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noire-pandora · 3 years

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I’ve joined another writing event but this time on Twitter and this is my take on the first prompt “Campfire”, where Elluin and Varric have a heart-to-heart conversation about the burden of responsibility. Also on my AO3.

Words: 2002

Warnings: none.

A shiver rippled over Varric's skin at the sudden gust of cold wind, the dying small campfire failing to keep him warm. He sighed, wondering why he agreed to stay with the Inquisition, the long trips through woods, mountains and plains exhausting him. In moments like this, when the lack of comfort affected his morale, he wished he was back in Kirkwall with Hawke and her friends, enjoying a cold beer at the tavern and making up stories. Instead, he stood on a wood log, his butt still hurting from the long hours of riding, his stiff back begging him for a hot bath and a massage. His clothes weren't fit for the long days of travel, his cotton shirts and pants doing little to protect him against the capricious weather.

He huffed, shoving a stick in the fire, hoping it would bring it back to life, but he only succeeded in putting it off. "Great," he mumbled, crossing his arms before his chest, his warm breath fogging in the air. "I'll freeze until someone wakes up. Why is it so damn cold?"

He raised his eyes to watch the sky in an attempt to forget about the situation he found himself in, only to be greeted by the sight of the Breach, swirling and twisting above them like a silent threat, ready to swallow the whole world. Instead of making him feel better, the hair on the nape of his neck rose, and his muscles spasmed as if readying him to flee from a dangerous enemy before it got the change to attack him.

His lips slightly parted, his fingernails digging into the log as fear slowly crawled into his mind. How were they supposed to close it when none of them had any idea how it happened? When the only one who barely understood it was a suspicious elf who came out of nowhere, offering his help? The fate of the world stood on the shoulders of a few heretics who got dragged into this mess, with little to no support from the ones who should have dealt with it. His breath hitched in his throat at those thoughts, anxiety hovering above him.

The noise of the tent's flap opening startled him, and he almost jumped in place. He swiftly turned in the direction of the sound, curious to see who woke up this early in the morning.

The Herald left the tent yawning and scratching her wild curly hair. He frowned, noticing the unusual dark circles surrounding her eyes and the tiredness written on her face. Exhaustion shrouded her, and it slowly turned her from the laid back, always ready to joke elf to a snappy person, ready to fight at the slightest misunderstanding. This sudden change worried him, for it wasn't the first time he saw this transformation.

"Morning, Sparks," he greeted her with a broad smile on his face.

She acknowledged his comment with a tilt of her head and continued her morning routine, stretching her arms and legs until her joints stopped popping. After a few more minutes of light exercises, she finally joined him, creasing her nose at the cold, half-burned wood. With a swift flick of her hand, the fire took shape again, dancing lively and consuming the wood in a few seconds.

"You don't need wood to keep it burning?" he asked, leaning forwards and outstretching his arms to warm his palms over the fire.

"No," she shrugged, flicking her wrist again, the fire blazing even brighter. She sat on a log next to him to warm herself. "I don't need any wood to sustain it. As long as I have mana, it will burn."

He hummed, cocking his eyebrow at her explanation. Magical explanations always confused him and brought even more questions to his mind. In the end, it only mattered that the fire slowly warmed him, and the mage casting the spell was on his side.

"You're up early," he spoke as casually as he could after a few minutes of sitting in total silence.

She shrugged, wiggling her fingers, the campfire slithering in the rhythm of her hand movements. "Yeah. It happens."

"Been happening to you often. Are you getting enough sleep?"

She eyed him, pursing her lips into a thin line. "Are you monitoring my health? I thought Solas was supposed to do that."

He shuffled his legs uneasy, sensing the hint of annoyance in her voice. "Chuckles isn't the only one who's worried for you."

"Worried for me? Why?"

"You've been acting strange lately, randomly snapping at us. Just wondering if you're alright."

Her nostrils flared, and the fire suddenly sizzled, its flames growing bigger. He quickly pulled his arms back, raising an eyebrow at her. "See! This is what I mean."

"I'm sorry!" she apologised, squeezing her fingers into a fist and hiding them in the pockets of her trousers. "Are you all right?"

He waved his hand in dismissal, shaking his head at her. "It's fine. You didn't hurt me. But something's going on with you."

She ran one hand through her curls, a finger getting stuck into a hair knot. She yanked on it, her jaw tensing. With another yank, she released her finger only to clasp her hands in her lap. When she spoke again, he could hear the tension in her voice. "I haven't got enough sleep lately. "

"Nightmares?"

She nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"

He gave her a small, sad smile, stretching his hands again as the flames shrunk to a safe level. He stared at it, his eyes glassy with the memories of the past. "I've seen this look before, Sparks. You're not the only one hunted by nightmares. How bad is it?"

She stared into the fire, her eyebrows furrowed into a deep crease. "Bad. I've had them for almost two weeks. I barely get enough sleep to function at day."

He contemplated her face, noticing how the bags under her eyes turned purple, the whites of her eyes bloodshot and how her usually rose cheeks caught a sickly pallor, a few spider veins showing through the paleness of her cheek.

"I think Chuckles can help you with this since he's the expert in the Fade and the stuff you mages dream at night."

She snorted, glancing at him. "And how do you know that?"

"I've heard a few of your conversations. Can't he do a spell to drive your nightmare away?"

She bit on her lower lip. "I think so, yes. But I'm not going to ask for his help."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Look, I know you two have your differences, but you're not looking that good, Sparks. And he can help you. He won't say no to you."

A few months ago, this suggestion would have gained him a huff from the Herald, but now she nodded solemnly, without commenting on how annoying Solas was. He found it amusing how quickly they became friends, and he had a hunch this friendship might slowly turn into something else.

"We've solved our differences, Varric," she confirmed, staring down at her feet, deep in thought. "I know he'd help me. I just don't want to burden him with my problems."

He admired Lavellan's stubbornness and eagerness to stick to her moral ideas, but, at this moment, he had to suppress his need to roll his eyes at her comment.

"You won't burden him. It's his duty to take care of you. You hold the key to the safety of this world in your hand. You have to stay healthy, or else we're doomed."

She straightened her back, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. "So my health matters only because I'm bearing the Mark. Is that what you're trying to say?"

He sighed deeply and scowled at her knowing very well she tried to change the subject by bringing this up. "No. But your health is affected by this Mark, and we're here to help you."

"Well, I don't need your help," she barked, the fire blazing strongly again but, this time, her outburst did not impress him.

He spread his arms wide, drawing in a long breath, readying himself for the confrontation. "Look, Sparks. I get it. You don't like to talk about your feelings. You've been dealing with stuff alone since you left your Clan. But those things were simple, compared with what you have to do now. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You need someone to talk with."

"No. I don't," she fumed, rubbing her temples, her skin turning red under her fingers. "I can deal with this alone."

He threw his hands up in frustration at her words, "No, you can't. Your fears won't let you sleep, and you need to talk about this. Before the bitterness and anger take control of you."

He could hear his blood pumping, her stubbornness giving him a headache. He took a deep breath in again to calm himself, but his heart still banged against his chest.

She jolted to her feet, balling her hands into fists. "Why do you care anyway? Isn't it like my lack of sleep is hurting you."

The question finally brought an end to his patience, and he found himself shouting, all of his worries making themselves heard." "Because one day, your anger will explode, and you will hurt everyone around you!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no word came. She dropped back on the log, bowing her head. When she spoke again, her voice quivered. "I...would never think of hurting any of you."

His anger immediately dispersed, hearing the pain in her voice. He felt ashamed by his outburst, but the thought of her succumbing to her rage and fears made him realise he was right. He made the mistake of acting gently and carefully with Anders when he noticed the changes in him but never pushed him to seek help. He promised himself he won't make that mistake ever again, even if it meant shouting at the ones he cared about.

He reached for her shoulder, and she jerked under his touch but relaxed as he gave her a squeeze. She kept her head down, avoiding his eyes.

"I know, Sparks, I know," he spoke again, this time his voice softening, and he hoped she understood how much he cared about her and her well-being. And not only because she wore that cursed Mark but because he saw her as a friend. "But if you let your anger and fear build-up, it will happen. I've already seen that once. I don't want you to end up like that."

"You really think I should talk with Solas?” she asked, her voice just a whisper. She fidgeted with the rim of her blouse, wrapping it around her fingers.

"Yes. And if he won't help you, I'm here if you need to talk. I can't take your nightmares away, but I can listen. You're not alone."

When looked at him again, he saw tears forming at the corner of her eyes, but she quickly raised her hand and wiped them away. "I'll speak with Solas later. Thank you."

"It's fine, Sparks. Sometimes it's easy to forget others care about us.”

She rubbed her nose, sniffing loudly. "Kids learn only when you shout at them, right?"

He chuckled softly and released her shoulder. "Right."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and before he could say anything, she got up again, but this time, her face showed no signs of anger. "I'll go get some wood for the fire."

He nodded at her, relief washing over him. "All right. I'll stay here."

She hummed in acknowledgement and strolled towards the forest. He watched her as she dragged her feet through the dust, head down, shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. He did the right thing by staying with the Inquisition because even heroes need a friendly shoulder to cry on.

#writing prompt #storiesofthedas #elluin lavellan #varric #campfire #noire writes #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #**×**

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barbex · 7 years

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Varric and the aliens

For the @daficswap, special scifi round. My contribution for my swapbuddy @aliveria.

It’s crossover time, Dragon Age and Star Trek Voyager. Featuring my Hawke, who is a warrior but has some mage abilities that she has hidden successfully until the fight with the Arishok.

6800 words. (I know! Why can’t I write short?)

Prompt: "The ruins were hidden, covered over by hundreds of years of plant growth. And what was inside had remained untouched."

"Are you sure it's around here?" Hawke has one foot on a patch of solid ground and her other foot hovers above the mud as she searches for a place to stand on.

Varric carefully steps in her footsteps behind her through the swamp. "Got a map with a mark, what more could you want?"

"A description of how to get there would have been nice."

"There is one: it says 'follow the path through the forest of the dying elves'. Serah Annabella is sure that that means the Planasene Forest."

Hawke jumps over a rather large streamlet, and spits out a curse when her foot gets wet. "She is sure? And why does this Serah Annabella know so much about the Planasene Forest but doesn't look for the thing herself?"

Varric sighs, and doesn't even attempt to make the long jump. His boots are already wet anyway. "She can't really walk, not for long at least. She's more for reading and deciphering books."

"Sounds boring." Hawke sits down on a rock and pulls off her boot to change the wet socks for dry ones.

"Some people like reading books, you know." He sits down next to her and also dries his feet. The path from here on out looks overgrown but dry at least. He takes a sip of cold tea from his bottle and ties his shoes again.

Varric goes back on the path, hearing Hawke stomping behind him. Hawke is many things; but graceful and quiet she is not. "Annabella helps me occasionally with research for my books,” he continues, picking his way carefully through the weeds and bushes. The path leads up a steep hill and obviously has not been used in years; it looks more like an animal trail, and they almost have to crawl up on their hands and feet. “She's got a great library in her house."

"Do you think this was a Dalish path once?" Hawke wonders, hefting her sword on her back.

Varric is about to answer when the path snakes through a gap between the rocks and the area opens up, revealing ruins, overgrown with ivy and moss, that look vaguely familiar and foreign at the same time.

"The ruins were hidden, covered over by hundreds of years of plant growth,” he eventually murmurs. “And what was inside had remained untouched for thousands of years."

Hawke looks at him as she catches her breath. "What?"

"Just how I'm going to describe it in the book."

She smiles and he is relieved to see that. Since the fight with the Arishok, Hawke hasn't smiled much. Which isn't either the Arishok's fault or her new title of “Champion of Kirkwall”, it has more to do with a certain elf and his inability to show her how much he loves her. Their dance gives Varric endless inspiration for his stories -- but for the sake of his friend's heart, he wishes Fenris would finally admit to his feelings.

The inside of the ruins are pretty, but nothing special when it comes to elvhen ruins. "Once you've seen one, you've seen them all," Varric mutters to himself. This one looks like it has been thoroughly searched and looted a long time ago; nothing in here is small enough to be carried out.

"Are you sure your friend meant this ruin?" Hawke calls over from the end of the hall at what could have been a place of worship once, or a cooking area by the looks of it. There is a table-like arrangement of solid rock slabs in front of an arching window, and the sun shines on it in shimmering rays through gaps in the overgrown vegetation. Varric half expects to see ghostly figures rise from the table to yell at them for disturbing this holy place.

But nothing happens. The ruin is deserted and so very quiet. It makes Varric's neck itch.

Hawke stands with her back to the table with her eyes closed and holds out her hands.

Varric walks up to her. "What are you doing?"

"I think there's something here."

"Naw, this place has been picked clean." He scratches his neck and changes his grip on Bianca. "It's giving me the creeps, that's for sure. Let's find somewhere close to camp for tonight."

"So you feel it too," Hawke says with a grin. "There's magic here, to hide something and scare people away."

"That's what's making my skin crawl?"

"I bet it is." She turns a bit, her hands still outstretched with the palms up and her fingers seem to try to pinch at something.

Varric waits. But patience is not his best virtue. "No offence Hawke, but you're not the most powerful mage there is. Maybe you got this wrong."

Hawke is a warrior to everyone who sees her and her giant sword, and only a handful of people know of her magical abilities that she has hidden since she was a child. As an untrained apostate, her magic won't win her any tournaments. She opens her eyes and glares at him. "I got this."

She pinches the air again, twists her hands as if to wrap a thread around it and pulls back hard. A sound like the tap of a knife on a glass rings through the inside of their heads and the very air in front of them vibrates and shatters.

"Told you," Hawke says with a self-satisfied grin as they look at a door that hasn't been there before. It doesn't have a handle but when she pushes against it with her hand, it opens easily for her and reveals a hallway sloped downwards into darkness. She lets her head hang and sighs. "Did your friend happen to mention anything about the Deep Roads?"

"She may have said something about an underground cavern..."

Hawke points to the angular design on the expertly cut pillars and the giant figures that seem to hold the ceiling up. "You can't tell me that that isn't dwarven, and if it's dwarven and goes underground, it's the Deep Roads."

"Andraste's ass, I hate this," Varric growls to himself. The last time he was in the Deep Roads was with Hawke and his thrice-cursed brother, and he doesn't like thinking about it. It's not that he loved his brother much, but killing him himself had certainly not been his plan.

"We can still just leave," Hawke says, her voice unusually warm. "We don't have to go down there if you don't want to."

"And come back empty-handed?" Varric shakes his head and steps through the door. Hawke follows him and the door makes a sucking sound as it closes behind them.

"Oh no." Hawke turns back and tries to open the door again. It doesn't budge. "Looks like that's not our way out."

"Knowing this crap, we need a special key to open it." Varric already has enough of this and it hasn't even been a minute.

They follow the quickly descending hallway, the red light of glowing lava in narrow moats on the sides guiding them along. Bright blue lyrium grows like veins out of the walls and snakes up into the ground above them. It is cold here and way too quiet.

"I hate the underground," Varric mutters. He wipes a spiderweb off his head and kicks against something with his foot that looks suspiciously like a bone; but down here you better not look too closely at shit.

Hawke snorts. "That's funny, wasn't it you who dragged me down here?"

"Doesn't mean I have to love it."

They arrive in a huge hall, the ceiling higher than some mansion in Kirkwall. Lyrium veins grow around the pillars, most of them blue, but some are bright red. They make a wide berth around the red lyrium as they cross the hall. It is partially caved in on one side, but still looks impressive. Several doors lead from it, most of them closed.

"Well, Varric, before we decide where to go next, what is our plan now? Do we still look for this artifact, or are we looking for an exit?"

It is very un-dwarven of him but the artifact has already slipped his mind. He just wants to get out of this cavern of dead history and rotting dwarven glory. "Exit, exit is our priority."

Hawke looks at him with her typical infuriating grin. "Come on, not so fast. Just think of all the details you can put in your stories from this."

"As if you know about the level of detail in my stories."

Hawke shrugs and walks up to the first door in the hall. "I've read your books, the most recent one too; I liked it. The details you put in are one of the things I like best."

"Huh." Not the most eloquent reaction from him but he is truly surprised to learn that Hawke reads his books.

"I thought about giving it to Fenris... but I think we'll keep that for later," Hawke says, as she pushes the first door open and hefts her sword higher. There is another empty hallway behind the door and the lava seems to glow brighter as they walk in. "I must say, by now I'd welcome some spiders or baby darkspawn. It's too quiet."

Varric holds his crossbow at the ready, as he has from the moment they entered these caves. His arms are beginning to tire. An archer needs to rest sometimes, even with a custom-made crossbow like Bianca. But there is nothing around to shoot a bolt into... and if that isn't unnerving as fuck by now.

He is about to complain about that, because what else can you spend your time on in this dreadful cavern of death and decay, when a noise makes him halt in his steps. Hawke has heard it too, standing frozen like him before slowly stepping forward. For all her lack of grace in normal situations, when needed, Hawke can be light on her feet like a cat — and surprisingly fast.

She flits over to a broken down wall and peers over the edge. Varric waits for her to signal him to join her and tries his best to be as quiet as her as he walks over. They look into a large room with pillars, wrapped in lyrium vines stretching up high to a red ceiling. The lyrium here is blue, untainted at least; it still makes Varric nervous.

A movement on the far side draws his attention away from the blue glow to two people in strange clothing peering at something in their hands.

"They look weird," Hawke whispers. "Are those nightgowns they're wearing?"

"Doesn't look like armor at least."

"I've never seen colors like that, that red is redder than anything. And the fabric seems to stretch. I wonder how they did that."

"Since when do you know so much about fabric?"

"Since I had to make my own and my siblings clothes as soon as I could hold a needle because mother was terrible at it?"

Varric shakes his head, trying to align the image of this terrifying warrior woman, who is also secretly a mage and almost twice as tall as him, with delicate fabrics and needlework. He can't quite make it work.

They watch the two people for a bit when a familiar noise makes them draw their weapons.

"Spiders," Hawke says and jumps easily over the rubble to aid the two strangers.

Varric is a bit slower in climbing over, but he watches the strangers more suspiciously than Hawke does. It is endearing that Kirkwall has not managed to stamp out the trust and willingness to help total strangers in Hawke, but it does cost Varric some nerves sometimes.

The giant spiders have almost reached the two strangers and Hawke jumps behind the largest and brings her sword down in a devastating blow. The screech of the dying creature draws the attention of the strangers, who pull out short little sticks from their sides. Varric aims at the spider closest to them, but before he can let his bolt fly, the woman points her stick at it and golden lightning comes out in a straight line. It hits the spider and it glows for a moment and then disappears.

Varric aims his bolt at the next spider and Hawke takes out two more, while the man and the woman in the red and black clothing make short work of the rest of the spiders. When silence returns to the hall, Varric allows himself to reflect what he just saw.

"Andraste's dirty knickers, what kind of weapon is that?"

The two strangers exchange a look. They won't tell him, he knows. There is still a bolt in Bianca and he keeps holding her up.

The woman wipes sweat from her brows and puts the weapon in a pocket at her side. "We are not from around here. Our weapons must look foreign to you." She tidies her hair in a bun and comes up to him with a friendly smile.

"Lady, I've been around a lot and I'm sure I've never seen this kind of magic anywhere." Varric lowers his crossbow a bit, but he is not yet convinced that these people are trustworthy.

Hawke has no such reservations — typical, Varric thinks — and steps in front of the woman to take her hand in hers. "Hello, my name is Hawke, currently living in Kirkwall. Where are you from and what are you doing down here? And what is that?" She points towards the magic sticks in their pockets.

The woman exchanges a look with the man sitting on the floor. He has a pattern on the side of his face, kind of like the dalish have but not symmetrical like theirs. And he very much doesn't look dalish, they both look human, if a bit smaller than Hawke. The look that passes between them shows a strong familiarity. These two know each other well.

The man stands up with some trouble — he seems to be in pain — and sweat drips from his forehead. He favors his right leg. "My name is Chakotay, we'd like to thank you for your help." He bows his head towards them and looks towards the woman as if he waits for her to say something.

The woman looks from one to the other. Varric is pretty certain that she is debating whether to tell the truth or to make up a story.

Finally she steps forward. "My name is Captain Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay is my second in command. We’ve been accidentally stranded in this place and we need help to get outside. Quickly."

Hawke has an amused smirk on her lips as she looks the two strange people up and down. "Captain of what?"

"A ship."

"Water is pretty far away from here," states Hawke, still smirking.

The woman sighs. "Not that kind of ship."

Hawke turns to Varric. "Too bad that Isabela isn't here, she would have loved to see this special ship."

Varric stores Bianca on his back; these two seem to pose no danger. As a matter of fact, they both look very ill; and the man, Chakotay, seems to have injured his leg. "I've never seen clothing like yours and I've seen a lot."

"We're not from around here."

"I figured as much," he says. "And don't try to tell me that you're from Orlais cause I'm not buying it." The man and the woman stay silent, and Varric is growing increasingly curious about what these two could be holding out on.

Hawke kneels down next to the man Chakotay and looks at his foot. "You're injured," she states.

Chakotay makes a grimace and nods. "Yes, I tripped when we... when we got here."

"The one time we didn't take Anders with us." Hawke shakes her head and rummages through her bag.

"Who is Anders?" Chakotay asks.

"A healer. He could fix your foot in no time. I'm — " she hesitates, telling someone you're a mage is always a risk and they don't know these people. Then again, all of Kirkwall knows it by now. "I'm not much of a healer but I could set it and spell some ice on it? And I have a healing potion here." She holds out the bottle to Chakotay but Captain Janeway takes it from her and points tool at it that makes little chirping noises.

The woman shakes her head and hands the bottle back to Hawke. "I'm afraid it would not be safe for him to drink that."

Hawke stares at the small bottle in her hand. "Why? This is just herbs and bit of spellwork?"

Captain Janeway fidgets, and it looks so much out of place on her that Varric is sure that indecisiveness is not a typical character trait for her. She is about to say something but hesitates, and to her luck in this moment another group of spiders and a few baby dragonlings decide to attack.

Varric and the foreigners start shooting from what little protection the boulders around Chakotay's resting place offer, and Hawke gets to work. She rushes through the enemies, occasionally freezing an attacker in an ice cone, while hacking and slashing with her giant sword. It looks almost graceful.

When the final monster falls and Hawke returns to them, covered in blood and dragonling intestines, Chakotay gives Captain Janeway a look.

Hawke uses her sleeve to clean her face. "Well, that was fun, but I think it's time to get going." She drinks one of her own special potions, laced with lyrium for her mage abilities. "Let me see that foot of yours again as long as I can still do an ice spell." She kneels down and touches Chakotay's ankle. For a moment there is a soft glow on her hands and Chakotay hisses in pain, but then ice begins to spread around his ankle and his face relaxes again.

"That's all I can do for your foot, but you also seem to run a fever?" She looks up to Captain Janeway. "The potion could help with that."

Again, a look passes between Chakotay and Janeway. The captain sighs. "I'm afraid not. I'm running a fever as well and our sickness will get worse the longer we stay close to these crystals."

"What, the lyrium?" Varric looks around at the crystal vines sprouted all around them. It's not that he loves them exactly, but they are quite beautiful and useful too. "This blue stuff is not tainted, it should be fine. Just stay away from the red stuff over there."

Chakotay takes out the little box again and points it Varric. He eyes it suspiciously as it chirps but it seems to be harmless. Next he points it at Hawke and stares at it while it chirps some more.

"What is that?" Hawke asks.

"It's a piece of technology that gives me information about your and your physiology," Chakotay says and for a moment it looks like Janeway wants to stop him but then she just sighs and lets it happen.

"I hate it when Anders uses big words like that and now you start," Hawke says with a grin as she holds out her hand to help Chakotay up. "We should get going. This place will soon be crawling with nasty stuff and you can tell me all about your... thing while we walk."

Hawke leads them to the other side of the dungeon as if she knows the way out. Which she doesn't, Varric is sure of it. But she has a gut instinct that hardly ever strays her wrong, so once again, he trusts her to find a way out this.

"So what does your apparatus say?" Hawke asks, her eyes taking in every nook, every corner of the empty hallway they've entered.

"It tells me that we are more different than I first thought," Chakotay says. "Your bodies protect you against the radiation from the crystals, and you," he points the apparatus at Hawke again, shaking his head as he looks at it, "you can even convert some of the energy into other things."

"You mean magic."

"If you want to call it that."

Hawke grins, readying her sword as they approach another closed door. "I'm not even very good at it. But I have another question," she turns and the tip of her sword is at Chakotay's throat, "you don't know what magic is, you get sick from just being around lyrium and that stuff is everywhere in Thedas, so — where are you really from?"

Captain Janeway has her shooting-stick raised, but she holds it low and less threateningly. "Let him go please. I'll explain where we are from."

Hawke lowers her sword and Janeway puts her shooting-stick away. The two women look at each other in a quiet staring contest until Janeway sighs and says, "From the stars."

"You come from the stars." Hawke looks up even though they are underground, far away from the starry skies right now. "The stars in the sky?"

"Yes."

A scraping sound from the door makes Hawke ready her sword. "Hold that thought." The door opens and a group of darkspawn spill into the hallway. Hawke carves through them with determination and the others hurry to follow her through the door as she cuts down the first wave. The second wave gets shot down quickly by Varric's bolts and the golden fire from the shooting-sticks, leaving only one especially strong darkspawn for Hawke's ice-spells and sword.

The thing falls, and it is quiet again in the hall. Chakotay sinks down against a wall with a groan and Janeway settles down next to him. They lean against each other in an intimate familiarity.

Hawke comes back to them. "Where were we? Oh right, the stars from whence you came."

Janeway coughs and wipes her brows. "Every star you see is a system of worlds. Many of them even populated. Our ship travels between the stars, we are trying to get home to our own system."

"You're lost?"

"Not really, we know where we have to go but we are so far away from our home that it will take us half a lifetime to get back home."

Hawke holds out her hand to help her up. "Looking at you, that lifetime gets shorter the longer you stay down here." She pulls up Chakotay too and puts his arm over her shoulder to support him. They walk, slowly but steady and Varric and Janeway follow them at a small distance.

Janeway looks at her technology apparatus again. "We were searching for Dilithium crystals when the transporter got hit with interference from these corrupted crystals and dropped us underground instead of on the surface."

"I only understood half of that," Varric says, "but this blue lyrium isn't corrupted, the red stuff is."

"It's not visible yet but it has already started, see." She holds out the apparatus in front of them and he can see an image of the lyrium vine on the thing but in different colors. The tips are still bright blue but towards the bottom, thin red tendrils grow through the crystal.

"Huh, something like this would be really handy," he says.

"I'm afraid I can't give it to you. The charge would eventually run out and it would be useless." She points at the shooting-stick at her side. "Same goes for our phasers. There is no point in giving you technology that you have not developed yourself, as much as I would like to pay you for your efforts." A violent cough rips through her.

"Our efforts won't be good for much if we don't get you out of here soon." Varric takes her arm and pulls her along. In front of them, Chakotay trips but Hawke catches him.

Janeway makes a soft sound in her throat. "You have to save him, he is important." Her face is already red from the fever but now it's even redder. "For the crew, he's important for morale."

Varric grins. "Yeah, sure. Morale, of course." You can't be a writer of romance if you don't have an eye for romance, and he can tell from how Janeway looks at her second in command that there is more to her feelings than just protecting a friend.

Their conversation gets interrupted by another darkspawn attack, and while Varric protects the foreigners, Hawke fights through the monsters again with deadly precision. Janeway and Chakotay help as best as they can with their shooting-sticks but their aim suffers from their illness.

Hawke comes back, pulls up Chakotay again and hurries forward, clearly sensing the urgency. Janeway struggles to keep up and Varric takes her hand and places it on his shoulder.

"You can lean on me like that, I don't mind."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to be disrespectful towards your height."

"I'm a dwarf, I'm used to being closer to the ground than others. Don't you have dwarves where you're from?"

"On our home planet? No, humans are the only humanoid species native on Earth. But aliens come in all sizes." She coughs again and leans more heavily on him. "We have to go faster, once we're outside we can contact our doctor and he can help."

"We're going as fast as possible."

"These creatures..."

"The darkspawn?"

"Yes, you fight them often?"

Varric nods. "Down here, yes, quite often."

"Don't let them get him."

Varric pats her hand on his shoulder. "We're doing our best." He grins. "I knew you love him."

"Maybe, but it wouldn't be appropriate. I'm his commanding officer."

"Yeah, and I'm the princess of all darkspawn, what does that have to do with anything? Didn't you say you're decades away from home? Is anybody gonna yell at you for finding some happiness along the way?"

Janeway laughs which leads into another coughing attack. "You're a romantic!" she says when she can breathe again.

"Well, I write novels, I kind of have to."

"A writer, how wonderful." Janeway looks back to Hawke and Chakotay and then to Varric again. "What about you and Hawke? Do you love her?"

"Of course, she's my best friend. But romantic love? No, her heart belongs to another." He sighs, for a moment wondering about something that could never be. "Honestly, I think I couldn't handle being loved by her. You have seen her fight, she loves like she fights — absolute, full hearted, pure force. She would burn me up."

"And the one who has her heart?"

"Burns just as bright for her, but is afraid to let it happen." He gives her a pointed look. "Sometimes I'm afraid that they'll wait too long and never dare to be what they could be."

Another coughing fit shakes the woman, and up front they see Chakotay suffer in the same way. Janeway looks at him as she wipes her mouth. "It does feel a bit silly. But I'm the Captain, they all look to me for guidance."

"And you think they won't understand that you'd want companionship too? Do you think Chakotay would not respect you as Captain anymore?"

"No, he would never do that. He's a good man."

Varric walks a bit faster, partly to bring Janeway closer to Chakotay (and if he has to throw her into his arms he will), but also because there is a light at the end of the hallway that looks like sunlight.

Hawke's gut instinct has once again proven to be the safest bet. They break into a hobbling run, as best as they can with two people who can barely stand anymore. However, the closer they get, the smaller the speck of light appears — until they stand in front of a wall rubble and big construction blocks. The ceiling is caved in with lava licking at the sides, and sunlight peeks through a small gap in the rocks.

Hawke gently removes Chakotay's arm from her shoulder, and the man more or less crumbles to the floor. Janeway hobbles to his side, barely aware of her own fever, and holds him. They both look frighteningly pale, even in the golden glow of the lava, and both of them are shivering.

"I'll look if we can move some rocks at the top," Hawke offers, but Varric can hear in her voice that she's not convinced herself. The two of them can find another exit, but the two strangers in their stretchy pants don't have time for that.

"We could shoot a tunnel through," Chakotay manages to say between harsh coughs.

Janeway tiredly shakes her head. "Then it will all just crash down, burying us when we go through."

"Wait," Hawke says, "you could shoot a tunnel through the rocks?"

Janeway looks at her shooting stick and little gems light up in red and green on top of it. "Yes, the charge should be enough for it. But it won't hold, too much pressure — "

The sounds of many footsteps approaching behind them bring a determined frown to Hawke's face. "I'm afraid this is it. Here's what we'll do. I’ll cast ice over the sides, to hold the wall in its shape, and you shoot that tunnel."

Varric sighs and points Bianca towards the back. He doesn't need to ask if this crazy plan can work, because trusting Hawke's gut is once again their only option. "You better get to it," he snarls over his shoulder "We'll have company soon and by Andraste's dirty knickers, it sounds like I would need a whole lot more arrows for this."

Hawke is already twisting her hand, muttering a spell under her breath and a stream of coldness springs from her palm. It crashes against the rubble, crawling through the gaps and forming a hard sheet of ice. At the same time, Janeway and Chakotay hold up their shooting sticks in shaking hands and aim the golden light towards the lower middle. The rocks heat up, glow, and turn to smoke. Varric is fascinated but he has to tear his eyes away from the process.

The first darkspawn comes around the corner, just a few paces away from them and falls from his arrow. The next one goes down as well, and the third in the same way — and if these creatures had any sense, they would have fallen back and been more careful in their approach; but, unfortunately, darkspawn have no sense of self-preservation.

"I could use some help here," he calls back. Someone grabs his shoulder and hauls him back.

"We're through, let's go," Hawke says, casting a wall of ice towards the approaching darkspawn before she pushes him to the narrow tunnel. They have to crawl on their hands and knees. The rocks are searing hot under their hands, and from above, melting ice drenches them in cold water. The skin on their hands burns but they have to keep going, keep going forward towards the light. The rocks begin to creak, and pebbles fall in a rising staccato of decay as the ice cracks under the pressure of dwarven construction blocks.

Varric crawls as fast as he can, the tunnels seems to be endless. He hears Hawke shuffling behind him. Bianca scrapes against the rock and he just knows he's going to get stuck. Hawke keeps pushing, while he crawls as fast as he can... but it's not enough, he won't make it, he's too slow and he will take Hawke to her death with his.

Suddenly, hands grab his arms hard and pull him forward. He lands face first in sun-dried dirt as Hawke gets pulled out in the same way. Her feet leave the tunnel just as it collapses with a loud crack, covering them with ice-cold dust.

Two people in the same kind of stretchy pants that go up to their shoulders tend to the foreigners, waving strange tools over their bodies and talking to a box on the side. They give them something to drink and some color returns to their faces. Janeway sits up and asks for a report, and people answer her calm and efficiently. Even sweating and sitting on the ground of some sunny hillside, she is still clearly in command of these people.

Varric observes that Hawke is the same to their group as Janeway — but you wouldn't know if you looked at her now, sprawled in the dirt like a lazy dog. She rolls on her side, coughing and laughing at the same time.

"Guess what, Varric."

"What?"

"We forgot to look for the artifact."

"Andraste's ass, I almost got you killed back there."

"Naw, the Deep Roads love me," she says, smirking at him. "I've never seen your ass move so fast, Varric, that's enough of a treasure for me."

"I had to, I'm sure Fenris would have hunted me through the Fade and back if I had gotten you killed."

The grin turns into a soft smile, something like hope glittering in her eyes. "You think so?"

Varric rolls his eyes. "You can't possibly be this clueless, woman."

He looks over to the foreigners, where Janeway is helping Chakotay sitting up, cradling him in her arms. She holds his hand in hers, looking at him warmly. Chakotay seems to be surprised at first, but then smiles at her.

"See? Even those two have figured it out," Varric says.

A woman with grooves on her forehead comes over to them and brings the box with them. On the box is a moving picture of a human with little hair who seems to be rather annoyed at being locked in that box. "I could work much better if my projection was down there, if you would just install the local emitters..."

"Doctor," the woman says with an exasperated sigh, "the emitters don't work here with all the radiation and I'm sure I can apply some band-aids just as well."

"Oh, that is my job description now? 'Hands out band-aids?'"

"Sorry, doctor," the woman says. The way her jaw tenses and the vein on her neck stands out, she reminds Varric of Hawke when she speaks to someone from the Chantry. "I'm scanning them now."

The head in the box shakes huffs in disapproval. "Not human like we know. Adapted very well to the constant background radiation. Some extra nerve clusters for something like PSI powers if I had to make a guess. They seem to be fine, apart from some contamination by corrupted crystal radiation. Use the dermal regenerator on their hands."

A shimmer appears on top of the box. Golden glitter swirls in circles and a cup appears out of nowhere. The doctor in the box grumbles something about how they should drink that to be immune against the more dangerous radiation and then his head disappears from the box.

Hawke hesitates for a bit but then drinks from the cup. Varric copies her. It tastes much better than the potions Anders makes. He certainly doesn't miss the bitter tang of elfroot.

Hawke gets up and follows the woman with the grooves on her forehead drawn in a scowl, looking over her shoulder as she works with the tool. There is a short conversation, some angry growling from the foreign woman and somehow Hawke manages to charm her anyway. The woman hands her the tool and Hawke starts pointing it at everything around her.

Janeway gets up, giving Chakotay's arm a calming stroke and calls the woman over. "B'Elanna, a word." She murmurs something to her, and B'Elanna nods. After some fiddling with her apparatus, the golden swirls appear again on top of the box and leave something behind that Varric has never seen before.

Janeway takes the shiny things in her hand and comes over to him. Hawke darts to his side, curious as to what the foreign woman holds in her hands. Janeway gently takes the tool from her hand; Hawke seems to be very sorry to let go of it.

"As I said, we can't leave our technology here," Janeway explains, "but these glasses will filter out most light while enhancing the infectious strains in the crystals. They adapt to outside light, so you can use them both in sunlight and underground. In the sun they will be dark, and underground they will be transparent; but the poisoned parts of the crystals will stand out bright red." She hands them to Varric and Hawke, and helps them to set the glasses on their noses. "I hope you will accept these as payment for our rescue. You didn't have to, but you saved our lives."

"It's what we do," Hawke says, looking around her through the darkened glass. "This is great!" She turns to Janeway. "How does it look?"

The foreign woman smirks. "It looks good. A bit mysterious."

Hawke grins wide. "I like being mysterious. Thank you, this is a great gift."

"And useful too," Varric adds. "I can see red lines over there in that patch of lyrium but to the naked eye it looks just fine."

B'Elanna comes back to them. "Word of advice: don't look directly at the sun." She points the apparatus in her hand at the patch of lyrium. "Yes, the infection has already started. You should have some of your scientists look into this, if you prefer the blue crystals to the red ones."

Hawke stares at the woman for a moment and then shakes her head. "Your world and my world are very different. A scientist? Only place I would think to look for one is the Chantry and I prefer not to go close to that place."

Janeway comes up to them and smiles. Color has returned to her skin and she has fixed her hair into a clean bun. "A scientist just has to be curious about the world, be observant and take notes."

"We can do that, can't we, Varric?"

"Yes, Hawke, you'll hit things and I'll write down how they fell. Sounds like every other day."

Hawke laughs, and turns back to Janeway. “Thank you, again, for this wonderful gift,” she begins, playing with the glasses in her hands for a bit before taking a deep breath; and something that seems to have been sitting heavy on her mind tumbles out. "I hope you make it home soon, but, please, don't just wait until coming home to find friends and family because you can find those on the way and they are most important, you know?"

"Is that what you found?" Janeway asks, with a slight blush on her cheeks.

Hawke nods and Janeway takes her hand. There is a quiet, wordless exchange between the two women and then they part with a smile. Janeway returns to her group, ordering someone to bring them up. As the air around them begins to shimmer, she takes Chakotay's hand, to his surprise, and waves at them with the other. Varric and Hawke stare in wonder as the foreigners disappear in golden swirls.

The trek around the mountain is quiet, both of them deep in thought. Hawke looks through the glasses while they walk and when she discovers a tendril of corruption in a cliff or under the ground, she marks the locations on her map, taking her new assignment as a scientist seriously.

When the sun begins to sink, they have made it back to one of the main roads in the Planasene Forest. It's almost time to find a place to rest but Varric notices someone running towards them, someone very familiar.

Hawke sees him too, a smile on her lips as she observes him through the glasses. "Fenris," she says quietly. "I see no corruption in the lyrium in his lines, do you?"

Varric looks and shakes his head. "No, he looks fine. Did you think he wasn’t?"

"That's the first thing I thought when Janeway and her team said that the lyrium is corrupted even if we can't see it yet. What if he got infected when we were in the Deep Roads?" She sounds so frightened that Varric has to look twice to make sure that this is still Hawke, terrifying warrior and secret mage.

He puts a hand on her arm. "He's fine and obviously looking for you. Go to him."

She gives him a faint smile and starts running. They run towards each other, coming to halt just a hand-width apart, staring at each other. Varric wonders if he should go over to them to smack some sense into them when, at last, they both lean forward and their lips meet in a careful kiss.

"Finally, thank the Maker," Varric mumbles to himself. He sees the kiss growing more passionate and turns away, looking for a place to set up camp for the night. Once the glasses show no corrupted lyrium anywhere around them, he puts them away in a pocket and sets up a campfire. His friends are still wrapped in a passionate embrace, still kissing, and he just smiles and settles down besides the flames.

He pulls out a piece of parchment and his favorite quill, dips it in ink and looks ahead towards the setting sun. A few stars become visible and something moves fast across the sky before disappearing. "This has been a strange day," he says, and starts writing.

#dragon age fanfiction #daficswap #Varric Tethras #my writing #barbex writes #Varric the writer

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