faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Gavin and OPEN
WHAT: After returning to the Mire, Gavin goes around delivering any mail that had arrived at Skyhold for people.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Fallow Mire
NOTES: There's probably going to be some shippy shit with him and Maxwell sorry not sorry

Open.

Gavin has two satchels slung over his shoulder, full of mail, humming as he walked through the camp. For the letters whose recipients he knew by name, he simply went directly to them with a smile and a wave, to hand them their post. It wasn't until they'd all gotten their letters that Gavin started looking through the ones with unfamiliar names.

He frowned - because reading was hard - and had to spend several minutes mouthing out each name, or asking someone else to read it for him, before calling out for the person in question and just sort of hoping they, or someone that knew them, would hear him.

For Maxwell.

"Maxwell! Got something for you," Gavin called as he jogged up to the man, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled out the scroll. The seal had already been broken - by Leliana's spies, of course - but they'd done a pretty good job of putting it back together.

"Letter came for you, at Skyhold."

For Varric.

Of the two satchels, one, in its entirety, was for Varric. So he left the dwarf for last, and went to find him once the rest of the deliveries were finished, before holding the entire bag out to him.

"Here, you ah - you got a lot of mail. They asked me to bring it back for you, from Skyhold."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Varric frowned slightly and rubbed his hands together before holding them out toward the fire. He didn't expect there would be a way to work the numbness out of them or the ache from his joints, but it was worth a shot.

"I've met him, talked about my book," Varric said. "Guy's got one of the earliest copies, carries it around with him--looks like a druffalo chewed on it and spat it out but, hey, points for effort."

Varric shook his head slightly.

"Didn't seem like the kind of guy who has an elf thing," he declared seriously. He wasn't an elf (and Maker knew, dwarves never got quite as much shit as elves), but he knew enough elves that he'd learned to keep an eye out for that particular brand of asshole. Bruce was shy, a little bit of a recluse, but he hadn't seemed like any sort of asshole to Varric...and, frankly, that was saying something.

"I'd wager he just doesn't have a lot of close friends. Wilderness recluse who gets awkward in a tent with other people? Yeah, sure. Racist? Eeeeeeh, probably not."

But, then again, he wasn't an elf and Gavin was Dalish. If anybody knew the particulars of subtle (and not so subtle) racism better than the Dalish, he'd eat his coat.

"I hope not," he agreed easily. "And you're right. Maybe he just doesn't like sharing with people." Varric was excellent at finding the good in people and Gavin was all too happy to accept that theory, and nodded along.

He turned to look at the fire, to watch one of the letters burn up.

"Is that what these are?" he asked. "Letters from people who have read your book?"

"What these?" Varric asked, abruptly confused, and cast a quick, uncertain glance back at the fire. His own faculties caught up with him a moment later and he shook his head. He was certain what he'd thrown out.

"No, no--" Varric assured him quickly. "I don't burn fanmail." Well, not most of it.

"These are just guild letters, critics, Sebastian, that sort of tinder," Varric assured him. That was, in fact, why he had been checking. "Most fanmail goes to my editor and she stores it for me. I don't hand out my current address, after all."

"Well, you are a very popular man," Gavin agreed with a wry smile. He had no idea who Sebastian was, or why he was named specifically, but as Varric was just as likely to make up a story about him rather than tell him the real one, he didn't ask. If Varric thought he should know, he'd tell him. And in the meantime:

"I wouldn't think you'd need to give it out, considering how many of your fans seem to be in Skyhold proper. If they don't know where you are yet, they're bound to know soon. You should start recruitment campaigns," he added with a tease.

"Shit, you think?" Varric asked. The question was only a partial thought, but it was enough to carry the slightly worried edge that crept into his tone. Sure, he knew that a lot of people in the Inquisition liked his books but...well...it had never occurred to him that he was effectively out in the open for all his fans and critics to find him. That was a troubling realization.

"Maybe I should look into getting an office," Varric suggested distractedly and then pulled a face. No, he was too much of a people person to sequester himself...he would just have to...well, get used to it.

He shook his head.

"I officially demand a chage of topic," Varric announced and regarded the elf beside him. "You traveled down here with Friendly and Hightown, you can't tell me nothing else happened but some awkward tent stuff."