Author's Note: I was underwhelmed with the state this story was in when the actual nuts-and-bolts writing was finished. So I've started to go through and make an editing sweep that will hopefully clean up the messier chapters. Hopefully by the time I'm through, the story will be in its full finished state.

Enjoy the updated material!

Kirkwall (Present)

Varric Tethras settled himself into the hard stone chair and let out a sigh as he adjusted the glove on one hand. The Seeker had been called out of the room an hour ago, disappearing with one last glare and a huff of frustration, and had yet to reappear.

When it was obvious she was not going to return in a timely manner, he began to while the minutes away by staring off into the darkness and pondering just how much he could stretch the truth of his tales before she caught on to him. He'd stopped trying to guess when he'd spun up a satisfying yarn about Hawke being hired to steal the viscount's crown. He couldn't wait for the Seeker to return so he could test out the tale.

As it stood, though, he wasn't sure the bad-tempered woman was ever going to return.

"Chantry people," he muttered, shaking his head. "Serves me right for turning myself in, I guess."

He wondered what the special was tonight at the Hanged Man. Probably more "Chef's Surprise" with mystery meat. It was probably something greasy, unsanitary and – like everything else at the Hanged Man – deliciously addictive. He found his stomach grumbling at the thought.

But finally he heard heavy boot steps outside the door and shifted in his uncomfortable seat, watching the dim outline of the door with a ready smirk already plastered across his wide face. With a loud creak, it swung open and Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast stepped through once again, a hefty copy of The Tale of the Champion under one arm.

"Back so soon?" he quipped, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd forgotten about little old me."

"In case you hadn't noticed," the armored woman growled, "there is a war being waged just beyond your doorstep. Your story is not the only one I am forced to hear, though it is the one I find the most vital."

Varric chuckled. "Oh Seeker, you do know how to flatter an author."

"Shut up," she hissed. "I want to hear more."

"Well where did we leave off?" he pretended to think hard over the matter for a few moments. Then he clapped his hands and said, "Ah yes, I think we had just gotten to the part here Hawke and I—"

"No," the Seeker interrupted, narrowing her brown eyes. "We can return to that at a later date. I have a more pressing request."

"That's… disappointing." Varric pursed his lips in irritation. This wasn't the way the interrogation had worked so far; the Seeker had listened to his story in full, only interjecting to call bullshit on his more telling exaggerations. "I seem to recall telling you that I wasn't going to be able to skip to the end. You need to hear the whole story."

"It is a different, yet not unrelated, topic," she assured him. Her armor scraped and shifted as she raised her book and began thumbing through the pages. "Reports of the Champion's early years within the city claim that she had extensive dealings with abominations: mages under demonic control. Is this true?"

"If by dealings you mean lighting them on fire at every opportunity, then I'd say your reports are spot-on."

"Sadly no. These reports claim that the Champion not only didn't kill abominations on sight, but worked to ensure they escaped Chantry justice. And yet I find no mention of such an occurrence in your account."

Varric rubbed at the stubble on his wide chin. "That's not ringing a bell."

She threw the hardbound book into his lap and folded her arms dangerously. "That's what I thought. You disappoint me, Varric."

The dwarf shrugged as he picked up the heavy tome, opening it to the page containing the stylized artwork of each of Hawke's companions, himself included. He traced a finger over the images: Aveline, Daisy, Broody, Rivaini, Blondie… they were all there, immortalized in ink and paper. And at the center of it all was Hawke, with her raven black hair and silver-hued eyes, the right side of her face divided vertically by a long, ropy scar.

He knew exactly what she was talking about, unfortunately, but he'd be damned if he let her know it. The information was too sensitive, too dangerous in the wrong hands. And he was almost certain that Seeker Pentaghast qualified as "the wrong hands."

He felt his heart fall at the images. So many friends he'd probably never see again. So many happy memories spoiled by what happened later. Just seeing the still images on the page brought back memories of their mad group passing the nights in the Hanged Man, drinking and laughing or playing cards. His eyes closed and he shook his head, thinking, Shit…

He finally looked up to the Seeker, who was tapping one armored boot impatiently. "Sorry, your Imperiousness, but I just don't remember what you're talking about. If it's not in the book, it must not have been important enough to mention."

"And what if I told you," the Seeker murmured, "that my reports came from someone who was there?"

I obviously wouldn't believe you. Just who would that be?"

"Me."

It was no easy feat to take an author by surprise. As a storyteller, Varric was accustomed to predicting plotline twists and unexpected revelations from half a story away. But this was a twist he hadn't seen coming. He sat back in his chair, chuckling to cover up his surprise, and folded his arms over his stomach.

He hadn't known there was someone else in the room, and he didn't take kindly to surprises. So when a thin, graceful figure melted out of the shadows next to Pentaghast and folded her arms behind her armored back, Varric had to fight to make sure his ever-present smirk remained ever-present.

Even in the dim light, he could see a suit of scaled-down Seeker armor similar to Cassandra's gear; all metal studs and Chantry starbursts. But this new woman was wearing a dark hood that obscured her features, throwing her face into shadow. But even in the dim light, he could just make out a few strands of bright red hair. That and the distinctive Orlesian accent, marked by the slightest hint of a lisp, gave Varric all the information he needed to identify the newcomer.

He shook his head at the sight. "Well, well. If it isn't our own elusive Sister Nightingale."

The woman drew back her hood and smiled at him; surprising, considering the circumstances. Her blue eyes were warm, but cautious. "Hello Varric."

"I wish I could say it was good to see you, Leliana," he said, "but with all that's happened…"

"Come now," she chided him. "I am not your enemy, Varric. After all that's happened, is that really so hard to believe?"

"Sister, it's only because I like you that I didn't immediately respond with, Fuck you."

The redhead winced. "Very well."

"Why are you here?"

"I am the Nightingale," she replied. "The Left Hand of the Divine. After what happened at the Gallows, it is only natural that I was assigned to once again infiltrate Kirkwall."

Varric sighed. "So you jumped on the bandwagon? You're hunting Hawke too?"

"Regrettably, I am. But Cassandra and I are also in charge of reporting Hawke's story to the Divine. And while I like to think I knew her better than most, I was not in a position to see everything that happened during her rise to power."

She folded her arms. "When given the assignment, I suggested that Cassandra hear the whole story. From someone who does not wish to belittle her reputation."

"So naturally you decided to kidnap Hawke's friends?"

"No. Only you."

Varric rolled his eyes. "That makes me feel so much better."

"The abominations," the Seeker pressed. "What happened?"

Varric decided to play dumb a little bit longer. "I swear on Andraste's bountiful, heaving bosom that I have no idea what either of you are talking about. Hawke fought plenty of demons during the decade she lived here, but she didn't help them. She was a smuggler, not an idiot."

"Watch your language," the Seeker warned. "And stop trying to sound innocent. This event occurred years ago, just after the Champion's return from the Deep Roads."

Still, he shook his head. "Abominations after the Deep Roads? Doesn't ring a bell."

"Stop lying to me!" the Seeker shouted, her patience snapping. She stomped forward and grabbed him by his collar, hauling him up out of his seat until they were almost nose to nose. "Either you tell me the whole story, or I'll settle for the incomplete truth from Sister Leliana! Hawke will be executed, Varric. She will be tried and condemned like any other rebel apostate. Do you truly want that blood on your hands? Her blood?"

Leliana's voice was calmer. "Varric, we can't help Hawke if we don't know her story. You are the only one willing to tell us."

He grunted as the Seeker shoved him back into his chair and stepped away. "What about Aveline? She's still in the city, last I heard."

"Guard Captain Vallen is far too busy overseeing the safety and preservation of the city to be questioned. Additionally, I believe she responded negatively to the concept of being interrogated."

"Did she now?"

"I believe her exact words were, Read the bloody book if you want to know what happened. Otherwise, leave me alone."

"Wish I'd thought of that line. If I'd only known that all I had to do was stomp my feet and you'd scurry off…"

"The guard captain is performing an integral duty rebuilding the city." Cassandra's lip curled. "You were found passed out from drink in your accommodations at the Hanged Man."

"Technically I turned myself in," he pointed out.

"Claiming you did us a favor by not fighting back does not qualify as turning yourself in."

Leliana raised her hands, seeking to appease them both. "Please," she murmured. "This bickering is getting us nowhere."

Pentaghast glared at him. "Your other compatriots are either beyond our reach or hidden too well to expend time and resources to find. So you are the one who will tell us. If you do not, no one will, and we will be forced to base our accusations on hearsay. And we both know that Hawke's reputation is not what it once was."

Varric sighed and thought, Why do I always get caught up in shit like this?

He couldn't let Hawke take yet another beating for a crime she never committed. If it meant breaking his promise, then so be it. "Fine, I give up. I assume you're talking about that mess with Daisy?"

The Seeker nodded. "That's precisely the time."

"And Songbird has already filled you in on her side of the story?"

"Like I said," Leliana murmured, "I was there."

"You weren't," Varric insisted. "Not for all of it. I remember that mess. Every last little sordid detail."

"Just because you didn't see me," she said with a small smile, "doesn't mean I was not present. However, I agree that I did not see the entire event myself."

Pentaghast made a quiet noise of distaste, though her voice was softer when she spoke. "Given what you have told me of the Champion already, I feel… compelled to call my preconceptions into question. If what is said about Hawke's involvement with demons is untrue, I am obligated to reconsider my position on capturing her. If you tell me, you will be doing no disservice to her or her allies. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"I promised Hawke and Daisy I wouldn't tell that story again. I don't know about you, but I honor my promises, Seeker."

"Yes," the Seeker said, "I recall your comments about your crossbow. However, this is a different matter than what any of you expected. And if you do not tell me what you know, I will be forced to be much harsher in my line of questioning."

Varric rubbed his eyes. "Seeker, this story didn't have anything to do with anything. Daisy made a mistake, then Hawke and the rest of us fixed it. It didn't have any repercussions later down the road and it didn't have any effect on anyone else. It was just a one-time nightmare that was over and done before I could figure out what the hell was going on."

The Seeker was starting to get angry again. She clenched an armored fist and said, "I will not ask again, dwarf. Hawke is gone. So are Merrill and Anders and anyone else who would have been involved."

"Anything you say here will only help Hawke in the future," Leliana pressed, her voice as smooth and soft as always. She was definitely the good one in the whole good-guard, bad-guard play the two were staging. Varric knew that could change at the drop of a silver.

He let out a soft curse and slumped back against his seat. What real use was there in arguing? If he refused, Pentaghast would just beat it out of him. Needless to say, he didn't fancy adding "once got beaten to a pulp by an angry bear-woman," to the author biography on his books.

"Okay fine," he relented. "You win. What do you want to know?"

"Start from the beginning. I want to know everything."

"All right," Varric said, "but you have to return the favor this time."

"Oh?"

Varric nodded, pointing a finger at Leliana's hooded form. "Nightingale, you have to tell how you got involved in all of this. I want to hear your side of the story as well."

"Why?" Pentaghast hissed.

He shrugged and settled back in his chair, folding his fingers into a steeple. "Call it professional curiosity. From one storyteller to another."

Leliana nodded. "Very well. You have my word."

Pentaghast made a small noise of disapproval. "It's settled, then. Start talking."