#otf: together we're chaotic rhyme

[vhenadahls]

and we’re tried and true

Esther and her family aren’t handling the sardines-in-a-can experience of Gamlen’s house well. She runs into Varric at the Hanged Man, and they get themselves into a bit of trouble. Nothing they can’t handle.

Hawke and Varric friendship, 1300 words. Rated T for two fuck words and a bar fight.

I’m still on hiatus, but I wrote a thing!

After a knock-down, drag-out, family-wide fight that leaves Gamlen sulking and Mother in tears, Carver storms out the door, greatsword on his back and every Kirkwall stormcloud in his face. Esther waits precisely five minutes, trying to pretend she knows how to handle this sort of thing, before following his example. 

She leaves her staff propped in the corner, a subtle, modified repulsion glyph woven around it to prevent anyone noticing or trying to take it. Including Gamlen. The staff’s not a necessary thing, she’s just far more comfortable with it on her back than without. But Athenril’s protection of her prize mage isn't there anymore, not when she's out finding her own work and fucking around Lowtown herself. She's always been able to channel more than enough mana for most things without the staff, though, both of them are - were. A fact that made Esther proud and Bethany shy away from her magic even more. 

Bethany. Bethany would've known how to handle tonight's blowup without shrinking out the door, would know how to talk to Mother in a voice that wasn't shouting. She may not have wanted to understand her magic, but she understood people, more than she thought she did, and Esther wishes she had half that knowledge to bring into Gamlen’s tumble-down Lowtown house. Maybe they wouldn’t feel so much like they’re crashing someone’s party.

She swipes at the tears threatening in her eyes, and looks up to find her feet have walked her to the Hanged Man. The doors are flung open and blurry conversation spills out into the street, along with a circle of reflected candlelight. It smells like cheap ale, too many people, and stale piss, and it's just what she needs. 

A seat’s open at the end of one of the long benches, and she drops into it with a wave at Norah. A mug of ale appears in front of her a moment later, and so does a familiar dwarf. 

“Drinking alone, Shorebird?” Varric asks, tossing a copper to Norah when Esther doesn't. 

“Not anymore, apparently.” She gestures him to the space on the bench across from her. He climbs up, and the way his legs dangle puts a smile on her face she didn't think would appear for a lot longer. All the furniture in his room is dwarf-sized, so she’s used to choking on her knees while she drinks with him. It's a nice change. 

“Damned human-sized furniture,” he mutters under his breath, and her smile turns into a laugh. He grins in such a way that she knows the comment was for her benefit. Another mug of ale appears on the table, and he drains half of it in one gulp. “What's ailing you?”

She sniggers. “Ale-ing. Nice.” Stalling, she takes another sip from her mug and glances around the room. It's all the usual suspects tonight, various Lowtown louts and Fereldan refugees and the occasional guardsman just off their shift. It's loud, and crowded, and the perfect place to forget all her troubles. If he'd let her. 

Varric waits. She'll give him that - he's remarkably patient, when he wants to be. He nurses his ale more sedately, swinging his feet in the too-big chair, and waits for her to come clean. 

“Fuck you, Varric,” she finally says, and drains the last the mug in one swig, banging it down on the rickety table when she's done. “Just family shit. It's not important.”

It’s not often that Varric doesn’t have a ready answer. He just nods slowly, and takes another sip. “Did I ever tell you about the qunari mage Bartrand hoodwinked onto our last expedition?” he asks, his eyes wide and as innocent as he can make them.

Laughter rises from the patrons next to them, wedged in on the bench. “You’re a terrible liar, Varric,” one of them says, raising their mug to him.

“I resent that!” he cries. “I’ll have you know that I am an exquisite liar, but this is definitely one hundred percent true.” He launches into another one of his tales, one that is obviously false (he’s never met a qunari mage, as far as she knows, let alone been on an expedition with one). But his wide-eyed pretense has her and the rest of his audience holding their sides from laughter soon enough.

Norah refills their mugs, and after the story someone produces a Wicked Grace deck. She's got nothing to play with, but Varric spots her, and she cleans their new friends out with an easy smile. Her shoulders start to relax, tension easing. 

“Fucking dog lord!” comes a sudden screech, when the Angel of Death card comes up and Esther lays her hand flat on the table - four knights: ages, dawn, mercy, and sacrifice. Another win. 

The screecher jumps up from the bench, his path a little wobbly from alcohol consumption. “You're cheating!”

“Now, now,” Varric says, helping gather Esther's winnings so none of the audience takes them, “that's no way to be a gracious loser.”

With another screech, the man tries to aim a punch at Varric, but his own inebriation and Varric’s lack of height mean he misses by a mile. Varric ducks even so, sliding out from the bench.

Esther does, too. “Hey!” she shouts. The angry man turns toward her and raises his fist again, but she sidesteps it and drives a mana-enhanced punch into his gut. He slumps over, heaving, and she spins to face his friends trying to disentangle themselves from the bench.

“So, my good men, you’ll find that I can more than hold my own in a fight. And if you don’t want to end up like your friend over here,” she points her foot backward at the man still gasping for breath, “you’re going to let me just walk on out of here with my winnings and we’ll forget all about this. How’s that sound?”

One of the man’s friends looks like he’s considering the offer, but the other winds up for another punch. Esther lets him get it in - he’s so drunk it feels more like a mild shove - and follows with another punch of her own, softer than the last but in the shoulder.

A number of Fereldans from the next table over stand up as the reluctant one advances on her, and she tips an imaginary hat to them in thanks before he grabs at her arm. He’s stronger than his friends, and it’s more of a fight for a few moments. One of the incoming Fereldans throws a wild punch that makes him loosen his grip and she wriggles away from him, heading for the door with Varric on her heels.

She’s laughing before they even make it onto the street. The denizens of late-night Lowtown barely glance up at the intrusion. They walk towards Gamlen’s house, still chuckling. “Cheating at cards so much you start a bar fight, Shorebird. That’s one way to have an interesting evening.”

Pretending to be affronted, Esther flattens a hand on her chest in a horrendous impersonation of Leandra. “Me? Cheating? I am appalled that you could ever think such a thing of me. I would never cheat!” She flutters her other hand through the air like she’s supposed to be holding an ornate fan - this imitation, spot on.

The sound Varric makes is something like a cross between a nug and a pig. “And I’m next in line for the Sunburst Throne. Honestly I’m glad for it, you’re far more interesting than the usual clientele.”

They’re in front of Gamlen’s place now, and Esther leans against the sagging stairway. “That’s not saying much, though.”

Varric tilts his head and a hand toward her, agreeing. “That’s true. Anyway, I’d best get back before the fight’s too rowdy and they kick everyone out, that’s always some fun people-watching. See you later, Shorebird.” He turns and heads back the way they came.

Still leaning on the stairs, Esther taps one foot against the carved-stone ground. It’s a familiar sound, and it helps center her thoughts. “Varric?” she calls. He turns back, a question in the angle of his head.

She takes a deep breath. “Just...thanks. For being there tonight. It helped.”

No response, for a moment, and then he nods. “Anytime, Hawke.”

[vhenadahls]

i find the map and draw a straight line

Prompted by @momsthetic​ - zinnia (I mourn your absence)

They all pile onto the Wicked Grace after they escape the Gallows, an unusual kind of cadence with Anders and Fenris lying dead and Carver running up the gangway on Esther's heels. The crew is all already awake, gawking at the chaos as the Gallows burn, and there's a long moment where they stare at the newcomers, ragged and bloody from their fight out of the city. A single shout from Isabela sets the sailors all back to rights, and the bustle of a ship readying to sail leaves the rest of them at loose ends on the deck.

Esther wants to be the first to recover, the smell of the sea usually almost as sweet to her as it is to Isabela, but Merrill's got a death grip on her hand that she doesn't seem too keen on loosening, and Esther can’t bring herself to do anything but stare. None of them speak, looking out over the docks as Isabela’s captain’s voice and the responses of her crew echo behind them. Heart sinking, Esther watches the roof of one of the warehouses collapse, a fresh plume of smoke billowing out from where it stood.

Varric’s murmured “shit” isn't meant to be heard by the others, but he's not as quiet as he thinks he is and it defuses the tension, if only a little. Merrill lets up on Esther's hand, and Carver loosens his armor and leans forward onto the railing.

“Shit,” Esther echoes, but it's hollow, and the tension grows taut again when she doesn’t follow it up with a joke. Merrill leans against her, silent, and Carver nods slowly, in sympathy - they put the whole city on her shoulders, and she failed.

They're still quiet as the crew finishes their final checks, and Esther feels her heart lift the smallest bit at the thought of being out on the water, escaping the city with her friends to finally just be Esther again, not the Champion of Kirkwall. But there's a small flurry near the gangway as Isabela sends someone to pull it onboard, and Aveline waves him away while gesturing their ragtag group towards her.

“I'm not leaving,” she says bluntly, once they've within earshot. She gazes out over the city, wincing as the flames spread to another building. “There's no one left, now with Meredith gone - not that Meredith was worth it in the first place. I can't leave while the city is in this state.”

Isabela eyes her critically, face calculating. “All right.” She claps Aveline on the shoulder, respect and insolence all in one. “I'll see you again, big girl.”

Aveline rolls her eyes, but there's a softness in her face, and she nods to Isabela before turning to Esther. “Keep out of trouble, Hawke. Maker knows you'll find it.”

Esther tries to give a cheeky grin, but it doesn't quite work, and instead she inclines her head. “You wouldn't be happy unless you had to come pull me out of something, you know it.” Tears prick at her eyes, but she blinks them away. She will not cry here, not with everyone watching. Grimacing, she fakes a cough, to try and sell that it’s the smoke.

Aveline nods once more, turning without another word and hurrying back down the gangway. She draws her sword and shield as she hits the ground, and the crew pulls the gangway onto the ship, and Aveline turns a corner and is gone into the maze.

They weigh anchor, picking their way out of the harbor and giving the Gallows a wide berth, and Esther doesn't move from her spot on the railing. She stands still, Merrill on one side and Varric on the other, with Carver nearby and Sebastian hovering and Isabela calling orders behind her, until burning Kirkwall fades over the horizon. She doesn’t give in to the tears that threaten to fall, but she doesn’t say anything else even when the city disappears, and her expression when she finally turns away is brittle.

-------

They leave Carver at Ostwick, off to rejoin his Warden unit. Everyone that’s left of their ragtag band of misfits troops off the ship together, Isabela shouting about half a day’s shore leave to the crew and the rest attempting to make merry like this is something they do all the time. A bar is found, one Varric complains could never live up to the legacy of the Hanged Man, and they take up their customary places around an unfamiliar table. A smaller table too, chosen to avoid thoughts of the gaps in their circle, and the conversation does not flow as easily despite the much better ale.

Esther does not beg or plead with Carver to stay, to shirk his vows and his duty and the mantle she gave him to save his life. Or, at least, she wouldn’t look to be begging in the eyes of someone who did not know her - but those standing around her as she says goodbye to her brother know her better than she ever thought possible.

“But who will protect me from the big scary darkspawn?” she jokes, trying to force her characteristic lilting humor back into place. To his credit he doesn’t call her on the fragility of her voice, responding only with a long-lost smirk and a deep, put-upon sigh. But when he grasps her hand and she pulls him in for a bone-crunching hug, his eyes are shiny and wet.

All of them watch as he mounts the relay horse that will take him to the Warden outpost a few hours outside the city. He rides straight out, not turning even for one last wave, his greatsword almost as big as Merrill familiar on his back, and Esther's heart squeezes in her chest as he rounds a bend out of sight.

She doesn't cry, blaming the city’s dust when she blinks too much. They make their way to the ship, no longer trying to mask how dejected they are, and Esther tries not to look at any of them or any of the crew who could try to be helpful. She takes her place back at the railing as the ship glides out to sea, Varric and Sebastian on one side and Merrill on the other, Isabela barking orders in the background, and every flutter of a sail out of the corner of her eye has her turning to look for her missing brother.

-------

Sebastian leaves when they reach Hercinia. They end up in a bar again, but there’s barely a hint of conversation this time, as if the removal of links from their chain has made the rest of the links even weaker. The walk to the Chantry afterwards is quiet.

“There should be a merchant caravan going to Starkhaven soon,” Varric pipes up finally, and Sebastian nods, and they lapse back into silence. They follow him up the steps into the the ornate building, waiting impatiently while he secures a place to stay for the next few nights, and breathing a little easier once they're in the open again.

Varric leads the way to one of the largest shops in the city and waves familiarly to the dwarven shopkeeper, earning himself a scowl in return. He wheedles and nudges, laughing at the shopkeeper’s grumpy demeanor and waving the others off to let him work.

Despite the inauspicious beginnings, it's not long before he's found a place for Sebastian in the caravan that will take him home. They troop back outside into the street to say goodbye, and most of the group makes their way back to the ship as Esther tags along with Sebastian back to the Chantry.

She doesn't cry this time, either. “What is with the incense here?” she complains, swiping at her eyes in an anger she doesn’t really feel, unable to find the words to tell Sebastian she’ll miss him.

Sebastian gives her a hug and a smile, clasping her hand as she steps back. “We will meet again, Hawke,” he says, and she nods, not trusting herself to speak again. He looks away as the bells ring through the building, marking the hour, and she hurries back out without turning around, following the noise of the docks back to the ship.

As always, she stands on the deck to watch the city fade behind them, Varric and Merrill flanking her, and this time Isabela's shouted orders feel like salt on an open wound.

-------

She thinks they're safe when they dock in Wycome, with nothing to draw any of the last few of her friends away from the ship, but there's a letter waiting for Varric when they arrive at his second-favorite bar. He tears it open, confusion filling his face, and Esther's heart sinks as he reaches the end and looks up at her apologetically.

“I have to go,” he says, and her heart threatens to shatter as she stands rigid beside him. He doesn't elaborate, knowing the details won't matter when the effect is the same. Merrill and Isabela hover behind them, quiet, as Esther balls her hands into fists and wills herself not to fall apart.

They stay in Wycome for four days, far longer than Isabela had intended. Esther spends most of the time with Varric, trying to joke and failing and spending more of her time in silence than she ever has before. He lets her be, uncharacteristically unsure of what to say, and they muddle through the last few days as best they can.

The last night, as Merrill and Isabela and Esther prepare to take ship again and Varric prepares to join another caravan heading back west, they somehow find a tavern none of them have ever been to. Esther and Varric go drink for drink, Isabela fleeces far too many people at Wicked Grace, and Merrill watches it all with big, curious eyes.

Everything seems fine for a while, each of them more relaxed than they've been in recent memory, limbs and tongues loose from ale. Esther joins the Wicked Grace game, pretending she's worse at it than she really is and laughing, less brittle than in weeks. “Hey Fenris -” she calls, and realizes what she's said, and she drops her cards so quickly it's like they're on fire.

There's no excuse she can pass her tears off on this time, and she flees the tavern as quickly as she can. She's never been to Wycome before, but the seedier part of one town is much like the seedier part of another, and she tucks herself into an alleyway reminiscent of the one behind her uncle’s house and finally lets herself sob.

Fenris isn't just scattered off to some random part of the Free Marches, he's dead, and so is Anders, and she never saw eye-to-eye with either of them but they were part of her group of misfits and now there's empty spaces in the world. She cries harder, back pressed against the damp stone walls of a Wycome alley that smells of Antivan wine, and pleads with a Maker she’d long since decided didn’t care, her voice little more than a whisper.

Merrill finds her first, despite her terrible head for directions, and calls out behind her for the others as she drops to her knees and wraps her arms around Esther's shaking shoulders. She doesn't speak, just murmuring softly in an attempt at comfort. Varric and Isabela make their way into the alley as well, their faces grim when Esther doesn't look up.

They stay that way for a while, the Chantry bells chiming the late hour going unheeded as Esther finally lets herself cry. Eventually her tears slow and her sobs quiet, and as Merrill helps her to her feet Varric slips his hand in hers, the weight of years in his squeeze.

“This isn't the end, Shorebird,” he says, his voice wavering as he tries to pretend he hasn't been holding back his own tears. “You'll be back here, or back in Kirkwall, or you know, soon enough.”

She nods bleakly, her silence more an answer than any words would be. They all make their way back to the ship, Esther leaning heavily on Merrill’s shorter form as though she’s lost the strength to hold herself up. Varric carries his things to a waiting merchant cart, heckling and giving bad advice even to the last, and then he's swallowed up by the unfamiliar map of the city and Esther has to grip the ship’s railing with all her strength to prevent herself from running after him.

They set sail in the morning, and it’s all she can do to convince herself that Merrill and Isabela aren't ghosts, too.

[vhenadahls]

I just saw that Parks and Rec gifset with the Eagle One code names bit, and I’m just -

Esther: You will address me as Eagle One. Isabela is ‘Been There, Done That.’ Merrill is 'Currently Doing That.’ Aveline is 'It Happened Once In A Dream.’ Fenris is 'If I Had To Pick A Dude.’ Varric is…Eagle Two.

Varric: Oh thank the Maker.

[vhenadahls]

the map that leads me home to you

Prompted by @momsthetic - Esther Hawke/Merrill, “hey, have you seen the...oh.”

9:43 Dragon

Merrill's not a healer, she never has been, but she still helps in the alienage’s new clinic when she can, as most of the elven mages do. It's loud and bustling, just like most of the city is with Varric in charge, and she revels in seeing mages around the city and not trapped in the Circle, elves and humans of all kinds pitching in next to each other to repair the damage of the past. It's Kirkwall through and through, but new and exciting all over again, and she finds she doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Except that Esther - Hawke, everyone else still just calls her Hawke, or Champion if they're trying to annoy her - isn't there. She sends letters, now that she's gotten out of Weisshaupt, but letters are few and far between as the whole world tries to sort itself out. It's been nearly a month since her last one, and Merrill can tell that Varric is also on edge whenever he comes down to visit, both of them waiting for news.

So they both keep busy, Varric in the Keep and Merrill in the alienage, the only two of their merry band of misfits who've come back to the city, taking turns to keep each other company when they can. Today she's running errands, fetching and carrying for the healers and weaving extra protective spells when necessary, and she doesn't notice Varric come in until his voice booms out across the room. “Daisy! What's a dwarf to do to get a little notice in here?”

She nearly drops the bundle of elfroot she's holding as she turns to him with a grin. “Varric! You didn't tell me you were coming down today!”

He shrugs, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “Well, somehow Bran’s copy of my calendar seems to have been misplaced, so there's no reason for him to stand around behind me and tell me I'm missing the most important meeting of my life.” He glances around the room, tension visibly leaving his shoulders as he takes in the hustle and bustle of the clinic’s main hall. Most people working nearby ignore him, having seen him come in with Merrill plenty of times, but there's always a few newcomers, patients and workers alike, who stop and stare for a moment when they realize that the viscount is standing in the doorway.

“Varric!” calls a healer, and he gives her a grateful look for dispensing with his title. He makes his way over to her, leaving Merrill to her elfroot, and she watches for a moment as he sets up to entertain some of the children before hurrying over to hand off her bundle.

They fall into a steady, familiar routine, Merrill helping out wherever an extra pair of hands is needed and Varric entertaining patients and exhausted healers and the occasional bored passerby. The day rolls past quickly, and the sun dips into the spaces between crowded Lowtown buildings, shining directly into the doorway in a way that makes Merrill squint no matter where she's looking. When it finally dims enough for her to see properly, a hush falls over the clinic, but she ignores it and keeps poking through the as-yet-unlabeled herb cabinet to find what she's been asked for.

A hand brushes her elbow, and she jumps before realizing who it is. “Varric! I know you probably won't have, but have you seen the…” She looks up at him, surprised that he's also quiet, but he just shakes his head and points at the doorway. Following his gaze, she finds there's someone standing there, silhouetted against the setting sun - a human woman, in raggedy traveling clothes with a staff strapped to her back, black hair tied away from her face in a messy ponytail.

Esther.

“Oh,” Merrill manages to gasp out, and then she's running, trying not to trip on anything as everyone jumps out of her way. She slams into Esther with such force that the taller woman staggers backwards, her arms wrapping around Merrill to hold them both upright and as a promise.

“I've missed you,” she says, and her voice is so sweet in Merrill's ears that tears well in her eyes. It's going to take too long to get her voice under control, so instead of trying to talk she just wraps her arms tightly around her girlfriend and squeezes. They stand that way, tied up in each other, for so long that Merrill isn't sure it's been minutes or hours.

It is, of course, Varric’s voice that breaks the moment. “Really, Shorebird, no hug for me?” He sidles up next to them, completing their pretty picture - dwarf, elf, and absurdly tall human - and Esther's musical laugh rings out as she disentangles one arm from Merrill and clasps hands with Varric.

“Good to see you too, Varric,” she says, and he nods in agreement, turning his face away so quickly that Merrill thinks he must be trying to hide his own tears.

“Hanged Man, then?” he asks, once he's back to normal. Esther grins, her whole face lighting up in a way Merrill hasn't seen in far too long.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

[vhenadahls]

i’ve got heart, you’ve got class, we’ve got style

Also prompted by @momsthetic - Isabela + Esther Hawke, “I think you missed your calling.”

Title from the song “Hold Me New York” by Meghan Tonjes.

They're sneaking back into the harbormaster’s office, late at night and obviously after hours, and Isabela is still needling. “I can't believe you needed me to suggest this, Hawke. You were going to pay him off! In sovereigns! Who does that?”

Esther rolls her eyes, turning to wag a finger in Isabela's face. “We're doing this for your friend, you know. Don't make me turn this burglary around.”

Varric bursts into laughter at that, and even Carver snorts and then coughs unconvincingly. Isabela looks around at the three of them, seemingly sizing up her options, and then sighs. “Lead on, Serah Hawke.”

Eyes twinkling with laughter, Esther tilts her head at Isabela and climbs the harbormaster's stairs, kneeling in front of the doorway. She holds her hand out to Varric, palm up. “May I?” He hands over a few of his lockpicking tools, and Isabela scoffs as Esther eases two into the lock. They're all quiet for a moment, and then there's a soft click and the door swings open with a creak. Esther stands and brushes off her knees, gesturing into the darkened office dramatically. “After you, Messere.”

Isabela groans and stalks inside, ignoring Varric's snickers and Carver’s fake coughs. Esther follows close behind, her eyes better in the dark than Isabela's, and points to a lockbox on a desk in the corner. “Might be in there.”

Nodding, Isabela moves to the desk, pulling her own lockpicking tools from her sash. “This one’s mine, sweet thing,” she mutters under her breath. The other three shuffle around the office as Isabela works the lockbox, and she's just heard the final pin fall into place when there's a cry of triumph from the other side of the room.

“Found it!” Esther says, holding up a piece of paper she's pulled from a nondescript folder. “Woodrow’s Warehouse, other side of the docks. Good enough for you, Is?” Sighing inwardly (of course Esther would find what they needed, somewhere unexpected), Isabela nods, pocketing her tools and following the others back to the door.

She sighs for real when they emerge into the open - another group of Dog Lords and their mabari have tried to camp in the courtyard, and Esther sets one on fire just as Isabela draws her daggers.

“You ever think you missed your calling, Hawke?” she shouts, weaving around a Dog Lord who seems intent on bashing her with his shield.

Esther raps a mabari on the head with the end of her staff before sending a heavy block of stone its way. “And what would that be?”

A few moments pass before Isabela answers, parrying before rolling backwards. “Being a pain in my ass!”

There's silence from the other three, and Isabela stabs the Dog Lord trying to sneak up on her and kicks his body away before they all fall apart. Varric starts to laugh so hard that he's easily detectable even in stealth, and Carver sounds like he's about to choke. Esther, also roaring with laughter, dispatches the last of the gang and leans against the courtyard wall to try and catch her breath, using her staff to prop herself up.

Varric joins her against the wall, looking up at Isabela as she cleans her daggers. He lifts his shoulder towards Esther, and she tries to stop laughing long enough to hear what he's saying. “Well, Rivaini, if that truly is her calling, I think she's found it full well.”

[vhenadahls]

4, 8, and 19 for Esther, please!

4. In developing their backstory, what elements of the world they live in played the most influential parts?

The Circle taking children away and the Hawkes trying to prevent that is definitely the biggest thing in her backstory. It prompts all her family's moving, and also Esther's close relationship with her father, because he was her sole teacher of magic. Esther isn't exactly *afraid* of the Circle until she gets to Kirkwall and sees the Gallows with her own eyes, but it's an extremely prominent element in her life.

Malcolm's death, while not a world element per se, is also a big influence - it catapulted her into a Protector/Provider role, because Leandra wasn't capable of stepping up and the twins were fourteen. And she was absolutely devastated, because she was so close to him, so it was a rather large deal.

8. What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story?

Esther is...not fond of being wrong. She's very argumentative, and does not back down when she thinks she's right (which is all the goddamn time). Where the relation/familiarity ends is that i am actively working on being better at this and currently have not given Esther that kind of storyline.

19. What is your favorite fact about your OC?

She is super tall, like 6'2" (I think that's what i wrote down last time), and Merrill is an elf, and she's super close to Varric as well, so Esther's entire experience of Kirkwall is "I am a massive giant."

Thank you!