#varric.

On the occasion of one of the gatherings, Varric was witness to a... Pretty sweet sight, actually. He wasn’t meant to. He wasn’t even sure Hawke knew he’d caught her and Anders. (Although she definitely will know, once she reads this.) See, the thing about Kirkwall winters is, with the city at the border of the mountains, they can be as brutal as the city itself. He was going to spend the day getting a draft done at his room at the Hanged Man, close to the fire, until the snowfall stopped or he knew Hawke would wonder where he was. Either one. But he’d caught wind that some of the dwarves from the Merchant’s Guild would be at the tavern later that day, and, naturally, he wanted to avoid a meeting. So he put on his hat, scarf, gloves, and coat, prayed to Andraste that his fingers and toes wouldn’t fall off from the chill, and made his way to the Hawke estate.

He didn’t expect to see Myranda and Anders just outside the doorstep, dressed in bundles of clothes. They looked ready to brave bandits and black ice alike, but Myranda was adding one more layer around Anders’ neck; a long red scarf she wound around her hands and tugged on, making him lean closer and closer, so she could give him a lingering kiss on the lips. Even at his distance and through the snow in his eyes, Varric could tell that Anders blushed. Leave it to Hawke to not care that they were out in the open and that nobles could pass them by. The sight could’ve melted his literally-frozen heart.

Obviously pleased that Anders was warm and a deep shade of pink, Myranda let him hook his arm around hers. They had the appearance of any other young couple in Hightown. All smiles and teasing jokes, slight wariness at the corners of their eyes. No one would’ve guessed it was the Champion and the man who would later spark the flames of a rebellion. They noticed Varric walking towards them, and their smiles grew wider.

“Varric!” Myranda called as they neared each other. “You’re early. Did you miss us already?”

Varric pulled his scarf down from his mouth. The toothache from the wind was instant. How did the Fereldens manage to talk like they were immune to it? “You know I can’t stay away from you for too long, Hawke,” he said. “You two headed out? I thought you’d be preparing for tonight.”

“We’re making a quick trip to the market. This one forgot to check if we had the spices for the stew she wanted to try,” said Anders, pointing to Myranda.

“Bodahn said we were stocked up before he left!” She protested.

“That was at the beginning of the month, love. And if you’ve been sneaking downstairs for midnight snacks, you could’ve checked.”

For that, Myranda whacked him on the chest.

“Ow!”

“I didn’t hit that hard.”

“Hard enough!” Anders said, rubbing the supposed injury.

Myranda rolled her eyes. To mollify him, she kissed him softly on the cheek. “There. Feel better?”

“Nope. You applied your treatment to the wrong area.”

Varric cleared his throat. Much as he didn’t mind his friends, it was getting a little uncomfortable. “Uh, hello? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still here.”

“Sorry, Varric,” Myranda said with a sheepish look, like it wasn’t everyday the dwarf was subject to watching their displays of affection. (It was, almost.) “Do you want to come with us?” she asked.

“And stay out in the cold?” He pointed at a flurry of snow blowing past them, and pulled his scarf back up for emphasis. “No thanks. You lovebirds go on ahead, I’ll get the fire nice and blazing for when you return.”

“Suit yourself.”