You guys! I was lucky enough to get an icon commission done by @princess-of-brillini (who has amazing prices for such cute artwork). Now this beautiful picture of Varric looking sexy and smug in his Viscount crown exists!
50 euro are around 36 UK pounds and around 60 US dollars. I don’t keep tabs on them every day, but Google is your friend when it comes to translate currencies and luckily PayPal allows you to pay in different currencies as well :)
could you tell me a bit about vel and varric?? what draws them to one another? which characteristics immediately attract the other, and which do they grow to love?
Of course, I love yelling about my babies! Ok so initially, Vel was really apprehensive about the whole Herald of Andraste thing. She just wanted to go home and never deal with humans ever again. She bonded with Solas and Varric(later Sera and Bull) because they were the only other non-humans who had joined the Inquisition. Varric helped her realize that it wasn’t all bad, and supported her through some especially rough patches, vouching for her character.
Varric was drawn to Vel because she’s just so sweet. Almost sickeningly so. He instantly admires her honesty and unadulterated sense of self, how unapologetic she is especially when it comes to her being an elf. As they get to know one another better, her resilience impresses him. Her past is so tragic but she still manages to remain positive, if a little timid. He grows to care for her more and more, a little more than a friend should. And then suddenly, they’re no longer “just friends”.
Vel was drawn to Varric for so many reasons(none of them being his chest hair). His wit and intelligence, his talent with a pen, and his intriguing past attracted her, among other qualities. At first it was innocent curiosity, then it graduated into a genuine desire to speak with him - about nothing and everything. She wanted to know about Hawke, and he was curious about her life with her Clan. Soon, she was completely smitten.
They grew to love each other’s awkward qualities, specifically the way Varric loses his cool around Vel towards the later end of their friendship(which Dorian notices, and promptly points out). Vel, being on the receiving end of Varric’s kindness and generosity, falls head over heels. Literally. She suddenly becomes very clumsy, tripping on air. Varric also loves Vel’s curiosity - the way she looks nose-deep in a book, tracing her fingers under the words to keep her place. They gradually realize they love all of the little, almost unnoticeable qualities of the other. Then, they realize they love the other person. It’s a very slow process, full of hesitant touches and stolen glances from across packed rooms, but eventually they get their moment. It’s all very romantic and sappy, perfect material for a trashy novel(Cassandra gets the first copy, by the way). The Storyteller and The Heroine make one hell of a pair.
Varric couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to the newest member of their crew as he spun a (only slightly embellished) tale to entertain them for the evening. He was used to his audiences gasping in shock or staring raptly with excitement. Instead, she was watching him with a smirk that tilted her pretty lips, like she knew he was full of crap and was letting him spew it all anyway. But even more captivating was the look in her eyes - warm and fond, dangerously so. Like all he had to do was say the right words for her to tumble into his arms.
The wonderful @the-commanderjaneshepard gifted me some fanart for my birthday! Varric and my OC Crystal from my fic Lost and Found. The snippet is from the upcoming chapter that is from Varric’s POV.
Summary: A child of Mara was a soul blessed and bound to its mate for all eternity. Elizabeth Williams is summoned to Mara as a lost soul, only she's from modern America and her mate is somewhere in the wilds of Skyrim.
A/N: Yes, I know I have other works that need to be finished, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. So here we go. I'll probably change the summary eventually, because right now it sounds cringy and childish, but I really wanted to get this out.I LOVE Elder scrolls and I've been playing the games since I was little, reading everything I could get my hands on, play ESO regularly even. I'm not saying I'm an expert, because I am SO not ( I have a horrible memory ), but I'm saying that I'll try not to mess up the world too much. If there are things that I can't figure out in ES lore, I'll probably fill it in with Norse lore so be warned ahead of time.I hope you enjoy this story. I LOVE Farkas and I wanted to start my first venture into writing ES with him. In my head this is going to be a huge series with different couples as soulmates. Vilkas is going to get his story after I finish this one ;)
***
When she had gone to bed that night, nothing about her day had been different from any other.
She’d come home from her shift at the restaurant where she’d been working for ten years feeling like her back and feet were going to fall off. She’d taken a long soak in the tub as she thought about her job and how much of a dick her boss was for not giving her the raise he’d promised - or the interview for the sous chef position. She’d bet her life savings he was going to offer it to the incredibly annoying fake blonde Commis Chef they’d hired just last year, only because she kissed his ass and sent him flirty smiles all the time. Probably more, who knows.
After her bath she’d eaten a fast and easy dinner of kimchi fried rice using leftover rice and bacon, with two whole eggs because she deserved it.
Then she’d gone to bed with some crime show on in the background that she hadn’t even paid attention to and had fallen asleep quickly due to exhaustion. She'd been too tired to even think about playing one of her games.
And now - now she was currently experiencing one of the weirdest dreams she’d ever had in her life. Maybe it was her mind trying to cope with stress or just the result of eating bacon before bed.
It wasn’t so much the setting that was odd. It was actually really pleasant. A vast meadow filled with plants and wonderful smelling flowers that she’d never seen before. Butterflies flit through the air around her and all the colors were so vividly amped up they were practically glowing. Little creatures that she didn’t recognize would often peer around a bush or run along her path, watching her curiously. How odd that none of them seemed very afraid.
She followed a little stone pathway, simply strolling along as she admired her surroundings. When she’d read The Secret Garden as a girl, she’d often pictured a place like this. Calm and beautiful. Of course, she’d always added elaborate stone kitchens because even in her imagination she had to be cooking something.
Suddenly, strange balls of golden light began to appear and float around her. But somehow, she wasn’t worried or afraid. They felt...familiar, almost.
“You have finally arrived. Welcome, Elizabeth.”
She turned towards the voice, finding a strange-looking but strikingly beautiful woman standing near a large statue. She almost looked like someone cosplaying or attending a ren fair with her medieval clothes. She kind of reminded her of an older version of the Princess from Braveheart, actually. She was smiling down at her in an almost motherly fashion and Elizabeth thought for a moment that she should find it weird how tall the woman seemed to be. Nearly nine feet at least. That was weird, right? And was she...glowing?
“Where am I?”
“In my home. I am Mara and I called you here to correct a wrong.”
The only Mara she knew was from a video game. “A wrong?”
The woman gestured towards the golden orbs that continued flying around them both slowly like they were happy to be in her presence.
“These are the souls of my children waiting for their turn to return to their beloved. While many decide to simply live one lifetime and then rest their souls in the realm of their choosing, there many still that are bonded to another and choose to live again with each other.”
“Soulmates. Yeah, I’ve heard the concept in fanfics and cheesy television. What does that have to do with me?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes, playing along somewhat. Of course, if this had been real she would probably be scared off her ass right now, but since this was a dream she could be as sassy as she wanted.
The woman merely folded her hands together and graced her with a patient smile, making her feel like as ass.
“You are one of those bonded souls. However, I believe that either someone disrupted your cycle or stole you from me completely because you were not only in the wrong timeline but in the wrong realm as well.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached with longing. A soulmate...for her?
Even her dreams mocked how lonely she was.
The woman turned and waved her hand and suddenly a big orange...thingy...appeared. Kinda looked like a certain eye. Her dream was pulling out all the stops today, huh? She hadn’t even watched Lord Of The Rings in years. She guessed it also kinda looked like an Oblivion gate from her Elder Scrolls games.
“I have opened the door for you to return to your mate. I am sorry that it took so long. You must have been lonely.”
Elizabeth swallowed thickly, thinking back on all of her wasted years with the wrong people. On her mom. On her brother that she couldn’t find.
“Yeah.”
Somehow the woman suddenly seemed to become smaller, although still towering over her. She leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Elizabeth’s forehead before guiding her gently towards the door. It looked more like a gate to hell than something that would lead to anything good.
“Go forth, child of Mara, and be reunited with your love.”
Elizabeth Williams exhaled shakily and stepped through the blazing door before she realized the woman had never even told her how to find her soulmate or what his name was.
Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.
A/N: Okay, a million years later and here is Varric's POV. It's a bit choppy, but I meant for it to be like that because it's, ya know, from his POV. It's not a retelling of events but simply a glance into his mind. Also, he's a man - and a horny bastard at that - so there's a bit of nsfw thoughts going on in this chapter. Lots of body appreciation. I love writing characters that are already whipped and can't figure out what that means lmao. You poor sod, you had no chance.I'll try to be faster with the next chapter, because I'm just as excited as you guys to see what's happening
A wave of relief spread through the party as the clanging of swords and crinkle of lightning were silenced. As one, they holstered their weapons and strode back to the waiting wagon and the rest of their traveling companions.
Varric spared a glance for one of the bodies lying still as he passed - an unfortunate young apostate sporting one of his arrows in his chest.
Killing never got easier, never mind what kind of bullshit he spouted. No matter that it was his life or theirs - he’d still be seeing the startled green lifeless eyes of a boy barely reaching adulthood in his dreams, along with all of the countless others that already haunted him.
He sighed wearily and climbed back onto his pony, adjusting his saddle sore ass as well as he could while he waited for the party to get back into position. The wagon of supplies and it’s guards were back into place behind him soon enough, with the Seeker and “The Herald” leading in the front.
The group of fighting Templars and Apostates were cleared from the road ahead which lead to their destination of a little hamlet called the Crossroads. By all reports, it was a tiny village barely worthy of even being called that, but due to its position (and that fact that Redcliffe was unreachable at the moment), it had become a sanctuary for refugees and the wounded.
A chantry mother had sent word to Haven asking for help with protection and supplies. Apparently, she’d even asked for the Herald to come himself. They’d all agreed it was an excellent chance to get word out about their newly formed band of do-gooders and let the people get a look at Maxwell Trevalyn, the freshly dubbed Herald of Andraste.
Varric wasn’t too sure if it was true, but he’d also seen too much shit throughout the years to rule it out completely. Regardless of whatever lofty title they were trying to burden him with, Maxwell still looked like a scared kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. However, the way he worked hard and silently accepted leadership despite being completely out of his element reminded Varric of Hawke in their early days - if he were tamer and had been raised as a pampered nobleman, that is.
The point was, Varric had taken one look at the kid and known he wasn’t going to be going home anytime soon. This Maxwell was going to make a name for himself and spawn a tale for the ages, he was sure - if he had the right kind of people watching out for him. He was getting too old for this shit and wanted to go home, but he felt like this kid was going to need someone in his corner. And this whole situation felt off in so many ways that he’d probably feel guilty if he did try to leave.
So that's how he found himself traveling around the godforsaken Hinterlands - saddle sore, sunburnt and with a newfound hatred of bears - towards the beginning of their adventure. At first glance, this was simply a goodwill quest - show up and shake some hands, pass out food, kiss a few babies - but that group of apostates and templars that had been blocking the road were troubling. Sadly, he knew who to blame for it.
When the Crossroads came into view, he finally realized how much they were needed here. The chantry mother hadn’t mentioned how dire it really was or he suspected they would have sent help earlier. The people walking around were gaunt and dirty, many of them sporting bruises or missing limbs. They all looked severely malnourished, more so than the usual peasant. The moans and screams from the wounded were near-constant, adding to the practically visible cloud of desperation over the village. Add a bit more sewage stench and some unreasonably large rats and it would be just like good old Darktown.
They were able to spot the bright plumage of the chantry members working with the wounded and quickly made their way over to them. Villagers watched them with dawning hope in their eyes. A few of them started to cry and some of the children had even begun to cheer.
This. This was why Varric kept putting his own ass on the line all the time.
While Maxwell and Cassandra spoke to the chantry mother, Varric and Solas helped pass out the goods to the villagers. Soon enough, the pain in the ass bear that had attacked them earlier was chopped to bits and passed out among everyone to be cooked for the evening meal. Blankets and soaps, grain, and potions were all tearfully accepted by the people he handed them to. He may not be a very good man, but the joy he found in helping these people assured him that at least he wasn’t a bad one.
He was just handing off the last of the goods when Maxwell strides over, the weathered mother walking behind him imperiously.
“Everyone, this is Mother Giselle. She has some interesting news,” Maxwell grins, practically bouncing on his heels.
“Is it that everyone here is standing on death's doorstep? Because we noticed,” Varric drawled.
He was technically Andrastean, but that didn’t mean he let corrupt clergy off easy.
Her only tell that the words hit was a slight tick in her jaw as she nodded once.
“The situation here is deplorable, however, with the status of things we were unsure of where to ask for aid. I took a chance when I heard the hands of the Divine were involved in your “Inquisition.”
“And we are happy to help,” Cassandra stated as she rejoined the party. Her raised eyebrow towards Varric was something he’d long ago interpreted to mean behave .
“Yes, well,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Mother Giselle says that another fell from a rift. A woman, no visible marks though.”
“An abomination perhaps?” Cassandra muses, standing straighter and placing a light hand on her sword.
“She appears to be a regular woman, free of magic or any signs of corruption. She fell from the rift and beyond a few broken bones and a few odd quirks here and there, nothing seems off about her,” Mother Giselle answers with a weary sigh. The way that she’d said ‘odd quirks’ like just mentioning them gave her a headache made Varric want to meet this woman very much.
The mother waved them away like annoying gnats soon after, with instructions to ask around for information on the area and what they could do to help. He supposed it was too much to expect her to already know that kind of (extremely important) information.
Thankfully, they found a soldier called Corporal Vale that seemed more informed and actually cared about taking care of the people there. Between him and a few others that piped in their opinions, the party discovered that what the people of the crossroads needed most right now was food and protection from the increasingly cold nights. They’d get a nice reprieve with the supplies that they’d brought from Haven, but that still wouldn’t be enough.
“I heard ye’re wanting to be put to work. I reckon I have a thing or two for ya,” a man called out as he strode towards them. They had just been discussing where to go from here, so anything was helpful.
“Of course, good sir. How may we assist you?” Maxwell plastered on his charming court smile, which seemed to have little effect on the man. Not that surprising considering the fellow looked as rugged and of the land as they come, and Maxwell reeked of privilege.
He grunts and looks over their little band as though he found them wanting, but good enough for now. His gaze only showed a sliver of appreciation when they landed on Cassadra (how original), then he seemed to meet Varric’s eyes straight on as though he assumed that he was really in charge.
“The goods that you brought us will help for a few days, but we’ll need more if we’re to recover enough to get back on our feet. Our lass Crystal says there’s a flock of rams over the hill. We’ve been unable to do any hunting what with the fighting all about so we’d appreciate if you brought in a few.”
“Of course,” Maxwell nods. “And you seem to know Crystal well?”
“Aye, I’m the mayor of this little corner. Know all my people. Whatever that daft old mother has been filling your head with needs to be ignored. Crystal is just a sweet and quiet lassie doing her best.”
“Oh, yes of course. We simply wanted to meet her.”
“After the hunting, if you please. She’s one of the ones that's been giving her rations to the little ones and I’ll not have her interrogated on an empty stomach.”
This Crystal must be quite the woman to inspire such loyalty despite her origins, Varric muses.
He can tell Maxwell has more questions, but with a few whispered words (orders) from Cassandra, they head off to hunt.
****
It was dark by the time they made it back and The Crossroads already appeared refreshed. There was a massive bonfire in the middle of the road where numerous pots and spits were working overtime to prepare the food they’d brought earlier. Kids were running around screaming and laughing as their parents watched with obvious relief. A few had even set up some rickety old instruments nearby to liven the place as they celebrated their newfound hope.
Several villagers rushed to greet their wagon and relieve them of the burden. They’d easily hunted down ten whole rams, stopping when it seemed like it would be enough to feed them for a few days and have enough left to preserve.
Varric wished there was more he could do at the moment, but he promised himself he’d write a few letters once they got back to Haven. A few favors called in and a bit of coin spread around and he’d have this little Hamlet healed in no time. And best of all, if he did it using the right channels, no one would know that Varric and his cursed bleeding heart was responsible for it.
Cassandra and Maxwell got pulled into a conversation with the Mother and the mayor (who had finally introduced himself as Giles) that Varric ignored as unimportant while he observed everyone else instead.
They already seemed in awe of Maxwell, sneaking glances his way with eyes shining with admiration. A few whispered words here and there would make today’s rescue seem more romantic than passing out a few slabs of dead sheep. It was always amazing watching the beginning of a legend be born.
His eyes flitted from one person to the next, all of them looking fairly similar as lower class humans tend to do. The sun-burnt skin, hunched backs, callused hands. The men smiling with three teeth left and the women looking haggard and drained after at least fifteen pregnancies.
It wasn’t until a couple of men moved to the side that he noticed the lone figure in the back.
At first glance, she was just as average as the rest. Peasant clothing without a shred of adornment anywhere. Injured somehow, as she had her left arm in a linen sling. Normal brown hair and eyes, pale skin, thin lips. But something was telling him to take a second look, so he did. And then he began to observe the little things. The way that her skin was free of marks except for a few freckles, no sun-burnt patches, and semi-clean like she at least made an attempt to wash up here in the wilderness.
Her hair was basically average brown and pulled into a no-nonsense braid, but it was so long it reached her waist and when it caught the light of the fire it shone with a fiery copper highlight, as though to hint at hidden depths. Her eyes glinted like amber, big and trained on his party with just as much wonder as the rest of them. He thought they rather reminded him of Halla eyes. He didn’t believe a woman would find that complimentary though, so he’d try to think of something else.
Her lips were thin but appeared soft and kissable (where the fuck did that thought come from?). She smiled a little when she looked at Cassandra, and he noticed she had some of the whitest teeth he’d ever seen, bright and straight. A full set, too. Even he was missing one after a brawl a few years ago.
And that body! Andraste’s ass, he hadn’t seen a body like that on a human female outside of brothels. He’d bet that before she’d been forced to essentially starve she’d been voluptuous , but even now she was a good handful. Peasants never had this much meat on their bones, so that was his first hint that she was not like the rest. She was short, boasting only an inch or two above him, but he thought that maybe added to the appeal.
Those tits looked like they were trying their best to burst out of that ill-fitting dress, and the backside wasn’t faring much better. And the way that her waist curved in before flaring out into hips made for a man to grab onto.
Shit.
He glanced down at his pants, grateful that between the darkness of night and the constriction of the leather, his growing problem shouldn’t be too obvious. He shook his head and went back to studying her.
Her most damning feature, however, was her hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands. His were callused and scarred, with ink permanently staining his nails. The average human peasant’s hands were even worse, usually the color of leather from their life working outdoors and short jagged nails were practical.
Hers were so tiny he could easily fit them both in one of his hands and have room to spare. He could tell how soft they were even from here. Pink and not a spot in sight, with nails that were long and rounded, with flecks of pink on them like they’d once been painted (something he’d only seen done in Orlais).
A lady. And despite her small stature, definitely a human. Why was she here?
He crept through the crowd, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible until he made his way to her side.
“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”
He patted himself on the back mentally for such a smooth intro. She turned to him and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes. She was excited to see him ? She could be a fan, he supposed, but not many actually knew his face.
Up close, she was even more intriguing. He stood close enough for her breath to touch his cheek, and was amazed to smell clove and peppermint. Third hint that she wasn’t from around here, as human peasants always smelled like mead and rotting teeth.
He let his gaze travel over her, mostly to gauge her reaction and slightly because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the massive mounds of flesh trying to burst from her borrowed dress. She blushed sweetly, making him feel like a lecher for a moment, but she didn’t seem to mind him looking.
Interesting.
Just as he was about to lay it on thick, Maxwell found them and drew her into a conversation. It turned out that his hunch was right and she wasn’t from around here. In fact, she was the one they’d been told about. The other “Fade Walker.” She didn’t seem to be touched by the experience like Maxwell had been, but the fall from the rift had been what injured her.
Her voice when she talked to Maxwell was quiet and shy like she wasn’t sure they wanted to hear what she had to say. Her body language was like she was primed for flight the moment one of them made a wrong step, even as she practically begged for their help. In fact, she reminded him of the injured dove that Fenris had rescued once. Dog had injured the bird’s wing and Fenris had taken it in and patched it up. It had been a timid little thing, jumping over every sound. But it was sweet and would trill and coo whenever Fenris spoke to it.
Varric frowned as he listened to them talk and stood at her side as Solas healed her fractured wrist, feeling a strange sort of protectiveness well up inside him. The feeling itself wasn’t unfamiliar - he was protective of his friends, of his dumbass brother, of Bia - her . But he barely knew this woman.
Maybe it was just that she seemed so...vulnerable. So soft. Every emotion played out on her face like she just wore her heart out for everyone to see. Anyone with decent skill in observation could tell this was the sort of woman that you protect from the world. That you keep safe behind walls filled with love and laughter, flowers in her hair and children at her feet.
It had been a long time since Varric had ever seen such a woman. Had he ever?
Even with the reveal of her “knowledge,” he could tell that she’d only held the rest back out of fear. Either that or she was literally the best spy in all of Thedas.
When they’d finally left that evening, he’d thrown her the sending crystal on a whim. He’d been holding onto that to give to Maxwell, and they were not cheap or easy to come by. However, he’d noticed her anxious gaze following him as they walked away and had again felt that urge to protect. Anything could happen and they’d be gone for an entire week. He sincerely doubted she knew how to even hold a knife, let alone protect herself with one.
The nightly storytelling was to reassure himself as well as her. He was sure letting Crystal hear them talk would ease any worries she might have about traveling with strangers. And when she silently answered and let him talk, he knew it was still in her possession and everything seemed fine. If something happened, he hoped that she’d be able to figure out how to use it and alert him. He’d have the apostate elf figure some way to get back quickly since he had the look of someone who knew more than he let on.
****
A week flew by and their party was growing increasingly hopeful about Crystal’s “usefulness” to the inquisition. Varric had to grit his teeth and clench his fist to keep from hitting Solas every time he used that word in conjunction with her. “Useful.” Like she was an item instead of one those that they were meant to protect.
Her notes that she’d shared had been really good, however. They’d managed to close down the rebel camps and clear the roads, took down a creepy green demon thing, and gotten a decent amount of horses to tide them over until they completed Master Dennett’s tasks.
Maxwell had declared the night before that they would take Crystal with them when they left for Haven. Varric knew that once they got there he’d have to watch out for the Nightingale, but at least he felt better about leaving her in a place surrounded by people he semi-trusted while he fought the good fight. Why he felt like that was his responsibility to worry about, he still hadn’t quite figured out.
It had become a little clearer, however, when they’d finally reached the Crossroads again and there’d she’d been like a ray of sunshine waiting for him. Maybe this protectiveness over her was 85% his cock’s fault, he thought, his pants tightening as she neared.
She looked a lot healthier since their last visit, obviously having made good use of the rations they’d left. Her eyes were bright and full of genuine happiness, smiling up at him. She’d let her hair free today, and it fell in luscious waves to her waist. Her clothes were once again borrowed and ill-fitting, but obviously the nicest she had. If it was possible, it seemed even tighter than the last dress, her modesty being miraculously saved by a worn strip of leather around the bodice.
It was strange how he felt like he could breathe properly now that she was in his sight. Had he been that stressed before? What was it about this damned woman? There hadn’t been anyone that had stirred him this much since...her .
And she was so easy to talk to. She spoke mostly only after someone else had spoken first, but she took his flirting in stride and offered witty responses. But every reaction to his touch and heated gaze seemed genuine and refreshingly honest. No practiced teasing he was used to.
And much later that evening was when he realized he was in trouble.
With a capital fucking T.
Because he’d been teasing her with the shirtlessness and letting his hair down, he’d admit it. If he was going to share a room with her for the night he wanted to play a little. Her reaction to him was flattering. So no one could blame her if she’d been trying to tease him back.
And that had been his first instinct when he’d turned to face her standing in front of the fire. That she’d finally shown her true colors and was asking for it. Begging for it. He’d been one step away from throwing her onto the bed and making her scream.
Until he’d looked at her face and seen the genuine innocent embarrassment of a lady. It had taken everything in him to calm down and let her run past him towards the bed. The damage had already been done to his mind, though, as everything the chemise had revealed to him was imprinted there like a tattoo. The dusky rose nipples firmed by cold, every inch of unblemished skin begging for his mouth, the strange nakedness of her mound.
He was sure if he played his cards right he could have her. Say a few things that women like to hear, promise a bauble or two, and she would let him fuck her. He wasn’t a saint and he’d done it before.
But there was something about the way she looked at him with such...admiration. Maybe even a little wonder and, yes, even a little attraction. He’s seen it all before, of course. He’s Varric Tethras - famous author, the right hand of the Champion, and heavy player in the underworld. Having people offer themselves for a night was a regular occurrence, and he was silver-tongued enough to get anyone else he might want.
With her, he just couldn’t do that. Couldn’t watch the trust and admiration fade from her eyes. She probably wasn’t as “innocent” as she seemed, but she certainly wasn’t one of his usual types of paramours. She was the type you kept, the kind that could wrap themselves around your heart so tight you couldn’t exist without them. He’d been there before and didn’t think he could survive that again.
****
Varric couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to the newest member of their crew as he spun a (only slightly embellished) tale to entertain them for the evening. He was used to his audiences gasping in shock or staring raptly with excitement. Instead, she was watching him with a smirk that tilted her pretty lips, like she knew he was full of crap and was letting him spew it all anyway. But even more captivating was the look in her eyes - warm and fond, dangerously so. Like all he had to do was say the right words for her to tumble into his arms.
It was a look that he was growing increasingly familiar with over the past few days as they traveled back to Haven. And the idea of talking her into his bed was also becoming a regular thing. No matter how many times he told himself no, how often he argued with his own damn self explaining all the perfectly sensible reasons he shouldn’t, it still floated around in there.
Three days of taking up the rear of the party so she and her giant nug would be protected in the middle were beginning to take its toll. Because back there he had a perfect view of her.
He could see when she was amazed and cooing over some new sight. When she giggled because her stupid nug stopped in the middle of a trail to eat a flower. When she and Maxwell would chat about art, something she seemed educated on. When she tried so hard to fight off her exhaustion, yawning and stretching her arms until he thought her shirt would finally pop open.
And that damned shirt. It was his , and she had no right to look so appealing in it. She hadn’t had enough clothing with her so he’d tossed some spares to her and he’s regretted it ever since. The pants stretched over her legs like a second skin, cupping her ass and luscious thighs. The shirt was made with a purposely low v on the front since that’s how he liked them. On her, it was damn near scandalous. Her cleavage was out there for everyone to see. She looked incredible . And he was suffering .
“I said what do you think, Varric ?”
The louder than necessary yell near his ear jolted him from his thoughts. He turned towards Cassandra, the annoyance on her face comfortingly familiar.
“Pardon, Seeker. I got lost in the story. Did you need something?”
“You finished the story at least ten minutes ago. We were now discussing arming Crystal,” Cassandra scoffed, her disgust with Varric’s apparent lack of awareness evident.
“Arming? What for?” He tried for nonchalance, the thought of sending her into battle raising his hackles.
“Protection, dwarf. I only have so many eyes and if we get ambushed there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to protect her completely. She says she’s never handled a weapon before. What should we start her with? A dagger, perhaps?” Cassandra stares at Crystal in thought.
The woman in question scrunches her nose. “I suppose so. It’s small enough that I could handle it, I guess. But actually stabbing someone?” she shivers.
“A dagger is handy to have on hand, of course. I’d prefer you to be farther away from any combat, though. Take up the rear with me,” he suggests. He'd rather her be somewhere he could keep an eye on her, and right at his side seemed like the best idea.
“Like a bow and arrow? I know for a fact I can’t pick up that monster of a crossbow.”
Varric chuckles, suddenly warming up to the topic. He didn’t want her fighting, true, but it would be good for her to be prepared.
“I have a regular bow I’ve been holding onto. I was going to see if someone back in Haven wanted it since it’s decent. Hold on.”
He grunts and stands up, walking over to his pony to rifle around the packs. He pulls out a medium-sized bundle in leather, unwrapping it as he walks back to her. He pulls out a bow and hands it to her to look at.
“Its a Dalish hunting bow. I think it was made for a kid. Compact enough for you, though. Woods sturdy. I restrung it myself. And I think the carvings are just birds, nothing religious,” Varric explains, hovering by her shoulder as she looks it over.
“You’ll teach me?” she asks softly, the beginnings of a smile tilting her lips.
“Anything you want, little dove.”
The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, his eyes meeting her’s as they wore matching shocked expressions.
She stared at him and he felt not for the first time that she could see every inch of his tarred soul...and somehow still felt like smiling at him?
Her grin was tiny and shy, but it was there, making him puff out his chest like a fool for pleasing her.
“You’re the best,” she said softly then turned back to coo more at her new bow.
He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t the best. He wasn’t even good.
But she made him want to try.
****
Some questions you probably have now:
1. Why do you keep writing Giles like he's from Scotland? - I dunno either, bruh. He writes himself and he decided he liked the word lassie. But notice that he can sometimes string a whole sentance together perfectly normal. It's like that on purpose. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it. Who stands in the middle of the road all day long and just watches people. Suspicious.
2. Why is Varric always talking about tits and ass - he's a dude. 97% of their thought process comes from their dick. Real science numbers. Totally didn't make that up.
3. It doesn't make sense. How can he like her this much already? - You're seeing into Varric's confused brain right now. He doesn't know what's going on either. Sometimes it be like that.
4. I thought you weren't going to make Crystal some bad ass warrior chick? - I'm not. But it's also unrealistic to not be able to arm yourself somewhat in such a wild land. Varric's watching out, don't worry.
5. Why does he keep calling Bianca "Her"? - I think there's a lot of stuff that's going on in Varric's giant noggin. For him, the bow is a safe way to say the name. Keep her in his thoughts without really thinking of her. But thinking of her name when it applies to her the person makes him think of...well, her. Does that make sense? It's a mental health protection thing, because minds are curious and we all have strange quirks up there. Separating the two in his mind helps keep him sane.
ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment! Even just a couple words. I need to know how I'm doing so I can improve future chapters. I can't wait to delve more into these two.
Summary: A child of Mara was a soul blessed and bound to it’s mate for all eternity. Elizabeth Williams is summoned to Mara as a lost soul, only she’s from modern America and her mate is somewhere in the wilds of Skyrim.
A/N: This is super short, I know, but I wanted to put out something for you guys. Things have been hectic in my life and I've been working 13+ hours six days a week for a while now so I'm pretty much in a constant state of exhaustion. I hope you're all staying healthy and safe. I'll try to have the next part out very soon!P.S. I know that in ESO they've said 'Hell' quite often, but that's always bothered me. Why would they call it hell? That is a Christian-based earth word, or whatever, and it just seemed strange to include it. So I'm fighting against the ESO writers lmao.
***
“Ralof, I think your friend here is finally awake!”
Elizabeth groaned as she came to and registered that she hurt everywhere. The worst of the pain seemed to be on her leg since she’d flexed it a little to try to move and the pain was sharp and agonizing.
“Easy there,” a woman’s voice eased her to awareness as she opened her eyes, meeting the blue ones of a blonde Nord woman leaning over her.
“Please don’t be frightened. My brother Ralof and your elf companion brought you here after you were attacked by the dragon. You’ll heal, but your leg suffered a little in the fall and your skin was badly burned. You will be well enough to walk in a couple of days, and then I suggest heading to a shrine to see if it will help.”
Elizabeth grimaced as she tried to respond and found her throat dry and sore.
“Ah, you must be thirsty. You’ve been asleep for almost two days.”
She accepted a wooden cup of water and tried to drink as gracefully as she could, despite her shaking hands and parched throat. When she finally had her fill, she handed the cup back to the woman sitting on the edge of the wooden bed.
Looking around, she tried to take stock of her situation. She was laid up in a rustic wooden bed, covered in what looked like a bunch of animal skins. The house was very warm and just as rustic as the bed - all wood and furs, with a huge fireplace taking up most of the space. It looked pretty much how she’d always imagined a witch's cottage would be like, with all the herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling and potions lining the shelves.
She peeked at the woman in the bed with her, trying to get a good look without seeming rude. She was pretty enough, although years of living in the probably unforgiving northern climate had definitely left its mark, as well as a few scars that were probably smallpox if this place was indeed real. She imagined this must be Gerdur, meaning the dark elf had chosen to follow Ralof home to Riverwood.
The front door of the cabin opens and dirty Kurt - or Ralof, rather - stomps inside, smiling generously at her as he nears the bed and looks her over.
“Awake at last? You had us all worried for a moment there, girl. I’ve sent my nephew Frodnar to get Sundrose. He’s been helping the merchants with a task. He’ll be here soon.”
As though speaking his name had summoned him, Sundrose slammed the cabin door open and jogged to the bedside, seemingly unaware of the fact that he totally elbowed Ralof and Gerdur out of the way. He was panting as though he’d run the entire way and scanning her face frantically.
“Are you alright? Aware? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Elizabeth snorts at the Dark Elf. “None.”
He looks down at his hands as if he were amazed that they were still against his sides.
“Ah,” he cleared his throat. “Apologies. We weren’t sure you were going to make it for a moment. It’s been some time since anyone had experience with dragon wounds.”
“I’m a bit sore and my leg is throbbing like hell, but I think I’ll be okay.”
He looked momentarily confused, as though he was trying to figure out her meaning before he finally shrugged and sighed.
“That’s good. Very good. I’ve finished some tasks around here and made enough coin to get us to Whiterun as soon as you think you are able to travel. It’s not that far - perhaps three days if we make good time? Gerdur’s husband Hod has very kindly offered to drive us up there in his wagon to make it easier on your injuries.”
“Us? You’re taking me with you?” Honestly, she hadn’t really let herself think too much in-depth about where the hell she actually was, but her first instinct had told her the elf would simply leave her here to be Ralof’s problem and run off to be the Dragonborn.
“Well, yes. I...erm...could we perhaps be in private for a moment? I promise your belongings are safe, I merely wish to speak with my friend if I could?”
Gerdur glances between the two of them and waits for Elizabeth’s nod of affirmation before herding her brother towards the door.
“We’ll be right outside. Holler if you need us,” Gerdur says with a nod, closing the door softly behind her.
Sundrose sighs and settles more comfortably in his chair before turning that intense crimson gaze on her.
“Before we were captured, do you remember where you were?”
Elizabeth chewed her lip as she contemplated how much to tell the man. Would he believe her more about her talk of the future or being in Mara’s garden? Should she play it safe and say she’d just arrived from High Rock?
His full lips turned up on the side, a little dimple showing as he slowly grinned.
“Were you in an ostentatiously decorated garden? Perhaps speaking with a creature claiming to be Mara?”
“Yes!” Elizabeth exclaims, leaning towards him in excitement. “Were you there too? Are you... him ?”
“By ‘Him’ I assume you mean your soulmate?” He asks slowly, shrugging as he turns to stare at the wall in thought. He strokes his shadowed chin, humming.
“I...don’t know, to be quite honest. Not a phrase I like using very often. I was there with you - I remember feeling you, seeing flashes of your face and the face of someone else. I remember thinking that your soul felt...familiar. Which is a very odd thought to have about a soul. I would say yes based on that information alone, but there was another…”
“Another face, you said?”
He nods thoughtfully. “Like yours but different. I don’t know. It was very fogged over like Mara didn’t want me to get a good look. Perhaps a you from another life?” He shrugs. “At the very least, I know that when we were returned to ground that I immediately felt protective of you as soon as I saw you lying there unconscious. Before I could really think too much about it, the Imperials appeared and threw us in the wagon.”
“So all the evidence points to us being something. Maybe soulmates, but also maybe not?” Elizabeth huffs and flaps back against the wall. “This is so confusing. And a lot less romantic than I’d thought it would be to meet the future love of my life.”
He laughs, a low and smooth chuckle that was...elegant? Can laughs be elegant?
“Terribly sorry. At least there’s a chance you won’t have to deal with me then. I’m not a very romantic fellow to begin with, I’m afraid. The dramatics tend to become tedious after the first hundred years or so.”
Elizabeth’s jaw drops. She’d forgotten about the way races aged differently here. “How old are you?”
Sundrose quirks an eyebrow. “Terribly rude to ask that, little one, but I’ll tell you. I’m 214. Fairly young still, among my people. And of course, my soulmate has to be a human that is a veritable infant,” Sundrose drawls, his slight mischievous smirk softening the teasing words.
“Hey, I just turned 30! In human years, I’m ancient!”
“Forgive me, crone,” he mocked, bowing slightly.
Elizabeth snorted, then adjusted her aching leg with a sigh.
“When did you want to leave?”
He shrugged. “Whenever you think you can handle it. We need to warn the Jarl about the dragon, so as soon as can be arranged is preferable. If it’s much longer we’ll have to send someone ahead of us.”
She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “Let's go today.”
“Today?” he asked incredulously, “You just barely have regained consciousness. I hardly think you should be going on a journey at the moment.”
“No,” she shook her head. “The sooner we get there, the better. You need to talk to the Jarl, and I would like to get to a healer or one of those altar things. This hurts like hell.”
“You say that a lot. Hell. What is that?”
“Oh, its...like oblivion, I guess? It’s where bad people go when they die...or something. It’s what a lot of people believe. Never really believed in that stuff myself, but it makes a hell of a curse word,” she grins.
He looks at her thoughtfully for a few moments before he finally asks, “You’re not even from here, are you? Where did she take you from?”
And there’s the magic question.
“Apparently my soul is from here, but it was stolen? I’m still not quite clear on that. I grew up in Arizona, a state in America. On, well, planet Earth. A place that is...way far in the future and, like, on a whole ‘nother...universe? Plane? Realm? I don’t know. Very different from here, I can tell you that much.”
“And she just picked you up and deposited you in a strange land with just the clothes on your back to correct her own mistakes,” he added, his eyes hardening. “I despise the daedra,” he scoffs angrily.
“At least I’m not going into this completely blind, just, ya know, poor and homeless,” she chuckles. “In my world, Skyrim is a...tale? Legend? Not sure how to describe it to you, but I know the basic story of this land and what's to come.”
“Do you?” Sundrose responds, leaning back and looking at her curiously.
“Mhmm. In fact, I know that when you went to help Lucan get his claw back, you came across a wall. A wall that taught you a word in another language that you were somehow able to understand. You also found a tablet with this same language written on it.”
“I haven’t told anyone about that yet. I was going to wait and talk to the court wizard when we got to Whiterun. Your stories told you about me?”
She bit her lip, unsure of how much to divulge. “Yes, a bit. You’re about to save Skyrim, Sundrose.”
He stared at her with growing horror on his handsome face.
If you’re still taking prompts I’d actually like to see more from Rosie!
Took me forever to answer this and I’m trash, but here you go! Maybe I’ll just make this a whole series of drabbles for this universe lmao.
***
Varric barely holds back the weary sigh he feels building in his chest. This meeting was going on forever and still showed no signs of slowing down. What he’d asked for was fairly simple - to build a proper orphanage in Kirkwall instead of leaving the kids to rot in Darktown. Why the council felt the need for a six-hour-long meeting debating legalities and budgets to get it done he didn’t know. He had half a mind to have it completed on his own. He had the money and resources. He could pretend to apologize after when it was already too late for them to stop him. With Hawke now finally at his side where he belonged, feet thrown up on the massive oak table like he didn’t have a care in the world, he could probably even pull it off.
Just when he was internally debating whether planting a crossbow in Bran’s foot would actually end the meeting, the door to the council chambers was thrown open and his housekeeper strolled in with a tea tray. This could have been the second coming of Andraste he was so happy to see her.
She widens her eyes in an overly-dramatic show of shock.
“Goodness me, I’m sorry! I was certain the meeting was supposed to be over hours ago!”
She puts her back to the rest of the party and winks at him when she sets down the tray. The tea was a familiar blend rumored to be her own particular recipe but there was a little something different about it today. He brought the cup towards his lips, pausing once the bite of lovely Antivan brandy hit his nose.
“The perfect woman really exists,” he mumbles under his breath, knowing she’d hear. She chuckles and turns towards the rest of the visitors.
“I’m a horrible hostess, messieurs. I was only aware that the Viscount and Lord Hawke were still in attendance. I could prepare something for you all as well, although it seems as though your own families are surely expecting you by now.”
The fools all turned to look at the windows and exclaimed as one over the waning daylight, his beautiful housekeeper expertly wrangling them all to her will like puppets.
“Thank you all for coming today, and I will be sure to be better prepared for next time. Perhaps my honey rolls? I hear you’re fond of those in particular, Lord Godfrey,” she smiled sweetly up at the old bastards as she escorts them towards the door.
“I am indeed, Miss Rosie. Lady Godfrey tried her best to make them herself, but it just wasn’t the same,” the old man playfully groaned as he patted his distended stomach.
“Well, I’ll be sure to whip up a special batch just for you. Perhaps once we have the orphanage up and running I can teach a lad how to make them. You’d be able to hire yourself a new assistant that knows all my secrets,” she winks like they’re sharing a secret as the old man brightens up like she offered him the crown.
“What a wonderful idea! I’ll look forward to it, Miss Rosie. Until next time. Viscount,” he nodded towards Varric as he left.
Finally it was just the three of them. Hawke was observing Rosie with new interest as she sauntered back towards the head of the table.
“That was brilliantly done, as usual,” Varric drawled, taking another sip of his “tea.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rosie murmured. “He’s also the leader of that group of stuffy old farts, so if he suddenly changes his tune and wants the orphanage built...”
“The rest will follow like little ducklings. Brilliant. Are you single, Miss Rosie?” Garrett asked, leaning towards her with a roguish grin.
“No. And neither are you. Are you staying for supper, Lord Hawke?”
“I’m afraid not. Loads of letters to catch up on, lectures from sisters to listen to, lovers to entertain,” he winks at them both before he wanders off with a half-hearted wave.
“Alone at last,” Varric sighs and grabs Rosie’s hand, tugging her gently until she falls into his lap. “Much better. I should conduct all my meetings with you right here. You’d have all of Kirkwall in line within five minutes.”
She snorts and wiggles a bit to get more comfortable. “I’m doing my best. You just sit there and be my pretty figurehead.”
“Think I’m pretty, huh?”
The blush on her cheeks grew bright even as she firmed her jaw and looked down her nose at him.
“So what?”
He chuckles, nuzzling her nose with his. “So, I heard a rumor that you’re not single.”
“You heard right. I’m being courted by a rather handsome dwarf. He’s quite a catch, even if he falls asleep with ink on his face or leaves arrows in my gardens.”
“Mmhmm,” he hums, “I also heard he likes you a lot. I even heard he once spent an entire six hour meeting wishing he could be kissing you instead.”
“Did you now? How scandalous,” she grins, her mouth so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips.
“Kiss me, Rosie. Orders from the Viscount,” he rumbles playfully.
And she does - her lips as soft and captivating as the rest of her. And as delicious as the taste of the brandy had been, nothing could compare to a kiss from his Rosie.
