"VARRIC TETHRAS!"

"Uh-oh. Everyone scram!"

The crowd of people that were previously surrounding the dwarf immediately began to disperse. They darted off in all directions, a number of them diving into the streets of Lowtown, a few others towards other tables, and a few more into the back rooms of the Hanged Man. Once they were all gone, Varric looked up at Hawke and snarked, "You might scare the piss out of them, Hawke, but I'm not so easily spooked. What can I do ya for?"

Marian stormed over to the table, hands on her hips, Carver sheepishly in tow. With rage to rival that of a fully mature high dragon, Marian demanded, "Did you put Carver up against Isabela in a round of Wicked Grace knowing he'd get cleaned out?"

The dwarf's eyebrows raised during her accusation—he ended up bursting into laughter. Marian stood ahead of him, her blood boiling.

Carver had lost ten full sovereigns the previous night which, considering the lack of work that had been taking place the last couple of weeks, reduced their total investment pool to around twenty-five sovereigns… Only half of what they needed, when just three weeks before, they had saved up to forty.

After Varric managed to gain some control over himself, he wiped a tear away from his eye and exclaimed, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually! You won't have to worry about that money, Hawke. I've got you covered."

"Explain."

"If there's one thing your brother does better than the rest of us combined, it's boast," Varric declared, leaning back in his seat. He waved briefly over the commons of the Hanged Man and chuckled, "He convinced every man in here that he could beat Isabela in a revenge game of Wicked Grace. I bet against him—every person in the room matched my bet thinking he'd win. It was spectacular."

"Wha—why didn't you tell me that was your plan?" Carver exclaimed as Marian threw a hand to cover her mouth. Her anger had disappeared entirely; it seemed to have transferred to her little brother.

Varric just shrugged. "Too risky! Someone could've heard me. Anyway, as it was your money that you bet against Isabela, you earned the profits from my little debacle. Here." With that last word, he chucked a heavy purse of coin towards Carver, who caught it without looking away from the dwarf. "I'm sure you'll find its contents to be more than satisfactory."

The smug look on Varric's face spoke volumes. Marian didn't even need to count how many coins were in it to know… their goal of fifty sovereigns to invest in Bartrand's expedition had just been reached.

Carver, however, didn't seem to hold as much faith. With a malcontent grumble, he opened the purse and began looking over the money that was gathered inside. As he did so, Marian plopped down next to Varric and, with a disbelieving shake of her head, whispered, "You son of a bitch."

"Come now, Hawke, my mother is delightful," said Varric, although he didn't look displeased by her comment in the slightest. In fact, he was quite at ease—and buried deep within his eyes was a sincerity that Marian only saw on the rarest of occasions.

"Marian… there's enough to…" Carver began to say, but he couldn't finish.

"I figured as much," she replied anyway, putting a hand on her brother's arm. She exhaled slowly and looked toward Varric, a questioning glance upon her face. "What prompted you to take such a risk?"

The dwarf shrugged and withdrew an arrow from his ever-present quiver, twirling it dexterously between his fingers. After a moment of consideration, he answered, "Well, I… you two have been working your sorry asses off for a while. I thought I'd make a little contribution to your efforts."

Marian laughed lightly and put a hand to her forehead. All her worries from the past three weeks: gone.

"When should we visit your brother?" she asked, still in mild disbelief.

"After…you honor me with a round of Wicked Grace."

The groan that exited Marian's mouth was involuntary, but fully warranted. Everyone knew that Varric was incredibly skilled at all card games and situations involving gambling, as he'd just so proven. The game that was about to follow was going to be a quick and painful one for the Hawkes.

Varric guffawed at the reaction he was met with and whipped a deck of cards out from his coat pocket. With no small amount of amusement, he bantered, "Come on, Hawke, this is the least you can do for little old me."

Before Marian could speak up, Carver interjected. "How about this, dwarf? Me and my sister versus you."

"Deal."

Feeling slightly better—Carver certainly knew the intricacies of Wicked Grace better than she did, anyway—Marian straightened and huffed, "All right, then, Varric. Game on."

Varric grinned; an evil, evil grin. "Excellent."

He began to shuffle the cards in his hands, sharply slipping them in between his fingers, performing tricks that any normal street-peddler would be desperate to learn. The dwarf continued to mix the cards for a minute or so before finally cutting the deck and designating five cards to both himself and to Marian.

Marian, however, merely stepped out of her seat and gestured for Carver to take her place; he did so with a smirk and revealed his cards to himself and his sister. They took note of their inventory: two songs, one of temerity and one of autumn, a knight of roses, a serpent of avarice, and a card of daggers.

"The objective is to get a matching set, right?" Marian asked, cocking her head sideways. She had thought she remembered the game well enough…

"That it is, my lady," said Varric, sparing her a pitying glance.

"Don't worry. The dwarf can't be invincible," Carver replied with a grin, his voice full of a shockingly good-natured banter.

Varric shook his head and raised a bushy eyebrow, not taking his eyes off the younger Hawke as he reached for the deck of cards ahead of him. Only when he discarded his card—an angel of charity—did he look away.

The game continued on for longer than Marian believed it would. The ending card, the Angel of Death, was stubbornly hidden deep within the deck… and most fortunately for the Hawkes, Carver seemed to be stumbling upon some very good luck indeed. He quickly discarded the dagger card and exchanged it for a knight of sacrifice. Two pairs was certainly not a bad hand, but their luck continued when Marian snatched up a song of mercy, providing them with three song cards and two knight cards.

After a few more rounds of calculated poker faces and carefully thought out discards, the Angel of Death finally appeared.

"HAH!" exclaimed Carver, triumphantly tossing down the five cards in his hand. Revealed for Varric to see were three song cards and two knight cards: surely a tough hand to match, much less beat.

Varric nodded, set his cards face-down upon the table, and began slow-clapping. "Not bad, not bad… but I bet you weren't expecting this."

He picked up his hand again with a shark-like leer unhidden; when he revealed his cards, Marian and Carver both groaned. Displayed in alphabetical formation were four serpent cards: avarice, decay, deceit, and sadness. Sitting next to them was an angel of fortitude, which counted for nothing at all, but it didn't matter. The fact that Varric managed to piece together a full suit meant that he was the winner.

Carver cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his spiky black hair. "I thought I had you that time."

"You're getting better, Junior," Varric said, the grin on his face no longer pointed, but approving. "It was a close round. If that Angel of Death card had shown up twenty seconds before it did, you would've beaten me."

Marian chuckled and clapped her brother on the shoulder. "Next week, Carver. You know everyone'll be gathered here again for another round. Then we'll win back our dignity."

Her comment was met by two sets of laughter, and the trio began to rise from their table inside the bar. Varric reached for the bag of gold and, with a flourish of his arm, returned it to Carver. "Your losings, Junior."

"Ah, shut up."

Marian rolled her eyes but laughed all the same. "Careful, you two, or I might just begin to think you're friends."

"What, us? Never," Carver scoffed, but when Marian looked back at him, she found that he was not so irritatingly stoic and serious as he usually was. Glancing amongst them both, she gestured to the door. "Shall we go find your brother, then, Varric?"

The dwarf sighed theatrically and cracked his knuckles. After the briefest of silences, he answered, "Yes, let's go. The sooner he receives a partner and a heap of gold for his expedition, the sooner he becomes less of a pain in my ass."

So it was that Varric took the lead and waved the Hawkes onward, exclaiming, "Just you wait, my friends. At this time in five weeks, we're all going to be rich!" as he did.