Dancing and Matchmaking

Notes: Bethany Hawke, f!Cousland, secret crushes

Not the best story; it was written in about 15 minutes during a lecture over art history, so...

Anyway, another great prompt from the Dragon Age prompt generator, with a little bit of protectiv-older-brother-Hawke thrown in, because the world needs more of that! I might rewrite it or add a bit to it sometime. Reviews are loved, as are suggestions!

"Champion's Banquet," Hawke sighed. "This city really likes to go overboard."

Varric chuckled, snatching the invitation from Hawke and reading over it. "With esteemed members of the Merchant's Guild, Grey Wardens, and the Chantry of Val Royeaux," he muttered, sounding almost impressed. "You're making waves, Hawke."

Hawke laughed, filling the otherwise-silent front room of the estate with a warmth that had been missing ever since Leandra's death. "I've been making waves for years, Varric. I'm just making the right ones, now." Still chuckling to himself, he tossed the letter onto the writing desk and grabbed his sword from where it was propped against the wall. "Let's go convince Meredith to let Bethany come along. I'd hate to see her miss out on all the fun."

"Right," Varric drawled, "because you've only put your life in danger twice today. Let's go anger the most dangerous person in Kirkwall." Glancing up towards Hawke's bedroom, he called, "You coming, Blondie?"

There was a tired groan, quickly followed by, "Pissing off the Knight-Commander? I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Bethany Hawke played with the sleeve of her dress, surprised at how nervous she was. She'd only been in the Circle for a few years, but the feeling of entrapment and fear of the Templars had set in very quickly, making her palms sweat.

The young mage had felt out of place all evening, even after Isabela had fawned over her all afternoon, giving Bethany a feminine look that had seemed to surprise everyone, Bethany most of all; it had been years since she'd done anything more than look in the mirror and sigh. Now, her raven hair fell in smooth curls, her eyes were accented with the palest shade of pink, and she was wearing a frilly dress that matched the warm ruby tone of her lips.

It had taken a combination of Isabela's and Anders' insistence to get Bethany to come to the banquet, and she wasn't sure she was entirely enjoying it. She wanted to, but it was hard, knowing that as soon as it was over, she'd be heading straight back to the Circle.

As Bethany continued to stand nervously off to the side, a nobleman came up and asked her to dance, to which she ducked her head and shyly refused. She wasn't any good at this, especially with her mind so full of dread.

"You know," Varric sighed as he weaved through the crowd towards Bethany, "it's a shame you're… you know. You would've made a wonderful noble, Sunshine."

She sighed. "Maybe. I used to look forward to it, when Mother would tell us stories about her childhood."

"Don't worry. Nobility isn't really all that much fun." Bethany looked up at Varric's companion. She was dressed much more casually, and had deep chestnut hair and bright green eyes. The woman held a hand out to shake. "Abigail Cousland, of the Wardens. I understand you're the Champion's sister?"

"Bethany," she nodded.

Abigail looked at her for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Hmph," she scoffed, grinning down at Varric. "Just how any apostates does Hawke run around with?"

The dwarf chuckled. "He's got quite the collection going. I'd actually better go help out Hawke—it looks like Anders is dancing again."

Chuckling, Abigail shook her head. "Some things never change, apparently."

"What do you mean?"

"You know Anders was a Warden, right?"

Bethany nodded.

"Well, back in Amaranthine—" Abigail broke off into a peel of laughter. After she'd regained her composure, she continued, "In Amaranthine, we'd go to the tavern—me and Anders and Nate and Oghren—and we'd get absolutely roaring drunk." She paused to laugh again, her eyes bright. "Sometimes it was for stupid little reasons, and sometimes it was a contest, but every time, without fail, Oghren would pass out, and Anders would end up dancing on a table or something and making an absolute fool out of himself."

Bethany found herself laughing alongside Abigail, imagining Anders—moody, vengeful Anders—acting ridiculous and childish and not… well, not like Anders. "It's hard to picture. These days, he isn't really happy unless he's with my brother."

Abigail sighed. "I've heard. I'm glad he's happy. It's a shame, though, what happened with Justice. We were friends," she pointed out. "Me and Justice. I was off in Denerim when they left. I didn't get to say goodbye to either of them."

Glancing up at Anders, leaning heavily on Hawke and more than a little tipsy, Bethany sighed. "I'm sorry."

The Warden said nothing for a moment, then shrugged. "It's probably best this way. I…" She glanced around, then whispered conspiratorially, "I used to be positively head-over-heels in love with him. Can you imagine? The Warden-Commander—last of the Couslands—and an apostate?" She laughed lightly.

"Oh, I know the feeling." Bethany smiled, feeling more relaxed. Most of the nobles she'd met that evening had been guarded and aloof, but Abigail was warm and friendly, a welcome change from the stuffy atmosphere.

"And just what does that mean?" Abigail cocked an eyebrow, grinning in interest. "Who's caught the eye of the Champion's sister?"

Bethany shook her head. "No one," she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. She kept her eyes trained on the ground, tugging on a silky curl.

"Come on," she laughed. "Tell me. I told you about Anders. You know, I've only told a couple of people that."

"Fine!" Bethany conceded, feeling her cheeks redden. She felt like a little girl, back in Lothering, gossiping with her friends in the safety of the old, abandoned barn on the far side of town. "How well do you know everyone here?"

Abigail glanced around. "Apart from Anders and Varric? Umm… I don't."

She bit her lip nervously, glancing down at her hands. "Well… you see the lady in that horrid yellow dress? Who she's dancing with."

By the time Bethany worked up the courage to ignore the butterflies in her stomach and look back up, she found Abigail with a wide grin. "That's a face I'm familiar with. You've got a thing for princes, hmm?"

Shaking her head, Bethany decided, "No. It's… it's foolish. It's—nevermind. Forget what I said."

But Abigail's grin only widened. "You want him? Well, let's go get him."

"No!" Bethany gasped, horrified at the idea. Besides, Sebastian was part of the Chantry and she was a mage.

Abigail gave her hair a little flip, smirking down at Bethany. "I've fought archdemons and got into yelling matches with the King. This'll be easy."

Bethany tried to protest, but Abigail took off, heading straight for Sebastian. Shoulders slumping and cheeks burning, Bethany hid her face in her hands as the Warden cut in, stealing Sebastian as her dance partner.

Oh, Maker… I'm going to regret this.

"Rise and shine!"

Anders groaned, pulling the covers up over his head.

Hawke grinned, not even a little bit sorry. "I told you not to drink anymore last night." But Anders' shape beneath the covers didn't move, so Hawke sighed and decided to leave him alone. For now. "Just to let you know, we're not supporting Sebastian's claim for the throne anymore. He's going to stay right there in the Chantry, where he can't get his hands on Bethany."

A snicker came from under the covers.

"And we aren't inviting any Wardens to parties anymore." Rethinking his statement, Hawke amended, "Well, real Wardens. You're still invited." Once the door to the bedroom was tightly shut, he called down to Varric, who was patiently waiting in the front room, "Alright. Let's go visit the Chantry. I need to have a little chat with our prince."