Hawke's arrival at Skyhold was the best thing to happen to Varric in a very long time.

Since she'd gotten there, they'd been inseparable. Catching up properly would take days. You could never say all you wanted to in a letter-there just wasn't time or space for all the details, and the details were the point. Besides, once a letter got where it was supposed to go, all the good gossip was outdated. Now, he could finally show her all the things he'd been telling her about, starting with Skyhold's heart: the tavern.

"Does he always sit there all alone?" Hawke asked, gesturing with her glass to the corner, where Cullen sat nursing a mug of something.

"No, actually. Surprised the Inquisitor's not with him," Varric replied.

She made a disgusted noise. "Have you seen them making sheep's eyes at each other? How do you stand it?"

"I got a lot of practice with you and Blondie," Varric said. She cuffed him on the shoulder, and he swatted her away. "I wish they'd get on with it," he admitted. "Pining is good, but eventually the audience gets bored."

"You think he'd tell us, if we got him drunk enough? I bet he would. "

"No way," Varric said. There was no way. Cullen's mouth, like the rest of him, was clenched.

Hawke prodded him. "Five sovereigns? Ten?"

"How old are you, again?"

"Twenty sovereigns."

"Fine. But don't expect me to help you. "

They grinned at each other, in perfect harmony, and for a moment, it was as if nothing had changed at all.

Their target appeared not to take any notice of them as they approached. If Varric hadn't been looking closely, he might not even have noticed Cullen's eyes darting back and forth, as if searching for an escape route. He decided, for the sake of the bet, not to be insulted. It wouldn't last long, anyway.

Sure enough, as Hawke went on about nothing in particular, Cullen began to relax. He still wasn't saying much, but at least his face had lost its hunted look. He hadn't exactly been receptive to reminiscences before, but Hawke had the kind of boisterous good humor that barreled right over any objections, whether you liked it or not.

It was nice, remembering. They were good memories, no riots or burning or explosions, or at least none that weren't the fun kind. (Although, he supposed, their individual definitions of "fun" might be different.) Sometimes, the past felt so far away, he almost wondered if it had really happened at all, or if it was just another story. It helped knowing others remembered, too.

Varric had long since perfected the art of appearing to imbibe while staying stone sober, and Hawke could outdrink a whole squad of soldiers. Cullen, on the other hand, hadn't drunk much, yet he was staring into his mug with an intensity that suggested he'd already been on just the right side of tipsy before they'd gotten there. Varric wondered what the occasion was.

"I spent a long time with your Inquisitor today," Hawke said. "You must be glad you got her, instead of someone less capable. She has lovely eyes, don't you think?"

"They're okay," said Varric. Cullen didn't react.

Hawke was undeterred. "Remind me to ask her about that soap she uses. It just wafts about her like springtime. Daisies, is it?"

"Roses," Cullen said absentmindedly. He went still. "Not...that I've ever...noticed."

"You have!" Hawke said, with barely restrained glee. "Does she know, or do you sniff her when she's not looking?"

"I don't…"

"I want to hear all about it. Don't skimp on the details."

He stood with a glower that should have bored holes in the table. Unfortunately, the effect was diminished by the pink flush that clung to the tips of his ears. "I have work to do. Why don't you go make yourselves useful?" he said, and strode out.

Hawke turned to Varric and held out her hand. "Pay up," she said.

"He didn't actually say anything," he protested.

"Did you see his face? He might as well have stood on the table and sung a ballad about it."

He sighed. "Oh, all right. But this is robbery."

Privately, though, he had to give her credit for subtlety, even if she'd only been able to maintain it for about thirty seconds. Whatever else she'd lost, she'd kept her genius for seizing an opportunity and making it pay.