Here is a little snippet I've been working on, part of a larger character study. Hope you enjoy!
The drink burns as it goes down, although not so bad as the first glass did.
Inquisitor Lavellan sits at the desk placed in the corner of her room in Skyhold keep and frowns down at the few awkward paragraphs she's written. She had already recounted the events in the Fade to her advisors when they got back, but Leliana suggested that a written account could be useful for the historians.
“I'm sure Varric would be more suited—happy even—to write this down,” she protested. "He has more talent for this kind of thing and also has first hand experience.”
“Yes, I'm sure Master Tethras would make it a wonderful story, but perhaps having an account with more… factual accuracy—” she continued tactfully, “—wouldn't hurt.”
So she agreed, and spent the past day cooped up in her quarters trying to faithfully describe what happened. Crumbled pieces of parchment litter the floor in front of the desk. To her frustration it is like trying to describe a surreal dream. Perhaps it is a fundamental, inalienable property of the place. She is unsure how to make the truth believable.
There is a knock at her door, then heavy footsteps ascend the stairs.
First the tips of horns peek above the railing followed by Bull's head and wide shoulders.
“Bull, so good to see you.” She almost jumps up from her chair grateful for the excuse to abandon her frustrating task. She drops the quill down next to the page, tiny droplets of ink splatter across the polished wood surface of the desk.
“Fenedhis—” She quickly swipes at the drops with her fingers but now they too are stained black.
“I see you started the fun without me.” He sniffs the air and motions toward the half empty bottle on the desk. “Is that dwarven?”
“Donno, it looked old, and it burns. It's one of the bottles we picked up in Crestwood.”
Bull doesn't approach her, instead takes a seat on the sofa next to the railing for the stairs. He's completely relaxed, sure of his place in her space.
When he next speaks his tone is casual, perfectly designed to put her at ease. “So, the Fade, huh? I've heard some of it. Must have been pretty scary…” She doesn't mind the gentle probing, she wants to talk about it. To express things she can't put into an objective written record of events.
She takes another sip of her drink, considering.
“Well, yes, it was certainly—to quote Varric—some weird shit. But who would be afraid if they have Cassandra standing between them and the demons, really” she laughs a self deprecating little laugh.
“I would have been happier if it's me standing between you and the demons, but I'll admit the Seeker is the second best thing.”
“You think you could take her?” she raises an eyebrow.
“In a fight, or do you mean something else?”
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