Wicked Graces

Chapter Thirteen

Varric spent the remainder of his afternoon kissing up to Hawke, making sure she wasn't actually mad at him for spilling her beans. Not that the Wardens actually cared, but it was the principle. He really shouldn't have told them, but for a second he was actually worried they might try to drag her back to the Deep Roads with them. Someone like her would clean the place out in no time flat; the wardens had to know that.

She insisted she wasn't really mad at him, but sometimes he couldn't tell with her. She wasthat good at pretending to be an asshole. She was even better at actually being one. The fact that she was still laughing at his jokes boded well, but he might want to check his room for traps later... you know, just to be safe.

The last thing he said to her before they parted ways was, "You still love me, right?" Because he genuinely couldn't imagine living out the rest of his life if the answer was no. Sure, he'd find a way to muddle through, he supposed, but it would be a drab existence.

"Oh, Varric," she sighed, "I couldn't hate you even if I tried. I know because I have tried. All afternoon, actually."

"Well, that's a relief. You know I only do the things I do because I care."

"Yes, well, sometimes I wish you didn't care so much, but somebody has to, I suppose."

"It's a dirty job," he shrugged.

"Oh, I do hope this whole dinner thing hurries up and gets started once I'm upstairs. That sandwich I had for lunch feels like a distant dream."

"So, dinner with Choir Boy. You're going to tell him, right?"

"I'll try."

"Hawke."

"I'll try very, very hard."

"Hawke..."

"Yes, Varric, I know. I heard you the first twelve times. If the time is right, I'll tell him. Don't you have a book to finish?"

"I do indeed."

"Then get on that. I'll have saved the world all over again before you finish the first book and everyone will start bothering you for a sequel. And no excuses about your arm hurting either. You had that coming."

"I guess I'm lucky you didn't break it."

"Very. Wish me luck."

"If anyone can do it, you can."

He stood at the bottom of the steps, watching her ascend and considering a walk to the tavern in the city. He did have writing to do, but after the day he had with the Wardens he needed to think, and he always thought better after a pint. Plus, he'd already be softened up in case Hawke needed someone to cry on later, not that she'd actually let herself shed a tear, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Hitching his shoulders back, he started through the castle mulling over everything they learned from the Wardens as he walked.

It was a lot to swallow, and he wasn't going to lie: it made him nervous to think there were other things out there like Corypheus. Architects crafting designs that would put life as he knew it in the crapper... yeah, he was definitely getting too old for this shit. Life was so much easier when the worst thing about darkspawn was the simple fact that they existed. To find out there were some who could actually think... not a comforting thought.

Early evening sun dappled the walk through the trees, specks of brilliance dancing in the shadows as leaves swayed provocatively at the breeze's behest. The shades cast a mesmerizing green hue on the white paving stones, making him realize how easy it would be to take the color itself for granted in a place such as that, almost as easily as Varric took for granted the sepia and tan hues that comprised most of Kirkwall. The White City of Chains his ass... Dirty White City was more like it, though so much of it was black now on account of all the smoke.