Varric looked at his assembled audience and spoke.
"Once there was a maiden, the fairest in all of Thedas. She lived simply in her village, picking flowers and weaving them into shapes that showed the world what it was. Pilgrims from all corners of the land came to her to find their purpose, and she would silently weave them a destiny with her hands. Princess. Healer. Traitor. Knight. Murderer. Bard. Each man and woman left heavy with the knowledge of themselves shown in a few pretty knots. Some embraced it, some went mad, but all became who they were meant to be.
"They called her Blodwyn, the blessed flower. She never spoke, but through her hands touched every known place until even the land itself was aware of her power. It watched her with interest and sought to learn about itself through her magic. Swiftly she bent stems into new patterns. Dry. Stormy. Verdant. Rocky. Rich. The land twisted underneath the people and became its new self.
"The people cried out to the Maker in fear, and Andraste went down into the world on his behalf. She found the maiden spinning, creating shape after shape to roil the world, but none that would reveal her own path. Andraste saw her beauty, and her loneliness, and took pity on a creature, even a mage, with such sadness in her heart. She touched the child with holy hands and breathed a new purpose into her. The maiden's hands stopped weaving and the land settled into itself. The people of the world praised Andraste and begged her to remove the witch from their world, where she had caused much suffering.
"But Andraste refused, for her hands were upon her, and gave the maiden a new name and a voice to use. She set her high in the mountains, and all those who had received their destiny from the maiden's hands were gathered to her side as friends and protectors. The maiden was happy with her new companions, but found the world very rigid. Her hands could no longer weave, and her life remained stubbornly as it was no matter how she commanded it to change.
"One fine day she went to pick flowers with her handmaidens, who followed her faithfully. While she was gathering the last, a man rode over the hill in front of her with a host of soldiers. He was tall and fair, and his armor gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Startled, she dropped her flowers, and the man saw the shape of himself in their pattern. Lover. He dismounted at once, intending to offer himself body and soul to the maiden, but she fled his touch. Running, she looked desperately for something that could undo this magic and relieve her fears. She spotted a rare plant across a river and, unthinkingly, waded across to pluck it.
"Unfortunately the river was much deeper and colder than the maiden realized, and it swept her away. The man and his soldiers shouted in alarm and rushed in after her. Her handmaidens, too, followed her, as they followed her everywhere she went. By the time they had all sorted themselves out, everyone was very cold and cross, and they barely made it back to their tents without violence.
"For when the Herald of Andraste gets wet, she showers her blessings on us all."
He stopped, beaming.
"Oi. I'm no handmaiden," said Sera. She threw him a rude gesture that vibrated as she shivered.
"Thank you, Varric. Such a dignified tale." Cullen sneezed in the corner of the tent. "My men will positively marvel at your descriptive version of their commander. At least in this one I don't sigh in longing at any point."
"I don't think I've ever picked a flower in my entire life," said Evelyn, teeth chattering. A series of snorts echoed around the room. "Gathering herbs is not picking flowers! I needed that Royal Elfroot, even if it was hard to get to. Someone has to keep our potion stocks full. Maker knows I can't trust you all to stay healthy, Dorian."
The mage grinned, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead they still hadn't been able to close. "My dear, when I hear word that a company of gorgeous men is about to climb out of a mountain stream dripping wet, of course I'm going to rush to assist. I would have been fine if this oaf hadn't gotten in my way." He slapped Iron Bull in the stomach with his unbroken hand.
"Hey, I was just hoping everyone was going to get naked. You didn't have to try to push me out of the way. You might have fallen off the ridge, but I ended up in ice water thanks to you," said Bull. He looked at Cassandra. "You sure you don't need some dry clothes, Seeker? If you're worried I'll get fresh, you're more than welcome to hold my weapon while you change."
Cassandra, buried in furs, scowled at him. "I'm quite comfortable, thank you. Besides, your sword is too large for me to handle effectively."
"Oh I don't know. We'd make it work."
Cole sniffled. "I didn't like that adventure. My clothes got smaller and my hat floated away. Now my head has no friend."
Varric clapped him on the back. "Cheer up, kid. Blackwall said he was wet anyway so he'd go after it for you. His beard must make him more bear-like than I realized. He seemed to enjoy freezing his ass off."
The tent flap opened, and Solas came in with more tea. Vivienne pounced on a cup and retreated to her own corner, muttering darkly. Varric winked at him. "They didn't like my story very much. Maybe someone drier will appreciate it."
"In body or in wit?" Solas shook his head. "I don't know why you all followed her in. She survived the conclave, a journey to the future and an avalanche. A mountain stream is nothing."
Cullen growled. "She wasn't wearing a coat and the water was freezing. I didn't want her to catch a cold. My men and I were happy to assist."
"Hey, that's a great title. 'The Time the Inquisition Caught a Cold'. Yeah?" Varric looked around at the frosty glares and smiled. "Everyone's a critic."