He wasn't sure why he was out here.

It was late. He was tired. He should have been back at his room in the Hanged Man drinking himself into a heavy slumber.

But he wasn't.

Instead, Varric stood outside of Hawke Manor, waiting for someone to answer the door. 'This would be more picturesque if it were raining', he thought, and tried not to wish that too heavily on himself.

A few clicks later and a set of eyes was peering at him through a crack in the doorway. Once Bodhan realized who it was, the dwarf finished opening the door to it's full width.

"Good evening, Messer," the manservant greeted with a quizzical eye. "What brings you to the manor this late at night?"

Varric felt like a young man being tacitly berated by the father of a maiden whose room he was trying to sneak into late at night. He squirmed a bit where he stood. Bodhan may have been a servant to the Hawke estate but he still had that look about him that questioned what anyone might want with his master at this late of an hour. Varric was happy to know that those who worked for Hawke were also loyal to her.

"Is Hawke in?" Varric asked, somewhat apologetically.

"She is, Messer." Bodhan opened the door wide and stepped to the side, allowing Varric in. "Serah Hawke is in the study if you wish to speak with her."

"Thank you, Bodhan."

He left the dwarf to tend to the rest of his duties.

Hawke was indeed seated in the study. He could see her slumped in the larger of the two chairs, staring into the fire as though it were the cause of her most recent turmoil. Again, Varric began to debate on the wisdom of having come here.

'Her mother just died', the dwarf told himself guiltily. 'Murdered by a crazed mage, and now you're here to make this all worse.'

Varric started to back away, realizing that the selfish nature of his visit was unforgivable, but as he did so brushed the wall with Bianca's protruding handle and immediately gathered the woman's attention.

"Varric!"

Life returned to her eyes, albeit slowly, as she stood to greet her friend.

Varric now felt despicable for having come to her.

"My friend, what brings you here at such a late hour?"

It took him a few seconds to gather a response toward her warm welcome. He had to admit that it wasn't a very good one.

"I..um, I'm sorry, Hawke, I should come at a better time."

She smiled again, this time with genuine sincerity.

Damn it, how he loved her when she did that. Hawke had the ability to make him feel like every rush of generosity and kindness that she mustered was genuinely only for him. She had that personal touch to everything she did, and whether it was intentional or not, it made Varric's affection for her swell.

"Nonsense," she gripped his shoulder gently and ushered him in. "I always have time for my dearest friend. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you."

Her eyes turned upon him with a sly questioning. Her face was rosy again. A second ago he wouldn't have believed that she'd been sitting curled up in a chair looking as though her world were over.

"Everything alright, Varric? You never turn down a drink."

This tripped him up even more. Everything in his brain told him to dismiss himself, to leave her to her mourning and get a firm grasp on his personal life. It was no one else's business. Never in his life had he felt the need to seek comfort from another. Varric had always been the person to take care of others, never be taken care of. Yet here, with Hawke, he was met with the utmost sincerity and someone who, despite their own tribulations, was more than willing to lend him a helping hand if he called for it.

"How are you doing, Hawke?" Varric hoped that maybe a quick change of subject might absolve him.

The smile slipped away from her face almost instantly, but the suspicion never left her eyes.

"I'm making due with what I've got," she admitted, slowing down somewhat. "Which I guess isn't much these days, but I try to take joy in it anyway."

"I..I'm sorry again about your mother."

Silence stretched between them for a few moments after that. Hawke's eyes fell to the floor for a while, and nothing but the sound of the fire crackling came between them. Varric stood motionless, his brain screaming to make a break for it, yet he had come to find himself now in a position where he couldn't leave her after seeing how she had looked alone. There was pain there, and he didn't want her to take it on alone.

"Are you all right, Varric?"

The question jarred him out of his train of thought.

"Hm?"

"You don't usually come to call this late at night. Not that I mind," she threw up her hands to excuse herself. "You're always welcome here, it's just unusual. Furthermore, you're not acting like yourself."

There it was again. Her concerned smile. The touch of genuine empathy. The bright blue eyes that swallowed him up like the sea and drowned him in all of her perfections and imperfections. She took him in completely, and he was willing to fall into her forever, if only she'd keep him.

"Bartrand's dead."

It slipped out; at least he thought it had. He hadn't wanted to share it, but there it was.

Hawke's expression changed from one of soft concern to one of shock.

"Maker! …Varric, I'm so sorry."

He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn't. Try as he might be angry at the dwarf for all the things he'd done…a good portion of Varric knew that all of the actions up until now committed by his brother hadn't really been Bartrand. He'd lost his eldest brother, and he wasn't sure what to feel.

"It's…I just needed to tell someone that would understand…"

Hawke crossed the space between them, neither swiftly nor slowly. Varric hadn't noticed until she was standing at his side, a hand on his shoulder, comforting.

"Stay here Varric, I'll be right back."

Maker knew why he listened. He still felt terrible for being here, for putting this on her. Hawke had lost her mother, someone inexplicably closer to her than he had ever been to Bartrand. He had no right to invoke her sympathy when it should have been reserved for herself.

Yet the dwarf stayed, and Hawke never threw him out.

She returned a few moments later with two crystal glasses and a bottle of brandy covered in dust. She set both cups on the side table of the chair he had placated himself in and popped the cork, smiling sheepishly when a cloud of dust formed above it.

"Sorry," she blushed while pouring him a cup. "Been in the cellar a while."

Varric offered her a laugh.

"A long while."

A soft chuckle left Hawke's lips in return. "It's probably been down there since before my grandparent's passed. Glad Gamlen left that at least."

This time they shared a laugh. When Hawke had filled her glass the two of them raised them together.

"To those we've loved and lost," she said with a sad smile.

They each downed their cups in one swallow.

The night stretched on with the two of them finishing off a few more bottles, each regaling the other with tales of their childhood, growing up with people that were no longer with them in the physical world. Each spoke of lost brothers, parents, and friends…and yet the tears never came, as perhaps they should have. Instead, they each laughed in the sharing of memories both fond and bittersweet.

Hours drained away like minutes, and Varric began to realize as he watched Hawke brush away tears of laughter, that this was how the souls of the dead should be remembered: in happy times, with people that they loved. Hawke understood why Varric was distraught over the death of his brother, just as she was still heavy hearted about the death of a brother that she had never truly gotten along with either.

Their bonds were stronger and experiences more similar than those around them. Of all of their companions, they related best to each other out of anyone else.

"What?"

Varric started, realizing that he'd been doing nothing but staring at her for the past few seconds.

Hawke didn't seem upset by this. In fact, she smiled gleefully at him. Her face was flushed from the brandy and her eyes had that slightly glossed look. Varric was certain he looked similar in drunken fashion. He smiled at her questioning gaze, feeling warm and incoherent.

"Nothing. Just admiring."

The woman laughed, her eyes drifting back over to the fire.

"Not that again. Tease me then tell me you belong to Bianca. Honestly Dwarf, you've such a cruel heart."

They both laughed, but Varric said nothing. He rested his head against the back of his chair and took comfort in watching her again. She played with the half empty cup in her hand, gazed into the fire, stared in to the ceiling, and about a million other pointless actions that were delightful and magical to him.

Finally, she set her cup down and stood up.

"Well, there will be no walking home for you." She stated very matter-of-factly. "Let me prepare a guest room for you."

Hawke took less than three steps before her drunkenness overtook her balance causing her to stumble. Varric, in a fleeting rush of stupidity and chivalry, attempted to reach out and catch her, only to forget the sheer difference in height between then. Instead, he ended up falling on top of her. He felt the wind get crushed from her lungs and a painful sigh escape her lips.

"Maker…" she whispered, coughing a little with a laugh.

"Are you alright?" Varric gasped, trying to pull himself up but finding himself too heavy to do so.

They stared at each other for a few moments, eyes connected, and then without warning their lips connected. Fingers whipped through hair and tugged begrudgingly at clothing that would not relent to their most base desires.

Her skin was exotically warm and smooth against his course dwarven flesh. He was stone and she was silk, and their mesh of passion and romance intertwined as perfectly as a bird's song in the summer time.

The smell of juniper that was so devoutly hers invaded his nose, his lungs and his very being, and he would never smell those flowers again without remembering Hawke in her greatest moments of passion and love and everything that was hers that she gave to him.

The fire crackled as he kissed every inch of her exposed flesh. Her own fingers tickled up his spine, her laugh teasing his ears with promises of more pleasure. There was a devious nature behind those pure blue eyes, and he wanted to unlock it and see the rogue that she was.

And she was more than ready to show him.

Had he ever marveled at her strength and prowess in battle, he knew his level of amazement would never cease with her now having seen and felt her in this new realm of existence. Her strength drew him in, held him, and he wanted only more of her. Each of them had broken a sweat long before either was ready to finish.

He cursed her and blessed her for the release she had offered him, and he could see in her eyes that she in turn had needed him as well. Her smile told him more as she reached up and kissed his forehead, his nose, and planted one last flowery kiss on his lips. He laid his head down at the crook of her neck and took in her scent, completely still and content in each other's arms.

Varric couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so at ease.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Varric couldn't help but smile.

"I think I should be thanking you." He paused, waiting for her to question him, but she didn't. Somehow it seemed as though she sensed that he had more on his mind. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time."

She chuckled gently.

"Me too. It was…lovely."

"Agreed."

There wasn't much left to say between either of them. They stayed there for what felt like several hours, or maybe only a few moments before moving up to Hawke's room for the rest of the night.