Marian Hawke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unyieldingly) wrote2013-06-08 08:48 pm
unyieldingly) wrote2013-06-08 08:48 pm
Entry tags:
how pathetic is hawke
It's been no less than three weeks since Carver has gone with the Wardens. The memory of his face doesn't want to fade, no matter how many nights you sleep, no matter what other horrors you may witness every day. Nothing will take it from your thoughts and no job you undertake will wipe the slate clean.
Mother is too distracted by her relentless meetings with the Viscount, going every day to the Keep to petition for her old estate. You hear her cry at night when your uncle has left and you imagine she thinks you don't hear her.
Days blend together. It's a string of disappointments and waiting on Varric's buyers. You take whatever jobs you can to stow the pain away, to save whatever coin you can that doesn't go to feed yourself and your mother.
"You could always be paying rent," Gamlen mutters to you one night when he finds you out on his front steps, watching the twilight become dawn.
"Do I need to remind you who lost the estate in the first place?" you ask back, rolling your eyes.
To save himself, he holds up his hands. "Find a real job, girl," he says, and for a moment, you suppose he really does want for your best interest. "The Rose is always hiring." And, just like that, you remember why your uncle is the biggest sleaze you know.
The Hanged Man is much more suited to your mood the following afternoon. Varric comps your drink, as always, ushering you up to his suite.
"Still stuck on...what happened, huh." He doesn't like to mention it or linger on the memory much, either. Bartrand's still missing, the rat. "I've got a buyer for one of the artifacts we found. We're looking at least fifteen sovereigns."
It's the best news you've heard all week. "How soon?"
"At least another few weeks. He's waiting on a curator who can assess it." Varric takes a long sip of his whiskey. "Cheap. He knows damn well it's worth it. But you know how people are."
You cover your head with your hands. "That's too long, though. I'm running out of big errands to perform. They're going to start asking me to juggle for the Templars soon."
He snorts. "You need to relax. I've got you covered." You give him a wary eye. "I owe you, Hawke. I owe you my damn life, remember. If it'd just been me and my brother down there, who knows where I'd be. That last leg of the journey would've been disastrous without you and Blondie."
He gets a small smile, the first you've given in weeks. "Go take a night off," he advises. "Go see someone at the Rose."
Oh, yes, that'll be the day.
But near to dusk, that's where you are. Gamlen won't be there for at least another few hours. You could sneak in, sneak right back out...
Why in the Maker's name are you sneaking? It's perfectly reasonable for you to go wandering here. Isabela would approve!
...Maybe you should go.
You hem and haw for at least another ten minutes before something gives and you wander inside.
Madame Lusine is in the back and you slip in easily enough, asking to see the only person who's name you actually know in the damn place. The woman at the desk gestures to the side room upstairs.
When you enter, Jethann turns and gives you one of his brightest smiles. He's an attractive elf - an attractive man, all around - and he fixes you with enough charm that could stagger a cart horse. "Hawke! It's good to see you."
"Likewise. You'd disappeared for a while there," you comment, though you don't close the door. Maybe you can slip out and make it seem like you were just here on business.
He gives a half-hearted shrug. "I... I needed the time off, frankly," he says, the lilt to his voice fading, the spark in his eye gone. "It's been a rough few weeks."
You frown. "I know. I'm sorry." It seems wrong of you to have come here now, with someone else's wounds also fresh. "Jethann--"
"It's fine!" he exclaims, but his voice cracks and he glances away. "It's just..." And the dam cracks with a shake of his head. "Oh, Ninette. She was a gem! Who would ever want to hurt her?" he cries, looking frustrated, crushed, little pink blotches at the side of his eyes. He huffs, pacing away from you. "It's... I'm sorry. This isn't like me."
But you see there, in his eyes, the same sort of pain you know you've had for weeks as well. And you turn and click the door shut.
"Hawke?"
With some sense of finality, you set a few coins on the end table and then go to sit on the bed. You gesture to your side. "Sit. Talk to me about it."
He shakes his head. "Madame Lusine would be furious. I'm supposed to be--"
"So long as she has her payment, what does it matter?"
There's silence and you see him considering, weighing his options. It's a gamble for him too, you realize; she could have him shoved out for such unprofessional behavior. Or worse. The life of an elf is much harder than a human's.
After a moment, he nods, and comes to sit beside you.
* * *
"I'm home, darling," you murmur as you come in the door. Your dog pounces on you immediately, whimpering for you to come down to his level and give him enough attention to compensate for your time away. "Poor thing. Did you miss me?"
He lolls his tongue at you as you rub his stomach. With a sigh, you prop your chin in your hand and proceed to scratch down his sternum. "I went to the Rose today," you tell him, and he perks his head at you. "...I ended up consoling the man I paid for a night."
With a whine, he licks your face. The sympathy only makes you groan. "Even my own dog realizes how pathetic I am," you mutter.
Mother is too distracted by her relentless meetings with the Viscount, going every day to the Keep to petition for her old estate. You hear her cry at night when your uncle has left and you imagine she thinks you don't hear her.
Days blend together. It's a string of disappointments and waiting on Varric's buyers. You take whatever jobs you can to stow the pain away, to save whatever coin you can that doesn't go to feed yourself and your mother.
"You could always be paying rent," Gamlen mutters to you one night when he finds you out on his front steps, watching the twilight become dawn.
"Do I need to remind you who lost the estate in the first place?" you ask back, rolling your eyes.
To save himself, he holds up his hands. "Find a real job, girl," he says, and for a moment, you suppose he really does want for your best interest. "The Rose is always hiring." And, just like that, you remember why your uncle is the biggest sleaze you know.
The Hanged Man is much more suited to your mood the following afternoon. Varric comps your drink, as always, ushering you up to his suite.
"Still stuck on...what happened, huh." He doesn't like to mention it or linger on the memory much, either. Bartrand's still missing, the rat. "I've got a buyer for one of the artifacts we found. We're looking at least fifteen sovereigns."
It's the best news you've heard all week. "How soon?"
"At least another few weeks. He's waiting on a curator who can assess it." Varric takes a long sip of his whiskey. "Cheap. He knows damn well it's worth it. But you know how people are."
You cover your head with your hands. "That's too long, though. I'm running out of big errands to perform. They're going to start asking me to juggle for the Templars soon."
He snorts. "You need to relax. I've got you covered." You give him a wary eye. "I owe you, Hawke. I owe you my damn life, remember. If it'd just been me and my brother down there, who knows where I'd be. That last leg of the journey would've been disastrous without you and Blondie."
He gets a small smile, the first you've given in weeks. "Go take a night off," he advises. "Go see someone at the Rose."
Oh, yes, that'll be the day.
But near to dusk, that's where you are. Gamlen won't be there for at least another few hours. You could sneak in, sneak right back out...
Why in the Maker's name are you sneaking? It's perfectly reasonable for you to go wandering here. Isabela would approve!
...Maybe you should go.
You hem and haw for at least another ten minutes before something gives and you wander inside.
Madame Lusine is in the back and you slip in easily enough, asking to see the only person who's name you actually know in the damn place. The woman at the desk gestures to the side room upstairs.
When you enter, Jethann turns and gives you one of his brightest smiles. He's an attractive elf - an attractive man, all around - and he fixes you with enough charm that could stagger a cart horse. "Hawke! It's good to see you."
"Likewise. You'd disappeared for a while there," you comment, though you don't close the door. Maybe you can slip out and make it seem like you were just here on business.
He gives a half-hearted shrug. "I... I needed the time off, frankly," he says, the lilt to his voice fading, the spark in his eye gone. "It's been a rough few weeks."
You frown. "I know. I'm sorry." It seems wrong of you to have come here now, with someone else's wounds also fresh. "Jethann--"
"It's fine!" he exclaims, but his voice cracks and he glances away. "It's just..." And the dam cracks with a shake of his head. "Oh, Ninette. She was a gem! Who would ever want to hurt her?" he cries, looking frustrated, crushed, little pink blotches at the side of his eyes. He huffs, pacing away from you. "It's... I'm sorry. This isn't like me."
But you see there, in his eyes, the same sort of pain you know you've had for weeks as well. And you turn and click the door shut.
"Hawke?"
With some sense of finality, you set a few coins on the end table and then go to sit on the bed. You gesture to your side. "Sit. Talk to me about it."
He shakes his head. "Madame Lusine would be furious. I'm supposed to be--"
"So long as she has her payment, what does it matter?"
There's silence and you see him considering, weighing his options. It's a gamble for him too, you realize; she could have him shoved out for such unprofessional behavior. Or worse. The life of an elf is much harder than a human's.
After a moment, he nods, and comes to sit beside you.
"I'm home, darling," you murmur as you come in the door. Your dog pounces on you immediately, whimpering for you to come down to his level and give him enough attention to compensate for your time away. "Poor thing. Did you miss me?"
He lolls his tongue at you as you rub his stomach. With a sigh, you prop your chin in your hand and proceed to scratch down his sternum. "I went to the Rose today," you tell him, and he perks his head at you. "...I ended up consoling the man I paid for a night."
With a whine, he licks your face. The sympathy only makes you groan. "Even my own dog realizes how pathetic I am," you mutter.