A/N - I upped the rating to T, for alochol consumption and 'friend-fiction' association.

Cole sat perched atop the bannister on the second level of the tavern. Beneath his dangling feet, in a secluded corner of the structure, Varric, Dorian and a cloaked Hawke are seated and playing Wicked Grace.

"The smell of ale and smoked pork, drifts through the air...it's familiar, but it isn't. Not the same without Isabella and the rest...Fenris, was invited but he did not come. He doesn't trust Dorian..it bothers him that Hawke does." Cole muses.

From behind Cole, Blackwall grunted a bit. "Can't say I blame the elf there." Blackwall shifted his gaze from Cole to Iron Bull sitting opposite him, then Blackwall briefly observed his deck of Diamondback cards, and laid them on the table. "But you really shouldn't be spying on them Cole, we're here as lookouts, not peeping nugs."

"Speak for yourself." Iron Bull retorted. "Even with the cloak Hawke's easy on the eyes, though I still don't understand why Varric lied about her being a redhead."

Cole turned slightly to glance at him. "He didn't lie. You asked if Hawke's hair were red and he answered 'Sure'..."

"But why?" Blackwall pressed.

Cole looked downward again. "Her physical beauty isn't important...laughter like the tolling of holiday bells, thunderous but tender..."

"Alright, sorry I asked." Blackwall grumbled, tossing the remainder of his cards aside. "You're too bloody good at this." he informed the Bull with a steely glance.

"You give up too easily." Iron Bull argued. "And you Cole, need to learn when to give up."

"They need me, if they didn't, I would know." Cole responded with a hint of stubbornness.

"Are you sure?" Iron Bull muttered.

Blackwall reclined in his seat, crossing his arms. "Yes, nevermind that Varric's told you countless times already, that your help isn't needed." he added.

"Only because he remembers me. Varric always remembers me, even this past month, when he'd rather forget..." Cole murmured.

Blackwall exhaled loudly, rolling his eyes a bit as he shifted his gaze onto Iron Bull again. "This is a waste of time, especially with Cole lurking about. Even if one of the templars recognized Hawke, I doubt they'd think of attacking 'er. Think Cullen's just being paranoid!"

"Rumor is, she helped that abomination Anders collect the materials needed to blow up the Kirkwall chantry. That's not something anyone is likely to overlook, even if it's a lie." Iron Bull responded.

"It isn't..." Cole said flatly. "But she didn't know..never suspected that Anders would trick her, use her...like she almost used him."

"Sorry, what?" Blackwall blurted, sitting forward.

Cole rocked a little, itching a scratch on his nose. "Fire crackling hungrily in the heath, an unlocked door swinging eagerly open. A welcome distraction, but it is more than a distraction for him...restless nights, beyond counting, aching, always aching. The aches would finally end but then... 'Don't you call him that! I'm sorry Anders, we can't do this.'...His emotions collided all at once but she saw them all - anger, jealousy, rejection, resignation...'FINE. Whatever it is you see, in that maniac Fenris, I hope for your sake, you can at least tame him.'...They didn't speak for a long while after that. Hawke hated it, hated herself, hated knowing he loved her. When Anders asked for her help, she didn't hesitate, she wanted to make amends..."

"No shit..." Iron Bull mused. "Did Varric know?"

"He knew by not being told. And it didn't matter, only Hawke's happiness mattered." Cole responded solemnly. "Even now.."

"Lovesick blighter. Who would've thought?" Blackwall pondered, turning his attention to the lower level of the tavern.

"So you and Broody...I don't mean to pry, but you know the well-being of romantic entanglements tend to allude me." Varric said, his hand gesturing beside the handle of his half-empty mug.

The cloak Hawke wore, hid her eyes and a good portion of her nose, but her smirking lips were perfectly visible. "Yes, I like to think it's the sole reason you started writing 'friend-fiction' with Isabella, but sometimes I wonder if there wasn't more to it."

"More to what? The friend-fiction? Or me and Isabella?" Varric coyly replied, hoping his own smirk was obscuring the interest in his eyes. "Am I sensing jealousy?"

"Jealous of Isabella? Perish the thought." Hawke retorted quickly, too quickly.

With his fingers entwined around the base of the Tevintar wine glass Lavellen had specially imported for him, Dorian waited cordially for Varric's response, and when none came, Dorian gleefully spoke up. "..'Friend-fiction'? Do tell!"

The smirk which had never left Hawke's mouth, intensified slightly. "It was smut mostly, purely based on our friend Aveline and her husband Donnic." she explained.

"Well not purely based on them." Varric said slyly.

"Yes I'm sure you used plenty of Isabella's escapades to..." Hawke began.

"Pardon me," Dorian interrupted. "but I think you're misunderstanding him, my good woman."

Hawke, slightly encumbered by the ale running through her veins, paused for a moment in shocked silence. "...Who else did you write about Varric?" she demanded.

"Who do you think?" Varric chuckled.

"Varric!" Hawke cried out in disbelief.

"Seems like an innocent enough question to me." Dorian piped.

"Oh trust me Sparkles, there was nothing innocent about what Rivanni and I wrote together." Varric chortled. "Especially when it was about...Ophf!" he grunted, as Hawke's boot lashed out against his knee, though she was likely aiming for his calf. Rubbing his sore kneecap, Varric eyed Hawke irately. "If you had let me finish my sentence Hawke, you'd have known I was going to say Choirboy...not you.."

"Oh?" Dorian hummed. "You never wrote about her corrupting this Choirboy?"

"Well not personally." Varric admitted, swiftly scooting his chair away from the table to avoid Hawke's thrashing boot. "Hey, it's Rivanni you oughta be kicking around! Besides, it's not as if you never teased the guy."

"Did I star in any other friend-fiction you'd like to tell me about?" Hawke pressed skeptically.

"You mean besides that illicit piece Isabella wrote about you and Nathaniel in the Deep Roads?" Varric responded smugly. "No, not really."

"Ooooh, now that does sound scandalous." Dorian cheered. "Don't suppose you have a copy handy?" he added in a nearly inaudible whisper.

"Argh Maker, in the Deep Roads? With all the darkspawn watching?" Hawke gawked.

Varric forced a sigh from his chest, masking his voice with indifference. "No, the two of you killed a bunch of them, then basked in sweet victory. The darkspawn audience came later, during the basking."

"That sounds an awful lot like something you would write, not Isabella." Hawke accused.

"C'mon Hawke, you really think I would do such a thing?" Varric replied, with a false coating of hurt in his voice.

"Fingers twitch against the quill, thoughts clouding over thoughts, his words dance around the margins. It's his duty as an author to add ambiance. An inkblot bleeds into the writing, his eyes freeze, but his heart is still pounding. The words aren't his, neither is the woman the words describe...his fingers smooth the edges of the parchment, and he realizes, they both belong to him now. 'Has it always been this way?...Yes of course..' When he crafts a story about Hawke, she is his, and there is nothing complex about it. She is the lullaby the songbird sings, he is the songbird oblivious to why he sings it." Cole coos, in a bittersweet grimace.

"While we're on the topic of unspeakable deeds," Dorian began. "I have a question I've been dying to trouble you with, dear lady."

"By all means, Dorian." Hawke encouraged.

"Did you really have a tryst with Anders during your dry spell with Fenris?" Dorian questioned. He noticed the tiniest of frowns crease Hawke's lips, and likely beneath the cloak, her eyes were revolving onto the dwarf sitting opposite them. "I always imagined Varric exaggerated the time lapse between your night of intimacy and the reconciliation of your relationship, but after meeting the guy, I'm not so certain. Fenris seems quite capable of seducing a woman one night, then keeping his distance for three years afterward. Come to think of it, so does Solas...but I digress." Dorian rambles.

Hawke reclined slightly in her chair, so that she'd be better able to observe both men equally. "I know we've had a lot to drink, but may I ask why you're so curious?" she countered.

"I found the description of Anders, quite intriguing. The honey-hued hair that falls against the midst of his shoulders, the copper eyes full of mystery, the scruff billowing across his chiseled cheekbones. All sounds a bit familiar doesn't it?" Dorian mused, pausing for effect. "...Sounds almost like a human equivalent of Varric." Dorian paused again, hoping to gauge Hawke's reaction, but to his disappointment, she appeared nonplused. "That is, of course, until we reach the part of his description where his skin crackles with lyrium - which would clearly mark him as a substitute for Fenris. Though I suppose in a weird way, Anders is a compromised combination of the two gents, isn't he?"

"That's enough Sparkles." Varric warned sternly.

Hawke rested one of her elbows against the head of her chair. "I never thought of it that way, but now that I have, by the Void, I think you're right!" she gushed sarcastically.

"Andraste save me.." Varric mumbled, rubbing his brow. "I think it's time we call it a night."

"But she hasn't answered my question." Dorian pointed out.

"Really Dorian, a lady doesn't kiss and tell." Hawke tsked, getting to her feet.

Dorian rested his weight against the door of Hawke's room, groggily taking her hand in his. "You really are as fun as advertised Hawke. Almost makes me wistful that the rumor I heard about the Champion Of Kirkwall being a bearded swordsman, were actually true."

"Excuse me?" Hawke guffawed, her gaze slowly lowering onto Varric.

"Ah yeah, I heard about that too. It was spread around by a sexist man in Hightown..." Varric explained. "I also heard, that sexist blighter, met an unfortunate end with an arrow to his groin, and another to his face."

"Varriiiic." Hawke purred.

"Oh it wasn't me. Must've been Choirboy, or who knows maybe you've a fan who is also an archer." Varric responded with a barely concealed grin.

"Since you two are having a moment, I'll take my leave. Best of dreams." Dorian said, walking off with a smirk and a wink.

Both Varric and Hawke watched Dorian leave for several seconds, before reverting their attention onto one another. Varric spoke first.

"You know it just occurred to me, you didn't answer my question either - about you and Broody?" Varric noted.

"And you neither confirmed nor denied that you wrote the smut about Nathaniel and I." Hawke replied. "Which speaking of, if I was going to do anything naughty in the Deep Roads, it certainly wouldn't have been with Nathaniel."

"No?" Varric asked, the word sprinkled with disinterest.

"You'd have been a far better candidate." Hawke replied, in an unreadable tone.

"Me?" Varric choked aloud.

"Think about it Varric. We were trapped in the Deep Roads for two weeks, after Bartrand's betrayal...just you, me, my brother and Anders. What if Anders had left with Stroud when they took Carver away? Would've been just you and I...alone, in the rubble..." Hawke trailed off.

"And we would've tragically walked into a Queen Spider's nest, and been eaten alive." Varric finished, though a rosiness had inhabited the corners of his cheeks.

"But not before we shared the most passionate love-making either of us had ever experienced." Hawke added haughtily.

"Alright, you win, I concede." Varric said, tossing his hands up in surrender as he walked off. "Goodnight Hawke."

"The sound of her giggles follows him like a mist as he departs. Laughter like the tolling of holiday bells, thunderous but tender. He thought of it often when he told her tale to Cassandra. It was the first thing he loved about Hawke, but he did not know it to be love." Cole commentated.

Dorian was aghast. "He walked away? I can't believe she let him! Ugh, we really do have our work cut out for us, Cole." he complained.

Lavellan approached her favorite conspirators with a small smile on her face. "What work is that?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with my dear, just wish us luck." Dorian told her.

A/N - Oh my Dorian, I love him so.