Varric stared at the fire with his fingers steepled in front of his face, lost in thought as the tempest again raged outside the house. The story had been written, the words flung to the four winds of town criers, mummeries, heralds, and rumormongers. Enough had been added, and enough removed, to shape it into precisely the cover the two men would need to fade into the hum and bustle of the mainland as just another two wayfarers, best of friends and no more - to those who knew them not. No more Duke of Mantua, no more nightmares of evils long past: only two lovers who found comfort in each other's arms. "Love will find a way," the dwarf mused. "Love will always find a way. At least, it does in stories." With a chuckle, Varric retrieved his cup of wine and raised it to the fire. "And stories change, too. Was Robin Hood a noble in disguise? A brigand? A Knight? Who knows the truth, hmm?"
For a long while Varric stared into the fire, sipping his wine thoughtfully. "Mayhap time will change their story. Mayhap Dorian will become an heir to an Italian house who fell in love with the heiress to a rival house and together they'll die in tragic beauty instead of escaping into the night." He sighed at the thought of it. "Forbidden love? Ah, that's the most beautiful story of them all. Still, I prefer a happy ending."
A loud banging at his door made him grunt. "And now `tis time to learn the shape of my next tale." Pushing himself from the chair, he moved to the door and opened it.
On the stoop, he found a woman much taller than he, cloak clutched tight around her body as she shivered against the chill of the pouring rain. He noted the dark brown eyes set in a determined gaze, but also the long, dark scar which ran down the jawline of the woman's left cheek. "You are Varric?" she demanded in a heavy Austrian accent. "Boğa sent me hither." She held up a heavy pouch which jingled. "I require your aid."
"Follow me, my lady," Varric said with a bow. And so it begins anew.