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The world was getting less real.
Hawke knew that it wasn't supposed to be really real, but she had been waiting for Varric to come back for... days. She knew it was more than a few. Because she had eaten, bathed, slept, woke and he hadn't been there. He'd insisted he was going to be there when she woke up and he hadn't.
Anders had, and for that she was grateful, sure, but he was a busy-body with a nose that was too big and a stupid coat and she could only take so much of his smirking. He had the absolute worst smirk.
She hadn't left the room much after the first day or two. She was still kitten-weak, and she was struck with the sudden fear it wouldn't be where she left it, and once she was back inside she was sure (even if it was completely mad and even she knew that) that if she opened the door she'd see Nightmare's thousand thousand eyes staring back at her.
Dying alone, that was one of Hawke's big ones, the big fears, and aside from the journal and the occasional check-in from Anders bringing her food or water, she was terribly alone. Spending time curled into a nest in Varric's bed, wearing one of his spare shirts, was about the dumbest thing she could think of when she bothered to really examine her choices.
But there she was, napping in a pile of blankets, wearing the shirt that didn't fit at all, refusing to think. He'd said he'd be there, he'd be there. She pulled the pillow tighter over her head.
Hawke knew that it wasn't supposed to be really real, but she had been waiting for Varric to come back for... days. She knew it was more than a few. Because she had eaten, bathed, slept, woke and he hadn't been there. He'd insisted he was going to be there when she woke up and he hadn't.
Anders had, and for that she was grateful, sure, but he was a busy-body with a nose that was too big and a stupid coat and she could only take so much of his smirking. He had the absolute worst smirk.
She hadn't left the room much after the first day or two. She was still kitten-weak, and she was struck with the sudden fear it wouldn't be where she left it, and once she was back inside she was sure (even if it was completely mad and even she knew that) that if she opened the door she'd see Nightmare's thousand thousand eyes staring back at her.
Dying alone, that was one of Hawke's big ones, the big fears, and aside from the journal and the occasional check-in from Anders bringing her food or water, she was terribly alone. Spending time curled into a nest in Varric's bed, wearing one of his spare shirts, was about the dumbest thing she could think of when she bothered to really examine her choices.
But there she was, napping in a pile of blankets, wearing the shirt that didn't fit at all, refusing to think. He'd said he'd be there, he'd be there. She pulled the pillow tighter over her head.
