Archive of Our Own ^beta

“And it’s Twiddle ee ai dee ai dee ai
Twiddle ee ai dee ei
It’s often times a man will leave you broken with dismay
And it’s twiddle ee ai dee ai dee ai
Twiddle ee ai dee ei
There’s other things to twiddle when the men have sailed away… ”

“Y’know, Norah should get singers in here more often,” he comments, nodding his head toward the group of young women standing in a cleared-out corner to sing for the tavern patrons. The Hanged Man is quiet this evening, aside from the music, which… honestly, he prefers. He’s been in here so much over the past few years that he’s greeted by name by just about every regular patron present at the bar as soon as he walks in, and while that sometimes feels warm and inviting, it gets old quickly. It got old even before his public anointing as the Champion of Kirkwall. His company — the nearest of them, anyhow — doesn’t make any particular noise in agreement or in disagreement: he’s taken a drink, it sounds like, since he can hear quiet sipping noises. Since he doesn’t get an answer right away, Hawke shrugs and leans back against the counter. “Really livens up the place.”

There’s a rather loud gulp of a swallow. “I guess so.”

“You just guess so?” he teases. “What, you don’t think it’s nicer in here with some singing?”

“It doesn’t make much of a difference to me either way, I…”

“There was a time when Rouge she found the sailor men a bore
Each new one was more tiresome than the one she had before
Now she finds more joy in breeches than she ever did of old
I’m more fond of their bulges when they’re pouches full of gold… ”

“… okay, maybe you’re right,” the other mage chuckles. “That’s funny.”

“I mean yeah, of course it’s funny.” Hawke snorts, and takes a long drink, all through the chorus of the song, which he just now notices is… not the rhythmic “nonsense” that he originally thought it was. He’s no prude, neither of them are and for the most part, their circle of friends really isn’t either: Aveline and Merrill are the closest to prudes of the whole bunch. Merrill doesn’t always catch the joke right away (she’s getting good at it, but she’s still got work to do on that front), and Aveline insists there’s just a time and place for certain things. But it always catches him off-guard, to varying degrees, when things are unexpectedly raunchy. Not in a bad way, it just makes him laugh more than it probably should at his age. He’s only human, after all: a dick joke out of nowhere is always funny. “But I thought it was just a catchy song. When’d they start talking about bulges ?”

“Garrett, it’s a sea shanty,” Anders explains. “At least, I think it is. You’re not used to Isabela yet?”

“What—no, I’ve been on a ship, I know what a sea shanty is. They’re work songs. Sailors kinda sing them to keep in step with each other when they’re doing work that needs a team. The dockworkers do it too. They’re the only kind of songs they’re allowed to sing on ships since sailors believe singing is bad luck. And anyway, this probably isn’t actually a sea shanty, it sounds like one. They don’t usually have instruments, especially on a ship,” he defends. Maker, he sounds kind of like Merrill when she gets going on Dalish culture or creative uses for blood magic. Or, hell, Aveline when someone brings up an obscure law, or is wrong about something regarding the Templars. Neither of which are bad things, he’s never annoyed with them when they do that, but he just never sounds like that. “And I’ve never even heard Isabela actually sing one, she just hums them to cheat at Name That Tune because Aveline, Merrill, and Fenris don’t know any sea shanties and Carver doesn’t know that many.”

“Ooh, don’t let her hear you insulting her integrity! You might hurt her feelings,” his companion whispers, conspiratorial. “And she might run off with another sacred cultural artifact! Kirkwall’s running out of respected military leaders for you to fight, who knows if you’d ever get her back?”

“Hey, that was… complicated,” Hawke cautions, though even he hears the way his voice nearly cracks in Isabela’s defense. Complicated, yeah, most things about Isabela are complicated. He clears his throat before he continues speaking. “Be nice.”

“I’m nice, I’m nice!” Anders laughs. He takes another drink, and slings an arm across Hawke’s shoulders. But then, he sighs. “I just… I don’t know if I’m alright with her hanging around like nothing happened.”

“Well…” He ducks out from under Anders’ arm to look back toward the rest of their party. Carver is staring intently at his cards, looking worried against Varric and Isabela’s easy confidence, but Merrill is peering at Isabela’s hand and giggling. It seems she and Fenris have folded, and she’s watching Isabela play. Maybe to learn her strategy. She’s their best bet, after all: Varric just seems to be naturally lucky and Carver refuses to let anyone “cheat.” It’s funny, he’ll fight dirty in battle — and when someone else eats the last sugar cake, he’s still got a scar on the side of his head from the last time they’d roughhoused over that: Carver never got quite so physical with Bethany, though. Maybe some sort of twin bias. But somehow, he won’t let someone who’s folded their hand watch his. “First off, it’s not ‘like nothing happened.’ Isabela and I talked about what happened. And secondly, nobody else seems to mind. Not Merrill, not Fenris, not even Aveline. I’ve talked to them about her too.”

“Yes, not now, but… you know how attached Merrill is to her. She’ll be devastated if Isabela leaves again.”

“Isabela is not leaving again, Anders,” he insists. “That was a complicated situation, she had some stuff to think about. She’s back now, and she’s staying.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” Hawke returns his attention to his drink, finishes it and raises his hand for another with a sigh. “Let’s not talk about bad business right now, okay? I’d just like to enjoy our time together, please. Before I have to go back to being the bloody Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Fine, fine.” Anders doesn’t put his arm back across Hawke’s shoulders, but he does rest his elbows on the bar. Does lean in a bit closer to put his head on Hawke’s shoulder. “And, ah… do you get right back to that when you step outside, or does it start back up in the morning?”

“Mm, could start tomorrow morning,” he concedes. There’s a smile spreading across his face that he can’t really help. He knows where this is going. Or, at least he hopes he does. “Maybe even tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s a shorter walk to Darktown than Hightown from here anyway: trouble might not find you as easily there.”

“Trouble always finds me,” he counters with a laugh. “It’s a bloody curse.”

Anders laughs with him. “At least it finds you well.”

“Trouble, am I?” comes Varric’s voice from behind them. It makes Hawke jump and upset their drinks, but Anders saves them several coppers with a raised hand. The glasses set themselves back down on the bar, unspilled. “What happened to bringing us a pitcher for the table?”

“Did we say we were doing that?” Hawke asks. He genuinely can’t remember and he trusts Varric not to lie to him and say they did when they didn’t. “Oops.”

“We did say we’d do that,” Anders admits. He turns over his shoulder, waving to Norah and calling for not one, but two pitchers. Then, he returns his attention to Varric. “Sorry. Got sidetracked.”

“Hey, don’t apologize to me, Isabela’s the one who noticed we were out of drinks,” Varric laughs. He leans up a little to call over the bar. “Can I also get another hot cocoa and a pomegranate juice?”

Once the pitchers and the other requested drinks are filled and placed on the bar, it’s Hawke that takes the pitchers as he and Anders rise from their stools, Anders taking the cocoa and the juice. The juice is probably Carver’s, but he’s not sure who the cocoa is for. Varric, meanwhile, slides a handful of coppers across the counter to Norah for the drinks and her trouble. The three of them make their way over to their party then as the singers continue their crooning.

“‘I’ll sing you a song,’ this fair maid did cry
This captain was weeping for joy, oh
She sang it so sweetly, so soft and completely
She sang captain and sailors to sleep, oh
Captain and sailors to sleep… ”

“Found the alcohol!” Varric announces as they return to the table, to which Isabela crows an exaggerated “thank the Maker!” Hawke sets the pitchers down in the center of the table, while Anders holds up his cargo. Merrill squeals and snatches the cocoa way too quickly, she nearly splashes not only Anders and herself, but Isabela in her haste. With the drinks passed out, they take their seats, and Isabela tosses out the next round of cards. The first couple of rounds are played with little fanfare, just the expected sounds of frustration and disappointment whenever someone folds. Merrill, then Fenris, then Carver, then Anders.

“Oh, the men, they were mad and the men, they were sad
They were deeply sunk down in despair, oh
To see her go away with her booty so gay
The rings and her things and her fine fare, oh
The rings and her things and her fine fare… ”

And then comes the Angel of Death, and when they turn out their hands… of course, it’s Isabela snatching the bowl they’d been placing their coins into off the center of the table to empty into her purse, leaving Varric and Hawke to throw down their own cards with nearly-in-unison cries of “damn it!” Merrill cackles at this, of course, though it ceases when the desk is passed to her to deal from. And again, as they go around the table, as cards are dealt and discarded, nearly the exact same few fold again. First Fenris this time, tossing his cards down so roughly they flutter across the table and onto the empty stretch of bench across from him, though despite their closeness to the singers, this display doesn’t stall their song.

“Well, don’t be so sad and sunk down in despair
And you should have known me before, oh …”

Then Anders.

“I sang you to sleep and I robbed you of wealth
Well, again I’m a maid on the shore, shore, shore… ”

Then Carver.

“Again I’m a maid on the shore …”

And then, Merrill. Which leaves Hawke to finally turn out the Angel of Death. Varric takes the pool this time, prompting a disappointed cry from Isabela’s little cheerleader. As penance for losing so egregiously, Isabela is sent next to the bar to refill their pitchers and get Merrill a new cup of cocoa — Hawke is figuring out, slowly but surely, that the cocoa is spiked and Merrill is tipsy. Fenris deals the next hand without Isabela, and the next round is shockingly quick, quick enough that Carver takes it by nothing but sheer luck. By the time Isabela has sat back down with the new pitchers, Varric is dealing the next hand, and the bards are roughly two verses into their next song.

“Well I guess it shocked her, she did not know what to say
Then she said ‘That’s impossible, it doesn’t work that way’
‘I’ll demonstrate just what I got,’ was the pitch I gave
She nearly had a stroke, but she wasn’t quite that brave …”

“I swear, Norah must be watering this down,” Isabela laments, picking up her cards to examine them. She even shakes her head as she moves her cards around in her hand. “I should be far more drunk than I am right now.”

“How dare you make such a heinous accusation?” Varric demands in return, even managing to sound scandalized. “Norah is the best barmaid in Kirkwall, at least. Maybe even in the Free Marches! She would never!”

“Maybe you’re just getting used to the swill they serve here,” Carver finally chimes in, taking a long sip of his drink. He does seem to realize, though, that insulting the barkeep might also negatively impact his precious pomegranate juice. “… no offense, Norah.”

Hawke doesn’t hear the barmaid respond, but he’s now sure that anything he drinks out of this pitcher will be his last for the evening. He’s never known Norah to retaliate against rude commentary, but he won’t be taking any risks. Between Isabela and Carver, if the next pitcher has an extra additive, frankly he’ll accept that they deserve that. He’ll be tipping Norah a bit more on his way out, anyhow. As an apology.

There’s a sudden clatter, and a surprised gasp of “ack— Varric!” that draws Hawke’s attention, and he discovers Bianca on the floor behind Anders’ seat: it’s dawned on him that since Aveline hadn’t joined them, her seat had gone to Varric’s ever-present weapon. Apparently, Fenris had tried to put his feet up on (what he thought to be) the empty stretch of bench across from him and had, in the process, kicked Bianca to the ground. The loud sound had paused the bards, but they start their singing back up after only a brief moment; they’re probably used to sudden loud sounds in otherwise-quiet bars. Fenris, however, is gesturing to the empty space, while Varric stands up to retrieve Bianca. “You couldn’t mention that?”

“Not my fault you didn’t see her,” Varric replies. “You’re lucky I’m not gonna make you apologize to her.”

While they banter (Hawke wouldn’t call it bickering: there’s very little of that in their midst, most of the time) and Anders stands from his seat to fetch a replacement for the pitcher that had been knocked over by Fenris’ startle, Hawke tosses his cards back into the center of the table. He’s done playing for the night, but he’ll sit and watch, at least. It’s Carver that notices first, though, and he nods in his brother’s direction. “Are you heading out?”

“No, not yet. I’ll watch a few hands before I do.”

Carver nods, slides down the bench into Anders’ seat and pulls his juice with him. “Mind if I stay the night? I’ve gotta be back early, I’m not even supposed to have come out, but…”

“Yeah, sure. Plenty of room, Bodahn and Sandal don’t take up much space.”

“… it makes me happy that you’re not…” Carver frowns. “… alone up there, you know?”

“Please don’t try to talk about Mother right now. I really…” Don’t want to have this conversation with you after you blamed me for what happened. “… can’t talk about her right now.”

His brother is quiet for a moment. “Garrett, I know what I said. Wrote. I won’t say that I didn’t mean it, because I did. It’s exactly what I felt when I got the news. But… look, I know that you didn’t stand by and let it happen. I know you better than that: I know you wouldn’t have allowed that. And I know you would’ve done everything you could to stop it. So… I’m sorry about what I said.”

“… thank you.” Ah, he… did not want to talk about this. He appreciates the apology (those are rare from Carver) and he appreciates the honesty in it: he’d rather someone tell him exactly what’s going on, rather than pretend that he regrets something he doesn’t. “… your room’s still how you left it, by the way. If you wanted to take anything back with you. Just… don’t go into Mother’s room, please.”

“Got it.”

“Garrett?” He looks up at the call of his name to find Anders standing over him. He’s set a new pitcher down on the table, but hasn’t taken Carver’s empty seat. “Bit tired. Would you mind walking me home?”

“Sure.” Hawke finishes his drink and stands. “Night, all.”

“Night, kids.”

“G’night.”

“Good night!”

“Carver, let yourself in.” He glances toward Anders, who’s already started for the door. “Don’t wait up for me. Safe travels if you leave before I get home in the morning.”

“More information than I need, thanks.”