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Grazes with Added Salt

Summary:

Varric’s head over feels for her; that much is clear to anyone who could see behind his carefully crafted witty dwarf -façade. Evelyn is one of the selected few who belongs to this group, and she also sees that he is the most important person to the famed Champion as well.

The only thing is that she’s still in love with a dead man, he says.

Chapter 1: Evelyn

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

i.

 

Evelyn had other skills besides stabbing people in the back – literally – and hosting marvellous dinners for guests who rarely were anywhere near as important as they thought they were. Running across southern Thedas, all muddy and bloody and saving everyone’s asses, made people forget that she was actually lady Trevelyan, the youngest, pampered child of a wealthy aristocratic family with all the money in the world to use for her education. She knew several languages, too many complicated ball dances, the etiquette of all the royal houses that actually mattered, all the important works about politics, history, geography, and so on. Too bad her job description didn’t give her many chances to boast about her knowledge of Antivan heraldry, and so most of her skills that did not include demon-slaying were more often than not quite blatantly ignored. 

 

Even the best tutors could not teach her the skills she truly excelled in – people. 

 

No, she was not a diplomat like Josephine, or a spy like Leliana, but growing up in banquets and fancy dinners did not exactly leave her empty-handed. She was fully aware of how people ignored her aristocratic background, dismissed it as something trivial – it was just smiling politely, gossip behind people’s backs, twenty-course meals and extravagant dresses, right? In a way, yes. Evelyn was not afraid to admit she loved, even missed that life: perhaps it did not offer as many heroic actions as being the supposed saviour of the world, but in those gilded halls and uncomfortable outfits she thrived. That’s where she learned to read people, to use that knowledge. She never had any higher ambitions about her skillset – like Josephine and Leliana evidently had been born with -, but a hidden skill was a skill nonetheless. She noticed cheating spouses, two-faced barons, the budding love with an unhappy ending before anyone else, but she had always been content with observing how the story unfolded before her eyes. 

 

And that was it. Being the patient watcher of an unfinished play. 

 

At least, that was supposed to be it.

 

From the first glance she saw Varric give to the woman on the battlement Evelyn knew what was going on, but of course, the two of them only saw the Inquisitor, the woman with a nicely fitted suit and polite smile and big eyes filled with curiosity. 

 

It was the small things, really. How Varric always at first pretended to be sick of speaking of Hawke and her great deeds, but still told the same things to anyone willing with eyes slightly glanced to the floor and the tip of his mouth just a fraction higher where his usual wry storyteller’s smile used to be. How he told Evelyn about Hawke’s arrival, just like one of his many stories, only to leave the room with slightly hunched shoulders like a nervous schoolboy. How his eyes left Hawke a bit too late when Evelyn arrived, and how a bit too quickly they returned back to the Champion. 

 

Evelyn had always been the patient observer, just like she wanted. Varric Tethras’ longing and sad glances changed all that.

 

ii.

 

Oh, was there a fuss at the Champion’s arrival. Even though their meeting was supposed to be all hush-hush and clandestine, it quickly turned out to be all but that. Evelyn reminded herself to later yell at Varric not to set up super-secret meetings on battlements overlooking the central yard, but perhaps that was his intention all along. Soon Hawke was all everyone was talking about, and the overall morale was better than in months. 

 

Yep. Varric definitely had set that up.

 

The only reason they had any sort of peace for a moment was that Hawke had left for a few days, delivering a message to Alistair, and most of the hold was still too busy gossiping about the Champion to remember that they even had an Inquisitor.

 

Varric was far from an open book, even when according to all laws of nature he should have neared alcohol poisoning, caused by their one and only Inquisitor. It had become increasingly clear that he was some sort of a freak of nature, with no sight of intoxication that she could see. Evelyn finally accepted defeat in silence, and discreetly waved her hand to Cabot, who seemed torn between the seemingly endless flow of money and a poisoned dwarf in his tavern. He nodded begrudgingly, collected the emptied pints from their table, and pointedly didn’t even glance at them again before stomping away. 

 

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work," Varric sighed at Cabot’s furthering back. “You want to talk feelings – not gonna happen. Let’s just cut the crap, and agree that next you will say something nice and soothing with your nice and soothing Inquisitor Trevelyan voice, I deflect it with a witty return, you frown in disappointment and try once more, I remember something awfully important to do, and we never talk about this again.”

 

Evelyn relaxed in her chair and crossed her legs, but remained quiet. Varric did not look at her; he was too focused on following Cabot back to the bar. He shook his head in disappointment, cursing.

 

“Dwarven metabolism, I presume?” Evelyn asked, her smile slightly crooked and amusement in her eyes.

 

“Nah. Just the world-famous Tethras metabolism. Side effects include witty banter, extravagant lies and great chest hair.”

 

“Finally the mystery is solved.”

 

“Hate to break it to you, but it really is just a way to distract you and the whole world from what crap my mouth says. You too spend waaaay too much of your time just staring at it, eyes up – “

 

“You’re in love with Hawke.”

 

She had never heard Varric being silent for more than ten seconds, not to mention abruptly shutting up, but it seemed she had found a way to do just that miracle. Varric stared at her, mouth open in surprise and with a stiff posture before he chuckled. 

 

“You truly are something, Inquisitor.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since you were arrested with a magical mark.”

 

“You know what I’m talking about.”

 

“I do, and we are not talking about this.”     

 

“Do I have to use my nice and soothing voice?”

                            

“Evelyn. Stop it.”

 

She did. Varric never called her by her first name, nor asked her to do anything plain and simple. When he was in a particularly good mood, he usually used the way too long “Your Inquisitorialness.” Occasionally she was “Evie,” or “my lady” with a wink and a grin, but usually she was just “Trevelyan.” He always twisted his clever words, made fun of people in a discreet manner, and most of the time when he stopped being a curious observer and actually voiced his opinion, in his roundabout way, people stopped and listened. But he never used their real names and simply asked.

 

Evelyn bit her lip nervously and tried to catch his eyes, but determinedly his gaze was fixed on the table. 

 

“I’m sorry I asked, Varric,” she said and pushed her chair backwards to leave. Varric sighed and shook his head. 

 

“She’s still in love with a dead man. No competing with that.” 

 

“Ah. I see.”

 

Evelyn had noticed how quickly Hawke had changed the topic from Anders, but just like she thought was logical, she had assumed it was because the said man had killed hundreds in an explosion that started this whole fucking war in the first place. That was not exactly something to boast about, so no wonder Hawke had seemed uncomfortable, even if she had no hand in it. Varric let out a hollow laugh. 

 

“It’s been four years, and it’s still so obvious. She still has that exact same look on her face as when knifed him in the back, the same miserable smile and those same unfocused eyes. You know that after we left the gates of Kirkwall she didn’t say his name for weeks? And she’s still the same. Now at least she can say his name without nearly murdering everyone in the vicinity in a rage fit, so that’s something.” 

 

He finally looked at Evelyn and shrugged. “I know that she seems normal, at least to you. But she’s not. She was… clever. With words. She graced everyone present with a one-liner too witty and accurate to the point when everyone wanted to smash her teeth in. But she was nice too, to those who mattered, anyway. She did what she wanted and took what she wanted, took no one’s shit. Selfish, brutal, and the best friend a dwarf could hope for.”

 

He reached over to Evelyn’s pint and finished it with no protest from her side. “Now she’s all meek and obedient and ready to save the world. That’s not her. Not Hawke.”

 

With some people Evelyn might have reached over the table and taken their hand, or offer consoling words with her nice and soothing voice, but with him, she remained still and quiet. Varric stood up and left without saying a word, and the next morning he was back in front of his fireplace like nothing had ever happened.

 

iii.         

 

It was supposed to be another quick visit: just give the news and back to whatever Hawke was normally doing. Alas, being located in the mountains did pose a risk of avalanches, and so the Champion was stuck in Skyhold for at least a day or two. Hawke didn’t seem to mind the news, but at the same time Varric turned out to be an awfully busy man.

 

Mostly she kept to herself, wandering the grounds and battlements, sneaking food off the kitchen (that she could have just asked for, but apparently it wasn’t her style to just ask when one could steal), giving gambling tips to pretty much every game in existence (“The Champion’s Tale” clearly did not exaggerate how much they spent in the Hanged Man), drinking Cabot’s worst ales, and overall going to extreme lengths to avoid people. If someone happened to catch her, she was charming enough, at least until the other person expressed too much interest in her history, at which point she presented several imaginative maiming possibilities for her new acquaintance. The scariest part was that she never seemed angry: never raised her voice, never became violent. Instead, she told her bloody intentions casually, like talking about the weather or how shitty the food was, and there was no doubt if she truly meant her words. Overall, her days in the keep were a mixture of excitement and sheer horror for the troops.

 

And that was what Varric had described as “meek Hawke.” Evelyn didn’t even want to think about what kind of a woman she used to be.

 

She caught Hawke stabbing idly at one of the training dummies, looking utterly bored, and she thought to at least give a moment of her time to the Champion. They hadn’t really had a chance to speak at her last visit besides casual pleasantries and a few not-so-subtle dodges from Hawke’s part about her personal history, and Evelyn did hate not knowing the people in her hold. Of course, she had read the book, just like every single person in Thedas, but she also knew how much Varric loved his lies and exaggerations to take it as a factual biography. Evelyn took a deep breath, straightened her jacket and approached the other woman, hoping for the best.

 

Hawke caught her approaching and suddenly gave the dummy a furious strike to its chest, giving the Inquisitor an amused smirk.

 

Ah. This was going to be a fruitful friendship.

 

“Busy?” Evelyn asked with her most polite and impersonal tone she had perfected for years, knowing fully well how much the Champion was going to hate it. She did not want them to be enemies, even if for just Varric’s sake, but that didn’t mean they had to become dear friends either. Hawke could be witty and charming when she wanted to, but apparently Evelyn did not fall into that category of people who deserved that treatment from her.

 

“Just enjoying this perfectly wonderful day,” Hawke answered, and it was quite clear to Evelyn that the other woman’s day was neither perfect nor wonderful. She could have enquired further, but the knife still stuck to the straw dummy implicated that her questions should be kept to herself. 

 

“How are you enjoying Skyhold so far?” 

 

“It’s quite impressive. I’m especially enjoying those ventilation windows you have all over the place and the lovely antique furniture. It’s all quite… rustic,” Hawke smiled with the same exact smile Evelyn had: perfectly proper and nonchalant, used only for the dullest of guests. Evelyn couldn’t help but let out a chuckle: they were both Freemarcher nobles in the end. 

 

Hawke’s mocking lopsided grin turned into a full-fledged smile and she waved her hand high up in the air. Evelyn turned to look behind her, only to see Varric descending the great stairs from the main hall. He looked at them and gave a pathetic little wave back before gripping passing Blackwall’s arm and dragging him towards the lower courtyard. The Warden shot an alarmed glance at Evelyn, clearly as confused as she was about this development. The two men had changed some words in their ventures, but their conversations could be counted with one hand, at least to Evelyn’s knowledge. When they had disappeared out of sight, she turned back to the other woman.

 

If before Hawke had looked unwelcoming, now she looked downright murderous. 

 

“Are you alright?” Evelyn asked uncertainly, dropping all the ice and false politeness from her voice.

 

Hawke smiled widely as if nothing had happened. “Just peachy,” she said and struck another knife straight to the dummy’s throat.

 

iv.         

 

She got him watching Hawke – again. Evelyn had stopped counting the looks days ago. It wasn’t always a longing romantic gaze Evelyn secretly hoped it to be. Sometimes it was just a look of utter confusion, with frowned eyebrows and occasional shaking of his head or mutters. Other times it was just pure grief, meant for Hawke who both was and wasn’t there. A few times he’d looked angry, and Evelyn was quite certain it was anger directed for Varric himself. He hadn’t talked about what had happened with Hawke before, why they weren’t adventuring the world together, but the end result was always that Varric was still saving the world with the Inquisition and Hawke was who knows where, alone and dejected. After that look Evelyn always made sure to keep the ale flowing; Varric, of course, knew what she was doing, but always said nothing at all. 

 

All those different looks still had the same meaning, and no one else seemed to notice.

 

“Varric,” she started carefully and pushed her tankard towards him in a premature peace offering. He raised his eyebrow in question. “Why are you avoiding Hawke?”

 

Varric snorted ungracefully and pulled the tankard closer. “What on earth gave you that expression?”

 

Evelyn gave him a very disapproving look, but it had never worked before, and this time proved to be no exception. “Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

 

“It suits me just fine, your Inquisitorialness,” he answered and purposely looked away from her. 

 

Evelyn liked Varric: she really did. He was one of her closest friends and strangest advisors/life coaches imaginable, but sometimes she just felt like gripping his stupid ponytail and slamming his head to the table, preferably multiple times in succession. This was definitely one of those times. Yes, Varric didn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, but what he was doing was just making him and Hawke miserable, and he must have known that as well. 

 

“Come and talk to me when you finally stop wallowing in self-pity,” she sighed and left the table. At the door, she heard Varric’s voice calling for her weakly, but at the moment Evelyn just couldn’t stand looking at him even for a second more. 

 

v.            

 

One mystery solved: he thought Hawke was pretty. 

 

He didn’t exactly use those words with dreamy eyes, but it was close enough. Varric was telling another story from Kirkwall, this time about a noble suitor Hawke’s mother had found her. The whole story ended with the Coterie attacking during dessert, Hawke jumping over the table, slashing three throats, stabbing one in the eye and kicking the last one out of the balcony, and finally resumed enjoying her lemon cake amongst the corpses – and her mother’s piece too, as lady Amell had passed out screaming out a while ago. Varric told how the possible suitor, surprisingly enough, wasn’t that taken about Marian, even though she had decent enough table manners, had just proven herself an excellent fighter, and “was not a bad-looking woman.” 

 

Those listening to his story burst out laughing at the last description, clearly thinking it was another one of Varric’s not-so-subtle jokes. What they missed, however, from their laughing, was the tiny twitch between his eyebrows and half a second of silence before he chuckled and continued with another marvellous story. 

 

Evelyn hadn’t missed that; by now she was getting quite good at reading his reactions, no matter how much he tried to hide them. She laughed with the others and for a moment caught Bull’s eyes, who tilted his head towards the dwarf and looked back at her. He had noticed the same thing, and knowing his quite extensive tastes in his paramours, Bull probably even agreed with Varric.

 

Hawke wasn’t exactly ugly, not really. Evelyn had seen worse-looking people in her life, to be sure. If Hawke had been born in a high-class family, doing nothing more strenuous than lifting a fork to enjoy another ten-course meal and wearing nice clothes, she might even be considered attractive; but that was not the real Hawke. Instead of fancy dresses and extravagant hair-dos she had skin ruined by too much sun, a nose broken multiple times, scars anywhere eyes could see, all that in a small body that was meant and trained for killing, not for society balls.

 

At least, that was what she thought until Hawke’s final day in Skyhold.

 

vi.        

 

The workers had returned and told that the way down the mountain was clear again, but even Hawke wasn’t daring enough to do that journey so close to dusk. She was sitting next to the practice ring eating a basket of food she had pilfered from the kitchens when Evelyn found her, watching the Chargers’ practising and blaspheming the Maker amused. 

 

“Having fun?” Evelyn asked and leaned against the wall next to her. 

 

Hawke didn’t remove her eyes from the Iron Bull who was clearly making a show for his audience, flexing his muscles and casually waving his great sword like it weighed nothing. “Just enjoying the show,” she grinned and offered Evelyn a muffin from her basket of stolen goods. 

 

Bull pat Krem on the shoulder, left the ring and sat next to Hawke. She shamelessly appraised him and nodded approvingly, especially after he leaned back on the stairs to give her a better view with a wink.

 

“If only the tal-vashoth in Kirkwall I killed would’ve used that strategy,” she said and for a while got lost in her thoughts, and judging by her expression they were especially good thoughts indeed. 

 

“Killed a lot of tal-vashoth then?” Bull asked. 

 

Hawke laughed in delight. “Oh, tons. Tough bastards, I give them that. Good times,” she added almost as an afterthought, clearly delighted by the memories. 

 

The qunari didn’t seem to mind in the least how she remembered fondly killing his former countrymen, and even shared one of his own tales about the tal-vashoth he hunted in Seheron. Hawke especially seemed to like the interrogation part, which nearly made Evelyn vomit, but it turned out to be Bull’s favourite scene as well.

 

 Mercenaries, Evelyn thought and shook her head disgusted. 

 

“So, Champion,” Bull started with one hand absentmindedly juggling a muffin in the air. “How did you actually manage to kill those tal-vashoth? No offence, but you are kind of small in size compared to the qunari. Were you trained?”

 

“Kind of,” Hawke answered while watching Grim struggling in Krem’s headlock. “I was ten years in the Fereldan army. Joined when I was fifteen, though most of that we just harvested potatoes, guarded sheep and got drunk around the campfire,” she smiled fondly before her face turned grim. “The first big battle was Ostagar. Didn’t really feel like it, so I grabbed my baby brother and went home.”

 

“You’re a deserter?” Evelyn intervened in surprise. The Tale of the Champion certainly did not mention that part: she and the whole Thedas thought she was just a survivor of the massacre.

 

“Umm, yeah,” Hawke said with no shame in her voice, looking slightly annoyed at Evelyn’s reaction. “I might not be the smartest person around, but even I knew we were never going to win. And oh, look at that! – they’re all dead and I’m still alive. What a coincidence.” 

 

“So you beat tons of qunari because you guarded sheep for a decade,” Bull said. Evelyn looked at him annoyed: it was quite obvious that he wanted to change the topic and not give the two women a chance to yell at each other like they clearly wanted to. Hawke looked a bit startled but didn’t press further.

 

“Well, after that I spent the next seven years as a mercenary, adventurer and jack of all trades, you might have read about that,” she grinned. “And these last four years as a living legend and a rebellion figurehead. Quite boring stuff, I know.”

 

“Quite,” Bull answered and casually puffed his chest much to the Champion’s delight. 

 

That’s when Varric exited the main hall and looked down at them. 

 

Shit, Evelyn thought. 

 

The dwarf looked at them for a few seconds too long before waving end returned right back where he came from. And that was it.

 

Hawke continued looking at the stairway with furrowed brows and only returned from her thoughts when Bull slapped her shoulder a bit too hard. She nearly fell down the stairs and instinctively protected the food basket before shooting the qunari an irate look.

 

“How about sparring?” Bull asked, her hand still on Hawke’s shoulder. She seemed uncertain for a moment before Bull leaned closer to her and with a big smile continued with a husky voice: “You get to hit and kick me as much as you like.”

 

That settled it. The hesitation was lost from Hawke’s face immediately and replaced by almost childlike joy.

 

“Oh, you do know how to treat a lady,” she said and sprang to her feet. 

 

That’s how Bull soon found himself in the practice ring with a woman who had half his size but double the confidence. She was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, putting up a show with her knife-handling skills for the audience and demonstrating her skills in qunari curses and taunts with a surprisingly good accent, judging by her massive opponents approving laughs. 

 

It was strange how two people can fight so differently with the same weapons. Evelyn and Hawke were both Free Marchers, where dual blades were often the go-to weapon, especially among the upper classes, but it was clear which one of them was trained by a court-approved private tutor and which by merely surviving. Evelyn had been taught the exact locations of where to strike; the arteries, the vital organs, and how to get the opponent quickly and effectively out of the fight while still attaining all the graceful movements that a noble needs. 

 

The other woman had two daggers, wooden and dulled of course, and that was where the similarities ended. Hawke slashed where she could, hit where she could reach, kicked and punched and threw sand to Bull’s eyes, targeted his eyes and throat and knees and groin, and even pretended to bite him once after jumping to his back. She was so alive in a way Evelyn could never be, a laughing and swearing bloody mess.

 

Before Evelyn could not understand what Varric had meant when he described Hawke as pretty. Now she could see what he meant, and she couldn’t wait to see his thrilled smile when she finally told him that.

 

vii.       

 

The Chargers went back to the tavern and Hawke was alone again. Well, almost alone, as she did not turn to look at Evelyn but looked at literally everything else in sight. 

 

The thing about Hawke was that Evelyn had no reason to hate her, except the threats she was never going to go through with anyway. She was a great asset to the Inquisition, with good connections and martial prowess, and she could occasionally be even civil – not to Evelyn, but to most people at least. But she also had no reason to really like Hawke either. The woman was crude, violent, with too much love for cheating, gambling, drinking and being as antisocial as possible. 

 

However, to Evelyn the most important thing about Hawke was that she was the woman Varric Tethras had for some strange reason fallen in love with.

 

The two women were no friends: it was no secret. Evelyn did think of herself as a generally good person, but she cared less about how Hawke’s misfortunes and unhappiness affected herself rather than what impact it had on Varric. Hawke could be a depressed, drug-addicted prostitute for all she cared, as long as she still made Varric happy. It was selfish: Evelyn knew that alright. But she could not stand still watching how one of her best friends was miserable and lonely when the woman he had wanted for a decade was just next to him, waiting for Varric to even look at her without running away. 

 

“You two need to sort this thing out,” she said tensely. 

 

Hawke huffed and shook her head. “He doesn’t even want to talk to me, so there will be no ‘sorting out’, I’m afraid. I guess he disapproves of my life choices.”

 

Most likely Varric disapproves of his own life choices, Evelyn thought and sighed in exasperation. Of course, Hawke had no idea of the truth, being as dense as she seemingly was, and it was as if Varric tried to worsen the situation on purpose. How on Earth did he manage without Evelyn in his life?

 

“I’ll get him to talk,” Evelyn mumbled. Hawke looked at her with a curious expression. “I’m the damn Inquisitor, I can make him dance naked in the moonlight if I wish,” she laughed. Well, at least in theory she could. In reality, he had a crossbow and a mean aim, so better not risk it. 

 

Hawke sat legs crossed at the bottom of the stairs and was fishing for the last crumbs from her stolen basket. “Well, good luck with that.”

 

A huge crash and subsequent laughter erupted from the tavern, making both of them look up toward the noise. They couldn’t see a thing but Cabot’s furious shout made both of them grin before they remembered to continue their hostile relationship. Hawke turned back to her basket with a small smile on her lips. 

 

“Trevelyan,” she started almost nervously. “Thanks. For being a good friend for Varric.”

 

Evelyn just had to raise her eyebrows in surprise; the other woman sounded sincere and polite for the very first time the two of them had talked to each other. To be honest, Evelyn really hadn’t made an effort to do so either, and Hawke being the bigger person did not feel good for the youngest child of a certain Ostwick noble house. 

 

“Oh. Um. You’re welcome, I suppose,” she answered in bafflement. “So why all the death threats then?”

 

Hawke bit her lower lip and hugged her dear basket, not looking at Evelyn. “Just ‘cause.”

 

“In my defence, it was Cassandra who kidnapped him.”

 

“What? Oh, that. Cassandra’s cool, we’re totally buddies now.”

 

“Oh. Okay?”

 

“It’s just that you’re fighting demons and shit,” Hawke grunted. “He’s here and I’m not and I hate how comfortable he’s with you and not with me.”

 

“You’re jealous?” 

 

“He’s my best mate,” Hawke snapped and looked at Evelyn with her ice blue eyes. “Ever since I met him, from day one. And while you’re good for him, you also put him in danger and I’ll fucking flay you if he gets hurt.”

 

“If something happens to you, I might even let you.”

 

Evelyn had no illusions that she wouldn’t go through with that threat. Mostly Hawke was just bark, no bite, but in this case she was sure to make an exception. Hawke seemed visibly calmer at the right answer and smirked back at her.

 

“Wanna hear something funny?” 

 

No. Not reallyHawke’s jokes had a strange tendency to have the punchline be about a certain Ostwick noblewoman, so thanks but no thanks.

 

“Sure.”

 

“I did it all for the money,” Hawke laughed dryly. “Well, like 90 per cent of it. Five per cent was just me being a bloodthirsty bitch, and the other five were mostly moments of weakness when someone actually managed to remind me that I do have a conscience; annoying little thing, that. I just wanted to make a living, give my mother and sister a home. Then I met Varric, got filthy rich, and some people realized that I was really good at killing people. Things just got out of hand, really. I was happy in that shitty Lowtown hovel,” she murmured the last words barely audibly.

 

“Want to hear something funny as well?” 

 

“Sure.”

 

“I did all because I have a green, magical thingy in my hand.”

 

Hawke finally turned to look at her. “Really.”

 

“Really,” Evelyn confirmed with a smile. “I liked my life in Ostwick: it suited me. Then my religious parents thought to send me to the conclave, and suddenly I’m a military figurehead. A year ago I was eating lemon cakes in our parlour, but sometimes life just fucks you up.”

 

“Do you like this? This whole Inquisition thing?” 

 

Evelyn shrugged. “It’s fine. I have a purpose, friends, money and fame. This might not be the life I wanted, but it’s my life regardless, so no point in complaining about it.”

 

Hawke plain right stared at her as she had suddenly grown horns and extra limbs. Her puzzled face was near comical and without her background Evelyn would have certainly burst out laughing, but she managed to turn that into a friendly smile. Hopefully, at least. 

 

“It’s your last day at Skyhold. You should come to the tavern tonight,” Evelyn said and actually meant it. Every day she had said it out of mere politeness, knowing that the Champion wouldn’t come anyway, but tonight was different for both of them. They might not become friends, but she would happily settle for civil if that was fine with both of them.

 

Hawke looked past her at nothing in particular for a while deep in thought. Then she finally bit her lip and nodded. “Alright. Yes. I’ll… yeah.”

 

“See you there, Hawke.”

 

“I still don’t like you,” the Champion smirked.

 

“I can live with that,” Evelyn said with a warm smile.

 

viii.   

 

“What can I do for you, your Inquisitorialness?” Varric asked and put his quill down. Evelyn leaned over the table to look at the papers in front of him and smirked: Cassandra would love this. 

 

“You’re coming to the tavern tonight,” she stated and pulled out a chair for herself. Varric looked suspicious.

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Because I said so.”

 

“Right.”

 

“And because I am your friend, and I know what is good for you.”

 

“I suppose this has nothing to do with Hawke?”

 

“Oh, it most certainly does.”

 

Varric huffed and leaned back on his chair. Underneath the disapproving look on his face, Evelyn could see a hint of something else: nervousness, fear, uncertainty. He never came to look for her after their last private conversation, just as she thought. 

 

“Listen, Varric,” she started and snapped her fingers across the table to get his attention. “She’s your best friend, and she’s lonely and she needs you. You might feel bad for leaving her alone, but she most certainly doesn’t have any hard feelings. Don’t even try to tell me you haven’t noticed how happy she is when you’re around and what a pain in the ass she becomes when you run away. So just stop acting like a guilty child, and just talk to her like a normal person. Please.”

 

He tapped his fingers against the tabletop silently. 

 

“And about what you saw today,” she started and smiled a little when Varric instantly turned to look at her, “it was just talk with Bull. Sure, there were appreciating looks and all that, and he did make quite a blunt offer to her that certainly made my ears turn red, but that’s it. She just laughed it off and said it wasn’t what she was looking for, and they went back to hitting each other with sticks.”

 

Huh. Interesting”

 

Evelyn couldn’t help but chuckle at his expression. Varric always tried to ooze an aura of nonchalance and confidence, even when they were alone. Of course, he didn’t succeed; he was quite obviously relieved and in much better spirits than a minute ago, but maybe he didn’t need to know that Evelyn knew that as well. 

 

“I get what you mean now,” she said. Varric raised his eyebrow as a question, not understanding what she suddenly had to say. “That Hawke’s not a ‘bad looking woman.’ She’s quite something, in battle. The way she moves, taunts and laughs – it’s… stunning, even.”

 

“My my, did you think I’m a liar?” Varric asked with a chuckle and leaned forward towards her.

 

“Of course you are!” she exclaimed, laughter in her eyes, but continued with a fonder smile: “But not when it comes to her.”

 

The usual charade of a carefree storyteller disappeared, and for the first time, Evelyn could for certain see just him, without any tricks or lies. “No. I guess not,” he said and gave her a true smile, a sight she knew she was going to miss as soon as it ended.   

 

“So I’ll see you at the tavern?” 

 

Varric grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

 

ix.   

 

“It seems like I’m missing something,” Evelyn huffed and looked sceptically around the table when Hawke collected her winnings - again. Unfortunately, Wicked Grace was not a part of her first-class private tutoring, as a relatively unpopular game in Ostwick in general. As it happens, Ostwick also happens to be the only state in the entire Thedas where greased cheese wheel races were the number one mode of gambling. A miraculous coincidence, indeed.

 

Varric startled, being too focused on pretending as if he hadn’t been staring at Hawke the whole night. He looked at Evelyn, barely remembering she was even there, as if he didn’t even remember she was even there anymore. If he was someone else she might have felt insulted for being forgotten, but this was Varric. The lying, cheating, wonderful Varric, who finally was where he was meant to be.

 

“Probably all the cards Hawke has spirited away,” Varric answered with a grin and cocked his head to the right. Hawke feigned an exaggerated shock and gasped.

 

“Wha – how dare you! As you very well know, I’m a virtuous Free Marcher noble, and thus well above cheating,” she announced theatrically. 

 

“You still don’t know how to eat with a knife and fork, Hawke,” he grinned.

 

Evelyn couldn’t help but grin with him. For a while it had seemed like the night was going to be an epic disaster, with the two best friends giving each other nervous looks, not sure how to continue after a long time apart, but luckily Hawke started to vent her frustration by increased cheating, which seemed to amuse Varric to no end. Of course, Evelyn had no chance of catching her, being an absolute disgrace at the game, but she could guess what was going on from Varric’s snickering and Bull’s approving nods. However, even she knew what the game was about; not about winning, but about Varric and Hawke, and so their charade of a game continued without interruptions.

 

“That is a blatant and a vicious lie,” Hawke said looking offended, clearly having trouble holding back a grin. “It’s just that I have principles, Varric, a concept you clearly are not acquainted with. I’m a woman of the people, and I should act like one, not some prissy noble with silver platters and knives and forks and fancy accents.”

 

“You are a woman of great contradictions, noble Waffles.”                           

 

Bull nearly spat out his ale. “Waffles?”

 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “What, you think you people are the only ones with nicknames, Tiny?”

 

“Nah, Varric probably gave a nickname to his nursemaid too,” Bull said. “But just… Waffles?”

                            

“Purely based on my sweet nature and my sheer adorability,” she stated and nonchalantly waved her hand. Across the table snickers were heard: Hawke was many things, but with all the scars and a nose broken too many times, combined with the numerous threats every single participant at the table had witnessed, “adorable” wasn’t one of them. 

 

“Also based on a certain someone’s unrivalled ability to hog waffles,” Varric added. Hawke nodded furiously.

 

“I fear you all have been clearly misinformed about the whole Champion thing. In fact, I just happened to win the highly prestigious Waffle Eating Championships, and the title just stuck. Varric just made something a bit more publishable up for his silly little book; disappointing, I know.”

 

“Sure thing, Waffles,” Bull said and winked his only eye. “Now – a nice change of subject, but how about those missing cards?”

 

“Oh, Maker’s balls,” she grunted and threw her cards back to the table. Varric took the cards to himself and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

 

“Waffles, Waffles, Waffles – what do we have here?” he asked. Hawke scoffed and crossed her arms. “Nine cards, when the rules say five. And three Angel of Deaths? First, you’re supposed to show it immediately when picked up. And second, there is only one in the whole deck. What were you even trying here?”

 

“Bugger off,” she said with a smile and pushed him away. “You all were cheating, anyway.”

 

“I’m pretty sure the rest of us were innocent as newborn babes,” Varric said, everyone full well knowing that she was exactly right.

 

“Come on, Champion. Pay up,” Evelyn said and put out her hand along the others, all crooking their fingers expectantly. Hawke sighed melodramatically. 

 

“Alas, being the Champion of Waffles isn’t as prolific as it sounds. I’m a mere penniless vagrant, alone and hungry in the world, and quite coincidentally needing to leave right now.” With the last words, she pushed her chair back and stood up.

 

“You really should stay the night,” Evelyn said with her best concerned Inquisitor voice, which had proven to be miraculously successful, but even that wasn’t enough. 

 

“Bah! I should’ve left hours ago, to be honest. I promised Alistair I’d meet him in the morning, and he can be reeeally cranky in the mornings. Wouldn’t risk it.”

 

“Have it your way,” Evelyn smiled. She and Varric also left the table to walk Hawke out, leaving the rest of the players looking after the Champion with mixed amusement and annoyance from their lost money that loudly clunked in Hawke’s pockets.

 

“Let’s not avoid each other for the next three years, that clear?” Varric said and raised his eyebrows in a question. Hawke grinned and finished buttoning her overcoat, a shabby and dirty thing that did not suit the hero of all the tales.

 

“So you do care about me, after all,” she asked in an over-the-top surprised voice. “What a surprise! Couldn’t have guessed after reading your book.”

 

“Oh? It wasn’t to your tastes? I hear it’s quite a masterpiece, but I’m open to constructive criticism.”

 

Hawke flashed a wide smile. “You did take some creative liberties with your portrayal of me. There was almost nothing about my good will, acts of heroism and magnanimous nature. It was very stabby-stabby, to be honest.”

 

“You do stab a lot of people, Hawke,” Varric shook his head. 

 

“Just the bad guys and the ones who look at me funny. Just like any decent person would do, to be honest.”

 

A lot. Just sayin’.”

 

“I knew you never liked me,” Hawke said and slapped Varric gently on his cheek, earning a chuckle from him. “It was good seeing you. Really,” she continued with none of the earlier sarcasm, her voice only meant to be heard by him. 

 

Evelyn felt like she was intruding on something she was never meant to be a part of, but found no way of politely leaving the scene, so she opted for the second option: trying to be as invisible as possible. Varric nodded at Hawke, his eyes staring at the ground for a long while before he managed to collect his trademarked coy smile back to his face. Evelyn didn’t buy it, and Hawke surely didn’t either, but the Champion still managed to look happy. Evelyn would never understand their game of balancing between excessive banter and jokes with true feelings, but Varric looked so damn happy that she didn’t even really care.

 

Hawke finally turned to leave, smiling at Varric one more time without goodbyes, when they all heard a voice from one of the tables.

 

Goddamn whore.”

 

Those two words were whispered loudly, with just enough volume to reach the front door but low enough to be taken as an unfortunate accident. Hawke turned back with a surprised look on her face, and Evelyn didn’t miss how Varric flinched.

 

“Did I do something to you?” Hawke asked from the doorway with a patient voice. The whole silent tavern switched their eyes between her and the drunken man who still managed to look at her defiantly. The drunk, a soldier, took a deep breath. 

 

“You’re the Champion. You know what you did.”

 

Hawke nodded in understanding. “Ah. You’re from Kirkwall, judging by the accent.” She took a few steps toward the man. “So, tell me. Who did you lose in the rebellion I caused? Or did I personally kill your brother or something? Perhaps your smuggling business suffered because of me? Don’t tell me you turned to Qun, I’ve had enough religious zealots after me already. Please elaborate, there are so many things I’ve heard during the years, it’s really quite a bother to keep track of them all.”

 

“Just apologize, don’t get on her bad side,” Varric said behind her in a joking voice, clearly trying to defuse the situation. Neither Hawke nor the soldier turned to look at him, both failing to notice his shallow breathing or how his nervous eyes trailed her every moment.

 

Evelyn could have done something – no, should have done something. But just like everyone else in the tavern, she chose not to. She might have been the Inquisitor, the bloody Herald of Andraste, but Hawke was where it all started, the first Champion of Kirkwall, the almost-Inquisitor. No, Evelyn nor anyone else had any right to step in her way, and based on Hawke’s furious eyes – no courage either. 

 

The soldier abruptly stood up, his companions whispering to him frantically and trying to get him down to no avail. 

 

“My two sisters were Chantry sisters,” he started, staring straight at Hawke’s eyes without a flinch. “The same Chantry your apostate blew up. The same apostate you spread your legs for, for years, without doing shit. Whole Kirkwall knew about it, too, about the whore of Hightown. For all I know you were in his plan from the beginning.”

 

Hawke looked at him in exaggerated confusion, walking towards him in slow, confident steps. “Are you talking about the same apostate I stabbed in the back, before going to save all of Kirkwall – again? Another thing that’s proven to be hard the keep count of.” 

 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up!” he yelled, making her giggle.

 

“Me? Shut up? You clearly don’t know me.”

 

He was a good head taller than her, muscular and fit, but Hawke was more experienced, agile, and oh, did she know how to play dirty. In just a few seconds a good kick to his knees, a bang when knees hit the floor and a head on the wooden table, a crack and a shout when a finger was broken, and at last a swish of a knife when the cold steel unrevealed itself to be pressed against the man’s neck. The soldier’s hands were laid flat on the table, fingers for all but one scratching the surface. Hawke leaned against the man’s back looking nonchalantly relaxed, pinning him to the table.

 

“I’ve met so many people like you,” she smiled. “People who think they can harm me. Some try weapons, some try words, some try using my friends. Interestingly enough, they are all gone, while I’m still here.”

 

“What the – you bitch!” the soldier shrieked and tried to push himself back, only to meet Hawke’s lithe body and the tip of the knife drawing blood against the pressure.

 

“Did you really think you could wound my fragile, feminine soul? You? As you said, it was common knowledge to whom my legs opened, and this might surprise you – even I knew it. Surprise! So no, you calling me a whore doesn’t work. Neither does calling me a conspirator, since that lost its meaning around the thousandth time it was spat in my face.”

 

She looked briefly at Varric and was silent for a few seconds in thought. Then she sighed and turned back to the soldier. “What does make me mad is ruining the best night I’ve had in a long time, thinking you can hurt me with a few pointless jabs. Did you really think me that weak?”

 

Hawke took a good look at the shaking man under her blade. “You’re a soldier. Right-handed, based on the calluses,” she said with no emotion in her voice, looking at the crying soldier under her grip.

                            

“Hawke –“ Varric started with a warning in his voice before she turned to look at him. She simply smiled at him, but for the first time, it was a hollow smile, all of the earlier joy vanished. No more sound came from her best friend: his posture was hunched in defeat, eyes begging for something they all knew was not going to happen.

 

“Bah, don’t worry, I’m not here to kill anyone,” Hawke laughed an empty laugh. “I’m not completely without mercy.”

 

Varric let out a sigh of relief and shook his head as if he’d seen this happen before and knew it was one of her worse jokes. Hawke’s smile never died.

 

“But you know me,” she said. “Stabby-stabby.”

 

And so she thrust a knife through the man’s forearm and didn’t even wince at the screams that followed. 

 

She shook her head one more time disapprovingly to the man. Her hand was tinted red, which she then wiped on the man’s overcoat. She wiggled the knife still stuck in the man’s arm without blinking at the shouts of pain but opted to leave it there before turning away. Hawke walked back to the front door, patting Varric on his shoulder.

 

“Thank you for the lovely evening,” she said and left without turning back. 

 

Evelyn had never been in love, so she didn’t know what a broken heart felt like. One look at her dear Varric, and she knew.

Notes:

Title from Guilty by Paloma Faith. I have zero imagination when it comes to titles, I found out. Also default Inquisitor and Hawke names, because never in my life have I had the patience to actually come up with custom names for my characters, a tradition I will proudly carry to this fic as well.

This is my very first published fanfic ever, so this is more than exciting (and scary!) for me. Moreover, English is not my native language, and while I'm normally confident enough with it, writing in a different language was quite difficult at times. Not just because of typos (I tried to find them, but I'm sure quite a few avoided me), but just using the language itself. My native language is the language I think in, the one that I compare all the other languages to, so there might be some things that make perfect sense to me as I understand them through my own language, but things that don't work that well in English. For example commas: English uses them waaaay less than I'm used to, and that's hard for me to remember. Stuff like that.

This first chapter is by far the longest, next ones are 98% written and they are nowhere this monstruous. Though what is a long chapter is quite subjective, I guess.