The sight of the Champion sauntering through the Gallows courtyard was a normal enough occurrence, but this visit was decidedly out of the ordinary. So much so that all business in the area stopped to watch the Champion pass, with various expressions frozen on their faces. What little armor Hawke actually wore gleamed in the sun, accentuating his tanned and muscled glory, the furred cloak draped on his shoulders competing with his chest hair for the award of “Most Luxurious Pelt.”
“I knew this was a terrible idea,” Varric muttered next to him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Nah,” Hawke replied nonchalantly, waving at Cullen, who looked as if he’d eaten a handful of Nevarran ghost peppers. “But if I do, Izzy still loses the bet, right?”
“Even if I lose, I win, hot stuff,” the rogue said from behind Hawke, where she was avidly enjoying the scenery. She nudged Anders next to her, who was caught between staring at Hawke’s ass and glaring at blushing templars. “Ten silver says Meredith sputters like a tea kettle.”
“Personally, I hope she drops dead in shock, but I’ll take what I can get.” He nervously tugged at his sleeves, but it wasn’t as unbearable to be in the center of the pit as it normally was. Instead of working to hold back Justice from smiting everything to the ground, the spirit was unusually still, only occasionally giving off a low growl as they neared any templars, the rest of the time filling Anders’ mind with a steady, low murmur of appreciation for Hawke’s wardrobe change and various suggestions for the outfit after the excursion.
Meredith stormed out of the building with Orsino trailing behind her and her templar entourage, apparently warned about the Champion causing a commotion, and stopped so suddenly that there was a moment when Anders gleefully thought that her guards would topple into each other like dominoes and fall down the steps. “What is the meaning of this?!” she demanded.
Hawke was nonplussed, taking a casual step forward and putting his hands on his hips, framing his leather battle shorts. “Just wanted to check in, say ‘Hi,’ you know.” he said with a grin. “Feel like I should keep up with things around here, no telling when the next disaster’ll pop up.”
Meredith’s eyes went from wide to narrowed, but it was Cullen who spoke up, having gotten over his initial shock and hurried over to joined the conversation. “What in the Maker’s name are you wearing?” he asked breathlessly.
“Oh, this? Traditional Fereldan armor, had it commissioned for me. Made of 100% real bear.” He winked, and Cullen made a series of choked noises. Isabela swore and shoved coins into Anders’ hip pouch.
The Knight-Commander was stoically unmoved. “I have no need for your services, Champion. Now get out and stop distracting my men from their duties.”
Hawke nearly pouted. “Just the men? Surely some of the women, too.”
Varric facepalmed as Orsino hid a laugh behind a coughing fit. Instead of lowering herself to respond to such bait, Meredith glared broadswords at Hawke and scoffed, turning and marching back into the barracks. Orsino gave the Champion a once-over and a thumbs-up before retreating.
“Well,” Hawke said, brushing his hands together. “I thought that went well.”
“Scholars will look at your diplomacy skills with wonder, that’s for sure,” Varric replied. “Now let’s get out of here before you make any other stupid decisions. Rivaini can buy you a drink with the money you’ve won of your bet.”
Hawke nodded and clapped the dwarf on the back. “Good idea. I could use it, this thing chafes something terrible.”
“Too much information,” Varric said, making a face like he ate a barrel of lemons.
“Not enough information,” Isabela countered.
Anders sighed and shook his head. “The entire outfit is ‘too much information.”
“You love it,” Hawke countered. “If not now, then later when we play ‘Escaped Apostate Gets Saved By Rugged Barbarian’.”
The mage blushed at the image. Nice, Justice echoed.
Queer Fortress 