Chapter Text
Skyhold is unlike anything they have ever seen. It doesn’t resemble the human strongholds or the Elvhen ruins they would see during their travels.
Dalish banners and the flags of the Inquisition that have become famous in the Free Marches too flap and move in the wind; people of all kind and race scurry around, paying them no mind; there are merchant booths in the courtyard, selling stuff that Dalish clans can see only in special occasions of the year or after stealing it from the humans.
There are many elves too, all armed, all dressed in simple, but effective clothes. Much to their surprise, the majority of the servants and maids they see around are human.
“Vhenan.” the petite elven woman murmurs, squeezing her husband’s hand. The look on her face is a mix between bewilderment and apprehension. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“This is the only Inquisition in Thedas. I doubt there are others.” the tall man at her side replies. Even if his mouth is set in a tight, thin line and his brow is furrowed, giving him a somewhat grim and fearful look, his gruff voice is actually kind.
“I didn’t imagine the Inquisition to be so… so big.” the woman shakes her head, disbelieving, as a group of scouts marches in front of them, led by an elf who is clearly in command. She observes the tents at the other side of the courtyard: wounded soldiers and refugees are there, but she saw a sturdy human woman help some of them get up, mentioning an infirmary.
On the stairs leading to the upper level of the garden, they see messengers talking and exchanging letters, quick on their feet, fast with their words.
Everyone is wearing the symbol of the Inquisition.
Everyone is serving their daughter.
“Well, it sounded different on paper.” the elven man mumbles, moving aside to let a cart full of food pass. “Although we already started seeing its influence in the Free Marches too.”
“Oh, look, Athim! That’s a hart, a hart!” his wife exclaims, her initial bashfulness already gone, replaced by a childlike enthusiasm. She drags him to the stable visible from the gates, ignoring his complaints and hushing him with playful swats on his arm and giggles.
“I never saw one so close!” she sighs when they finally approach the beautiful animal. It’s standing out of its stall, munching hay that has been thrown on the ground. She lets out an awed ‘ohhh’, her mouth forming a cute ‘o’, and reaches out for it.
“Careful, Nehn.” his husband grumbles, eyeing the creature with wariness mixed with respect and admiration. “He may not like being touched by a stranger.”
“It’s alright, he’s a good fellow.” a voice says and the couple jumps back. A middle-aged human appears from behind the tall beast, a large brush in his hand. He shoots them a polite smile.
“This is the Inquisitor’s Red Hart. Nice, loyal creature. You can touch him if you want.”
“This is…?” Athim looks at the hart differently now, his golden eyes wide and full of surprise. Next to him, Nehn gasps and brings her hands to her round face.
“Scarlet’s hart? My child has a hart?”
“Child?” the horsemaster frowns, confused, not used to hear the Inquisitor being called by her name and not her title. Then it hits him and he mumbles a bad curse under his breath, scrambling to get in front of the couple to greet them decently.
“Forgive me, I…” he brushes hart hairs and hay off of his clothes and awkwardly offers his hand. “I’m Dennet, horsemaster of the Inquisition. It’s a pleasure to meet the Inquisitor’s parents.”
He bows his head respectfully, not realizing that the two Dalish in front of him are not used to receive this kind treatment from a human.
Athim hesitates, flustered and embarrassed; Nehn is the one who takes the initiative and breaks the ice. She takes the man’s hand and shakes it, a toothy smile on her face which twists her vallaslin of Mythal.
“So are you here to visit?” Dennet asks, offering his hand to Athim too. He slowly takes it, although the scowl on his face doesn’t go away. The horsemaster doesn’t seem to mind.
“Yes! We received her letter and she told us so many things about this place and her friends, so we wanted to make sure everything was alright, we haven’t see her for so long and we brought some gifts too and…”
“Nehn…”
She takes a deep breath, but doesn’t stop talking. In fact, she continues with more energy than before, her chubby face flushed pink, her hair sticking to all directions, a disorganized explosion of red and gray tufts.
“I know she has much to do, but we never expected this! The Inquisition has reached the Free Marches too, but it’s more influential in Orlais and Ferelden, isn’t it? Orlais, Athim, Orlais!” she turns to her husband, who, for the first time since they are there, cracks a smile. “Don’t mind him, he looks grumpy, but he is actually a softie and I am sure he will cry like a baby once we find our da’len.”
“Nehn…”
“Is she in good health? Does she eat?” the short, energetic elven woman suddenly gets serious, worry in her hazel eyes. “Does she get injured a lot? She doesn’t say in her letters.”
Dennet, who has been silent for the whole time, too invested by the stream of words to react, blinks and babbles a reply, which doesn’t satisfy the anxious mother and makes her sigh.
“Oh, I am sure she is reckless and jumps straight into battle! She would always do that when she went to hunt with the others.”
“She goes with her friends, though, right?” Athim asks, narrowing his eyes. “I am sure that Solas keeps her safe.”
Dennet doesn’t miss the venom in his voice and desperately tries to find a way to change topic. He can talk about anything but this. He doesn’t have the strength to discuss the Inquisitor’s love life with her parents.
Just then, two saviors come to his aid: Cole and Blackwall, each carrying a box of apples and carrots for the horses and mounts. They don’t stop when they see the new guests, used to the refugees and merchants that punctually visits Skyhold every day, but Cole’s face light up under his large hat and he smiles.
“Hello!” he says cheerfully and Nehn returns his smile, before realization hits her.
“Oh! Oh, I know who you are! Just a moment, please…”
She rummages into her old leather bag and Athim helps her keep it open, patiently waiting for her to find what she needs while studying attentively the two humans.
Blackwall exchanges a look with Dennet, perplexed, but doesn’t understand what he is trying to tell him. So he steps in, putting his box down and nodding at the elven man. He nods back, silent like a statue.
“Oh, here it is! Let me see, let me see…” Nehn turns the pages of a rather long letter, repeating the words she reads under her breath, following them with her index finger, then she beams at Cole and exclaims: “You are Cole! Scarlet’s spirit friend!”
“Yes.” the boy’s smile is so bright it could illuminate an entire city. “And you are her mother, kind-hearted like she is, bringing joy to those around you.” He turns to Athim, who is staring at him, tense and rigid: “You are her father. Fair and just, you let humility guide you.”
Athim doesn’t respond, his vallaslin of June shifting as his frown deepens. He is blushing and his wife chuckles, patting his hand.
“There, there, vhenan. There is no need to be embarrassed. This gentle creature was complimenting you.” she turns back to Cole and Blackwall and looks at the latter, examining the letter again. “And you must be… Blackwall? The Grey Warden?”
“Yes, my lady.” he replies, bringing a hand on his chest and bowing without breaking eye contact. His beard moves as he smiles. “It’s an honor to meet you. The Inquisitor always talks about her clan.”
“That’s good to hear.” Athim says and this time he doesn’t hesitate when Blackwall gives him his hand to shake. “I assume you know where we can find her?”
“Well…” Blackwall rubs his neck, sharing a look with Cole. The boy shakes his head and answers for him: “She is everywhere, quick and attentive, helping everyone. She was in the garden inside the walls before, but I don’t know where she is now.”
“You really are a spirit?” Athim asks, eyeing him with disconcert, not sure how to talk to him and what to expect from him. Nehn approaches, curious and not scared at all, and raises his head with a motherly touch, staring into his blue eyes partially covered by his long hair.
“Oh, why does it matter?” she scolds her husband, who grunts. “Look how kind his eyes are! Scarlet said he is a dear friend. Our daughter is old enough to understand which people she should trust, right?”
“She really said that?” Cole gasps, his big smile returning, and Nehn giggles, fixing his hair and hat.
“She did. Our Keeper was very worried at first, but we trust Scarlet’s judgement. If she says you are her dear friend and mean no harm, then we believe her.”
“Also Compassion is rare in these times.” Athim concedes, his frown constantly etched on his rough face. He looks at Blackwall, who instinctively straightens his back. “And a Grey Warden who fights for the weak is a precious ally too.”
“I… Thank you, messer.”
“You look like her.” Cole murmurs, staring at the elven woman with dreamy eyes. “Red hair and big eyes. But their color is wrong. Her father’s is right.”
“Families work like that, boy.” Athim comments dryly, although one corner of his lips curl upwards with amicable fondness. “She has my nose too, but her mother’s lips.”
“That’s beautiful.” the boy agrees, his smile content. “I like your family.”
It’s clear Nehn would stay there more to talk with the spirit, her carefree attitude often distracted by the people around her. So her husband intervenes before she can start asking Cole more questions or fret over him like he is her son too.
He reminds her why they are there in the first place and she gasps, frantically fixing her bag and shoving the letter into it to be ready to move again. The two humans and the spirit give them directions to reach the upper level of the courtyard, where the entrance to the stronghold is, and then they are off.
Nehn turns around one last time to wave at the three men, even shouting a “We will see you later, hopefully!”, then proceeds to admire the fortress with new eyes, intimidated by it and the people in it no more.
“Oh, vhenan, look, is that a tavern? Inside the walls?”
“Looks like it.” is her husband’s practical answer. They stop, confused by a strange figure that has just opened the door with a booming laughter. It’s a giant man with grey skin, an eyepatch on the left side of his face, horns on his head.
“Ohhhh!” Nehn bounces on her feet and brings her hands to her face again, not noticing that she is already holding Athim’s, who doesn’t let her go and lets the back of his hand thump against her cheek.
“That’s a Qunari, vhenan! He must be the mercenary Scarlet mentioned in her letter!”
“Why is he patting that poor man’s back so fiercely?” Athim mumbles, humming pensively when the Qunari bursts into another laughter and dodges easily the soldier’s hands.
“Hah, I can see your moves even without one eye, Krem!”
“Stop moving, chief, or I swear I’m gonna kick that fat ass of yours!”
“Nehn, perhaps we should leave them be…” Athim whispers, then realizes he isn’t holding his wife’s hand anymore. In fact, she isn’t there at all, but walking over to the Qunari and his friend with quick strides, her patched elven dress fluttering in the wind.
“N-Nehn!”
He runs to her just as she reaches the two men; they immediately stop bickering and the human tries to compose himself, despite his disheveled hair.
“Good morning. New refugee?” he asks with a kind smile, which turns into surprise when the elven woman shakes her head and says: “You are one of the Bull’s Chargers, correct?”
“Oh?” Krem glances at Bull, taken aback, but flattered at the same time. “Yes, ma’am. I am lieutenant Krem.”
“Nice to meet you, Krem!” She turns to Bull, hands on her hips. “So I was right! You must be The Iron Bull!”
She searches for her husband with her hand without even looking, immediately finding him and pulling him closer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, The Iron Bull! Our daughter told us much about you!”
“Mh.” Athim quirks one eyebrow, without hiding his surprise. “You are very tall.”
“Your… daughter?” Krem looks worried, while Bull’s eye widen and his chest swells with pride and satisfaction. There is a broad smile on his lips which matches Nehn’s equally radiant grin.
“She said ‘the’. The Iron Bull. She used my full name, Krem.” he murmurs, nearly on the verge of tears, and Krem does his best to ignore that last detail.
“Chief!” he hisses, glaring at him. “What did you do?? What daughter are they talking about?”
“Their daughter, Krem. Clean those ears once in a while!”
“I heard that! But why would a woman’s parents have heard about you from her in the first place?”
“Hey!” Bull pouts and folds his arms on his massive, bare chest. “That’s rude! Totally uncalled for! Of course she would talk about me to her… oh.”
His face falls and he looks scared now, as if he has just seen a demon cackling in front of him.
“Uh… are you here to tell me something I absolutely don’t want to hear?”
“Well, we are in visit.” Nehn replies, puzzled by his sudden change in behavior. “We are here to see our Scarlet.”
She and Athim exchange a look, then she adds, panicking a bit: “Is… is there a problem?”
“Oh! Oh, shit!” Bull is grinning again. “You are the boss’ parents!”
“Damn, chief, for a second I thought you were going to take care of a chubby, horned baby!”
“No, we don’t bring that kind of news.” Athim reassures them with his third smile of the day… which disappears instantly when Bull pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.
“Fenedhis…!”
“It’s so nice to meet you! The chief always talks about you, you know?” A pat on his back steals his breath, then Athim is released. He watches in horror as Nehn is pulled into the Qunari’s arms too… only to be held in a gentle, delicate embrace that makes her laugh.
“She mentioned you in her last letter too.” the woman says as she steps back, patting the Qunari’s arm. “She talked about your mercenary job and your wonderful team.”
“Yeah, they are alright.” Bull jokes, yelping when Krem’s foot finds his leg. “Hey, not in front of the boss’ mom!”
“What’s all this noisy shit?” a high-pitched voice shrieks from above.
They all look up at where a series of colored windows is, a room part of the tavern: one of the windows is open and an elven girl with badly cut hair and cookie dough on her nose is scowling down at the group.
“I’m tryin’ to sleep here! Go bring all those laughs and Dalish shit inside the tavern, will ya!”
“A city elf.” Athim murmurs and he returns her scowl without problems, using his many years of expertise on the matter. Sera grunts and squints her eyes to accentuate her own.
“Sera! Say hi to the Inquisitor’s mom and dad!” Bull exclaims, gently pushing the couple under the window so she can see them better.
Her frown goes away as quickly as it came.
“What did ya say?” she babbles, then observes the smiling elven lady and her grumpy husband with her mouth hanging open. “Freaking shit! Where did you come from?”
“So you are Sera.” Athim says, tilting his head. “Red Jenny.”
“Not the Red Jenny.” she corrects him. She will never admit it, but there are two pink spots on her cheeks. “There is no boss. I’m… just one of them.”
“Scarlet wrote about you too.” Nehn intervenes with a kind smile, her tone calm and milder than before. She wants to reassure her, aware of her embarrassment and awkwardness. “She said you are great with your bow and always help the little people.”
“I… yes?” Sera starts pulling the strings of a pillow, face redder than before. “Somebody must do that, right? Her Inquisition helps too.”
“That’s good. We need more people like you in the cities.” Nehn continues and Sera grumbles something, refusing to say more. She throws something heavy at Bull when he starts snickering.
“Shut your mouth, you!”
“I think you broke her, boss’ mom.”
“Shut up!”
Heavy footsteps approach just when Athim is about to say more. A woman stops in front of them, short black hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, a sword in her gloved hand. Her expression is stern, but not cold, and her stance isn’t commanding. She looks just curious and a bit annoyed.
“What is all this commotion?” she asks with a thick accent. She looks back and forth from the two unknown elves and confusion appears in her eyes. “Did I meet you somewhere before…?”
“Ohhhh.” Nehn gets closer to her with steady, quick, brief steps. “You are the Seeker!”
Cassandra barely holds back a groan and nods with a heavy sigh.
“Yes, I am Seeker Pentaghast.” It sounds like she repeated those words countless times before. “And you are…?”
“Nehn of clan Lavellan. And this is my husband, Athim of clan Lavellan.” Athim steps beside his wife, who links their arms together and beams at Cassandra.
It takes her only a moment to realize who is standing before her; she drops her sword with a surprised gasp and desperately tries to greet them decently.
“Oh, I… I am sorry! I wasn’t expecting… I didn’t know… You are the Inquisitor’s…!”
“Her parents, yes. And you are one of her companions who helped establish the Inquisition.” Athim’s frown softens a bit. “Scarlet said you are a dear friend.”
“I… I am glad to hear that.” Cassandra wrings and tortures her hands, pulling at her gloves, not to remove them, but to simply have something to touch and twist, blushing ferociously. “She is a great woman, worthy of respect. I admit things were chaotic at first, but…”
“Oh, right! You are the one who detained her!” Nehn exclaims, giggling when the poor human groans and hides her face behind her hand, looking down. “Don’t worry about that! Everything was made clear in the end and look at what happened after that.”
Cassandra still looks like she wants to dig a hole and remain there forever, but she manages to smile and says: “Thank you, my lady.”
“Please, keep taking care of our daughter.” Nehn continues, now serious and worried like the mother she is. “She is very reckless in battle, isn’t she? She is a rogue, but she loves going where most of the fight is.”
“That’s… true.” Cassandra admits, shifting her weight on her feet. “But she is also very competent and knows how to defend herself.”
Both parents smile with pride and start asking more questions about their daughter: does she eat enough? Does the cold weather bother her and make her fall ill easily? Do the other humans treat her badly even if she is so important?
“She is the friggin’ Inquisitor!” Sera shouts from her window. “Only the bad guys and the ones who don’t like her call her ugly names!”
“I assure you there have been no problems with her health either.” Cassandra adds. “The Inquisitor asks for very little and never requests expensive food or clothes, but she is constantly tended to.”
“This is all so beautiful.” Nehn murmurs, looking around with a content, reassured smile. “I never dreamed my child would live such a life, assisted by all these people and living in a… in a true house.”
Bull, Krem, and Cassandra smile at the couple as they admire what her daughter has built in so little time: an organization that willingly follows her order and respects her, an army ready to die for her, friends who love and respect her.
It means so, so much because she is only a young Dalish woman who grew up among aravels and trees, far from the rest of the world, an elf in a world controlled by humans and Chantry zealots.
The pride and joy in her parents’ eyes shine and is visible to anyone. Nehn dries her eyes and asks, voice thick with emotion, where Scarlet is, but Cassandra doesn’t know either.
“The last time I saw her she was in the undercroft.” she mumbles, then suggests the couple to enter the stronghold without hesitation.
“She is probably inside and as soon as she will hear you are here, she will find you.” the Seeker smiles and with that the two parents head to the fortress, making sure to say goodbye to Bull, Krem, and Sera too.
The Qunari hug them again - and Athim is sure at least three bones of his back are broken -, Krem shake their hands, while Sera refuses to get down and hides back in her room, mumbling an excuse about sharpening her arrows.
“I like them! They are kind and they all love our da’adahl.” Nehn says as they go up the stairs leading to the main entrance. She helps Athim climb them one step at a time, stopping with him when his leg hurts too much and he needs to rest.
“I am more concerned about this Solas, to be honest. We should have asked information about him.” he grumbles, but calms down and sighs when his wife laughs and strokes his cheek.
“Scarlet spoke highly of him and I trust her decision.” she says. “I am sure he is a wonderful, trustworthy person too.”
“You know how people are when they are in love.” Athim glances up at the balcony above their heads, distracted by a sudden movement there.
There is a woman with dark skin and silver clothes observing the courtyard, a glass in her hand, but then she gets inside and the distraction from his glum thoughts ends.
“And you know how our daughter is, so romantic and kind!” he continues, grimacing as they continue to climb the stairs. “She must be head over heels in love and I want to be sure that man loves her the same way.”
“He does. I am sure he does.” Nehn lets him lean on her, her smile fond, and she kisses him when they reach the final step. “If she loves him so much, there must be good reasons. So stop worrying and give him a chance!”
“Only if he deserves it.” Athim mumbles, but cracks another smile as he hears his wife laugh and she squeezes his hand.
“Don’t be such a grumpy, vhenan. You know it doesn’t fit your big heart. Now, where should we go?”
They are in the hall, vast and majestic, its high ceiling and frosted glass windows giving them the impression of being in a temple.
They never stepped into a building like this before - they never stepped into a building in the first place - and the cold stones and rich carpets under their bare feet, the golden pieces of mosaics on the walls, the long tables filled with food and drinks shock and confuse them.
It’s no wonder their daughter always sends boxes of food and herbs to the clan, enchanted so that nothing gets spoiled during the long journey. It’s no wonder she can often send them warm blankets and clothes for the cold nights, better weapons and armors, precious books for Keeper Deshanna.
Nehn has to dry her tears again, because knowing their daughter can live like this, surrounded by good food and warmth every day, melts her mother’s heart.
Athim swallows the lump of happy tears that is growing in his throat and wraps his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.
“There, vhenan.” he whispers as she sniffles and cries a little. “Calm yourself.”
“You’re right. After all this time, I don’t want her to see me cry.” Nehn rubs her eyes and her smile is punctually back on her lips as she smiles up at her husband.
Someone near them clears his throat and Athim’s scowl returns.
A dwarf with a voluminous chest hair is offering them two mugs with a kind smirk.
“Skyhold is always an impressive sight for everyone who enters it the first time.” he admits, sitting back at his desk in front of a roaring fireplace. “I saw many people stand there where you are, completely awestruck.”
“What is this?” Athim asks, sniffing the drink inside the mug. “Wait, is this ale? I heard about it, but the merchants our clan encountered never sold it.”
“Oh, ale! I always wondered how it was!” Nehn thanks the dwarf with a huge smile, a nod of her head, then takes a sip. She shivers and yelps after swallowing the bubbly, rich-flavored drink.
“Creators, it’s so strong!”
“Heh, it has that effect on people who never drank it before.” the dwarf chuckles when Athim makes a similar face and quietly puts the mug back on the table. “It’s an acquired taste, I guess! But I am sure you would get used to it in no time.”
“I saw you before, messer dwarf.” the elven man says, eyeing him in a manner that could be considered suspicious, but it’s really not. He is just trying to focus and remember, but the dwarf seems a bit worried and even leans back on his chair when the elf walks around the table.
“Of course!” Athim exclaims in the end. “Nehn, Nehn, look at him! Isn’t he Varric Tethras?”
“Ooooh! He is!”
She scrambles to get in front of the dwarf and observes him carefully. She gasps as she notices his resemblance with the back cover of most of his books.
“Everyone in our clan read your Tale of the Champion! It’s an honor, messer Tethras!”
“Oh boy.” Varric shuffles awkwardly on his seat, giving them a lopsided, bashful smile. “I wasn’t expecting to be famous even among Dalish clans.” He narrows his eyes and it’s his turn now to concentrate and try to remember. “Did we meet before? I usually remember all the faces I see, but…”
“Our daughter told us you were here as well, but we didn’t imagine to meet you like this.” Athim replies and this time his smile is a bit bigger than the previous ones.
“We are from clan Lavellan. Scarlet’s parents.” Nehn explains, her smile as big and radiant as ever, and Varric curses and gets down his chair.
“Andraste’s ass, I didn’t know! I’m sorry, I… I would have offered you something better than ale if I knew!”
“It is no problem, it’s delicious!” Nehn hurries to reassure him. She continues to take small sips and Athim kindly reminds her she isn’t used to drinking alcohol.
“You’re right, I should probably stop before I get too drunk to speak with Scarlet.” She takes one final gulp, though, and places the half-empty mug back on the table, grinning at her husband. “What? I didn’t finish it!”
“Maker’s breath, now I understand why I felt like that when I first saw you.” Varric chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, consider me at your complete service, messer and lady Lavellan. Ask and Varric Tethras will do his best to help you in any way he can.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Athim’s small-but-bigger-than-the-others smile is back on his face: the little scars on his skin move together with the vallaslin, dancing on his flesh, and two dimples - identical to his daughter’s - appear on his cheeks.
Nehn has just opened her mouth to explain to Varric what their problem is when the door next to the fireplace opens and a tall human man, dressed in rich robes, steps into the hall.
“Varric, here you are!” he exclaims, scrunching up his nose. He sounds annoyed and utterly disgusted. “This book you gave me is atrocious and… oh?”
The man blinks at the unusual sight of two unknown Dalish elves standing near the dwarf’s table and curls his beautiful mustache.
“Are these new friends of yours, Varric?” he asks, then bows his head, smiling at Nehn. But he jumps out of his skin when she gasps and gets closer, her small body a few inches from is.
“Creators!” she murmurs in awe. “I know who you are!”
“It is so relieving to hear my reputation precedes me.” the man replies flatly, glancing above the elven woman’s head… and only then he notices Athim’s glare. “Maker’s breath! What is this about?”
“Please, wait a minute! I want to be sure to pronounce your name correctly!” Nehn rummages inside her bag once again, while Athim patiently keeps it open for her.
Meanwhile Dorian shoots a worried, panicked look to Varric, demanding to know what’s happening, but the dwarf snickers behind his hand and refuses to cooperate.
“Here it is!” the elven lady cheers, raising the letter like a trophy. “Let’s see… ‘I found my best friend in Dorian Pavus, an Altus from Tevinter. He has been through much, but he has always been here for me. I love him dearly.’ This is you, right? She describes you two paragraphs below!”
Dorian blinks, unable to find a proper answer. He stares at the couple in front of him, mouth open, and can only nod slowly, too disconcerted to speak.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you too, messer Dorian! We’ve been encountering many of Scarlet’s friends since we arrived, you know?”
“I…” Dorian slowly walks over to a chair, scraping it on the floor to sit in front of the hearth. “I need to sit down.”
The two elves hurriedly pushes one of the mugs left on the table into his hands.
“Drink, da’len.” Athim tells him with a paternal voice, nodding solemnly, while Nehn offers him a warm smile.
He feels overwhelmed and sniffles, eliciting a fit of giggles from Varric.
“I wasn’t expecting to meet Scarlet’s parents like this!” he admits, ignoring the dwarf with all the patience he can muster. “She never said anything! She didn’t told us you were coming!”
“She doesn’t know we are here. We wanted to surprise her.” Nehn explains and Dorian’s expression softens, turning into a kind, suave smile. He gets up, the initial shock already gone, and places the mug back on the table to better take her hand and hold it in his. He pats it and strokes the back of it affectionately.
“Forgive my terrible manners. I am Dorian of House Pavus, here to help the Inquisition and its wonderful leader. It’s an honor, my lady.” he kisses her hand and smiles at Athim while Nehn giggles, flustered by the Altus’ smooth demeanor. “Pleased to meet you too, sir.”
He reaches for the elf, but Athim keeps looking at him, golden eyes drilling a hole into his, and ignores his hand.
“A man from Tevinter.” he says, without disgust, without malice. He is just repeating what he already knows to weigh that fact, to ponder over it. “A man from the country that destroyed and enslaved the People.”
“You are not putting me under the best light, my good man.” Dorian jokes, hoping to add some levity into the conversation. He keeps offering his open hand. “I never claimed that the Imperium is perfect. It needs restoration, it needs to change. In fact, I am here also to help with that.”
“You are?” Athim still doesn’t move a muscle, except for the ones of his face. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“With patience, a generous dose of stubbornness, and lots of shouting.” Dorian smirks, but his voice is sincere and his eyes honest. “Also Corypheus’ defeat will be a good way to convince the Imperium that nothing good comes from those ancient times and zealotry.”
“Mh.” the elf’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, but not a grimace either. Nehn holds her breath, one of her small, calloused hands resting on her husband’s arm to calm him down. He looks somewhat satisfied.
Finally, he sighs and shakes the Altus’ hand, making him grin.
“If my daughter trusts you, then I will do the same.”
“Wise man, just like Scarlet! We are all lucky to have her.”
“Indeed we are.” an elegant voice comments and the two elves see a beautiful woman - the same who was up in the balcony - smile at them with politeness. She bends one knee gracefully, not a bow nor curtsies, then reaches for Nehn.
“Madame Lavellan, you cannot imagine how happy I am to see you. The Inquisitor speaks highly of her parents and clan and I was wondering when we would have finally met.”
“You must be Lady Vivienne.” Nehn realizes. She takes her hand, but mistakes the gesture for the same one she repeated with the other companions, so she shakes it up and down without hesitation. “I am very pleased to meet you too! This is Athim, my husband.”
If shaking hands like that disturbed her, Vivienne doesn’t show it; instead she looks rather amused and accepts the elf’s stern nod without batting an eye.
“I see our Scarlet mentioned everyone in her letter.” she says, tapping the long, painted nail of her index finger against her chin. “Such a sweet girl.”
“Oh, yes! She described everyone and everything, but we could have never imagined the Inquisition to be like this.” Nehn looks up at the high ceiling, a hand on her chest, the other grasping her husband’s. “This is all so new and fascinating for us. We never saw anything like this in our lives. And to think that our daughter lives here…!”
“Speaking of everyone…” Athim starts, focusing primarily on Dorian, since he has been officially elected Scarlet’s best friend. “Our daughter wrote entire pages about a certain Solas. Which seems to be her boyfriend. She calls him vhenan in the letter too.”
Varric curses and turns towards the fire, refusing to face the elven couple. He even partially hides his face behind his hand.
Vivienne shows her smile, instead, but she refuses to lock eyes with Athim as well.
So only Dorian remains and he clears his throat, showing the best, brightest smile his lips can form while trying to think of a good reply. He knows he’s charming as usual - obviously -, but it doesn’t seem to have a particularly positive effect on Athim.
His frown deepens, in fact, and he continues, even ignoring his wife’s hand tugging at his clothes to make him stop: “What is this man like? Scarlet only mentioned the good things, of course. The pages oozed love and adoration, but…”
“It’s not polite to ask them, Athim!” Nehn protests, putting her hands on her hips and making a very serious and stern face. It’s not particularly intimidating, though.
“I just want to know more about him!”
“Well, then we should just find him and talk with him! That’s how you learn more about a person!”
Athim huffs, folds his arms and pouts.
“They are external sources. They might give us more useful, unbiased information before…”
“Unbiased? Hah!” Varric snorts, turning back to them. “We are Scarlet and Chuckles’ friends too! You won’t hear anything unbiased from us!”
“… Chuckles?”
“One thing you must know about our darling author is that he loves nicknames.” Vivienne dryly explains, before smiling again. “However, he is right. We all approve of their relationship, but if you want to know more about Solas in general, then you will receive very confusing and various opinions.”
“Messer Tethras calls him ‘Chuckles’.” Nehn timidly points out, wide-eyed, and for a moment she really looks like her daughter. “Is it because he laughs a lot?”
“Huh…”
“Well…”
“Great.” Athim grumbles, rolling his eyes. “So he is the cold type.”
“Hey, now! We didn’t say that!” Varric intervenes, defending his nickname choices. “He does laugh when he wants to! He is also quite witty and snarky when the occasion arises.”
“He laughs more since he got together with your daughter.” Dorian confirms and Vivienne’s smile is bigger than before as she adds: “He doesn’t share much his smiles with the rest of us, but the Inquisitor is the one who sees them all.”
“That’s so sweet.” Nehn sighs, clasping her hands, and her next words makes her husband scoff: “I already like him, vhenan!”
“Let us meet him first.” Athim grumbles, then focuses back on Dorian: “Is it true he is older than her? How much older, exactly?”
“Now, now, dear man. Age is barely an important matter, when both parties are of legal age and they consent to the relationship.” Vivienne candidly intervenes, but she only manages to terrify Athim more.
“Creators, that much?” the poor man shrieks and Nehn cannot hide her surprise too. “Scarlet didn’t say it clearly in her letter, but we thought it couldn’t be more than five years!”
“Hah!” Varric almost chokes on his ale, while Dorian bravely thinks of something clever to say. Athim looks on the verge of a breakdown, cheeks flushed red.
“He is much older than Scarlet, that is true.” the Altus slowly starts, choosing carefully his words. “But we all can assure you that he is not interested in your daughter because of her young age or good looks. Well, he likes her assets, everyone can see that…”
“… but he also loves her kindness and brilliant mind.” Vivienne concludes, suddenly serious, shooting Dorian a heated glare. “So fear not. He is not a cradle robber nor a degenerate.”
Nehn and Athim exchange a look and she smiles, cheerful and hopeful again.
“See?” she says. “He doesn’t sound that bad!”
Athim’s only answer is a deep growl.
“Perhaps you should really meet him before judging.” Dorian giggles, moving away from the table to stand beside Vivienne. “He should still be in the rotunda - this door right here. In the meantime, I’ll go warn our spymaster of your arrival.”
“And I will go to Josephine. The poor girl is going to have a heartattack.” Vivienne smirks, visibly enjoying the idea of being the first to give the Ambassador the news about the Inquisitor’s parents.
“Let me know how things go in there!” Varric hurries to say before Athim can open the door. “I have to add this in one of my next books!”
Before Nehn can ask more about his future story, Athim gently - but firmly - pushes her into the corridor and closes the door behind them.
They can see a rotunda at the end of the short tunnel, but it looks odd, colorful. Nehn tilts her head and squints her eyes.
“Are those... frescoes on the walls?” Realization hits her and she points at her bag, beaming at her frowning husband: “Scarlet said Solas loves painting and that he was working on a huge project! He must have made those frescoes!”
“At least he has talent for something.”
His wife swats his chest and he grumbles: “What else did she say? That he is some sort of Fade expert?”
“Yes and that he is a wise and intelligent man.” she swats him again when he hisses a bad word. “Athim! Will you stop being so insufferable?”
“The Beyond is a dangerous place for everyone and he is a mage. Creators only know in what kind of trouble he could get into.” he stares at Nehn and grabs her arm. “In what kind of trouble he could drag our daughter into!”
“He survived this long, didn’t he? And if he is truly so wise and educated, then there will be no problems.” She sighs and cups his cheek, smiling when he leans into the touch. “Stop worrying so much and let’s go meet him.”
“… Why are we whispering anyway?”
“Because I heard voices coming from there.”
They walk on their tip-toes through the short tunnel until they reach the rotunda; hiding in the shadows, they are able to see someone at the other side of the room, near a desk placed against the painted wall.
Their daughter, with her red hair, red cheeks, and smiling mouth, is sitting on it and her hands are cradling the face of a tall, bald elf that is standing in front of her. He says something they can’t hear and she giggles as he leans in to kiss her.
Athim fists his hands and breathes deeply through his nose, trying to compose himself. Next to him, Nehn observes the scene without saying a word, studying the way the tall elf speaks and touches their daughter.
First, he kisses her nose, her forehead, then her lips, all while whispering things that make her smile and laugh. Then he takes her right hand and presses it on his heart while listening to her; she seems very enthusiastic about something, maybe a topic that is dear to her, and he listens carefully, asking questions and engaging her in a long conversation that obviously makes them both happy and intrigues them.
He is older than her, that cannot be denied. He has probably their same age and he does not look exactly charming, at least not from this distance. He is tall, though, and lean, his shoulders are broader than those of any other elf they know and there are grace and elegance in his gestures, in the way he moves and speaks.
Nehn smiles. She likes him so far.
She glances up at her husband and sees him glaring at the bald elf with all his might; he probably wishes he was a mage to set him on fire, but he looks less upset than she feared. He must have noticed good qualities in that man as well.
They hear Scarlet laugh and Solas does too, before squishing her cheeks and kissing her pursed lips. She locks her ankles behind his waist and strokes his bald head; after they break the kiss, she resumes talking, while fixing his sweater and its collar. He presses small kisses on her head every few seconds.
“I think it’s time to announce ourselves, vhenan.” Nehn says and Athim agrees with a grunt.
They step into the warm light of the rotunda and Athim clears his throat loudly. Solas and Scarlet gasp, startled, and turn abruptly towards the new guests.
He frowns, wondering who they are and what they want, but his eyes widen as Scarlet lets out a strangled noise of surprise and jumps off the desk.
“Mamae!” she says, tears in her eyes, as she runs to them. “Papae!”
“Da’adahl!” Athim shouts, a huge, bright smile splitting his face in half, and Nehn laughs and opens wide her arms to hug their daughter.