Varric Tethras can't stand holding back the truth about Marian Hawke after the Inquisitor leaves her in the Fade to die. What he can't stand more is no one is trying to get her back. With the assistance of friends in surprising places, he fights in...
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Goodbye...Blondie.
Should he have said that before he killed him? Nah. It wasn't him. No need. But the demon was right. Through him is the only way forward. Where ever he finished dying off to, in his place opened a door, not like an Eluvian, more portal-ly. He'll think of a better name for it later. Varric (approaches), no longer hearing his boots hit ground. The portal stretches and turns and strains across the arena, transforming what is empty and bright into enclosed and dark. Varric continues the walk, stepping along flat ground until it's uneven and bumpy. Large pebbles replace the floor—they illuminate carved runes as he passes over. Then, they catch a heatless fire, and his lit path shoots ahead and brings the entire floor to life. A short, hooded being stands among them in the distance, underneath a looming shadow that manifests into the tallest tree Varric's ever seen, trapped in a cliffside overseeing the runestones that travel upward, and space apart until the last one faintly lights at the top. The wall of twinkling runes activates the roots of the tree. Like blood, the light green glow courses along the veins of the bark, and turn on dozens of hanging eggs, shelled and transparent, held up by nets of vines—all empty, except one.
His tongue shrivels in his desert throat, his heart hammers his diaphragm, he doesn't feel himself run—he soars to her.
"Hawke!"
His cry bounces off the cliff. He wouldn't miss if he shot her down, but what if it breaks, then she breaks? What if he can't catch her? He rips out a dagger from its sheath—throw it? No. Climbing pick? No.
The short hood hasn't moved until now.
Varric decelerates and stops just underneath the egg, craning his neck. Hawke floats unconscious or, optimistically, sleeping with her bare body curled, knees to her chest, and arms locked around her legs.
"You," Varric says. "Friend, foe. I don't care. How do I get her down?"
The hooded man picks up a rune to examine it. He turns slightly and the rune illuminates his face. He's older now, but the indistinguishable eyes belong to Bodahn Feddic's son.
"Holy shit," Varric says.
Sandal. "Hello."
"What happened to Hawke?"
"Not enchantment."
"Did you do this?"
"The old lady isn't scary anymore."
"Why is that?"
"She gave me friends."
"Friends like...Feynriel?"
"I like Feynriel." He twirls the rune palm-to-palm.
"What's not to like besides the obvious?" Varric huffs.
"Hawke cannot be freed," Sandal says.
His head swells with heat and the eggs fade as corners of his sight grow black.
