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"I know it's been touch and go for a while," Varric says, taking a seat at the head of the table, "but I think Worthy may have finally lost his mind."
Hawke and Fenris both turn to look at him. Varric is pleased to note that, once again, he is more interesting than whatever they were previously discussing.
"So what tipped the scales?" Hawke asks, taking a swig of what is clearly not her first mug of ale for the afternoon. "Does he still think he's Anders' long lost brother?"
"Who's to say he's not?" Varric says and motions to Corff for his usual. "But no, this is much less plausible." He smiles, shaking his head in disbelief at the memory. "He's convinced you're dating the Arishok."
An awkward silence settles over the table. Fenris develops a sudden fascination with the bottom of his mug and Hawke rubs the back of her neck, not meeting Varric's eyes.
"Oh, no."
"Varric," Hawke begins.
"You're dating the Arishok?" As someone who prides himself on twists, Varric is somewhat devastated he didn't see this coming. "And you didn't tell me?"
"I feel like 'dating' may be overstating it," Hawke says. "The Arishok and I just occasionally spend time together. Alone. As adults."
Varric looks from Hawke to Fenris, registers the pained expression on Fenris' face, then looks back to Hawke. "You're..."
"Having sex," Hawke fills in.
"With the Arishok."
She nods. "Almost exclusively."
Varric didn't know it was physically possible for him to be rendered speechless but once again Hawke is full of surprises.
"When did this happen?" he says eventually, taking a gulp of ale as soon as Corff sets it down. "How did this happen? Why?"
"It isn't like I planned it," Hawke says. "You know me. I rarely plan anything."
She's not wrong there.
"I just don't understand how you got from arguing with him in front of his army to sleeping with him regularly," Varric says. "Even for you, that's quite a leap."
"Fenris helped," Hawke says cheerfully.
Varric glances over at Fenris. Fenris has the look of a man who's seen some shit.
"Are we talking in a hands-on capacity, or..."
"No!" Hawke wrinkles her nose. "Come on, Varric."
"Oh, right, because I'm the one making outlandish suggestions here," Varric says. "How did Fenris help you?"
"He translated," Hawke says.
Varric looks at Fenris with sympathy. "Not during, I hope."
"No, thankfully," Fenris says. There's a smirk on his lips as he leans back in his chair. "I have some... familiarity with qunari courting customs."
Varric does a double-take. "When did everyone decide to start sleeping with qunari?" he asks, mildly outraged. "Did I miss a meeting?"
"I did ask Anders to send a memo," Hawke says with feigned sincerity. "He must be slipping."
Across the table, Fenris rolls his eyes and returns to his drink. "I knew qunari on Seheron. I recognised the signs."
"Signs?" Varric leans forward, motivated by curiosity and the desire for literary accuracy in roughly equal measure. "I'm going to need details."
He's already got the novelisation half mapped out by the time Fenris takes another sip of his drink and explains, "As I understand it, qunari may sometimes choose to couple with humans."
"Or elves?" Varric adds with a grin. (The sequel begins to take shape.)
"Or dwarves," Fenris says pointedly. "It's typically based on respect. They have little interest in those outside the Qun, aside from conversion or conquest, but they may sometimes couple with individuals they hold in particularly high esteem."
After nearly four years of working together, it doesn't take long for Varric to translate. "So what you're telling me is that the Arishok respects Hawke enough to want to sleep with her."
"Essentially," Fenris says and returns to his drink.
Varric shakes his head in disbelief. "I can't decide if this is the best day of my life or the most traumatic."
Hawke pats him on the shoulder. "Who's to say it can't be both?"
Varric takes solace in ale before asking, "How long has it been going on?"
Hawke looks to Fenris. "A month maybe?"
Fenris nods. "Closer to two."
"And you didn't think to tell me?" Varric puts a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Hawke. I'm hurt."
"I haven't told anyone," Hawke points out. "Other than Fenris."
"And Worthy," Varric says. "I know Fenris has the 'favourite elf' mantle in the bag but I'm not even your favourite dwarf now? This is so much betrayal to process in one day."
"You're always my favourite dwarf," Hawke promises. "And not just because I've already put three drinks on your tab today."
"You do remember you're rich now? You have a whole mansion."
"I'm not going to pay for a drink with a mansion," she says. "What kind of maniac do you think I am?"
Varric can't help but smile in spite of himself. "I'm glad to see you're still incredibly cheap."
"I told you wealth wouldn't change me," she says, grinning. "I assure you, Worthy finding out was not intentional. He was delivering supplies to the qunari compound and just happened to be there when the Arishok and I were... interacting."
Varric groans.
"As you see," Fenris says, "knowledge is more of a burden than a benefit in this situation."
"I'm beginning to get that," Varric says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you planning on telling anyone else?"
"Not really," Hawke says. "I haven't quite figured out how to slip it into conversation."
"'Sure, Viscount, I'll deal with today's qunari problem by having a friendly talk with the Arishok in bed'?" Varric shrugs. "Just a suggestion."
"He isn't much for talking," Hawke says. "Or friendliness. Or beds."
"I've gotta ask," Varric says, steeling himself with more ale, "does he have a tent or do you go to the mansion? Because if you've been smuggling him through Hightown, I need to re-evaluate your stealth skills. The man is not small."
Hawke sighs fondly. "No, he is not."
Varric wrinkles his nose. "That was unnecessary."
"I was agreeing!"
"Please agree less graphically," Varric says. "So is that a yes on the tents?"
"It's a very big tent," Hawke says. "There are chairs."
"You're a classy woman, Hawke."
Hawke beams. "I try."
He has more questions, so many varied, lurid and wholly inappropriate questions. However, since Fenris looks ready to drown himself in the nearest barrel of ale and Hawke's eyes have taken on a faraway look of pleased remembrance, he decides to call it quits for now.
(Maybe Hawke will give him some crucial literary insights into qunari anatomy when she's drunk.)
"Well," he says, raising his mug, "I hope the two of you are very happy together."
"Deliriously so," Hawke says, knocking her mug against his. "Thank you both for your support."
"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support your questionable love life," Varric says honestly. "Although please keep me updated on these things in future. I'll lose all credibility as an author if Worthy knows more about my hero than I do. Especially when she's hooking up with obvious secondary antagonists."
A decidedly guilty expression crosses Hawke's face.
Varric's heart sinks. "What?"
"Nothing! Nothing," Hawke says. Her cheeks turn pink as she rubs the back of her neck. "I may just need to talk to you at some point about me and Sister Petrice..."
+++
"This place is a cesspit."
Sprawled out on one of the Arishok's chairs, Hawke doesn't bother opening her eyes when she says, "I don't know. The cesspits I've seen usually have fewer cushions."
"I am not referring to my tent," the Arishok says, evidently aware of just how cosy his interior decorating is. "I speak of this place. How can you stand it? How can anyone allow this festering pustule of a city to continue?"
Hawke cracks an eye open and looks down to where the Arishok is currently situated between her thighs. Her legs are resting against his shoulders, her ankles slung over his horns, and she gives him a pat on the head as she says kindly, "Let's not talk about pustules during sex."
She lifts her hips by way of encouragement and relaxes with a sigh when he seems to take the hint. His mouth is hot against her, his tongue moving over her clit with solid, demanding strokes, and Hawke bites down on her lower lip with a moan. "Mm, much better."
He's good at this, big hands curling around her thighs to hold her open for his attentions, and Hawke writhes on the chair when his tongue flicks over her clit. Surrounded by eavesdropping qunari, it's an effort to stay quiet and she grips his hair with a stifled whimper.
The whimper becomes less stifled and more plaintive when the Arishok ceases his ministrations.
"It needn't be this way," he says.
It takes Hawke a moment to parse the words. "Oh. Do you want me to go on top?"
"No," the Arishok says. "I enjoy holding you down."
Always a fan of that arrangement, Hawke shrugs and settles back, spreading her knees wider in expectation.
"I meant this city," the Arishok says. Before Hawke can complain about his appalling lack of focus, he presses the pad of his thumb to her clit and rubs in just the way she likes. "I have never encountered such ill-discipline. Such wantonness."
"So much wantonness," Hawke says, thoroughly distracted by the pressure of his thumb. "Wantonness for days."
Her hands move to her breasts, finding her nipples through the fabric of her shirt, and she pinches tight in an effort to take the edge off. (Despite the Arishok's well-meaning offer the first time they did this, Hawke maintains that she does not need a spare qunari to play with her breasts while he goes down on her.)
The strokes of the Arishok's thumb are slow and deliberate and Hawke jerks in pleased surprise when he puts his mouth on her once more. Her thighs twitch involuntarily when he sucks hard on her clit and she lets out a shaky breath as he settles into firm, soothing licks. "Maker..."
The Arishok stops again.
Hawke can't help but feel this is some kind of divine punishment. Possibly for stealing half of Aveline's dessert the previous evening.
The Arishok looks up at her, brow creased in a frown. "You do not seem distressed by this."
If she's honest, Hawke has no idea what she's supposed to be distressed about, other than the fact that she's been in his tent for a good twenty minutes and hasn't come once yet. It's an outrage.
"Should I be distressed?" she tries.
"Things would not be this way under the Qun." He drags his knuckles down, running them purposefully against her. Willing to take whatever she can get at this point, Hawke cants her hips into the touch and sighs at even the meagre amount of friction. "We would bring sense to this madness."
"Sense is great!" Hawke says, with as much conversation-ending finality as she can muster. If she sounds a little unhinged, the Arishok doesn't comment on it. "Who doesn't love sense?"
The Arishok makes a low noise of disapproval.
Hawke would be more concerned about this if the vibrations from his grumble didn't feel quite so lovely.
His knuckles move lower and Hawke tips her head back with a whine when his finger comes to rest against her cunt. The claw situation limits their potential contact in this respect but the pressure of his bent finger at her entrance is an excellent accompaniment to his other attentions.
It's a prelude to getting fucked, a fractional penetration which leaves her desperate for the thick press of the Arishok's cock rather than his finger, and she pinches her nipples again as she arches in the chair. "Keep going."
"Perhaps I should be the one to bring order," the Arishok ponders.
Hawke sighs. "I didn't mean-"
"It will depend on what the Qun demands."
"Excellent," she says. "Wait and see is such a great strategy. In the meantime, does the Qun demand you finish up any time today?"
She's soaked already, only getting wetter as his finger continues to dip inside her, and she almost cries in relief when the Arishok lowers his head again. His expression couldn't in good conscience be termed a smile but he looks marginally less annoyed by life when he says, "That is a demand I would be pleased to meet."
"Thank Andraste," Hawke mutters.
Her breath comes out in a shaky rush when he leans in again. She can't help but tense in expectation of another interruption -- maybe about how bad most of Kirkwall's citizens smell or how foolish humans are for insisting on wearing shirts -- but when no interruption comes, she finds herself sliding down towards her release.
The tent is sweltering, the afternoon sun beating down on the canvas, and Hawke tips her head back for a breath of cool air. The Arishok's tongue is equally hot, the broad width of it pressed flat to her clit as he laps eagerly, and a shiver of pleasure runs through her as she hurtles towards a well-deserved climax.
He stops again before she gets there.
Hawke could literally kill a man.
"What-"
"If the Qun demanded I cleanse this city," the Arishok says, looking up at her, "I would not immediately seek to kill you."
It's the nicest thing he's ever said to her.
"Thank you?" Hawke says with a surprised smile. "That's really-"
She trails off with a groan when, apparently at his limit for pleasant conversation, the Arishok buries his face between her thighs once again. There's no pulling away this time, or slowing down, or holding back, and Hawke grabs helplessly at his hair as he licks over her clit again and again and again. "Fucking-"
His answering rumble could be either a chuckle or a growl but Hawke is perfectly content with either. He's merciless as he holds her thighs open, not letting up for a moment even as Hawke squirms beneath him.
Distantly, she's conscious that she shouldn't be moaning so loudly when separated from dozens of qunari by nothing but a thin canvas but keeping quiet is downright impossible when she's being propelled so thoroughly towards an orgasm.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
Each curse is louder than the last and she cants her hips up with a desperate whimper. The Arishok doesn't slow down, doesn't even seem to acknowledge anything other than Hawke's clit, and she cries out when her release hits sooner than expected.
Her thighs tense against him, toes curling and hands tightening in his hair, and her hips move of their own accord as she comes hard against his mouth. She rides it out with a moan, sweat running down the backs of her thighs where they're held open, and when he finally pulls back, Hawke can't do much more than stare up at the canvas of the tent in a daze.
Even with her eyes elsewhere, she knows the Arishok is looking at her soaked cunt when he says, "That was satisfactory." He disentangles her legs from his horns as he stands. "I appreciate your participation."
Hawke slumps happily in the chair. "My participation appreciates you too." She cranes her neck to check the front of his armor. "I'm more than happy to reciprocate once my limbs are functioning again."
The Arishok lets out another rumble, this time sounding relatively amused. "I assure you, I am adequately satisfied for now."
Hawke raises an eyebrow but soon decides not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. There are only so many excuses she can give Anders about why her jaw is sore.
"Good to know," she says with a yawn.
Apparently done with reducing Hawke to a pile of incoherent mush, the Arishok pauses at the door to the tent. "You may dress and leave now."
Hawke gives him a thumbs up and lies, "On it."
+++
When the knock on her front door is followed by Orana's shriek, Hawke's first assumption is that she's being attacked by a dragon.
Her second, third and fourth assumptions involve her friends being horribly injured, completely naked, or sporting some kind of distressing facial hair, but as she hurries over to rescue Orana, she's greeted with a sight which didn't even make it into her top one hundred assumptions.
"What the-"
"Good evening," the newcomer says.
Orana looks up at Hawke with wide eyes. Struggling for words, Hawke settles for giving her a pat on the shoulder.
Apparently confused by the lack of reaction, her guest leans forward and whispers, "It is the Arishok."
Hawke hums under her breath. "Yes, I see that."
"I am in disguise."
It's a generous description. He's wearing a cape draped awkwardly over his horns and what looks like a bedsheet wrapped around his legs and torso.
"Very sneaky," Hawke says.
There's a fair amount of sarcasm in her voice but the Arishok doesn't seem fazed by it when he asks, "May I come in?"
Outside, three noblewomen come to a halt as they look between Hawke and the Arishok in utter confusion.
Hawke gives them a nod of acknowledgement. "Hey."
They continue on, exchanging some aghast whispers, and Hawke sighs as she looks up at her visitor. "Come on in, I guess."
The Arishok blocks out the evening sunlight for a moment, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, and to Hawke's right, Orana gulps. "Will you be wanting, uh, tea, mistress?"
"It's all right, Orana." Trying to work out which is the most soundproof room in the house, she says instead, "Why don't you go work on your embroidery in the library? Your current piece with the fat little sparrow is adorable."
Orana frowns. "That's a cat, mistress."
"And a lovely cat it is too," Hawke says quickly. "Let's see if you can get it finished off tonight, hmm? Take the rest of the evening off."
Orana casts a suspicious glance between Hawke and the Arishok, who is currently extricating his horns from the cloak. "As you say, mistress."
Fortunately, she's wise enough to beat a hasty retreat, leaving Hawke alone in her foyer with a qunari who thinks a bedsheet is the height of stealth.
She wants to ask a smart and probing question but the only thing that comes out is, "Why?"
"I am told humans appreciate variety," the Arishok says. Apparently feeling chatty today, he adds, "Since we are being discreet, I appeared in disguise."
"Uh-huh," Hawke says, with a fair amount of skepticism. "So you came all the way over here to..."
"Fuck you," the Arishok says matter of factly, "in new surroundings."
"Oh."
The Arishok pauses. "Do you not wish to?" He straightens up, refastening his belt. "I will leave."
"No!" Hawke says, a little too fast. "I was just surprised, that's all. By your very good and not at all obvious disguise."
The Arishok's eyes narrow. "You are mocking me."
Hawke doesn't bother to keep the smile off her face. "Me? Mock you? Never."
In unison, they both begin to remove the clothing from their lower halves, even as the Arishok grouses, "The Qun does not tolerate mockery of one's leaders."
Hawke does her best not to stumble over her underwear in her haste to remove it. "I thought I was one of those basil tan people?"
"Basalit-an," he corrects as his armor drops to the floor with a clang.
"Right, that," Hawke says. She flashes him a grin. "Doesn't that entitle me to a little mockery?"
The Arishok approaches, looming over her as he backs her against the nearest wall, and Hawke bites her lip as she looks down at the Arishok's already half-hard cock. It's been a long, tiring day and an incredibly thorough fuck in the comfort of her own home now seems like a glorious idea.
"It entitles you to this," the Arishok says, bracketing her body against the wall between his arms. His thigh slides between her legs, nudging them apart, while his clawed fingers tease open the tie of her robe. "Nothing more."
"Nothing?" His dick brushes against her and she shifts, grinding purposefully against his thigh and batting her eyelashes. "Such a pity we have to stop here."
The Arishok narrows his eyes as he meets her gaze and if Hawke wasn't quite ready to go before, she absolutely is now.
His hands move from her robe to her ass and he lifts her a foot in the air as though she weighs nothing. "I have no intention of stopping here."
Her legs part willingly and she tips her head back against the wall with a pleased moan as he pushes inside in one slow thrust. "Thank fuck..."
Even after weeks of this, it still takes her a moment to adjust to the width of him. He holds her still, waiting for her to get comfortable before he slides another inch deeper, and then another, and then another, until she is happily ensconced on top of his cock.
She wraps her legs around his hips and embraces the delusion that she's supporting her own weight against the wall and not just being held up entirely by his giant hands. With her legs hooked around him, she lets her heels dig into the swell of his ass and gives him a wink. "Giddy-up?"
His growl is almost loud enough to shake the books off the shelves and she lets out a shriek that's somewhere between laughter and pleasure as he does just as requested. He sets a punishing pace, bouncing her against him, and she grabs onto his horns for balance as she tries to match him.
"You are impressive," the Arishok says as he cups one of her breasts through the thin robe. "I look forward to fighting you one day."
Distracted by the very pleasant feeling of being split open on his dick, it takes a second for his words to register.
Hawke blinks. "Wait, what?"
"It will be a satisfying battle," the Arishok says. "I expect there will be much carnage."
From the rumble in his voice, Hawke is pretty sure this is the qunari version of dirty talk.
"You want to fight me?" she asks.
"Of course," the Arishok says. "We are both leaders of our people, seeking to control the same territory. A clash is inevitable. I welcome it."
The steady pounding of his dick inside her during this conversation sends something of a mixed message. It's not the weirdest thing Hawke's heard during sex though, and the sex itself is still excellent, so she opts to go with it.
"Bet I'll win."
The Arishok lets out a surprised chuckle at that and Hawke tightens her legs around him as she says, "You don't think so?"
"I will crush you," the Arishok says, with what almost passes for fondness. "I am much stronger than you."
"True," Hawke says, "but I'm wily. And fast. I've definitely got the edge."
"You truly believe you can best me?" he asks. Hawke is pretty sure he flexes as he speaks. "I am the general of the antaam; I am a member of the triumvirate of the Qun."
"Okay, yes," Hawke allows, "but I got Seneschal Bran to give me half a smile one time. We're both very accomplished people."
The Arishok frowns and slows.
Hawke pats him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it -- keep going."
He does but says nonetheless, "I would still defeat you in combat."
Back to riding the pleasant high of an impending orgasm, Hawke pats him again, this time on the head. "Of course you would."
"I would conquer you and raze this city to the ground."
Hawke tips her head back with a groan as she inches closer to release. "Uh-huh."
"I would never be bested by a human."
The portraits on the wall shake as the Arishok continues to drive home, apparently lost in thoughts of future triumphs, and Hawke clutches his horns as she crests the very edge of the wave. "Never bested, sure."
"I would-"
He's cut off by the clamp of Hawke's hand over his mouth and then drowned out by her helpless moan as she comes. She shudders against him, burying her face in the dip of his collarbone as she rides out the tremors of her release, and she's breathing hard when she slumps back against the wall with a satisfied sigh.
The Arishok raises an eyebrow, his mouth still covered by her hand, and Hawke moves it with a suitably contrite expression. "Sorry. I, uh, got caught up."
He hesitates, like he's considering whether to withdraw and be on his way, and so Hawke locks her legs in place around him as she says with a grin, "I would still absolutely win that fight though. No offense."
The Arishok's dark eyes flicker with outrage and as he opens his mouth to argue, Hawke settles in for a very enjoyable round two.
+++
The throne room is silent as Hawke looks up at the Arishok.
"We fight to the death, you and I alone."
Fenris stands to her right, watching quietly, and if it wasn't for the noble corpses on the floor and the presence of Anders to her left, Hawke would have been convinced she was in the middle of her favourite recurring dream.
"Kill me," the Arishok continues, "and the duty that binds me is ended. The others will return to Par Vollen."
Hawke nods. "And if you kill me?"
"Then you are dead," the Arishok says bluntly.
Hawke deflates a little. He towers above her, huge and implacable and bloodthirsty, and with great reluctance, she accepts that this situation cannot be resolved by sex.
"All right." Doubt trickles in for a moment but Hawke pushes it firmly away. Sure, some of her confidence about her success in a duel may have been exaggerated for the purposes of a mindblowing fuck, but at least thirty percent of that confidence is genuine.
She squares her shoulders, meets his eyes, and, as one last tribute to that really great recurring dream, says with a grin, "Let's put on a show."