thisavrou_log | [semi-open]

[Lavellan has to take a breath before he actually enters the place. He is not looking forward to this conversation, but he knows he has to have it eventually, especially with someone as perceptive as Varric around. And at least this way, he can get drunk at the same time.

Still. It takes him a moment.

They don't really make clothing for people with missing limbs, so that his left sleeve is empty is immediately obvious. But maybe, if he strides in with enough confidence and doesn't draw attention to it himself, maybe if Varric has already been there a while and had his share of alcohol, he won't notice.

Right. And cows will fly over Minrathous.

But it's worth a shot, so before he can lose his nerve he goes in as nonchalantly as he can manage. It turns out not to matter much, because it takes a minute to spot someone of Varric's stature in the sea of people. But there he is, within shouting distance of the bartender. Of course.]

Varric! Getting started without me, I see.

[Varric wasn't sure what to expect when Lavellan walked into the bar. It'd become clear that he wasn't the same man that Varric had come to know as the Inquisitor. The Vallaslin was different, after all. And as the Herald presented himself and approached, it became clear that the tattoos weren't the only difference. The hair and... really the face in general were also vastly different. The only similarities seemed to be in the clan name and the same green --]

[Andraste's ass. Varric noted obviously missing limb with a troubled frown. What the hell had he missed? He wanted to ask questions, but managed to hold his tongue for the time being at least. Probably not the best way to lead off.]

Don't flatter yourself, kid. You were extended a polite invitation to enjoy the already started festivities between Bianca and I. [He patted the chair that said crossbow occupied.] She says hi by the way. Has no idea who you are, of course, but at least she has manners.

[Well, Varric noticed, but he's polite enough not to say so. Whatever might be out there bless him.

Lavellan lounges against the back of said chair as casually as he can manage. Far be it from him to make a lady give up her seat.]

Yes, Bull said much the same when I spoke with him. Does nobody here know me? And yet I know all of you. There's something rather unfair about that.

[Despite that, he shrugs a shoulder and smirks.]

So, in that case, pleased to meet you, Varric. Inquisitor Neriel Lavellan, at your service.

[He pauses.]

Well, ex-Inquisitor, as it happens.

Neriel. [He nodded. As expected, the given name was entirely unfamiliar. It didn't matter, just in the way Garrett's name didn't matter. He was still a Hawke, and Neriel was still the inquisitor.]

[Ex... Inquisitor.]

[Unfortunately for the Herald, that politeness only seemed to last long enough to get him through the introductions. He nodded to the missing limb.]

Guess your title went with the limb, huh? [He frowned.] The hell did I miss back home?

[Lavellan laughs, and takes the time to signal for a brandy. He'll need something strong for this, probably.]

Not as much as you think. It's not as exciting as it looks.

[Then he focuses on the table for a moment, not to collect his thoughts, but to consider how he's going to present this. Part of him wants to tell the whole story in sordid detail, because the wound is still surprisingly raw. But the larger part, the part that wins out, insists it's better to let it lie where it is, in another universe. There's nothing they can do about any of it now, so it's knowledge that can only harm. Let Varric have only as many details as he wants.

Also, then he doesn't have to talk about it and have actual feelings. It's a win-win.

With a sharp breath he looks up to meet Varric's eyes again.]

It's been over two years since Corypheus. The Inquisition had long outlived its purpose and was making both Orlais and Ferelden nervous, so I disbanded it.

[His gaze flicks away uncertainly.]

And the anchor was becoming unstable, so it had to be removed. I'm not the so-called herald of anything anymore, which suits me just fine.

[Disbanding. Unstable? Much as he appreciated having the basics laid out, there was far too much in the air for Varric to have been satisfied. He leaned forward in his seat, motioning to the bartender to double that order, and then gazed up at the man. A single brow lifted.]

That's nice kid, but what's the real story. Unless I'm to assume you disbanded the Inquisition of your own free will, and then chopped off your arm in the process?

[Two years could change a lot, and he could understand the discomfort of having such a massive, unchained military force. But two years wasn't nearly enough to mend the damage done to Thedas, and more than military, they were an organization bent on helping people where others were tied down with politics.]

[Thedas needed them.]

[When his drink arrives, Lavellan knocks the whole of it back and immediately orders another one. Then he settles back in his chair, and for a moment is distracted by thinking about how often the two of them had done this exact thing in Skyhold, the surreality of something so familiar in a place as bizarre as this one.

Then something in him realigns itself, like a joint popping back into place. The truth is, they've actually never done this before. This is not the same Varric, just as Lavellan is apparently not the same Inquisitor. They don't actually know each other. They're not friends. This Varric looks and acts the same, is probably in every conceivable way the same person, and yet they're strangers to each other.

It's a punch to the gut almost as bad as when Bull had revealed the same thing, only lessened because this time he was expecting it.]

Maybe I did. Would you even know the difference? What does it matter to you, Varric? You said yourself you've never met me before. More than likely your Inquisitor isn't enough of an idiot to make the same mistakes, so it doesn't matter what really happened.

[His smile is bitter and tense, only augmented by the way he's started to drum the fingers of his good hand on the table.]

Surely you have better things to do than listen to a complete stranger talk about his fuckups.

[Varric remained unperturbed by his companion's outburst. Rather, he simply sipped his own brandy, glass failing to hide his grin -- not that he was really trying to, of course. This was the same sort of thing he'd reflected on, multiple times over. There was no reason for him to really care about some of those he'd met -- people like Fenris or Anders, for example. They weren't the people he was used to, he likely wasn't their Varric. Yet still he worried over them]

[The same was true for Neriel, he thought.]

I'd never met Garrett Hawke before coming here, either. I think I told you that. Doesn't mean I don't wake up every day and wonder if he's taking care of himself. The Anders here, he's from before the Chantry erupted in flames. He's not mine either, and I still find myself worrying about whether or not he's making love eyes at churches.

I don't give two shits about timelines or who did what better. You might not look like my Inquisitor, but you both sound and act like him. It's good enough for me.

[He finished off his brandy, and then pushed his glass toward the bartender with a wink. Anyone else, anywhere else and Varric's behavior might have gotten him thrown out. Varric was much like a mold, however -- inexplicably, he grew on people.]

You don't have to talk about what happened, that's fine by me, but don't pin it on me. I'm here to listen, no matter who you are.

[Just like that, he deflates, his anger leaving as quickly as it had come. Of course, this situation isn't Varric's fault. It's just a shock, the idea of not being a constant. Back home Varric had been one of the people who insisted that Lavellan was still a person, not a figure, and now it's like Varric had only known the figure after all.

He's definitely overthinking this. It's not even what they're supposed to be talking about.]

You're right. I'm sorry. It's just--Maker's balls, I don't even know where to start.

[But there are a few points more significant than others.]

The Inquisition was compromised. Solas--

[It's like he has to force the words around something stuck in his throat. Fuck.]

Solas was never working with us. He'd had his own agenda from the beginning. I disbanded the Inquisition because I didn't know how many of our people were really his spies. And the anchor--it was going to kill me. So he removed it. A final kindness, apparently.

[He scoffs and rubs his eyes. Suddenly, he feels exhausted.]

There's more, of course. But that's the simple version.

[Given the chance, Varric might have explained that it went beyond that, but with no indication that that was what seemed to be bothering Neriel, he had no reason to attempt to comfort him, at least when it came to that line of thinking.]

[Instead, he simply stared at Neriel. First, his silence was thoughtful, brows upturned as if he was simply listening to a story. Slowly, those brows lowered, and his fists clenched. One only loosened just enough to receive his drink, which was quickly downed in the hopes that it just might help put out the fire burning within his gut.]

[No such luck.]

Chuckles... [He shook his head. It felt wrong to call him that, especially now that Hawke was back in the picture.] I knew I didn't like him. From the second he started preaching all that shit about Cole remaining a spirit. Now this.

[He slammed the hand holding his glass onto the table with a sharp grunt.]
What was he trying to use us for?

[Lavellan can't help but flinch at the noise, and has to remind himself again that this isn't his Varric. Probably, Varric's Inquisitor had listened to him about Cole, and who knows how much of a difference that made? How much do their experiences diverge, really? What would this Varric think about him, if he'd known Lavellan let Solas guide Cole?

Suddenly, he's having doubts about this conversation all over again. He isn't angry with Solas the way Varric seems to be. Is it even possible for Varric to understand him? He can barely even understand himself.]

It's more complicated than that, Varric. Solas is--he thinks what he's doing is right. I have to show him he's mistaken. He can still be reasoned with, I just have to--I have to make him see. And I can't do that if I'm stuck here.

[Which one of them he's trying to convince, Lavellan doesn't know. He sounds desperate even to his own ears, and he can't be making all that much sense to Varric. He digs the heel of his hand into an eye and takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to get his voice to even out again.]

Shit. I knew this was a bad idea.

Right? What about undermining the Inquisition and forcing it to disband is right? [The anger was plain in his voice. All of the good they'd done, the people they'd saved when nobles and revered mothers were too busy crowing about their own conflicts -- what about that? What could Solas have needed have needed more than that?]

[Three years was a lot of time for things to change. Hell, he'd seen that first hand in Kirkwall. It was hard to imagine the world being worse off than when they started -- he figured that as long as the mages and templars weren't fighting, and that rifts weren't reopening, things couldn't be that bad.]

[Not that Lavellan had been forthcoming about the whole thing. And the fact that the mark was unstable may well have indicated that something was going wrong.]

[In the end, it didn't matter. Regardless of what Neriel thought, he still considered the man to be his friend. That meant that he could at least lend the man an ear.]

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll calm down. [He gulped down a heavy breath.] Maybe you should start from the top. Help me understand what I missed.

Give me a minute. There's a lot, and I'm not sure if I really believe half of it myself.

[After a few moments of just breathing he finds it's easier to talk if he does it to the table instead of Varric. Not exactly good for his pride, but that hasn't mattered as much for a long time. Distantly Lavellan realizes that this is the first time he's really talked to anyone about it since it happened.

He aims for keeping his voice calm but it just comes out flat instead.]

Solas is--well. It turns out he's from before the fall of Arlathan. Apparently he's even older than Corypheus.

[He smirks humorlessly.]

One of the ones we Dalish consider gods, actually. The orb Corypheus used is his, and he's responsible for creating the Veil in the first place.

[This is all so ridiculous, isn't it? It really is kind of funny. Lavellan suddenly has to clamp down on laughter.]

And now he thinks that the plight of the elves is all his fault and the only way to fix it is to destroy the Veil, and then things can go right back to the way they were. [Now he's definitely laughing. Maybe he's just hysterical.] Because that's always how it works, of course.

There was some business with an attempted qunari invasion, too, but as far as I know that's over and done with, so no sense you worrying about it. And I disbanded the Inquisition because--

[He pauses, like he he's considering.]

It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But I think I was just tired.

One of the... dalish gods. [His expression was disbelieving, to put it mildly. That Lavellan had been so upset was one of the few things that kept him from doubting the man. That, and the fact that he doubted Lavellan would ever lie about something so serious. Not about one of their friends.]

[Former friends, it would seem.]

[Realization slowly crept across Varric's features. Considering the gravity of everything, Varric should have felt the sharp, hot blade of anger sinking into his gut. Instead, he felt only cold. The only evidence that perhaps something was amiss was the fact that his hand had shifted, clutching the counter before him as tight as he possibly could. It was the only thing keeping him from bursting into an absolute tirade.]

[When he finally managed his words, they were tight, and spoke through clenched teeth.]

So everything that happened, it was all his fault?

[The people that had died, mages and templars alike. Innocent people killed in yet another explosion for yet another cause he was only tangentially involved in. Mage rights, elven rights, when the hell did his rights start to matter.]

[Last time, the cause had ripped Anders from him. Now, Solas had taken Hawke away.]

Guess I can't blame you for feeling tired. [Another time, he might have offered some further sentiment. Here and now, he felt just as tired as Lavellan might have. Tired, and so blighted angry.]

No!

[That comes out more vehemently than he intended it to.]

Corypheus stole the orb. He was supposed to die when he used it, and he didn't. Solas didn't want any of it to happen, that's why he joined the Inquisition.

[Again, he sounds more like he's trying to convince himself, and maybe he is.]

He's still our friend. He thinks he's doing the right thing.

[...Lavellan thinks about twisting the knife. It could convince Varric. Or it could end what friendship they have.

Then again, would that really be a loss? This isn't his Varric.]

You thought you were doing the right thing too, when you told Bianca about the lyrium. Sometimes people are just misguided.

[That... certainly was a twisted knife. Varric's expression crumpled, and he glanced away from the elf was quickly as he could. He motioned to the bartender with three fingers up. He'd need a lot to swallow down that bitter pill.]

[He tried to tell himself that Lavellan was compromised, upset by the journey and the grief of betrayal. Varric himself had lashed out at people for a long time after Kirkwall. Still did, from time to time, though he'd gotten better now that Blondie was back in the picture.

My attempts at doing the right thing didn't get your best friend killed. [He spoke with his form still slightly turned. Part of it was so that the elf couldn't see just how wounded Varric was. The other part didn't want to see how he might react in kind.]

[Normally he was above such petty blows. The dwarf respected the man, or at least he had before that particular stunt. But Hawke's blood had been spilled because of all of this. In the end, his bond with the Champion went far deeper than that of the one he shared with the Herald.]

[It wouldn't matter even if Varric had looked away, because Lavellan wasn't looking at him either. Of course, he'd regretted what he'd said as soon as it came out of his mouth. What was wrong with him? He never used to be this impulsive.

But at Varric's next words he snapped back to stare at him in confusion.]

What are you talking about?

[He'd heard Hawke went back to Kirkwall when Varric did, after the Inquisition ended. She certainly wasn't dead, as far as Lavellan knew. Maybe Varric was talking about someone else, but everyone Lavellan could think of was also alive--so he either meant someone Lavellan had never heard of, or...

Of course. Too many things clicked into place all at once.

He leaned back with a sigh and wondered just what kind of grave he'd just dug for himself.]

Hawke's dead for you, isn't she.

[Probably not the best way to put it, but they're beyond being delicate, now.]

[Just as things clicked into place for Lavellan, so too did realization strike the dwarf. A pit began to form in Varric's stomach, hard and painful If he doubted Hawke's death, it had to mean that she had lived. Somewhere out there, something went right enough to allow the Champion to fight on. Which meant that... somehow, Varric's worst and un-vocalized fears began to form.]

[Hawke could have been saved.]

[He tried to swallow his guilt for the time being, but when it didn't go down, he attempted to drown it in another burst of alcohol. This was far more than he'd drank of late, and already the corners of his vision were beginning to blur. At least he hoped it was the drink. If it were anything else, an outburst of emotions, then he was in deep shit.]

Yeah. [His voice was surprisingly firm for every ounce of emotion he felt in his gut.] Stayed in the fade to fight the Nightmare.

[The thing that they shouldn't have confronted from the get-go, if what Neriel had said was true. If not for Corypheus, they wouldn't have wound up in the Fade, wouldn't have wound up playing the sick demon's games.]

[His brief outburst of grief had been a decent reprieve from his anger, but now it was back and churning heavily within his gut.]

[They're both too drunk and not drunk enough for this.

Lavellan lets the silence stretch. He doesn't know what to say in response, but he has to say something. It's his fault the conversation took the turn it did.

Eventually...]

I'm sorry.

[It's all he can think of. It's absurd, from most points of view. Not only is Hawke still alive in the Thedas Lavellan remembers, but she's alive for the both of them here. And yet Varric is clearly grieving her. His version of her, who is and isn't the one Lavellan knows.

This is the last kind of nonsense Lavellan wants to be thinking about right now.

He finishes his own glass and holds his head as the room starts to list, trying not to think about how miserable he feels himself. They're a cheery group, the two of them. This is going about as wretchedly as he expected it to.]

Yeah.

[Varric wasn't the type to suck on his grudges for too long, but this wasn't something could be instantly forgiven, either. He spun the empty glass about, watching it spiral manically toward the edge. His fingers wrapped around it once more, catching it before it toppled off the counter and broke on the ground.]

[And then he set it down, moved to his liquor and downed the remainder. It'd been easy to forget about his grief in the face of Hawke being alive, being before that time. As if it might bee enough to save her.]

[To know that it could have all been avoided...]

I should probably get back to her. Be wondering where I am.

[They shouldn't leave it like this. There was still so much Lavellan needed to say, and so much Varric still needed to hear. Misconceptions to clear up, apologies to make.

Lavellan found the words dying in his throat.]

Of course.

[Fuck.]

I'll... talk to you later, then.

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closed to varric

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he's being so uncooperative i'm sorry

dw, we got this.

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stares into the camera like i'm on the office

w h o o p s

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