Varric Tethras can't stand holding back the truth about Marian Hawke after the Inquisitor leaves her in the Fade to die. What he can't stand more is no one is trying to get her back. With the assistance of friends in surprising places, he fights in...
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My butterflies are nugs, jumping and squeaking in my stomach, and every time I think of what's going to happen next, one of them pukes, and I burp the acid that just took the brunt of it. This may be my last entry for a while. I know I haven't kept up and was meaning to write every day, but things always came up. Things that involved you. You don't know this yet but I've been staring at you staring out at the world for the past two miles since I've asked the coachman how long we've been riding. I don't know what's going through your head but I'll tell you what's through mine.
Nothing.
I've been living in the minutes of being next to you, the real you, and nothing has been going through my mind except how your hair falls across your brow, how the little muscle in your neck twitches when you smile at a thought, and when you glance back at me, you manage to glance longer than you planned, and I get a chance to grin mischievously because you don't know where we're going, or what I've done, and I can dangle it in front of you until you squeal.
But you haven't squealed yet. Truth is I want to squeal for you but that's frowned upon in public.
I'll do it when we're there.
It's a little place I found that no one knows and no one lives near for miles. With the wedding gifts, I had Solas stock provisions, and everything else we would need when we got there. It's not much but it is perfect. And I didn't want anything less for you.
You're staring at me again so I'll put my book down.
Damn you're beautiful in this moonlight.
Horse hooves clop against the road. Been that way for what feels like hours. He rubs his belly of nugs. Varric knows that it's not the terrible fear of making a mistake like he's done so many times before. It's the positive terror that this beautiful warrior goddess loves him, has always loved him, and it will be the first time in their lives no one, not even the Maker, can separate them. Because after this, they'll never be separate again, in mind, in spirit...
"Quit hoggin' the breeze," Varric says as his body flashes hot under his suit. He hops over to the opposite seat, and gulps through his nose.
"Me too," she says.
"What?"
"Nervous. Me too."
"Oh."
"I've never been to—where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
"It's not a seasonal hotel in the middle of winter where the groundskeeper throws us the keys, is it?"
"Ha."
A young moon follows their carriage. If this were his novel, Varric would have added bandits by now, a dead coachman, and him holding the reins with Hawke firing magic at darkspawn chasing them. Or maybe the dog should have the reins and Varric joins the fight.
