there is remedy for all things (varric/anders, 2600 words)
ao3 link here. this isn’t the story i actually wanted to write, because the story i wanted to write was a fun sort of what-if with varric wooing his difficult darktown apostate buddy with tales of a handsome champion instead of outright flirting himself. i still want to write that. this, however, is an alternate universe piece in which varric tethras stumbles across a wanted apostate on the road to antiva, and tells him a few tall tales in the final days of his life. title quote is from cervantes. it’s a completely different mode of narration for me and i’m not really sure why i wrote it because now i am miserable. warning for character death. (unless varric is lying through his teeth—which i choose to believe he is.)
THERE IS REMEDY FOR ALL THINGS
We met on the open road.
By that point, he was a hunted man—or haunted, if you want to get particular. Either would suit him just fine and to be honest, he’d always been both together, never one thing or its opposite when he could be everything instead. Back then, I even thought it was impressive—how one person could be so much and still seem small. How it made him smaller, instead of larger than life.
Larger than two lives. All things considered.
It was outside of Ansburg, not necessarily close to Antiva. You still had all The Weyrs to get through if you wanted to catch sight of the Rialto coast and the jewel in that crown, Antiva City. I was headed in that direction myself—being an enterprising topsider, I knew then what any entrepreneur worth his weight in the coin he’s trading knows: the bigger the risk, the better the windfall. So long as you made sure to keep your throat from getting slit—and I had my provisions in place.
But there he was. Off the road, you might say, or off the beaten path. He looked like a dead man.
I could’ve just left him there.
Being an enterprising topsider, I didn’t. With a nose like this one, sticking it where it doesn’t belong isn’t just an indulgence—it’s a natural instinct, and mine’s large enough that it happens easy as turning your head, catching sight of something maybe you shouldn’t.
If I said I didn’t know who he was the moment I rolled him over and got some water into him I’d be lying, and I’d never do that. Not this early into the story, at least. Most dwarves have a sixth sense for the stone but me—I’ve got it for plot twists. And Blondie…
He was a character, all right.
I guess I suspected who he was right from the beginning, bad as it looked, dire as his straights might’ve been. He was shivering so I built us both a fire—not with the intention of harboring any wanted criminal, mind, but just out of the goodness of my heart. Don’t let all the gold on top of it fool you; there’s something under there.
If only I knew how to wear armor like my ancestors, right?
reblogging to keep forever. This is wonderful. Read it.
