Varric Tethras | Dragon Age (taleweaver) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-10-14 22:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, helen magnus, varric tethras |
"It isn't something I often share."
Who: Varric and Helen
What: Emotional stuff and settling things!
When: a few nights ago
Where: Helen's place.
Status: Complete
Rating PG:13
Varric had finished moving in some of this things. It wasn’t much - about a week’s worth of clothing, a trunk of writing supplies, an extra laptop, and a few knicknacks that he thought might compliment Helen’s decor. He didn’t want to disrupt things too much yet. Maker knew he’d have a hard time letting someone into his place like this. He still hadn’t invited her over!
This particular disruption was one she had invited, and she would have welcomed it, regardless. It meant she would have him nearer more often. For that, there was little she wouldn’t have tolerated.
She had known, of course. On some level, she had always known. He was hers. But having the fragments of his life scattered throughout hers somehow made that belief a reality. She would never have discouraged it.
“Thinking?”
"Thinking," Varric replied, folding his arms and looking around. "Definitely thinking. I might need to bring a painting. Inspiration you know."
She flashed him a soft smile. "We can't have you uninspired."
Smirking, Varric replied, "We can always use you for inspiration. Like in Titanic."
A flicker of pain crossed her features at the reference, but she recovered quickly. "Perhaps. If you ask nicely."
Varric walked over her, pulling her against him and threading his arms around her waist, "I'd have more fun with the paintbrush on your skin than on canvas."
She leaned into him easily, asking softly, "What would you paint?"
"Nothing," He replied, his grin widening. "Just feather your skin."
"Not on the good sheets." It was more of a promise than an instruction.
"Why not the good sheets? Your skin deserves the best, Rabbit." Varric was clearly in a mood. A good mood, a cheerful mood, and a bit of a playful one.
"Because I've a feeling sooner or later I'll end up a canvas, and I'd rather not have to wash them."
Varric gave her a big belly laugh, and slipped away before the conversation turned wordless, "You sound like you're feeling better."
She let him pull away. "I am." Then softer, "Are you?"
"Yes, definitely. And like I wouldn't let you go for the world!" Varric adjusted a small ship model, nestled among some of Helen's things.
“You’ve no need to let me go.” She moved closer again, reaching for his hand. “I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with me for a very long time.”
"Is that a warning?" He asked lightly.
“Or a promise. I imagine it depends on your perspective.”
"I like the sound of that," Varric replied. Thirsty, he made his way into the kitchen. He still felt at times like an invader, "Do you want something to drink?"
She shook her head, watching him, though she didn’t follow. He knew her house well enough now, and she hoped he would know she wouldn’t have asked him to stay if she hadn’t trusted him. And perhaps a small part of her dared to hope that given space, he would come to think of it as home.
He might. It would take time. It was still taking time. It might take more time. He still had difficulty with that. This was Helen's home. He wasn't sure he would ever consider it his as well.
Varric poured himself some orange juice, and walked back into the living room.
It felt like they were wordlessly dancing around a subject.
Helen had always had a talent for avoiding that which she didn’t wish to discuss, particularly in instances where it would mean revealing her own inner turmoil. It was said to be unhealthy, allowing those feelings to bottle up without giving them an outlet, but she had forgotten how to share them.
While he poured his orange juice, she settled on the sofa, one greyhound lying at her feet as the other curled up beside her and rested her head in her lap. There was just enough space for another person beside her, and she lightly patted the cushion when he came back into the living room.
“Sit with us.”
It was unhealthy, but then Varric wasn't well known for sharing his own internalized feelings with others, either. He couldn't really talk.
He walked over and plopped down next to her, taking her hand.
She threaded her fingers through his, leaning against his side. Perhaps, this time, it was her turn to wait until he was ready to talk.
They might wait awhile. Varric put his arm around Helen, and squeezed her close, "What's on your mind."
"You're here, but you seem far away." It wasn't an accusation, simply an observation, and she pet Winnie's head as she watched him.
"I've a lot of thoughts. Story threads, life threads. I suppose I'm a bit distracted, Rabbit." He smiled charmingly, but didn't volunteer any information.
"And what could have you so distracted?" she asked quietly.
"Everything." Varric looked over at her, his expression growing more serious, "I almost lost you. It's a lot to take in."
That was still clearly bothering him.
She squeezed his hand, slowly nodding. "I know." She pressed closer. "But you didn't."
“I’d rather not come that close again,” Varric admitted, taking her fingers and kissing them each in turn. “Maybe I should keep you forever.”
Perhaps being so near death had made her braver, because there was little hesitation when she answered, "Maybe you should."
Varric eyed her thoughtfully, but said nothing in return. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Or if he should say anything. The dwarf wasn’t sure he was made for that kind of thing. Normally he could put any feeling to words.
This was harder.
She wasn't certain what to make of his silence. Perhaps he was rejecting her, after all.
"You did make me a promise," she added softly.
“I did, and I’ll honor it.” He glanced at her, “I’m nervous, Rabbit.”
Nervous about what she meant to him, and what he meant to her. About what might happen to him as these memories grew more and more insistent and real. And what her memories and dreams might mean.
"As am I," she admitted quietly, tightening her fingers around his.
Was she ready to make that commitment again, ready to promise herself so completely to another? It certainly hadn't turned out as she had hoped the last time. But the ache she'd felt at his silence made her believe he was worth the risk.
"At least we're on the same page. Few people are at many points in their lives," He pointed out. "And fewer still are ready for it."
"I love you." It was barely more than a whisper, but it somehow felt more important than any other time she had said those words.
“I love you too, Helen.” He leaned in and kissed her, letting that say what words couldn’t. It was rare that he couldn’t find words.
She gently deepened the kiss, one hand moving to cup his cheek. When she finally pulled away, it was with some measure of reluctance.
“I’ve something I want to show you.”
Varric smiled, "And here I thought I've seen it all."
Carefully extracting herself, she stood, tugging lightly on the hand still in hers. “Very nearly.”
Varric let himself be pulled to his feet, curious about what Helen wanted to show him. He gave her a reassuring grin.
She led him toward the back of the house, into a far too rarely used room, releasing his hand to stroke the side of her cello, taking strength from the feel of it beneath her fingertips. The last time she had played for an audience, it had been for Nikola. She remembered it vividly, despite the years since.
She hadn’t expected to be doing it again.
After a moment, she takes a steadying breath, not looking at him as she prepared herself. Still, there was no denying she was nervous. Finally, she began to play.
Varric sat down, crosslegged on the floor so he could look up at her while she played. His eyes moved over her face, and over the movement of her fingers and the movement of the bow. The sound seemed to melt into his bones, and sent shivers down his spine.
He could appreciate this kind of music, even if his tastes tended toward more folksy beats or rock and roll. It was in a word, beautiful, and a smile drifted across his lips as much for the music as the expression on Helen's face.
She easily lost herself to the music, the remaining tension easing, lightening the weight that had settled in her chest. When the piece had finished, she didn't immediately seek feedback, instead taking time to settle into herself again.
Eventually, though, she looked up from the instrument, trying to read his expression.
Varric's expression was relaxed, and loving, "That was beautiful, Helen. Almost a little haunting, but with moments of peace and serenity."
"It isn't something I often share."
"I feel special then," He replied, his eyes betraying the depth of his feelings, even as his voice was it's usual light, almost flippant tone. Varric felt a profound gratitude and pleasure that she'd shared it with him.
“You are. You always have been.”
"You draw out emotions with your music that I can only hope to bring out with my writing, Rabbit." Varric scooted closer, reaching over to caress her knee. He'd gone through periods of distaste of his work, of listlessness and lack of direction. One of those periods had been very recent. He'd rediscovered his muse not long before he met Helen, and the romantic in him wanted to say it was linked.
The compliment made her smile, her fingertips brushing lightly across his cheek. “You underestimate yourself.”
"Something I rarely do," He quipped, eyes glistening with amusement.
“Something you do far too often.” She ran her thumb over his bottom lip. “But I wouldn’t have you any differently.”
Varric chuckled, "Only when it matters."
Her hand covered his on her knee, and she squeezed it gently. “I’m not certain I’ve ever properly thanked you.”
"For what?"
“For finding me,” then softer, “For saving me.”
"You saved yourself," He replied, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. Helen's self-esteem had been an ongoing project for him. To learn her story, to have her tell it. He'd never expected to fall in love with her in the process.
She shook her head. “Not on my own.”
“You could have done it on your own, it just would have taken longer,” He replied, shaking his head and generally stubborn on this point.
“I wouldn’t have wanted to.”
Whatever he might believe, he had been the catalyst. He had given her reason to try.
"You have to have something of your own, Helen. I can't be the end all, it's not healthy. We need to get you out more, make you friends."
She graced him with a fleeting smile. Did he even realize that he essentially made her point for her?
“I need to get out more,” she said softly.
“You do,” He confirmed, smiling.
“I’m simply afraid I don’t remember how.”
“We’ll teach you. Ashley and James and I.”
She nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ve always been an excellent student.”
“Now we just need to get you a naughty school girl outfit,” He replied, grinning.
She chuckled. “And convince me to wear it.”
Varric laughed, pulling Helen down into his lap, careful of the bow and the cello, "I think I could be convincing."
She moved willingly, carefully laying the bow across the chair as she settled against him. “You do have an art for persuasion.”
Varric trailed fingers down Helen's throat, "I do."
She closed her eyes with a contented hum.
“How do you feel about long engagements,” Varric said, suddenly.
She blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then quietly, "I believe Ashley and James might appreciate it."
"I'll have to keep that in mind the,"Varric said. And like that, it was as though a decision had been made and agreed to.
Finding his hand, she brought it to her lips. "They'll be happy for us."
“I hope they will. I’d like to be happy with you.”
"I hope you already are."
"It's harder to be happy if the kids don't approve," Varric replied, lumping James in with the 'kids.'. "At least i've got the dogs liking me!"
"They love you."
“The kids?” Varric grinned, “Ashley, and the greyhounds, and James.”
She gently stroked his cheek, shifting to kiss him. "Yes."
Varric shifted them around, so that Helen was beneath him as they kissed. It was a long, slow and very relaxing sort of kiss.
She slid her arms around him, lazily drawing him closer.
“I love you,” He whispered, before losing himself in her lips.