He couldn't believe his luck. Varric quickly made his way to the Hightown mansion with a determined face. He'd finally found out where his damned son-of –a-bitch, sorry mother, nug humping brother of his was, now all he had to do was tell Hawke and they'd be set on getting some sweet revenge for Hawke's younger brother; Caver. He remembered Hawke being dead set on Bartrend's painful end and had earlier happily joined in on him and Blondie dreaming up some death fantasies, watching him try to struggle away from a giant ogre had been Hawke's favourite so far.

He soon reached the mansion and banged once on the door and watched it swing open and flinched at the sudden give of weight under his fist. The door was unlocked? Well that was usual to say the least, probably had Hawke over for a drink, a reluctant one at that knowing the high strung elf and ebony haired wonder's relationship. He sighed and frowned crossing his arms over his manly chest and walked on ahead. The mansion wasn't too bad, the corpses had been cleared out at least and the paintings were up on the wall, crooked, but up. The large room of books looked unused, but he did have some knowledge of Hawke lurking around here from time to time searching for those romances she loved so much. He'd once given her a racy romance as a joke, but to his disbelief she'd read and rather enjoyed it and even asked for the next in the series! He was surprised but still, nothing phased him with Hawke any more. The large main hall was still in shambles as the various pots and vases were shattered against the floor, you'd think the elf would at least brush them in to a corner considering his shoeless feet, but Hawke would most likely do it eventually, he could see her now;

"As much as I'd like to see you limping behind me tomorrow, I'll clean up the friggin' glass…For a price." Yep, that was her alright; speaking of Hawke he could hear her right now, shouting in fact, along with the elf's voice. Fighting again? Maker's breath, he could make a novel of witty banter that came from those two; pure writers gold, but even Hawke had had enough of mages and bloody Templars which made their banter normally about each others warm and fuzzy sides, but on some days…

'Don't strain yourself Hawke that kindness may run out.'

'I compensate from your lack there of."

'Of course, my reluctant attitude to letting mages go and letting them have a blood orgy seems to have shrivelled during the years I was a slave.'

'That's not the only thing that's shrivelled…and if we're talking orgies I'd be going with…'

Round one went to Hawke on Monday.

'Is it just a raging love of blood mages that make you let them go or a sense of blissful happiness?'

'Happiness? Around our lot? Not bloody likely, and if that DeLancet was a blood mage then I'm the queen of Antiva!'

"Well then, hello your highness."

'…I'm sorry but no man alive is that pathetic with women! You did better when flattering me for the first time for Makers sake. '

'…Hawke that does not mean that it was not a ruse.'

'If it was a ruse then I promise I'll bathe you with my tongue."

Round two still went to Hawke on Wednesday.

Varric only smiled smugly to think of what he and Aveline would witness tomorrow.

He sighed to hear more grumbles from the open door at the top of the stairs. Great, just what he needed, breaking up at fight between an ice happy mage and fisting elf.

Then the grumbles sounded smoother and less agitated. Then it all clicked in his mind. Varric stopped dead at the base of the stairs and rose a brow, after all that arguing and witty exchanges of banter now they were rutting? Makers breath.

They were both bipolar.