Holy Cow! She’s posting something! I can’t believe it! And I can’t believe she’s posting the story that I’m really not interested in. Ha ha!
Seriously, I’m posting here because I didn’t post last week and I should have and of course my fan fiction was written out before my other stories. Don’t fret though, I’m still working on ideas for the other stories, and as soon as my life settles a little I’ll be posting on those as well.
Today’s picture comes from Deviant Art again – they have a lot of very talented artists. This one’s called “Merrill at Kirkwall Channel” by ramgoatliver-d37weyy and can be found at http://www.deviantart.com/morelikethis/artists/426009263?view_mode=2#skins (You may have to look, I didn’t actually see this one, but I’m sure it’s around there somewhere).
“First you keep interrupting me, now you don’t even have a question about anything I’ve said. I realize it’s late, but ….” Varric stood, stretched, grabbed his goblet then walked slowly over to the elf, who was still on the floor, although not in the same spot he had been earlier.
Small Fry stood after handing his own cup to Varric, then watched the dwarf walk past him and into the kitchen area. Outside it was full dark with little to no noise. That in itself wasn’t as good as one would think, what with thieves still a-plenty in Kirkwall. So as Varric busied himself, his companion walked around checking doors, windows and coverings.
“I’m sorry, Uncle, even abbreviated as you made it, that and the parts I remember from Cassandra were just a lot to take in and I didn’t want to interrupt you for fear of missing something she may have omitted.” He finally responded to Varric’s earlier comment when he returned to the doorway. Leaning against it, he let his eyes gaze blankly into the darkened room, easily ignoring the dim lights of the few candles dotting the area. Although he didn’t need that light, it helped since he was tired.
The lone question brought him out of his reverie although not entirely out of his current exhausted condition. “I’m trying to find how it fits. It was but it wasn’t actually Flemeth who was in the locket.”
“How it fits? How what fits and fits into what?”
Small Fry waved the question away as he stepped back to allow his uncle passage back into the room. “It was but it wasn’t actually Flemeth who was in the locket.”
“So it would appear. But you heard that from the Seeker. Why come to me for that?”
“Which means … from what I recall and what Mother mentioned, the Hero never killed Flemeth for Morrigan.” He frowned.
“Just the way she said it.”
Varric smirked. “You mean the Hero didn’t kill her this time?”
Small Fry looked up quickly.
“Daisy wasn’t the only person she confided in.”
“So you understand what she meant by that?”
“I do now. Is that why you’re here? For a translation of your mother’s favorite sayings? Or are you trying to delve deeper into something?” As he did during his interrogation with Cassandra, Varric looked down at his hands and feigned indifference.
Small Fry took the hint. “Merrill was almost like Mother though, when she first encountered your group.”
“Well, yes, and no. Daisy didn’t have much experience with humans or dwarves and it was mainly because of the prejudices each held for the other. Had things gone differently in Ferelden, Daisy may have had a slight connection, but as things were…”
“I learned a lot of what I know from Merrill though.”
“Oh she’s smart, don’t get me wrong. She’s what you mother called ‘book learned but no street smarts’. Your mother, however, had almost no experience with dwarves, elves and a whole bunch of other things. She relied on Daisy for her knowledge, just like you did.”
“Hawke seemed slightly interested.”
“In Daisy? Not really. At that point in time he didn’t know how to take her. Actually none of us did. In fact, if it hadn’t been for a few things, she may not have been party to us at all.”
“And one other person.”
“You mean …”
“Ha ha! Not quite Small Fry but you won’t be shocked when you find out. We made it back to Kirkwall by mid-morning about three days later and to the Alienage just after noon. When I told this story to your mother, she smiled and said Merrill sounded…”
“Shell-shocked. Yes, I remember the term from her. But you had to describe it to Cassandra.” Small Fry smiled warmly.
“Well that’s not a term we use here often – although I hadn’t heard it before she said it – and had I used it, it would have given a few things away.” Varric stopped here and motioned towards the other doorway.
Small Fry blinked, stretched then shook his head. “I can’t, Uncle, I need to find out…”
“You won’t last, and neither will I. My wild nights are over. Besides, even Cassandra gave breaks, and I’d like one.”
The elf sighed and walked towards the doorway and into the bedroom. There was only one bed here and when he saw it, he turned to Varric questioningly.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be out here. This is far too important to just leave things unspoken. Get some sleep.”
“So you’re ending it here, your arrival at Kirkwall?”
“We tried to comfort Daisy as best we could, after all this was a huge step for her. I tried to put up the best description of the Alienage as I could, Aveline mentioned the tree, and Hawke and Carver tried to cheer her up by reminding her that she wasn’t entirely alone anymore.”
Small Fry nodded. “She was never actually alone.”
“No, but she didn’t know it at the time. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The elf waved as Varric closed the door. After a moment, he walked over and sat down on one of the chairs and looked at the kitchen area. His thoughts ever on the conversation, deep inside he pondered how best to tell the rest of the story. ‘He knows something, but I need to find out how much.’