A/N: I'm working on some original projects atm, so I'm probably going to cut back to updating this story twice a month for a while. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with the story!

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"How can you be so useless? You're a fucking writer!"

Varric slowly set his mug down to stare pointedly across the table at Hawke, a single brow quirking as a loud thud heralded Hawke planting his face against the table with an agonizing wail that could have been because he was miserable or because he'd actually hurt himself.

Rivaini was inspecting one of the small clusters of lords and ladies standing not far from where she sat beside him and paused to look him over once, checking for signs of blood, and then went back to her people watching. Varric's spot in the main hall was great for it, and Rivaini liked figuring out who was probably stupid enough to carry something valuable on them.

She'd promised not to take—or at least keep—any of said valuables, at least.

As Varric stared at the wild tufts of black hair now protruding toward him, he leaned against the table, frowning. "I hate to break it to you, Hawke, but not everybody's going to be your friend."

It seemed like Kirkwall would have ingrained that fact of life into his head a long time ago, but the man had spent all morning lamenting over how their dear inquisitor hated him, largely due to a multitude of events that he'd had no control over.

"Why do you even care, sweet boy?" Rivaini asked with a sigh, elbows against the table to prop herself up as she finally lost interest in the people around them. There weren't too terribly many, so Varric was somewhat surprised that she'd been preoccupied for as long as she had been.

"I just…" Hawke started, sitting upright to reveal a slight red bruise on his nose from when he'd flopped forward. "I just want to hug her and give her things and keep her safe."

Rivaini didn't miss a beat, instead sighing and leaning her head back so that her long dark locks curled against the table. "Ah, sweet thing. Please stop. You can't adopt every single person who looks like they had a hard life."

"She's like Bethany, though," Hawke objected, forgetting Varric for the moment to look pleadingly at his lover. "Or…at least what I think Bethany might have ended up like if she hadn't had Father and the rest of us there to keep her safe from templars."

Even as Rivaini murmured something, tawny fingers running through Hawke's wild hair and making it messier, Varric's face fell.

He tried not to think of 'what if's and 'what had happened's when it came to the people around him, he really did.

But to think that Stardust might have been more like Sunshine if she'd just gotten a little be of security and…

And who was to say she hadn't gotten that?

Other than her constant paranoia and the way she never wanted to trust anyone.

Well, except for the one person who might not be the best to trust. More and more, it seemed that Curly was the one Stardust sought out. Whenever Varric saw her, she was either looking for him, just leaving his company, or actually with the man.

From what he could tell, it was making the Rebel mages antsy, as they knew the commander by reputation.

Kirkwall reputation.

Varric had been looking for Sparkler the other day to ask him what he knew about the blonde boy. Cole, he'd said, hadn't he? He'd told Varric to talk to Stardust, and yet somehow, with everything going on, he'd forgotten.

However, a lot was at work at the moment, and he was fairly certain some of the mages were looking for the boy, though they were oddly quiet about it.

A secretive lot, mages.

Though, Varric supposed they had their reasons. It had to have been hard, living in the Circles, always worried that idle curiosities might lead to undesirable attention or accusations. Blondie had always spoken so hatefully of the Circles, and every mage they'd helped escape from Kirkwall had been equally disdainful.

And with good reason. If the inside of the Circle had been any hint as to what they went through when they were there, it was a wonder they hadn't all rebelled a long time ago.

However, as he'd wandered the library level of the tower, searching for Sparkler, he'd happened upon two mages talking, and as seemed to be the blessing of a writer, he'd come in at a rather opportune moment for eavesdropping.

"Bet she'd have luck with dealing with it," the first voice had said. "She's from the Wilds. She's got to be used to monsters and demons, right?"

"Sure, go ask her," the second voice had hissed. "Just go up to the templar bastard and tell him you need his pet for a few minutes."

"She outranks him."

There was a scoff. "You really believe they'd let a mage run a religious organization? They gave her a pretty title to placate us."

"She's the Herald of Andraste."

"You cannot be this stupid." When there was a muttered rebuttal, the second voice took in a long breath and held it before impatiently snapping, "You and I—and all the templars—know how she got her damned eyes that way."

"Grand Enchanter Fiona and Senior Enchanter Reinald both say she's not a blood mage. That her eyes aren't the same as a blood mage's would be."

"Of course they say that!" The second voice rose a second before a shush hushed her. After a pause to make sure no one was coming to see what the fuss was about, the second voice added, "If we're caught supporting a blood mage, they'll murder us all, and they won't even need a Rite of Annulment to do it."

"Well, if she's a blood mage, then how is she that knight-commander's pet? From all the stories, he abhors blood magic. He'd have killed her himself." Before they could be countered, the first voice added, "And anyway, how do we know that's the same knight-commander from Kirkwall? Maybe he's someone else."

"Now you're arguing against yourself."

"No, I'm saying I don't think she's a blood mage. The templars would have picked up on that. They're paranoid like that."

"Which is why he keeps her so close. To keep an eye on her. Or maybe he's under her thrall."

Though there was sort of an aha from the first voice, rather than continue the argument, they were quiet a moment before saying, "It would explain why he seems to keep limited company with the other templars…but no! I won't believe that. She's closing the rifts and helping the world. As a mage. That's got to count for something."

"You're impossible to talk to," the woman muttered before adding, "but if you want to ask her about demons when she gets back, by all means, pry her away from her templar. You could do it to see which of them is the one in control. Just don't expect sympathy when you get skewered."

There was a rustling of fabric as one of them began to walk away.

Then, the more optimistic voice asked, "What if she stays near him to keep an eye on him?"

"Like I said, go find out when she gets back."

And with that, the two had hurried off to do whatever it was they'd been avoiding.

Even as Varric had considered what they were saying—wondered just how deeply this divide in the mages' trust went—he'd shifted from where he'd sat on the floor and almost shit himself when he turned to find someone sitting right beside him.

Sparkler had waved, his smirk making his moustache curl even more in a most devious way.

According to the Tevinter, there were a lot of those conversations going around, and they were worse with since Stardust had headed out again.

Worse with Cole gone.

Varric didn't know what that meant, and had been annoyed that Sparkler had refused to explain it, instead shrugging innocently and then warning him not to bring Cole up to the Iron Lady.

Again, no explanation as to why.

And that's where he was no. No reasons behind the rhymes and the unsavory fact that Stardust was head over heels for someone who had once stated that he thought all mages should be made tranquil—or he had, according to Hawke in his more recent rant about how he didn't understand how Curly hadn't gone mad yet from all the free mages wandering about.

Maker's balls, but if Hawke found out that Stardust trusted Curly more than him…

That was a wound to his pride that would take years to recover from.

"If you really want to try to win her favor," Rivaini began, voice slow and expression one that conveyed what a waste of time she thought this was. "You could find a way to help her."

"But how?" Hawke slumped back against the table, chin resting on the edge. "I've been trying to think of ways and so far, all I've got is wrangling another spider and bringing it here."

"Please don't bring man-eating spiders to Skyhold," Varric protested, frown firmly in place.

Even as he spoke, Seeker came striding through the hall with her usual air or righteous distaste for life. However, just as Varric considered suggesting that Hawke talk to her of all people for advice, a most unusual thing occurred.

One of the templars who guarded Stardust—he hadn't a nickname for him yet—intercepted her, stopping Seeker a few feet from their table.

Instantly, there was a change.

Seeker's cheeks flushed a little, her stance became awkward as though she didn't know if she wished to stand up straight or cross her arms or just hide. She tumbled over her words, her sure tone gone, and Varric wished he were close enough to hear this conversation, instead of only picking up the dull murmur of words.

"Which of our strapping templars do you think will succeed first, I wonder?"

Varric nearly jumped out of his skin as he realized that somehow Sparkler had snuck up on him again. The Tevinter grinned, most amused at his continued success, watching Varric's surprise shift to a scowl.

"What's that?" Hawke was the one to ask.

Sparkler frowned at Hawke, glanced toward the awkward duo several feet from them and rolled his eyes. "If I am truly the only one who's noticed this, then just ignore me."

"You can't say that to him and expect him to drop it." Rivaini sighed, shifting around so that she could prop her head in her hands, elbows braced against the table. "He won't."

Sparkler rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers against the table as he looked forlornly at Rivaini. "But what fun is it for me if I'm one sharing all the information? The looks on your faces will hardly be worth my while."

Despite a bit of prodding, Sparkler would say no more, instead grumpily watching as Ser Trevelyan and Seeker concluded their awkward conversation and went their separate ways. Just as the mage started to get up, Varric found more guests to his table.

Things had been getting busier as the castle came together and more and more people arrived, though he couldn't really complain. People always had a way of filling in blanks that he never expected to be filled. The other day, a maid had stopped to rest her feet and had chattered away about something or other that had been going on in the stables and how she'd heard the warden there seemed uncomfortable with their new warden.

The more people he talked to, the bigger and clearer the picture became.

And so he didn't mind when Buttercup and their new arcanist—when had they asked for an arcanist?—came up to the table, arms laden with various alchemical supplies.

"Oi, they finished prettying up the Undercroft, yeah?" Buttercup began, standing a bit taller as she shifted the box of breakables in her arms rather unceremoniously. "Gotta move shite in so we get the good corners before Harritt."

"That poor man," Sparkler protested. "They're sticking him in with red lyrium?"

"Use your blightin' head," Sera snapped, rolling her eyes. "Can't be stuck with something we don't got yet."

"If you have some time," Dagna interjected before mage and elf could get into a proper argument, "could you help us move? We'd like to get everything set up so we can figure out where to store the red lyrium so that it'll be safest."

Though there was some resistance from both Rivaini and Sparkler, the whole lot of them ended up roped into rounding up and moving the various oddities that an arcanist used. Prior to this, her tools had been shoved wherever there was room for them, and so it was a bit trying to figure out where everything was.

Fortunately, Dagna had an incredible mental inventory and was able to say what was missing, if asked.

Once everything was assembled, they sprawled out in the remaining space, allowing their weary limbs to rest.

Bree Cadash had joined them at some point, and while she sat near Dagna and Buttercup, she took to inspecting the rest of them. "My carta heard stories of some caves just inside Orlais that are filled with red lyrium. I need a few people to come with me to check it out, maybe bring back a few samples."

"That shit is dangerous," Varric protested, though he already knew his words were going to be ignored.

"Well, I'm not going near the stuff unless I absolutely have to," Sparkler objected. He was sprawled on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "That stuff is a death sentence to mages."

"It's a death sentence to everyone," Varric muttered.

However, as he knew it would, no one listened. Buttercup was the one to pipe up next. "Well, if Finley's gonna cure it, she's got to study it. You'd think magic would just be magic, but apparently it's got all kinds of creepy rules to it."

Dagna perked up at that. "Oh, they aren't creepy. It's pretty fun really."

"And you would know how? Dwarves don't go around setting things on fire."

"Not with our minds," Bree corrected.

As that derailed the conversation into talk of explosives and the like, Varric ran his hands down his face. Dealing with red lyrium would not end well. It had made his brother mad, had killed Meredith and countless other templars, and it canceled magic.

Who in their right mind would want to keep that nearby?

Though…

Stardust was a healer, and from what he'd heard, she was very upset about the red lyrium, now that she'd figured out more about it.

What, she hadn't said before she'd left, and she'd taken almost everyone who knew what she'd figured out with her.

Varric had considered asking Curly about it, but the one time he'd brought of Stardust to the commander after she'd left, he'd been so ridiculously awkward that Varric had given up on him.

He understood that the man seemed to have a growing fondness for their inquisitor, but even that didn't warrant him getting so…bent out of shape.

Varric couldn't explain it, but he was missing something there. Perhaps he'd brought up his feelings, and she'd turned him down? It would explain the lost feel that seemed to come from him.

"Hey," Bree interrupted his thoughts as she tossed a small orb of something at Sparkler. It bounced off harmlessly and rolled off. "Magister—"

"Altus."

"—you ask Varric to host the bet yet?"

"Me?" Varric rocked back where he was sitting, moving so that he could eye both Bree and Sparkler with minimal head movement. "Why me? And what bet?"

Sera snorted at that, starting to ask something only to fall into a cackling fit that overtook her and wouldn't allow for words. Dagna giggled along with her, eyes alight.

"Does this have to do with the lady seeker and her templar beau?" Hawke asked, perking up a little. So Varric wasn't the only one still wondering about Sparkler's earlier comments.

With a nod, Bree leveled her gaze at Varric, trying to fight a grin. "It's rather clear that certain people's affections are becoming obvious to anyone with eyes, and so we wanted to start a bet about it." Even as Hawke started to ask for clarification, wondering if this was indeed about Seeker or not, Bree held up a hand, willing him to have some patience. "Everyone is basically holding their breath, waiting for the next catastrophe to strike. We don't know what Corypheus is planning. We have no way to strike against him, and so we thought a light-hearted bet might boost morale."

Hawke cocked his head, considering it. Honestly, it was something he would have done back in Kirkwall. Rivaini seemed mildly interested, as well.

Bree motioned to Varric. "You're personable and easy to talk to, and good with numbers from what I hear—secrets, too—so we thought you'd be good to be the bookie."

"Okay, I admit it: I'm intrigued." Varric couldn't help but grin as Hawke bit back a laugh. "What's the bet?"

"Which templar will get his lady first," Dagna piped up, smile bright as the damned sun.

Even as it sunk in to Varric what they were talking about, Hawke furrowed his brow. "You're going to have to elaborate on that. Are a bunch of templars falling in love?"

"Just two for the bet," Bree shrugged. "Ser Trevelyan, and the more obvious Commander. Both men are like love-struck puppies, and both their lady interests seem to reciprocate, yet somehow also seem unsure as to what in the void's going on, so it's a matter of seeing which poor bastard manages to get through to his lady first."

While Buttercup berated Sparkler for not getting things set up already and he shot back that he didn't like having to explain everything, Hawke sat where he was, expression unreadable as the gears turned slowly in his head.

"You mean to tell me that the commander, as in Commander Cullen Rutherford, has feelings for someone?" Varric held his breath as he watched Hawke let out a laugh and then nudge Rivaini. "I'll be damned. I didn't think he had a heart. I'm in."

That brought a few disbelieving laughs from those who hadn't known Curly in Kirkwall, though Buttercup seemed more keen on that information than the others.

"Right, right, so," Dagna waved her hand when Hawke started to ask for details. "Here's the deal: No interfering. Can't try to set them up or help them out—"

"Or hinder them," Sparkler added, though Buttercup just glared at him before continuing.

"Or hinder them so that the other couple gets together first."

Rivaini leaned back against Hawke, arching her brow. "So we just watch these sad fools try to blunder their way through romance on their own? Can't give advice or anything?"

"Nothing."

"What if they ask?"

At that, Hawke scoffed, "Cullen's not about to ask anyone in this room, and I doubt that other templar would, either."

"But if one of them does, what's the policy?" Rivaini persisted, lightly elbowing Hawke in the stomach.

After a brief debate, they finally settled on the rules. No interference. If one was asked for help, one must find their way out of it or give up their shot at winning the bet. If the ladies asked for help, it was again to be considered interference and generic, unhelpful advice was to be given, like 'follow your heart'.

And above all else, the four involved in the bet must never learn of it.

Varric had spent the whole conversation watching Hawke, waiting for him to ask who it was that the commander fancied, and yet somehow, that little detail never came up.

Likely, everyone else already knew who was involved and didn't think it needed stating.

In the end, it seemed that Hawke was too amused with the idea that Curly could actually having feelings to consider who those feelings might be for, for even when the subject shifted back to red lyrium, he made not attempts to backtrack.

Varric wished he would, especially when Hawke realized that perhaps procuring some red lyrium samples might make him 'even' for squishing Stardust's spider.

With a groan, Varric had resigned himself to the fact that he was likely about to be traveling into Orlais with his idiot of a best friend, all while trying to figure out how to break it to him gently that the mage he was equating to his sister had a fondness for one of the few people Hawke genuinely couldn't stand.

Ancestors' balls, but his was going to be a miserable trip.