I think Anders and purple!Hawke are very adorable, and I don’t draw them quite enough.
Sure, seeing Anders smile was a rare thing, but like Isabela—Varric collected treasure. Call it an old dwarven instinct for shiny things, bright glimmers in the darkness, a flash of gold tucked safe in stone and shadow. They were all hammering away at something in the end—whether it was the beaten silverite of a templar’s shield or the steep walls of the Deep Roads—in the hopes they’d find something down there. Not silence. Not peace. The light at the end of the tunnel, or the affection on an apostate’s face.
In the hopes that one day, somewhere, they’d be the ancestors who made Thedas safe.
As rare as those smiles were, they couldn’t afford to go unnoticed just like Blondie couldn’t afford to buy new boots. Varric tucked them under his sleeves like a trump hand at Diamondback and didn’t make any sudden movements so he wouldn’t scare them away too soon.
And he couldn’t help but notice—all those soft features, the change that came over him, the magic spark lit like a spell between another man’s fingers and his, were all because of Hawke, who forged through the deep and didn’t let rock wraiths stand in his way, then climbed all the way to Hightown after just to prove it wasn’t only digging himself deeper he could accomplish in one stubborn lifetime.
‘I can’t help but notice the way your fingers sparkle when you’re near him, Blondie,’ Varric said.
The smile slipped from Anders’s face, the sun going behind the clouds, the darkness Varric thought he’d left behind in an abandoned thaig.
‘I’m going to ruin his life, Varric,’ Anders said.
‘Maybe,’ Varric replied, ‘but you’re going to make it worth it, too.’
And that kind of balance—what made no sense together going hand in hand, a city where freedom began from the blood on old chains—was what made for a hard life, a fine romance, a damn good story.