#varriictethras

          his innocently-said words stung like thousands of small blades against her skin, cutting her deeply. two words. how could two words hurt so much? 

                                         WHERE’S HAWKE?

          where is ophelia? she knows. she was with the inquisitor at weisshaupt. kara saw all of what happened. she wished she didn’t. why was he asking her? maker, why couldn’t he have asked the inquisitor? why her? she was dreadful at breaking bad news.

          the image of the green-tinged nightmarish land still bore harshly in her mind (and knowing the fade, she wasn’t sure they were even out of it yet.) the nightmare itself still stood in her vision, making her palms clammy and her heart stop. she watches hawke charge for it. kara doesn’t look away as she runs out with the inquisitor, apologies hanging on her breath.

           her heart was stopped again here and now as varric stood, looking up at her with a fear in his eyes. for a second, it felt like he already knew the answer to his question. kara’s hesitation gave much of it away.

    “ do you ever think that they made the wrong decision, making me the inquisitor? “ it’s not the first time she’s had the thought, but it’s the first time she’s really allowed herself to voice it -- and to varric, too. still, how could she not? if there was anyone who would agree with her at this moment, it should be him. she’d left his friend in the fade -- whether it was hawke’s decision or not, she’d still allowed the man to sacrifice himself for her and their cause. it -- well, it sort of made her sick to think about, and now, days later, she was allowing herself to react. she dropped herself down in one of the chairs, looking at the fire for a moment, before turning dark eyes to varric -- it was clear that sleep hadn’t been kind to her the last few days, and she was almost hoping he would yell at her. at least she’d feel better, if he yelled at her.

❝ ah, varric! letters could barely suffice, i missed you dearly. you’ve been taking good care of that chest hair for me, i trust? ❞

     ophelia says with a smile, kneeling down & placing a kiss on his lips, before standing back up & leaning against a wall. she hadn’t been able to do that for a while, she thinks. with the fear of an exalted march over her head, she had fled kirkwall. it was both a breath of fresh air & a punch in the face.

     the world was much different than the nightmare had anticipated. they looked around with muddy eyes, still standing outside the rift they had escaped from. they had collapsed onto their knees, eyes wide with a morbid wonder. 

     they were free. free to do whatever they wished with this world. they were almost excited.

     it took them a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the brightness of the new world. they heard a faded voice - no, multiple voices. they heard the rift nightmare had escaped from seal shut, and felt people pick them up.

     their eyes adjusted, and they were greeted to the damned inquisitor and one of their companions holding them up, yelling for a healer. of course the inquisitor would be here. when weren’t they? 

  ❤

fffUUUUCK

my muse’s reaction to yours:          ❤ – kissing mine.

     ophelia liked lazing around in the estate with varric. it mainly consisted of her talking about her day & everything he missed, while he jotted it down carefully. she didn’t mind - she liked that he desired to keep any stories he told as accurate as possible. ( plus, it let her know he was actually listening. it was comforting. )

     she had been less outgoing with her talks, her speech less eloquent after her mother had died. ophelia was willing to let herself be vulnerable around varric, her trust in him just that strong. she had been describing the way some lowtown thugs were dressed ( she was getting suspicious. what if this was another corypheus thing? what if it was a group? varric always settled her down, saying he’d keep an eye out for anyone with the descriptions. he never found anything, but he kept looking. anything to help her feel safe. )

     she trailed off in the middle of a stuttered out sentence, her eyes going blank and her hands fidgeting. ophelia did that sometimes, when she thought too much about malcolm or bethany or carver or leandra. varric stood from his seat on her couch, leading her to sit down. ❝ hey. smiles. ❞ he said, his voice barely louder than a murmur. ❝ they’d be proud of ya. you’re doing your best, and they know that. they’ll always love you. ❞

     ophelia snapped out of it, the life going back in her eyes and a soft smile on her face. ❝ thank you. i’m.. sorry for doing stuff like this a lot. ❞ she laughed, her softened eyes watering gently.

     varric looked at her, putting a hand on her chin and pulling her head towards his. he wiped her eyes, & pushed her hair away from them before pressing his lips against hers. she liked - no, loved - kissing him.

     his stubble always pricked at her skin, but ophelia didn’t mind. he smelled like cheap ale, & expensive cologne. fresh ink & crisp pieces of paper. he smelled like him, unique and comforting. his hand, calloused from his constant usage of bianca, always held to her cheek with a gentleness you wouldn’t expect from someone like him. his lips were chapped & dry, but she couldn’t care less - so were hers. varric never minded when her lipstick rubbed off onto his lips ( he’d always joke that he should just borrow it sometimes. that it looked better on him. she always said he’d look good in some of her red. )

     he’d pulled away after a few moments that felt infinitely longer, his hand still on her cheek, his other moving to her hand. ❝ you don’t ever have to apologize, smiles. i love you just the way you are. ❞