Chapter Text
Varric Tethras
The Seediest Bar in Town, Minrathous
Neve Gallus had sent word that she had a lead on Solas’s location and they’d agreed to meet at a particularly hole-in-the-wall bar, but nothing’s ever easy. The bar’s owner had sold Neve out to the Venatori not long before they’d arrived. (Because of course she did.) Varric stayed back, letting Rook take the lead, curious how she’d handle it. With an amused snort, he realized she was going to take a decidedly Hawke-like approach. Namely, beat the crap out of a bunch of nameless goons and ask questions eventually.
“Be ready to talk by the time I get to you.”
“Oh, darling, you’re adorable.”
Varric dropped into a seat by the door and resisted the urge to laugh. Nothing like a solid helping of condescension to really piss off Rook.
Kicking a conveniently placed barrel sent the first cultist flying. (He noted the form she used to do it. Inside of the foot, bottom of the barrel, hitting him squarely in the middle. He’d have to remember that for the next time he wrote a fight scene in a bar.)
Second cultist got a fist to the stomach and was about to be slammed into a table when the third cultist grabbed Rook’s arm and slammed her face into the table instead. Varric scratched his beard.
Kid’s got a hard head. She’ll be fine.
Then she was bashing a bottle over the cultist’s head.
When did she even grab that?
But the first cultist was back on his feet now and grabbing her round the middle from behind. That just gave her leverage to kick bottle head in the ribs, hard, sending him reeling. Barrel boy didn’t have the sense to let go so she smashed him into the table, all but crushing him beneath her. (She was the biggest human in the bar, after all.) She elbowed him in the face for good measure, and he finally stayed down.
At this point, one of the Venatori made the (possibly fatally stupid) mistake of grabbing Rook’s long hair; the sound of his skull cracking against a wooden beam after he was launched magically across the room made Varric wince. It wasn’t sympathy, but that sounded like it hurt. Kid had been perfectly willing to brawl with just her hands and feet (and elbows) before that, but she had always hated it when strangers touched her hair.
“Not enough gold in the world for this.” The sound of the bar owner’s voice and clear move to flee had Varric readying Bianca before Rook even noticed.
“Varric, now!” He didn’t even have to leave his seat to pin her to the shelf behind the bar with a perfectly aimed bolt.
“Meet Bianca. She’d like you to stay a while.” Rook shot him an unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised. He shrugged back.
One of the two remaining cultists tackled Rook then, bashing her hip into the bar, drawing a pained groan from her lips.
Dammit, that was her injured hip.
The leg gave out under her, but she grabbed a bar stool and hit the tackler twice: once in the ribs and then over the head. With an angry yell, she hurled the stool into the face of the last remaining cultist, who went down and stayed down.
Huh. That’s a new one to me.
With a chuckle, Varric realized that the cultist who had gone down first was coming round and pretending to still be unconscious - probably the smartest choice he’d ever made.
Rook managed to vault over the bar and towered over the bar owner.
“Neve Gallus.”
“Dumat Plaza! The Venatori cultists took her to Dumat Plaza…” the barkeep reached behind her and grabbed a bottle, moving to hit Rook with it.
Really? You just watched her kick the shit out of four guys and you think you’ve got a chance? With Bianca’s bolt in your shoulder?
Naturally, Rook caught the bottle easily, headbutting the other woman as she did.
“Thanks,” She said to the slumped body hanging from Bianca’s bolt, “You were a huge help.”
Clambering back across the bar, she couldn’t quite hide a hiss of pain. He met her at the bar and wordlessly handed her an elfroot potion, in exchange for the pilfered bottle. She drank it down while he poured some of the worst wine he’d smelled in quite some time into two mugs. The way she was refusing to put weight on that leg had Varric feeling a now familiar pang of guilt; she’d injured that hip by throwing herself bodily between him and falling rubble.
Self-sacrificing and reckless, just like her dad.
It had seemed to be improving while they’d been traveling together over the last year, but the entire time they’d been in Minrathous, she’d been favoring the leg. The shit weather made it ache. Rook took a sip of the swill he handed her, shaking her head in a manner identical to her father.
Some of the nostalgia Varric was feeling must have shown on his face because Rook sighed and chugged down the rest of her shitty wine.
“I’m reminding you of him again.”
“It’s not a bad thing.”
“I know.” But she was frowning, all the same.
“You’ve spent the last several years trying to figure out who you are, besides his kid.”
“Yup.”
“And I keep accidentally reminding you how similar you are to him.”
“You sure do.”
“If it helps, I don’t think he would’ve won that fight without relying on magic.”
Brightening, she set the mug she’d been scowling at on the bar. “You think?” Varric winked.
“Although for the record, there was probably an easier way to do that than fighting an entire bar.”
“What’d I have to worry about? You were there, watching my back.”
“Just like your dad.” He couldn’t help but tease.
“Ugggggh. Come on. Harding will be worried.”
“All right, break’s over.” Inclining his head, he took one last sip of a wine that tasted like regret, and set the mug aside.
They stepped outside and immediately noticed the searchlights of the Archon’s palace. Exchanging a look, they both slipped into casual strides.
Nothing to see here.
“Where’d you learn that trick with the bar stool, by the way?”
“Ran a job with Bharv and a few other Lords of Fortune a while back. It went too well.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means he suggested we get some celebratory drinks, which naturally led to my first bar fight.” Varric raised an eyebrow in question. “Bharv is a bit of a mess. And that’s coming from me. Anyway. We’d all had a few and were feeling pretty good until some former templar who was trying to compensate for the lyrium withdrawal with booze clocked me as a mage and started saying a lot of crap that I would normally ignore. But I’d had a few so…”
“So you figured you could put him in his place.”
“I started with words! Asking him if that’s how his mother raised him to talk to people. Stuff like that. He liked that even less than me being a mage. Threw the first punch. But he was WAY more drunk than me so it was easy to dodge. I told the others to let me handle it.” She shook her head, laughing at herself. “He was losing pretty bad until he picked up a stool and knocked my damn lights out.”
Varric laughed and clapped a hand on her lower back. “That’s one way to learn it.”
When they turned the next corner, a magically augmented voice rang out, and the lights from the palace locked onto a random passerby.
“They’re not looking for us are they? Surely they’ve got more important things to worry about than a bar fight.”
“Word travels fast in Minrathous, and there’s a lot of Venatori in the Magisterium…”
Rook took a step forward, but stopped when he put a gentle hand on her hip. At least she barely cringed at the contact; the elfroot potion had helped with the pain. “We’ve gotta help her!”
“We don’t have time to get arrested, especially if-” but he immediately forgot the rest of that sentence because the sky had just opened up, demons starting to rain down on the city. As familiar as the experience was, it wasn’t one he had ever been nostalgic for. Rook actually dragged her hand down her face in disgust.
“We’d better hurry.”
Rook had left her weapons in Harding’s care, so they had to dodge demons and pray none of them attacked the whole way to their rendezvous. When Rook finally got her hands on her staff and dagger again, the look on her face made Varric wonder (not for the first time) why she’d never named her weapons. She was certainly attached enough to them to merit names. Maybe he’d suggest it later. Might even be fun to help her brainstorm names.
They fought their way through demons and more Venatori as they worked their way down to Dumat Plaza, Rook staring open-mouthed at the dome of ice that covered it.
“You’re gonna catch flies, kid.”
“Your friend Neve is one seriously powerful mage.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
If Varric thought Rook’s awe towards Neve’s magic was funny, her reaction to Neve herself was downright hilarious. She had slipped to the back of the group as they worked their way down to where Neve had detected traces of ancient elven magic; Varric slowed his pace to draw level with her and raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for an explanation of her bug-eyed expression.
He fought to keep a straight face as she whispered, “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Aww, you’re sweet.”
Rook clapped an embarrassed hand over her mouth. Neve winked back at her.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Not if I can help it!” Varric was feeling almost chipper. After nigh ten years of chasing Solas across half the known world, they were finally making real progress. Of course, if they didn’t stop the ritual he had already started- Well. That’d be game over. But the responsibility would be off Varric’s shoulders and at least he would have done the best he could.
The number of demons they faced grew in quantity as they neared Solas’ hideout, and they grew more powerful as they stepped through the eluvian into Arlathan Forest. (Rook muttered something about wanting to be the one to tell Merrill.) The group slipped into an easy rhythm as they climbed the hill to the site of the ritual: Rook at the front, swapping effortlessly between her staff and dagger as the situation called for it. The two archers laid down cover fire and Neve supported with liberal applications of ice. Few of the demons even took them by surprise. Though the veil was shredding around her, Rook’s unique sensitivity gave her ample warning of their impending arrivals.
The wild magic swirling through the air made the hairs on Varric’s arms raise; they were nearly there.
“Back up! Something big is coming!” Rook’s knuckles were white where they gripped her staff. Varric wanted to offer up something reassuring, but a pride demon manifested in the clearing they had just reached.
“Damn thing must have sensed Solas’ ego!” He quipped, trying to lighten her mood. She did laugh, but it was a nervous little thing. Fair enough, pride demons used to scare him too. Maybe he had simply fought too many with the Inquisition, they’d lost their mystique.
Of course, even a frightened Rook was a force to be reckoned with. The final blow was hers: a short jaunt through the fade to its back, a leap to its neck, and a knife through one of its eyes.
Rolling back to her feet as its body faded beneath her, she looked them all over. Reassured, she clambered up the broken stairs on the far side of the clearing and turned back to assist the rest of them up the small climb. Harding and Neve declined her offered hand, but Varric was grateful.
“Getting too old for this.”
“So you keep saying, old man.”
Varric snorted, but he had finally spotted Solas, standing with his back to them, the complicated movements of his arms looking controlled, particular. Like a conductor standing before an orchestra. The horrible green of the Veil sundering all around the elf reminded Varric of the Breach all over again. The team hunkered against a wall briefly and peaked around at him, before another wave of demons drew Harding and Neve away.
“Alright, I’ll take it from here.”
Neve questioned the wisdom of approaching Solas alone. Harding tried one more time to convince him that Solas wouldn’t listen. Varric promised that Solas would either listen to his words or listen to Bianca. And Rook…
“We’ve got your back. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.” She clutched his shoulder, her eyes full of confidence. He focused on the blue one, so like her dad’s. Noticing, because she never missed these things, she continued, “And Father would say the same thing. We Hawkes believe in you, Varric.”
Patting her hand one last time, he pulled away, throwing out, “Take care of the team for me,” over his shoulder.
There was a moment, so short Varric wondered if he had imagined it, when Solas looked happy to see him. But the conversation turned into an argument faster than you could blink, Solas digging in his heels just like Harding knew he would. Varric drew Bianca, begging Solas to listen, and Solas...Solas’s eyes glowed and Bianca shattered in Varric’s hands, her pieces scattering down the stairs. Varric couldn’t believe it. It felt needlessly cruel to kill Bianca when Solas could’ve just thrown up a barrier if Varric had actually convinced himself to fire. Out of the corner of his eye, Varric noticed Neve and Rook creeping around the borders of the ritual site.
Right. Buy them time for...whatever they came up with, because talking clearly isn’t going to work.
“So how is this time going to work out for the better? Can you tell me that?”
“I understand your hesitance, but what I do now must be done, despite it being past your comprehension.” Varric rolled his eyes.
“I’m not saying you’re evil,” even though you killed Bianca, “but if you truly believed in what you were doing, you’d be able to give me a straight answer.”
“You would rather cast aspersions than admit that this is mine to solve!”
“C’mon Chuckles, who are you trying to convince here? Me, or yourself?”
Round and round and round they went. And then the first domino fell, one massive statue into the next, Varric taking an automatic step back. When the final statue fell, straight towards where Solas and Varric had been locked in verbal combat, Solas caught it angrily in his magic and thrust it away. The statue crumbled and rained down in the path of a fleeing Neve and Rook, almost hurtling them off the narrow walkway. And Solas...turned right back to the ritual, like nothing had happened. Varric watched Rook get hit by falling rubble for the second time on his behalf, and threw caution to the wind. Maybe it was stupid, maybe he’d regret it later, but Varric threw himself at Solas’ back, making a grab for the knife in his hand. Varric was pretty sure he was physically stronger than Solas, but the elf was squirrely and had superior height. So maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Solas stabbed him.
“Varric!” Rook rushed to his side, turning him onto his back, calling futilely for help. Her words washed over him, the fear in her eyes mattering more than his own pain. No matter how this turned out, he knew she’d find a way to blame herself.
Hawke family prerogative, taking the whole damn world on your shoulders.
He tried to make a grab for her hand, but the knife still in his chest made the move too painful, so he pulled it out and tried again to reassure her.
“Little Bird-” it was my choice.