museyboxy | Soulmate AUs

"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.

"I won't stop you," was Fenris' answer. "For all it's more consideration than they were willing to give me."

What he didn't like was that he didn't feel vindicated. He'd been right - completely and utterly correct - but it didn't feel good. It should, he thought, to have shown them how wrong they were. How his stance had been correct, but...

But all Fenris could do was sigh and find a place near the bow of the ship to sit, eyes on the horizon.

"People do stupid shit when they're scared," Varric grumbled. "That never changes."

Before walking off, Varric turned to the elf and hesitantly clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Next port?"

It took a few moments, enough time to let his mind cast over options and truths, but then he nodded once, agreeing, "Next port."

With that, Varric stalked off, first to see about getting some rum in him. The man in question shared a brief drink with him gladly and commiserated about stupid assholes not thinking shit through. Then, blood pumping and liver finely pickled, he went to the magical sodding lovebirds.

One varyingly-productive conversation later, Hawke and Anders seemed utterly at a loss for next steps, and Isabela had agreed to put in at Antiva City. It wasn't the closest port, but it would suit Varric's needs best- and whatever suited Varric would, he assured them, also suit Daisy and Broody. Which brought to light the fact that their little spat had spread across the ship like wildfire, and Merrill was now anxious to get off at the next possible opportunity.

He found Fenris later and sat next to him unceremoniously.

"So Daisy's coming with us in Antiva."

"Very well." He wouldn't fight about that. He and Merrill didn't necessarily get along, but she'd not tried to feed him to the wolves - even if it might've been unintentional. "Though we'll have to be cautious. Templars through southern Thedas will be alert - perhaps less in Antiva than Orlais and Ferelden. They have less hold in Rivain if we want to go north for a time."

We. It felt so very natural to say 'we'.

"True," he allowed, leaning against - shit, against something - and willing his head to clear. "Maybe I should've asked for Llomerryn instead. Don't the Dalish have something there?"

Varric may have overdone the rum a bit. It'd been a hell of a week.
"The Merchant's Guild does a good trade in Llomerryn. Might be the most honest thing happening in that city, which should scare the piss out of you."

When Varric's weight settled against him, he glanced in that way - but he didn't protest. But what he said about the Merchant's Guild made him snort a laugh. "What a horrifying thought. I would believe most of the danger to be yours, though - as they would deliver all of that mail you've been avoiding in person."

Some of his weight pressed back against Varric, almost as if it was habitual. Normal.

He'd done it often enough when both of them had followed Hawke through the Wounded Coast or up toward Sundermount.

Varric leaned against Fenris gratefully. The familiarity was soothing, a bridge on troubled waters- a gentle, sensory anchor amidst all the chaos and bullshit and changes of the last few weeks.

This, at least, was as it should be.

"I'm sure I'll be alright. I have a big glowing murder elf to protect me."

Never mind that both of the elves he knew could technically be classified as 'murder elves,' if one didn't look too closely.

Another snort of a laugh and Fenris shook his head in wonder. "You take quite a bit for granted, dwarf."

And yet, that wasn't a protest. The day's events had softened him a little, and he found it all the easier to settle back toward what their friendship used to be.

Deodamnatus.

"Of course I do. I never go anywhere without at least one back up murder elf."

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Varric took a flask out from his jacket and offered it over, filled with rum from the accommodating sailor. Bless him, whoever he was- Varric hadn't really bothered to learn all of their names, and this one wasn't the usual Rum Guy.

Far be it from Fenris to turn down alcohol. He accepted the flask and drank - not as deeply as he'd like, but deeply enough that he felt the warmth settle low in his stomach and burn pleasantly all the way down.

"Not an aggregio," he said, "but good enough. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

It was easy to share and easier still to drink together than alone. The warmth filled them both, now, buzzing just beneath their skin even in the cold night air.

He wondered what Llomerryn would be like. If the nights would be too hot for him, or if he would get used to it. If they would have time to get used to it, before returning to Kirkwall.

"Hey, Broody?"

"Yes, Varric?"

This was a mistake, he thought. Being this easy, this close. Taking comfort this way. It was swiftly undoing everything he'd fought to accomplish, all of the letting go. And he hated that he didn't want to try again. This warmth and ease was too comfortable, and too comforting. And though he'd never been materialistic, he'd lost everything but what he'd strapped on before that last confrontation. He'd lost a feeling of... perhaps not exactly home, but a feeling of being settled. Leaning on Varric brought part of that back. How could he let go again?

Part of Varric knew this wasn't wise. That Fenris, for all it stung to think about, was trying to let go. Varric had a soulmate - probably - and asking Fenris to stick around for another three years, just in case the Bianca thing fizzled out, was nothing less than cruel. As much as Varric knew that, it was hard to make himself pull away right then, when the alcohol made his skin warm and fingers buzz and stress and homesickness pulled at his higher reasoning until all that was left was a craving for home.

It was easier. It felt good the way nothing else did anymore; it felt right the way everything else under the sun felt wrong.

"I'm glad you didn't go to Starkhaven."

A snort and, though there wasn't really a sound, there was a shake to Fenris' shoulder that belied a voiceless laugh. "Not yet, anyway."

After all, he was sure Sebastian's offer still stood. And he still wasn't pleased with the way things ended in Kirkwall. But...

Could he aid in marching against Kirkwall if Varric was there? A question worth asking.

"You could go back if you wanted," he mused. "I paid those bribes through the end of the year."

Hell, it was an optimistic time. Danarius hadn't shown up yet, and Varric thought it prudent to get his bribes taken care of ahead of time, to avoid any future trouble for his be-lyriumed friend.

But he shook his head. "None of us can, at least for a while. We'll have to wait to hear what the Chantry decides to see if we're targets. Likely not as much as Hawke, but they'll still be watching for us. Whatever we do, we'll have to keep our heads down for a while." He had to realistic. More than a few people would be watching for them. They needed to be where they wouldn't be watching.

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