(Originally for the Dragon Age Kink Meme on LJ. My first attempt at a DA fic. Flustered!Varric/femHawke was requested. The breaks in parts are where the original chapters/parts were separated.)

TRUTH BE TOLD

At first Varric was afraid that he was losing his touch.

It began with the stories. Where once the tales of Hawke had been cheerfully laced with everything from three-headed dragons to helpless princesses trapped in tall towers, now he found himself sticking closer and closer to the one thing he usually tried to avoid in his tales: the truth.

To be fair, some of the shit Hawke got up to was extraordinary enough to make any storyteller delirious with joy. He'd started adding wild embellishments out of habit, and then continued the practice mostly because it annoyed her.

She'd taken it all in stride at first, even laughing at some of the more colorful additions, but nearly four years of wild tales caught up to them both. She'd marched into the Hanged Man, scattering Varric's breathless listeners with a well-aimed scowl, and offered him an ultimatum. "Enough is enough. You've had your fun. If one more wide-eyed noble brat comes up to me and begs me to tell them about the darkspawn I supposedly talked into taking a dump in Meredith's bed chamber, I am going to do something permanent and disfiguring to your face, Varric. And I'll make Bianca watch."

"My lips are sealed," he'd lied, and carried right on with the fiction the moment she left.

More and more often, however, the truth had begun overriding the fancy in the stories. Hawke was fearless and sacrificing enough, he figured, and people deserved to know the real hero.

Oddly enough, the more honest his tales got, the more it seemed to embarrass Hawke.

"No one likes a modest hero, Hawke," he insisted when she once again asked him to keep his big mouth shut.

"No one likes a braggart," she corrected, studiously ignoring the pair of young men practically radiating hero worship her way from across the tavern. She hunched over her ale and shot the dwarf a reproving look. "Tell stories about someone else, will you? Isabela's had an exciting life. She's a pirate, for Maker's sake, and anyway, people love to hear stories about beautiful heroines."

Varric opened his mouth to point out suavely that he was already telling stories about a beautiful woman, and instead said, "Well, yes. But. And. Hmm." He covered up the verbal stumble by filling his mouth with ale, happy to let Aveline butt in with some complaint about how crowded the Hanged Man was. Thankfully no one seemed to notice the embarrassing and abrupt departure of his silver tongue.

He'd had too much ale, that was all. Yes.

"I don't understand," Merrill said, voice as bright and politely confused as ever. Her unblinking eyes swept the length of the Chantry, taking in the impressive statue of Andraste, the candles, and the solemn-faced Sisters. Her gaze landed once more on the prince kneeling devoutly by the altar. "Why does Sebastian always want to come pray after we drop by the Blooming Rose?"

"It's the penitent version of cold showers, I suspect," Hawke said, amused. "That's the last time I let him tag along when I'm looking for Gamlen."

"Such a waste," Isabela sighed, studying the prince with hooded eyes. "Why someone with that body would take chastity vows is beyond me."

"Everyone has one glaring flaw," Varric drawled.

"Everyone?" Isabela struck a dramatic pose, purposefully thrusting her breasts forward. "Name one."

"And some have so many."

"Ohh, harsh." The pirate gave a small laugh and patted Hawke affectionately on the cheek. "Well, I'm off. Good luck with Saint Sebastian. See you in the Hanged Man later for some strip Wicked Grace?"

The teasing comment that had leapt so readily to Varric's lips died and crawled away somewhere behind a column.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Isabela."

"One day you'll be drunk enough to give in," Isabela chuckled, waving over her shoulder languidly. "You big prude."

Hawke turned to Varric with an arched brow. "What, no comments about naked rogues? I'm shocked."

He smirked and opened his mouth

Hawke playing strip Wicked Grace

and losing miserably

and forgot what the hell he'd been about to say.

"Are you all right, Varric?" Merrill asked kindly. "You've been acting a little strange lately."

"Says the Queen of Strange," he retorted. Ouch. Weak. He really was losing his touch.

"And you're all flushed."

"It's hot in here," he said, a tad defensively. He indicated Sebastian's bowed form with a jerk of his thumb. "So is there a reason we're visiting the choir boy, or is it repenting time? Because Bianca hears all my confessions."

Hawke shrugged, eyeing the prince thoughtfully. She seemed undecided whether or not it would be rude to interrupt his prayers. "He wanted to speak with me. Isabela seems to think it has something to do with the last time we were in here." A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Maybe I shouldn't have teased him like that."

Ah. Yes. She'd said something about sexy princes. The look on Sebastian's face had been absolutely priceless. Varric's amusement had been oddly short-lived, however.

"I hope he didn't take me seriously," Hawke added almost as an afterthought.

"You are a cruel, cruel woman," Varric said solemnly.

She shrugged. "I was only trying to get him to lighten up. Though Anders is probably right. The man really needs a good roll in the hay to straighten him out."

Varric grinned. It hurt his face. "Are you going to offer him a pity shag?"

"Oh, please. Like I need the kind of baggage he has hanging around his neck." She gave a decisive wave of her hand. "Why don't you two go on to the Hanged Man without me? This has the potential to be a really awkward conversation, and I don't think he'll want an audience. I'll catch up with you later."

"You sure you don't need a chaperon?" Varric reached back to give his crossbow a meaningful pat. "Bianca can stand in the corner and glare ominously with the best of them."

Hawke laughed. It was something she rarely seemed to do lately, and the sound warmed Varric through and through. "I think we'll be fine, Dad." He bit back a wince. Barely. "You two have fun. I'll be there in a little while."

Trying to exude casualness, Varric turned and followed Merrill out.

"Dad"? Really? He was too damned young to be a father figure. Was that how Hawke saw him? That was... more disconcerting than it should have been. No, she was just teasing, as always. Since when was he so defensive?

He turned his head to take one last look back before they reached the doors, and managed to bang his nose against Bianca instead.

Smooth, Tethras.

Real smooth.

If Hawke had one thing going for her, Varric thought to himself, if was her sense of humor. They'd gotten along from pretty much the get-go. They were usually on the same wavelength, one smartass to another. Some of the things she said to dangerous people were as hilarious as they were ballsy.

So yes, he could see why someone might feel attracted to her. Everyone liked a sense of humor.

And okay, she was bea- very nice. Looking. Very nice looking.

So, easy on the eyes and funny. He supposed some people might like that in a girl.

Also a good person to have at your back in a fight, there was that.

Fighter. Funny. Beau-not bad looking.

Not to mention-

"What are you scowling at, Varric?" Aveline demanded, leaning over as she tried to follow his line of sight. "You're starting to make people nervous."

"Nothing." Varric jerked his eyes back to his hand of cards. "Whose turn is it?"

"Is that Sebastian?" The guard captain sounded genuinely surprised. "I didn't think he ever came in here if he could help it." She paused. "Oh no."

"What? Oh no what?"

"He's talking to Hawke. I thought she was going to clear that up."

"People can talk. There's nothing wrong with talking. Somebody go already."

"It's your turn, dwarf," Fenris pointed out. He seemed completely uninterested in the two rogues chatting by the bar. "I'm getting old just waiting for you."

"Patience is a virtue, my ill-tempered friend," Varric said loftily. He stole a quick look in Hawke's direction as he discarded. What was the choir boy's problem? Hawke was clearly not his type. Not if he wanted to stay in the Chantry, anyhow. Though that waffling about his kingdom could mean he was actively preparing to reclaim his throne.

And possibly find a wife. Wasn't that was Princes did? Fought in wars and married powerful women?

Hawke glanced up suddenly and caught him looking her way. Gritting her teeth slightly, she moved her fingers in a subtle "come here" gesture.

"I'm dry," Varric declared, putting aside his cards and reaching for his tankard. "Refills, anyone? Don't look at my cards, elf. Bianca is watching you."

"You realize you're insane, right?" Fenris retorted, but handed over his own empty tankard.

Varric made his way to the bar and wedged himself in between Hawke and Sebastian casually, calling over the bartender.

"Varric, there you are!" Hawke clasped him warmly on the shoulder and beamed at Sebastian. "Weren't you just telling me earlier how much Sebastian would like that story you told me? You know, the one about the, er... Orlesian hunchback?"

"Oh, that one." Varric's quick mind hastily scrambled to construct a story as he grinned at the young priest. "You'll love it. Hawke, bring this to the elf, will you? And make sure he's keeping those puppy eyes of his off my cards."

"Can do," Hawke said a little too quickly, and hurried off with the refilled mug.

Varric made himself comfortable on a stool and launched into his spur-of-the-moment tale. "So there's this hunchback named Sebastian-"

"Pardon?"

"Did I say Sebastian? I meant Sebbeth. It's the ale. Gets to me after awhile, you understand. Anyway, there's this hideous creature living in-"

Sebastian cut him off with a firm but polite cough. "Er, perhaps you can tell me some other time. I can't dally long. I just wanted to drop in and... speak with Hawke."

"I thought you Chantry boys were supposed to steer away from the fun fleshy sins?"

Sebastian's cheeks flushed, and he held up a hand in denial. "There is nothing wrong with talking to a friend. Hawke has offered to help me track down those responsible for my family's murder. I came here to discuss our next move, that is all."

"Right." That didn't explain Hawke's eagerness to end the conversation, but he let it drop. There was at least one surefire way to get the man's holy butt out of his tavern. "Come on, why don't you join us? We could use another player, and I'm buying the next round. You've played Naughty Maids, right?"

"I... Maybe some other time." Sebastian edged towards the door. "You have fun. I have to go-"

"Pray?"

"Yes. That. Good evening, Varric."

"Night night, choir boy." Toasting himself, Varric returned to his table.

"I think we need to have a chat, you and I."

Varric dismissed his Lowtown contact with a wave and pulled out a welcoming smile.

"Oh? This should be good. What's on your mind, Rivaini?"

Isabela took a seat at the private table, easing into a chair with a casual grace and a shit-eating smirk that put Varric instantly on his guard. "Let's talk about Hawke," she purred.

Varric's guts did something sharp and painful, but he managed to keep a smile grimly in place. "What about Hawke? Is she ready to head out on another grand adventure?"

"Not that I know of." Isabela reached out and casually stole a bit of bread from his plate. "You may have the others fooled- hell, maybe you've even fooled yourself -but did you really think I of all people wouldn't notice you going all googly-eyed around our Fearless Leader? Please."

"I don't-" Varric stopped himself and tried to leech the defensive tone out of his voice. "You're imagining things, Rivaini." He forced another smile, making an attempt at serene. "You're always playing match maker in your head. Didn't you say just last week that Blondie 'totally wants to nail' the elf?"

"Yes, but that was different. I was only joking. Speaking of which, remind me to keep my bright ideas to myself in the future. Anders was not amused. He almost went all glowy-eyed on me."

Varric laughed, deftly moving his plate out of reach when Isabela's hand crept towards his bread once more.

"I'm not wrong about this, however." The pirate leaned forward to look him right in the eye, her expression momentarily serious. "You're sweet on Hawke. It's written all over your face for anyone to see. Anyone that's looking for it, anyway. And trust me, I'm always looking. Ever since Priest Puritan began his ridiculous attempt at courting, anyway."

"Sebastian's not courting Hawke." Isabela smiled slightly at the edge to his voice. "Look, Rivaini, do you really think you should be poking around other peoples' love lives- or lack thereof -after that mess with Aveline? The two of you almost came to blows just because you couldn't stop giving her and Donnic a hard time."

Isabela flapped a hand dismissively. "That was Aveline," she snorted as if that explained everything. "This is Hawke. I care about Hawke, even if she can be a little bit too 'let's help the needy' for her own good sometimes. I'm not going to mess things up for her."

"You're wrong, Isabela. Hawke and I are good friends. I respect her."

"Oh, you're impossible!" Isabela got to her feet abruptly, exhaling loudly with disgust. "Is this a dwarf thing? Do you not like humans? Or are you afraid she won't like you because you're a dwarf?"

Varric's voice was low and hard. "You are really pushing it, Rivaini."

Sensing her toe was on the line, Isabela retreated verbally. "Fine, fine. Be the Master of Denial. The King of Liars. The... something of not telling the truth to anyone. See if I care." She pointed at him so suddenly he leaned back, startled. "But don't turn into the idiot Aveline was. If Hawke hadn't stepped in, Aveline wouldn't be all disgusting-happy with that oaf guardsman. All because she was too deep in flailing denial to do something for herself." She shook her head, turning away. "Just think about what I said, Varric. Hawke might not be interested in Sebastian, but sooner or later someone else is going to make a move, and they might succeed. You'll beat yourself up forever if you don't at least try to let her know how you feel."

"Good night, Isabela," Varric grumbled, tearing a chunk off his bread with excessive force and avoiding her gaze.

"Hmph. Good night, grumpy."

This was stupid. This was so stupid and unbelievable he couldn't have come up with a more heroic bullshit story if he'd tried. The storyteller part of Varric's mind was alive with fierce glee. What a story this would make! He could tell this tale for years to come.

The rest of him was a cold hard ball of terror.

"I should be the one fighting," Isabela was saying, quiet and intense, fists clenched against her stomach as if she was trying desperately to keep from throwing up. Her wide eyes were glued on the fight. "Why did I come back? Hawke, you noble stupid wretch."

No one else spoke. The crowd, Qunari and noblemen both, stood against the walls watching the fierce duel in breathless anticipation. Across the floor the two combatants ranged, one almost painfully smaller than the other, lithe and quick; here and then gone, blades flickering out again and again. Hawke was fast and bloody skilled, and had never backed down from a fight in her life. But the Arishok towered over her like a dragon, swinging his double headed ax in lethal arcs that Hawke barely managed to dodge or block in time. And every time she leapt back for a breather he came barreling after her, roaring like a bull, sometimes ramming into her and throwing her clear across the floor. If not for that damned mabari mutt of hers snapping at the Arishok's heels and keeping him distracted, she'd be dead ten times by now.

And there was Anders.

Anders, nails digging into his palms, lips barely moving, threads of blue lightening lancing across his face as he struggled to keep Justice at bay. Hawke would dodge too slowly, catch a slash across the ribs or back, and fall as if dead- only to scramble painfully to her feet just in time to avoid the next blow as Anders kept up a steady stream of healing magic. It was cheating, but Hawke had not brought enough potions with her, and that damned Arishok kept downing potions every time Hawke so much as nicked him. He was bigger and stronger than Hawke to a frightening degree, and nothing she did seemed to faze him for long. All she could do was keep at it until he eventually ran out of potions, and by then she would be near exhaustion, stamina draughts notwithstanding. The burst of adrenaline each stamina boost gave her would be coming back to haunt her in the morning. She would be a wreck.

Provided she even survived to see the morning.

Once again Varric found his hand raising slowly towards Bianca, but Fenris reached out and seized his wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don't you dare. You'll only make things worse. If you step in now, the rest of the Qunari will openly attack everything that moves in here. Starting with Hawke." He glanced towards Anders, then looked away. For all his hatred of mages, even he would not dare stop Anders now. Not when he may be the only thing keeping Hawke on her feet.

Varric forced himself to let his hand drop by his side, unable to pull his gaze away from the fight. It should be Isabela out there, he thought with a flash of rare cold anger. All of this was her fault. She should be the one dueling the damned Arishok. And if Hawke wasn't such a noble bleeding-hearted moron, she'd have handed Isabela over to the Qunari without hesitation. He couldn't even find it in himself to be upset at the ruthlessness of the thought. His friendship with the Rivaini had taken an abrupt backseat to his almost numbing fear for Hawke's safety. She'd fought an ogre, she'd taken out a dragon, and she'd been in her share of scraps. But never alone. Bianca should be there with her, and the elf should be stepping up, swinging that ridiculous sword of his. This was not a fight Hawke should have to fight on her own. Not for anyone's sake. This was not how he wanted Hawke to prove herself to be the hero he told everyone she was. He wanted a friend, not a martyr.

It felt like the fight dragged on for hours. There were so many close calls that Varric was sure his heart would never recover from the strain. But it was Hawke's blades that slipped in and found a home in between the Arishok's ribs, even as his ax whistled over her head, clipping off a few strands of hair. She must have hit something important, because this time when the great gray giant fell, he didn't get up again.

Hawke stood over him, limbs quivering, daggers coated in blood, and gasped raggedly for breath as the Arishok lay on his back, struggling weakly to voice some last threat unheard by anyone but the victor. The moment his head fell back, Varric bolted across the room, the others on his heels. Fenris was quickest; he caught Hawke just as her knees gave out. Anders was at her side an instant later, face bathed in sweat as he pumped as much magical healing into her bleeding body as he could. Varric stood tensely close by, shoulder to shoulder with Isabela, a living barrier between Hawke and the Qunari as they slowly collected their weapons and filed out of the room without a single change in expression. Varric kept Bianca trained on them until the last Qunari was gone. By then Anders's magic seemed to be having the desired effect. Hawke was standing on her own, exhausted and dazed but no longer at death's door.

"Don't ever let me do that again," she chuckled weakly.

Isabela glared at her, looking torn between tears and laughter. Finally she settled for hitting Hawke- gently -on the shoulder. "You're so stupid!"

"I never claimed to be my mother's smartest daughter. Only her prettiest." Hawke managed to dig up a teasing grin, and Isabela laughed back, a quick, short bark, before she turned her back on them all and scrubbed furiously at her face. Hawke politely pretended not to notice, and winked slowly at Varric. The effect was a little ruined by the blood that had matted in her hair and leaked down the side of her face, gluing one eye shut. "Well? Impressive, huh? You're already composing this story in your head, aren't you?"

"You wound me, madam. I started composing it the minute you two drew your weapons."

She laughed, then winced, pressing a hand delicately to her abdomen. "I never ever want to see another Qunari again. Seriously. If we pass one in the streets, do me a favor and throw a blanket over them or something." She turned a grateful look on Anders. "Thanks. You probably saved my bacon about fifteen times back there."

"Heads up, it's the Knight Commander," Isabela interrupted sharply. "She looks like she has a thing or two she'd like to say."

"I'll bet," Anders grumbled.

Hawke sighed, belatedly sheathing her daggers. "Hell, after this, she'd better at least give me a really really big monetary reward."

Meredith did one better.

She declared Hawke Champion of Kirkwall.

"How is she?"

Varric looked up with a start, caught on the verge of a nap. Rubbing roughly at his eyes, he leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh of exhaustion. "She'll be fine." His voice was rough from lack of use. Just how long had he been sitting vigil? A day? Two? He squinted towards the dark window and dug in his pocket for a match. "Blondie was in here for most of yesterday keeping tabs on her. She's more worn out than anything else. Taking all that stamina crap didn't help." He lit the candle on the bedside table and cast the slumbering form on the bed an anxious look before turning grumpy eyes towards the figure hesitating in the doorway. "She's not exactly up for a chat if that's why you're asking. Well? Are you coming in or not?"

Sebastian wavered, then finally crossed the threshold. It occurred to Varric belatedly that the other man was probably embarrassed at entering a lady's bedchamber uninvited, but he was too tired to be amused. Irritation, however, crept forward readily as he spied the bouquet- slightly crushed by nervous hands -the priest was cradling.

"Andraste's puckered ass, Sebastian," he snapped, barely keeping his voice down in time. "Are you out of your mind? Lilies? After her-"

"Her mother," Sebastian finished, turning pale and looking so terrible Varric almost felt sorry for him. "I wasn't thinking. I just... they were pretty, and..." He stared at the flowers helplessly for a moment, then abruptly went to the open window and chucked them out as if afraid Hawke would awaken at any second and see the hated bloom. "I'm sorry. I'm... not thinking straight lately." He ran a hand fretfully through his hair and came to stand at the foot of the bed. "She looks terrible," he said after a long moment. "But you look worse. How long have you been sitting here?"

The dwarf shrugged, massaging his temples to ward off a headache. "Not long," he lied. "Aveline insisted someone keep watch and make sure she doesn't take a turn for the worse. Blondie can do good work, but some of the injuries were still pretty bad- worse than Hawke let on, anyway. I think the horned bastard actually impaled her at one point. We can't have her moving around too soon. Daisy's supposed to come over later and sit with her."

"Somehow I don't think Hawke will be pleased at being bedridden," Sebastian murmured with a small, fond smile. "Thank the Maker she's all right."

"Thank Blondie, you mean."

Sebastian's face darkened momentarily, but he shook off his annoyance. "Will you tell her I came by? I just had to see for myself that she was all right."

Varric eyed him sideways. "Why didn't you come earlier?"

"I didn't want to get in Anders's way. And I was praying for her. I wasn't even sure she'd want me here." His eyes lowered. "Hawke's a good friend. But she made it clear last time we talked that..." He trailed off.

"That she's not as interested in you as you are in her," Varric guessed, feeling a surprising twinge of sympathy.

Sebastian nodded. "I understand. I cannot offer her the kind of life she'd expect from a, er... Well. I could never be her lover. I've taken vows, and she respects that. I wish her every happiness with the one she does choose. Assuming she was even telling the truth about that and not just trying to let me down gently."

"Come again?"

"She implied that there's someone she cares for, though she seemed reluctant to broach the subject, and I thought it impolite to push." The priest looked at Varric curiously. "You spend more time with her than anyone. She brings you with her on all of her strange jobs. Do you know of whom she spoke?"

"No." He tried to squash a flash of alarm. So the choirboy was officially out of the picture, but only because she'd been eyeballing someone else the whole time? Damn. It was Anders. Had to be. No, the elf. He'd sure been pretty tense after the fight with the Arishok.

Oh, hell, what if it was Isabela? That woman had flirted casually with just about everyone in the group, and Hawke had never openly turned her down.

Shit. Damn.

"Are you all right?"

"Just tired. I'll tell her you said hi."

Sebastian nodded and turned away. He was almost to the door when Varric's quiet voice stopped him.

"Choirboy."

"Hmm?"

"Next time bring daisies. They're her favorite."