Athera Lavellan (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} halam_shivanas) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} somerealityrpg,@ 2020-01-16 00:30:00 |
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| Entry tags: | inactive: athera lavellan, inactive: varric |
Who: Athera & Varric
What: A timely reunion
Where: A small coffee/cake shop near the apartments
When: 15th January, just after she arrives
Warnings: NA
Status: Complete
Athera shivered a little, tugging her coat tighter around her waist as she scowled up at the large building. Her staff was strapped across her back and she was glad, at least, that she hadn’t lost that in the cross between the Eluvian realm and this… place, though her ability to follow a map was still completely non-existent as it had taken her a long time to even find the building that would include her housing, even with a very clear map in front of her and a relatively simple grid-line of streets to follow.
That being said, everything here was difficult. Everything here was different. The buildings were vast and shining like polished steel. There were few trees, everything was covered in a dark, inky surface that felt sturdy under her feet, not springy like the flooring of a forest or beaten down and rough like the track-worn roads she was used to. There were no flagstones that demarcated the path she should walk on, and so had to dart out of the way of a yellow… thing that zoomed past her, roaring at her as it did. She thought she saw a person inside, though she couldn’t have been too sure as it had been moving so fast.
More than that there were people, people dressed in clothing that was peculiar to her but they all looked similar, as though they had been dressed by the same tailor. She supposed to them her outfit must have looked just as weird and judging by some of the looks she wasn’t wrong in assuming that. At least, she hoped it was because she was dressed in an unusual outfit (though her Elven robes were hardly unusual for her compared to with Vivienne often wore), or because of the large staff stretched across her back and not because of the slant of her ears.
She fussed with her hair a little, as though that would cover them. It did very little but made her feel better.
She was about to walk into the building when the smell of something sweet caught her attention and reminded her in no uncertain terms that it had been a significant amount of time since she’d last eaten. The dregs of dizziness were pretty much gone from her mind, the abrupt scenery change had left her feeling more than a little nauseous but now that had passed she was hungry. It smelt like a bakery, but sweeter, like something she might find in Orlais, so she followed a group of people across the street, walking in a herd when all the wheeled… carts stopped, chugging in place until the group had passed and stopped in front of a shop.
She chewed her lower lip and rocked onto her toes, looking into the window before pushing the door open, hoping that the coin she had in her purse was enough to purchase something.
Goodland had been somewhat of an adjustment for Varric, but he was adapting well if he did say so himself. He enjoyed this modern world quite a bit and had even taken to writing his stories on a computer. The idea that he could reach an unlimited audience through a thing called the ‘internet’, was nothing short of magical.
This wasn’t to say he didn’t miss Thedas, however. There were many days where he found himself longing to feel the streets of Kirkwall beneath his feet. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the chatter of The Hangman’s patrons, and it caused his chest to tighten.
That city was the love of his life. Not his crossbow. Not the woman it was named for. No. Kirkwall was what held his heart in such a way that it was indescribable. For all of its faults, Varric really did believe that his home was redeemable, and he had every intention of returning to help rebuild before the Entity pulled him here.
Thank the Maker that he had received pictures and videos of his home, and from what he could see, it seemed like it was doing okay. It helped him rest easier, and accept the fact that he was stuck in Goodland. It didn’t hurt that his friends were here, and up until recently, he felt as if he may be able to make this his new home.
But then, Hawke was gone. No goodbye. No explanation as to why...just…gone.
Once again, Varric found himself having to adjust, only this time he hadn’t had his Chuckles there to help. Thankfully Solona was an angel in disguise. She possessed an uncanny ability to calm his fretful mind. With her help, he was coping better than he would have otherwise.
It wasn’t like missing Hawke was a new development in his life. The Champion’s absence was frequent since the Mage Rebellion began, but perhaps a part of him had hoped that this time would be different.
Varric was lost in these thoughts, as he sipped his coffee and stared at the blank screen of his laptop at the small table he was sat at in the bakery. The sound of the bell dinging as the door opening caught his attention, and he glanced up just in time to see a familiar face walk through the door.
For a moment he just stared, unable to believe his own eyes, before calling out her name. “Athera?!”
If he hadn’t spoken, Athera realised that she might have had trouble recognising Varric for who he was considering he was dressed in a similar fashion to the people on the outside, in the street where she had come from. He looked as though he fitted in perfectly here - but of course he did; Varric was one of the most stubbornly adaptable people she’d ever met, able to make himself comfortable anywhere, surrounding himself with people that hung on his every word (and she couldn’t blame them, she’d sat opposite him on many occasions just listening to him spinning stories, usually about Hawke, usually exaggerated as she didn’t listen to the ones he told about her, it made her feel weird).
But he had spoken, and the sound of her name coming from a familiar voice had her turning her head, eyes scanning the people for someone she recognised before she spotted the person staring at her, looking at her as though she were a ghost. Or at the very least someone unexpected.
No one expects the Elven Inquisitor, after all. Not even Athera herself half the time.
“Varric?!” Her own response was layered in disbelief, even as she moved closer, slipping between some queuing individuals, one of whom she knocked with her staff (for which she did apologise). “What are you- are you okay? How did you get out of the- Wait- never mind what are you wearing?” And what did he have on the table in front of him?
For a moment, Varric was glued to his seat. He could have sworn he was dreaming, and if he hadn’t been staring at her? Well, he may have actually pinched himself. It wasn’t until her staff bumped into one of the patrons that he rose, and moved to hug her.
There were so many things he wanted to say to Athera after that final battle with Corypheus, and being sent here was like being robbed of his words. It was one of the reasons he began to compose ‘This Shit is Weird: The Inquisitor Lavellan Story’ not long after he arrived. If he wasn’t able to tell her himself, he hoped that somehow, one day, his written words would reach her.
But Goodland was full of surprises wasn’t it? The dwarf made a mental note to thank the Entity, before breaking away from her.
Varric almost forgot that he was dressed in his favorite jeans and button-down shirt that he, of course, left partially opened. He may have lived in a modern world now, but that didn’t mean he had to break away from tradition completely. Running his hand through his hair that he mostly let hang free nowadays, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“You need to sit,” he said pointedly and guided her to the empty chair across from the one he had been sitting in. “We can discuss the grand tales of my clothes after you get past the shock. Andraste’s ass, Athera, you look like hell. Sit. I’ll be right back.”
Once he had her settled, he moved to the counter. She needed food in her stomach, and something to warm her up. Chatting nonchalantly with the girl behind the counter, he gave her a wink and in a lowered voice- apologized for the bit of a spectacle. Varric was sure this couldn’t be the weirdest thing the patisserie owner had witnessed. After all, confused new arrivals came through all the time.
Giving the girl with the ‘Wendy’ name tag a tip for her troubles, he made his way back to Athera and placed some warm bread, a wonderful thing he had discovered called a cheese danish in front of her, along with a warm cup of coffee. “Take it slow, the food here is different. It’s rich as hell, and if you eat it too fast it will make you sick.”
“Flattering as ever, Varric,” Athera managed to drawl dryly before he was ushering her into a seat and disappearing to get her something to eat. She probably did look like hell; four years since the defeat of Corypheus and it seemed that there was no resting for her. She’d sorted out the mess in the Deep Roads and the Titans only to find then that Solas… well, the less said about him the better right now. She watched him as he chatted to the person providing the food and would have asked more about what was happening but the smell of food was distracting enough.
Though they had never starved with the Inquisition, rations had sometimes been tight when they were camped out in the arse end of nowhere for weeks at a time hunting down Venatori or hiding from legions of shambling corpses in Crestwood. And being Dalish, food had always been somewhat inconsistent. Athera’s body and mind still behaved as though she were poorly fed. It was annoying.
She lifted the drink first; she knew this at least. It smelt a lot like some of the bitter draughts created to help give them energy when it was early in the morning and no one had had enough sleep, though the taste still made her cough a little and pull a face.
“Where- where am I, Varric?” She was worried, in some ways, that this was some bizarre afterlife. “Did he kill me? Is that what this place is?” It had better not be. She’d do a Corypheus and tear her way back to Thedas if this place was what the afterlife looked like. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Varric would be lying if he didn’t admit that she looked decidedly older than he remembered. He wasn’t a dumb man, he knew this probably meant she came from his future. A part of his life he had not yet lived. As tempting as it was to question it, there would be time later for them to discuss the matters of timelines. For now, he needed to get her settled.
He sat back in his chair, and watched her carefully as she sipped her coffee, but when she spoke- he reached out to cover her hand with his own. “You aren’t dead. If this is the bloody afterlife the Maker owes us all an apology. This place ain’t so bad, but it’s far from that ever lasting peace shit they preach about in the Chantry.” He waved his hand at her asking if he was okay, because something else she said concerned him. “Back up a bit, Tiny. Did who kill you?”
Athera wrinkled her nose at the reassurance she wasn’t dead. It made her feel only a little bit better. But yes, if this was the afterlife then the Maker and all the Elven gods owed them an apology. Honestly, she was pretty sure the Gods - all of them - owed them at least a hundred apologies. After all the crap they went through with the Breach, and before that the war and the Blight… Ugh.
She sipped her drink again but stilled when he waved off her question. Her lips pressed together and she felt ice slide down her throat into the pit of her stomach. Betrayal prickled across the back of her neck and she drew away a little, the way she had when she spoke to Varric about Rainer and his lies, the same way she had when she’d come to him to tell him tearfully that Cullen hadn’t been able to save her Clan and that she was alone, now.
Athera fought to swallow past the lump in her throat and took in a shaking breath. “Fen’Harel.”
Varric knew that look on Athera’s face. He had witnessed it numerous times before, and it never got easier to see her hurting. He could feel his heartbreak for her just as it broke when she lost her clan. It was that day he decided to make sure she never felt alone again, and she wouldn’t be as long as he was around.
The mention of ‘Fen’Harel’ confused him a bit, and he immediately knew that he needed to discuss the way timelines seemed to work here in order to have a better understanding of who she was referring to. “Tiny, time is weird here. I don’t want to cause you any unnecessary distress, but I do not think I am from your time. The Entity brought me here right after we defeated Corypheus.”
Athera narrowed her eyes a little and then looked down into her coffee. So Varric had no idea of what happened to the Inquisition after they won? She sighed, rubbed underneath her ear and then glanced up at him again.
“So… you- I- that’s four years, Varric,” she told him, feeling her left hand aching, the memory of Solas reaching for her, she just knew he would have taken her arm to save her from the anchor. “I- Leliana is Divine now, Divine Victoria. Did you see that bit? Or when she decided not to disband the Inquisition so after all of-”
She let out a humourless laugh. “You’re right; I have divine bad luck. Is the Entity the Maker? Or another god from another world?” Gods, as long as he was her Varric, she’d at least have something.
“I know. It’s a lot, Tiny. I’m no good at explainin’ this shit.” Rubbing the back of his neck for a moment, he sighed heavily. “So four years, huh? And Nightingale as Divine!?” He couldn’t help but laugh at that. He knew that she had been considering it, along with the Seeker, but he never in a million years thought it would be either of them. “Maker help anyone who crosses her.”
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” he replied with a smile and the bad luck comment, trying to make her feel better- or truly laugh at least. “We’re not sure what that thing is. It’s got a great deal of power, whatever it is, but I don’t think it’s necessarily evil.”
It really was so good to see her. Out of everyone he spent time with in the Inquisition, Athera was the one he got closest to. That fact had nothing to do with her being the ‘chosen one’, ‘The Herald’, or whatever the fuck else the people called her. She was important, yes, but to Varric she was just- ‘Tiny’.
Athera snorted, reaching out under the table with her foot to knock his leg gently. “Leliana is doing well, she’s kind and fair. I mean, someone did try to kill her and she killed them first, she refuses to go anywhere without her own weapons but…” She missed Leliana a lot; she missed everyone a lot. Though a few still worked for the Inquisition, most had gone their own ways, walked their own paths. They met up every now and then but the Winter Palace had been the first time they’d been in the same place at the same time for a long four years.
She hummed, “Well, I think the Entity, whatever it is, saved my life.” She held out hope that Solas wouldn’t have killed her but she didn’t know him, not truly, and that burned more than almost anything else. “Well, it’s either that or I’ve just been handed a slower death sentence.” After all, the Anchor was slowly killing her, if Solas was to be believed. But again, it was Solas.
Everything led back to him, at the moment.
“How long have you been here?” she queried, looking suspiciously at the food on the table in front of her before reaching out carefully, taking off her gloves and gently pulling a small corner of the pastry off. “Why is everything so shiny?”
Varric laughed at the kick to his leg, and then a smirk crossed his features as she went on to talk of Leliana. He was realizing, despite how settled he was in Goodland, just how much he missed the connections he made at Haven then later Skyhold. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from our Spymaster. Does she still have time for her nugs?”
His expression turned serious, and he reached to cover her hand once more. “You don’t have to talk about what happened. About Fen’Harel or whoever the fuck it was you thought might kill you.” Varric had a hard time wrapping his mind around just how she found herself wrapped up with in an old elven god- who by default he believed to be just a story- but he knew just from the way she was speaking that it was very real. “But if you think you’re gonna die on me, Tiny- slower than expected or not- you know I’ll fight like hell to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I’ve been here a couple of months,” he replied, leaning back in his seat to get comfortable. Varric couldn’t help but chuckle a bit when she mentioned everything being ‘shiny’, his thoughts wandering over to the corner of his brain where Solona had set up shop, before regaining his train of thought. “This place is set in a time that’s eons ahead of ours. They call it ‘modern times’, but I call it a mindfuck- or at least I did. I’m rather fond of all the shiny now.”
“She does,” Athera reassured him, because though they hadn’t come to Skyhold, she knew they were in a pen near where Leliana was living as the Divine now. It would have been good to have not needed to reinstate someone in that position, it would have been good to have been able to create something new that didn’t have religion as its base but Athera knew she’d made enough waves.
She turned her hand so she could catch his fingers, the Anchor pulsing under her skin. It rippled up her arm, now, almost to her shoulder, streaks of vibrant green whenever she used her abilities. She wanted to talk about it, she just didn’t know how. Especially since Varric, the Varric in front of her, didn’t know what had happened, hadn’t followed her into the Eluvian, into the Space Between.
Humming again in thought, she glanced out of the window to see another one of those moving things that had nearly struck her down shoot past the window. Varric settled in seamlessly because of course he did. “Modern times,” she mused, trying it out on her tongue, “Ar eolasa… ar sil.”
She took a bite of the food, not letting go of Varric’s hand. The pastry melted on her tongue but he was right, it was rich in flavour and was a lot better than most of the food that she’d ever eaten, even at the Winter Palace or Halamshiral, since she’d always been too busy actually doing things to enjoy the food properly.
“Do you remember the Well of Sorrows?” she asked, as a sort of non-sequitur into talking about what had happened. “And how mad Solas was when I drank from it?”
The shock from the green magic that enveloped her arm fully, almost made Varric tug his hand away, but he held fast- immediately concerned. It seemed that this was direr than he thought. Her anchor, it hadn’t been like this the last time he saw her had it? “How…” he faltered, tightening his fingers around hers. “How long has it been like this?”
“It gets easier, all of the shiny and machines, I will help you.” Smiling, a bit amused then, he tilted his head. “I’ve been away from you far too long, Tiny. My elven is rusty. Spare the dwarf a lowly common tongue translation?”
He watched as she finally partook of the pastry. “Hell of a bite right? Just don’t overdo it. Take it from me, that’s one stomach ache you’ll never forget.” Varric was ashamed to admit that he had gorged himself upon arrival. Yeah. That was one tale he would never tell.
A ‘hmm’ sound passed his lips at the mention of the Well. He remembered that day vividly. It was quite a terrifying sight to watch her slip into the water and drink from it. Varric recalled that he wished he had said something more when she asked for advice than just ‘you’re asking me!?!’. “Yeah, Chuckles feathers were thoroughly ruffled. I could hear his yelling from across Skyhold.”
Athera didn’t immediately answer his question about the anchor, but noticed the way his arm tensed, so she drew her hand back over the table, resting it out of sight on her knee and picking up another piece of the pastry, and then another, mindful only a moment later when Varric reminded her - again - not to overdo it. The tables around them were laden with food, and the hum of conversation was more comforting since she couldn’t her the accents of any judgmental Orlesian nobles gossiping about what they weren’t doing right.
“I just said that I think I understand, about being in a future that’s… this isn’t our world either, though, is it? I didn’t see- I mean there aren’t any-” she waved her right hand between them to indicate that in the brief time she’d been outside she hadn’t seen anyone else like Varric, or herself, and there had been a fair few people out there. “Lots of humans… But I’m counting on you helping me understand all of this. I was given a letter that said I am sleeping in room- uh-” she got the letter out from where she’d folded it and passed it to Varric, confirming her sleeping arrangements as 6-E. “In there. You’ll maybe help me find it later?”
She chewed thoughtfully on another couple of bites of the rich, buttery pastry and washed it down with her coffee before she sighed. “Okay- so- um, the anchor’s been getting worse over the last few years. It was never meant to be attached to a person like this, that was a side effect of the orb being used for something it was never meant to be.” She wet her lower lip, “Fen’Harel’s orb. Fen’Harel who tricked the Gods of my people into an eternal sleep and who- he created the Veil, severing my people from their immortality.”
That part of the story wasn’t well known. Solas had told her. Right before he told her the anchor was killing her. Right before he told her that he wasn’t who she thought he was. Skyhold had to have been his, it was so remote that there was no way he’d have known about it otherwise.
“As far as I can gather, when Fen’Harel woke from his slumber he was still too weak to do what he wanted to; tear down the Veil and make the world whole again. I’m guessing he gave the orb to Corypheus so that he could- Elgar’nan why is this so-” She frowned, frustrated at herself. “Solas. Solas is Fen’Harel. He lied to us, Varric.”
“There is a wonderful mix of people here from all different backgrounds, it’s quite the story that I may write one day.” He smiled when she showed him her letter from the Entity, a bit of a twinkle in his eye. “Lucky for you I know exactly where that is. I hope you’re ready for a lot of late-night Wicked Grace, and I swear not to be the most horrible roommate in the history of Goodland.”
Varric listened quietly as she wove her tale that read off like an autobiography- taking in the details that history had gotten so incredibly wrong. It was well known that the Dalish blamed humans for their stolen immortality, he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her to discover that it was a fabrication. But history did that sometimes didn’t it? As time went on it could get twisted into half-truths.
Reaching, he grabbed her hand once more when she seemed to be struggling to get something out, but when she finally spoke his name, it nearly knocked the wind out of Varric. In some ways, it felt like Kirkwall’s Chantry explosion all over again.
He was a lot of things, but the dwarf was incredibly loyal. He put his beliefs and faith into people wholeheartedly, so to hear that they had been betrayed by own of their own? That they were lied to and used for how long?!
Sure he hadn’t always seen eye to eye with Chuckles. There were numerous times when they disagreed, like over Cole, but he had still worked side by side with the elf? He had still trusted him?
“That son of a bitch…”
The delight at the implication that she would be sharing a room with Varric was one thing, but of course then he processed what she had said about Solas and a late night round of Wicked Grace seemed like the least of their concerns.
Despite the severity of the conversation, Athera let out a laugh - small and watery but still a laugh - at Varric’s reaction. Succinct but to the point.,
“Couldn’t have put it better,” she said, squeezing his fingers again. “He’s mad, Varric.”
“It’s a good thing he’s not here then.” Good for everyone involved, because he couldn’t be held responsible for any arrows he may ‘toss’ Solas’ way. Knowing what he did now though? It did make him second guess how comfortable he was in Goodland. If Solas succeded what would happen to his home? What would happen to everyone he cared about back in Thedas?
“Maker’s breath, what did we step in?”
“Sorry to burst in and ruin your day again,” she replied with a shake of her head with a wry, sad smile. “I- I have a habit of doing that. Just appearing with news, or a mission, or something that ruins your day.”
She lifted her shoulder. “You said it,” she told him, “I have really bad luck. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, let you just live without knowing what’s coming when you get home. If? If you get home? What’s the correct term for this place, are we here permanently?”
If Varric’s eyebrow could have arched any higher, it would have flew right off his face. “Listen, Tiny,” he began giving her hand yet another squeeze. “You may have the absolute worst bad luck of anyone I’ve ever met, and please remember I’ve met Hawke, but the last thing you have ever done is ruin my damn day.”
“I don’t know how long we’ll be here, or if it’s permanent, but we’ll make the best of it! And deal with the rest if or when we go back.”
“Hopefully he doesn’t rip another hole in the Fade while we’re here,” she muttered, ignoring the ache that ran up her arm, dropping her left hand down again out of sight like that would make Varric forget, like it would make her forget.
She did smile, though. “You think my story’ll sell as well as Hawke’s?” She asked, “assuming, of course, that you write it.” Which knowing Varric he had at least thought about if not drafted some of it. “You can use my bad luck as a running theme. It’s something if you think I’ve got worse luck than Hawke.”
She picked at another broken bit of pastry. “This is good, so- tell me what’s your favourite thing here? And what are those things out there that keep rushing past and screaming like a war horn?”
“I think it might be my best seller,” he said with a sly grin. “We’ll just have to wait and see once it’s finished. I’m calling it ‘This Shit is Weird: The Inquisitor Lavellan Story’, it’s a working title.” Raising his eyebrows at her again, he shook his head. “Divine bad luck, Tiny. There is a distinct difference.”
“Wait until you try french fries.” Reaching to break off a piece of bread, he popped it into his mouth and glanced outside. “Ah, right. Almost got run over by one of those myself when I first arrived. It’s a thing called a car. Think horses for the modern age. They are how people get to wherever the hell it is they are going in such a hurry.”
At the title, Athera gave a genuine laugh. “I love it.” She replied with another bite of her pastry that was heavenly. She wondered if the ingredients were available in Thedas, or if it was grown if she could steal seeds. After all, Skyhold’s gardens were among the best. “So if my bad luck is divinely caused, was Hawke’s just… because Hawke attracted it?” She cared deeply for Hawke, they’d gotten to know each other well over the months they travelled together but Hawke was a dreadful decision maker for the most part.
“French fries? So the food here’s- is it all this good?” Another shiny thing - a car - zoomed past outside and she turned to watch it. “It looks claustrophobic.” Did it have a strong will like most of the mounts Athera had ridden? Was it even alive? She supposed she would find out. “I’m glad we’ll be in the same house,” she said finally. “That makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing. I’m glad you’re here, Varric. Mythal knows I couldn’t do this alone.”
Varric smiled at her laugh. It had been too long since he heard it, and it took him back to rare joyous nights spent with the Inquisition in Herald’s Rest, or on the road travelling through Thedas. “Hawke’s bad luck is definitely attracted bad lack,” he replied with a laugh of his own. “Chuckle’s always manages to come out swinging though, you two share that trait.”
“Most of it I’ve tried is. I’m sure there are foods out there that aren’t as good, but I have a feeling that depends on your tastes.” Varric grinned, and got up from the table, slipping his laptop into the bag. Then moved to hug her again. “I’m glad you’re here too, Athera,” he began- using her actual name instead of the nickname he was so fond of. “There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with. Now let’s get you to our new home.”