Tags: Varric, background F!Hawke/Isabela, humor

Notes: Inspired by the following post by Medivi in the DAWC Challenges and Prompts thread:

Varric is a storyteller, and we know he exaggerates/changes details. Take any scene from DA2 and show us "what really happened". Twist: Show our companion characters and Hawke reacting to one of Varric's stories, all with their own 'take' on how it happened.

Revised 1/30/2019.

So There I Was

"No shit, there I was."

Such five short words began many of Varric Tethras' stories. A few were the more traditional lot, of tales of brave deeds and cold betrayals, of romance and thrill twining together like lovers, one twist and revelation after another, teasing his audience to the edges of their chairs with promises of even more. Others, more relaxed, his grin looser, as he said but a few sentences – a quip, practically – meant to draw out the laughter and sniggering smiles of listeners.

But, always, there was that wink, that nudge, assuring he'd been there, that he'd seen it with his own two eyes, no joke, no lie, only truth, cross his heart and hope to die. And, even surrounded by the smells of cheap alcohol, piss, and vomit and the unforgiving rigidity of wooden boards for seating in the Hanged Man, there was truth to be found.

Well, sometimes, anyway.

"I saw it all, I swear," he said. "Hawke, Rivaini, Daisy, and yours truly were sidestepping, sliding, and hopping between that creature's legs like we were dancing a jig with—"

"'Dancing a jig'?" Isabela interrupted with a laugh. "More like—"

Varric raised a blond eyebrow at her. "You want me to get to the part where Hawke 'repays' you for taking a hit for her, or not?"

The pirate leaned back in her chair with a smirk and waved the dwarf on.

"All right, so there I was," Varric began again. "Hawke's blasting fire and Daisy's shooting ice with everything they've got, Rivaini's hanging onto the thing's back with a dagger in its hide and a sprained arm at her side, and there I was at the crest of the waterfall with Bianca in my hands and only three shots left. I took one look and—"

"Wait," Fenris said. He set an elbow on the wooden table, his green eyes narrowed. "I don't understand. You said just a moment ago you were on its back and—"

"Trust me, Elf; the story's better this way."

"It's an interesting way to tell a story, I'll give you that."

Varric ignored the remark. Instead he took a swallow of what passed for ale in the Hanged Man before continuing, "So, as I was saying, I took one look and—"

"Varric."

With a groan, he stopped yet again, this time eyeing the redheaded captain across the table. "What is it, Aveline? Don't tell me making a grand comeback is a crime nowadays."

Aveline pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. "I can't put this in my report, Varric. No one is going to believe it. Just tell us what really happened."

"Oh, come on, it's only a little embellishment," he said. "It makes it more fun!"

"Define 'little.'"

He rolled his eyes. "All right, so I may have added more than a 'little,' but it's all for—"

"What are you all talking about?"

All at the table turned their attention to the source of the new voice. Brown hair neatly braided and laid across a shoulder, her grey eyes twinkling, Marian Hawke stood with a hand on her hip and the other on a tankard freshly filled from the bar. Corff's work, no doubt; Hawke did take Varric's advice on some matters.

An awkward silence answered her. In it, she eyed each of them in turn.

Isabela threw her a wink before hiking up her feet onto the table and crossing them at the ankle, never mind the view doing so gave all those sitting across from her. Aveline rubbed at her temples with a scowl, and Anders sat back with a sigh and nursed his mug. Fenris offered Hawke the barest of perplexed frowns and a shrug of his shoulders before turning back to his own drink. Merrill picked at a splinter in the tabletop, and Sebastian leaned forward, his hands clasped together, in the direction of the one and only dwarf who could bring a stop to lawful inquiries with his chest hair alone. Said dwarf sat peacefully sipping at his drink, the corners of his lips twitching up into a grin that had cost Hawke five hands at Wicked Grace, two rounds from the bar, and a fancy Orlesian shoe for purposes still unknown.

It was a pretty big table.

"Or… do I not want to know?" Hawke added with an arched eyebrow.

"The varterral," Sebastian answered. "Varric was telling us how you defeated it. Or his version of it, at any rate."

Aveline sighed. "Hawke, please," she said. "Tell me what happened. The viscount heard about your encounter and wants a report, but getting a straight story out of Varric is like—"

"Courting Donnic?" Isabela finished with a smirk.

Aveline shot the pirate a glare. "Oh, shut up."

Hawke simply rolled her eyes and pulled up a chair next to Isabela, who reached over and, with a firm tug on her braid, pulled her over for an easy kiss. Which became rather friendly as the seconds stretched on, and then a little too friendly, and then more than a touch indecent as Hawke reached down to run a hand up Isabela's thigh. Someone coughed awkwardly. They finally parted and sat back, not even a blush on their cheeks.

Nor did anyone else. The pair had developed such a habit of public affection that it was rather hard to blush anymore. Even Sebastian sat sedately in his chair.

Which meant they would be stepping up their game soon. Varric made a mental note to replace the locks on his door – and windows – before the week was out, just in case.

"Right, the varterral," Hawke said. "So what's Varric saying, anyway?"

"Oh, it's very exciting!" Merrill said, smiling widely and clapping her hands. "It has crests, waterfalls, jigs, and—"

Hawke shook her head with a snort. "But there weren't any waterfalls."

Varric frowned. "Hawke."

"You were there, Merrill. You know there weren't any," she said. "No jigs, either."

"Oh, I know," the elf replied with a wistful sigh. "He just made it sound so thrilling, though."

"So what did happen?" Aveline asked.

"Hawke," Varric said again. A warning, no doubt.

It went duly ignored.

"Thing just up and kicked itself in the head. Knocked itself right out."

All at the table sputtered, save Isabela, Merrill, Varric, and Hawke herself. A tankard spilled – no one was sure whose exactly in the commotion – and from the bar Corff cursed at the mess.

Anders nearly choked on his ale and, after several weak coughs, managed out, "Oh, come on. You've got to be kidding me!"

"Nope," Hawke said, examining her fingernails. "It tripped on a rock, fell down, and kicked itself right in the head. Shortest fight I've ever been in."

Varric groused, "You never let me have any fun, Hawke."

"I do, too. Remember that time at the corner of Baker's Street and Fifth?"

He gave a small smile. "Oh, yeah, how could I forget? That was—"

Aveline slammed a fist down onto the table. All eyes, some rounder than others, snapped to her. Those sitting next to her subtly scooted their chairs an inch or two away.

Sliding a hard look around the group, she said, "Let me get this right: the varterral simply killed itself?"

"More or less," Varric grunted.

Merrill sighed again. "I told you it hadn't been working right."

Hawke took a sip of her drink. "That's what you get for sticking so many legs on it."