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Varric raised his eyebrows as Hawke, Serah Hawke by the outfit (for once), announced his belated presence by dropping into a chair at their table and slumping forward dramatically, letting his head thunk against the wood with a theatrical groan.
“Something bothering you, Hawke?” Varric asked dryly.
“They looked like they wanted to eat me alive,” Hawke said into the table. “It was like being back in the Deep Roads. Only less fun.”
“Such is the plight of the unattached nobly born.” Varric shoved Hawke unsympathetically forcing the human to sit back up. One of the four face up cards that had been under him had changed. Across the table, Isabela smirked. Varric sighed and glared at Hawke. “Next time your mother has one of those things, bring Blondie with you and give them a show.”
“So he can glow blue at the first sign of injustice? In that crowd?” Hawke shook his head, then brushed the loose hair back off of his eyes with a huff of frustration. “I won’t risk it. At least mother’s apostate had enough control to appear in public.”
Anders, seated across from the chair Hawke had chosen, gritted his teeth. “I-” he began angrily.
“You.” Hawke mimicked, cutting Anders off, before he smiled his most charming smile at the ruffled apostate. “You have extra ‘help’ with that, I know, and were better off here, love. I was giving serious thought to climbing out the bathroom window, and that was just because of the outfits. And the faux fawning. And the real fawning,” he shuddered. “Thank the Maker for incompatible signs.”
Isabela laughed sharply. “Hawke, you didn’t!”
“I did.” Hawked looked smug.
“Incompatible what?” Merrill asked.
“It’s a bit of Rivani folklore.” Isabela told her, casually shuffling the cards as she spoke. Her eyes fixed on her hands, she continued, speaking down into the table. “For fortune telling and that sort of thing. You can twist it to mean whatever you want.”
“I’m shocked you would mock the cruelties of fate, Isabela!” Hawke said, oblivious. He pressed a dramatic hand to his chest, winking at Merrill at the same time. “I was devastated that the stars had aligned so poorly for us. My heart practically shattered, but what can you do against destiny itself?”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.” Merrill folded her hand of cards and Aveline, who wasn’t really one for the game in the first place, copied her. Hawke had command of the table. Varric put his own hand down and shoved the pot to Isabela as Hawke smiled.
“Better to show than tell!” He practically sang.
“Urgh,” Isabela groaned, scooping up three of the coins Varric had pushed to her and holding them out in the air to catch attention. “We need more ale for this. Nora! Another round over here!”
“And a mug for me!” Hawke called after her as Nora easily snatched the coins from Isabela’s hand on her way back to the bar. “Now,” he looked back at Merrill. “What day were you born, Merrill?”
Taurus
“The second of Bloomingtide,” Merrill replied.
“Right, that means you were born under the sign of the Bull. Sorry,” Hawke waved a hand somewhat aimlessly, nearly hitting Nora as she came back with their ale. “I mean,” Hawke continued, sliding another, apologetic, coin to Nora. “The constellation of the bull is on the horizon at dusk during early Bloomingtide, so when you were born, the light from the setting sun was passing through that constellation.”
“Since we all know that the stars show each person their unique and individual futures at the exact time when they, and hundreds of others, are born, this stellar alignment can be used to predict everything about your life.” Isabella rolled her eyes and reached across the table to fill Hawke’s drink before refilling her own. “It’s a trick to fleece people out of their coin, Kitten. My mother used to be quite good at it. Bitch.”
“There are a lot ‘foretold’ traits and probabilities that are not quite contradictory,” Hawke allowed. “Meaning you can twist it to say just about anything, but in the hands of someone who actually knows what they are doing, it isn’t always total hogwash. There are some magical implications-”
“That are pure rubbish,” Isabela cut in. “Take Merril’s sign for example. Stubborn and pigheaded. There isn’t anyone less of a typical Taurus than our Kitten.”
Hawke laughed. “Someone who walked away from her whole clan and family to do what she believes needs to be done, that’s not at all stubborn?” He took a sip of his drink and then made an exaggerated face at the taste that made everyone, except Isabela, smile.
“My point exactly!” Isabela pointed a finger at Hawke, undistracted. “You can find little bits of all ‘foretold’ the traits in every person. If she had been a Capricorn, instead of Fenris, you would have said it was due to her dedication rather than her stubbornness.”
Capricorn
“How do you know Fenris is a Capricorn?” Merrill asked, eyes wide. “He doesn’t remember when he was born.”
Isabela smirked. “I did say it was about dedication.” She licked her lips for good measure, insuring her innuendo went over exactly no one’s head.
Varric smirked as well. “She has you there, Hawke.” He pointed out amicably. “Sunshine and Junior shared a birthday after all. And from your stories, they weren’t exactly two peas in a pod.”
Pisces
Hawke’s face fell slightly and he knocked his cup back in two swallows, before snagging the pitcher and refilling it. “They were both idealists, Varric, even Carver. A grumpy little asshole idealist.” His voice was very fond and sad and even Varric winced slightly.
“What about you, Varric?” Anders spoke up, pulling the subject away from asshole brothers. “Does he fit his sign?” the apostate asked his lover gently, before turning to glare at Varric.
Varric gamely took up the conversation as Hawke downed his fresh cup. “27th of Bloomingtide,” he prompted. “Am I as stubborn as Kitten?” He smiled at Hawke, trying to help Anders pull the man out of his sudden sadness.
But it was Isabela who groaned in response.
Gemini
“27th of Bloomingtide, Varric, really?” she glared.
“Something wrong Rivani?” he asked.
“Bloody typical Gemini,” she said. But Hawke was smiling faintly again, so job done. His eyes were worryingly glassy though and Varric wondered how much he had had at his mother’s party before he’d arrived to what had been Wicked Grace night.
Sebastian spoke up before Varric could ask, the priest’s voice slightly hesitant. “29th of Firstfall?”
Sagittarius
“The archer!” Hawke’s face abruptly lit up and he slammed a hand on the table as Isabela swore. Hawke’s sudden, aggressive cheerfulness was still edged and Varric took the pitcher away from Hawke to refill his own cup, carefully setting it back down on the side opposite the self-made noble. Only for it to be snatch up by Isabela, who was also looking forcefully cheerful.
Aveline sniffed in disapproval at all of them and Varric couldn’t fault her. Neither Rivani nor Hawke handled family well. But Isabela and Aveline handled each other even worse than that.
The pirate took a slow, taunting sip, meeting Aveline stare for stare and spoke before Varric could. “How about you, Man’s Hands, want your palm read?” she drawled.
Leo/Virgo
Aveline’s jaw clenched.
“But Isabela,” Merrill tilted her head sideways, interrupting them. “I didn’t think you were reading palms.”
“Shush Kitten.” Isabela winked at the mage, her face softening. “You’ll ruin the jest, pointing out details like that.”
“Oh! Sorry.”
“Never mind Merrill,” Aveline said, also softening her aggressive posture in the face of Merrill’s tentative, but earnest, smile. She sighed, turning back to Isabela. “Let’s have it then. Whore.”
Isabela raised her tankard at the insult. “Date of birth, prig?”
Aveline told her, then jerked back as Isabela spat a mouthful of ale onto the table.
“The Virgin,” the pirate cackled, a genuine smile on her lips for the first time after Hawke had mentioned astrology. “Your astrological sign is the Virgin?”
Hawke swayed slightly in his seat, also looking better, if still very drunk. “Not to spoil your fun, Isabela,” he slurred, leaning across the table. Varric caught his shoulder and helped push the man back upright. “But isn’t the 23rd a Leo, not a Virgo?”
“You’re a day off, Sweet Thing.” She patted his cheek affectionately.
Merrill pouted. “But I think a lion suits her much better, don’t you?”
Hawke smiled. “She should have traits of both, born in between. Brave, a leader, like a lion, but, Virgos, they’re the ones who stand by you and always do the right thing. The protectors.”
Isabela rolled her eyes as Aveline blushed. “Just goes to show you that even the stars know narrow-minded do-gooders never get any,” the pirate pointed out.
“And what about you?” Aveline shot back. “Are the stars the reason why you’re always on your back?”
“Well,” Merrill said thoughtfully. “I suppose they must be; it would be awfully hard for her to see them if she lays on her stomach! ...Although, I suppose she could stand.”
Cancer
Isabela wrapped an arm around Merrill’s shoulder. “Never change Kitten,” she told her with inebriated sincerity. “You’re my favorite.”
“Oh!” Merrill tried to straighten under the pirate’s weight as realization hit her, but couldn’t quiet manage it. “That was supposed to be dirty wasn’t it? But aren’t you always on top? How?” she trailed off, forehead wrinkling as she tried to work out the specifics.
“Dear Andraste!” Sebastian turned bright red and Aveline hid her face in her hands as laughter rippled around the table, even Fenris chuckling softly into his cup, although he flushed an attractive pink.
Isabela shot him a quick wink. “You know, this might require some experimentation. Any takers?”
“Wait Isabela! You haven’t told us your sign yet!” Merrill protested urgently, seeing she was about to loose her friend for the rest of the evening.
Varric closed his eyes, but Isabela only got carefully to her feet, with the exaggerated focus of the intoxicated, and ruffled the elf’s hair. “It adds to the mystery Kitten. Besides it’s all rubbish anyway.”
Without meaning to, most of their eyes (along with the rest of the tavern) followed the sway of Isabela’s hips as she exited, Fenris slipping out unobtrusively after her. Hawke was one of the exceptions, taking the opportunity to finish the drink Fenris had left behind.
“She a Cancer,” he said into the empty space Isabela had left as the door closed after her, turning all eyes back to him. “Water sign,” he nodded to himself. “Very moody, always blowing hot and cold. Temperamental, flighty, alluring.” He tipped his head towards Aveline. “Best sign for romance.”
Aveline snorted. “What she does has nothing to do with romance.”
Hawke shrugged. “It’s all girly bits to me. Belch.” He blinked slowly. “Expect breasts. You have very nice breasts, Aveline.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Hey, Varric?” Hawke asked, swaying a little in his seat.
“Yeah Hawke?”
“What was Fenris drinking?” Before anyone could answer, Hawke passed out, slumping face first onto the table.
“Oh dear,” Merrill looked down at Hawke sadly. “Now Anders has no one to tell him what his horoscope is; he and Hawke are the only ones who didn’t get one.”
Ophiuchus
Anders didn’t need Isabela or Hawke to tell him what he already knew.
Anders was born in the early winter, slipping from his mother’s womb just before the ground went hard and the last of the game moved on. Birthed into the hardest time of year. Between the cold and the lack of food and the rampant illnesses, very few newborns in such poor households (and everyone in the Anderfels was poor or a Warden- there was no room for softness within Anderfels’ borders) lived past their first few weeks. Perhaps this was why Anders always had an affinity for healing. Perhaps his magic had been what had kept him alive, healthy, when so many other babes sickened and died; turning itself to healing out of self-preservation before he had even cut his first tooth.
Happy, humorous, and honest to a fault, that’s how the stars described him. And he was (although he let the honesty slip a little when Justice came into the picture, because some things can’t be explained. They all found out anyway, though. It turned out he was terrible at lying. Also, turning blue and glowing? Not very subtle, as it happened). Powerful, passionate, impulsive, intelligent, he was all these things as well. And, of course, he was Justice… or Vengeance (the stars also mentioned that last one, but they probably didn’t mean it in the same way. Anders thought they described him incredibly well, regardless).
And he had a cause. A reason to be impulsive, a reason to be passionate; something that needed his intelligence, his power. Even an authority against which to rebel.
And then there was Hawke, who, regardless of stars (they agreed), couldn’t be more incompatible (infuriating) if it were on purpose. Who verbally dragged Anders in front of a mirror on a regular basis and showed him that he was judgmental and irresponsible (reckless, dangerous, Abomination). Who provoked him and slapped him down whenever his/Justice’s temper flared. And who challenged him to be better with every argument, every glance (every kiss).
(Hawke was an Aries, of course)