Author's Note: thanks to my wonderful beta, without her none of this would be readable. And thanks to everyone who has favorited/reviewed the story thus far, the support really helps keep me going. I'll see you in Chapter Seven!

Chapter Six: Drink to Forget

Varric made it three steps into the Hanged Man when he found his way blocked by a scantily dressed figure he'd recognize three sheets to the wind. "Rivaini!" He exclaimed, and if he expected a warm hug or delighted exchange he didn't get it. Isabela shoved him against a wall and brought him up to her eye-level by his coat, her leather bound forearm pressing against his chest.

"Where have you been?" She growled, her eyes bright and flashing as she brought her nose so close he could feel the heat from her breath when her nostrils flared.

"I missed you too, Isabela." His voice was strained with the force of her arm trying to cut off his breathing, but he didn't struggle, he was far too aware of the dagger pointed at his navel to attempt that.

"Where is Hawke, Varric?" Isabela's grip tightened, and he could feel the tip of the golden handled dagger Hawke gave her pressing through his tunic. "This little trip was supposed to take two weeks, you've been gone over a month. If I find out you killed her and left her in the Deep Roads for coin I-"
She was silenced by the sensation of a dwarven fist meeting her solar plexus with every bit of force he could muster. Her dark hair fell in front of her face as she stumbled backward, and her slack grip let him stand back on solid ground. He heard her coughing, desperate to get back the air he'd knocked out of her, as she gripped a nearby chair to keep herself standing.

He adjusted his glove as he looked down at her. "I'm quite fond of you Rivaini, but you ever accuse me of betraying Hawke again and I'll have you thrown out." He looked up to see Corff had jumped the bar to assist him, but a raised hand stopped him. Varric slowly reached down and helped Rivaini to her feet, she was smiling as he led her to a nearby table.

"You hide a mean right hook there, Varric." She said after a moment, grateful for the ale he had brought over to her.

"I am more than just dashing good looks and excellent stories, Rivaini." She laughed at that, and he gave her a grin as he sat himself. Normally Hanged Man ale was just a step away from Lowtown water, but right now it felt like a drink from the Stone itself after so long in the Deep Roads.

"I really am sorry, Varric." She said after both of them had drained their pints and more were on the way, "I shouldn't have accused you, I just-"

"I understand, if you'd been down there with her and not me… well, I probably would have reacted the same way." Norah delivered their replacements, and he dropped her some silver as he predicted several drinks in his future.

"What happened down there Varric? I heard about Bartrand returning and I rushed to find Hawke, but neither she or you'd been seen. I -" Rivaini didn't hide her emotions very well as he was starting to learn. She was practically ringing her hands.

Varric shook his head, "That's quite the story to tell Rivaini, but I'm not ready to tell it." His voice didn't hide his bitterness, so Bartrand came back did he? Sodding bastard. "Is Bartrand still here?"

"No, he took ship almost immediately." Rivaini said, and Varric groaned. Damn it all to the pyre, he was already gone, he ran a gloved hand across his cheek as he felt his rage meet with frustration.

"Damn, I guess I couldn't be lucky enough to survive and have Bartrand still here." Varric gave another groan before he downed his ale and felt that alcoholic twinge ease his rage.

"I'm going to go check on Hawke," Rivaini almost made it to her feet before Varric caught her hand, but this time he wasn't telling her to let Hawke sleep, or to stop flirting with Norah. There was pain in his eyes as he looked at Isabela, he knew it was there because he felt it in his chest. He shook his head and slowly she sat down. "Hawke came back with you… right?" Isabela's voice was a desperate whisper, and Varric frowned.

"Let's go upstairs, and I'll tell you what happened." Isabela looked ready to refuse, or demand answers, but something in his eyes must have stopped her. She followed him up to his palatial suite without a word. It wouldn't be the last time he would tell the story of their fateful journey into the Deep Roads, but it would be the only time he did not make it sound like some grand adventure of heroes, and that he admitted to his guilt. He told her all of it, and with none of his flourish and lies. Norah kept his drinks coming, and if his cup was empty Isabela would hand him hers just to keep him talking.

It was painful just to recount it, and on more than one occasion he found tears on his cheeks as he spoke of Bethany, or when he admitted to what had transpired between Kerrigan and himself on that cliff. Isabela handed him a lace ended handkerchief that he had no idea she had, and was not in the mood now to ask where it came from. There was only one part he kept to himself, and that was the events around the waterfall, that quiet moment talking, the way she tugged his hand to force him to listen, her fingers leading him along the natural shoal. Something about that felt too sacred to share, even with Rivaini.

When he finished, Isabela sat stunned. Shaking her head as Varric downed what had to be his tenth flagon of Hanged Man ale. It was back to tasting about the same as the water, but the fact that he was home and safe kept him drinking. "So Bethany-"

"Is rotting somewhere in the Deep Roads, probably half eaten by deep stalkers." His voice was filled to the brim with bitterness. He looked down at the eleventh flagon, watching the golden color flicker with the candle light. He felt the warm tingle of the alcohol in his system, but it did little to ease the pain.

"Poor Hawke," was all Isabela offered, and he laid his head on the table. The cool stone and wood did nothing for him, but the solidness of it at least meant he was home.

"What am I gonna do, Rivaini?" He said softly, and after a moment felt Isabela's hand on his own. He knew the comfort it offered, but he pulled his hand away, using the excuse of needing his hand to down another full pint of ale. Maybe it wasn't an excuse. "I don't know how to help her now. I got her home… but Leandra. That damn woman would blame the sodding Blight on Hawke if she could." There was that well of anger in him, and he tried to quench it with few remaining drops from his flagon.

"Well you're here now." If that was an attempt by Isabela to be comforting, Varric didn't feel it. It felt more like an accusation, he should have gone with her. He should have told Leandra himself, let her blame him. He groaned against the table. "And now that I know I can help."

Varric raised a skeptical pair of eyes at her, "I don't think a roll in the hay is going to make her feel better, Rivaini."

"Varric!" She scolded, shaking her head at him as she pushed her own ale over to him. "I meant that we can keep her distracted, and out of that 'house' her uncle owns as much as possible."

"I'm shocked, Rivaini wanting more from our leader than her body."

"Well if I happen to get her drunk in here some night -" She gave him a wink and made a series of purring sounds and despite his sorrows he laughed.

"Don't ever change." He shook his head, pushing her ale back to her. "But if I find out you went off and broke her heart, I'll have to stop paying your tab."

"That's a weak threat."

"And Bianca may shoot you."

"Better." She snatched up the ale and drunk it down herself.

Hawke didn't show up that night, not that he could blame her, and after the fifteenth flagon he carted himself off to bed. The rest could be settled in a day or two, for now he just wanted to feel what it was like to be on a bed and not on a padded roll a few precious inches off the hard ground. He wondered if Hawke had a bed of her own, or if that uncle of hers made her sleep on the floor with only a bit of hay for comfort. He'd have a few harsh words with the man if he ever found out Hawke was sleeping on the floor.

It was almost two weeks before Hawke emerged. More than once he thought of going to check on her, and every time Isabela stopped him. "Grieving is a process," she said to him "She'll come back when she's ready."

And he listened. Mostly. He had his urchin network concentrated on her, insuring she was kept safe. He was paying protection money out the ear as well, but it was the least he could do. She could walk around town without being accosted by random bandits, and while he knew he couldn't keep them away forever, he did what he could. When she finally did arrive it seemed to ease his ability to breathe, like it raised a weight he didn't know had been crushing him.

He caught sight of her right when she entered, her long fingers pushing the door to the Hanged Man and walking with the confidence she was lacking when they returned. Her wild tresses were tied back, something he had never seen her do, though it did little to keep the flame colored mane under control. Little wisps and curls still flew in every direction, several bouncing against her forehead, or hanging beside her ears in tight curled clusters.

She looked around before catching sight of him, and he didn't rush to her. He merely smiled from the doorway as she waved to Corff and headed up toward him. Her steps were quieter somehow, and he noticed she wasn't walking around in full battledress. Instead she was wearing a simple set of leathers for protection, but her bow was still with her and a new dagger strapped across her lower back.

"My dear Lady Hawke. I was starting to worry, did you get lost in Hightown?" Varric said with a grin as he indicated one of the chairs to her and moved to the one opposite. "I hope the renovation of the estate is going well."

She frowned as she sat, slowly setting her bow on the table and the quiver beside her. "You heard about that did you?"

"The triumphant return of the Amells is being talked about everywhere, of course I heard." He gave her a grin as his eyes swept over her face. Now that he could see her closer she seemed paler, her cheeks less full, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She seemed older too, the young face of the girl he met in the courtyard disappearing under the weight, and he felt the guilt again. She groaned, and he gave her a smirk, "I take it you are not ecstatic about your new lot?"

"It's a nightmare." At that moment Norah appeared, carrying two flagons and Varric nodded to her, indicating he was paying for it. Kerrigan flashed her a smile, and for a moment he saw that young face before it disappeared as she drank at least half the pint in one go. "My mother has me involved in everything, keeps asking me what color the curtains should be, what chairs would go best in the living room, which paintings to buy." She set down the flagon and shook her head, "She suddenly cares how I eat, how I act, she even yelled at me for keeping my bow next to me at dinner yesterday."

"It's a tough lot, nobility." Varric sympathized, his eyes sweeping over her face once more before taking a sip of his own ale. He'd been going easy on the stuff recently, remembering what going to alcohol with their sorrows did to someone. "How is Leandra?"

"Same as always," It was a loaded phrase as Kerrigan seemed to get lost looking at the painting hung above his bookcases. She'd never shown an interest before, but now her eyes swept over it with a keen look. "She seems happier now that we'll be moving out of Lowtown."

"I take it you don't share that enthusiasm?" Varric asked, and knew he didn't. Her being in Hightown would mean she was no longer just a few steps away, and that concerned him. He would not be able to keep as close of an eye on her, and she was a much larger target with that power.

"I'm happy to moving out of Gamlen's, and mother seems happy." She avoided the question, eyes flitting away from him again to look at the bookcases.

"It'll be much quieter," He said after a moment, and saw her fidget. "But I asked about you."

She frowned, "I'd gotten so used to being in Lowtown. It's like I'm running from home all over again." Kerrigan finally looked at him and he saw the edges of pain still in her eyes, "It was nice, being so close to the alienage and the Hanged Man. Did you know most of the elves have stopped calling me a shem?"

Varric laughed at that, leaning back in the chair. "Well you've been spending a lot of time there as of late, I wouldn't be surprised."

"How did you know I've been spending time in the Alienage?" She raised a skeptical eye at him, and all Varric could do was laugh.

"I told you, Hawke, I know everything and everyone worth knowing." She didn't argue, taking a contemplative sip out of her flagon before leaning back into the chair. "How are you really, Hawke? I must admit two weeks of not seeing you have made me a little nervous."

"Aw, worried about me Varric?" Kerrigan teased, giving a soft laugh at his scowl. "I'm doing ok," He leveled a skeptical look at her. "No, I mean it."
Her eyes got a faraway look to them as she looked over him, blue green eyes gazing at the painting again, "at first it was hard. I didn't think I could live without Bethany." She let out a soft sigh, before seeming to come back to the present and looked to him, "But after a while I realized I couldn't mourn forever, and I didn't want to end up like mother. Blaming everyone else...so here I am."

Varric smiled softly at that, it was touching to know that once she got past it it was him she came to. He knew she'd been to see Merrill a few times, but from what his contacts told him she never went in, just left things at the door. "I know it's not easy," His voice soft as he put his hands on the table, he still remembered what it was like after returning, "I'm glad to see you, keeps me from graying with worry."

She laughed, and it finally sounded like it used to, "I thought you'd like the gray, make you even more irresistible than you are now. No one can say no to a silver fox with a couple of scars."
Varric smirked, just thankful to hear her laughter again. "I couldn't have that, beautiful, I may cause a war just by stepping outside. All the nobles would fear for their wives, and the brothels would close." They shared the laughter, and while there was a hollow edge to it, it was real. Maybe that would ease the guilt, and hopefully mean she was getting back to normal.

"So what brought you to the Hanged Man?" Varric asked after they had settled back down to a companionable silence, "Just a social call?"

"For the most part." Kerrigan admitted.

Varric leveled his critical gaze on her again, "I don't like the sound of that."

"Well," She seemed nervous suddenly, fidgeting as she pulled on the coif above the leather breastplate she wore. He had to admit she seemed much less intimidating outside of her battle dress, it reminded him of when they first met. No helmet, a pair of nice leathers from her work with Athenril and boots, the bow slung easy over her shoulder. That same casual stance was here, if it was lacking her usual confidence. "I actually came to ask Isabela for a favor."

"Needing help from the pirate queen?" He raised an eyebrow in surprise, sitting back as he watched Kerrigan become suddenly interested in the binding of her bowline. "You know, I am more than willing to offer assistance in any way I can."

"It's a female thing, I think it'd be best if I asked Isabela." Kerrigan said, and Varric shrugged. She bit her lip, her eyebrows furrowing with thought before she looked back to him, "Actually, there is something you could do for me."

"Anything you need, m'lady." He gave a slight bow from his chair, and she smirked at him, that same old smirk. Some things never change.

"Mother is throwing a party when the construction is finished." Suddenly he wished he hadn't offered anything, as he watched her fingers play with the end of her recurve and avoid his gaze. "I can't trust anyone else to come, and Aveline is already going… but -"

"Let me guess, you were wondering if I'd make an appearance?" Varric smiled as he rested his arms in his lap, watching her embarrassed display. It was almost cute, if it wasn't for the fact that it was Hawke and this was below her usual blunt, and unafraid nature.

"There will be free food, lots of wine, and annoying nobles we can whisper to each other about." She gave him a half-hearted, and if he was truthful rather pathetic, smile.

"You really know how to convince a dwarf." He said sarcastically, and watched her turn an indignant look at him in response. "I'll go -" He saw her eyes light up in relief, but he held up a hand to stop her, "I'll go – if you tell me what you need Isabela for."

That deflated her excitement, as she slumped back in her chair. Then he noticed it, a red blush creeping over her cheeks. The little scamp, did Isabela make her move? That would also explain why she was so hard to catch these days. He leaned forward, steepled fingertips giving away his interest. "Come on, Hawke, you can tell me."

She wavered for a moment, before sighing in defeat. She must have been really dreading that party to give in, and her cheeks reddened all the more, this had to be good.

"I -" she started, then stopped again. Then finally seemed to come to a decision as she grabbed her pint of ale and finished it in one swig before slamming it on the table. "I have to go get fitted for a dress." She said it so quickly the words slurred together, and he started laughing.

He couldn't help it, the laughter grew louder as she crossed her arms and the red on her cheeks turned darker. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." She grumbled, and it was only when she actually started to pout that he forced himself to calm down.

"Forgive me, Hawke." He said once he was fully under his own control once more, shaking his head as he saw her raising her chin in proud indignation. It was absolutely ruined by the red still on her cheeks. "I thought with the way you were acting it was something truly serious, but a dress?"

She sighed before pushing herself up from the table, "Just forget it." Her fingers grabbed the bow, but he grabbed the opposite end and forced her to look at him.

"I'll be there," He stared directly into her eyes, making sure she kept that gaze. "I'd hate to make you suffer through a night with the nobles alone."

"You just want to see how pathetic I'll look in fancy dress." She retorted, but there was no malice in it.

"Perhaps. But I promise I won't tell a soul if you promise not to tell how ridiculous I look in a doublet."

Kerrigan laughed, and he found himself smiling. "Deal." She reached out her hand and they shook, his other hand released the bow and she quickly put it and the quiver back to their normal positions. "I'll be back later tonight, think you could spare some time for a few drinks?"

"Always." They met eyes once more, and exchanged a nod before she left, wild curls bouncing in her wake. A few moments later he heard the loud laughter of Isabela as he went back to his manifests. Yes, everything was going to be alright.

It was late evening when Hawke returned, though he had had time to prepare. The day was spent with shipping manifests as he was attempting to combine his own shadow empire with his brother's. As the last standing of the Tethras family it also meant that all familial debts fell to him, and it meant the Merchant's Guild was breathing down his neck a bit more noticeably. But in the back of his mind he was formulating a plan to lift Hawke's spirits, as well as keep her distracted. He only had to hope he wasn't off his mark.

Still it wasn't all a waste, he had sold the first chunk of their findings from the Deep Roads during the two weeks she'd been absent. The large pouch of coins sat at his side and waiting for Hawke. He hoped it would assist in keeping Leandra distracted, things between them had always been volatile but if Kerrigan's face was any indication it was now truly on the rocks.

When she arrived she had given up having her hair nicely back, and instead it was running wild around her again. Her leathers still in place as she was talking over something quietly with Isabela. The women parted though as Varric began walking down from his palatial suite.

"I take it your adventures in Hightown went well?" Varric said with a grin as he saw Kerrigan flush with a combination of embarrassment and indignation. "I shall take that as a yes."

"Leave the poor girl be." Isabela admonished him, wrapping an arm around Kerrigan's shoulders and pulling her tight, "You looked wonderful sweetie." The usual purr in her voice gone as Kerrigan only nodded.

"Will you be joining us Isabela?" Kerrigan asked after a moment as the pirate queen slipped her arm away. "We could always use another hand in drinking, and I'm sure Varric can be convinced into a game of wicked grace."

"Unfortunately, lovelies, I have a duel tonight." Kerrigan pouted, and Isabela gave her a small pat on her right cheek, her thumb rubbing along the small scar where a bowstring had struck her as a child. If it was anyone else Varric may have found the touch inappropriate, but the usual lust and flirtation was gone from Isabela. "Don't worry sweetie, we'll have plenty of time to catch up. I'll see you later."

She waved to them both, and winked at Varric before disappearing into the night. Varric indicated up the stairs to Hawke, "Well, messere, I believe I owe you a drink."

Once they reached the palatial suite he saw Hawke slip into a nearby chair as he disappeared to obtain one of his bottles of whiskey. He had several stored in the back, but he usually kept them only for business contacts that gave better deals when drunk, or men who only gave information when the lick of alcohol loosened their locks. But Kerrigan was special, and his plan demanded better than Hanged Man ale. He pulled down the same two glasses they had drunk from before their fateful trip, but if Kerrigan remembered she didn't react. The amber liquid flowed thick and golden into the glasses before he nudged one over to her. Her fingers gripped it gracefully, but waited to raise it until he had sat with her.

"Here," He pulled the red leather pouch from his side and tossed it to her, the heavy sound of coins on the table jarring Kerrigan.

"What's this for?" She asked.

"I sold a portion of what we brought back, I figured you'd want your share."

"You didn't have to do that, Varric." She said quietly, but when his firm look combined with his fingers interlocked across his chest made it clear he wouldn't be taking it back she slowly took the pouch.

"We're still business partners, Hawke. I'm not going to cheat you now." She seemed on edge, despite his good humor, "Besides, I can't have people thinking I cheated the new scion of the Amells! Think what they'd do to me." His voice took on a false tone of horror as he added to it by placing an ungloved hand against his forehead. "It's enough to make someone of my delicate stature faint."

That seemed to finally get to her as she laughed, shaking her head at his theatrics and he grinned right back. "Now come on, drink up. You're not leaving here until this bottle is empty."

"Is that a challenge?" She said, and he saw that wide smirk taking to her lips as she indicated her still full glass of whiskey toward him. He was still a master planner, and she was playing into his hands. Even if it was in her best interest, it was nice to know she wasn't seeing through this one.

"A single bottle of whiskey is hardly a challenge, Hawke." Varric deflected, his own grin widening.

"Alright, a game then." She set her glass down and leaned back as she divested herself of not only her bow and quiver, but also shed her gauntlets, gloves, and coif.

"A game has no challenge, how about a bet?" That seemed to spark her interest as he knew it would. She tucked her pieces of armor into the quiver along with her poleyn and grieves before sitting up and leveling her aquamarine colored at him. There was a spark there, and he was already congratulating himself. Apparently a challenge was the best way to keep Lady Hawke distracted.

"I'm game, what shall the bet be? Who can drink the most without getting sick in the alley?" The smirk on her lips had grown into a cat-like grin to rival Rivaini's.

"Dear me no, all that will do is ensure you end up with your head in a bucket, and me having to clean up later." Her eyes challenged him, but she laughed as he continued. "No, I will bet you half a sovereign that I can beat you at the Fereldan Drinking Song."

There was a victorious grin on her lips as she gazed at him, a single eyebrow raised in surprise. "You do realize I'm from Fereldan, I have an unfair advantage here."

"Trust me, Hawke, this is me taking pity on you. I tell stories for a living."

"You tell lies for a living."

"Only when the lies get me better paid." Varric said with a smirk, and raised his glass toward her. "What do you say Hawke, are you up to the challenge?"

She grinned and raised her glass, "For each complete rhyme, the other drinks. No cheating, and no stolen rhymes. You lose if you either can't pour your opponent another drink, or if you can't think of a rhyme."

"Agreed. I'll start." He sat back and set his glass down, a grin on his lips as he looked across at her. She was antsy, like those who came to hear his stories. She fidgeted from side to side, he could practically hear the creak of her leathers, and the self-satisfied grin on her face showed she thought she had a chance at this bet. She was going to be sadly mistaken. "Oh, I wish I had time to sing you a song. But once I start singing, I sing all night long."

Kerrigan laughed at that, shaking her head. "That's it? The great bard, Serrah Varric Tethras, and that's where you start?"

Varric was unperturbed, keeping his hands interlocked on his chest as he grinned at her, "Just trying to keep you from feeling intimidated, beautiful."

She shook her head before downing the whiskey and he poured her another. She was undaunted, even by the bitter edge of the whiskey, as she sat back herself. Their two amber glasses between them like chess pieces. "Oh, in Antiva they'll kill ya, in Tevinter they'll slave, but in Kirkwall no one cares so long as they get paid."

Varric felt his eyebrows raise, he knew Hawke to be a wit but to be able to drop such a rhyme so quickly was more than he had considered her capable. Her grin had become smug, her chin raising in pride as he eyed her critically. "I may have underestimated you."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Was her only response before she indicated to his drink and he leaned forward to down it before she poured him another. "It's not too late to back down you know, I'll even let you keep your money." She said after he had sat back again.

"Not a chance beautiful, just warming up." They grinned at each other, with equal challenge, and he knew it would be a long night.

Several hours later they had completed not only the bottle of whiskey, but had moved on to a second, and then a third. She had suggested at the end of the second bottle they move to ale, but whether it was bardic bravado or simply the alcohol he refused, and upped the bet from half a sovereign to five sovereigns. It was nearing the end of the third bottle that Kerrigan was truly starting to show the signs of the alcohol, and the first time she suggested they pause the game. Her cheeks were red, chest rising and falling as her fingers played patterns on the table. Her eyes staring into him, and he swore he heard the start of a slur on her lips.

"Are you forfeiting, Hawke?" He challenged, his own bravado only better fueled by the heat of the alcohol. He was nowhere near as bad off as his slightly weaving friend, but he definitely was feeling the effects.

"No!" She defended, her eyes narrowing at him. "But if one -" she paused, her hand wavering a bit in front of her before she focused and the movement steadied so she could point the digit at him, "one of us is going to end up in Anders clinic."
She moved to stand, her body sluggish even without the weight of most of her armor. Varric was not only faster, but had the natural dwarven heritage of being able to handle his drink. He placed himself between her and the doorway, watching with an amused grin as Hawke gripped the table to stand. "Hawke, you are staying in this room tonight. I can't have you swaying in the streets, it shall ruin all my stories about you."

"H-How are you going to sh'top-me, Dwarf?" Hawke said, a challenge in her eyes as she swayed, and grabbed the table tighter. Varric smirked, before shoving the door shut and slid the lock.

"You can leave, when you are sober enough to unlock the door."

Hawke's face fell, she knew that lock as did Varric. He had shown her how to unlock it before they left for the Deep Roads. It had a very particular trick involving holding it with one shoulder, lifting the handle, and then pulling to the right. She wavered, he saw the slight drunken shift in her movement before she finally concentrated her eyesight down on him "You can't be serious," she slurred, eying the door and then him with an equal glower.

"Of course I am, Hawke." Varric laughed, "How else do you think I keep beautiful women up here?"

"Bullshit." Hawke retorted, shaking her head as she sat back down. "You have women throwing themselves at you, you use the door to keep Isabela out." She relaxed into the chair, eyes closing as she leaned back against the cool stone of the seat. By the paling of the red in her cheeks she was understanding why dwarves made everything out of stone. It wasn't just the lack of trees, but the cool of the rock could ease the fever of alcohol, and assist with the headache of a dirt-ale hangover. Her lips parted with a soft sigh and he quickly looked away and cleared his throat. The sight of her, eyes closed, head reclined as a breathy sigh left her lips was not the sort of distraction he needed.

"True, even three sheets to the wind you are quite observant Hawke." He was moving around the room but Hawke didn't dare look at him. His guess was her vision was still swimming with her pathetic attempt at standing. "Now, I believe it was my turn." Varric said, sitting down with a bottle of port that he had retrieved from his personal stores.

"We're still playing?" She asked, and Varric noted the slurring of her words had lessened greatly.

"But of course, Hawke." He said as he poured them each a glass, "I bet you five sovereigns I could beat you at this game, and you were last up." He pushed the glass to her, his bare hands not feeling the cool of the stem but infinitely aware of the heat of her fingers brushing his as she took her glass. "Unless of course, you would like to give up now. It shall end the same either way."

Hawke glared at him, her reddened cheeks darkening with the anger of a challenge. "You're on, Varric."

"Good." He took a sip of the port before sitting back. "Oh, the world's full of gamblers, and drinkers, and bards," He saw her eyes following him, the last of the cooling off effect of the stone allowing her to raise her head and settle her shoulders. "But the only one who matters, is the one dealing the cards..." He laughed loud as her face fell, her fingers grabbing up the port and drinking it down. He filled it as soon as she set it back, watching as she rested back into the chair, most likely hoping that the stone would steal away more of the heat.

"Oh, there are templars, and chantries, seekers and divine. But arseholes will win it, and win every time." They both laughed at that, his fingers grabbing the glass to take back the port. "Every last drop Varric, I shall have those sovereigns yet."

"Says the woman who is starting to sink her chair."

"Don't doubt me, I've been playing this game for a long time, you'll never best me."
Perhaps he should have folded, for as the night wore on Hawke had switched chairs for the one near him, and his rhymes became dirtier. The pauses between rhymes were longer, the port emptying slower as he caught himself just observing her as she sat relaxed in the chair.
They no longer sang them bawdy and loud, but whispered their rhymes conspiratorially as Hawke rested with now bare feet up on his table. He didn't remember when she had taken her boots off, or the breastplate, for now she sat in only a white cloth tunic and her deerskin trousers, and he was becoming very distracted by the way her breath moved the fabric. It rose and settled with each rise and fall, and he was equally distracted by her long fingers making invisible patterns on her chair arm.

"It's your turn Varric," she said, her voice a whisper past his ear and he could feel its heat. His eyes watched as her fingers did another slow spiral against the cool stone of her chair and found himself forgetting all about the game. His original plan had been to distract Hawke with, what he was told, was one of her favorite games, get her blitzed out of her mind, and then let her sleep. He had even prepared himself for a night sleeping in a chair, again, but as his eyes watched her fingertips scrape across the stone he was starting to ponder other uses for those fingers. She leaned forward, her lips almost brushing his ear as she repeated, "Your turn."

"Right, right." He said softly, tempted to drink the drink just to keep his mind focused, but not wanting to lose by such an oversight. She leaned back, a laugh on her lips as he kept his eyes on the port. He was surprised they could still pour as he felt like his skin was somewhere between pleasantly tingling, and burning. He looked at her from the corners, and a grin slid across his features. "Oh there once was a great hero, a beauty to be adored. She had courage, and kindness, and breasts greater than the gates of Orzammar!"

"Varric!" She shoved him, and he laughed even as it forced him to slosh his drink on his hand. Her laughter was bright, her reddened cheeks only amplified the color in her eyes, and the red of her lips. He licked up the port on his wrist, and grinned wider when he saw her eyes watching him with fascination as his pink tongue captured the last of the dark liquid off his fingers. "That was truly terrible." She finally said, her eyes flicking to the other side of the room.

The warmth was delightful, and the alcohol relaxed him, giving his expression a certain ease to it as he kept himself in his chair and eyed her from beside him, watching the curve of her throat as she drank down her own shot, and the slight gloss it left on her lips. "I doubt you could come up with one better."

She contemplated for a time, and he let himself watch her. He'd learned several things about Hawke from this game, that when she had a good rhyme she would bite her lip to hide her smile, when she thought it was funny she'd giggle to herself before speaking. That when she was concentrating she bit her cheek, and looked up the ceiling, which gave him a perfect view of the curl of her neck down to her collarbones from the untied v of her tunic. Also that when he told a particularly dirty rhyme her eyes would shut with laughter, but afterward she would sneak looks at him. Those looks had him reaching into his repertoire for the most tawdry he could find.
He saw the victorious smile that meant she had one, and waited, his mind fascinated with the way her mouth formed the words. "Oh, they say dwarves are the gift of the Stone, strong and hard." Her voice was a soft purr as her fingers reached out and traced his chair's arm just to the side of him. Even through the heavy leather of the jacket he could swear she was touching him, burning him with the heat of her fingertips. She leaned closer, and he could feel her breath in his ear, and the mixture of jasper, flowers, and the burn of alcohol on her breath, "but never trust one, who says he's a bard."

His brows furrowed as he was caught in the trap of her voice, eyes darting to her lips as he took his own shot. But when his hand reached for the port, realizing he had forgotten to fill her glass, he found her hand already there. Their fingers both curled around the bottle as she moved her fingers to rest between his own, and the red on her cheeks seemed only brighter between the alcohol and the firelight.

His mind, treacherous as it was, decided this would be a proper moment to remember her in the water, and the other time he'd had those fingers threaded between his own. Then it was when she pulled out of the water, all white skin and red hair. He felt the warmth in him shift and his cock suddenly begin to twitch. That moment where he had almost called her over, enjoyed the feeling of another body in the roads coming back in full, almost painful, clarity. She licked her lips, and he followed the pink organ like a lifeline.

"You want to give up, dwarf?" She challenged him from her seat, fingers curling protectively around the bottle, eyes boring into him as he looked back and grinned.

He tugged the bottle, causing her slow response system to not catch herself as instead of letting go it pulled her half out of her chair and toward him. He used his free hand to grab her chin in his fingers, and gazed into her eyes. "There's something you need to learn about me, Hawke." He said, his voice deep and rough as he leaned down so they were a mere moments from one another. "I hate to lose."

He couldn't remember who crossed the space first, if he shoved his lips against hers or she his. He'd tell it as her because it's fitting that way, even if the truth was lost to the lack of clear thinking alcohol gifted them. Her lips were soft, and held no shyness as she pressed them tight against his own before nipping at his lower lip. When they broke apart, she was panting, eyes half lidded as the glow from the alcohol had been replaced with a deeper blush. Her lips swelling with the sudden attention, and he caught her grinning.

Then it was a blur, lips smashed together as tongues tasted alcohol on each other and a mix of other flavors, the soft taste of mint from something earlier in the day, the edge of the smoking haze that hung about the Hanged Man. Then there were limbs and she was in his lap, her taller body eased around his own as her knees slipped into the space between his legs and the chair arms. The cool of the chair seeming to burn just as much as the heat of her lips. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and something far off tried to make him think of what he was doing, but all Varric was aware of was heat, and long fingers that were quickly finding their way against his skin. His own fingers reacted, finding his way beneath the oversized tunic she wore to feel the soft skin beneath the harsh cotton.

She gasped as he caught her lower lip between his teeth, a slight tug making her hips jump and it was like a lightning bolt down his spine. She must have seen something on his face shift, as she started grinding her hips more forcefully. She was soft beneath his hands as he pressed upward as her own fingertips raked carefully trimmed nails down his chest. His calloused fingers pressing into the silk of her skin to feel the muscle underneath ripple with each grind of her hips moving forward.

Their lips broke apart as her fingers started clumsily fighting with her tunic before throwing it over her head and elsewhere, and his fingers and lips craved that suddenly exposed skin. His fingers reached and caught her backside, pulling her tightly to him and he heard the most glorious sound. A soft moan, almost musical left her lips as she threw her head back. His cock twitched painfully at it, and his fingers gripped her ass tighter, the part of his mind still capable of thought memorizing the sensation of his fingers digging against deerskin as he felt those two perfect gloves of flesh. Isabela was right, they did beg to be squeezed.

She ground her hips against him again, and a hiss left him with the friction as he bit at her collarbone before kissing along the freckles that darted toward her shoulders. She was too dressed as her red hair fell in haphazard curls down her chest and he curled his fingers into those strands as his other hand fled to her hip to touch along the edges of skin. Her teeth had found his ear, sucking softly on the ring of gold and that strip of fabric was keeping the breasts that had been distracting him all evening from him, not to mention the trousers. Her fingers were pushing at his coat and he shrugged out of it, but when her fingers started grabbing for his tunic he grabbed her hands.

"As much as I am enjoying all this," his voice was a low growl as his fingers began to play up her ribs and watched the way she arched against him, her hips increasing the delicious friction between them. "I believe the bed is better suited for this sort of attention."

It seemed to take a moment to sink in, but perhaps that was the distraction of his fingers moving along the very edge of her binder. She leaned down, pressing a heated kiss against his lips even as she slowly disentangled herself from him. He felt the tickling edge of her curls before her fingers found his hand and started tugging him up with her. He remembered the lake again as her long legs and torso began to pull away from him and those fingers held fast.

She was no mermaid, she was more like a siren as he followed those insisting fingertips. She turned from him, obviously smart enough to realize walking backward would probably just end with her swaying, and very very nice, ass on the floor. Once she reached the bed she released him and he found his fingers gripping onto her fingertips before they escaped. She slowly crawled onto his large bed, her fingers spreading out against the sheets as he heard appreciative hums and moans from her lips. He was enraptured, watching the way her ass swung in the air before she flipped over, even as the alcohol had him swaying slightly from where he stood.

"Come here," she whispered, just as his brain was starting to wonder if this was a good idea. Her voice was a carefully laid trap, gentle and soft, as her fingers removed the buckle on her deerskin trousers. Before he had really come to a consensus with his mind of why he shouldn't be doing it, the sight of her hips shimmying out of those trousers had his booted feet moving toward the bed. Everything had a gentle halo around it, soft edges and blurred details as he watched the leather pushed off those long legs.

There was another blur as he kicked his boots, but somehow his trousers too as he desperately climbed toward her on the bed. Her long legs bent and open, welcoming him to settle between them. He grasped along those legs as he moved up, feeling the combination of muscle and soft skin, the heat of it against his callouses searing into his mind.

Her red hair lay in large curls around her head, mixing with the color of his sheets as she arched herself into the touch, small gasps on her lips each time his fingers would press into the skin. When he came close enough for her fingers he found them touching along his sides, back, dipping against his smalls in a desperate attempt to get him closer. She was impatient, her body arching into his fingers as he slipped past her hips.

"Varric," the sound of her name on his lips drove heat straight to his loins, his cock giving a few painful twitches at the sound. Another time he would have taken his time, but as she writhed beneath him he decided now was not that time. The alcohol was fire in his veins, and it stripped judgment, and patience. His fingers removed her binder in a quick motion and before she could react to the cool air he captured a breast in his mouth, one of his fingers quickly that final strip of clothing keeping him from her while the other had disappeared into those tightly wound curls of her hair.

He tasted salt on her skin as his tongue flicked her nipple, feeling it bud beneath his ministrations as she arched into the feeling, soft moans and groans filled his ears. Her fingers had pulled his hair free, one hand caught in the strands as the other was pressing into the muscles of his back. His fingers pulled at the cloth hiding her apex, a few tugs all that was needed to have her lifting off the bed so he could pull them free.

He pulled the cloth away, almost sure he heard it rip but not caring. Those long fingers he had admired took advantage of the space wrapped around his length and tugged, a growl vibrating in his throat as she did so again. Her legs tried to bring him closer, and he didn't argue settling against her as he felt the head of his cock flick against the wet of her. He looked up to her face, and found a beautiful sight gazing back to him. Her head was thrown back amongst the pillows, breath panting out her swollen lips as she arched her back to try and gain more friction against him. Her hands twisted amongst his sheets as her wild locks curled around her like a cloak.

"Varric, please." That brought him out of his drunken haze as Hawke begged him, strong, proud Hawke begged him with her legs desperately trying to bring him closer as those wicked fingers tugged a little harsher along the length of him.

"Anything for you, m'lady." was all he replied and her fingers fled. He lined himself up, a teasing flick of his head against her slit making her whine and that turned his self-satisfied grin into a smirk. He almost did it again but her legs suddenly locked around him, and a roll of those hips changed his mind.

Another time, in a better state of mind, he might have taken it slower, but as it was her plaintive moans had erased what little sense he had, his entire mind a combination of her body against his all soft silk and warmth, and the sound of her gasping and moaning for him. He entered her in one fast stroke, and she groaned, her eyes rolling back as she arched against the bed. Her fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders, and he felt her thighs quiver as he leaned down and caught her lips, the height differences so complained between dwarf and human forgotten as he began to thrust within her.

Delicious heat and tightness had him groaning against her as she rocked her hips to meet each thrust. It was all heat and friction as his head swam. Time blurred again, his entire mind trapped in the sensation. His name on her lips as she threw her head back, his hands gripping her hips, the grunts and moans intermixing into a chorus as she writhed beneath him. The tightness as her walls would grip him, her thighs quivering on either side of him as she came again, and again with his name on her lips in wanton abandon that he was sure could be heard down below.

Then his world filled with stars, white spots as his vision tunneled and he bucked into her, body tense and breath panting as he came. He may have said her name, or Bianca's, or nothing at all. He wasn't sure he said anything when the blood rush muffled all sound and his eyes closed. He felt her shuddering breath before falling to the side.

They were both panting, breathless as he felt the cool of the air steal the heat. His vision swam, and spun and he closed his eyes. Time blurred as he felt her fingers begin making those same invisible patterns on his chest, moving through his chest hair as her legs slid over his own and she curled into him. His own fingers disappeared into those tightly wound curls, pressing them back idly, the motion soothing as he felt the blackness of sleep claim him.