The One Time He Wasn't: Four Months After Leaving Kirkwall

Hiding wasn't as easy as it used to be. He was recognized in small towns, even tiny villages, by people as a companion of the Champion's. Usually he could get away quickly, take a side street or another road and get the hell out before anyone had a chance to ask anything more than, "Is it true she slayed three high dragons with just a tree branch?" or, "Did she really sleep with the Arishok?"

That second one used to make him laugh, but now it brought back painful memories.

The feel of Hawke's smooth skin under his palm, warm from lovemaking.

The sound of her breath catching just before she came, his name on her lips.

The way she curled up next to him as he read in bed, asking for a story or a song so she could sleep. Because she got to the point where she couldn't sleep unless he was there.

So he carved his way across Thedas, town to town, village to village, headed for the rendezvous point Isabela had set up prior to everyone leaving Kirkwall. If he kept his pace, he'd be right on time.

Varric stopped at the next town's pub for a meal and to check his maps. When the bartender nor any of the patrons didn't so much as blink at him, he figured he was safe for a few hours. And if those passed uneventfully, he might be safe enough to rent a room…

"Hey! You! Dwarf!"

Varric closed his eyes and bit back a groan. Shit, not here too.

He didn't turn around at first. That just made the one-syllabic yeller rather angry, because the next few sentences involved insults and one rather uninspired metaphor about Varric's mother.

Varric finally spun around on his stool, Bianca in hand, and greeted the man. He was swaying on his feet, and he had a crowd behind him. Great. A drunk, angry crowd and me without backup.

"Something on your mind, fella?"

The man pointed a shaky finger at Varric and said, "Yeah. You're one 'a them people who was wid the Champion a' Kirkwall." Then he pointed to the ceiling and said, "Shit's about ta get bad out 'ere, and where is she? It's 'er fault! If she 'adn't let that mage blow up the Chantry -"

Varric held a hand up and the man, surprisingly, stopped talking. "Let me help you out there, friend. Hawke didn't cause the explosion at the Chantry, and yes, she did try to stop that mage, more than once. And then after, she killed him." He shook his head sadly, remembering the taste of ash and betrayal. "It didn't bring back the people he killed, but it was a start."

The man staggered closer and waved his arms in the air, trying to incite the crowd. They were already murmuring and Varric never liked a murmuring crowd. "So where's she? Huh? She should be out'ere, helpin'! People's dying and she's not doin' a damn thing -"

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose, waited a beat, and said, "Hawke's dead. Kind of hard to help when you're ashes on the wind."

They instantly shut up. This was the other reason he tried so hard to avoid being recognized. Invariably, Hawke would come up and then he would have to tell people the truth. She'd been killed a month ago and he'd watched it happen, unable to stop the blood mage who'd caught her in a reave spell.

He'd been on the run ever since.

The crowd scattered quickly after his confession, no longer interested in the former companion of the Champion. He didn't doubt the news would spread quickly, and that meant he should probably be on his way after his meal.

Another night sleeping in the woods, old boy.

Two weeks, three battles, and one injured shoulder later, Varric arrived at the rundown shack on the Antivan coastline where Isabela had said they should all meet. The place was empty, save a wine bottle on the rickety table that was holding down a note.

The spidery handwriting he recognized instantly - Isabela informed him to wait as she rounded up Merrill from the nearby forest and that she'd had word from the others. He was two days early, having made better time than expected.

The threat of a mob, and a chase by darkspawn, would make any man, even a dwarf, run harder.

He checked the inside and out for traps, mentally thanking Isabela for being so careful with her tripwires that he didn't set them off, and settled in for the night. She'd left supplies and a stock of blankets and potions, so he set about tending to his wounded shoulder.

It rained hard that night and was thankful he wasn't out in the weather, but wondered how the others were faring. The note he'd sent to Isabela had gotten through to her, since she'd left him one in return, but what if the others had gotten caught? What if someone was hunting them down? This was perfect ambush weather.

Varric banged his head back against the cot and grimaced. Now he was worrying, which would do wonders for his already uneasy mind. And when his mind was uneasy, it had a tendency to drift….to Hawke.

A bang at the door, solid enough to shake the wood, had him bolting upright. He reached for Bianca, hissing when he pulled against his wound. Hand on the door and heart in his throat, he yanked it open.

"We need to stop meeting like this."

Varric lowered Bianca, a smirk on his face. "Right on time." He raised an eyebrow. "You know, the last time this happened, I remember it ending rather well."

The black armored figure stepped around him, dripping onto the worn floor. "Not as well as I wanted."

That made him grin. "You still look like a soaked kitten, love."

Hawke chuckled. "I've been called worse." She started stripping off her armor, the dragon plate clanking as it hit the floor. "So, how many times did you have to tell the 'Hawke is dead' story?"

"Surprising few," he answered as he watched her. "And people weren't nearly as interested in me once they found out."

"And here I thought the news would be spread across Thedas by now. I'm disappointed, Varric."

He reached for her the minute the last piece of armor was gone, needing to touch her. It had been a long few weeks. She spied his injury and smacked him on his good shoulder. "Varric! What happened?"

He wrapped the good arm around her waist and drew her closer, ignoring the water that ran down his chest from her hair. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Well, now you won't have to do it alone. I'm here, and I'm not leaving again."

He met her lips once, twice, before saying, "You better not."