"I don't believe it!" Cassandra shouted.

"Called it," Varric sighed. "Why d'you think I left it out of the book?"

"If you're lying to me..." Cassandra growled.

"If I were lying, Seeker, I would have come up with a heroic tale of refugees from another dimension, swords and sorcery, epic romance, finishing up with a grand climactic battle in the Viscount's keep," Varric said. "But you wanted to know what really happened to the Mirror of Transformation, so I told you."

"An irreplaceable artifact!" Cassandra said incredulously. "And you are trying to tell me that the hero, the Champion, abused its magic to make... to make love toys for his companions?!"

"I prefer the term 'whoremunculus,' " Varric said helpfully.

Cassandra stared at him.

"Took me a week to come up with that one," he admitted.

"Unbelievable!" Cassandra muttered, pacing back and forth. "To think that Hawke... the Champion of Kirkwall?! Dabbling in dark magic? Consorting with demons? And not one of his companions thought to object except for this... this elf you describe? The mighty warrior with the arcane tattoos, who fought loyally by the Champion's side only to end up alone?"

"Oh yes, mighty mistrustful of magic, that elf," Varric said agreeably. "The one thing he hates more than magic is Tevinter and slavery... two things. The two things he hates more than magic are slavery and the Tevinter imperium... and Anders, of course. Among the things that he hates -"

"Enough!" Cassandra interrupted with a shout. She gnawed on her lower lip, brow furrowed as she paced, and then abruptly leaned in close as her voice hushed. "...Do you by any chance still have his number?"

~really the end.