faderift | Skyhold

Skyhold

WHO: Anyone & everyone
WHAT: Open post for business as usual around Skyhold
WHEN: The first couple weeks of Harvestmere, 9:41 (aka October)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Please mark any necessary content warnings in thread subject lines. Also, make sure to check out the other log posts already made!

Far from the glamorous adventurous world-saving people signed up for, most of the hustle and bustle in Skyhold at present is cleaning. The Great Hall is a disaster, and crews are assigned to haul out the cracked and rotting planks fallen from the wide-open roof, and tear down the vines covering the walls. Ivy encrusts the main staircase outside and many of the fortress walls and is cleared in section while other groups assess or begin shoring up the stonework as it's revealed. There are scaffolding to build, materials to sort, crates to unload, tents to stitch together or set-up, and on and on and on, endless mundane chores vital to the survival of the organization.

When not hard at work, people cluster around fires across the courtyards. Many mingle freely, going about their business, running errands and messages, planning scouting missions, tallying up supplies, distributing or playing with the sending crystals that were found in a basement vault and which a group of mages have just today finished preparing for use. Once a good number have been passed around and the first Inquisition-wide transmission made messages start being broadcast; maybe you can help someone out.

The rebel mages and renegade templars mainly keep to themselves at opposite sides of the complex given the choice. Mages assist with healing and research and bicker amongst themselves about their options and their fate. Templars help train recruits in swordforms and basic combat techniques or spar with the more advanced and bicker amongst themselves about their options and their fate. Despite having all pledged themselves to the Inquisition, they still feel like separate factions and tension between them is palpable wherever they cross paths.

Like at meals, or the communal message board in the courtyard, or at the Herald's Rest. The mess hall/tavern is so new it still smells of sawdust, and its stock has been limited to one type of strong ale until today, when a shipment of West Hill brandy has finally arrived. The mood in the place is convivial in celebration of that, but there's still plenty of muttering, especially as the night drags on and the discontented get further into their cups.

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The day had been long and Varric was, despite himself, completely exhausted. He'd argued with merchants, argued in letters, and even argued with himself about how silly all the arguing was. The plan had been: go to tavern, have watered down ale, beat someone at cards maybe, and sleep. It was simple.

Easy, even.

Then Merrill just drops herself right into the seat across from him, happy as a clam, and--

Well, Varric was surprised. Extremely surprised. He almost dropped the tankard in his hand but, as a bit of ale sloshed over the rim and narrowly missed his leg, he caught himself and set it down. The moment he snapped out of it, he was grinning ear to ear.

"Daisy! You're here?" Varric asked, probably more loudly than was strictly necessary, but it wasn't like she was Blondie. No reason to keep it on the hush-hush, at least not at the moment. "How did they drag you up here? Did you come by yourself?"

Upon hearing him say her nickname once more she burst into a smile, giggling softly but obviously trying to contain the joy of having someone who knew her as she was. "Oh, y'know me, I'm sure that there'd be great disappointment if I didn't try to save the world." her smile softened a little, remembering Hawke and the inspiration she was. Varric had been closer to Hawke than she had, so she wasn't going to bring up her presumed dead status.

"I was looking after the displaced elves from Kirkwall's alienage, happened across another Dalish clan. They were kind enough to look after those who didn't want to join in. I like to help however I can." It was really good to see Varric, though. He looked decent, despite the little furrows under his eyes. That was new-- or more visible than before.

"Been trying to get ahold of one of your books. Being on the run from Templars makes that tough. Creators, I've missed you."

"Oh Daisy, don't waste your money on my books," Varric chided and took his seat again. He leaned on the table, mostly because it was the most dignified way to indulge his enthusiasm, and used his free hand to gesture vaguely over his shoulder.

"I've got a dozen of them, at least." It wasn't a stretch. Why his Editor thought he needed so many was beyond him, it wasn't like anyone in the Inquisition actually read his work. "Just let me know which one you want and it's yours."

He was practically beaming at her. After his day--well, after the last couple months of horrible demon-filled hiking and slogging around Thedas? He was practically ecstatic to see a friend. He'd been friendly enough with Trevelyan, but--it was how it went, right? Heroes, tragedy, etc.

...And that was a road he didn't want to go down. Nobody liked a somber drunken dwarf. Varric shook his head and grinned wider.

"You been here long? The Templars aren't giving you grief here, are they?"

"I won't be wasting money-- I could make a heft sovereign if I sold them, y'know? You're too humble, even some of the Ashara clan I came with read your stories," she rested her chin on the heels of both her hands, widening her grin even more. Varric's voice was like home, a little worn, but took the age well. "I want all of them, though I'm quite busy here with cleaning and repairing things." she would have to steal time in the evenings and hide her treasures so no one else would bother her for borrowing.

"Don't you worry about me, I can look after myself. The Templars are... well, not quite the same as I expected. I suppose Kirkwall's Order really was strict. I mean, they're not friendly by any stretch. Grim faces and scowls all the time. They haven't hurt anyone, though-- especially the mages." They seemed to be holding back, following an example of the Commander-- who she still couldn't believe was Cullen.

"A week, I haven't been here long. Last I heard of you, you'd been taken in by a Seeker." was that where he'd gotten his new scars? The frown on her face seemed to speak through her whole body. "No one knew where you'd gone, no one would speak to me about it."

Merrill's abrupt and all-consuming concern was flattering and, even though it conflicted with his persistent smile, Varric shook his head. His sudden removal from Kirkwall had been, well, just that: sudden. He hadn't known what to expect but, frankly, he couldn't have called this one. By the time the Seeker stopped reading his mail, after he'd been "freed", he'd been more eager to acquire information about home than to send any there.

"It's a long story, one that I'll probably end up turning into a book eventually," Varric replied with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. "Which the Seeker will probably also stab."

The joke was made casually; it was one of his favorites. He'd been needling Cassandra with it for weeks, now, so it took him a moment to realize how it would have sounded to someone who didn't have the whole story.

"I mean, of course, she wouldn't stab me, I'm not under arrest or being interrogated anymore--Free Dwarf."

He considered that claim for a beat.

"Well, she might stab me," he appended, "but that's basically how she says 'hello.'"

This line of conversation was going to get far worse before it got better, he could see that. So, without waiting for it to escalate, Varric changed course and returned to the subject of books. Books were easy and he had fans, fans who rarely ever tried to stab him.

"So you were traveling with Dalish who read my books? I can't believe how many do; I never thought I had a Dalish audience...Well, apart from you, and I'm sure you read them just to be polite."

The way Varric continued describing this Seeker had her concern flaring up even more. She wasn't helpless by any means, and Varric was very skilled with his beloved Bianca. But anyone who threatened her friends like that (and Bianca) would have a very stern dislike from her. She was biased and she didn't much care to be unbiased. Varric had taken her in when her own pushed her out.

Needless to say, it left an impression.

Even she didn't know her frown could furrow so deeply.

"This woman sounds dreadful. Fen'Harel ma halam," the last part is muttered, not directed at Varric himself.

"Also, I'm not reading to be polite. But I must admit I probably encouraged a few to read them. They're easy to convince so long as it's not written by humans most of the time." so her scowl had disappeared, but she was still put off by mention of this Seeker's behavior. She'd ruminate on it quietly once she was alone.

"Well, at least I've got that going for me," Varric said smoothly. Unfortunately, the change in topic didn't seem to make Daisy perk up much. Sure, she wasn't scowling anymore, and that was an improvement, but Varric knew enough elven to know that she'd muttered something very unflattering under her breath.

"Don't worry about the Seeker, she's not so bad." For a given value of bad, of course. Varric lifted his mug and, as if he'd just realized he was the only one drinking, waved a hand toward the barkeep. Cabot tolerated him, but only just, and grudgingly brought another mug over for the elf across from him.

"I'm glad to hear you're making some friends here, and these Dalish seem nice enough. Not one of them called me a--what's the word? Durgling? Durglen?"

Brandy was one of those things that she found she enjoyed. Especially the one that had come in recently, as it was sweet but not the kind of sweet where it had too much flavor added. She brightened significantly and took the drink, thanking the barkeep and feeling a slight twinge of awkward when he nodded grimly. But Varric was here and to be truthful it was the best thing about this Inquisition. She refused to be in poor spirits.

"Considering she stabs things as a hobby I think she's bad enough," she spoke into her cup as she lifted it to her face, then drank it-- cautiously. But it was fine and didn't scald. "But thank you for the drink. It's been so long since I've been in a pub with friends-- or in a pub. Really." She held the mug in both her hands, resting it on the table top. "No one had better call you that, anyway. That's the thing about this organization, isn't it?" her smile turned a little inward, as if she were confessing a long-held secret. "That we're all in this together. Elves, dwarves, humans-- even the qunari. They're not all sour-faced bad news...

"I like it. It's like a new clan, you know? Except with history and things to work out. And I've missed you terribly, you've no idea. It's hard work not having you around."

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