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thereluctantinquisitor · 7 years

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For Once (Part 2)

part one || part two

So I decided to split this little saga into three parts instead of two. It just kept ending up too long!

Riven Lavellan belongs to the lovely @chaitea09. Also brief mentions in this part of AU Thalon Istimaethoriel (@ourinquisitorialness) and Nindarhmen Istimaethoriel (@sunshinemage).

Approx. 2200 words, most under the cut

“You know, I’m not even sure he’ll remember.”

“Nonsense, ma’lin. If we did, he certainly will.”

At the counter, Riven smiled to herself and continued to strip the leaves off a stem of mint with nimble fingers. Pinching firmly at its base, she ran up the length of the stalk in a long, deliberate sweep, feeling the heat build against the fleshy part of her thumb. The crisp scent mingled with the aroma of cooking stew, like a thread of cool air weaving through a cracked window. Sighing contently, she paused for a moment and allowed herself a few deep, indulgent breaths. What she did not expect was for them to spark a memory behind her closed eyes.

She saw a woman. No, a mother. Her mother. Kneeling down, silver haired, soft of voice. Her hands made familiar sweeping motions, and as small mint leaves fell into a waiting bowl, it left stains of green behind on her fingertips. They would fade, but the scent would linger on her skin like a perfume. Beside the woman, whose mouth was curved into a faraway smile, was a man. With hair of flax and eyes like moonstones, he bowed over a boiling pot, close enough to brush shoulders with her as he hummed a familiar, wandering tune. Strong arms stirred the steaming contents in slow, deliberate circles. They were the motions of a craftsman, careful and precise. With each pass, he adjusted his speed, careful not to send the stew too close to the lip. He almost did, but only once, when his gaze tiptoed away from his work to rest on the woman. His wife. Those gentle hands, that quiet smile—

“—TsssAGH!!”

Riven blinked, starting, the memory shattering like a pane of glass. With sharp concern, she spun just in time to catch Varlen flinching away from the boiling pot, the spoon he had been holding clattering against its edge with a hollow sound before flipping out and landing on the floor. Droplets of hot stew whipped across the ground in an arc as it fell, splattering against the floorboards. With an irritated groan, Varlen rolled his eyes at the inanimate object, mumbling what Riven could only assume was a colourful string of curses against the skin of his hand, which he had pressed quickly to his mouth.

“Varlen? Are you all right?” She crossed the space hurriedly, wiping her green-stained fingers on her apron. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“… Nmoh…” Varlen lied, mumbling against his skin, blue eyes glassy despite the redness of his face and his obvious irritation with himself. Her brother had always suffered from that problem. Tearing up when he was frustrated. When they were young, their mother had comforted him, assuring him that he would grow out of it. Thinking back, Riven began to wonder if she only said that to calm him down. Knowing how much it upset him, Riven made the wise decision not to call attention to the unshed tears. Instead, she fell into a crouch at his side. He said nothing, but turned his gaze away, clearly embarrassed. Breathing a tired sigh, Riven held out her hand.

“Come on. Let me see.”

Varlen sat quietly, but glanced across at her. He was like a child who had only been caught playing with knives because he had cut himself. Withering before her patient stare, he drew his hand away from his mouth and held it out to her sullenly. It took all of Riven’s willpower not to chuckle as she took it in hers.

“There. Now was that so… oh… ouch.” Riven sucked her teeth sympathetically she inspected the side of his hand. “Creators, ma’lin, what did you do? Stick it in the pot?”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Varlen’s lips. “Well, you did say to give it a personal touch.”

The flat look she fixed her brother with did nothing to stop him from chuckling, some of that low-lying irritation slipping away with the easy sound. Even Riven, who was now pressing cold hands against the angry patch of skin, felt her own lips twitching against the urge to smile. “Funny,” she remarked, then nodded down to his hand, “but that’s going to hurt a lot, you know. You should be more careful.”

“What, you mean that’s not how Renan made it?” Varlen asked, feigning surprise. He only ever seemed to call their father by his proper name. “Ah, damn. And here I thought I’d found the secret ingredient.”

Riven raised an eyebrow at him. “What, elven flesh?”

“Well, I mean, he did keep to himself a lot. Bit strange, don’t you think? Not saying he ate people, but can we really know for sure…?”

Riven shook her head, still fighting off an insistent smile. “You’re terrible, ma’lin.”

She knew it was just his way. How he coped with pain. She took time. Thought. Comfort. Her brother… well, he made light of things. Made them funny. It was easier that way. The humour carried the pain for him. But, crouched there beside him, she could see the truth. No matter how hard he tried to hide it behind a wall of quips. It was in the way his smile wavered at the edges. It was in the sudden stiffness of his shoulders as his gaze slipped away from her, down to the fallen spoon. Perhaps the tears in his eyes hadn’t simply been the result of frustration. Gently, Riven squeezed his hand, and to her surprise, he squeezed back. When she looked back up at him, she found him watching her, a weak, watery smile still somehow finding purchase on his face.

“I just can’t believe it, you know… still…” he trailed off, swallowing tightly. Riven took a breath, focusing on his injured hand, intent on distracting herself as she called ice to her fingers.

“I know,” she said softly. “Neither can I. It just… doesn’t feel real, in a way. For them all to be gone.”

Varlen just nodded at that. Then, he paused, like a person about to lock their door who suddenly realised they left their coat inside. “But I guess that’s not quite right, though, is it?”

“True. We have each other. Hanin, too.” Riven lifted her hand away from Varlen’s and gave the burn another look over. It was still red, but she had stopped the heat – the pain – from going any deeper. It would hurt, but not for long, and shouldn’t leave a mark. She only wished she could say the same for older wounds. Satisfied for the moment, she rocked back on her heels and regarded her brother as he took his hand back and flexed it experimentally. He seemed… distracted. Uncertain, in more than one way. Riven pursed her lips.

“Ma’lin, if you don’t want to do this…”

“I do,” Varlen said hastily, cutting her off. He didn’t give her a smile, but even if he had, she knew it would not have been genuine. Not for this. “It’s just… this was…”

Riven knew what he was trying to say. This was theirs. All of ours. Their mother and father’s. The clan’s.

Should they even be doing this? What was there to celebrate, when so much had been lost?

“It’s what they would have wanted.” Riven spoke the words before she really even thought about them. They were insistent. They found her first. “It always meant so much, for us to all to do this. Together. Today. It was important to us all. It was one of the few things that still mattered to father, even after mother passed.”

“But… it won’t be the same. It can’t be.” Varlen turned to look at her. He seemed so tired, kneeling there before the boiling pot. Like he had spent too many nights without sleep, and knew he had another one ahead, but was dragging himself forward in hopes that soon he would be free and find some small peace. Riven, if she were to be honest, felt much the same. The anticipation had weighed upon her, too. Anticipation and guilt. Guilt and fear. Fear for what was to come. All of it was a mantle on her shoulders. A burden to bear.

“And Hanin…?” Varlen continued suddenly, his face growing uncertain. Pained. “Riv, what if he hates it? He knows better than either of us how it’s meant to go. There’s just… so much missing that we can’t replace.”

“He won’t hate it,” Riven insisted gently, pouring far more confidence into her words than she actually felt. “If anything, I’m sure he’ll appreciate us trying.”

“Yeah, he’s all about that, I suppose.” Varlen sighed and reached over to pick up the spoon. Holding it towards the firelight, he inspected it, then made a low, disapproving noise. He got to his feet with a grunt and trudged over to sink for washing. As he dipped the spoon into the water and scrubbed, Varlen lowered his voice, giving it a gruff, gravelly edge. “If you never try, you’ll never improve, Varlen. It’s midday Varlen. Stop taking naps, Varlen. Run a thousand laps, Varlen. Train until you drop dead, Varlen…!”

He let his rather terrible impression trail off as he rinsed the spoon and returned to the pot, beginning his stirring anew. Riven was pleased to note that he went about it with a touch more care than before. She, too, got to her feet, but not before fixing her brother with a shrewd look.

“You know, he does have a point sometimes, Varlen. You do nap a lot.”

“Hey, I’m good at sleeping,” Varlen said simply, shrugging. “Guess I’ve practiced a lot.” He paused, frowning in thought. “How many hours does it take until you can be considered a master at something again?”

Riven snorted and rolled her eyes, leaving him by the pot as she returned to her work at the bench. “Less talking, more stirring. At this rate, we’ll be lucky to be ready by sundown. The least we can do is start on time.”

She heard the sound of her brother’s sigh, but knew it was one of weary agreement. There were, of course, some things they could make an effort to do right. They worked in silence for a time, the sound of bubbling stew and rustling plants giving the small kitchen a rustic, homely feel. As her hands worked, Riven couldn’t help but imagine Cullen beside her. He would be standing there, inspecting the herbs with a calculating eye, casting aside any that did not meet his rigid standard of quality. The ones that did, he would pass over to her, their fingers occasionally brushing. A fleeting warmth. A shared smile…

Riven paused, then realised she was, indeed, smiling to herself. A blush crept unbidden to her cheeks and she almost glanced around, as if embarrassed that someone else had somehow seen her daydream. Oh stop it, she chided silently, forcing herself to keep working. You’re acting like… like…

“It’s going to be so uncomfortable.”

Riven jolted a little, almost dropping the parcel of leaves and rice she had been in the process of binding closed. “Hm?” she asked, almost too loudly, as though she had something to cover up. Self-consciously, she lowered her voice. “What do you mean? What will?”

“This. You, me… Hanin…” Her brother let the sentence drop for a moment, before picking it up again almost reluctantly. “It’s just… you know how things have been since the Arbor Wilds. What am I meant to say to him? Talk about the weather? About that time I was careless and it nearly killed our friend? About that split lip and black eye he gave me? Yeah, that’d be a great ice breaker…”

Riven closed her eyes, back still to her brother. She didn’t need to see him to know the pain he felt. The entire battle had been horrific for the Inquisition. For everyone. So many losses. So much death. But some things she knew had struck far closer to the heart than others. Varlen still blamed himself for what happened to Thalon, even if he relinquished the point when pressed. But he couldn’t lie to her. Not about something so deeply wounding. The problem was that a piece of Hanin blamed him, too. Even if it was smaller than before. He saw Varlen as someone who should have been able to help; to protect. Maybe he could be, one day, but it didn’t take a Keeper’s eye to recognise that Varlen wasn’t ready for that responsibility. That he wasn’t Hanin.

Then, a thought struck her.

“Invite the others, then. Thalon and Nin. They should come, now that I think about it. They’re practically family.”

“You think so?” Varlen asked slowly. It was clear that he was trying to sound sceptical, but there was a very obvious note of relief in his voice. “Is that, I don’t know… allowed?”

“Maybe not before,” Riven admitted. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught her brother’s eye and smiled. “But it is now.”

Varlen tilted his head, brows raised thoughtfully. Then, his lips curved into a smirk. “Huh. I guess it’s actually our decision to make, for once.”

“Indeed, ma’lin. For once.” She softened her gaze, but nodded pointedly at the pot before turning back to her own work. “So come on. Let’s make the most of it.”

Varlen’s quiet laugh threaded its way through the air behind her.

“You got it, boss.”

#dragon age fanfiction #varlen lavellan #riven lavellan #hanin lavellan #fluff #mild angst #reluctant writes #thalon istimaethoriel #nindarhmen istimaethoriel #other people's ocs #sunshinemage #ourinquisitorialness #for once

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