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flutiebear:

fuckyeahmedievalruins:

St. Mary’s Abbey, York (1086-1539)

“C’mon, Junior, you’re a war hero,” says Varric, jabbing the feathered tip of his quill at Carver for added punctuation. “You must have at least one good Ostagar story I can put in this book.”

“And you’re a dwarf, yet no beard.” Carver scowls into his dirty tankard. “Life is full of disappointments.”

“Ooh, Buckles gets in a zinger,” says Varric, smirking.

Carver lets out a chuckle that’s half-snort, half-exhalation. “I’m good for it. Every now and then.”

“I’ll have to leave it out, of course.” Varric bends down and sets quill to paper, the scratch somehow audible over the din of the noisy taproom below. “Wouldn’t want to confuse the readers.”

Carver glares at Varric, but the dwarf is already too engrossed in his prose to notice.