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“We’re all a little weird. And life is weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness – and call it love – true love.”
~ Robert Fulghum
What was she thinking?
No, that might not be it. Maybe the problem was that she wasn't thinking – per usual. At least this time she hadn't said anything yet.
Molly Hooper leaned against a nearby bookshelf, just out of sight of the mage she'd been about to approach, who was sitting at a table several feet away. She couldn't do this. She couldn't just walk up to a total stranger and tell him she was sorry for his loss.
Of course, if she was wrong to do it, it wouldn't be the first time she'd stuck her foot in her mouth. She sighed at that particular thought as she watched the brown-haired, immaculately-groomed mage thumb through page after page of brittle old books, occasionally stopping to dip his quill and make notes – so like another mage she'd once known. It was awfully quiet in this section of the library; she'd passed a few others on her way here, but she hadn't seen anyone apart from him for the past few minutes – or however long it had been since she'd walked up to his corner and promptly lost her nerve.
Oh, why not just do it? What did she have to lose? She certainly had nothing to gain – that she knew of. Wasn't that the idea of expressing condolences, anyway?
I didn't even know her, really, she thought to herself. How comforting can I possibly be? What does my word count for?
She stopped as she remembered something, something that had been said to her not so long ago.
You do count.
She swallowed. Well, he'd thought so, at least. And if Sherlock thought she, and what she had to say, mattered...maybe Finn would think so, too.
Before she could stop herself, she was walking, one foot in front of the other, towards his table.
“Finn?” she asked cautiously.
He looked up at her. To her relief, he didn't seem annoyed or bothered, just curious. “Yes, that's me. Have we met?”
“Uh, not really. My – my name's Molly Hooper.”
He smiled at her, politely and pleasantly. “Pleased to meet you. Do you need something?”
“Not – not exactly.” Maker, when did it get so warm in here?
Finn's look grew slightly more inquisitive.
“Um, listen...” Maker, she hadn't expected it to be this awkward. “You don't know me and I don't know you, but I-I just wanted to say –”
She stopped, twisting the silver ring on her left finger, and for the first time she looked straight at him. What she saw nearly shocked her speechless.
He hadn't returned to his books. He wasn't looking around the room waiting for someone more interesting to come along. He wasn't rolling his eyes. He was listening. He was paying attention, patiently waiting for her to continue, without a hint of annoyance in his expression, only genuine curiosity and interest.
Well, go on then. Don't keep him waiting.
“I'm sorry about your friend. About – about Arya.” There, she'd said it. She exhaled quietly in relief, regained some confidence. “I-I didn't know her very well, but we had a few classes together and I studied with her once and she was always very nice to me and everyone else. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for your loss.”
When she'd finished, she bit her lip, almost chewing it in her nervousness. Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
Then Finn smiled – a slight, but sincere smile that was both wistful and grateful. “Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate that.”
“Really?” she asked somewhat foolishly. “Well, um, of course you do. Yes. I – I felt the same after my father died. No one here knew him, but they all said they were sorry and it was good to hear. So I know how you feel.”
Finn looked at her sympathetically. “I'm sure you do. I'm sorry about your father.” As Molly smiled appreciatively, he was quiet for a few moments. “It doesn't get any easier, does it?”
Molly shook her head. “Not really. You never stop missing them.” She looked away for a moment. “But it does stop hurting. A little. Eventually.”
It might not have been comforting or coherent, but it was the truth. Finn nodded solemnly, seeming to agree. As a brief silence fell, Molly glanced around the table, looking for a cheerier topic of conversation. She spotted a thick tome just off to the side of Finn's parchment. “Oh, you've got Quieting the Mind. That's one of my favorites.”
“Oh, really?” Finn smiled. “You're a spirit mage, too?”
Molly nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Yes, I am. A healer, actually.”
“Ah.” Finn seemed pleased to hear it. “Well, would you like to borrow it now? I just had it out for some light reading, and I don't think anyone else wants it.”
“Oh – yes, thank you!” Molly said, surprised. Carefully, she picked up the old, heavy book, brushing some dust off the cover. “Well, I've got to go. Maybe I'll see you again? When – when I bring it back here, I mean?” she quickly added.
He chuckled a little. “You'll never find me anywhere else.”
After they'd exchanged goodbyes, Molly walked off with her book, standing a bit straighter than before and trying to ignore the rush of blood to her cheeks.
Well. That had gone better than expected.
And, she thought, it certainly wouldn't be a long time before she returned the book.
Even if she hadn't already read it several times over.
o~O~o
When Molly returned to her quarters after lunch the following afternoon, she found a letter on her bed – not an unusual occurrence, just an uncommon one.
Picking it up, she looked at the return address. It was from Ser Conan at 221B Baker Street in Denerim.
Grinning, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.
Dear Molly,
Hello from Ser Conan – better known to you as John Watson! I hope this letter finds you well. Sorry for the delay since your last letter. Sherlock and I have been quite busy between odd jobs, experiments, and repairs to our apartment (now that we can actually afford to make them). Speaking of which, let me tell you about Sherlock's newest plan to make money...
The letter went on for a bit describing some of those activities in more detail. Molly began to walk as she kept reading, fascinated. Adventuring aside, it all sounded so – so normal. So mundane. But John was clearly very happy. She, on the other hand, barely remembered life outside the Tower. Could she ever be happy in an ordinary life like John's?
Then again, nothing was ordinary where there was love.
Shaking off that train of thought, she read on.
(He says hello to you, by the way.) We've just come back from afternoon tea at The Pearl. Yes, The Pearl – believe it or not, Sanga brews the best in Denerim. My old friend Greg is in town, so we met him there. We've been showing Sherlock how to play Wicked Grace. He's picking up the art of cheating so fast that it's a bit worrying. Greg is determined not to be outdone!
Molly chuckled at that last bit; the letter concluded by asking about some things she had mentioned in her last letter and adding that he was looking forward to hearing from her, as always. As she finished, still walking, she turned a corner and – oof!
“Oh, I'm so sorry!” she said quickly, stepping back from whomever she'd walked into. She wasn't hurt, just startled. “Are you –?”
As she looked up, she found herself staring into a pair of deep brown eyes, large and luminous against the ghostly pale skin of the face they were set in. Molly swallowed.
“Oh, hi – Finn.”
He tilted his head. “Molly, right?”
She nodded. “Yes. Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly. “Almost knocking you over and all.”
Finn chuckled. “It's all right; happens to me all the time. Reading while walking, I mean. Not knocking people over. But at least I'm a healer, so when I do it's not that bad. Not that I make a habit of that, either.” He abruptly stopped talking, as if realizing he was beginning to babble. His eyes fell to the letter in her hand. “Letter from home?”
“Kind of,” Molly answered. She wouldn't have ordinarily shared what she said next, but somehow she felt he would understand. “See, this templar and I became friends earlier this year, through a friend we both had, and he retired recently and now lives in Denerim. So we write to each other from time to time.”
“A retired templar?” Finn murmured. “That's rather unusual...wait.” His brow furrowed briefly. “That wouldn't happen to be...Ser Watson, would it? I mean, John?”
Molly stared in astonishment, then quickly shook herself out of it. “Yes, yes it is!” She grinned broadly. “You knew him, too?”
Finn laughed. “Fairly well. He knew Arya, a little. And –” he reached into his robes and pulled out a thick sheaf of envelopes, nimble fingers sorting through them and pulling out four or five “– he writes to me, too. Ser Conan at 221B Baker Street, right?”
Molly couldn't help laughing, too. However large and imposing it seemed from the outside, the Tower was rather a small world within, when you thought about it. “Yes, that's it! I can't believe this! We both know him, and through mutual friends.”
“And I guess we can add another shared friendship to his lineup,” Finn added, before realizing what he'd just said. “I'm sorry – was that too presumptuous?”
Molly shook her head, beaming. “Any friend of John's is my friend, too.”
“Good.” They smiled at each other for a bit. Finn spoke first. “You know, Molly, I was just coming back here to get my tea supplies. Would you like to join me?”
Molly didn't have to think twice. “Okay!”
o~O~o
Over sweet, richly-scented herbal tea in the senior mage quarters, Molly and Finn happily discussed John – how they'd met him, how kind he'd been to them, how happy they were for him in his new life. Eventually the conversation turned to other things the two of them had in common – their interest in creation magic, their experiences as spirit healers, their families on the outside, great books they'd enjoyed recently.
“This tea really is wonderful, Finn,” Molly said when a break finally came in the conversation, after much longer than she'd thought it would.
“Glad you like it.” Finn took a careful, modest sip. “It's my own special blend. Took about twenty pots to perfect, but it was worth every one.”
“Oh? What's in it?”
They talked at length for a while about the various herbs, flowers, and even weeds Finn had incorporated into the mix and others he had created, as well as the different effects thereof and experiments they'd both conducted using those plants. Molly hadn't had such a thoroughly technical, intellectually stimulating discussion in quite some time, and when it was over she felt a sense of accomplished relief.
“You know so much about plants,” she marveled. Then, her next question tumbled out of her mouth without a second thought. “Is that why they used to call you Flora?”
Finn looked surprised, and Molly bit her tongue, wishing she could take that back, remembering her brief, painful stint in childhood as “Molly-Dolly”, to her annoyance and her sister's delight. Then, to her amazement, Finn started to laugh.
“I wish it had been!” he said, chuckling lightly as he lifted his teacup, clearly appreciating the compliment.
Molly laughed too, thankful that she hadn't embarrassed him. She leaned forward, speaking with an air of mischievous confidentiality. “Well, you're not the only one who's had to deal with a silly nickname, believe me...”
The pot of tea was drained and dry by the time they finished talking.
o~O~o
It wasn't difficult for her to secure permission for a research project. She'd always been a diligent student, and the Senior Enchanters were only too happy to approve new work for her. With a little creative thinking on her part, she'd proposed the idea of writing a treatise on the history of healing scholarship in the Tevinter Imperium. Given the Imperium's mage-dominated society and class structure, it would be interesting to survey the development of healing studies and how the role of healers had evolved over time.
As much as she loved lab work and hands-on healing, it was good for her to get out of there now and then.
So that was how she eventually made her way down to the corner of the library where Finn spent most of his time, arms loaded with parchment, quills, and ink. Struggling to hold on to her pile, she made a bit more noise than might have been appropriate for the setting, and Finn knew she was coming long before she saw him. She smiled at him over her mountain, and nearly dropped it all in the process.
“Hello, Molly,” he said, sounding happy to see her as he rose to approach. “Do you need a hand?”
“No, no, I've got it, thank you,” she said politely as she looked around. “I just – need a place to put it down –”
“Here, there's plenty of room.” Finn quickly cleared some of the junk from his table, freeing up about half of the available space. Molly gratefully set down her supplies, carefully arranging them to maximize use of the area.
“You're sure it's no trouble? I can find another table –”
Finn shook his head. “Not at all. I...wasn't expecting to see you down here. Not that it's not nice to see you,” he hastened to add as he helped her straighten the rest of her hoard into neat, orderly piles.
“And you, Finn.” Molly smiled as she gave an abbreviated explanation of her treatise. “So,” she finished, “I need to learn all I can about Tevinter history.”
Finn smiled back. “Then you've come to the right place,” he said, gesturing around. “With the right man.” He flushed as he realized what he'd said, the color striking on his pale skin. “Uh, I didn't mean – well, the right man for Tevinter studies, that is, not the right man for you – um, unless we're talking about what you're looking for and where you can find it, so, in some way, I suppose I am the right man for – oh, dear –”
Molly was blushing, too. “Glad to hear it,” she finally managed, her voice sounding a bit squeakier than usual. “So...where should I start?”
Finn seemed to relax at the change in subject. “I'd suggest over...here,” he said, pointing to a particular shelf. “The fourth row up should have plenty of books on that subject. There's a stepladder right – over there.” So saying, he walked off and brought it over to the shelf. Molly smiled appreciatively as she joined him.
“I'll spot you,” Finn said as she took her first step up. “It's a bit rickety.”
True to his word, he remained where he was beside the ladder as she climbed. Indeed, there were many excellent books related to her topic on that shelf. Wanting to reduce her number of trips, she took two, then three, then four, carefully balancing them in her arms.
“Careful,” Finn said as she began to step down backwards, the old ladder wobbling beneath her boot-clad feet. “It's a bit top-heavy –”
Just as the words left his mouth, Molly stumbled and missed the next step down. “Whoa!” The startled cry escaped her lips before she could stop it, as she struggled to hold on to her books and regain her footing, her arms nearly flying out as she fell backwards –
– and abruptly stopped, books still secure in her grasp, as a pair of sturdy arms caught her and held her in place.
Her breathing slowed and calmed as she looked into Finn's eyes, warm with caring and concern – but her heartbeat, oddly enough, jumped several paces.
We're so close. Can he hear it?
She inhaled, slowly, and a comforting scent filled her breath. The smell of aged books, of fading leather and brittle pages, which always hung just in the air of the library, was right beside her now. It was pleasant, relaxing, like a visit with an old friend. She wanted to bottle it and carry it around with her to pull out and sniff on days when she was feeling low. Or just stay right next to Finn and smell it constantly; that suited her, too.
Her feet stabilized on the ladder, but she barely noticed, feeling only the snug safety of Finn's arms wrapped around her, the rise and fall of his chest against her back, and the firm but gentle grip of his hands on her arms.
Neither of them spoke for several moments.
“Are you all right?” Finn finally asked her quietly.
“I – I think so,” she said, her voice strangely hoarse. “If you could just –”
“Oh, of course!” Finn carefully set her back on her feet, only letting her go once she had made it safely down the last step, and even then with some reluctance. Molly went to the table to set down her books, steadily avoiding eye contact with him as he walked beside her.
“Well,” she said, attempting to alleviate the tension that had suddenly developed, “at least if I fell and cracked my head open, I had a skilled healer right here.”
Finn smiled. “But what would we do about the blood you'd spray all over the books?”
Molly looked at him with mock exasperation. “Trust you to be more concerned about the books than me.”
Finn laughed. “You, I could heal. But have you ever tried to get blood out of anything, never mind centuries-old vellum and leather? Even the Fade can't match that nightmare!”
The atmosphere lightened as they both chuckled and sat down to work. For the rest of the afternoon, Molly was a bit more conservative about the number of books she carried up and down the ladder.
Not that she wasn't tempted. But he did make a good point about bloodstains.
o~O~o
It's strange, really, John wrote in another letter to Molly. Somehow they'd begun a long discussion about serious relationships and their respective parents' happy marriages, in contrast to the typical light tone of their correspondence. There are so many contradictions in love. My mother always used to say that the person who was right for you would help you stand tall while making you weak in the knees. Once again, she wasn't wrong.
Well, Molly somehow doubted John's mother was referring to nearly falling off a ladder and being rescued at the last minute.
But she was beginning to understand what Mrs. Watson had meant.
o~O~o
From the day they'd met, she'd wondered about that strange amulet Finn always wore around his neck. She'd never seen its like; it was a simple silver disk with a strangely archaic Chantry symbol on the front. His interests lay mainly with the history of Tevinter, which had long ago rejected the influence of the Chantry; what interest could this amulet hold for him?
Until now, though, she'd never felt brave enough to ask. But they were friends now, right? They'd spent nearly every afternoon and evening in the library together for three weeks now, and more of their time these days seemed to be spent talking rather than researching. And what was the worst he could say? That it was none of her business? That he'd rather not discuss it?
She'd heard worse.
So that afternoon, as they sat side-by-side, pored over their books, compared notes and discussed their findings, she waited for a lull in the conversation.
“Finn?”
“Yes, Molly?”
“I hope you don't mind my asking...but where did you get that amulet you always wear? I've never seen anything like it.”
He was silent for a minute or two, and she was afraid she had offended. Finally, though, he spoke, and he didn't seem angry or annoyed, just a little sad.
“This was a present from Arya.”
Oh. Well, that explained some things. She nodded, wondering if he would continue.
Without removing it, he held it out on its chain for her to see; leaning over, she took it in one hand and examined it as he talked. “After she died, they found a packet of letters and wrapped packages in her belongings, to be given to all her friends in the event of her death. This amulet was enclosed in mine.”
He sighed as he remembered. “The letter wasn't dated, so I don't know when she wrote it. Sometimes I wonder if she knew she was going to die in that last battle. But I suppose that doesn't matter. In her letter, she said she had gotten this when retrieving the Sacred Ashes from the Gauntlet – a long story, that – and she wanted me to have it, if I ever started missing her too much or having any regrets. She said she wanted me to be able to move on without her, and this might help me do that.”
Unexpectedly, he dipped his head nearer to hers; Molly was startled at their sudden closeness. He was silent for a moment before he whispered, “Flip it around.”
Molly turned the amulet over to find a silver, mirrored backing; as expected, her own face looked back at her. As she gazed a bit longer, she was startled; there seemed to be a fleeting glimpse of someone else in the reflection. It wasn't long enough to be sure, but she would have sworn...she knew that face, even though she hadn't seen it since she was eight years old. And that smile, that softly encouraging smile...she recognized it, too, as would the child of any loving parent. But not just any parent. Hers.
She gasped and covered her mouth, unable to speak. Finn nodded.
“Do you think it's real?” she asked quietly once she had recovered, looking up at him.
He was silent for a few moments before answering. “She did.”
Molly nodded, understanding. Reluctantly, she let go of the amulet and sat up. “Thank you, Finn. I know that couldn't have been easy to talk about.”
For the first time in their conversation, Finn smiled. “I don't mind talking about her,” he said. “Usually it's just me and my books, or Eleni when she feels like it, so...it's been nice talking with you these past few weeks, Molly.”
“Oh...well, thank you.” She felt the blush to the roots of her hair. “I'd – I'd like to hear more about her sometime, then.”
“Sure. Maybe we can have a tea break soon?”
“Sounds good.”
“Excellent.” He grinned at her. “But first, we get back to work.”
“Yes,” she agreed, her smile mirroring his. “We work.”
o~O~o
“Molly, could I ask you something?”
She looked up at him from her book, surprised at first, then smiled. “Of course.”
“Good.” Finn reached into his robes and set something from an inside pocket on the table. He took his hand away to reveal...a crumpled wad of wool that slowly unfurled itself to reveal a lopsided oval shape, knitted in a painfully vivid combination of orange, yellow, and crimson, that might have resembled a hat - at a long distance and through a squint - adorned with earflaps that curled at the tips as if standing at attention, and topped with a pom-pom that brought all three colors together in an exploding calamity of frayed ends. The hat - if it could truly be described as such - had obviously been knitted and re-knitted many times; it was dotted with dropped stitches that stood out like specks of black pepper in cream sauce.
Molly blinked, her eyes hurting from the clash of colors. “Um…what is that?”
“This is the product of my mother’s knitting phase,” Finn said dryly. “Preceded by the fishing phase and now followed by the candy-making phase. At least the cat got something out of the fishing phase, and the candy’s been very useful for book-binding. Smells better than the usual glue, too. But this…” He trailed off. “What do you think? Honestly?”
“Honestly?” This was new for Molly; usually she was asked to rein in her opinions rather than give them outright. She pushed aside the thought that she couldn’t remember the last time her mother had sent her a gift as she stared at the hat, her eyes smarting at the sight but unable to look away.
“It is pretty bad. Dreadful, actually.” she blurted out, then bit her lip. Oops.
When she finally summoned the courage to look at Finn again, her jaw almost dropped. He wasn’t staring agape at her, astonished at her lack of tact. In fact, he wasn’t angry at all.
“Thank you!” he said, sagging with relief. “It isn’t just me, then? This…thing really is as hideous as I think it is?”
“Well, if you put it on,” Molly began, trying to temper her words with a smile, “ships might start sailing toward the Tower at night.”
Finn laughed. “I’ll take that under advisement, then! If they ever bring the annual boat races back to Lake Calenhad, I’ll show this to Irving and Greagoir. We’d make the perfect finish line!”
Molly started laughing, too. “Boat races in Lake Calenhad? With what’s living in there? They’d be lucky if they could make it halfway without getting pulled under.”
“But that’s what would make them so exciting, don’t you think?”
The next half-hour or so was spent in playful discussion of how they could revive the regattas of long ago, of the obstacles the racers would face and all the visitors the contest would bring to the tower. Oh, the scandal it would cause among the nobles, having to race to Kinloch Hold!
Meanwhile, the offending hat that had started the whole conversation lay forgotten on the table, earflaps seeming to twitch in indignation.
o~O~o
It wasn’t that she didn’t think about Sherlock anymore.
On the contrary, he was never far from her thoughts, as he had been since the day they met. She’d stopped worrying quite so much since she’d learned of his move into 221B – which, she did not fail to note, she hadn’t learned of until after John had moved in with him – and his reunion with John. But she’d never stop thinking about him, having the concern for him he couldn’t seem to have for himself. In a way, he’d simply moved from one prison to another, not being able to even live under his own name and identity. So she wrote to him once or twice a month, keeping her letters light and casual, just to see how he was doing. And he’d respond, reassuring her in not so many words that he was just fine and, more importantly, happy.
She’d loved him, once. Did she love him still?
Perhaps.
Now, when she sat in the library with Finn, sometimes she’d look up at him, scribbling and turning pages, oblivious to everything else around him in his concentration and precision, and her breath would catch, thinking of the first time she saw Sherlock. She knew he and Finn had hardly even spoken, but neither had seemed to leave a positive impression during their few encounters. She wished she could reintroduce them, help them see the good in each other that she saw in both of them.
Then, in the middle of her wandering thoughts and gaze, Finn would look up at her, seem to study her for a moment, and just smile.
And as she’d shake herself from her reverie and smile back before returning to work, she’d be reminded, once again, of a stark, pertinent truth.
Sherlock wasn’t here.
Finn was.
o~O~o
Today wasn’t a study day. She and Finn had worked hard enough; they’d decided that they’d earned a break for just one day. Instead, they had decided to spend the whole day doing what they loved best – drinking tea and reading entirely for pleasure.
She made her way down to the library with a skip in her step, energized and enthusiastic after finally having the chance to sleep in a bit. Maybe they’d finally be able to talk, uninterrupted, about what they were reading. Maybe they’d talk about something else entirely. Maybe they’d…
Her hopeful thoughts trailed off as she entered the library...and froze mid-step in the doorway.
Finn was there, but he wasn’t alone. He was standing with two elven women and a mabari she’d never seen before, talking quietly yet cheerfully with them as Knight-Captain Hadley watched at a distance. Both women were dark-haired, of medium height, and fully armored - one in expensive-looking leather gear with a longbow and arrows on her back, the other in finely crafted metal plate that bore marks Molly didn’t recognize. The dog, whose fur was striped with warpaint she knew was called kaddis, sniffed the air for a moment, then turned in her direction and barked a greeting.
The other three looked up and saw her then. “Ah, Molly!” Finn said warmly, approaching her with a nervous, excited smile. The women stood back, their gazes neutral yet guarded. “I was just about to go find you.”
Molly smiled weakly. “Well, I do have good timing,” she said, her voice slightly hollow. She glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve met your friends -?”
“Ah, no, you haven’t! Forgive me, please.” Finn gestured to both women in turn. “This is Warden-Commander Andras -” that was the woman with the bow “- and this is Ariane. She’s a Dalish warrior.”
The mabari barked again. Finn laughed. “Oh, and Roland, of course.”
“A pleasure,” the Warden-Commander said, her controlled voice bearing the slightest lilt of an Orlesian accent. Ariane merely nodded, tight-lipped, suspicion in her gaze. Roland’s tongue lolled from his mouth, slobber beginning to drip onto the tiled floor.
“Pleased to meet you,” Molly said, smiling. “What brings you here?”
“A quest!” Finn answered gleefully. “Molly, they’re here on a quest! And they need my help!”
Molly blinked, not sure what she had just heard. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, right, well...that brings me to why I was going to go find you.” Finn looked at her sheepishly. “I won’t be able to have tea with you today. Or - for the next few weeks.”
Molly stared. “Pardon?”
“Well…” Finn scratched the back of his head as his pale cheeks flushed. “See, Ariane and the Commander are trying to find this witch who traveled with Arya during the Blight –”
“Morrigan?” Molly interrupted.
Finn looked at her in surprise. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do,” Molly said, somewhat indignant. “I read her journals cover-to-cover when they were published.”
“Right, you did.” Finn quickly moved on. “Anyway, to find her they need to find an Eluvian, and, well, they need the help of an expert on the subject…”
Molly smiled at him. “Well, they couldn’t have made a better choice.”
Finn blushed again. “Um, thank you. So, you understand –”
“Of course!” Molly answered, a little too quickly. “You might never get this chance again.” As Finn smiled in relief, she looked over his shoulder and went on, before she could stop herself, “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it, how you always seem to end up making friends with...pretty female elves?” Her voice cracked slightly on the last few words.
Finn chuckled. “That does seem to be my type, doesn't it?”
“Yes,” she agreed, feeling her throat thicken. “Yes, it does.” Well, one out of three had to count for something, right?
From the corner of her eye, she stole a glance at the Dalish woman and the Warden-Commander. She never paid much attention to race, but she had to admit it wasn't hard to see what some people found so desirable about elves – their lithe, willowy bodies, their wide, dewy eyes...
And though it deeply shamed her, a twinge of jealousy pricked her heart.
“Have a good time,” she said, the words feeling strained even as she said them. “I...I can’t wait to hear about it when you get back.”
They stood together a few seconds longer, each waiting for the other to make a final, definitive move...but neither could. Not now, not with the gazes of the two other women, the Knight-Captain, and the dog bearing down expectantly on them. Not when neither of them was sure what to expect themselves.
“Well,” Finn said finally, “I - I guess I’ll see you soon.”
“I’m sure you will,” Molly said politely. She tore her gaze from his and smiled as best she could at the two women behind him. “Nice to have met you.”
As she trudged away, trying her best to tune out the laughter and conversation which gradually rose behind her, she wished she’d just stayed in bed.
o~O~o
Days became weeks, and weeks dragged on into one month, then nearly two, as Molly continued with her research alone, without a word from Finn.
But really, she thought angrily to herself as she scrawled on another piece of parchment, what’s the difference?
Over the years of watching her friends fall in and out of love and lust and sometimes in-between, she’d learned that most people had a certain type they admired - blondes, quiet and thoughtful ones, vivacious brunettes, older students. Now she was beginning to realize what hers might be.
She sighed and shook her head. Of all the types of people in the world to fall for...hers had to be men who couldn't see past their noses. She saw them when no one else looked; they, in turn, never saw her looking.
Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled in frustration and slumped down in her chair, unable to contain her racing thoughts. Why? Why couldn’t they notice her? Why couldn’t a man who paid such close attention to everything else see her, see when she was paying attention to him, even when no one else was? Why was it so hard for some men to notice people instead of facts and things?
And most importantly - why, oh why, couldn't she ever, just once, care for someone who could see what was right in front of –
“Molly?”
She looked up, startled.
“Finn?”
The mage in question was standing in front of her, looking a bit rumpled and callused, but none the worse for wear. He smiled and her heart melted.
“Finn!” Without another thought, she jumped from her chair and threw her arms around him. He froze for a moment, then quickly returned her hug, chuckling.
“Good to see you, too,” he said.
She pulled back to look at him, reluctantly letting go as the blood rushed to her cheeks. “Where are the others?”
Finn shrugged. “The Commander returned to Vigil’s Keep with Roland and Ariane rejoined her clan. We may meet again, or we may not, but it was a good journey.” He grinned at her. “But it’s good to be home.”
Molly beamed at him. “And it’s good to have you back. Would you like some tea?”
Finn laughed. “Do you even have to ask?”
o~O~o
Several minutes later, the two of them were sitting at their usual table, sipping their favorite brew from clay cups, as Finn told Molly about his adventures. Molly listened with rapt attention, only occasionally interrupting with a question.
“Roland was a good dog,” Finn was telling her now. “Whenever we’d rest, he’d always run off and find us treasure. His idea of treasure being, of course, sticks, animal bones, someone’s old trousers, and something soggy that was probably a cake at some point.”
Molly smiled. “That sounds like my mabari,” she said. “His name was Dane. We had a really small yard, but that didn't seem to bother him at all, and we'd play fetch and I'd watch him run around and sometimes I'd think, 'Wouldn't it be great to be free like he is, to be able to –?’”
“Piss anywhere you wanted?” Finn finished for her.
She stared in disbelief. “Ye-es, I suppose,” she said slowly, not quite able to believe someone else would think that. “You know, I never thought about it like that, actually. That would be rather convenient at times.”
“I know, right?” He chuckled. “I wish more people saw it that way.”
Molly laughed and motioned for him to go on, which he did.
“You fought a varterral?” she interrupted again some time later. “I - I thought -”
“That they’d all died out?” Finn concluded. He smiled ruefully. “Well, one of them didn’t hear that, it seems. And it was very, very big, and very, very fast.”
Molly was spellbound as Finn continued with his story, taking her through the elven ruins, Cadash Thaig, and the Dragonbone Wastes, up to the Eluvian where they finally met the Wilder Witch, and, at long last, the journey home. Back to the Tower.
Back to her.
“Wow,” she breathed when his tale was finally done, as he took a much-needed drink of tea. “You make me feel like I was there.”
Finn smiled, almost timidly. “I wish you had been.”
She tilted her head, puzzled. “What?”
Finn set his teacup down, knitting his hands nervously in his lap, unable to look at her for a few moments. “I - I guess I don’t really know how to say this, but...this was a great adventure. It was messy and tiring and difficult, but I’m glad I got to go. I wanted to see the Eluvian, and I did. I thought that was what would keep me going. But when we left, the whole time we were gone...all I could think about was you. How much better it would have been if you were there to see it with me.”
Molly stared at him. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was, could he? Not about her.
“Well,” she said, unable to think of how else to respond, “I’m glad you’re back.”
Finn smiled. “And I’m glad to be back. I don’t plan on leaving again for a long time.”
“Glad to hear it.” The two of them sat quietly for a minute or two, and all Molly could think of was how nice it was to have him near her, how much she’d missed him over the past several weeks.
And after a few moments’ thought, she finally decided they'd already had enough distance between them, and she leaned towards him. He didn’t move away...
Their kiss was chaste and light, their fingers weaving together between them in the few seconds before they broke apart. He kissed her back, clearly nervous, his inexperience obvious as his hand trembled in hers and his head shifted as he tried to figure out where his nose should go.
As she pulled away, she was startled by the look on his face. “Oh, I'm sorry – I wasn't thinking, I shouldn't have –”
Finn tilted her chin towards him. “Then maybe we shouldn’t think,” he whispered simply, before brushing his lips against hers. Molly’s heart overtook her mind as she kissed him back, instinctively reaching up to tilt his head at just the right angle, showing him what to do, losing her fingers in the feel of his hair.
Finn was right. No more thinking. Just feeling.
When they broke apart several seconds later, they looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Molly spoke first. “So...do you want to have dinner tonight? With me, I mean?”
Finn grinned at her. “How can I refuse? Once I get cleaned up a bit, first.”
“Of course.” Molly returned his smile. Truthfully, he could be covered in mud, his hair thick with grease, stinking to high heaven and she wouldn’t care - but she knew he liked to be clean and neat. That was just a nice bonus. “I’ll get some food and see you back here in - an hour, then?”
“I'll be here.” He smiled. “Definitely.”
And when he couldn't seem to think of anything else to say – not that she minded – he leaned over and kissed her goodbye. This kiss was a bit longer than the first two, more confident and natural, combining the excitement of the first with the ease of the second.
She exhaled as he left, exhilarated, smiling brightly as she watched him go.
Yes, he'd be here, just like he had been all along.
She was so glad she'd finally noticed.