Chapter Text
“Cold, hard, a chill more than ice to cut through joy and love. The clank of armor and no goodbye. They didn’t let you have Charger.”
“Hello, Cole.” Nyssa Aurelia Trevelyan, formerly of the Ostwick Circle of Magi and now the leader of the Inquisition, looked up from her drink. The woman pushed her wavy chestnut hair back behind an ear, her hazel eyes hooded. She was sitting on the upper level of the tavern in a corner by herself – or at least, she had been by herself. As far as she knew, Cole had never felt the need to come down from his attic sanctum before now.
She mustn’t be drunk enough to drown her feelings yet. Lucky her.
“You wanted to make her happy. Shining like diamonds, perfect ruby gems….”
“Cole,” she said quietly.
“You hurt,” he explained.
“I know. This one you can’t help with.” She picked up the bottle and walked past him, heading carefully up the stairs to the battlements, wrapping her dignity around herself like a cloak.
He watched her through the lank fringe of blond hair. “I did that wrong,” he murmured to himself, and disappeared.
Nyssa was sitting on the battlements overlooking the garden when Varric walked over, puffing slightly. “Never seen such a place for stairs,” he muttered. “You might keep to lower elevations if the kid’s going to run and tell me you need to be helped.”
“Varric.” She passed him the bottle.
He sniffed it, his nose wrinkling, and then took a swig. “Gwaren whiskey. I guess the kid was right to come get me.” He sat beside her. “Something on your mind?”
Nyssa turned, to look at him, and said quietly, “Many things. But I guess this once I can tell a story to the storyteller….”
Nyssa was bored.
Her mother and father were throwing another party, so the whole house was being turned upside down -- servants cleaning and polishing, running and fetching. Even her governess had been commandeered to help her brothers Aisley and Matthew with all the last minute tailoring fixes necessary for formal dress.
Nyssa had been abandoned in her room, and told not to leave it until her governess came back. Her room was boring though -- books and toys she had no interest in at the moment because they were all quiet things and Nyssa was many things but quiet and demure were not any of them.
It had been easy enough for the six year old girl to slip out of the large doors in her room that led into her mother's rose garden. It had a high, ornate wrought-iron fence and a tall hedge on the inside of that -- for security and privacy. No one really cared if she got out into the rose garden because it was safe -- and mother only scolded if she hurt the roses. Mother never seemed to mind when the roses hurt her first, though.
She was running around in the garden, just for the sheer joy of being outside. She ran towards the fishpond first. The fish were so pretty and they liked to come up and beg for food. Nyssa didn't have any food but she knew they'd come up for her anyway and....
She tripped.
He foot caught in the hem of her dress, and she saw she was falling into the pond, and mother would be furious that she'd gotten wet and dirty, and Nyssa cried out, closing her eyes and throwing her arms in front of her face....
And landed on something cold and solid.
A few moments later, she gathered the courage to open her eyes.
One of the fish was right below her, bumping against -- ice? Was it ice separating them? It was!
Nyssa got up carefully and backed off the pond. Her hands felt cold, and put them flat on a stone bench that was sitting in the sun to warm them.
The bench crackled, and a sheet of ice formed around it.
Nyssa looked at her hands, then looked at the bench. Then carefully, she turned and touched one of her mother's roses.
"Look mama!" Nyssa had laughed and called, "Look! Come in the garden! See what I did!" She clapped her hands and jumped up and down in joyful pride. "Look! I made them prettier!"
The garden twinkled and shone in the summer sun -- every single bloom of rose encased in crystal-clear ice. As her parents stood at the entrance to the garden stock still, surveying what she had done, a cloud moved in front of the sun and plunged the garden into cool shadows.