Varric was eager to leave the burning, smelly plains. They were dry, they smelled awful, and there were literally walking corpses everywhere. He ducked under another dangerous, magical ray within the old, torn up keep with a grimace. The Inquisition soldiers had repaired the bridge, allowing Freckles to lead them across to fight more corpses and aid the soldiers trapped inside. He glanced at their leader, who looked fierce as ever. She reveled in saving everyone, even if she would never admit it. She was far too selfless and awe-inspiring. He hated the plains.
While he understood the necessity of helping gain the alliance of the Dalish in the area, he didn't really understand why Freckles had to be the one to do it. They had hundreds, possibly thousands, of agents for the Inquisition. It wasn't really fair that Freckles had to take care of every single problem in Thedas. She looked so tired. He remembered how vibrant she had been when he first met her, even if she had been terrified at the time. That energy was still there, but the weight of the literal world was on her shoulders now.
He shot another bolt at yet another walking corpse. He was really getting tired of this shit. At least it looked like they were finally reaching the trapped soldiers. Buttercup was standing on top of some sort of set of controls, and a loud "whoosh" signaled that the defenses were shut down. Varric wondered who had decided that the crazy elf was the one who would be allowed to play with the controls, but he shrugged it off. They were out of danger now. Freckles was speaking urgently with a man who stood behind a set of barred gates.
"I am the Inquisitor, I am here to assist you." she assured him. The man blanched.
"I apologize, I should have known." he answered anxiously. The gate opened, and Varric sighed in relief. Maybe they'd get to go home after this was all dealt with. He followed Freckles in as she went over to speak with the captain.
"Commander Jehan, in service of her Imperial Majesty, long may she reign." the Orlesian said in her froofy accent. Varric wrinkled his nose. Orlesians were almost always annoying. "My men inform me that the Citadel's defenses are deactivated. I cannot thank you enough." she said. Freckles nodded. Varric loved the way she was always all business. It was highly entertaining.
"Tell me about the situation here, Commander." she said politely. The Orlesian shook her head.
"There were orders. A chance for peace, they said. Pull back, they said. So we did. Then the undead appeared. We couldn't hold them back, so I told my men to activate the defenses." she sighed. "A foolish move, borne of desperation. There was so much about the old Elven magic we never knew. We couldn't control it. We retreated, but...not everyone made it through the gates. I...I couldn't save them." she ended sadly. Freckles placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.
"You did your best, Jehan. There was nothing more you could do." she assured her. He didn't know how she always managed to calm everyone down. He had never really known anyone who could do that so easily. Hawke always seemed to make everyone want to kill him with zero effort, and Kierrai, while calming, could also throw a crowd into a frenzy if she had the whim. He glanced at Freckles again. Freckles and Legs would probably get along swimmingly. He laughed to himself. If those two ever met, the world would probably collapse. Well, more than it already had, anyway. The Inquisitor raised a red eyebrow at him and he realized he probably looked like a crazy person, standing there laughing at nothing.
"Is it time to leave this shithole yet, Your Inquisitorialness?" he asked after clearing his throat. She nodded.
"The soldiers are rescued, the rifts are closed, and the Dalish have given us their allegiance. I think we can leave the Exalted shithole Plains for a while." she replied jokingly. He grinned. He was glad everyone had chosen to follow her. She was his favorite of this new bunch of misfits. The dwarf sighed to himself. He missed his old bunch of misfits. It was good to have Hawke back in the keep, but sometimes he thought wistfully of the times when he had him, Rivaini, Daisy, Legs, Choir Boy, Broody, Aveline, Junior, and, yes, even Blondie. The times were...well...not simpler, really, but different. He missed his old friends, and they were terrible at responding to his letters.
"What are you thinking about, my hirsute friend?" a smooth voice asked behind him. Varric snorted as he turned to see Sparkler staring at him with folded arms.
"I'm thinking about how difficult it must be for you to face the trials of someone who isn't a pampered noble, Sparkler!" he replied. The mage placed a hand on his forehead in mock woe.
"It's true! Nobody has peeled a grape for me in weeks! Maddening!" he cried. Varric smirked. Dorian was all right. "I actually have a request for you." he added. Varric raised an eyebrow.
"What request would that be?" he asked. Dorian smiled politely.
"I want a new nickname." he pleaded. Varric frowned.
"What? Sparkler isn't colorful enough for you?" he answered. Dorian rolled his eyes.
"You must know me better now! Or does the moniker you gave me five minutes after we met still apply?" he pointed out.
"I have the eyes of a storyteller. It's a gift." he answered.
"So, I'm a bit of light you stick in your window to impress passerby? All flash, no heat? Hmm...that's actually pretty clever." the mage replied as he thought about the nickname.
"See? Embrace your place in the universe, Sparkler." Varric said as he noticed Freckles gesturing for everyone to follow. He heard Dorian's laughter behind him as they made their way out of the fort.
"I don't think I've heard everyone's nicknames, Varric." Freckles said as he reached her side. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"You haven't been paying attention?" he asked, shaking his head. "We have: Freckles, Sparkler, Buttercup, Tiny, Chuckles, Iron Lady, Seeker, Kid, Nightingale, Curly, Ruffles, and Hero." She paused for a moment.
"Me, Dorian, Sera, Bull, Solas, Vivienne, Cassandra, Cole, Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, and Blackwall?" she asked. He nodded.
"See, they all make sense!" he replied. She laughed.
"I suppose they do. Have you always given everyone nicknames?" she asked. He nodded.
"Everyone but Aveline gets a nickname." he joked.
"Hawke doesn't have a nickname." she pointed out.
"Hawke is his nickname." he argued. She shook her head.
"No, Hawke is his name." she retorted. He growled.
"Fine, I'll start calling him...Waffles." he decided. She chortled with laughter.
"Should I tell him? Or are you going to bring that one up yourself?" she asked through her giggles.
"I'll send him a letter." he answered drily.
"So what are the other nicknames?" she asked. He stared at her.
"Let's see: Rivaini is Isabela, Broody is Fenris, Legs is Kierrai, Choir Boy is Sebastian, Junior is Carver, and Daisy...Daisy was Merrill." he finished, feeling that familiar ache in his chest when he thought about Daisy. Renna nodded. She had probably heard Daisy's tale before.
"What about...Anders?" she asked. He wasn't really surprised.
"Ahh, Blondie. It's too bad he went crazy and Legs killed him. He played a mean game of Wicked Grace." he reminisced. She looked at him for a moment before shaking her head.
"Do you have any good stories about your old friends? It would distract from the smell of burning corpses." she requested. He nodded.
"Let me tell you about the time we all met Sebastian and Kierrai threw a knife at him." he began, falling into the pattern of his memory with ease as they made their way out of the Exalted Plains.
