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Sigrun's never given a gift before.
To be fair, until Varlan, she's never had a reason to, and then the bastard had gone and died before she'd ever gotten a chance to try. Stupid of him, really. And before Varlan, she'd spent most of her material possessions energy either keeping track of her own shit or lifting things from other people's pockets. But now she's not in Dust Town anymore. She even has her own room, her own windowsill where she can collect the things people have given her. The Warden-Commander had given her something called a snow globe for Satinalia last winter, and she's developed an evening ritual of swirling the flakes around in the glass and watching them settle gently by candlelight before turning in for the night.
And it isn't that she's required to give anyone anything; it's just that, well, according to Nathaniel, giving gifts to someone on a special occasion can sometimes mean you like them in a way that's slightly more than the way you like a friend. Which makes sense when she rolls it around in her mind. It actually feels ridiculously obvious, but Sigrun doesn't have much time to dwell on that, because Velanna's birthday is tomorrow.
And, to her endless chagrin, nobody can seem to agree on what the right gift would be.
"You can't go wrong with flowers," Nathaniel says sagely. He hands her a booklet. "Here, you can borrow this helpful guide to their meanings."
He looks so endearingly hopeful for her that she can't bring herself to tell him she never learned to read. "Thanks, buddy," she says with an amicable pat on his arm. "I owe ya one."
She tries Anders next. It takes her three hours to track him down, and he's currently curled up in the kitchen watching his cat make mince pie out of an expensive looking wheel of cheese.
"I found it like this," he blurts out with both hands in the air.
"That's nice," Sigrun says. "I need a gift for Velanna's birthday tomorrow."
"Have you tried jewelry?" Anders offers helpfully. He winces when the cat skitters up the front of his robes and wedges sharp claws into his shoulder. "Pounce, no. I snuck you down here for cheese, not human flesh."
"I thought you said you found it like this," Sigrun says suspiciously.
Anders studiously ignores that and purses his lips with a thoughtful expression as he lifts the cat from his chest and plops it back down on the cheese with a grunt. "Maybe something with human bones in it. I think she would appreciate that gesture."
Sigrun isn't entirely sure if he's being serious or making a joke, but she also doesn't know if she has the time to both acquire human bones and then make something out of them. "Thanks anyway," she says.
"You won't tell the Commander about the cheese, will you?"
Sigrun is already halfway through the door. "What cheese?" she says cheerfully.
She takes three steps down the hall and runs headfirst into Commander Tabris rounding the corner. "Hey, Commander," Sigrun says. "Tomorrow is Velanna's birthday—"
"Do NOT give her chocolate," Tabris says immediately. Sigrun has never seen her so stern.
"Uh, okay. Why?"
"Just trust me."
Sure. Sigrun can do that. This is clearly something that is none of her business.
"Oh," Tabris adds. "Have you seen Anders?"
"Nope." Sigrun points down the hall towards the stairs. "Have you checked the library?" She's not the greatest liar in the world, but she's definitely not a snitch.
She wasn't planning on asking Justice — who seems about as up to date on gift-giving as she is — but he finds her on her way to the training yard to look for Oghren.
"I have been thinking about what you said," he rumbles.
"Yeah?"
Sigrun actually has no idea what she said. She says a lot of things, and a solid majority of those things are complete bullshit.
"You spoke of reciprocity. An ... eye for an eye, I believe. You said this is not always just."
She has no recollection of this conversation, but she has learned over the course of the last month that a corpse can hold significantly more liquor than her. She nods sagely and tries to pretend like she knows what the fuck he's talking about. "What are, uh, your thoughts?" she asks finally.
"I have decided not to visit retribution upon Anders' cat for defecating on my boots."
"Oh." She isn't entirely sure what to say to that one. "That's ... probably wise."
"I have instead decided to find Anders and demand he rectify the situation. Have you seen him?"
Snitching is a bad thing to do. She's a bad, bad person.
"Yep! He's in the kitchen!" she says cheerfully. Besides, it was the Commander she'd promised not to tell, and anyway, someone's bound to get an entertaining story out of this later. She's really doing the whole keep a favor. "Hey," she calls after him. "What should I get Velanna for her birthday?"
"Does Velanna find value in such a ritual?" Justice asks in return.
That gives Sigrun pause. Shit, what if Velanna is the sort of person who hates birthdays on principle? She scratches at her chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure," she says finally.
"Best of luck on your endeavor," Justice says as she waves goodbye and makes a beeline for the wine cellar.
Sweet guy, really. People should give him more of a chance, she thinks as she reaches the cellar door and yanks it open.
Being down here makes her equal parts antsy and nostalgic. The windowless stone walls remind her of home, albeit without the acrid stench of piss and shit rising up from haphazardly dug trenches. Torches flicker along the stairwell instead of the consistent glow of an endless expanse of magma beneath her feet.
Everyone assumes Oghren only spends so much time here for the casks, but Sigrun knows better. The ale isn't the only draw when the sky outside yawns up into an endless and terrifying blue abyss.
He spots her before she spots him, back to the wall as he lounges carelessly on the floor in the corner next to a tapped keg, mug in hand. "Come down here for ideas on what to get your lady elf for her birthday tomorrow?" he grunts.
"How did you know—" she begins.
Oghren thrusts a second mug into her hands and pats the floor with a throaty chuckle. "Old Oghren hears things.
"What things?"
"Eh." He waves his drink with a shrug. "Don't worry about it. Listen, I have the best idea." He rummages around in his pocket and pulls out two rocks, one painted a garish shade of pink. "Give her these."
Sigrun has questions. She has so many questions that they're all fighting for space in her mouth.
"...what?" is the only one that makes it out.
"She'll know."
Sigrun opens her mouth, then closes it again. "Well, uh. Thanks," she says as she drains the rest of her ale. She shoves the rocks into her pocket and leaves the cellar with a sigh.
It's not that her friends are useless, she swears.
Really, they aren't.
The clock in the Great Hall chimes three hours into the early morning when Sigrun finds herself pacing the rug in the common room. The fire has dwindled down to faintly glowing coals, but she doesn't really care enough to stoke it againm because she's currently far too preoccupied thinking about Nathaniel's book of flower meanings, Oghren's weird rocks, and Velanna's ... smile? Smile isn't really the right word, because whenever Velanna smiles her face pinches weird like she's just bitten into something unpleasant, and honestly Sigrun sort of understands why she doesn't do it more often. It's not like there's a lot in this life to smile about, and maybe her own way of coping is to make light of everything that crosses her path, but Velanna isn't like that.
Sigrun likes Velanna's smile anyway. It isn't in Velanna's nature to force one, which means every time she does smile, pained as it might look, it's a genuine one, and that probably means a lot more than her own tendency to laugh in the face of terrible things.
There are actually a lot of things Sigrun likes about Velanna that she hasn't quite had the presence of mind to categorize. The way her rare laugh is less of a laugh and more of an unrestrained honk. The way her ears twitch with her emotions, and how the tips flush pink along with her cheeks when she blushes. Sigrun's fascinated by the way she fights; there's something about watching someone rip roots from the ground to command them with her mind that's indescribably attractive. She's never seen so many plants before in her life until she came to the surface, but Velanna seems to know them all, their names, their uses, their—
Actually, flowers would probably have been a bad idea anyway. Sigrun imagines Velanna's reactions to flowers bearing human meanings and winces at the mental image. She sighs and flips through the book with a scowl. The pictures are pretty, at least.
"What are you still doing up?"
Sigrun almost falls off the couch at the sound of Velanna's voice. "Hey! Um. What are you doing here?" She swipes the book off of the coffee table and jams it into the couch cushions, but the rocks are just out of her reach, and she watches in horror as Velanna picks them up and inspects them curiously.
"...huh," she says finally. "Baby dwarves."
Whatever Sigrun could have expected to come out of Velanna's mouth, that isn't it. "What?" she manages when she finally picks her jaw up off of the floor.
Velanna blinks, then scowls. "I knew it! That slimy foul-breathed toadstool! 'Pink rocks are girls, grey ones are boys.' Ugh, and I almost believed him!"
"Who? Oghren?" Sigrun stares at the rocks and bursts into uncontrollable cackling. "You believed Oghren??"
Velanna's expression only grows darker, suspicion unfolding across her face like storm clouds. "Why do you have these?"
Sigrun sighs. "I was trying to find you a birthday present—"
"And you thought to collude with Oghren to humiliate me?"
"No!" For the first time since this ordeal began, Sigrun panics. Ancestors, she is going to kill Oghren. "I ... listen, I wanted to get you something, but I didn't know what, and I asked everyone but nothing was right, and I know you probably don't think it's such a big deal, but it was really important to me because I like you, okay? And I thought maybe if I got you something, you might ... like me too?" Sigrun shakes her head and groans, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. "This was a bad idea."
Velanna only stares. "You ... like me?" she says slowly, and maybe under the confusion there's a little bit of disbelief there that makes Sigrun's chest ache a little. "You would consider me a friend?"
"Or more than--" Sigrun averts her eyes and suddenly becomes very interested in the carpet, because crap, those words were not supposed to come out all on their own. She forces herself to her feet. "Never mind, I — yeah. Friends. I ... think I'm just going to go back to bed and pretend none of this happened in the morning--"
A sharp tug on her sleeve yanks her back to the couch, and before she can register what's happening, Velanna's dragged her in and planted an awkward kiss on her lips. And then as quickly as she'd done it, she pulls away and clears her throat. "I hope that is what you intended at least. I do not think I can handle being made a fool of twice in one hour."
Sigrun doesn't know what to say at first. She's afraid if she opens her mouth, the fleeting beauty of a moment like this will fall to piece and disappear forever. But there's Velanna, perched on the couch beside her, looking more hesitantly hopeful than Sigrun would ever have guessed her capable. "Yeah," Sigrun says finally. "That's — yeah, that's exactly what I meant. Uh." She swipes her fingers through her hair with a nervous laugh, suddenly incredibly self-conscious. "Happy birthday, Velanna."
Sigrun's kissed people before, but she doesn't think anyone's ever kissed her back the way Velanna does, soft hands, softer sighs, arms circled around her shoulders like something valuable, something precious and worth holding onto. This close, Sigrun can smell the spices from her tea and the sweetness of freshly turned earth. She wants this, wants it more than anything else she's ever wanted in her life. She wants to unwrap all of Velanna's mysteries, to count the freckles that dot her cheeks, to be the reason she smiles that adorably pained smile that means so much more to Sigrun than she'd ever thought possible.
She's still going to throttle Oghren. But maybe she'll thank him first.