servantofclio:

You know what? I decided Jocelyn Hawke needed a hug, too.

#

Bran tells
him dourly that there’s someone to see him, presumably the last on his
calendar, and Varric just says “Yeah, whatever,” because it’s been a long day
already. He doesn’t even look up from the fucked-up accounts he’s been going
over.

Then a
light, familiar voice says, “Varric, what are you doing in the Viscount’s
office?”

He looks
up and hastily takes off his reading glasses. Glasses or not, it’s definitely
Hawke standing there in dusty traveling clothes. He stares at her for a long
moment, slouching there like usual, like she never left, like she didn’t take
off for Weisshaupt months and months ago and never writes. He’s frankly at a
loss for words. Him, Varric Tethras.

Finally he
says, “I am the Viscount,” and Hawke blinks.

“You’re
the Viscount?”

“Yeah.”

“Of
Kirkwall?” she says, like there’s somewhere else around here to be the Viscount
of.

“Yeah,” he
says. “Hawke, where the hell have you been?”

Instead of
answering, she starts laughing. Uncontrollably, peals of laughter bursting out
of her and wiping the lines off her face, wiping away the years and losses of
the last decade. She laughs so hard she staggers and has to brace herself
against one of the heavy, ornate chairs kept for the Viscount’s visitors, and
then, still laughing, she tries to sit in the chair and misses, and slides down
to the ground. Varric can’t even see her over the damned desk, but she’s still
laughing.

He sighs
and hops out of his chair and comes around the desk. Hawke is half-sprawled on
the floor, her back against the desk, clutching her midsection with both arms
while she laughs. Varric stands there patiently, arms folded, waiting.

She runs
out of air eventually, and the laughter peters out into giggles, and finally
she looks up at him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and says, “You.
You’re the Viscount of Kirkwall. Aveline told me I’d better come up to the
Viscount’s office. I’m amazed she managed to keep a straight face.”

“Yeah, me
too,” Varric says, thinking that he owes Aveline one, only he’s not sure one of
what. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Hawke laugh like that.

She doesn’t
seem inclined to get up, and sighs and leans back against the desk, still
grinning, stretching out her long legs in front of her.

Varric
thinks it over and sits down beside her. Tucks an arm around her shoulders, and
Hawke leans in and rests her cheek against his shoulder with a little sigh.

“You came
back,” he says quietly, marveling a little. He honestly hadn’t been sure Hawke
would ever set foot in Kirkwall again.

She sighs
again, wearily, like the years and losses are creeping back. “Of course I came
back. Where else was I going to go?”

Anywhere,
he almost says. Back to Fereldan or hell, she could run away to Antiva or
Rivain and just disappear. But he doesn’t actually want her anywhere but here,
so he squeezes her shoulders a little tighter.

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