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gronnulv · 14 days ago

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Collab! Art by me, text by Garmi (Lililala)

(Hello! English is not my native language + I have dyslexia, so I would be grateful for any possible translation errors being pointed out. I really love how my friend writes, making Varric so real, and decided to take the risk of sharing one of our collaborative works. We would also be grateful for help from a beta reader who could assist us with other Dragon Age projects as well (I'm trying to write Anders, but I'm completely new to that :`D). We would really appreciate help with text editing for an animatic!)

Q: Describe your character's true all-consuming passion for someone else. (source)

Morning. It always came so suddenly, announcing itself with blinding sun, raucous roosters that should have been made into soup long ago, and the noisy bustle of a city awakening.

Varric had long learned to accept the relentlessness of time, knowing perfectly well that after a pleasant evening and blissful night would come merciless morning and dreary day, but today he wasn't ready to apply this skill.

With the first rays of sun, he should have awakened, gathered his scattered things, dressed, and kissed her to wake her and say goodbye. This time he had deliberately drawn the curtains as tightly as possible so that even after dawn the room would remain dark.

When the damned birds began to crow, he should already have been standing at the open window, lifting his leg onto the windowsill that had deteriorated after a dozen similar tricks, then grabbing the inconspicuous gaps in the bricks that had "accidentally" appeared a year or two ago, and carefully but quickly descending below. However, the window had been tightly closed since evening, making the cock-crow barely audible, the windowsill... well, they had reasons to finally demolish it, and the gaps were still in their illegal place, waiting mournfully for his tender cursing.

The city was already bustling with people when he — small and inconspicuous — slipped between them, making his way to "The Hanged Man," telling Corff for the hundredth time that he simply had too many patrons, so he hadn't noticed him among the tall and loud drunkards during the night. Today the poor man should finally win a few silvers, because Varric truly hadn't been in his place.

He was tired of running. Tired of hiding.

To hell with the Merchant Guild, old Davri, Bartrand, mother, and all their stupid prejudices. He was no worse than that... what was his name again. Even much better. He had simply been unlucky to be born the younger son in a family of liars and failures—that was all his shortcomings, which could safely be overlooked because he was completely different. Maybe he lied sometimes... but how much truth was in his lies if you used your brain and listened with something other than your ass! And no one would dare call him a failure. No-o, he was lucky and knew perfectly well how to use it. If he were given a little time and opportunity, a chance to reveal himself, the Tethras would be not just "once honored." His name would be everywhere: in books, in history, in the discussions of nobility from all countries. If he had just a few more privileges...

However, Varric himself didn't want to become a cog in this dwarven machine for minting gold from other people's lives. His brother liked it, so let him deal with it, and he looked quite good in his own place. It was just a pity that this place wasn't enough for you to be considered worthy.

But all this was empty. Completely unnecessary now, when he was with her.

She was a sorceress in the world of mechanisms, a mage of gears and screws. Her hands were capable of creating miracles. Varric couldn't help but kiss them, couldn't tear himself away until he went from one little finger to the other through palms, forearms, elbows, shoulders. These hands would change the entire world as soon as the shackles of conditions and contracts fell from them. They would kill and resurrect him with their very existence, when he could look at them every day without thinking about how much time remained and how long he would have to wait for the next time. He would describe them in poems, and if she didn't like it, he would burn everything and write again until she was satisfied.

Her head always held multitudes of ideas and solutions that only she could reach. An unrecognized Paragon, a quiet genius who would achieve the breaking of foundations and become the most revered both in the halls of Orzammar and on the surface. He completely didn't understand her, but couldn't stop listening when she enthusiastically talked about some torque moments; couldn't bear it when she got angry over a failure, and tried to calm her as best he could; admired her when she suddenly ignited with an idea and ran to redo blueprints and change numbers in calculations.

Pursed lips, a few wrinkles between her eyebrows, any change on her beautiful face — he caught everything and forgot to breathe until she looked at him and reminded him that dead, he would hardly be useful to her. And he still suffocated. Only pretended to breathe, while himself on the verge of falling into the Void.

He was capable of singing praise to every part of her body, every character trait, every thought, and it didn't matter whether it had been voiced or not. And let her try to deny it, he would find a thousand arguments to prove all his words to her, until languid silence hung between them, which a kiss would break.

"Bianca," just her name, spoken aloud, sent shivers across his skin.

He had only a few extra moments to tangle his fingers in thin fair hair and inhale the scent of persistent perfume before she would wake up. He wanted at least another half hour beside her, on her, under her— however she wanted, as long as it accidentally stretched into another hour, and then another and another.

"You've lingered," she whispered sleepily, arching and turning her face to him. "You need to go."

"I know."

But instead of getting up and dressing, Varric pressed her tightly to himself. Kissed her collarbones, shoulders, neck, reaching her tender full lips and receiving the desired response. He behaved like a stubborn boy. Ready for anything, as long as she would forget about the rest of the world and think only of him. She was smarter than him and knew perfectly well that this was simply postponing the inevitable. But how could she not give in when he, weak and foolish, so desperately begged her to play along, unwilling to accept the hateful reality.

"Tonight, Varric. There's... very little left," she tried to reach him through the kiss, but immediately fell silent, exhaling blissfully. "I should have pushed you out the window in the night."

"You almost did," Varric smiled between kisses, then deliberately tickled her with his stubble. "You pounced on me when I hadn't even put my foot on the floor, and..."

"You have such a good memory. That means you remember perfectly well where the exit is."

"Hey, give a longing man an extra five minutes to luxuriate in a warm bed with a beautiful bride."

"In a few hours," twisting, she lightly bit his shoulder, making him curse and pull back, "we'll be on the path to a future where every morning will be better than this. And beside you will be your wife."

"I need an example for comparison," he began kissing her again, this time slowly descending lower. "Five minutes. No more, I promise."

She snorted with displeasure but relaxed under his caresses, pressing her whole body to him and breathing convulsively from every touch.

Her hands, her beautiful hands, thin and graceful but strong from persistent work, entwined around his neck, and her fingers, marked with old scars, fresh cuts, and calluses, dug into his back. They pressed special points and made him tremble, want her even more, even longer.

Oh, if they could lie like this, intertwined as one, for the rest of their lives. Not running anywhere, not fearing anything...

But he really needed to go. Deal with the final preparations and say goodbye to everyone who didn't know but suspected that he was leaving them.

He would wait, he would endure a little longer, live until the fateful evening. And when they were far from Kirkwall, from relatives, from cages and rules, nothing would prevent them from being together as long as they wanted.

Varric reluctantly tore himself away from her breast, heated by kisses, and heard a moan of displeasure. For her, these few hours would also be a difficult trial. But she would manage. He would be with her, in the ring hanging on a thin chain and hidden under her shirt, reminding her that very little remained.

He kissed her one last time, already dressed and ready for another escape, but still aroused, and now she didn't want to let him go, covering his cheeks, chin, neck with kisses, wanting to descend even lower. It was hard for him to stop her, since it was he who had started teasing and begging, but the minutes had passed, and he, as the most honest dwarf in the world and a gentleman, had to fulfill his promise.

"Until freedom," he whispered, picking up the crossbow leaning against the wall and throwing it over his back.

"Until freedom," she answered and followed him with her gaze to the window, deliberately covering herself poorly with the blanket.

The curtains creaked apart, letting bright rays of long-risen sun into the dark room. The windows opened, and all the sounds of the long-awakened city flew into the room. Varric put his foot right on the frame, stepping over the windowsill broken into two uneven parts, and after looking around, slipped outside to descend with quiet curses, thinking that they would need to make a hook for the crossbow along the way.

As soon as his feet were on level ground, he ran knowingly toward an alley dark even in daytime, emerged onto a street lined with trading stalls in a minute, and made his way through the crowd to the stairs leading to Lowtown.

For just a moment, Varric regretted leaving Kirkwall. A second of doubt, a painful heartbeat warning that he was making a mistake by leaving his beloved city; a brief thought asking just one question: "was it worth it?" But this moment wasn't enough to dissuade him, and he thought again of her and their shared future. Of their freedom. And the answer came by itself.

"She's worth everything."

#artists on tumblr #digital art #text post #dragon age #varric tethras #dragon age varric #bianca davri #dragon age 2

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