"A great deal of fun. That's what you missed digging in that vault of yours, Tethras." Isabela chided, untying the bandana she had wrapped securely around her hair and unraveling the folded cloth until it resembled a makeshift handkerchief. To a half-hearted audience drawn to her by her actions, she unsheathed one of her curved daggers, slick with blood, and started wiping the silvery metal clean. Varric's eyebrows arched with mock disgust.
"I can see that." He said, pointing vaguely at the demon's corpse to his right, "but I also see a rather... peculiar aftermath."
He hefted his colossal weapon on one shoulder, shuffling over to Isabela, who gave him a look.
"I don't seem to recall stinking demonic ichor being an ingredient in those hair smoothing lotions the Hightown ladies claimed to be working," Varric chuckled, "but maybe it's a Rivaini thing."
Isabela shot him a glare that froze water. "I could make do with your chest hair," she threatened nonchalantly, reaching for her other dagger. Clarissa smirked when Varric backpedalled, free hand clutching at his open-necked collar.
"Varric, where did you get that?" Clarissa asked, walking up to him and gesturing at the giant hulk of a crossbow balanced between his arm and shoulder, or at least the contraption that looked like a crossbow to her. It had the general shape of a mechanical contraption that hurled bolts out the front, basically a shortbow with a metallic stock, grip and handle attached to it, with various switches and levers whose function, apparently unwanted in conventional crossbows, eluded her. She preferred her fights up close, personal and ending with a sword through the other person's gut. She never had patience for bows, much less the calm, calculating precision required to handle a crossbow and its painstakingly long and repetitive actions between bolts. It just felt so... unwieldy, unlike a sword or a shield which was, to her, an extension of her very arm. She did, however, had difficulty picturing Varric charging headfirst into trouble, pounding bandits and disgruntled merchants alike into submission with a hammer, club, or any other weapon of the sort. The image she conjured out of sheer imagination of the stout dwarf doing just that was so amusing, she had to purse her lips to keep from bursting into laughter.
"This," Varric crowed, cradling the oversized weapon as a mother would a child, "I found under a pile of plundered dwarven treasure hidden in a side room in the armory. It took me an hour to find the room, and another hour to sort through the useless junk to get to it."
She then listened, with courteous attentiveness, as Varric recounted every switch, marking and thoroughly awe-inspiring example of unmatched engineering, half of which making no sense to her after turning her head on itself. The craftsmanship of it was beyond doubt, however, as details both utilitarian and aesthetic were readily apparent, even to Clarissa's untrained eye. Still, it did not detract from the fact that Varric's meticulous descriptions had left her doubting his sanity and her own.
Varric must have noticed her confusion, for he said, "But, I understand that you, my lady, are practical in her tastes. So, without further ado, I shall demonstrate, to your very eyes, what this baby can do."
A cacophony of mechanical sounds was heard as Varric pulled back a side handle on the weapon, who smiled when he heard something within click into place. He then brought the weapon up to eye-level, and searched for a fitting target with a self-absorption and intensity seemed to make his . Clarissa watched him closely. Ever since the loss of his beloved crossbow, Bianca, Varric has retreated much of himself. For the past two days, the normally cheerful, talkative dwarf had fallen silent, and although Clarissa still heard him humming and chanting verses under his breath, she felt no longer the merry, contented music that suffused the air, only a lonely, poor lament that reminded her too much of her last days in Lothering.
No one should have to go through that. Clarissa thought as Varric lined up the brass sights on his new toy, taking aim at the highest point of the tallest statue in the courtyard. She felt partly responsible for his loss, and the feeling lingered deeply within her as the image of Carver, young, brash and headstrong, swam up in her mind.
A slight warmth bloomed within Clarissa's heart, then, as Varric smiled, holding that which he held dear to his heart with the professional bearing of a marksman dedicated to his skills, and the delicate, loving care of an ordinary man blessed with an extraordinary love.
Clarissa heard a distinct, mechanical click as Varric pulled the trigger.
There came a tense moment of silence.
And another.
Then Varric grunted, turning the crossbow sideways and looking over the entirety of the weapon with a practiced but anxious eye.
"It was supposed to- A big heap of- Ahh damn the ancestors, it isn't working!" Varric grumbled animatedly, his free hand flicking switches, pulling levers and checking for malfunctions in the delicate machinery in every way he knew. Clarissa raised an eyebrow, not sure if she should show amusement at his fumbling or share in his concern.
"Perhaps it's been sitting under that treasure pile for too long?" Clarissa ventured.
"No! I mean, yes, but- It shouldn't-" Varric took a calming breath, his short, wide frame heaving as he did so. His face became flushed, and a panicked look came into his eyes. Clarissa recognized that look. It was something she saw within herself all too many times.
"I'm sure she's fine, Varric. Bianca just needs a little bit of tweaking."
Varric looked at her, his gaze unyielding and firm. "She's not Bianca."
He hammered those words into her until she averted her eyes.
"Bianca was made by someone else, then left to rot. I was the one who brought her back, and gave her a purpose." Varric said, his tone betraying no emotion.
"This... this will never be the same as Bianca. She's gone now, and... so should it be for the part of me that still hangs onto her." Varric said, eyes distant now. Clarissa stood next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, offering him her silent condolences for the part she played in Bianca's death. She knew, in his heart and her own, that she was partly to blame, and that losing Bianca was like losing something close to home for Varric, who had strove to hold on to what little part of home he still possessed.
"I can make this work," Varric said with conviction, like a man driven by his determination and nothing else, "I can bring her back to life. Just you wait and see."
She watched as he nodded to himself, a purposeful fire burning in his eyes once again. She squeezed his shoulder, making him smile before he shrugged.
"Okay, this is getting a bit too emotional for me. I thought I saw some other treasure back there, recovered from thaigs as old as Orzammar. Who knows," he stole a look at Clarissa, who was, for some reason, frowning, "it might even be my thaig..."
Clarissa, for her part, only barely registered Varric's departure. She heard another voice call for her attention, an intimate voice in her mind that she recognized all too well.
It was its tone that fazed her.
We need to talk. Bethany had said while Varric had smiled up at her, her normally mellow, soft voice as cold as ice and as hard as rugged steel.
Can it wait? Varric's- Clarissa had started.
Now. Bethany had insisted.
Clarissa, confused by her sudden coldness, complied. She found her at the edge of the courtyard, brown eyes fixed upon her with an emotion she did not recognize.
"What's the problem, Bethy?" Clarissa asked tentatively. Upon close inspection, she saw that Bethany was far from relaxed. Her eyes were wide, pointed and possessed an accusatory glare that seemed to be fixated on her. Her fists were clenched, her slender body tense and her mind,linked to her own and in such close proximity, radiated an anger Clarissa rarely saw within her.
"What's the problem, you ask?" Bethany glared at her, making her step backwards in surprise, "you're the problem! How long do you plan on coddling me as you would a child?"
The words stirred incredulity and doubt within her. Had she done such a thing? "What are you talking about, Bethy? I came here because I loved you too much to have you locked up with these charlatans, not because I still think you're my baby sister."
She dared a step forward, cradling Bethany's face with her hand. "You've become more than that."
Bethany wrenched her hand away with a frustrated cry, "don't touch me!" She cried, making Clarissa flinch from the words, "stop dancing around the truth. You know of what I speak." Her right palm flared in tandem with her temper, anger given physical form as Mana surged within her, coalescing into a globule of pure, shifting darkness that winked out of existence a split second after Clarissa laid eyes upon it.
"I... I don't understand." Clarissa stuttered, her mind torn between disbelief and recognition. Whatever it was, she had seen it before.
"Still, you lie? Like you did to the Wardens when you gave me to them? Like you did to me when I foolishly believed you?" Bethany cried, her eyes glaring straight into Clarissa, tearing through the shock and denial and striking directly at her core.
I didn't lie!
Did you not? Did you not neglect to share a particular piece of information when you claimed Corinth dead? A voice in her mind that wasn't Bethany jeered
It was for her own good! I was going to tell her later!
Bethany's hands brought her back from her internal deliberations, holding her at her shoulders and shaking in fury.
"I thought you loved me, Clare. I thought I was no longer your baby sister, no longer the child you needed to protect. I thought you'd share everything with me, for good or ill, so we could bask in them together or face them as one." Bethany said, tears rolling down her flawless skin, liquid jewels telling of her anguish rekindling the fiery guilt that Clarissa had once thought she left behind.
"I thought we were one." Bethany implored.
We are!
You thought you were protecting her, didn't you?
I- Was I not?
"I defied the Maker to be with you. I spurned divine and law to love you. Is it too much to ask the same from you?" Bethany asked, grasping for answers. Clarissa had none. She was wrong. So, so wrong. She felt tears tracing lines on her face. She made no attempt to halt them.
Bethany released her then, for she knew she would not getting answers from her. She wiped at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve, and Clarissa felt her heart fracture. Who was she to hurt her so deeply?
It was then that someone had to intrude upon them.
"Um, is this not a good time?" A male voice, one Clarissa couldn't be bothered remembering. She let herself wallow in her guilt, examining her choices and finding nothing but mistakes in them.
You're damn right it isn't.
"No, no, it's alright, Delvin. What is it?" She heard Bethany ask, inhaling deeply to mask the pain they both felt, only that hers was justified, and Bethany's was her doing. Her knees threatened to give way, but she remained upright, her back turned towards the Grey Wardens.
What have I done?
"The dwarf wanted me to tell Messere Hawke that he had apparently found 'stolen property' that belongs to him, taken by the Warden Commander." He seemed to catch upon himself at that, "ex-Warden Commander, that is."
"There's also the matter of the Commander's position." Delvin said.
"What of it?" Bethany asked as Clarissa turned round, not liking where this was going. It was not as if she had any say in the matter.
"Well, to be frank, we've all been under Madred's spell for nigh on five years. Your sister freed us from that and if it weren't for your Joining, tragic as it may be, we might be ensorcelled by that bastard of a man for Maker knows how long, and not any one of us would be the wiser." Delvin poured out, venting his anger against his former superior.
"But, we know that your place is not with us and, as much as the Joining says otherwise, our numbers allow for certain... exceptions to be made." Delvin explained, looking at Bethany tensely, watching for her reaction. "We'll understand if you do not wish to remain."
"No." Bethany said.
Clarissa froze.
"I'll stay."
Clarissa whirled round, meeting Bethany's eyes and reeling from the regretful, but determinate look in them. She grabbed her, shook her, crushed her with her desperate embrace, but Bethany did nothing in response.
Bethany, please... Don't leave!
Or what? Will you hold me at your blade's edge? Will you decide what's best for me?
"Isabela." Bethany called. The Pirate Queen understood immediately what she wanted, and she put an arm around Clarissa, heartbroken and defeated, and slowly led her away.
Varric was at the gates, waiting for them with an a pack of horses, one of them leavened with saddlebags that jiggled suspiciously, but Clarissa didn't care. She cast a final glance at Bethany, but she was no longer there. Gone was the young girl who stood at the door, waiting for her return every day. Gone was the little girl who cried in her arms, yearning for her older sister's comforting. In her place was a proud, strong young woman that Clarissa, of all the people, had come to love with all her heart and cherish with all her soul.
Had she done something wrong? All she ever wanted was to keep her safe, even if it meant she should bear the guilt of her actions and the stain of the blood of thousands.
"There's nothing you can do, Hawke. Give it time, you'll see her again." Isabela said, trying and failing to stem the tears flooding her friend's face, rolling onto her armor. There was a short, tense moment of silence as Katja climbed on.
She couldn't turn back. She couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't even say farewell.
We were sisters. It made us close. Now, it kept us apart.
Clarissa let the subtle, steady rhythm of her horse's movements numb her as Falconsreach Hold became but a distant memory.
/It just so happened that I was leafing through the reviews (bad habit) when I saw one review saying that this pairing is "so damn tragic". That got me thinking, and this is why I think it's tragic. Up to this point in the story at least. I do hope that it makes sense to you as much as it did to me, cus I need to apologize if this feels... rushed in places (although it took me three weeks to ditch the headache and start writing for realzies). It's sad, but it's integral. You'll see. *ANXIETY* Now I can't screw this up.
Spike: Life's a learning process, and Clarissa just entered a whole new one.
Ml33t/ninja/Ml33tninja: I do seem to have god mode on, don't I? Well, maybe less do-or-die scenes and more large-scale battles like the ones in Act 2! That was so not a clue.
Night: I'm ready this time. I bought earplugs. *Grits teeth*
And for those of you out there: Please take about 1 minute of your time and feed your author! Even if you don't like him very much, grovelling for reviews and whatnot, he still appreciates people letting him know they actually gave his stuff a passing glance or better yet, that they liked it!/