At Your Side (A Dragon Age fanfiction)

Green Finch and Linnet Bird

Varric stretched his legs out toward the fire with a sigh. Life was good. Following Hawke gave him something interesting to do every day; he was earning money toward the expedition, which kept Bartrand out of his hair; and the promise of riches hung before him, just waiting for him to step into the darkness and pluck them from the depths. So what if he couldn't seem to keep himself from concocting elaborate fantasies about a certain sweet elf? Fantasies never hurt anyone, and Varric knew better than to imagine they would ever come true.

The unusual quiet was an interesting change of pace, he thought. Hawke had taken Bethany and Aveline with her to go be witnesses at some duel Isabela had set up. Varric wasn't sure he'd have chosen that particular grouping, but he'd have liked to be a fly accompanying the ladies to hear what they talked about. Isabela and Aveline were an amusingly toxic combination. Anders was no doubt in his clinic, and Varric hadn't seen either Fenris or Merrill tonight. It was a good bet they weren't anywhere together, though.

He signaled Norah for a refill. As usual, she ignored him. Sighing, Varric got to his feet, glaring menacingly at the other patrons to make sure no one took his cushy seat near the fire. He went to the bar, waiting for Corff to finish filling a set of tankards for the group of off-duty guardsmen singing bawdy songs in the back.

As he stood there, the door opened. Varric glanced over automatically, hoping it would be Hawke. A quiet evening couldn't compare to one spent drinking with his best friend, after all. He lost interest when he saw it was just the Hanged Man's chatty regular, Rigby. Varric handed his tankard across the bar to Corff, listening to Rigby's monologue—addressed to the room in general—only out of habit.

"—and they've got some knife-ear cornered. Looked like the one always in here with that Hawke," Rigby was saying. "Serves her right, you ask me, wandering where she shouldn't be—"

Wandering where she shouldn't be? Varric's fingers loosened on the handle of the tankard, dropping it and sloshing ale over the bar. Oblivious to Corff's annoyed shout, Varric hurried across the tavern to Rigby. He grabbed a handful of the man's shirt, pulling his head down to Varric's level. "Where is she?" Varric asked.

"She who?" Rigby looked confused.

"The elf! Where is she?" Varric gripped Rigby's shirt more tightly.

"Alley. 'Round the corner. To the left," Rigby gasped as the shirt tightened around his throat. Varric let him go and Rigby staggered, nearly falling, as Varric turned and rushed out of the tavern.

He cursed his short legs as he ran, wishing for once to be a tall human, able to eat up the space with long strides. Varric heard light footsteps behind him, and turned his head to see Fenris. He hadn't even known the elf was in the Hanged Man, much less that he could be counted on for a rescue mission. "Didn't know you cared, elf," he said.

"I do not. But Hawke does."

At any other time, Varric would have followed that conversational path—any opportunity to pry details out of the close-mouthed elf was not to be passed up. But right now he was just glad to have Fenris at his back.

They arrived at the alley, and Varric felt a chill spread through him as he heard Merrill's voice. "Please, just give me my staff back."

There were four of them, ranged across the alley entrance, cutting off any chance she had to escape. Two others lay on the ground amidst piles of dirt and thorny vines, overpowered by Merrill's magic before her staff had been taken from her. As Varric and Fenris came up behind them, one of the men was saying, "Now, little mage, you play nice, or I'll have my friend here smite you again. You don't want that, do you?"