Standard Disclaimers: I own nothing of Bioware. This will be the last chapter in this story which was designed to handle the events of the game as they actually occurred. No romance in game - check! Keep an eye out for the an A/U take on the events of the game coming out soon, however, called "Conversations We Never Had".

Thanks to everyone who reviewed - I promise you that these chapters wouldn't have been up so quickly (or perhaps at all) without you!

Varric Tethras couldn't feel his left leg anymore.

He deliberately did not mention this to Hawke.

"So," he grunted, hefting himself up with one hand so that he could leverage his back against the damp wall of the cave to keep from falling over. His other hand remained tightly clamped over his torn stomach.

Their haven, such as it was, was uncomfortable and small, barely deserving of the name cave in the first place. Its only saving grace was that the entrance was so undersized and low to the ground that even if any of the Templers-turned-bandits were foolish enough to keep searching for them out in the blizzard, they would be almost sure to miss it. Of course, there was the danger that the raging storm would seal them in as well, if they hid for too long.

Varric was pretty sure that he wouldn't have to worry about that, though.

Hawke didn't look up, frowning as she started rummaging through the backpack Varric had been carrying with him. Varric repeated himself, "So. Tell me you didn't leave Bianca out there in the cold."

"Had to, Varric," Hawke said. She had found the flint and stone he'd packed for making fires as he travelled, but was still frowning. That might be useful later, provided there was any fuel to burn. But not now. For now, she needed bandages or, if the Maker was feeling very kind, a Healing Potion. She had a sinking feeling, however, that Varric had brought neither with him.

Varric scowled and bared his teeth. He was already hurting like hell and then he had to hear news like that? "Damn it, Hawke!"

"It was either her or you!" Hawke snapped back and looked at him, or rather, looked at the ruin of his leg and the already blood soaked fabric of his duster. "And given that Bianca was in much better shape than you appear to be…"

She grabbed what must have been a spare shirt of his without even stopping to wonder when he'd started wearing things that didn't allow him to show off his chest hair and crouched back at his side. He grumbled, but didn't fight her words or try to fend her off as she did her best to stop the bleeding. "Do you at least remember where you dropped her, then?" He asked testily, only to add in an almost defensive whine, "She's a precision lady. It'll take weeks to fix her if the snow gets… Ow!"

"Sorry…" Hawke winced. Her expression was not just regret though, but open concerned. Open worry. Varric bit back another complaint and watched her come to the realization that he'd had almost immediately after he'd failed to parry the swing from that spiked mace.

It wasn't just bad.

It was very bad.

And, Maker help him, he was having such a hard time thinking through the pain.

He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes rather than risk meeting her gaze or seeing her expression. "It's okay." Though it wasn't, it really wasn't. He hadn't seen her in so long and there was so much that he'd wanted to say. And now it was all just skittering away from him.

Hawke laughed, sound forced. "Maker, Varric. Didn't you even try to dodge?"

He opened his eyes to look at her and feigned indignation. "I'll have you know that I took down four of them before you made your grand entrance." He shuddered, the chill of the stone beneath him or just plain shock, seeping up into his bones. "How did you know I was there, anyway?"

"I didn't," Hawke leaned in, long arms snaking around him to secure her scavenged scarf and keep the makeshift bandage in place. His chin drifted down, lightly skimming the crown of her head before he just let his head drop, resting there completely. When she looked up at him, pulling back in surprise, he simply lolled forward, his cheek briefly grazing against hers.

"Varric? Varric!"

Oh, he'd closed his eyes again, hadn't he? They were slow to open up once more, "I'm not going anywhere, Hawke." He reassured her then smiled smugly, "Heh. Still smells like flowers."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"Your hair," he explained, "Back in Kirkwall. Before you cut it off, it used to always smell like flowers. I never could figure out what kind." He frowned, "I never understood why you did that, either. Cut it, I mean."

"I was angry. I couldn't throttle Anders, so I did the next best thing," her words were clipped and she reached blindly for the backpack, trying to find something else to help. Anything.

"I knew that. But it wasn't your fault, Hawke. None of it. Just like this isn't." He raised a hand, rallying what strength he had left to forestalling the protests on her lips. It was too important and he was running out of time. "Shut up for a minute. There's a Seeker named Cassandra Pentaghast. She's looking for you. She says that she wants your help to stop the coming war and she seems to be honest…" He broke off, words stolen from him by a flood of white pain as Hawke took his second best pair of pants and wrapped them around his left leg. The world went black and gray around him and for an eternity all he could do was pant for breath.

He wasn't sure how long eternity lasted, exactly, but he eventually focused on Hawke, just in time to catch what she was saying with such false casualness, "…outside for a moment, Varric. I'm going to see what our dead friends might have in their pockets."

His hand shot out for her wrist. "No."

"Now, don't worry. I'll be back before you know it. While you may be new to these parts, I am familiar with that particular band of idiots. They usually travel prepared and one of them is sure to have a Health Potion on them."

"It's too dangerous," Varric struggled, "By now you can't see your hand in front of your face out there. And who knows how many of them are still around."

"You think I can't handle it then?" Hawke raised her brow, mock challengingly.

For once, Varric didn't play along. He exhaled, expression twisting. "You know I have full faith in your abilities to kick the ass of anyone that you see fit. But it's not the same when you are walking into a white out. Besides, I'll be fine. Really. I'm just … tired. A little rest, and…" He was trying to get up. If he could just stand, he could make her see reason. And if he could just get his legs to listen to him, if he could just make the world stop sliding away or pull through the pain, he could stand.

"Varric," Hawke exclaimed, alarmed, and quickly crossed back over to him. She crouched by his side and reached out to cup his cheek in her hand, guiding his attention and increasingly pale face back to her. "Don't you dare make things worse! There is no way I'm losing you, do you understand me? I'm going to go find a Healing Potion out there and you are going to be fine, alright? Nod."

He stopped struggling and nodded.

"So all I need you to worry about, all I need you to do right now, is to just stay awake. You stay awake, and keep breathing, and I'll be back. Alright? I'll be back and everything will be fine."

It was a funny thing about Hawke. When she really wanted to, she could make what she was saying sound like the most important thing in the world. "Okay," Varric said quietly. "I'll stay here."

She met his gaze and it took someone who knew her very well to see the fear in her eyes through the fierce determination. His mouth quirked up in an affectionate smirk. That was his Hawke.

She nodded firmly in acknowledgement before hesitating, as if pulled between one choice and another. Then she stood and without a backward glance left the cave to disappear into the snow.

Stay awake. It was easy. Sure, he could do that. All he had to do was start by keeping his eyes open. He could look at the mess Hawke had made of his backpack, for example. He'd been travelling light since he'd left the old Amell estate where the Seeker had interrogated him, so there wasn't much there. Weighing himself down with a lot of crap would have only made finding Hawke more difficult.

Of course, he hadn't lied to the Seeker. He honestly hadn't known where Hawke was.

But he certainly had known how to find her if needed.

Varric chuckled and began to replay all the new stories he had heard about the Champion over in his mind. There were at least a dozen of them, some more outrageous than others. He'd been collecting them, knowing that once he met up with her again they'd both amuse and annoy her.

And while he couldn't have said how long that occupied him, he thought he was doing a decent job in both obeying Hawke and keeping his worry under control. He continued to think that right up until he found himself tasting dirt and opened his eyes to discover his forehead against the stone floor.

He tried to pick himself up and was confused about why he couldn't… couldn't even get his hands to move. No, he wasn't drunk. He was waiting for Hawke, wasn't he?

He tried to pull the pieces together from an increasingly dense and drowning fog. That was right. Where was she? He had to find her. She should be there. It'd been … too long.

He shouldn't have left in the first place. It was stupid. No matter how much they'd needed to know what was going on in the world or how pointed Fenris' looks had been getting…

… but how could he have known how… colorless everything would be once she was gone? How much he'd come to …

…he shouldn't have left. Because now, now he needed to get to her. He couldn't remember why, but it was important.

It was important and he couldn't move, damn it. Frustration cut through even pain. Hawke was counting on him and he wasn't going to fail her…

Varric managed to actually drag himself halfway across the cave floor before he collapsed and lost consciousness completely.

And it was a long time before he was aware of anything else again.

"…come on, just drink it…"

While those were strange words to wake up to, Varric had woken up to stranger. Besides, the tang and slow heat of a Healing potion sliding down his throat were familiar enough sensations. The return of his awareness was heralded by the feeling of his own heartbeat, throbbing in his stomach and screaming along his leg. Once the first crests of agony were endured, however, each double-thump marked a steady diminishing of the pain. He began to breathe, deep, steady inhalations, once more.

"…stupid and stubborn…" Hawke's voice was strained. "Say something!"

He intended to, really. It was just that he was pretty comfortable at the moment. Sure, his legs were a little cold, but the rest of him was warm enough. Huh. He lifted his hand a few inches from the ground. That meant that she was holding him, didn't it? Sure enough, the small of his back was right up against her thigh and her arm was supporting him in a half-sitting position off the floor.

"…prefer the word determined," he rasped, opening up his eyes with a groan. He still ached, body protesting how it had been yanked from one extreme to the other. She was leaning over him closely, close enough that a hands breath could have spanned the distance between her lips and his.

Aw, hell, Hawke. Don't do this to me. He tore his eyes away with a quick breath and looked to the side.

He blinked. There, lying on his backpack as if she had been put down gently even in the midst of chaos, was Bianca. Wet, but no worse for wear.

Varric grinned and unthinkingly muttered in reverent awe, "Just when I thought I couldn't love you any more, Hawke."

Her hand, previously resting tensely but neutrally along his chest, balled into a fist.

Uh oh.

He looked sharply back at her, finding a stony mask where he would have expected a smile. Okay, that had apparently pissed her off. But he wasn't going to take it back, even if he hadn't meant to say it in the first place. "What?" He retorted, defensively.

She scowled and abruptly closed the distance between them, her mouth hard and demanding against his. He barely had time to register the kiss, much less participate in it, before she pulled back and pushed him away. "Don't you EVER do that to me again, got it, dwarf?"

He grunted, backside hitting unforgiving stone. Then he picked himself up, almost warily, eyes glued to hers. Her cheeks were tinged red, lips slightly parted as breath came more rapidly. But from her expression there was no way in hell she was going to explain herself any more than he had.

Varric slowly smirked, reaching conclusions that demanded that he either act, or regret it for the rest of his life. "Cross my heart." He agreed, deep voice smooth as silk as he gravely traced his finger over the left side of his chest.

It was one of the few times he'd ever seen Marian Hawke at a loss for words, or so openly blushing.

Which made it a lot easier to step in, take her in his arms, and show her exactly what he could do when he wasn't caught off guard in a kiss.

They held each other tightly, first a little frantic in their expressions, then a bit more leisurely, and then more urgently once more. Neither of them spared another thought for the coldness of the cave, Varric's blood stiffening in his clothing, or anything else at all about world around them.

… until a familiar elven voice, bearing audible worry as it called Hawke's name, carried into the cave on a chill gust of wind.