Ghost Story

[Marian Hawke]

"My brother was obsessed with them. He was thrilled to finally-- I guess we had a dog?"

[Varric]

"Sounds like you had a mabari," Varric says with a grin, wondering which contact of his would be best for finding a reputable mabari breeder. 

[Marian Hawke]

"Must have bonded to him. He was human, unlike me. And I'm not exactly Mabari material."

[Varric]

"Merikos can bond with mabari," Varric disagrees lightly. "And you're plenty worthy for a mabari."

[Marian Hawke]

"I'm not," Emma whispers. "I'm worthless. Disgusting. A waste of space. I take up air and food that more deserving people could be using, and I don't provide anything in return." She shivers, wiping at her eyes. "I know it, deep down in my bones, Varric. I'm nothing."

[Varric]

"Scholar Emma of Tethras Estate," Varric snaps, brain automatically providing the best 'full name' he can muster. "That is enough of that! You are brilliant and clever, hardworking and diligent. You have provided a great deal of valuable assistance and company to me in the last few weeks for little more than food, shelter, books and some silvers. You are worth ten times that, and I'll not have you insult my judgment or discernment insisting otherwise."

[Marian Hawke]

The dam breaks, and she bursts into fresh sobs, pulling the blanket tight around herself. 

[Varric]

Gah (tears!). That wasn't-- ugh. Alright. Umm. Swallowing, he reaches out with a stiff gestures to pat her shoulder through the blanket. "There there. It, uh, it'll be okay. You're a good person."

[Marian Hawke]

"I'm not," she whispers vehemently. "I killed my sister."

[Varric]

"What happened?" Varric asks, brutally crushing the wave of sympathic guilt and rage her words invoke in him.

[Marian Hawke]

"I don't remember," she whispers. "But I killed her. That's why I'm worthless. She was innocent and sweet and she's dead and it's my fault."

[Varric]

Varric swallows again, eyes closing for a moment. "It can be easy, blaming yourself for-- for someone-- for something bad happening. Guilt can be easier than grief in some ways. Easier than accepting that you couldn't have changed things. That-- that sometimes evil just wins." Or that the so called good thing is the death of a loved one.

[Marian Hawke]

"But it really was my fault. I was responsible for her and I murdered her."

[Varric]

"What happened? How did she die?"

[Marian Hawke]

"Screaming," she whispers, shuddering, her breath coming faster. "She burned. She screamed like nothing else, and the silence after was worse."