"Oh Daisy, don't waste your money on my books," Varric chided and took his seat again. He leaned on the table, mostly because it was the most dignified way to indulge his enthusiasm, and used his free hand to gesture vaguely over his shoulder.

"I've got a dozen of them, at least." It wasn't a stretch. Why his Editor thought he needed so many was beyond him, it wasn't like anyone in the Inquisition actually read his work. "Just let me know which one you want and it's yours."

He was practically beaming at her. After his day--well, after the last couple months of horrible demon-filled hiking and slogging around Thedas? He was practically ecstatic to see a friend. He'd been friendly enough with Trevelyan, but--it was how it went, right? Heroes, tragedy, etc.

...And that was a road he didn't want to go down. Nobody liked a somber drunken dwarf. Varric shook his head and grinned wider.

"You been here long? The Templars aren't giving you grief here, are they?"