fic: dancing between little rivers

[earlymorningechoes]

Dragon Age, Ranae Lavellan/Sera. Ranae teaches Sera about Dalish footwear, and they bond over jokes at Solas's expense.
G, 650 words. AO3.

Ranae perches on a fallen log, resting her feet on a conveniently-placed rock. She pulls off one of her shoes and flips it upside-down, shaking until a small pebble flies out and skitters across the ground. “Ahh. That's better.”

“Why are you wearing shoes?” Sera flops onto the other end of the log, wiggling it slightly out of the divot it’s resting in.

“Why wouldn't I wear shoes?”

Sera shrugs. “Everyone says the Dalish don't wear shoes. And Professor Elfy-tits doesn't wear shoes.”

Giggling, Ranae leans down to slip her shoe back on. “Professor Elfy-tits? I like that one. Although he's a little lacking in the tits area.”

A startled chuckle, then a roaring laugh bursts out of Sera. “Lacking in the tits area!” she repeats, struggling to get the words out around her laughter. Ranae grins and waits.

“Anyways,” she continues, once Sera’s guffaws have subsided to intermittent giggles, “who says the Dalish don't wear shoes?”

“I dunno.” Sera shrugs again. “People.”

“Humans?”

Another shrug. “I guess so.”

Ranae bends down and flips over her other shoe, shaking it out. “Humans and city elves don't know much about us.” She hands the soft leather shoe to Sera. “Here. We call them moccasins.”

Sera peers at it, running her fingers over the leather stitching along the sides and beadwork on top. “Is it like your face?”

“Like my face?”

Looking up from the shoe, Sera points at Ranae’s face. “Your tattoo things. They mean something, don't they? Does this?”

“Oh!” Ranae shakes her head. “No, not like the vallaslin. The vallaslin are dedicated to the Creators; the moccasins are just made to look pretty.” She takes the shoe back and slips her foot into it. “Professor Elfy-tits doesn't like pretty things, I think.”

Sera snorts with laughter again, and they're both grinning as they gather their things and start off. They're quiet, mostly, keeping an eye on their surroundings. The Hinterlands are somewhat less volatile now, with the templars at the lake and apostates at the Witchwood routed, but there's still plenty to be wary of. And about halfway to the point where they're supposed to meet back with Blackwall and Varric to make camp, Sera stops.

“Want to have some fun with Elfy-bits when we're back at Haven?”

Ranae squints. “Some fun? His idea of fun would be lecturing us on the right way to fall asleep - I'm sorry,” she lowers her voice, mimicking Solas, “meditate on the proper method of interaction with spirits.” Closing her eyes, she fakes a snore, starting off quietly and building.

Sera snorts, crouching and scanning one hand over the ground. “No, fun for us , yeah?” A flash of green skitters past, and the hand flashes out. “Lizards in his bed!”

“How are we going to get that back to Haven?” Ranae crouches beside Sera, who pulls out an empty potion bottle from the jumble of vaguely-useful objects stuffed into her pack. She slides the tiny lizard inside and re-corks the bottle, jiggling the wax around it so it's not airtight. “You've done this before, it seems.”

Another lizard finds its way into Sera’s outstretched hand, joining its fellow in the potion bottle. “Oh, loads of times. More fun than whatever Chantry sisters are trying to make you do, when they think you're a project for the Maker.”

Laughing, Ranae takes the bottle so Sera can add more to their growing collection. Eventually they move on, towards Varric and Blackwall, and Sera chatters about everything and nothing. Ranae gazes out over the Hinterlands, trying not to compare it less favorably to the forests of home. She’s trying desperately not to lose herself in a tidal wave of humans and their Maker, but it’s not all bad. Sera pulls a face, telling a story about Cassandra and Vivienne, and Ranae can’t help but laugh. Her best friend at the moment may be the least elfy elf she’s ever met, but the laughter? That’s important.