"You paid a couple of silvers," Jaime counters with a roll of his eyes. "If you are that deep in the hole of debt that you can't spare a silver or two, perhaps you should rethink betting against Varric when drunk."

His hand still moves clumsily, even if Hawke has a certain amount of faith in fighting ability. He nearly drops the fruit again, but ends up catching it. His fingers dig into the thick peel, a strained smile tugging at his mouth as he arches an eyebrow at her and then Varric's escaping form.

Gods damn the dwarf.

"A few statues that recently came into my hands." A beat. "Hand."