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Varric straightened the stack of papers in front of him and picked up his quill to start working on the top one, a report from a mining company he and Bartrand were hoping to unload. But he was just faking it, hoping to kill time until Hawke showed up.

He had sharpened the quill, added a touch of ale to the inkwell to moisten it a bit more—and give it more flavor, too, not that anyone was likely to have to eat these particular words—and was just thinking he might have to start sorting the stack before finally the door opened and she came in.

There really was nothing like the way she brightened a room. Striding in wearing her battered armor, the sword's hilt gleaming on her back, her glossy black hair falling around her face—she was larger than life. Everyone else paled in comparison.

And when her eyes immediately sought his table and lit up at the sight of him, well, Varric felt like the luckiest man in Thedas.

Not that he had any business thinking that particular way, he told himself. He and Hawke were too busy making her reputation and their fortunes to let a little thing like attraction get in the way—and besides, there was Bianca to consider.

Hawke approached his table and dropped a pouch in front of him. "Tonight's take. Aveline's tip was a good one—and the pirate's going to fit in just fine."

"Why, thank you, sweet thing." The pirate in question, a relatively new arrival in Kirkwall named Isabela, draped an arm over Hawke's shoulders. "You ever want to know anywhere else I can, um, fit in, if you like, you just say the word."

"Thank you. A charming offer."

Blowing Hawke a kiss, Isabela headed for the bar to see what kind of trouble she could get into.

Hawke, meanwhile, took the seat across from Varric. "Pretending to be busy with your reports, I see. Why doesn't Bartrand find a replacement for you who actually does the work?"

"He's fresh out of brothers … and doesn't trust anyone else. Actually, I'm pretty sure he doesn't trust me, either."

"Which is why he gives you the busywork."

"You don't notice him barging in here demanding to know why things don't get done, do you?"

"Of course not. His feet would stick to the floor." She smiled. "Besides, he doesn't need to come after you himself. He just sics the Merchants Guild on you."

"Don't say those words out loud! You say them and their agent appears."

"Well, we could adjourn upstairs, where we could lock the door." Hawke raised her eyebrows, glancing in the direction of his rooms, which Varric took to mean it was time to go over their savings. They'd counted up last week, and were getting very close. Which was good, because Bartrand and Varric were running out of ways to pretend they could afford to fund the expedition.

"After you, Hawke." Gathering his papers, Varric got to his feet. As he followed Hawke to the stairs, he wondered if anyone thought they were an item. All in all, he doubted it. He was a dwarf, she was a human. He was largely considered a monk, and Hawke, while a bit of a flirt, thus far hadn't been known to follow through. No doubt eventually she would, although Varric tried not to think that far ahead. But when she did, it would be with someone else … which Varric was fine with. Or so he told himself.

Hawke sank into the one human-sized chair in Varric's room, stretching her feet out toward the fire. "I don't know why you spend so much time in the tavern when it's so much warmer and more comfortable here."

"Too quiet."

She glanced at him, wondering if he had meant to be that honest. No question that Varric worked best when surrounded by people.

He had put his stack of papers down and was opening the locked chest he kept hidden in an alcove next to the fireplace. They were fairly sure Corff, the bartender and owner of the place, knew where the chest was hidden, but Varric paid well and on time, which was more than most of those who rented rooms in the Hanged Man could say, and as long as that was true, they figured Varric's hiding place was safe.

Adding the pouch of coins to the stash, Varric took out his ledger and started marking things down, muttering under his breath.

"How close are we?"

"Getting there. Give me a minute, will you, Hawke?"

She frowned, trying to do the math in her head. "Do you remember how much we got from the Red Raiders on the docks earlier this week?"

"Seven silver and two bottles of rotgut," Varric said absently, frowning at the ledger.

"I suppose those are worth something."

"Good for what ails you, Hawke."

She shuddered. The hooch brewed in the Undercity packed a wallop all right—straight down into your insides and turned them outside. "No, thank you. I think we'll get more out of your collection of moth-eaten scarves."

"I'm saving those for my moth colony."

"I pity the poor moths who are so desperate they have to eat those things."

"A-ha!" Varric looked up from the ledger. "Two sovereigns, Hawke. That's all we need. We've got the maps from the Grey Warden, we've got all the supplies Bartrand's been amassing—two more sovereigns and we'll be ready to go."

"Thank the Maker. I'm so sick of Gamlen's snoring I'm about ready to dip into the stash and move out."

"That bad, huh?"

"Some night you might wake up and find me in bed with you."

Varric looked up at that, something in his brown eyes awakened and alert and—yes—interested by the idea. Hawke studied him, his handsome face that seemed so open until you got to know how much he hid, the broad chest with the furring of hair that tempted a person to stick her hand in his shirt and find out how far down the hair went, his capable hands, so deft with a lock.

"What would you say?" she asked, her voice coming out in a husky whisper that surprised her as much as it did him. "If you woke up and found me in your bed?"

"I'd be—" He stopped himself, and cleared his throat, his voice coming out stronger and more sure the second time. "I'd be incredibly flattered, Hawke, but … you and I, we're meant for greater things than a mere tumble or two, intriguing though the idea might be."

"Really. Greater things. Been a while since you had a tumble, I see," she said dryly, accepting the refusal.

"Wouldn't you like to know." There was clear relief on his face as he returned to his ledger. "Now, let's see … we have that meeting with Javaris Tintop coming up."

"Is he good for two sovereigns?"

"If you can pry two pennies out of Javaris, you'll have made more money off him than anyone I've ever met."

"All right, I'll drop by the Chantry and talk to that prince who's looking to have the Flint Company taken out, then. A prince should be good for a sovereign or two."

"Hawke. Are you taking Sunshine with us into the Deep Roads?"

She shivered, thinking of her delicate sister down in the dark. "I don't see how I can. We'll take Anders instead. He's a Grey Warden, he should be safe from the darkspawn. And Fenris." They had added Fenris, an escaped slave from Tevinter, to their roster a couple of weeks earlier.

"Really. Fenris." Varric's voice was even, but she wondered with a surprising leap of her pulse if he was jealous. Fenris had a certain brooding sexiness that was quite appealing. Then again, Anders was quite charming when he wanted to be.

"Yes," Hawke said coolly, "Fenris. Aveline can't be spared from the guard, and I'd like someone else up front fighting next to me while you and Anders hang back and have tea in the middle of a battle."

"That was one time!"

"And you'll never live it down."

They smiled at each other, and the talk moved on to practical plans for the expedition.