The Fade feels lonelier this time around. The knowledge of Varric’s death hangs over him like a looming shadow, everywhere and inescapable. The starless sky seems to press down on him suffocatingly, and the dancing wisps begin to look more sinister than merry.
Try as he might to distract himself, his mind keeps going back to that night in Varric’s tent. If he had known that they’d never see each other again, what would he have said? I’ll miss you? Trite. You’re my best friend? Trite and obvious. I love you? Trite, obvious, and not something that two hairy-chested, hard-drinking men would ever dare say to each other.
“I’m sorry,” he says to no one in particular. “For everything.” He doesn’t put stock in the idea of an afterlife, but if any part of Varric remains, then maybe...
He abandons that line of thought, recognizing the wishful thinking for what it is. The simple fact is that Varric is gone. There’s another hole in his life where a person he loved used to be. It seems to him that his life is mostly holes now. Empty spaces and dead ends.
In a way, he’s grateful for the tears when they come. Let him exorcise his grief now and face Emmrich again with some shred of his dignity still intact. After a few moments, he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and pushes away his sorrow. He can’t afford to be indulgent. Not here, among creatures drawn to pain like sharks to blood.
Repressing his feelings is therefore a matter of self-preservation. He paces back forth on the riverbank, studiously attempting to avoid thinking of anything at all. When that doesn’t work, he starts counting pebbles. He’s on pebble number one thousand and sixty two when a tall, Emmrich-shaped shadow falls across his discard pile.
“Oh,” he says casually, blinking red-rimmed eyes. “Nice to see you back."
A real, live griffon. He'll be damned. "If you were anyone else, I'd accuse you of taking advantage of my credulous tendencies. But you don't strike me as a liar.” He pauses. "Thank you. For coming back to me."
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Try as he might to distract himself, his mind keeps going back to that night in Varric’s tent. If he had known that they’d never see each other again, what would he have said? I’ll miss you? Trite. You’re my best friend? Trite and obvious. I love you? Trite, obvious, and not something that two hairy-chested, hard-drinking men would ever dare say to each other.
“I’m sorry,” he says to no one in particular. “For everything.” He doesn’t put stock in the idea of an afterlife, but if any part of Varric remains, then maybe...
He abandons that line of thought, recognizing the wishful thinking for what it is. The simple fact is that Varric is gone. There’s another hole in his life where a person he loved used to be. It seems to him that his life is mostly holes now. Empty spaces and dead ends.
In a way, he’s grateful for the tears when they come. Let him exorcise his grief now and face Emmrich again with some shred of his dignity still intact. After a few moments, he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and pushes away his sorrow. He can’t afford to be indulgent. Not here, among creatures drawn to pain like sharks to blood.
Repressing his feelings is therefore a matter of self-preservation. He paces back forth on the riverbank, studiously attempting to avoid thinking of anything at all. When that doesn’t work, he starts counting pebbles. He’s on pebble number one thousand and sixty two when a tall, Emmrich-shaped shadow falls across his discard pile.
“Oh,” he says casually, blinking red-rimmed eyes. “Nice to see you back."
A real, live griffon. He'll be damned. "If you were anyone else, I'd accuse you of taking advantage of my credulous tendencies. But you don't strike me as a liar.” He pauses. "Thank you. For coming back to me."