Chapter Text
The stench of sulfur hangs in the air. Men and women shout and scream while demons screech their fury to the sky. It’s too loud, too real after the nebulous uncertainty of the Fade which still clings to him like a nightmare.
Like the Nightmare.
Varric’s not sure what he expected when they stepped back into Adamant, but somehow the fighting has grown worse, the predicament more precarious. The only hope they’ve got left is to slam this rift closed right in the Nightmare Demon’s face and lock tall, dark, and creepy away from his minions. With any luck, that’ll solve all their problems.
They can use a bit of luck. They’ve earned it.
The rift sparks and crackles behind him. Bianca dips in his hands just after dropping a demon that’s come far too close to taking Solas’ head off. But when he looks behind him, his heart drops somewhere down into the Deep Roads.
Inquisitor Cadash stumbles through the rift. Alone.
Alone.
Varric always knew Hawke was writing a tragedy with her own fire and blood. She was too much, too bright, too volatile to survive in a world that was choking on her inferno.
He always knew she would break his heart.
“Hawke!” The sound tears itself from his throat, raw and wounded. “Where’s-”
Kenna looks up. Green eyes glittering with all of Hawke’s fury. All of her power. This is how the story ends. A new heroine rising from the ashes of the old.
Fuck that.
“Hawke!” he screams.
Kenna turns on one booted heel. Her hair is bright as the sun. She is small and young and he wants her dead. He wants to trade her for Hawke, would trade her in a heartbeat if only-
The rift hums. Kenna’s palm sparks. Varric blinks.
Hawke slips through the hole in the world like a wraith wreathed in flames from her dark hair to her clenched fists. She shares one look with Kenna, a look just as furious. Just as wounded.
They say nothing. Kenna curls her fingers into her palm. The rift slams closed on the Nightmare.
On the Warden.
Varric doesn’t care.
“Hawke,” he rasps.
Her smile is soft, blood red lips curling at the corner, eyes blue as the sky above them.
“Miss me?”
He has missed her every day since the moment he saw her in Lowtown, young and hungry, burdened by responsibility and brittle, and now…
She’s free. There’s a new hero to burn the world, a younger one, and Hawke can rest her wings while they hover parentally around the sidelines and talk about how it was back in their day.
“Maybe a little,” he admits. “But you know Bianca, she never misses.”
“Liar,” she huffs, spitting blood from her mouth. “You’re an insufferable liar, Varric. You and that crossbow are terrible.”
“We’ve got to have some drawbacks, Hawke.”
She dissolves into hysterical laughter. All is right in the world. She is where she belongs, with him right beside her.