Varric had grown used to a procession of unfamiliar faces making their way in and out of the Great Hall and generally ignored their comings and goings. One morning, though, his eye was caught when a man walked in wearing a flared-brimmed hat so impressive as to strike envy into Cole's heart. The hat-wearer was a comparatively plain man, weather-beaten, dark-skinned, and, aside from the hat, simply dressed, with a heavy bow strapped onto his back. Varric expected the stranger to stride down the great hall to approach the throne, or turn to his left to meet with Josephine, or take the door behind Varric to access the tower. To Varric's surprise, the man stopped when he reached Varric and stood there staring at him.
"Do I owe you money, or…?" Varric asked lightly.
"Varric Tethras," the man said, his voice imbuing each syllable with significance. "It is you, isn't it? The writer?"
"Guilty as charged," Varric said. "Always good to meet a fan," he added, hoping that his guess was correct. A shockingly large number of people were somehow convinced that one or another book of his was a direct attack on their character and heritage. If this man was among their number, he'd have to make a quick escape. This was why he preferred to stand close to the tower door - it gave easy access to multiple escape routes.
"I just wanted to say that you spin a fine tale, Ser Tethras." Good, he had guessed correctly. "I first discovered your work when I was scouting in the Frostbacks. A freak storm blew up, and I had to seek shelter in a rundown hunting cabin. I wound up snowbound there for four days. The only thing standing between me and utter boredom was the copy of Hard in Hightown I found sitting on a table. I read it three times before the wind shifted and I was able to move on. Took the book with me, too."
"You weren't sick to death of it by then?" Varric asked. He knew that he could write a page turner, but had little confidence in his books' staying power.
"No, not at all! I kept noticing new details. It reminded me of an extended scouting mission, where you keep picking up more and more the longer you observe." The man was smiling at the memory and his eyes were shining. He was either a talented actor, or obviously sincere.
Varric could have hugged him. That would probably occasion a scolding from Josephine about decorous behavior in the great hall, though he suspected she would be more amused than indignant. He settled for his most charming grin and said, "Thank you! Have you read any of my other works, ah… I don't think I caught your name?"
"Sorry, I'm Thornton, and yes, I have," the man said eagerly. "Speaking of extended scouting missions… I was working my way through a bog when I ran into an enemy scout. Spotted him just in time to duck behind a tree before he put an arrow in me. He came after me, so I had to shoot him. When I took a look through his pack, it turned out he had a copy of the sequel to Hard in Hightown. I went on to scout the enemy, found a good vantage point in a tree, and wound up hiding there all day. I got halfway through the book before night fell and I could slip out unseen. Came back to camp, made my report, then read the rest by lantern-light. I was groggy the next morning, but it was worth it."
"That's quite a story," Varric said, wondering how much of it was true.
Thornton beamed, clearly delighted to have an appreciative audience. "Oh, and I also read The Tale of the Champion! I found it while I was hiding in a burning barn. The enemy had set their mabari on me, and I figured the dogs wouldn't be able to smell me with all the smoke. I was right, and the men didn't search the barn either. Guess they thought no one would be crazy enough to hide there. Anyway, I found the book in the hayloft and rescued it from the flames. It was a little singed, but still readable. When I got back to the army, we went right on the march, so I was stealing time to read a page or so every time we took a rest break. Gripping stuff."
Varric decided he didn't care if the story was true or not. He appreciated a good tale, the man told them well, and the repeated praise of Varric's work certainly wasn't hurting. "Thank you," he said. "You, ah, seem to have spent a fair amount of time hiding."
"Comes with the job, being a scout," Thornton said matter-of-factly. "I don't do my allies any good if I don't make it back alive, after all. Which reminds me," he added with a grin, "of how I came to read Swords and Shields."
Varric raised his eyebrows. "That one's a surprise. You aren't exactly the target audience I had in mind."
"Well, it's a long story," Thornton said, with an air of reluctance that, to Varric's eye, was clearly feigned.
"Please tell it," Varric said.
"We needed to know the enemy's plans, so I'd slipped into their camp and was going through the general's papers when I heard men outside. I only had a few moments before I'd be found out. I found an elaborate Orlesian mask and a wig in the tent, and figured they belonged to the general's wife. So I quickly disguised myself as her, grabbed her well-read copy of Swords and Shields, and then who should walk in but the general and his top aides. I pretended to be completely absorbed in the book, and the general was completely fooled. He proceeded to go over their entire battle plan while I sat there behind the mask. As soon as they left, I hot-footed it out of there before his real life showed up. Nicked the book to finish later, too."
Varric tried to imagine the weather-beaten man pulling off the imposture. It seemed implausible at best, but it did make for a great story. "You have quite a few war stories. Still accumulating them?" he asked.
"Oh, now and then," Thornton said cheerily. "Last mission we were on, I was scouting out a Red Templar camp and wound up hiding behind one of those enormous behemoths. You'd think they wouldn't smell like much, being mostly crystals, but they stink to the heavens. Their remaining flesh gone bad, I guess. I couldn't sneak out of there fast enough, and had to lift some incense from Sidony to get the smell out of my nostrils. But I'll be out of this life soon. Once the Inquisition has dealt with the Venatori and Red Templars, I figure I'm going to retire."
"Don't say that!" Varric said sharply. "Never say that!"
"Why not?" Thornton asked.
"It's a death sentence. Trust me. I've read and written enough books to know."
"If you say so," Thornton said dubiously.
Varric was thinking furiously. He needed a new series, after all, and it sounded like the man had plenty of material. "I'd like to buy you a drink at the tavern sometime. You could tell me some more of your stories, give some more detail."
"Sure, I don't see why not," Thornton said.
"I could even write some of them up for you," Varric suggested as if it was just occurring to him.
Thornton's eyes lit up. "I would be flattered!" he said.
No mention of payment, either. Excellent. "How does Behind Enemy Lines strike you as a title?"