SANCTUM AND HEALING (23/?)
anonymous
November 30 2011, 22:03:36 UTC
‘Fenris likes to ride up front,’ Keran explained. ‘In case there’s trouble.’ He opened a faded gingham handkerchief on his lap with a red letter ‘M’ stitched into the white corner. Anders wondered who it had belonged to before him-or whether it was a gift from an illiterate relative. It housed a hard bit of bread with a lump of orange cheese, and it was the saddest breakfast Anders had ever seen.
‘That’s a little too conspicuous, isn’t it?’ Anders asked, rather than contemplate his future realities. ‘All those tattoos? He’s not exactly your average merchant’s wife-although I wouldn’t mind seeing him try on the dress.’
He had a giggle at that, though it withered in his throat when he realized no one else was joining in.
‘No one ever gets close enough to see the lyrium,’ Keran said, breaking off a piece of his stale roll. ‘He’s…very good at what he does.’
‘And Bianca’s safe as a newborn nug in her mother’s den.’ Varric hefted the weight of his enormous crossbow, cocking her sight in Anders’s direction. ‘Your concern’s been noted, Blondie. You can consider yourself forgiven. Say hello, Bianca.’
‘Hang on,’ Anders said. Varric had tried to get him to swallow some pretty harsh swill up until now-worse than the ale they served in The Crown and Lion’s taproom, even on the days when Anders found a human tooth at the bottom of his tankard-but this was about to be the final straw. ‘That’s Bianca?’
‘The only woman in my life,’ Varric confirmed, worn leather gloves rubbing over the crossbow’s lathe in a way that seemed now to be faintly obscene. ‘Isn’t she a beauty? You can look and admire all you like, but she’s taken, so don’t go getting any ideas.’
Anders stared. The crossbow gleamed. Keran munched on his cheese, and Varric smiled over the barrel-a happy man with his happy weapon. There was a murderous elf up front and beside him a mage who still thought Anders was a demon, and the mountain air suited Anders about as much as the rollicking wagon pace.
‘I want to go home,’ Anders said.
‘Buck up, Blondie.’ Varric reached out to give Anders’s boot a reassuring tap. ‘You’ll feel differently once you’ve had a hot bath and a decent nap in a real bed. Almost like you’ve been reborn.’
Anders bit his tongue as the cart rolled over another deep hole in the road, but even that couldn’t sour a sudden rush of hope, fluttering like a pheasant caught in one of the Warden Commander’s snares. He had to hand it to Varric-the dwarf was either a fantastic liar, or every bit the storyteller he claimed to be.
Whether or not the two talents were the same thing in the end made little difference, so long as there was a real bed at the end of this road, waiting for Anders to treat it with the veneration it deserved.
‘Did you say a hot bath and a decent nap?’ Anders plucked idly at the heavy fall of his skirts. ‘This real bed you mentioned-does it have a mattress and a frame and pillows and a cozy blanket just perfect for snuggling?’
‘We’re headed into Wildervale,’ Varric explained, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘The first and last mage’s city in the Free Marches. I think you’ll get your bed, Blondie.’
*
They couldn’t see Wildervale from their hiding place in the back of the wagon, but Anders knew they were there when the road beneath them began to even out, fewer pitfalls and pockmarks and time-scoured dust, more beaten dirt and a seductively slower sway to the cart’s pace. Anders almost let it work its peculiar magic on him, lulled into sleepy boredom by the ease of the rhythm, before his eyes fluttered open, wider than before, at the exact moment he realized what it all meant.
Varric met his gaze across the way and nodded. ‘Bianca’s excited about it, too,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that right, Bianca?’
Anders smiled, nice and slow, no sudden movements to let Varric know that such statements made it even more difficult to believe anything else he had to say.
‘That’s a little too conspicuous, isn’t it?’ Anders asked, rather than contemplate his future realities. ‘All those tattoos? He’s not exactly your average merchant’s wife-although I wouldn’t mind seeing him try on the dress.’
He had a giggle at that, though it withered in his throat when he realized no one else was joining in.
‘No one ever gets close enough to see the lyrium,’ Keran said, breaking off a piece of his stale roll. ‘He’s…very good at what he does.’
‘And Bianca’s safe as a newborn nug in her mother’s den.’ Varric hefted the weight of his enormous crossbow, cocking her sight in Anders’s direction. ‘Your concern’s been noted, Blondie. You can consider yourself forgiven. Say hello, Bianca.’
‘Hang on,’ Anders said. Varric had tried to get him to swallow some pretty harsh swill up until now-worse than the ale they served in The Crown and Lion’s taproom, even on the days when Anders found a human tooth at the bottom of his tankard-but this was about to be the final straw. ‘That’s Bianca?’
‘The only woman in my life,’ Varric confirmed, worn leather gloves rubbing over the crossbow’s lathe in a way that seemed now to be faintly obscene. ‘Isn’t she a beauty? You can look and admire all you like, but she’s taken, so don’t go getting any ideas.’
Anders stared. The crossbow gleamed. Keran munched on his cheese, and Varric smiled over the barrel-a happy man with his happy weapon. There was a murderous elf up front and beside him a mage who still thought Anders was a demon, and the mountain air suited Anders about as much as the rollicking wagon pace.
‘I want to go home,’ Anders said.
‘Buck up, Blondie.’ Varric reached out to give Anders’s boot a reassuring tap. ‘You’ll feel differently once you’ve had a hot bath and a decent nap in a real bed. Almost like you’ve been reborn.’
Anders bit his tongue as the cart rolled over another deep hole in the road, but even that couldn’t sour a sudden rush of hope, fluttering like a pheasant caught in one of the Warden Commander’s snares. He had to hand it to Varric-the dwarf was either a fantastic liar, or every bit the storyteller he claimed to be.
Whether or not the two talents were the same thing in the end made little difference, so long as there was a real bed at the end of this road, waiting for Anders to treat it with the veneration it deserved.
‘Did you say a hot bath and a decent nap?’ Anders plucked idly at the heavy fall of his skirts. ‘This real bed you mentioned-does it have a mattress and a frame and pillows and a cozy blanket just perfect for snuggling?’
‘We’re headed into Wildervale,’ Varric explained, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘The first and last mage’s city in the Free Marches. I think you’ll get your bed, Blondie.’
*
They couldn’t see Wildervale from their hiding place in the back of the wagon, but Anders knew they were there when the road beneath them began to even out, fewer pitfalls and pockmarks and time-scoured dust, more beaten dirt and a seductively slower sway to the cart’s pace. Anders almost let it work its peculiar magic on him, lulled into sleepy boredom by the ease of the rhythm, before his eyes fluttered open, wider than before, at the exact moment he realized what it all meant.
Varric met his gaze across the way and nodded. ‘Bianca’s excited about it, too,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that right, Bianca?’
Anders smiled, nice and slow, no sudden movements to let Varric know that such statements made it even more difficult to believe anything else he had to say.
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