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Varric shivered in the wind that came through the open door. The other patrons of the Hanged Man had their cups of ale ready to throw at the intruder who had let the weather in, but they all stopped shouting when they recognized Hawke standing in the doorway, coolly staring at them.
She seemed amused by her effect on the crowd, striding through toward Varric's table. "Rowdy bunch today."
"If it had been anyone other than you, they'd be dripping with ale by now."
"If you can call what they serve here ale." She signaled for a mug anyway. "Anything interesting going on in here?"
"A lot of grousing about the weather."
"They do that every day." She was covered in raindrops, however, pushing the little wisps of damp hair back off her face. "I admit, they have a point today, though. It's raining cats and dogs."
Varric cocked an eyebrow at her. "That's a metaphor, right? Given our luck lately, I could believe you meant it literally."
Hawke laughed. Then she, too, shivered, as someone else opened the door. She turned around and shouted at the bartender, "Maker's blood, Corff, couldn't you just close up for the day, and keep people from coming in?"
"You were the last one, Hawke. Should I have kept you out, too?" he called back good-naturedly.
"No, no, everyone but me."
"You don't have that much coin."
"Not yet I don't," she said, turning back to Varric. "How are we doing on the count for the expedition?"
"Over halfway there, but Bartrand's getting twitchy."
"Bartrand was born twitchy," Hawke said, shifting her chair in order to make room for the newcomers, Blondie and Aveline and the broody elf.
"Faugh!" the elf spat, shaking the rain out of his white hair. "What is this weather?"
"It's called winter," Blondie snapped, ducking out of the spray of water. "And watch it!"
The elf sneered at him and took a seat. "It is terrible. Why do you all endure such misery?"
Hawke smiled. "It's a lot worse than this in Ferelden."
"No wonder so many of your fellow countrymen have fled, then."
"Here, take my seat, get your feet warm." Hawke got up and all but hauled the elf down the table closer to the fire. "Why don't you wear shoes?"
"They should not be necessary," he grumbled, but he more or less obediently stuck his feet out toward the fire.
"You could always go back to Tevinter where it's plenty warm. No one here would miss you." Blondie grinned over the top of his mug of ale at the elf. It was not a nice smile.
Varric was by no means as sure of that as the mage was. He was pretty well convinced that if something happened to the elf, such as being hauled back in chains to Tevinter, Hawke would move mountains to get him back. He wondered if Hawke knew just what lengths she might go to in that circumstance. She seemed to be pretty thoroughly in denial when it came to her attraction to the elf.
She had a faraway look on her face right now, though, as she took the seat between the elf and the mage. To keep them from attacking each other, ostensibly. Yeah, right, Varric thought, grinning to himself.
"You can't beat winter, though, really," Hawke said dreamily. "Sledding, snowball fights, hot cocoa, catching a snowflake on your tongue …" She mimed the action, and Varric couldn't help noticing the elf's eyes following Hawke's tongue as it danced in the air searching for phantom snowflakes. Mutual, then. How interesting.
"That particular silence when the snow is falling. Like you can hear each flake landing on top of each other," Blondie agreed.
Aveline, somewhat unexpectedly, added, "And the jingle of bells in the hush of a forest full of new-fallen snow." She, too, had a look like she was remembering happy moments from long ago. It was an unusually soft look for her, and Varric suddenly wondered what she had been like as a young girl, before war and Blight and the loss of her husband had hardened her.
Fenris gave an exaggerated shudder. "Can those things truly compare to the softness of the breeze as it brushes your cheek like silk, or the scent of spices in the air, or the comforting warmth of the sun enveloping you?"
Varric raised his eyebrows. He had never known any of them to wax so poetic before. If they kept this up, they'd have him and his quill out of a job.
Hawke was staring at the elf, her blue eyes wide. "You … paint a vivid picture."
"Do I?" The elf's green eyes met hers, and Varric tried not to draw attention to the moment by staring.
Both of them looked hastily away before it could become anything—before anyone but him noticed there had been a moment in the first place.
"It's all in the contrast," Aveline said in her usual brisk tones. "You need winter to appreciate summer."
"I was able to appreciate the endless summers of the north quite adequately without ever feeling the bite of winter, thank you," the elf told her tartly.
"Be glad you landed in Kirkwall, then, where the winters are relatively mild."
"That is something to be grateful for," the elf agreed, his gaze catching on Hawke's again. "I do not forget my good fortune."
Across the room, the door opened again and everyone inside the Hanged Man groaned and complained at the newcomer, showering him with stale and smelly ale.
Blondie turned back to the table once the door was closed. "All right, maybe I don't miss Ferelden's winters that much."
"Damned cold," Hawke agreed.
"And the mud!" Aveline stood up. "Who needs a refill?"
Everyone did. She went to get them, and they huddled together around the table, telling stories and making plans, while the winter storm raged outside.