A/N: This story was originally published under the username 'celestial-insanity' on April 25th, 2011. Unfortunately, I lost access to that account when I went to university and FF.N support hasn't responded to my emails. :( So, I am reposting certain oneshots I wrote to this account to create some continuity between accounts. Please enjoy!

The smelly, smoke-filled rooms of the Hanged Man were okay places to hold private discussions if you could find a table distant enough from the drunken rabble – and if you were like Varric and you owned a room in the back, then it was the best place. "I'm not asking for much," he said, staring calmly at elf on his left. "Just between friends."

"My friends normally give me something for my trouble," Athenril stated, matching his gaze with a coolness that he suspected had gotten her past many deals of her own. One didn't become a smuggler without the tools of the trade. Her straight brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail on the crown of her head and her leather armor had been carefully cleaned before coming in. He could still smell the saddle-soap even over the wafts of smoke from the common area outside. The details told him a lot, but the overarching theme of it all was this: she thought that by dressing sharp, she would be considered as more of a client than thug for hire. He was happy to oblige her. "I might need more than a hug and a promise of everlasting gratitude if you want me to even consider your offer."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." No, of course he wouldn't. Athenril may have looked like a pretty elven flower, but she had thorns. He gripped the cold metal mug in front of him and brought it to his lips. Oh, he knew all about show, too, and compared to him Athenril was still learning the basic steps.

Of course, there was always the threat that perhaps she knew more than he did and was playing him. He'd learned never to take anything for granted in his career.

He swished the beer around in his mouth before swallowing, lengthening the silence for an extra second before sighing in contentment. "I don't think you'll have too much trouble, but you never know," Varric said. "You have your ear to the ground, though, and you're a lot more subtle than some of the other people I know." Compliments – check. He could see her eyes harden slightly with his words. Good. "So all I'm proposing is that you keep an eye out, make sure nothing bad goes down. And if . . . well, if it looks like some unneeded customers are coming, redirect them and let them go on their merry little way."

Athenril contemplated this for a while, her head cocked to the side. It was well enough that the two of them were alone, because he had a feeling that the dynamics of their conversation wouldn't have been as much in his favor as these were.

There was a light, staccato knocking on the closed door, and before he knew it the handle was turning. Without permission.

A pinched, petite face poked itself into the room. "Hi, Varric!" Merrill said excitably. Her large green eyes flashed to Athenril and Varric could see her blanch. "Oh! You're busy!" she cried, her voice going high in distress. " Sorry! The waitress said you'd be in here. Uh – I'll just – I'll wait! Sorry again!"

Before Varric could open his mouth, Merrill had closed the door behind her. He watched the door for a moment, and then bowed his head, shaking it back and forth. Well, that was unexpected. "That's Merrill," he told Athenril. One of her delicate eyebrows had risen very close to her hairline. "Don't worry about her, she wouldn't hurt a kitten." She'll just consort with demons and bedazzle you with some ancient and forgotten elven magic. Other than that, she's harmless, I swear. "Now, back to the deal."

"Yes, back to this proposition of yours," Athenril said, glossing over the interruption as though it had never happened. "I'm a direct woman – I get results, as you're no doubt aware. You're asking me to look out for an apostate, though. That's a big deal."

"Hey, you worked with Hawke," Varric pointed out.

"So I did, and that was no easy feat. This is a known apostate and Grey Warden. The Templars will eventually find him."

"Anders is more cunning than you and I combined, sweetie," Varric said, flashing a charming smile he'd all but perfected. "I'm just giving him some extra help. I like what he's doing."

"You want us to provide protection to a wanted man who more or less screams his existence to the heavens."

"Hey, I'm not suggesting you throw yourself at the Templars like crazed maniacs, here," Varric said quickly, raising his hands in protest. "Just keep a look out for him. You don't have to directly engage anyone. You're not mercenaries."

"Thank Andraste," Athenril snorted.

"You're smugglers," Varric continued. "This should be right up your brewery. Just make sure that the wrong type of people don't get a hold of him."

"Fine," said Athenril with a nod. "I can do it, but I do want compensation."

He loved negotiating with individuals driven by money. "Name your price, and we'll haggle," he said.

A price was quickly agreed upon, though Varric felt honor-bound to barter. In the end, he ended up paying just a little under from what she'd first put forward. "I'll put a word in with my contacts. Anders is safe with us."

Varric offered his hand. "I'm looking forward to the blissful silence. He nags a lot."

Athenril gripped it – hard. Another misconception of power. You didn't need to break the fingers of acquaintances to assert your dominance. Ah, well. She'll learn, or she won't. "Grey Wardens tend to do that," she said. "I'll expect the first payment by tonight. I'll send my usual guy around to collect."

"If I'm not around, Edwina will take care of you," Varric said. The two of them stood, marking a mutual end to the conversation, and he walked her to the door. "Also, one more thing – make sure Anders doesn't know. I'd rather be the silent benefactor, if you know what I mean."

"Considering the last couple of jobs you've given us, I took that as a given," Athenril said. "Good day, Varric."

"Pleasure doing business, as always."

He watched her go, arms crossed. Two armored men joined her as she descended the stairs, abandoning their drinks to accompany their boss out of the establishment. Varric knew she'd get the job done; she was a reasonably moral smuggler (like himself) and honored her word. It felt like a small weight had lifted off of his shoulders.

He'd never admit it, though.

He closed the door to his room and went down the stairs with the grace of a man who had just made a successful deal. Merrill was sitting at the bar, talking to the barman, Edward, with a huge smile on her face. She looked around, as if sensing him, and was instant apologetic concern. "Oh, Varric, I'm so sorry for barging in!" she said, getting up. "I suppose I still have a lot to learn," she said, somewhat quieter. "I knew I had to knock, but I forgot that I had to wait for a reply. I hope I didn't make things… um, difficult."

There was no way he could be mad at Merrill. "Don't worry about it," he said. "It didn't mess anything up, trust me. You worry too much, Daisy."

"I do, don't I?" she asked, bowing her head in shame. "I'm sorry – again. Who was that?"

"A girl who's doing me a favor in the city," Varric said, keeping the details vague. "Come on, Edward, two drinks." He hopped into the seat next to Merrill and, elbows on the table, glanced over at her. She hesitantly slid into her vacant chair, throwing an anxious look at the barkeep. "You ever have beer before, Daisy?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No, I haven't," she said. "I hear it's quite appealing, and many people seem to be ordering it. I just don't want to get drunk. I saw a drunk human three days ago, and it wasn't very pretty."

Varric glanced around the crowded pub. "Yeah, hang out around here for a while, Daisy, and you'll see more than just one drunk human."

"Humans enjoy getting drunk, I hear," she said conversationally. "Tamlen used to tell me stories of humans before he died."

"How'd he die?"

"Oh, he and a friend went out hunting and encountered an ancient artifact that dated before Arlathen. He wound up missing and Mahariel never woke up." Her voice faltered. "It was horrible. I never saw the Keeper so upset."

Edward placed two mugs of beer in front of them, each with an impressive foamy head. Merrill glanced down at it and frowned. She sniffed it curiously and made a face. "Is there… some sort of ritual we should do before we drink this?" she asked after a moment. "I know that this has to be a dumb question, but I saw some people slap their mugs together so hard that some of the contents actually spilled out, and – "

Varric chuckled. "Just drink up. It's on me."

"Ah. Okay." She lifted the mug carefully to her face and took a sip. She visibly cringed and placed it down, wiping the foamy smother off of her upper lip. "Oh, my."

Edward laughed at her reaction. "Better watch her, Varric," he warned with a twinkle in his eye.

"I suppose it's an acquired taste," Merrill said. She took another bracing sip and winced. "I suppose the second sip is not as bad. How much will it take to get me drunk?"

Probably that sip. "First time drinking? Probably that mug. Drink it sparingly," he cautioned her.

"Oh. This will be interesting. I've never been drunk before."

"Just don't do any magic and you'll be fine," he said with a nod. "No worries. Now, what'd you need?"

"Oh, need?" she asked. "I didn't need anything. I just wanted to come see you. I went to Hawke's home in Lowtown, but Leandra said that she'd gone out for a couple of days. No explanation at all. I'm a little worried about her."

"Yeah, that." Varric winced. "Best you don't get involved with politics, Daisy."

"Politics?"

"The viscount sent a guy to me last night to question me about his missing boy." Varric chuckled. "Like I'd know anything about that. Word had apparently gotten around to the guy that I do know a lot, though, and that I might know something about that instance. Told him that no, I didn't, but I knew someone who was pretty damn good at fixing other people's problems."

"Oh. You sent him to Hawke?"

"She needs the money," Varric said bracingly. "It's nothing she can't handle. Not with that dog at her back."

"But . . . I thought that the qunari had taken Saemus."

"That's what the viscount thinks, but I'm more inclined to believe that the little boy just ran away from daddy. It happens. It's not always a kidnapper or a murderer to blame, you know."

"It could be, though – you have to be careful, Varric. Oh, I'm sorry, but you know that, don't you?" She looked generally crestfallen. "I just wish she took me with her. I don't know if she trusts me, Varric . . . and I'm worried. She's so nice and I want to believe she likes me, but maybe she thinks I'm weak? That I can't handle myself?"

"Hey, relax, you can handle yourself just fine out there," Varric said. "If you notice, she didn't take me along for the ride this time, either."

"Well, who did she take?"

"Anders, Fenris, Aveline, and the dog." He leaned in closer. "Now don't go telling anybody I said this, Daisy, but the only reason she's not taking the two of us is because she's testing something out."

"Testing?" Merrill did that head-cocking thing of hers. She reminded him of a bird when she did that. "What is she testing?"

"How Anders and Fenris will work together."

"Oh, yes – they don't like each other that much."

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

"Fenris doesn't seem to like anybody, much."

"Fenris is just a grumpy teenager. He'll come around. Or he won't, and we'll have to put up with his whining forever." Varric shrugged. He wanted to tell her that he hadn't approved of her being a blood mage, either, but that was something you just couldn't say in a crowded room. "He doesn't like you much either, but just be extra nice around him and everything will be fine."

"I hope so," she said. "Do you actually think the two of them would work well together?"

"Anders and Fenris would work well together, but only if Hawke's steering," Varric said carefully. "If Hawke wasn't there, I'm pretty sure that they'd be at each other's throats."

"And then Aveline . . . "

"She's the calming element. She makes people quiet down even if they don't want to. I guess it's because they know she can murder them and make it look like a plausible accident."

"Oh, she can? I wonder how. I guess that would keep them in line. And Marcus – "

" – for obvious reasons," Varric said. "So do the math. Who's left out of this equation? Me, you, Isabela, and Carver."

"I feel a little better, then," she said with a faint laugh. "Thank you, Varric." She took another sip of her drink. "I just worry, you know. About her. She gets into so much trouble. It's like she enjoys dancing with Fen'Harel! It's good that Marcus is there to protect her. Few things are stronger than a promise kept, or the relationship between a mabari and his keeper. That's what Keeper Marethari always used to tell me, but I believe it's true."

Varric nodded. "I suppose you're right. Life's a lot simpler if you think that way."

"That's not always a bad thing," she said.

"Never said it wasn't," he said. "You go through life living like that, kid, and you're going to be happier for it. Don't let anything shake that."

"Oh, I'm not planning to!" Merrill said. "I enjoy being honest."

Says the blood mage. Though Varric still had to cut her some slack: after all, she hadn't tried to hide it at all. "What about stories?" he asked, a sly grin on his face. "You like stories, right?"

"Oh, I love stories!" Merrill said enthusiastically. "Do you have any good ones? I suppose you do, sorry – but could you tell me any?"

"My stories are a little bit different than the stories you know, honey," Varric said with a wink.

"But stories are stories, aren't they?"

"Stories are stories like a bird is a bird."

She did that head-cock again. "What does that mean?"

"Well, have you ever seen any identical birds?" She shook her head. "Not even the same type of bird is exactly the same as the other. So there are variations . . . different rhythms. But it's all about drawing your audience in, captivating them . . . and then wham!" He slammed his hand on the bar for emphasis, causing her to jump. "You cut the tension and leave them happy – or sad. Or leave them guessing. That's the best part, twisting people's emotions. Lead them on a path only you know about."

Her moss-green eyes were large. "Oh, my. Could you show me?"

"You want a demonstration?" he asked with a chuckle. He took a large sip of his beer, and then he nodded. "Fine. But let me think it out first."

Merrill's face lit up. "I can't wait!"

At that moment, though, there was an angry howl from behind them. Varric turned around and saw a wooden mug fly across the room, only to hit another table and skid off. A large, bearded man with a tattoo over his right eye stood up with an angry look in his eye – obviously the man who had thrown it – and towered threateningly over an equally large human with dark hair and pale skin. The latter stood up, his shoulders hunched for a fight.

"Ah, shit," Varric muttered, getting to his feet.

The two men – regulars – were getting ready for a scrap, and it looked like their friends were ready to join in. They were jabbering in Antivan from the sound of it, but Varric didn't know enough of the language to make out anything more than axe and a few verb modifiers he was sure referred to said utensil making harsh contact with the other's squishy body.

"Break it up, you two!" Varric barked, taking Bianca out with great care. She slid open lovingly at his touch, but the idiots were either too drunk or too stupid to care.

"Do it!" the pale man said, now returning to a language Varric knew, though he wasn't talking to the dwarf. A knife appeared in his hand. "I dare you!"

"Now, now, let's not get testy, here," Varric said. "Put that thing away before you stick yourself."

One of his friends glanced at Varric, and then at the other two. He elbowed the man and jerked his head towards the dwarf, jabbering something in quick Antivan. "That's it," Varric said. "Notice the guy here with the crossbow. Bianca's getting tired of waiting."

A gasp from behind him. "Varric!"

"What - ?"

But he soon found out. He heard a rasp of labored breathing from behind him and turned his head just enough to see the new enemy in his peripheral vision. He was having trouble moving, though, as if he was confused and just didn't know what to do. The knife dropped from his hand. "Need to . . . sit'down . . . " He fell flat on his face.

Varric glanced towards Merrill and saw her still standing at the bar, but there was a look of concentration on her face he knew only too well. That look had appeared on her face only a couple of weeks earlier, when she'd done a wiggle of her fingers and Gamlen's mug shifted about a foot from its original position.

He'd need to buy her another drink.

Apparently the one who fell was buddies with the tattoo guy, because he and the others rushed over to see if he was okay. Varric retreated a couple of steps and motioned to the bouncers near the door who had been waiting for the gesture. "Good to know I still got the charm," he said to the silent room at large.

The bouncers took the unconscious man outside and a couple of his friends followed. The Tattoo Guy only glared at the other one before leaving.

No bloodshed.

That has to be one of the quickest ends to a barfight – ever.

"Oi!" Edwina banged a metal spoon on the side of one of the steel pots. "If anybody fights in here, you get kicked out – no exceptions! Sometime you fools need a reminder, so if you're wantin' us to get you drunk, you better be willin' to behave!"

"Too right," Varric said, backing away. He gestured to the pale man. "Get out of here."

"He started it."

"Oh, yeah. I just remembered that I don't care. Sorry."

And where his fabled persuasion ended, Bianca picked it up for him. There were a lot of sweet things Bianca could whisper into her would-be victim's ear to get them moving. He looked her in the mouth, torn between keeping face and keeping skin, and then with a grunt he picked up his things and stalked out of the bar with his friends.

The Hanged Man never stayed silent for long, and before even two seconds had passed the patrons were calling for more drinks to wash away the madness. Varric collapsed Bianca and made his way back over to Merrill, who was fingering a ring on her finger excitedly. "That was fun!" she said. "Does this happen all of the time in taverns?"

"Only on special nights," Varric said with a chuckle.

"My first bar fight – that was exciting!"

He shot her a bemused look, hardly believing his ears. "You know, Daisy?" he asked. "I hope you get to see a lot of them. Come on. I think it's story time, don't you?"