Gallivan says, “the sheer beauty of the thing.”

The family looked at it, but the price was too high. About a year later, however, Gallivan’s father was driving with his younger son and saw the same car parked in a gas station with a “for sale” sign on it. “My little brother says they just made a U-turn, went back to the gas station, and Dad went in and bought the car,” Gallivan says. He recalls his father paying around $3,400.

The Gullwing became his daily driver. He drove it to the office. He parked it at meters on the street. He let valets park it. “It was not something he treated as outrageously special,” Gallivan remembers, “but that was how he loved it.”

Gallivan loved the car, as well, and drove it regularly. “There were no restrictions or ‘don’t take my car,’” he says. “It was just there.” As his father aged, Gallivan found himself in line to receive the Gullwing. “My dad decided early on that he wanted to die broke and was liquidating stuff out of his estate,” Gallivan says. “I am a junior. His name was John Gallivan, and I am John Gallivan Jr., so there was no big challenge in just moving the title over to me.”

As can happen in the life of a car enthusiast, Gallivan stumbled into becoming the owner of the one-of-a-kind Kircher when he was on the hunt for his Gullwing’s original engine, which he ran in the Colorado Grand.

Gallivan spent his career producing sports programming for ABC and ESPN on the East Coast, including airings of the Indianapolis 500 and Monaco Grand Prix. Now 76 and retired back in Salt Lake City, he thinks of his own fiscal legacy. “I have no plans to sell the car,” he says, “but I thought maybe the next generation would [benefit from doing so].”

One of the Gullwing’s mysteries: It arrived in the Gallivans’ possession with a nonoriginal engine; the powerplant was from a 1957 car. Factory-correct drivetrain stampings increase the value of a car such as this significantly. “We typically say at least 10 percent [added value] to be conservative, but I’ve heard figures as high as 25 percent,” says Mike Kunz, who runs the Mercedes-Benz Classic Center in Irvine, California, a brand subsidiary dedicated to preservation and restoration of vintage Benzes. “But at today’s values, 10 percent is more than $100,000.”

Given this difference, Gallivan set out to find the original engine. He hadn’t been active in the collector car community or in researching automotive history. But he found a Gullwing owners’ group message board and posted a question. Does anybody know how the engine I have ended up in my car? “It never occurred to me to ask,” he says, “or that an engine, missing for 60 years, would ever reappear.”

A Stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines.

He was shocked to soon receive a response from a classic car restorer in Missouri named Jeff Moore, who ran a shop called The Automotive Archeologists. “I have your engine,” Moore wrote. “And moreover, it happens to be in the Kircher.”

In the post-WWII era, soldiers returning from overseas or assisting in the war effort on the homefront put their gearhead field experience to good use in the customization and hot-rodding of automobiles. According to historians, even before the Corvette was launched in 1953, there were more than 50 American-made sports-car models. Many of these were manufactured in limited numbers—by hobbyists, obsessives, or entrepreneurs—some with the dream of becoming regular production cars, some to be raced in early Sports Car Club of America events. Their activity was clustered on the coasts, particularly the West Coast, but pockets existed nationwide.

Charles Hughes of Denver, Colorado, the scion of a wealthy local family, developed a passion for speed before the war, testing planes for the military and sponsoring vehicles in the Indy 500. After the armistice, he further indulged this interest by purchasing a Jaguar XK120 to race. He bought the car new from Kurt Kircher, who owned the local foreign car shop, Denver Import Motors. Kircher was an amateur racer himself who’d had some success with a Chrysler Hemi-powered Allard J2X, one of the quickest cars of its time, if a bit crude.

The two became fast friends, quite literally. Kircher had a degree in automotive engineering—he’d worked for General Motors on post-war V-8s and the Powerglide transmission. Hughes had a degree in physics as well as a stellar machine shop in his six-car garage. So in the early ’50s, the pair decided, according to a history Kircher wrote a few years before his death in 2004, “It would be fun to try to build something better.”

Familiar with the Jag powertrain, they decided to create a clean-sheet racer around an engine and transmission salvaged from a wrecked XK120. Kircher designed the drilled chrome-moly tube frame, rear De Dion suspension, and inboard rear-wheel drums and safety hubs. The front suspension came from the Jag. The steering rack came from an MG. The rear differential came from Halibrand. The rest of the bits were either shopped or poached.

A stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines—a Ferrari 250S mated with a Jaguar D-type. But unlike either of those, it had inboard headlamps in the grille, deeply scalloped sides, and an intriguing dual-piece construction—the car’s entire top half could be unbolted to allow for mechanical massaging. It was finished after a year of work. Kircher named it for himself—the Kircher Special—and hit the track. The car was fast and handled well. “I do not have a list of all the events we participated in,” he wrote. “But we won most and never did worse than third in class.”

Still, by the mid-1950s Porsche and Ferrari upped their power games, and Kircher and Hughes decided they too needed more. Kircher set his mind on installing a fuel-injected straight-six and four-speed from a Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwing. According to a murky chronology, he apparently found a wrecked SL and traded its powertrain to a friend at Mercedes-Benz in Germany for a hotted-up race version allegedly prepared for the Mille Miglia. Kircher installed it in his car and went to work winning more races.

Soon after, however, advances such as disc brakes rendered the car’s drums somewhat archaic, and the owners decided not to invest in it further. The Kircher eventually passed to body-maker Lyons, who apparently traded the race engine in it for a stock one from another 300 SL in Colorado Springs. It was this factory engine that, again mysteriously, came out of the car the Gallivans would eventually purchase. (Confused yet? You’re not alone. It’s like a game of three-card monte with engines.)

A succession of owners followed—including Bugatti collector Carlton Coolidge and the Blackhawk Museum—before the Special passed into the hands of Court Whitlock in Missouri. Whitlock campaigned it on the vintage race circuit in the States, as well as more far-flung locales such as New Zealand, Singapore, and Malaysia. He had the car cosmetically restored by Moore’s Automotive Archeologists and showed it at the Amelia Island Concours in 2014.

The Classic Center’s Kunz spotted the vehicle on the field at Amelia that year and immediately noticed the big three-pointed star on the hood. “I remember walking by the car, and I went, ‘Oh my God, who did this?’” Kunz says and laughs. “Not knowing there’s a very cool story to who did this.”

Or that he’d soon be involved in undoing and redoing this.

The Gallivans had no history on the origin of the 1957 SL engine that came with their Gullwing. Neither did they particularly care. “Dad loved the car,” Gallivan says. “I don’t think it ever occurred to him that it was flawed or imperfect because of some mismatch, in part because selling was never on the table.” And no one knows why or when it was put into the car, why or when the factory engine was taken out, and whatever became of that alleged Mille Miglia racing engine from Stuttgart. But all old car stories are seemingly full of incomprehensible apocrypha. “There’s a disruption in the continuity that cannot be overcome,” Gallivan says.

When Kurt Kircher and Charles Hughes ventured to create a racer, they took inspiration and parts from several cars, but for racing they sought out a fuel-injected straight-six powerplant from a Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwing.

Convolutions aside, Gallivan wanted to reunite car and engine. Sadly, by the time he made the discovery, he’d already sent his Gullwing to the Classic Center to have the nonmatching engine rebuilt as part of a mechanical restoration. He offered Whitlock’s representative, Moore, the opportunity for a swap: his rebuilt engine for the proper one in the Kircher, whatever its condition. But Whitlock was no longer driving the car, and his interest in an updated engine was minimal. “He insisted that if I wanted the engine I’d have to buy the whole car,” Gallivan says.

“You’re exposed from the nipples up. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall”

After much consternation and bargaining, Gallivan decided to go forward with the purchase. Among his two daughters and three grandkids, no one really cares about cars—“I’m very concerned about this,” he jokes—so he viewed his plan as an investment in their future financial stability. Still, he felt obliged to write his family a note. “I am 75 years old. I have migraine auras, macular degeneration, ringing ears, some kind of weird outcropping on my kidney, a bladder condition, one bad hip, and two bad knees,” he wrote, wryly. “Today I bought a race car.”

The engine in the Kircher needed a complete rebuild before it could return to where it belonged in the SL. While this occurred at the Classic Center, Gallivan decided to have the rebuilt, unmatched straight-six from his dad’s car installed in the racer. His plan was to have it ready in time to drive it in the Colorado Grand, a 1,000-mile historic tour through the Rockies. After this, he would sell it.

The Kircher has no top or windshield to speak of. It also lacks windows, ventilation, a stereo, a driver’s side door, a speedometer, or any other modern comforts. “You’re exposed from the nipples up. You have no protection. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall,” Gallivan says. Yet despite all of this, he fell in love with the Special. “The car is so endearing,” he concedes. “It’s magic, and it’s very lucky for me. I mean, I got the engine reunited, and I had this great experience with it. I just think I will hold onto it as long as I can.”

Gallivan was kind enough to share the magic with us, allowing us to drive his one-off race car. We’ve had the good fortune of getting behind the wheel of a few 300 SLs, so the stiff four-speed shifter and period VDO gauges were familiar. We were not prepared, however, for the tractability. The Kircher’s front overhang is shorter than a Gullwing’s, so the turning circle is tighter. The suspension setup and ride quality is superior, more pliant and less unpredictable compared to the sporadically terrifying swing axles on the factory car.

But the real difference is in the speed. Because of its stripped-down interior, aluminum body, and drilled frame, the Kircher is hundreds of pounds lighter than a standard SL, closer in spec to one of the rare aluminum-bodied Gullwings. And because of the side exhausts exiting just aft of the front right wheel, the straight-six’s sound is both more proximal and more intoxicating, a guttural snarl not usually associated with Mercedes of the era. Although it’s fussy like all old sports cars, it just wants to go at all times.

Of course, it also has to stop—a bit harrowing with four-wheel drum brakes and a weirdly offset pedal. And because it is lipstick red and doesn’t look like any other vehicle ever made, when it does stop at li from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 http://ift.tt/2FuXyLI via IFTTT

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jonathanbelloblog · 7 years

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Extended Family: The Incredible Story of the Kircher Special and its Long-Lost 300 SL Relative

A Stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines.

Or that he’d soon be involved in undoing and redoing this.

“You’re exposed from the nipples up. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall”

#IFTTT #Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4

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jesusvasser · 7 years

Text

Extended Family: The Incredible Story of the Kircher Special and its Long-Lost 300 SL Relative

A Stylist named Charlie Lyons hand-built a curvaceous body out of aluminum. Like many homemade sports cars of the time, it was a bit of a mashup of Italian and British lines.

Or that he’d soon be involved in undoing and redoing this.

“You’re exposed from the nipples up. But even in the cold of the night, in the rain, in the dark, immense heat pours through that firewall”

#IFTTT #Performance Junk WP Feed 4

0 notes