#varric should hate you for it because.. theo (probably)

[h-awke-a]

varric's 'you people have done enough to him' is sooo..

[blarrghe]

Lavellan Bros pt. 2

The other side of the Lavellan Bros au, where Theo  ( @serphena ) is the Inquisitor and Taren has remained First of their clan. The two grew up together, but drifted apart as Theo's work took him away from the clan for long stretches. Now, he's supposed to lead an army and save the world, and it's a lot to handle. A visit from an old friend helps, a little.

AO3 Link or read more under the cut!

Theo sat perched on a high branch over the soldiers’ encampment, just outside the great gate that marked the entrance of the village of Haven. He shuddered, hearing the familiar clash of steel on steel, but he remained in his hidden spot, watching. He was supposed to trust these “former” Templars with his life, now, and he wasn’t about to do that without at least watching how they trained.

Because of his unusual choice of vantage point, it took the messenger who ran from the Chantry at Josephine’s order some time to find him, and when she did, calling up to him with hesitant deference, he scowled at her. But, Theo obliged the request, nimbly hopping down to a lower branch and then hanging from that, his tall frame closing the distance between the lower branch and the ground so that he had only to let go, and drop the remaining few inches onto the ground.

He did not enjoy spending time in Josephine’s office, and attempted to do so as little as was possible. It wasn't her fault, of course, but it still made his skin crawl to be around her, and anyway, whatever she wanted him for probably had something to do with appeasing snotty shems. So, he took the long way around Haven before arriving at the Chantry, putting at least twenty minutes worth of time between receiving the message and actually walking through her door - not to mention however much time the messenger had wasted looking high and low for him, before that. For this reason, when Theo did finally discover the reason for his being summoned, he was suddenly filled with a palpable sense of guilt. For there, sitting straight and proper across from the ambassador, holding a tiny porcelain teacup and laughing with a light, jingling, laugh, was Taren Lavellan: First of his clan.

 Shit.

“Taren?” He balked at the way Taren seemed to have made himself eminently comfortable in the small, dim office, carrying on in easy conversation with the Inquisition’s ambassador. “What are you doing here?” 

“Aneth ara, da’len.”

It was funny, Taren still calling him da’len, he had long since outgrown the other elf, and he was far from a child. It being funny was the reason Taren had never ceased using the term. That, and endearment. And right now, he was in desperate need of both the love and humour that came with an old friend. He just wasn’t about to show it. 

“Keeper Deshanna sent me,” he explained, taking Theo into a quick embrace before continuing, “she thought someone should check on you.” 

Taren smiled, rising from the chair and placing his teacup delicately on Josephine’s desk with a grateful little bow, and jumped into the quick speech of his people - another welcome sound. 

Theo looked away, cheeks flushing slightly. Of course. “Don’t you have better things to do than come all the way out here, First.” 

Taren shrugged, ignoring his mood, “couldn’t think of any. So, are you going to give me a tour?”

They exited the office into the body of the small chantry building, now converted to house dining tables and crates of supplies for the villagers and Inquisition forces. Taren thanked the ambassador as they did, turning to offer her words of gratitude in formal human speech, as she attempted poorly to return the gesture with broken Elvhen. Theo tried not to roll his eyes. 

“I like her.” Taren commented as they walked out of earshot, and this time Theo really did roll his eyes at him. Of course he did, Taren liked everybody. 

“Why did Deshanna really ask you to come? Don’t tell me you’re here to take over.” He said it with a bitter pride that he hoped sounded confident, but secretly some part of him hoped that he was here to steal away the position. Taren had leadership experience and patience, two things that Theo always felt himself distinctly lacking when he tried to tend to his duties.

“No,” Taren replied, frowning, “I’m only here to help. I can’t… I can’t stay very long.” 

Theo tried not to show any disappointment at that, he was still pretending to be annoyed at him, after all. He crossed his arms and kept walking, silently leading them out of the Chantry and stopping to look over the village from its steps. “Well, this is Haven.” Beside him, Taren sighed. 

“First we hear that you’re their prisoner, and something about being responsible for...that.” Taren gestured at the gaping hole in the sky, swirling with green energy and terrifying blackness. The rift was not a pretty thing to look at, and Theo did not follow his gaze. “Then, you’re the herald for their goddess,” 

“Prophet.” Theo corrected, grimacing. 

Taren continued, “and apparently you’re doing magic now.”

Theo shook his head, and held out his marked hand. “This thing’s magic, not me.” He muttered.

Taren took a long look at it, deep lines of concern nestling between his brows. “Either way,” he said finally, “the Keeper - I - was worried about you.” 

He couldn’t help but finally soften a little at that. He hated to admit it, but it was nice to be cared about. “You should meet Varric.” He offered, gesturing to the spot down the stairs a ways where Varric stood chatting amiably with some villagers. Varric was by far the friendliest of his new companions, and that seemed a good place to start.

Varric was more than happy to answer Taren’s many questions, and Taren was beyond enthralled by tales of the dwarf’s personal relationship with the Champion of Kirkwall, but soon he was looking curiously out toward the other buildings in Haven, and asking, in quick Elvhen, if there weren’t any other of their own people around. 

Theo decided to introduce him to Solas, and almost immediately he regretted it. He had to all but tear Taren away from the mage, as their intellectual conversation on topics of various arcane arts shifted toward the subject of Dalish traditions, and threatened to grow tense. 

“Well, he’s…” Taren reached searchingly for a word as Theo led him away. 

“Smart?” Theo offered, Solas struck him as impossibly wordy, but interesting enough. 

“Yes,” Taren agreed, genteel, “but also… sort of arrogant.” It was as close to an insult as Theo had ever heard from him, and he almost laughed. 

That was about as much of a tour as Theo felt like giving, he didn’t particularly feel like seeking out either the Templar Commander or the Seeker, and he felt almost protective of Taren, wandering around as an elven apostate mage in this place full of mistrustful humans. Unfortunately, it seemed that avoiding Cassandra wasn’t in the cards, as she came angrily stomping up to them from the Chantry, another lecture ready on her lips. 

“Herald!” She stopped him, irate. “You cannot continue to simply take things from the Chantry without asking.” 

Taren shot Theo a curious look, and stepped slightly off to the side. 

Theo knew already what this was about; the pastries. He’d taken a large pile of them from the kitchens to distribute among some of the hungrier looking village children, and it had been one of the only pleasant experiences he’d had in days. He returned her glare. 

“I didn’t take them for myself,” he protested, “they were for the kids.” And the elven servants, too. But he didn’t expect a shem to understand that bit. 

“There is food enough for everyone in Haven,” Cassandra continued her lecture, finger wagging, “but those were set aside for Josephine’s meeting today. She has important people to entertain, securing aid for our cause.” 

Theo did not appreciate the explanation. To hell with important people. “It’s food, Cassandra! What is a Chantry even for if not helping the hungry?” 

Cassandra was midway through scolding him again when Taren cautiously interrupted. “Josephine? You mean the Antivan ambassador I met when I arrived?”

Cassandra blinked, seeming only now to notice the other elf standing beside him. How like a shem, to ignore the people right in front of her. “Yes.” She said quickly, composing herself, but still huffy. 

Taren made a thoughtful sound and offered her one of his gentle, crooked smiles. “When we were speaking earlier, she told me that she once convinced a baron to donate a large sum of his fortune over a game of Wicked Grace and some sour ale. I’m sure she’ll be fine without, uh, pastries.” He remarked, “she seems a very competent woman.” 

Cassandra stuttered, apparently unsure how to refute this argument without also insulting Josephine. “She is, but -” 

Theo took the opportunity, “- you aren’t implying Josephine’s nobles needed pastries more than children, are you, Cassandra?” 

Cassandra huffed again, shaking her head at Theo. She returned to Taren, looking now slightly offended. “And you are?”

“An emissary from Theo’s clan,” Taren introduced himself cheerily, not dropping that lopsided smile, “Taren Lavellan, I am the clan’s First.” He said it like he assumed she should know what it meant, and Theo could tell from the look on Cassandra’s face that she was embarrassed that she did not. “Tell me, do all visiting diplomats receive pastries upon arrival, or just the important ones?” Theo snorted as Cassandra stuttered again, introducing herself in turn while her face grew red, and quickly excusing herself. 

As she walked away and Theo continued to chuckle, Taren let out a long whistle, and elbowed Theo in the ribs.

“What?” Theo asked, noting that the amusement on Taren’s face was now more directed at him, than at the Seeker. 

“Nothing, da’len.”

“What?” Theo demanded.

“You like that one.” Taren remarked teasingly. 

“She’s a Seeker.” Theo refused the remark, “near as I can tell, that’s like a Templar, only even more high and mighty.” 

Taren nodded in agreement, but he was giving him a look; the kind of look that only Keepers and Firsts can give, that says “I have known you since you were knee high, and you cannot keep your secrets from me - not even the ones you don’t know you are keeping.” 

Theo grumbled something about disliking shems, and changed the subject. “Come on, there’s a tavern.”

“You don’t drink.” 

“I do sometimes.” Theo muttered. He didn’t, not really, but the accusation made him feel young and immature, and he wanted to see Taren’s reaction to Sera. There, finally, would be a person that even Taren would dislike. 

Sera was just as disdainful as he expected her to be, reacting to Taren’s face full of elaborate swirling tattoos and speech that was heavy with the affect of Elvhen. But, she somehow knew already about the argument over pastries, and she laughed - long and loud - while doing an impression of a flustered Cassandra, and Taren joined her. 

“I love her.” Taren commented when she went to the bar for another round of ale. 

“She hates elves.” Theo pointed out in surprise. Taren shrugged. 

“I don’t think she knows any elves.” 

Taren stayed only a few days, but he was helpful, as promised. He ran countless errands, helping to craft potions and aiding sick villagers while Theo made his frequent escapes out into the forest, and by the time he left he had forged a lasting friendship with Varric and managed to have at least a couple of civil discussions with Solas. Varric sent him off with a signed copy of his Tale of the Champion, and Sera admitted that he was “pretty alright”, which was high praise for a Dalish elf, from her. He had kept his distance from the Templar, and from the Circle mage, Vivienne, but Theo couldn’t blame him for that. And even they, at his parting, offered friendly farewells. 

He was sad to see him go, knowing that Haven would be that much lonelier once he became the only Dalish elf to inhabit it again. 

“If you need anything, anything at all -” Taren offered, hugging him once more as he stood by the village gates. The offer should have been given the other way around, Theo was the one amassing an army, after all. 

“I’ll write, don’t worry. I can do this.” He doubted it, really doubted it, but he still wasn’t ready to reveal all of that uncertainty to his First. 

“I’ll visit again, when I can.” Taren promised, “next time though, I want pastries.” 

----

[BONUS SKYHOLD VISIT]

(Theo technically isn’t in Skyhold yet, but when he gets there Taren visits again, and meets a new fascinating mage...)

“A library? You have your own library?” Taren asked breathlessly, his excitement written all over his face. 

“You absolute bore, yes.” Theo rolled his eyes at the elf. Taren had come to visit Skyhold following the exodus from Haven, and he was dutifully giving him another tour. Taren had already met and appreciated a number of new people, though he looked a little less comfortable in the large fortress than he had seemed at Haven some months before. 

Theo showed him to the library, leading him up the stairs past Solas’ study space. Luckily, Solas was sleeping. Taren looked around wide-eyed and open-mouthed as they entered the large, circular room lined with shelves of ancient texts. “I’m never leaving.” He joked, a grin spreading over his face. 

“Can you even reach the shelves?” Theo joked back. It was nice to see him again, after everything. 

He spotted Dorian, leaning intently over some tome with a look of deep concentration, and figured he should be a gracious host and offer an introduction. 

Dorian introduced himself with his characteristic charm, and Theo saw Taren twitch at the mention of Tevinter. But he was also looking at the mage with an expression of something else; fascination, maybe. Dorian took Taren in with a long look and a coquettish tilt of his head. “You’re related to Theo? This Theo?”

“Not by blood.” Theo answered, “we were clanmates.” 

“I am the clan’s First.” Taren explained, and Theo wasn’t quite sure why he was flaunting the position. 

The reveal got Dorian’s attention. “A First? That’s in line to be a Keeper, right?” He wasn’t aware that Dorian knew anything about how clans functioned, but he was always reading. Taren nodded. “Fascinating!” Dorian was suddenly excited, “so that means you’re a mage, doesn’t it? I’ve never met a Dalish mage, there’s so much I’d love to -” He stopped. Was Dorian blushing? He didn’t know Dorian could blush. “-sorry, I’m being too presumptive. I should let you settle in. But if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps sometime during your stay here you and I might look through some of these texts together? There are some elven ones which I can’t decipher, and to have the insight of a real Dalish mage would be just...incredible.” He offered, sounding shy. Another thing that Theo wasn’t aware Dorian was capable of. 

Taren was stuttering when he answered, his cheeks growing awfully close in colour to that of his hair. “Of course, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to look through artefacts belonging to our people.” 

Theo led Taren away to the next stop on his tour - the Tavern. Varric had asked about him more than once, and he had been storing up jokes to make once he had the small elf standing next to the Iron Bull since the day he had learned Taren was coming. As soon as they were out of the library, Theo let out a long whistle, and nudged Taren in the shoulder with his elbow. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, little brother.” Theo smirked. 

“What?” Taren demanded. 

“You like him.” Theo remarked, teasingly. 

“He’s from Tevinter.” Taren protested, his cheeks still flush, “do you know how they treat our people there?” 

Theo shrugged. “Supposedly, he wants to change all that.” 

Taren glanced back over his shoulder toward the library, curious. “You trust him?” Hopeful, and more than a little eager. 

Theo nodded, and Taren smiled.