SANCTUM AND HEALING (48/?)
anonymous
December 4 2011, 22:13:27 UTC
‘Don’t ask me for details.’ Varric laced his fingers together over his belly. He was kind to pretend Anders hadn’t just embarrassed himself out loud. ‘Hawke’s not the sort to kiss and tell. But by that token, I guess you can tell there was some kissing going on. If only because Hawke wasn’t telling, and those silences could fill just as many books as I have.’
‘Now that would be something,’ Anders murmured. ‘Selling empty books to people. What a business venture, Varric, but are you certain it would catch on?’
‘Isabela wanted to know, believe me,’ Varric continued. ‘The number of times she asked-the number of times she showed up at Hawke’s place unexpected, dropping by for a visit and picking the locks when nobody answered the door-maybe there’s something more she knew that she didn’t let on. We believed in romance, you see, just…didn’t believe in preserving it the same way. And-thanks to Hawke-I had to make so much shit up there’s no way to sort fact from fiction now.’
‘I’m not a private person.’ Anders tugged at his collar, hooking his fore- and index-fingers underneath the fabric, relieving some of the pressure when he swallowed. ‘I’m sure if you’d just bought me a few rounds, I would have spilled everything.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t try,’ Varric said. ‘I was committed. But it didn’t work that way. All I know is, what you and Hawke had-two high-maintenance mages coming together over something bigger than yourselves but smaller than your cause-it was beautiful.’ Anders stared, trapped by his horror, and Varric snorted. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look. A dwarf’s not allowed to be a romantic?’
‘The only dwarf I know happens to be in love with farting more than anything else,’ Anders admitted. ‘And I’m here, and I gave you my pillow, but I gave Hawke my heart-’
‘Don’t forget about the part where you gave your body as a host to a spirit from the Fade.’ Varric didn’t flinch, though Anders did; he might even have looked pleased with himself, finding the perfect dramatic timing, until he grimaced after, recognizing the impulse was bad and also evil, better suited to lonely tasks with a quill and an inkwell and sheaf after sheaf of vellum. ‘…Didn’t tell you about that part yet, did I?’
‘Might have been good to know,’ Anders said.
Varric rubbed his palm against his cheek, a friendly sound in the empty room. ‘Hard to believe, though.’
‘Just a little,’ Anders agreed.
‘Stranger things have happened,’ Varric added. ‘I mean-all things considered.’
Anders glanced up to the ceiling and down to the fireplace, from the sunlight streaming in through the window to the clean, heavy curtains, from the far wall back to Varric again. He didn’t believe in ignoring the one person who bothered to look at him, straight at him-but he also didn’t believe in anything else, visions in his sleep and histories he didn’t share, stories he would have enjoyed better if they weren’t about him. He clasped his hands together, and Varric leaned forward to pat his knee.
‘You could read a few of the books, if you’d like,’ he said. ‘The elf’ll tell you I’m shameless when it comes to self-promotion, reliving my glory days the same way sensible bastards like Hawke don’t. Who knows; he’s probably right. And sure, it’s full of hogwash and metaphor and too much alliteration-what can I say? I was going through a phase. But it’s something, anyway. A start. Not to mention there’s nothing an author likes than to talk to a new reader about his stories, right?’
‘You have a collection of your own literature?’ Anders asked.
Varric cleared his throat. He had the decency to look abashed, if only for a brief moment, gone before a dwarven water-clock could tick the seconds twice. ‘Wildervale’s got a pretty fine library. Who knows where the other copies are or who’s still reading them, but like I said-’
‘Now that would be something,’ Anders murmured. ‘Selling empty books to people. What a business venture, Varric, but are you certain it would catch on?’
‘Isabela wanted to know, believe me,’ Varric continued. ‘The number of times she asked-the number of times she showed up at Hawke’s place unexpected, dropping by for a visit and picking the locks when nobody answered the door-maybe there’s something more she knew that she didn’t let on. We believed in romance, you see, just…didn’t believe in preserving it the same way. And-thanks to Hawke-I had to make so much shit up there’s no way to sort fact from fiction now.’
‘I’m not a private person.’ Anders tugged at his collar, hooking his fore- and index-fingers underneath the fabric, relieving some of the pressure when he swallowed. ‘I’m sure if you’d just bought me a few rounds, I would have spilled everything.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t try,’ Varric said. ‘I was committed. But it didn’t work that way. All I know is, what you and Hawke had-two high-maintenance mages coming together over something bigger than yourselves but smaller than your cause-it was beautiful.’ Anders stared, trapped by his horror, and Varric snorted. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look. A dwarf’s not allowed to be a romantic?’
‘The only dwarf I know happens to be in love with farting more than anything else,’ Anders admitted. ‘And I’m here, and I gave you my pillow, but I gave Hawke my heart-’
‘Don’t forget about the part where you gave your body as a host to a spirit from the Fade.’ Varric didn’t flinch, though Anders did; he might even have looked pleased with himself, finding the perfect dramatic timing, until he grimaced after, recognizing the impulse was bad and also evil, better suited to lonely tasks with a quill and an inkwell and sheaf after sheaf of vellum. ‘…Didn’t tell you about that part yet, did I?’
‘Might have been good to know,’ Anders said.
Varric rubbed his palm against his cheek, a friendly sound in the empty room. ‘Hard to believe, though.’
‘Just a little,’ Anders agreed.
‘Stranger things have happened,’ Varric added. ‘I mean-all things considered.’
Anders glanced up to the ceiling and down to the fireplace, from the sunlight streaming in through the window to the clean, heavy curtains, from the far wall back to Varric again. He didn’t believe in ignoring the one person who bothered to look at him, straight at him-but he also didn’t believe in anything else, visions in his sleep and histories he didn’t share, stories he would have enjoyed better if they weren’t about him. He clasped his hands together, and Varric leaned forward to pat his knee.
‘You could read a few of the books, if you’d like,’ he said. ‘The elf’ll tell you I’m shameless when it comes to self-promotion, reliving my glory days the same way sensible bastards like Hawke don’t. Who knows; he’s probably right. And sure, it’s full of hogwash and metaphor and too much alliteration-what can I say? I was going through a phase. But it’s something, anyway. A start. Not to mention there’s nothing an author likes than to talk to a new reader about his stories, right?’
‘You have a collection of your own literature?’ Anders asked.
Varric cleared his throat. He had the decency to look abashed, if only for a brief moment, gone before a dwarven water-clock could tick the seconds twice. ‘Wildervale’s got a pretty fine library. Who knows where the other copies are or who’s still reading them, but like I said-’
‘Glory days and hogwash,’ Anders confirmed.
‘Exactly,’ Varric said.
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