museyboxy | Soulmate AUs

Varric saw it writ large on his face: conviction of some twisted, horrible truth, belief that they were enemies, determination to make it so.

His own conflict and emotion bled into his expression as he pleaded. Begged. "Don't do this, Broody. Don't make us fight you, please. You know Hawke always wins. Don't."

It wasn't about belief or siding with mages. But Varric couldn't bring himself to fight Fenris, not when there was a more-than-incidental chance that the elf was his soulmate. Maybe they were on opposite sides of the war right now, maybe Fenris was about to force the issue. Who knew. Maybe the next fight would fell Hawke, or Varric himself, and the question would be answered.

All he knew was that he had to do what felt right. He had to follow his instincts, and his instincts said that Fenris couldn't die here.

Edited 2018-04-16 10:49 (UTC)

There was a touch on his arm. When he looked up and saw Meredith, his eyes narrowed. But her voice was calm as she said, "Here, they may win. But my Templars wait at the Gallows. Their small force against all of my men... We will succeed, elf."

And what did it mean, Fenris thought, when insanity began to make sense.

Choice made, he stood to his full height instead of a battle-ready crouch, slid his sword into its place at his back, and turned to leave at the side of his new allies.

It broke Varric's heart a little to watch Fenris walk away, but it was all he could ask for. Fenris turned away and they turned away, and that was that... until the Gallows.

Until Meredith's nug-fucking insanity reared its entire head, and even the curly one turned against her. Until Fenris too turned his sword on the Knight-Commander.

When all was said and done, Fenris was driven out with the rest of Hawke's companions. They left Kirkwall together, purely because they only had one ship that would take them. Nobody was happy with what happened, and Aveline didn't come with them, but they left.

As they stood on the deck of the ship watching Kirkwall shrink away, Varric looked sideways at the elf. "Good to see you in one piece, Broody."

"You should go back," he said quietly. "That place is in your blood. More than it is to any of us."

Hawke, Anders, Isabela, Merrill, the absent Sebastian, and himself - all of them had been immigrants. Varric was a native. He had a home there. A network of people who would notice his absence.

Fenris, meanwhile, had been toying with the idea of leaving the place behind for months now, and found himself wishing he had. Walking away before the Chantry explosion would have made his life so much simpler. But now he was on a boat with his two greatest enemies, none of the belongings he'd gathered in the last few years, and a sense of loss that he didn't want.

"Vishante kaffas."

"Eh, me and Kirkwall will be alright. Nothing can keep us apart for too long."

He said it lazily, flicking a bitten-off nail over the ship's rail. As hard as walking away from his home was, Varric knew that any of them being in the city would only make things harder when the chickens came home to roost. Consequences were coming, and Exalted Marches (probably), and they needed to not be there. Any known associates of Anders or the Champion...

No, they needed to be gone. As angry as he was at Anders for blowing his beloved city half to hell, he accepted the need to leave with an odd zen.

Fenris was a different story. The discontent and dissatisfaction rolling off the elf made Varric's teeth hurt.

"Copper for your thoughts?"

Probably ill-advised.

"I'm thinking I should be traveling overland to Starkhaven instead of on a ship full of people who would stand against me," he said, quiet and blunt at once. And, maybe worst, honest - at least so far as he could tell. He had been content to stand alongside the Templars, but the new Knight-Commander had had a point: he had spent too long in the company of Hawke and Anders to be considered innocent, even if he had fought alongside the Chantry at the end.

He didn't doubt Sebastian's offer of Starkhaven still stood. The man was good for his word. And that made the choice easier. "I'll make my way there when we put into port. But until then, at least there's some reason for you to keep me alive."

One hand lifted toward the bow of the ship. "We're headed to the east. If we continue east and north, we pass Rivain and enter the waters of Par Vollen. I am the only one of us who speaks Qunlat."

Varric sighed deeply. So this was how it was gonna be.

"Tell me something, elf- have you ever had a friendship that didn't have an ulterior motive?"

If the question sounded a touch accusatory, it was.

"Two," he answered, just as easily as if he was saying 'we are on a boat on the ocean.' A simple statement of fact. "Though I appear to be down to one of late."

The accusation was not lost on him, but it was ignored. It wasn't surprising that Varric would see things that way, and so he wasn't offended. The best he could do was wait and tell the truth if Varric asked.

He doubted Varric would ask. More accusations would come first.

"Ugh." He scrubbed his hands through his hair, thoroughly destroying his ponytail in the process. The tie fluttered away on the wind and Varric couldn't even bring himself to care.

This was all so fucked up.

"We're keeping you alive because you're our friend, dumbass. You know, the people you spend all your time with and fought beside for seven years? The jackasses that came to defend you from your slave master and helped kill Hadriana?"

It was so endlessly frustrating to him, how willing certain people were to throw away everything over something stupid. As far as he was concerned, they didn't have to live their lives by the names on their wrists- or the mistakes of a nutjob who they would, hopefully, soon be rid of.

"The same people who threatened my life because I was one of two who vocally disapproved of the Chantry's destruction," he brought up. "Of which you were the one delivering that particular threat against my person, albeit in the form of a warning. The same people who ignored every warning I gave about the danger we faced around him."

And which 'him' Fenris spoke of was obvious. But to his credit, he didn't name Danarius as his soulmate. This time.

"I'm having a hard time seeing friendship in these actions."

"Oh, forgive me for trying to ward off the impending fight," Varric snarked. "You know as well as I how crazy Hawke is about the templars. Do you really think that conversation would have gone well? That everyone would have hashed the issue out calmly and come to a rational solution?"

Varric was still a little stunned at how up their own asses everyone was determined to be about this. Everybody, on all sides.

"I think it would've gone better if more people had had the bollocks to stand up against the fool who decided so many deaths and so much destruction were necessities!" he snapped back, teeth grit and eyes narrowed with his anger. Of everyone, no matter their viewpoint, only the two of them had dared to be outraged. Only they had dared to stand against the all-powerful Hawke who had been blinded by love.

Fenris was sure Anders' name was on Hawke's wrist. His real name. Not the epithet he'd decided to be known by. Just as his own--

Enough of that.

"Instead, I find myself surrounded by cowards who prefer comfort to conviction."

"Fuck off," he snapped, properly angry for the first time since the explosion. "Don't you dare think you have the moral high ground here. You stood by a woman who basically let her people run a Tranquil sex trafficking ring right under her nose. Do you know what she did to Viscount Threnhold? Ran him out of town and got him assassinated for trying to stand up to Orlais. That's who you allied with- the crazy, power-hungry bitch who's always been nothing more than the strong arm of the Chantry's law. All she wanted was to use the explosion as an excuse to Annul- forgive me for not wanting to slaughter every magic-having man, woman, and child in the sodding Free Marches because Anders is insane."

He turned around and kicked something hard, not caring in the slightest when the bucket in question broke into about seven pieces. One of the deckhands yelped and scurried off, but Varric was too incensed to give a shit.

Fuck them all. The mages who thought they had a right to tear the world down around them- the fearful jackasses like Fenris, who didn't see a poisonous viper when it stared them in the face. Didn't they understand that Meredith had no moral leg to stand on? That she was just as corrupted as the maleficar?

"You think I didn't know Meredith was insane?" he growled back. "Of course I did! But I saw how many mages in Kirkwall turned to blood magic as well. Even Orsino, in the end! I saw Meredith's madness for what it was, but I also saw that she was willing to stand against someone who had done a great wrong rather than let him walk away, or even welcome him back into open arms. And in case you'd not noticed, my sword was one of the first to turn against her when I realised how deep her madness ran. It was my sword that took her life."

At least his self-control was greater than kicking buckets into pieces. All he did was flare blue for a moment before he brought himself back around. "So take care which accusations you throw, dwarf."

"Oh, she was plenty willing to stand against Anders- but only after she was done standing against all the innocent mages she'd already DECIDED to slaughter," he snapped. "Was even about the explosion, or were you just looking for a chance to kill mages? And you wonder why we weren't jumping on board with your team!"

Hawke, Anders, Merrill- all mages. Aveline, Isabela- not mages, but aware of the crimes and the oppression and the bullshit. And Varric, keenly aware of how bloody and vicious magic could be, and how oppressive and hateful templars often were.

Edited 2018-04-17 02:30 (UTC)

"Just how many mages did I kill without reason?!" His hand caught at Varric's collar, fisting in the material with the strength that hefted that almost too-large sword as if it weighed nothing. "Did I kill Merrill? Did I kill Bethany? Hawke? Even the abomination? What of the tonsured De Launcet idiot? Alain, perhaps? Or Feynriel?"

A single shake and he dropped his grip to stalk away. "You paint me as a cold blooded murderer instead of a person willing to stand against a man proven dangerous when all of my so-called friends stood against me."

Just as well that Fenris let go, because Varric was about to reach for a dagger. He never thought he'd even have to, but- they'd all seen what Fenris could do when enraged. It was hardly the first time the elf had scared the piss out of him.

"We didn't stand against you, we stood behind Hawke. He's saved every single one of our asses more times than we can count- yours included. So we stood behind him. You're the one who turned away."

"So the fault is mine for expecting the lot of you to show some of the morality you've claimed to have. I see. My mistake. The mass murder of innocents is apparently fine when done by someone Hawke approves of. Everything Hawke does is fine. I'll remember that on my way to Starkhaven and the lot of you won't have to suffer my traitorous company any longer than the next port."

And that said, he walked toward the bow of the ship, now even more sure than ever. His soulmate had been a monster, and his enemy was someone he'd cared for for far too long.

Varric let him walk away, because it was much better than starting to throw punches. He vented his spleen to Isabela, who turned out to be an excellent listener when she wanted to be. That may have had something to do with her seeing the name on his wrist and telling him he was being stupid- but he ignored her. She didn't understand; Bianca was almost certainly his soulmate, and Varric was just trying to keep destiny from digging its claws into what had been a lovely friendship.

Isabela steadfastly refused to pull into the next port. There was a port she preferred, she said, and they had supplies enough to last. When Varric asked Hawke and Anders about their ultimate destination, their plans, they didn't answer.

He found out anyway.

Tevinter. The stupid sons of bitches were going to Tevinter. Tevinter, and planned to take everybody on the ship with them. They couldn't afford to stop anywhere in the South, they said; word about the Exalted March had surely traveled already. They held hands and looked at each other with love and worry, and didn't bother wearing wrist guards on the ship.

Varric laid into them. He couldn't help it. The sheer carelessness absolutely boggled his fucking mind, and he let them know at the top of his goddamn lungs. How dare they, he asked diplomatically, followed by a gentle inquiry of what the fuck was wrong with them. Didn't they realize what they were doing, or were they trying to get Broody and Daisy enslaved. Hawke interrupted, pointed out that Varric had followed him this far, and Varric absolutely lost it.

"You're right, Hawke, I did follow you this far. And I didn't say anything when you wanted to let this putz live. I stood behind you, all the way, because shit- I thought you were still the same guy that led us through hell and back all these years. But apparently the instant your honey-boo murdered a bunch of innocent people you stopped thinking with your head and started thinking with your dick. If you really plan on dragging your own dumb asses to Tevinter, the least you can fucking do is have the decency to let us off at the next port, so those of us who don't want to see Fenris a slave can leave."

He had no idea that anybody else was listening to his rant. If he'd stopped to think about it he would have realized how loud he was being, and how quiet the elf's footsteps usually were, but he didn't sodding care. In that moment, Varric was too hopping mad to think about anything else.

He was standing not so far away, his outfit and skin blending well enough into the shadows to be unseen if someone wasn't paying attention.

That particular argument assured no one was paying attention. At least until he spoke.

"Strange," he drawled. "I'd expected to be tossed off the ship to my death rather than be sold back into slavery. And I'd figured to be the one arguing for my own freedom. Somehow, only one of those things surprises me."

It was odd to walk up to Varric's side, for all the position still made him uncertain. That he'd made that argument without knowing him near cast some doubts on beliefs that had mostly firmed. But that wasn't his single surprise. His confusion over Varric's exact status had become something of an old friend over the last months. Feeling it return was a strange kind of comfort.

"I'll sooner kill both of you than return to Tevinter," he went on, eyes fixed on both Hawke and Anders. "If you wanted me a slave, you should have given me to Hadriana when you had the chance."

And he gave them no chance to answer, walking away instead to estimate their position on the ocean. If they were near to either Rivain or Par Vollen - even Antiva - he could easily make do.

As soon as Fenris stalked off, Anders made as if to follow him, kicked-puppy regret writ large on his face. Varric held up a hand and darkly said, "Don't. Just don't. Trust me, he doesn't want to hear it from you."

Then Varric turned on his heel and followed the elf. It felt good to walk up to Fenris's side- more than ever, he was acutely feeling the value of lasting friendships. Being on the elf's bad side had felt wrong in more ways than one.

"They aren't actually malicious," he said by way of greeting. "Just incurably up their own asses."

Judging by his tone and sour look, Varric didn't seem to think that a decent excuse.

"And in for a rude awakening," Fenris muttered, sounding utterly bored as he looked up at the stars, at the moon, eyes narrowed as he judged their position from what little navigation he'd learned over the years. It was enough to let him know that, by now, they were east of Antiva, approaching Rivain and Qunari waters. He would be safe there. The mages aboard, less so.

"They think they can simply walk into Tevinter and be welcomed by the magisterium's open arms. Wayward brothers from the south come to see the light. If I had the want to be there, it would be amusing to see their reactions when they found out how wrong they were." And then, as if he hadn't been speaking of such things, he changed subjects but kept the same idle tone. "If Isabella is smart, she'll put in at Llomerryn and make these fools take a different ship. The Qunari look down upon ships carrying bas Saarebas, and with one of them having killed their Arishok, any ship with Hawke on it is taking its survival into its own hands."

"They probably figure it's the only place in Thedas where Anders won't be killed on sight," he answered, after a long moment to mull over the truth in Fenris's words. It didn't exactly amaze him, but it did impress him to appreciate how intelligent Fenris was. It was just another piece of evidence in the 'slavery is fucking stupid' column: that a mind like his was ignored and wasted due to an accident of birth.

Varric sighed and pretended to look at the stars as well; in reality, he was watching Fenris. The dwarf didn't know jack or shit about navigation, but there was always a certain lure in watching the elf's sharp mind work.

"I think our course is already changing," came a dry observation, seeing one of Isabela's little minions scurry over to her and speak in frantic-but-hushed tones. "Unless that guy is just really worried about our outfits."

Fenris chuckled - a low, dry sound that faded as quickly as it came. And then, figuring that even more ears might be listening, he went on:

"You see, citizenship in the Imperium is not freely given. Anyone not born within Tevinter's borders who wishes to become a citizen must first be sponsored. This means, much as happened to Hawke when he first came to Kirkwall, that a debt will be incurred on their behalf, and they will have to work off the debt to their patron's satisfaction. It's a form of indentured servitude, one step above slavery. The period is set. However, the period is set at ten years. It separates, as the magisters would say, the wheat from the chaff." And Hawke and Anders were sentencing themselves to that. "They may make an exception for the defecting Champion of Kirkwall, but they'll do no such thing for Anders. He'll be too much of a target."

And Varric could imagine from there. After all, he had a cousin in the Imperium. Surely he'd had word about how, exactly, the upper echelons of that nation worked.

"Idiots," Varric breathed. "As if Justice wasn't unstable enough."

They could both imagine how well a literal embodiment of Justice would fare in a nation like Tevinter. The mage would probably succumb to madness inside a year. While they both probably would pay gold to see magisters and Tevinter shits torn apart by a Justice abomination, it really wouldn't do for Hawke's soulmate to go utterly nug-fucking insane from something preventable.

"I'll talk to them. Pass on your wisdom."

It really was. Varric always respected Fenris's intelligence, even if he found his people skills and emotional intelligence frustratingly blinkered.

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