Dragon Age

"Need some salve for that?" Varric grinned, all teeth and half-drunk eyes. "I hear raw meat works well on a black eye." 

Maker, he had no right to be so appealing. Hawke took a sip of suspiciously good wine, distractedly. "Speaking from experience?" 

"I don't get punched in the face by Coterie thugs; I look where I'm going."

"Turn left, you said."

"Your other left, Chuckles. Humans have no sense of direction." 

"Maybe". She licked her lips. He noticed. "I keep telling myself I shouldn't do this." 

Varric shifted. "Good advice." 

"No." She leaned across the table. "The other good." 

"You keep saying different things," Rook said, as they stumbled out of the tavern. 

"What's that?" Varric looked drunk, but she'd taken his tankard away one night she felt like he'd had too much, and it had been full of water and bitter lemon. 

"About my name. You say I'm resilient, that I'm the most versatile piece on the board, that I'm a protector, not a leader - different, every time."

Varric shrugged. "You contain multitudes." 

"Anyway, who are you, then? If this is all about chess."

"The King, obviously."

Rook nodded, and tried not to think too hard about that. 


 

It was funny how quickly living in the Fade became... mundane. 

Rook stopped staring in awe at the ancient floating architecture, and started getting annoyed by randomly placed brickwork. Solving the building's mysteries went from adventure to a chore. Magical locks became the reason you were late for dinner, and on that note: The food.

They were constantly running out of everything, and re-stocking was a lot harder when you didn't have a cart or a horse. Ah, but then again... 

When she ran past the kitchen and smelled the aroma of freshly brewed beans, she knew he was home. 

There was always an argument at The Hanged Man, though rarely in dwarvish. Hawke caught the tail end as whoever was on bouncer duty gently encouraged them to leave. 

"My Orzammarian is a little rusty," she later told Varric, accepting a goblet of wine from his 'personal stash', in his rooms above. "What does n'blz mean?" 

Varric snorted. "Nothing good. And that's not Orzammarian. Pidgin Trade, at best."

Hawke raised an encouraging eyebrow. 

"It's derogatory," he sighed. "For... people who put on airs. Pretend they're nobility."

"But you are-" 

The look on his face stopped the end of that sentence. 



 

Today was some Orlesian holiday, judging by the chatter among Skyhold's bored nobles. Varric might have dragged up the name, but as it was, he preferred to stare directly into the fire.

Night of Miracles, that's what they called it. Varric snorted.

If only he'd gone with the Inquisitor. Then he'd be right there with her; facing the Fade once again, like a team. Possibly, it was an act of kindess; so Varric didn't have to be there when-

He heard her breath before he felt the hand on his shoulder.

"Surprised?" Hawke grinned.

"Never had a doubt." Miracles, indeed.

„To není možný,“ zašeptal. Hleděl na své břicho a pořád tomu nemohl uvěřit. Jak se to mohlo stát?

Byla to jen jedna jediná noc pár týdnů zpátky. Jedna noc, kdy měli s Maxem soukromí. Kdy se mohli oddat všemu, po čem jejich srdce i těla toužila.

Včetně vyzkoušení toho zázračného lektvaru.

Strávil tak jeden den a jednu noc v ženském těle se vším všudy, ale ani ve snu by ho nenapadlo, že se může stát právě tohle.

***

„Chceš si to nechat?“ zeptal se ho manžel tiše. Dorian přikývl.

„Pak uděláme všechno pro to, abyste ty i malé byli v bezpečí.“

There was no talking to him, Rook thought, staring at the empty bed; he was no longer there.

She wasn't sure if she meant Varric, or Solas. She was sure that she did not want to speak to whoever was lingering in the doorway behind her.

"Didn't think you'd be in here." It was Lace. That was okay.

"He said he abhorred blood magic."

Lace shrugged. "Honestly, he's got a bad history with blood, in general."

Rook turned, sharply.

"Hey, I can say that! Listen - Solas said a lot of things. Blood magic is bad when shitty people do it."

Something jumped in the window, fired four arrows into a wooden statue of Fen'Harel, and yelled "gonna hunt that blighting egg down and crack it," before disappearing down the stairs and into the burning streets of Minrathous.

"Ah," Dorian told the reeling Rook, brightly, "you've met Sera."

"You know that elf-shaped bur?"

"Be glad she didn't hear you calling her that, but yes."

"Did she say something about an... egg?"

"Yes," he grinned, "that's her charming name for..." he made a smoothing motion over his head, then nodded at the statue.

"Solas?" Rook gasped.

"Oh yes. Happy hunting, I say."

Sera's door slammed shut, shaking the tavern. Varric set his ale down, and shook his head.

Across the table, Dorian sighed. "What set her off this time, I wonder?"

"Solas. Again. He keeps nagging her about her elven heritage."

"Well," Dorian hesitated, "she is an elf."

"She's also just a kid. And an orphan at that." He added, in Solas's voice; "you must learn the language of your ancestors! Your grandmother; your grandmother in law-"

Dorian chuckled. "Fair. Kid, though?"

"If she's older than 19, I'm Andraste's left tit." He eyed Dorian, daring him to comment.

Instead, the mage smiled.

Elf stál v rohu u dřevěného stolu a v hmoždíři drtil kousky kůry s nějakými těmi bylinkami.

„Je to jen hřejivý obklad, udělá ti lépe,“ promlouvá k pacientovi, aniž by na něj byť jen pohlédl.

Člověk, mág. A ještě závislý. Přesně proto měla magie zůstat jen v kruzích vyšších nesmrtelných existnecí. Ale ne, lidi prostě museli ukrást všechno. Půdu, zdroje, vědomosti i magii. Měl by se na něj vykašlat. Nechat ho, ať z abstinenčních příznaků zešílí a ukončí to sám, ale koho by dokázal vzít s sebou? Navíc si ho jeho veličenstvo mocný pán Inkvizitor nějak moc oblíbil.

„Přestaň skučet.“