He sat, quill in hand, and contemplated the words of his tale. Outside the tempest raged, but where he sat in his chair situated so nicely by the fire, it was as warm as a midsummer's night. The story - the story must be his concern, but he didn't want to forget the heart of the story. He hovered the quill above the inkpot on the table to his left for a moment, then shook his head and sat back, holding the quill up in front of his face. "The tale, Varric. What of the tale?" he murmured to himself.
Holding up his other hand, he spread his fingers wide. "Five days and nights, for hearts to draw together." Folding his pinky in, he continued, "Four times they kiss, before those hearts beat as one." His ring finger was next, adorned with a simple silver band, and he smiled. "Three friends, their hearts true, to aid where they need aiding." Next went the insulting finger, the one in the middle. "Two countries, two stories, two pains to turn to comfort," he mused as he contemplated the remaining two fingers. Finally, he tucked his thumb in against the rest, stabbing the paper with the pointing finger of declamation. "One born to greatness, one born in a farmer's hut. One nobility, the other served. Yet one and both, they fought their past and forged a new path together."
With that decided, Varric meticulously dipped his quill into the ink and tapped the nib, eyes narrowed in concentration. "Ah, yet how to actually begin? A broken heart or a long-lost love is a tad predictable." After a moment of deep thought, quill tapping the curls on his chest thoughtfully, he finally nodded to himself and set to work once more. "It began with a man in search of his heart. That always works."