The Real One

When he sees the Herald's absent murmurings under their breath, he ignores it. He ignores the motions of their hands, writing across a page that isn't in front of them. He ignores their invisible painting, or the way their personality fades or snaps back into place with either too much attentiveness or too little. It must be an effect from falling from a Rift: something lingering and perhaps twisted in their brain. But none of them can dismiss when the Herald often collapses into sleep in front of them for no reason, or when they trail off in the middle of a conversation. When he adds it all up together, it's too much of a coincidence -- right down the circumstances.

"Oh no," Varric says, when it hits him. "Not again."