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loquaciousquark · 6 years

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5th Harvestmere. It is Properly Blustery at last

Sebastian’s singing voice is unfairly beautiful. Went to services this morning (he told us last week at WG he was cantoring) and enjoyed every minute of it. Classical training can only do so much—I proved that myself, to Mother’s consternation—and sometimes you just can’t help but appreciate raw natural talent.

Damn. I was trying not to think about

Varric told us this morning he’d heard a rumor about a ship waylaying a trading vessel out of Rivain last month. The captain was calling herself the Queen of the Eastern Seas.

She hasn’t tried to write me either, so I don’t know why it stings so much. Maybe because I know she could find me if she wished, and she...wishes not to, apparently. And I…

I don’t think the post delivers to Queen of the Eastern Seas. Especially not without a forwarding address.

15th Harvestmere. Chilly enough to break out the ugly sweaters

Orana’s been here a year tomorrow. She thought I’d forgotten—aha, but I hadn’t! Untrusting woman!

Had all her favorites for dinner—light meats, fresh fruit in tartes, and grilled slices of red potatoes in a vinegar sauce. Dessert was a flat chocolate cake thing that Bodahn makes only on very special occasions. Well, if Orana’s not special, I don’t know what is.

I got her a new lute. I don’t know if I should have, but she doesn’t know when she was born, not even the season, and there aren’t nearly enough opportunities the rest of the year for proper gift-giving. Not to mention her old one’s a half size too large for her (accursed merchant), and one of the keys won’t hold its place for tuning. The new one has ivy scrollwork on the neck that made me think of her. Strong at the root, even if the leaves look fragile.

One of Orana’s friends, a woman who helps out in Jean-Luc’s shop, came by for dessert as well, as did Tomwise, and an elf woman I recognized from Lowtown but couldn’t place the name of, and her little daughter. Toby naturally took the girl’s entertainment as his number one priority, which helped, and then all Orana’s friends and Bodahn and Sandal sat around just...having a very lovely conversation.

I hadn’t even realized she knew all these people. Bodahn was the one to invite them all.

I excused myself after a while, just to give them some privacy. I think I made the little girl nervous. I wish I could explain to her I belong with Tomwise a thousand times more than I belong with Lady Forsythe and the glittering errata.

Then again, I’m the one importing strawberries out of season and serving chocolate cake on hand-dyed porcelain. Flames, at this point I wish I could explain it to myself.

Later, almost midnight

Orana came and found me after all her friends had left. She asked if she could play something for me in thanks—I told her the lute was out of my gratitude, not meant to exacerbate hers, but she just gave that little smile that tells me she’s about to do whatever she wishes anyway, so I lit a few candles and she sat next to me at the window.

I don’t know what it was called. It was Tevinter and strange and sad, and she hummed a little in harmony as she went, and I wanted to cry without knowing why.

She said her father had loved that song. She said he and the other cooks used to sing it in groups in Hadriana’s kitchens, but she’s forgotten the words.

I wondered…

Mm. I wondered if Fenris would know the words, and Orana shook her head and smiled and thought it was unlikely, that what she knew of Danarius’s household offered very little of Napocan folk songs.

She said she’d heard of Fenris in Minrathous, that Hadriana talked of him sometimes, and that once Danarius had stopped to see his apprentice and Fenris had come with him. She’d seen him through a crack in a balcony and been frightened by his face.

She hadn’t recognized him at first, that day in the caverns among the iron cages. It hadn’t been until that evening, when he’d come to pace in my foyer, that she’d known him for who he was and who he belonged to. She’d been afraid already, and then I’d come home and Mother had taken her upstairs...

She said Mother had been kind. Even when she’d broken that vase of chrysanthemums—and I’d forgotten about that—Mother had only been patient. She said sometimes that made it worse in the beginning, but she’d understood Mother better by the end.

I burned to ask her if she’d seen Fenris leave that night, but couldn’t bring myself to get the words out. It didn’t matter the answer, anyway—it all would have hurt the same.

Why do happy occasions always make my heart ache the most?

17th Harvestmere. Cold

I forgot my nameday. It was the fifteenth, the same day as Orana’s party. I was so busy planning her day I forgot, and it hadn’t once crossed my mind until Fenris came by this morning.

He had a book. A volume on Aristone’s treatises, annotated by the elvhen mage Daliari, bound in black leather and with a blue ribbon for marking my place.

He said everyone else planned to give me something at cards tonight, but he—implied as obliquely as possible—wasn’t certain if I’d like it and didn’t want me to have to pretend to be pleased if I wasn’t.

I am very pleased.

23rd Harvestmere. Someone piled up leaves from the street right outside my door and Toby has been, in a word, romping

Thinking about Bethany today. Thinking about Varania, too (whether or not she exists), and Karl, Anders’s old lover, and Sebastian’s family, and the way people can leave without warning and that’s--that’s all there is to it, and you’ve only the Maker’s hope you said everything you needed to before it happened.

I keep remembering I never told Mother I liked her hair, the way she’d started wearing it. What a small thing to keep wrapping thorns around my heart.

Aveline mentioned Wesley the other day as well. An offhanded comment, because Fenris stepped in something sticky coming into the Hanged Man and Aveline (apparently) once walked barefoot into a whole cask’s worth of sour beer Wesley had spilled once. I haven’t heard her say his name in years. I wonder if that’s time’s influence, or Donnic’s.

I am infinitely tired of watching the people I love lose.

Satinalia! 1st Firstfall, and I can’t see a thing through this damned mask. Also it’s bitterly cold outside

Merrill’s already pattering through the kitchen (which means I need to get downstairs immediately before I end up with flour all down the stairs again) but a quick note before I go: next time I offer to host Satinalia feasting, don’t let everyone pre-drink at the Hanged Man first.

Later

New inkpen! Finer point than I had, lovely, a black lacquered ironwood courtesy Varric & Merrill, sneaky sneaky. Av gave a little book of hymns with Sebastian who wrote a decida de dedion dedication in the front. Ha! I can spell. I can spell better than most poeple. Except Varric.

Anders forgot it was Sat. Bought drinks for the whole group in apology & two more bottles to bring to my place. Laughed while he did it but didn’t drink & he def. can’t afford it. Memo: large donation next week, anon. Get V to drop it off via runner. Get the urchin with the whistle. Set the whole street awake if he sees a templar lurking

something is banging outside

He liked his scarf, though. Fereldan colors & part of the Anderfels skyline along one hem. Orana’s idea, smart as flames. Too bad he’s pathologically attached to those feathers or I’d have that paper-thin coat out in half a heartbeat

Merrill was trickier but liked the mittens & Av showed her the stitching on the inside, Dalish for heart & memory. I need to be craftier so I can stop leaching gift ideas off everyone else

Maker’s blood & bone this room will not stop spinning

Av, Seb, V & I all went in and got Fen a complete collection of Mader’s works. Historical/slightly fictionalized/encyclopedic thing. Eight volumes. Dry as bones but for flashes of brilliant humor & then you realize he’s just sarcastic as the Void. Plus rather decent Marcher history from Steel Age onward. Not flattering of Tevinter either. Seems perfect for him.

Fancy leather bindings, all in dark leather with rainbow bookmarks. Not all rainbow themselves. The first is red, next orange, etc. F couldn’t carry them all at once so they’re downstairs waiting for multiple trips

What is this banging

[There is no heading for the next section. Instead, there are large, red stains across the side of the page, as if the writer’s hand had not been washed prior to taking up the pen.]

Burn these smugglers! Now I’m drunk and bloody and my ear is cut and Fen is downstairs kipping in the guest because the Crimson We wa Weavers have death wishes & jumped him for coin

Stupid

especially right outside my house, went out and he had all but three down even swaying worse than Gamlen the morning after payday

laughed when I got two down with lightning, & he looked like a masterwork painting since he still had on the elvhen godshead mask. Fen’harel. Lyrium was glowing and made the eyes light from the inside, and his grin was wolfish as anything I’ve ever...

Now there are bodies in my leaves and no one will get them until morning

Damned inconvenient

17th Firstfall. Stairs to Lowtown were iced over today and one of the people who take the palanquins up and down the stairs broke a leg

Varric told me about a mummer’s show last night in Lowtown. He, Aveline, and I went--invited the others but Anders & Merrill were busy and Fenris said he might but never showed.

Varric didn’t tell me it was about me becoming the Champion. Fighting the Arishok, all that. They made him a monster. Grotesque, I mean. His face was purple and scarred and twisted, and I killed him with a sword as tall as Anders.

The audience loved it. They cheered when the Arishok died, and the woman playing me spat on him before kicking his body into the harbor.

I told Varric if I ever read something like this in any of his future books I’d never take him anywhere with me ever again.

20th Firstfall. Ice has melted and now everything’s soggy as spring

Apologized to Varric yesterday. I know he’d never write anything like that mockery, and it wasn’t fair to take my irritation out on him.

It was a ten-copper mummer’s show, and the lead had papier-mâché armor. There’s only so much self-righteous indignation I can manage at one time.

Absolutely sent the company an incensed letter, though. Enjoy ten pages of detailed, annotated corrections, you limp little eels.

30th Firstfall. Snowing lightly today, just enough to make everything slick

Had a letter today. No signature or heading, postmarked Brandel’s Reach. The corner was torn off and the whole thing smelled like salt. “Hope everything’s well there. Still alive. That’s all.”

That’s all.

Six months and that’s all.

19th Haring. Merrill brought a basket of snowdrops and she, Orana, and I covered the great room in garland. Damned lovely

Braeden asked me to marry him. He had a ring made of gold and sapphires and a pair of delicate lace gloves that are too small for me. He said these last months together have shown him I am more than capable of becoming a lasting partner in managing his life and his lands and he’s sure he can make me happy.

I asked him what my favorite color was. He didn’t know.

5th Wintermarch

She died a year ago today.

Fenris came and had dinner with me. We didn’t talk much, and afterwards we went to the library and were quiet there, too. He let me doze on his shoulder when I couldn’t sleep. He left around second bell, when I told him I would go to bed even if I couldn’t manage the dreaming.

Of all the painful anniversaries between us, this one is my least favorite.

21st Wintermarch. I’ve begun needing green -- this winter’s lasting longer than some of Lothering’s, or maybe that’s just because there’s hardly been any snow

I’ve had a terrible cold since Firstday. Orana and Bodahn have kept me bundled in fur & up to my eyes in hot soup and I think I’m finally on the mend. My throat’s so sore I sound like a tenor, though.

Went out to Sundermount last week with Merrill, Varric, and Aveline. We skirted the Dalish camp out there because Merrill didn’t want to speak to Marethari, but I saw her face at the aravel sails peeking over the hills. I’d give a thousand sovs to never see her look like that again.

30th Guardian. Wet and cold and grey and there’s smoke in the winds off the forge down the way

Didn’t mean to leave this so long, but I lost you, journal! Forgot I’d taken you along on a trip up to the farther reaches of the Wounded Coast, and then when I got back I tossed the bag to the side and didn’t think twice about it for a month until Orana started making faces at the smell of iron and brackish seawater. And lo and behold, what should be tucked into the bottom of the bag but a handful of dog biscuits (Toby is thrilled) and you, dear journal, your pages a little worse for the wear but still holding their binding perfectly well.

Naturally, I have nothing to say. The Crimson Weavers have been rooted out from the city and Cullen is now obliged to leave Pelarie’s sister with the family necklace. Something I can check off my list as Champion of this blighted city. Luck dictates I must have one success eventually.

I did have to go by the Gallows the other day to deliver a packet of herbs to Sol. The templars didn’t stare so badly this time, but I know the blonde one with the mutton chops would have killed me if he could. I’m not so far from pitched battle to not recognize death in a man’s eyes.

17th Drakonis. It warmed just for a day as if to tease, then went right back to the chilly damp drizzle. In like a lion, out like a lion, a very wet lion with a soggy mane

I’ve been itching dangerously for a few weeks in the absence of life-threatening peril, so I’ve been taking myself down to Anders’s clinic. It’s cruel to say, but there’s enough death there (and risk of death) to keep my blood at bay, and Anders needs the help besides. There’s a rash of pox going around (ha) and while it’s not too bad for most, the fever can take the very young and very old in a matter of hours.

Anders is getting thin. Reminder: have Orana put some of those turnovers in the basket next time. I’ll fatten him up if I have to tie him to the kitchen chair.

A pair of boys came in to the clinic day before yesterday. Brothers, it looked like, one ten and the other maybe seven or eight. They said they had no one else when I asked. The little one had the pox and was scratching himself to bleeding; the other had the dimpled scars on his neck and arms but no fever left.

I wish I could heal like Anders. He’s so talented at this sort of thing. I can’t even fathom how he can reach inside and feel for the wrongness, then just--pull it out as clean as anything, like separating ink from water in a thin line. Bethany could do that too, when she wasn’t afraid of it. She could sense the source of a cold from across the room and have it halfway to mending in two breaths.

I haven’t the talent like that. Father called me a hammer, once, and he wasn’t wrong, and since Anders was asleep I had to use what I could to heal this boy, which was -- well, me.

He left better than he came in, at least. The fever was gone and the open poxmarks were healed over, but he’ll have scars all down his arms for the rest of his life. Anders would have had him looking fresher than a newborn babe and sent him off with a lolly.

He’ll live. Why am I not satisfied?

1st Cloudreach. Cold

I didn’t want him to just live. I wanted him to be as he was before this sickness touched him, healthy and whole and without the memories of all the pain.

Funny. You’d think I’d have learned by now. If six years of friendship with Fenris has taught me nothing else, the memories make you who you are.

#fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #dragon age #quark writes #hawke's journal tag #we into the break now folks #spoilers: hawke doesn't take it particularly well #super excited about the next part though because i'm a hopeless sap

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