museyboxy | Soulmate AUs

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.

"Ugh," the most irritated groan. "You're probably right. I didn't even have time to pack. I bet I could pay someone to nail my door in the Hanged Man shut..."

He trailed off, grabbing the flask from Fenris's hand and pretending not to notice the contact of brushing fingers.

"I'll send a letter to Aveline when we get to wherever we're going. She can keep us updated."

All of that musing just made Fenris chuckle as he gave up the flask and turned his gaze up to the stars. The sea was quiet, the night calm now that the worst of conversations had passed. Fenris didn't even realise when he fell asleep, but he woke with the bells of changing watch and nudged Varric to go with him belowdecks. They both needed to sleep on something that wasn't hard wood.

It was odd to disembark, though, after all the time they'd spent at sea. Days, weeks - the northern seas weren't treacherous, but they had to follow a careful course to stay away from known shipping lanes, keeping their own passage as secret as possible. Along the way, their course had shifted to Llomerryn, where Fenris had first suggested, and to see the city around them after setting foot on land was a bit confusing. There was, here, something other than horizon.

"Well. I suppose it's time for me to become a mercenary once more," Fenris declared. Llomerryn was small, but there were always those needing guardsmen for their wares - and not everyone could be Varric, with his business sense and more contacts than crossbow bolts.

"Hold on, Broody," Varric cautioned, looking around them uneasily. Llomerryn wasn't a place he'd ever spent any real amount of time, but he knew it had a Merchant's Guild presence, profiting off of piracy and eastern trade routes.

The knowledge unsettled him. It wasn't the kind of familiarity he would have wanted, had he any choice.

"We don't know anybody here yet, and you don't exactly blend in. I'd prefer if you stayed where I can see you."

Meanwhile, Isabela was helping Merrill make arrangements to find the Dalish outside the city. It was one of the only semi-permanent Dalish settlements in Thedas, made possible by the Chantry's utter lack of power and reach in Rivain. Varric was fine with letting Daisy find her own way (with adequate supervision, of course), but seemed utterly loath to let Fenris out of his sight.

Fenris glanced over with a mild touch of surprise. "Have you forgotten that I'm a glowing murder elf?" he asked, tone flat, though with the smallest hint of amusement.

Llomerryn was Isabela's city in a few ways - ways that Fenris wouldn't argue. It was good that she was seeing to Merrill. But this bit of overprotectiveness in Varric made him wonder. Still, he didn't walk too far away.

Rivain was far from the Chantry's influence, but there were Vashoth and Qunari both. Fenris could easily fall in with them, though he would have to be cautious about those trying to spread the Qun. Simple enough; he'd done it before. But he wasn't yet sure what it was that had Varric on his guard.

Llomerryn was far from the Chantry, but not far from slavers. Slavers, or Vints who would recognize the markings of a rare prize from their homeland, or mercenaries unscrupulous enough to try their luck selling a fancy glow-elf to the highest bidder. Varric didn't have his web of influence here, only a few scant tendrils of information and contacts, substantial though those connections were, and it made him uneasy.

"Not on your life, porcupine." Varric bid Isabela and Merrill goodbye (until they could meet up at some form of lodgings later) and, together with Fenris, found their way to the Merchant's Guild.

As predicted, they found help there, in the form of some distant relative or another who was all too happy to help the scion of House Tethras. They got free room and board for the three of them, and Varric saw to writing a pile of important letters that needed to go to Kirkwall. The tricky part would be getting his affairs in Kirkwall in order, and having some of his belongings retrieved, without alerting anybody important to their new whereabouts. In the end, he wrote to Aveline herself, instructing the Guard Captain on what to send - from his belongings as well as Fenris's and Merrill's - and who to send it with.

It was a week or so before they started feeling settled. They knew it would probably be a month before they got any replies. With those replies would come news, personal effects, and Varric's ability to reestablish contact with his business network outside the Merchant's Guild. The Guild helped him get certain things done; he had no doubt about his ability to run certain businesses from Rivain.

However, much else remained uncertain. While things were uncertain, he couldn't be sure of his ability to make sure Fenris stayed untouched. In Kirkwall, he had been a powerful, connected, wealthy deshyr, one of the richest men in the city. Nobody fucked with the people he cared about. Here, he was just one more dwarf businessman in a city full of liars and thieves better than he.

The worry was writ large on his face as he sat on his third cousin's balcony, overlooking the city below. Varric rarely slept anymore, ate little, and wrote often. He had taken to resisting any attempts to get him into the city below, save what he needed to do for business, and didn't like seeing Merrill or Fenris go without him. They were so small, so frail next to the hulking, unscrupulous pirates and traders of Llomerryn- how easily two elves, or one, could be lost in the fray.

He sat, and stared, and worried his signet ring until he thought the metal would smooth over.

Fenris had watched Llomerryn from a distance for the first while. Trained eyes had showed him those who thought they ran things - and then those who really did. He now knew which three Vashoth, which two Qunari, which six Carta dwarves, and more were the ones that needed to be watched.

And through it all, he had spotted one very clever elf who kept private, running her own spy ring throughout the city. It was she he had gone to speak to, careful but confident, and though she'd denied it at first, he had left and come back with one of her higher agents. That was when she'd agreed to work with him, and sent along a contract that he'd yet to sign.

He'd learned to read. He hadn't, however, learned to spot every loophole.

The contract was in his bag full of groceries when he walked into the sitting room where he knew he would find Varric. "I've brought lamb for dinner," he said, "with plums and mint jelly. And some surprisingly good Fereldan turnips."

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