"Captured?" Cassandra cut the dwarf off. "That isn't what our reports uncovered," she trailed off at Varric's shift in countenance. Gone was the melancholic reminiscing look in his eye, swallowed by a level of rage she hadn't seen in the dwarf. Even when he spoke of his brother, there was anger tempered with regret and bitterness. Not here, though. Here, he was fury and belligerence embodied. "We were told..." she tried to explain clinically, but he cut her off. Odd change in roles there, she thought to herself.

"You were told that Danarius offered the Champion a deal for his slave and that she took it with a smile on her face," he snarled. "That the elf all but begged on bended knee for her to help him, and she shrugged and said that he was on his own?" The anger he harbored would be less fear inducing if he had shouted. If he had screamed and raised his voice and let it take over his entire being, then she could let him rant it out and wait for an explanation. But he wore his animosity like a well-tailored coat; it neither consumed him in its fold, nor did it restrict him in the slightest, and she wasn't sure how to handle this side of him.

"I just want to make sure we hear the truth, Varric," she lifted her hands in a complacent manner. "If we weren't told the truth before, I want to change that." The dwarf sighed deeply and managed to reign in his temper before speaking again.

"Apologies, Seeker. Of all the inconsistencies in Hawke's story, that one bothers me the most," his lips pulled into a rueful grin. "And believe me, I've heard some pretty awful ones."

"For what it is worth," Cassandra said softly. "After what you've told me so far, I didn't want to believe she did such a thing," he snapped his gaze to her to contradict her, to say that, no, she didn't get to try and be sympathetic now, but stopped when he saw the sincerity in her eyes. His expression softened. Maybe he was getting his point across about her, after all. "But the Champion and the elf hadn't been together for years at that point," she felt the need to ask; it was something that had been bothering her since he mentioned that they had separated after only one night together. "Surely feelings fade after so long? Even a little?"

"A fair question," he chuckled without mirth. "But I'll tell you the same thing I've told countless others," he leaned into his knees, resting his forearms on them. "They said they weren't together, but no one ever tried to make a move on either of them. Even Rivaini knew better, and that's saying something."

"But I don't-"

"It didn't matter what they said," he responded with a fond chuckle. "She taught him to read and write, he learned how to allow us to be friends with him," He thought a moment before he amended, "Except Anders. But I think that was a choice they both made."

"They never seemed...chummy." She ignored the part of her that was a little pleased when Varric laughed openly the the statement.

"To put it lightly," he replied after he'd regained composure. "Oh, Maker, I needed that." His smile dimmed into something softer. "I've never seen two things made to fit together more perfectly than when they held hands. So no," he grimaced, "she didn't willingly let him go. When she woke up, when we had to tell her that the others couldn't get to him in time," his eyes darkened at the reminder of the sheer level of inconsolable anguish in her eyes, the self blame she threw on herself.

"I can't imagine she was pleased." Varric shrugged. "Then what happened?"

"We began to look for leads, dear Seeker. What else?"