The Emerald Lake
He watched her eat, resolve flowing through him. She would be his; she would want to be by his side. No more hesitation or confusion—only planning and forward motion.
When she had her fill, the food disappeared. A dense grey and black mist rose, and when it dissipated, he was the gigantic black serpent. He spoke to her, his voice deep, ethereal, and fascinating to her ear.
"The food will be ready for you whenever you need more. Just tell me, and I will bring it back to you."
They moved through the valley, talking and laughing. Ardyn quickly became used to his way of speaking, and conversation came easy to them both.
As they traveled, she could not help but think how different and insignificant she was in comparison to him. What could she do to match his magic? What could she offer to match his wealth? The thoughts stirred a darkness within her as she began to question her worth. What could she bring to him to match what he gave her?
They were in a rare moment of silence, lost in stray thoughts, when a small sound from her brought Varric back. Just as he was about to speak, his eyes went wide. 'Why had he brought her here?!' His confusion deepened as he looked ahead. Ardyn did not notice; she was already leaning toward the scene that had truly taken her breath away. If she died now, she believed, within this moment, that she had truly lived. The scene before her opened up as a broad, fantastical, impossible thing.
A wide, almost perfectly round emerald-green lake, surrounded by tall lilac grasses and swaying lilac and grey cattail-shaped plants. The grasses were in a thick band around the wide, quiet lake, and they seemed inviting.
Varric looked forward in a daze.
Mists formed around them, and when it was done, he stood with Ardyn in his arms, her arms around his neck and her face buried in his chest. She shivered against him, and he admonished himself.
"I am so sorry, Ardyn. I was startled, and I shifted without thinking."
"What just happened? Do you go to that place every time you shift?"
The concern in her voice melted something within him, and he almost forgot that he had brought her to his favorite spot in all the world, the reason why he chose this valley and took it for his own—his place to think, to understand, and to calm himself. Only Elsa knew of it, and that was only because she was a powerful old witch, and he couldn't keep it from her. His heart jumped in his chest, his mouth went dry, and it seemed like his soul twirled within him. He was caught between his personal refuge and the concern of his love.
He gently kissed her forehead and placed her on the ground. "It is nothing to me because it is the place of my birth. For you, it is cold, dark, and foreboding. I am sorry for exposing you to it like that."
His heart twisted, and his tail seemed to drop and then move to curl around him. She smiled and kissed his cheek and moved toward the lilac grass. His instinct was to stop her and whisk her away, but he stopped, frozen in tactile sensation as she walked by him and allowed her soft hands to glide down and across his tail. His body twitched as his mouth went dry. He had never felt anything like it before, and he allowed himself a moment to be submerged. It was like brilliant sun on scales left in the shade far too long, and he loved it.
The primal shock of her touch was followed by a profound, unfamiliar calm. Varric realized, with the clarity of a newly-struck bell, that this was what he had been missing for centuries: not power, not silence, but this effortless connection. His massive serpent-heart, usually a cold, calculating engine of ambition, now felt a gentle, insistent beat—a rhythm set by her small, warm hand. The world, which had always been a thing to dominate, suddenly felt like a place to share. He didn't just want her; he needed the light she unknowingly cast.
His eyes slowly opened to find her drifting through the grasses, like a beautiful sprite walking within a corporeal plane. Her long, pale hair and soft, pale skin seemed to blend seamlessly into the tall grasses as it all kissed and created a cohesive beauty that was like an expressive work of art to his ancient, deprived eyes.
Even if he wanted to speak, he was sure he could not. His mouth was dry and seemed raw, and thoughts eluded him. The entire time, his eyes were fixed on her, finding the quiet, raw beauty that his senses had picked up on but that his eyes had missed.
The air here was heavy and sweet, laden with the perfume of crushed lilac grasses and the deep, earthy mineral scent of the still water. Tiny motes of bright lilac dust—pollen from the strange, cattail-shaped plants—drifted on the light breeze, catching the unseen glow of the sky. This pond was a nexus of subtle, raw magic, the kind that calmed the wildness in his blood. Yet, the greatest shift was not in the valley, but in him. The sight of Ardyn, small and radiant against the ancient stone and verdant gloom, was a more powerful magic than any he had ever commanded.
She moved forward in joy and beauty, and it was a feast for the eyes. Finally, his mind clicked, and he found his voice. She was nearing the water and sat on the shore, her feet placed just out of reach of the gently lapping waters.
She looked back at him, a huge smile on her lips and in her eyes. She rose quickly, and as she ran back to him, he was lost in the movement of her petite, soft body. She reached for him. Her body still immersed in the lilac grass, her pale, soft arms reaching out to grab him. He closed his eyes as those soft fingers wrapped around him and tugged him forward. He allowed her to take him, her soft, lyrical voice causing him to believe that everything would forever be okay.
She sat on the ground before those emerald waters, tugged him down beside her, and then leaned into his side, her arms wrapped around his right arm as she gazed out at the calm waters. He inhaled deeply, lilacs flooding his systems in different degrees. His heart warmed and twisted all in the same motion.
In that shared silence, with the scent of lilac and cool water surrounding them, he felt the weight of his long existence begin to lift. Her small, solid weight against his side was an anchor he hadn't known he needed. He looked down at the pale hand resting on his arm—a hand that had so fearlessly caressed his scales—and a rush of overwhelming, protective tenderness washed over him. His solitude was broken, and he found he did not mourn it. He gently rested his massive head atop hers, letting his breath mingle with the evening air.
This was now theirs. He felt the surety of it rise within his being. It would always be theirs together, and she would give it new meaning. This was a step; this was forward motion; this was growing together.