was listening to the Disco Elysium soundtrack (video link to song) and thinking about Kirkwall, as one does. 1500 words, just a small thing about love.
...
“Hey.”
The call didn’t pull her from her staring across the city, eyes focused past the facade of Hightown. Lights gleamed on the dark water, but they were pale reflections of the glow of Hightown, like the ocean revealed the truth of that fragile and bitter shell of respectability and power. Her eyes weren’t there, but deeper, into a place where the darkness of the water swallowed any light, where crumbling cliffside walks and hollowed homes clung desperately to what remained in hope of survival.
The real heart of the city, where she’d lived when things were hopeful.
Down there it was poor and dirty, people living on the edge of starvation, but that was when her life had been happy. Well, no. Happier. Varric wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her genuinely, only happy…while sober.
“What does it mean anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Varric said to Hawke, leaning up against the railing next to her.
“Something has to plug this hole in me that seems to keep losing things drip by drip. But I can’t seem to. I feel so hollowed out.”
“You’re the one with all the platitudes. Do you want me to pull them out? Sometimes it can be good to hear things you already know, I’ve heard.” He smiled, faintly, at the blank sidelong look she gave him. “No. Not me, huh?”
Her chin fell into her hand, and then she winced at the contact with the wound on her neck and jerked back. The blood on her fingers didn’t gleam as she stared at them in the moonlight, it was dried, dark. Old. “Platitudes don’t work unless one of us believes in them.”
“I know what optimism is, at least.”
“I don’t,” she said, a quaver in her voice, a splinter of pain that hurt too much for her to feel the full truth right now.
“Sorry, Hawke. One of us has to be the optimist, and I already called ‘not it’.”
She fell into silence, so they just watched the city and its lights for a while. Lights that gleamed across the feet of the statues of slaves standing sentinel in the harbor, chained forever to the city that had slaughtered them. The bridges, the pits, the quarries. The statues.
“Weep,” the statues said to the refugees who had come here seeking hope. “Weep, because your suffering has only begun.”
But her eyes weren’t on the statues. They never were. She said it was because they made her too angry, and bad things happened when she was angry. Varric knew it was true. She’d lost too much to not be a dangerous person, and with Bethany gone…
No, Hawke didn’t look at the statues, and she didn’t look at Hightown, or even its reflection in the water. She looked at the dark places, the pits, the quarries. The places where there were grooves in the roads to carry the blood of slaves. The places where people still died for no reason.
No reason at all.
Hawke breathed in, reaching up and wiping dry eyes. “She said I made her proud. But that was bullshit. Because I knew…I knew if she hadn’t died, in the next breath she would have turned around and made it my fault. And– and now that she’s not here, that’s the only voice I hear. The one blaming me.”
“Leandra was a complicated woman. It’s hard. Having a mother who can’t seem to give you what you need.” Varric braced his hand against her lower back, and she leaned in towards him.
“Maker. I know you’re not talking about your feelings because you’re incapable of it, but please don’t let this be a metaphor, either.”
There it was.
The spark, the little light that never seemed to go out. The grace of humor. Who could live in Kirkwall without it? This whole place was just one of the Maker’s funny little jokes, after all. But, well…she was right.
“Sorry. It’s a metaphor.”
“Shit, Varric.”
They laughed together, bitter and sweet, staring down at the city that seemed to go on forever, deeper and deeper into the desecrated earth. It should have been rotten to the core. But it wasn’t.
There were people down there who were living, despite it all.
To spite it all.
“Love is…complicated. Or so they tell me. Especially love for our parents.”
“It’s like I can’t think about her without resenting her, and that’s not what I want for my memory. That’s not what I want for my life.”
“Give it time. It’ll get better.”
“Ah,” she said quietly, voice holding a rasp of weariness. “Platitudes. But no. Love is…love isn’t complicated at all, Varric.”
“No?”
Hawke shook her head, eyes finally shifting, gazing slowly across the cliff face in the distance, higher and higher. “No. It’s everything else. I wanted to be– be a dam.”
“A damn what?”
Hawke smiled reluctantly. “A damn hero. I wanted to be the one to hold back the tide, but I’m…”
“Full of holes?” he guessed.
“Full of holes,” she agreed, chin dropping, eyes falling. “And the things that escape only ever seem to hurt the people I care about, and I– is it worth it? To lose everything to keep this place from being washed out into the sea? Is it worth it? Should I let them drown?”
They both fell silent as he tried to think of what to say. His instincts said no, but was that for her, or for him? He never knew. Usually, his instincts led him in that direction, and that was fine, it was smart, but…that wasn’t good enough.
Not for Hawke.
“It is,” she said to herself, and to him. “And you have to promise to believe it, for me. I know it goes against…against who you are, and what you care about. I know. You look to your people first, and damn the world, but…I just can’t do it, Varric. If you really are my friend, you’ll do it for me. Believe it when I can’t, that this is all worth it.”
“Well, I am a pretty good liar,” he acknowledged, not really comfortable with what she was asking of him. “You can’t badger people into belief, Hawke, trust me. It doesn’t end well.”
And she knew that, because she gave him a sidelong smile that held a shadow of the wicked mischief that would crop up at the worst possible time. “You believe in things beyond your friends. You just don’t want to. But you’ll do this for me. Because if I’m gone–”
“Come on, stop it,” he interrupted her, discomfort growing worse. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened, holding onto the back of her shirt.
“Because if I’m gone, I know you’ll protect them for me. And you’ll love them. Because love…love is the easy part, Varric.” She didn’t wipe her eyes this time, and they stayed dry apart from a single tear that gathered in the corner and never fell. Her eyes were back on the city, the edge of a smile on her lips. “It’s everything else that’s hard.”
It brought up things he didn’t want to think about, not here. Not now. She was already going through so much, and it wasn’t like his life was ever going to get unknotted, so…what was the point? It wasn’t about him.
It was about her.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“And miss the soiree at Lord What’s-His-Face’s?” she asked with playful sarcasm. Her voice lowered, bitterness creeping back in. “Yeah. I want to get the hell out of here.”
He pulled back and extended his hand to her, and she took it, pushing away from the railing. Leading her out of Hightown and back to the pits and quarries, they walked side by side with the ocean crashing below, a darkness that swallowed the lights of Lowtown. Back into the darkness; home.
In the distance, above it all, centuries-old statues of weeping slaves heralded the fate of those who dared to live and love in Kirkwall. Pain, suffering, death. Why had he ever thought they could escape that fate? Why had he ever thought she could?
But even if he wanted to condemn the damn place for everything it had done to her, everything it had taken…
He couldn’t.
It was his fault, not the city; that was what had betrayed her in the end. He’d done everything in his power to save her, to keep the world from consuming her whole, but he couldn’t do it. In the end, it had him. When their eyes had met for just a moment at the end, he hadn’t seen blame, or regret, or pain and suffering.
Only love.
And so he took her burden onto his shoulders and went home to try and find a way to save her city. It wasn’t going to be easy. The place was rotten to the core and cleaning it up would take more than his lifetime, but damned if Varric wasn’t going to try. Because he loved her, and she loved Kirkwall. And Kirkwall...loved her.
He could take care of the rest.
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