"Just admit that I'm right."

"Bullshit." Skylar snarked in the most passive-aggressive sing-song way she possibly could. Anyone else within her inner circle likely would have given up by now in favor of avoiding being turned into a popsicle. But not Varric, evidently.

She wasn't even sure how they'd gotten to this point in the conversation. Well, it wasn't such a huge stretch to be honest. He had opened with the expressed intention of interviewing her for the future series or whatever that he was definitely going to write. Still, it wasn't like she hadn't tried to politely refute the question twice now. But Andraste's ass was he persistent. He was acting like she was wearing a shirt saying 'I'm an open book, please ask me about my sexual preferences'. Not that anything in her hand-me-down wardrobe would have been big enough on her to facilitate having any words written on it. She did appreciate that Josephine arranged to have Skylar's personal things brought to her apartment in Haven. But still, she was really hoping she'd get an excuse to find clothes that actually fit her at a certain point in the near future.

Ugh, and again with the questions. Did he ever bloody stop? She tried hard to be patient with him. It wasn't like he knew, and if he did, he would have dropped it immediately. But she wasn't looking to start broadcasting such a dark moment in her past, and especially not to someone who she hadn't known for very long.

What did it even matter, anyway? It had been years since she had found anyone that she felt comfortable enough around to even attempt anything close to a relationship. Sure, he obviously noticed that she had a type. Half of fucking Thedas probably knew now, because of her stupid, girlish reaction back in Val Royeaux. Really, she had thought that she was too old to be reduced to a swoony puddle by a handsome face. The whole damned thing was stupid and she didn't appreciate being reminded of it. And it's not like anything would come of it even if they were to see each other again by some magical miracle. She truly didn't see herself letting anyone get close enough to be romantically entangled with them after what happened. And she was fairly certain that it might still be a long while before she would even want to be intimate with anyone again. Trust was a hard thing to come by to begin with. Growing up in an alienage taught her the harsh lesson that everyone was only ever out for themselves. But after what she went through, trust wasn't just rare, it seemed damn near impossible.

"Oh, come on. You definitely like a man in uniform, at least."

Skylar tried hard to focus on the tablet in her hand. She must have read the same sentence of the report about a handful of times now and she still couldn't tell you what in the void it had said yet. "That doesn't mean that I happen to fancy any of the men in uniform I've met so far."

Varric chuckled. "Right, so we're not gonna talk about how you got all doe-y-eyed back in Val Royeaux?"

"Nope."

"I did some digging, you know."

Skylar set the tablet down with a huff. She conjured a small bit of ice on her fingertips and ran it across her forehead, hoping to stave off the headache she knew was brewing. "Of course, you did."

"So, his name is Barris—"

"Andraste's ass you actually did. I thought you were bloody joking…"

Varric grew a positively mischievous grin as he continued. "He's Ferelden."

Skylar sighed heavily, resigning herself to letting him finish his spiel. "Yeah. Accent gave that away."

"Obviously, he's a templar."

"Obviously."

"But get this: the guy has dozens of medals and awards to his name. He's a real hero, so far as the order is concerned."

"Meaning he's one of their finest mage-hunters, I assume?" She deadpanned.

"Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn't write it off so quickly." He produced a set of folded pieces of official-looking paper from his jacket pocket. "Not until you read for yourself that is."

Skylar snickered incredulously. "Leliana is gonna kill you when she finds out these are missing."

"If she finds out." He corrected. "Come on, you have to be curious."

She reluctantly tucked the papers in the back pocket of her jeans. "I appreciate the gesture, Varric, but I'm afraid your efforts are in vain."

"Oh, come on, what did I miss?"

"Look," she sighed, "It's never going to happen. I'm sure the handsome templar is quite the catch but I seriously doubt there's even a remote possibility now."

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself."

She shot him a glare, the deadpan tone returning to her voice again. "I was referring to the fact that we may very likely have to go to war with the templars."

"Oh, right, that." He sighed dramatically. "Well, then, I suppose I'll have to leave it to the shipping wars. Can't be helped."

"Wait…what?"

"Speaking of which: what about Curly?"

Skylar simply stared at him blankly for a moment, trying to follow the seemingly derailed train of logic the conversation had descended into. "What in the actual void are you on about?"

"You know, Curly. The Commander?"

"Uh…we've met?"

Varric chuckled heartily. "Oh, I have to write that down. The readers love the innocent ones."

"The…what?"

"Nevermind, Snowball—"

"Snowball?"

"Yes, you're Snowball: a tiny little thing of cold fury that can very easily Snowball out of control." He made a grand gesture, as if he were so pleased with himself that it should be rubbing off on her too. "Get it?"

"Right, yeah. Snowball. Clever."

"Hey, now you never answered the question."

"What bloody question?"

"About Curly. What do you think of him?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "You're asking if I would date him, aren't you?"

"Hey, now she gets it! Not so innocent after all!"

She rolled her eyes so quickly she was concerned they might actually go completely to the back of her head. "Andraste's great flaming ass! No."

"What? Why not?"

"Oh, for fucks sake. Where do I even begin? Okay, how about we start with you ignoring that he's a married father, totally committed to his wife in probably the cutest possible way."

Varric scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't have to tell me, I had to watch that whole thing unfold. Painfully slow, I might add. But point being: the readers don't care about reality. They'll start the shipping wars regardless. If it's even remotely possible, they'll claim it's happening."

"Fucking how? I barely speak to him if it doesn't involve the Inquisition at this point."

"Yeah, but you're missing the point."

"Which is?"

"Your hair."

"Fucking what?"

"It's the same color as Curly's."

She blinked blankly at him again, wondering if he'd actually knocked a screw loose. "Blonde hair is a typical affliction for native Fereldens, yes."

"Exactly! Now, you get it."

"Nope. Not even a little."

Varric sighed. "Since the both of you have blonde hair, the internet has decided that you'll make a cute couple."

"And they collectively decided that based solely and completely on the color of our hair?"

"Yep. It's on the internet now, it must be true."

Skylar's mind literally blanked for a moment there. She was perfectly still; her eyes were fixed on the War Table in front of her. "Is this what an aneurysm feels like?"

"Should I take that as a no, then?"

She sighed heavily, running her hands over her face. She muttered a rhetorical prayer to the Maker to grant her the strength to refrain from punching the dwarf. "Look, you can tell the shippers that while Cullen surely has a multitude of finer qualities, there is zero chance of anything happening there."

"Fine, fine. But I'll have to write in a reason…?"

"If I tell you why, will you leave me the void alone?"

Varric definitely seemed offended, but shrugged non-committedly. "For now, at least."

Skylar groaned as she rolled her eyes yet again. "Fine. Let's just say that Cullen reminds me too much of…someone I would rather forget."

"Ouch. Bad Breakup, huh?"

She knew he didn't really mean it to sound so disrespectful. He still had no idea that he was stepping on an emotional landmine, after all. But she couldn't help but feel a near overwhelming rage towards him. She had to take a moment to close her eyes and calm herself. She definitely hadn't meant to have such an obvious reaction, but there it was. No brushing it off now. No hiding behind snarky comments.

Varric of course noticed that reaction. He had the decency to look apologetic, much to his credit. "Sorry, Snowball, I didn't realize…"

"I know, I know. Honestly, I try not to tell people…" She sighed, leaning her weight against the table now. "I'm fine. It just still stings a bit, you know?"

"Yeah, noted." He looked away for a moment, like he was almost ashamed to ask. "Was it…bad?"

Her expression blanked once again. But this time there was a certain hollow-ness to it that made Varric uneasy. Her words began to sound very matter-of-factly for a bit. "Pretty bad, yeah."

"Do you, uh…need to talk about it?"

"No!" She took a deep breath, calming herself temporarily by sheer force of willpower alone. "No, really. It's fine. Okay, not fine. But it happened years ago. Before the Conclave, I was at the point where I rarely was ever even reminded of it." She motioned bitterly to the Mark on her hand. "This damned thing apparently seems to feel the need to torment me. I get these nightmares a lot now…Sometimes it's him and…It just sort of sets me on edge for a while."

Varric nodded as he listened. He fidgeted with his sleeve as he spoke again. "You know you're safe here, right? At least from that. The Breach might start shitting demons back out at any moment though."

Skylar smiled, appreciating the fact that he at least tried to make her feel better. She held up the nearly forgotten tablet, still queued up to the report she had been trying to read. "Probably means we should get back to work, yeah?"

"I get it, I get it. No more questions today, I promise." He looked back to her before he left the make-shift War Room. "You know, Snowball, if you ever do need to talk, my door is always open."

"Thanks…Scribbles." She smirked mischievously as she watched his shocked reaction.

"Did you just…?"

"Scribbles: because you're always writing."

"Oh, ho, ho! How the tables have turned!" Varric shuffled back out into the Chantry, muttering something that sounded suspiciously close to 'Wait until Hawke hears about this!'

Once she was sure that he was far enough away, she let her eyes wander over the map to Denerim. The Arl's keep was expertly drawn as if it were the most important landmark. The Alienage wasn't pictured though, figures. Giving in to a nearly unconscious urge, she took the knife from her boot and stabbed it right through the Keep. Vainly, she hoped that it would somehow harm the Arl and his villainous excuse for a son.