[Varric straightened up, having not expected to come across a fan in this hellhole. He brought his hand to his jacket, dusting off his knuckles against his collar before extending his hand. He examined it for a moment, squinting as if he might be able to look through his gloves and fix a critical eye on his nails. Once he was certain nothing remained on his limb, he held it out to the taller man.]

The very same. [He let out a chuckle.] I'd offer an autograph, but most of my materials were left on the other end of that shitstorm over there.

[For the most part, the mention of Hawke didn't seem to ring any alarm bells. Most people who knew his name naturally associated him with the title of "Friend of Hawke." It was his most popular work, after all.]