Something in the air didn't feel right.
It wasn't an overt sense of wrongness, so much as a vague sense of unease. Varric Tethras had learned long ago to always trust these vague feelings, and so he rose from his bedroll and left his tent in the Inquisition camp, already having a fair idea of who this sense of wrongness was coming from. He paused only long enough to slide Bianca into her sling on his back. You could never be too careful, especially not with so many Red Templar running around.
He found her on a tall outcropping of rock, her staff resting across her lap as she sat cross legged, staring absently into the forest. He settled down quietly next to her, arms resting on one raised knee, and waited for her to speak.
For a long moment she stayed silent, the stillness of the night broken only by the soft rush of wind through leaves and the distant happy gurgling of a small stream. When she finally spoke, Varric was startled to hear the tears in her voice. She'd been crying.
"How am I supposed to do this, Varric?" she asked, continuing to stare into the distance. He followed her line of sight and realised she was staring at one of the statues of Andraste that were scattered through the forest. "How do I fight for those who destroyed my people over a misunderstanding?"
Varric sighed deeply, shifting his weight to sit more comfortably. He'd been expecting this conversation since they found the account of the Exalted March in the Dalish tomb. "Honestly, Ori, I don't know. I wish I had an answer for you."
Finally she turned to face him, and even in the darkness he could clearly see those unique eyes of hers. Deep blue around the outside of the iris, turning into an almost glowing lavender at the centre. Right now they were wet with unshed tears, and the look she gave him was truly miserable. "Haven't they made the elves suffer enough?" She turned and swept her arm wide, encompassing the forest for emphasis. "This was given to us by Andraste herself! And then in her name taken away again, over a stupid misunderstanding!" She said the last through clenched teeth, her hands tightening where they gripped her staff. Small sparks of lightning flickered over her fingers. "And they wonder why I don't like humans very much."
She raised her left hand, the hand marked by the Anchor. A soft green nimbus of light surrounded her hand, and she stared at it as if entranced. Something in her gaze made Varric very uneasy. "You know I can open my own rifts now?" She said suddenly, clenching her hand into a fist and causing the green glow to intensify. "Just a twitch of my fingers and I can summon demons any time I want. Do you have any idea how tempting it is, every time we visit Val Royeaux? I could wipe out these shemlen, and there's not a thing they could do about it." Her gaze returned to the statue of Andraste, and her hand dropped back to cradle her staff, the glow disappearing as quickly as it had come. "But then I think, what would that serve? The Dales would still be a mass grave, and my people would still be scattered to the winds. I was First to the Keeper of my clan, did you know that? I know as much about Elven culture and history as anyone, and I still know nothing. First Tevinter, then Orlais made sure there's not much left to know." Her voice cracked as she finished, and her gaze lowered.
There was just enough moonlight for Varric to see her eyes were closed tight, obviously fighting back more tears. He was a little bit surprised at how her tears made him feel – a towering anger filled him, anger at the world that had hurt this gentle woman so badly, anger at Corypheus for all the insanity he'd dragged them through. He forced the anger down, though. It wasn't what she needed right now.
"Dwarves know something about loss too, you know," he said quietly. "I might be a terrible dwarf, with less stone sense than a flying nug, but I can still feel it. Once the dwarven empire spanned Thedas, as large underground as Tevinter was above, maybe bigger. Now it's all gone, save for Orzammar and Kal-Sharok. And while surfacers can forget about the darkspawn after the blight is over, the dwarves can never rest."
"At least the dwarves lost their empire to mindless beasts!" Ori snapped, lightning once more playing over her clenched knuckles. "We lost our entire culture because of shemlen stupidity! Did you know that elves used to be immortal? It was humans who took that away from us. Humans who burned our cities and destroyed thousands of years of knowledge. And then, not satisfied with that, they did it all...over...AGAIN!" She stood suddenly and twirled her staff, a fireball erupting from the tip. It surged through the stillness of the night and impacted with a roar against the statue of Andraste, scorching the marble a dull black. She stood panting, her eyes blazing as they stared at the blackened statue. And then like a torch being snuffed out the fire left her, and she slumped back down, her staff clattering to the ground in front of her.
"I know it's not the same thing," Varric said gently, resting one hand on her shoulder, "but loss is loss. It happens sometimes. What defines us is how we deal with that loss."
She raised her head to look at him, and after a moment broke into a watery smile. "Why Varric, that was almost profound. I didn't know you had it in you."
A weight lifted off Varric's heart then, as he saw the Inquisitor he knew rise back to the fore. "Just don't tell anyone, alright? I have a reputation to maintain!"
She managed a small laugh at that, turning to sit with her legs curled up underneath her. "I suppose...all we can do in just keep going. No point looking back, right?"
"You know..." Varric said hesitantly. "The Empress of Orlais does sorta owe you a favour or three by now. You did save her life after all. And the Dales were given to your people by Andraste herself, so there's that. Maybe you could have a chat to her once this is all over, and tell her what really happened? I think it's time the elves caught a break, don't you?"
Ori looked startled, and her eyes went huge as she turned back and surveyed the trees around them. "Reclaiming the Dales...peacefully," she murmured, then shook her head. "We could have a homeland again? I can't even...that's just too big an idea for me to handle right now."
"With everything the Dalish have been through and accomplished, I think they deserve it," Varric grinned at her. "It's just something to keep in mind, maybe. Who knows what the future might bring, right?"
She turned to face him again, all traces of tears now gone. "Thank you, Varric Tethras," she said, then engulfed him in a hug.
A/N: Something I knocked up after my first visit to the Emerald Graves. The title is Elvish for 'nothing is inevitable'.