Blonde

By R2s Muse

Summary: A silly drabble in honor of Cullen's hair. What the heck color is it, anyway? Varric tries to find out.

Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting and its characters belong to Bioware.

Hawke leaned back in her chair, balancing it on two legs, and grinned. "I think I could just brush it for hours."

Merrill crossed her arms in front of her on the tavern table and gave a dreamy sigh. "I think I'd weave flowers into it. It's just so pretty."

"I'm just dying to know the texture," Isabela said with a throaty chuckle. She cocked eyebrow. "I mean just imagine—"

Seeing Fenris and Varric approach their table, Hawke abruptly sat up, her chair scraping unsteadily on the tavern floor, and cut off Isabela. "Oh hello!" she said to them, a faint blush suffusing her face.

Fenris frowned and slipped into a chair next to Hawke. "What were you talking about?"

Hawke blushed even more. "N— nothing."

Isabela smirked at her and then glanced over at the Hanged Man's crowded bar. "Oh, just admiring a certain, hardworking templar captain," the pirate said. Standing with a small group of off-duty templars was Knight-Captain Cullen, looking slightly uncomfortable amongst the easy camaraderie of the other knights. Instead of laughing with the others, his eyes darted around the room like he was watching for trouble. Or a chance to escape. Curiously, his eyes seemed to avoid the corner where Hawke sat with her friends.

Fenris's face closed off at Isabela's words, although he sent a surreptitious glare at the group of templars. Varric was endlessly amused at how close to the surface the elf wore his emotions sometimes. "Hmm… but, weaving flowers?" Varric asked with a look at Merrill. "Do tell."

"Oh, Varric, don't you agree that Cullen just has the most amazing hair?" Merrill chirped.

Fenris made a strangled noise at this, which made Varric grin. "Well, I've always thought so. At least, for a human," Varric said gamely. "The color of marigolds," he added with a catch in his voice. Aveline, quiet up until now, almost snorted ale out her nose at this since Varric had caught her while drinking.

Isabela laughed. "Yes, maybe blood-splattered marigolds."

"It is sort of reddish, isn't it?" Merrill mused.

Hawke didn't say anything and now just looked vaguely embarrassed. Varric glanced again at Fenris and found that the elf's icy glare was now also turned on him. Presumably for encouraging them. Completely unfazed, Varric grinned even more broadly. "I'll get us some drinks. Ale for you, broody?" Fenris just continued to glare at him. "Ale it is, then!"

Varric maneuvered himself through the crowd to the bar. He hailed the bartender and then nodded at Cullen. "Templar."

"Dwarf," Cullen replied evenly, taking a sip of the drink he was clearly only nursing.

"So templar, I've been wondering..."

Cullen turned his full attention on Varric from his spot at the outskirts of the templar group.

"What color would you typically ascribe to your hair?" Varric asked him although his attention ostensibly was focused on the bartender.

Cullen blinked once in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

Varric gave Cullen a bland smile. "It seems to change depending on the lighting, so instead of guessing I thought I would ask."

Cullen's eyes narrowed, the warmth retreating, and his face grew grim. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing to be concerned about. My new book has a character based on your likeness," Varric lied. He held out his hands in reassurance. "It's not you specifically. Just your likeness. But your hair puzzles me."

Cullen's face closed off further, certain the dwarf was poking fun at him. "I see," he said in frigid tones.

Varric looked across the room and noticed that Hawke was watching them closely, her forehead crinkled in suspicion. A bit too casually he said to Cullen, "Now, Hawke keeps wanting to call it something romantic like burnished gold or the color of wheat at sunset, but I don't know…"

Varric watched Cullen from the corner of his eye and was delighted to see the immediate effect these words had on the stoic templar. Gone was the impersonal mask of disapproval, replaced by flustered astonishment. The templar's face paled, then reddened, and his eyes widened in surprise. "H— Hawke?" he stammered. His eyes then flicked to the corner of the tavern where he caught Hawke rather obviously staring at them. Hawke and Cullen's eyes locked for a moment. Then Varric tried not to laugh as each of them turned a deep red and as quickly looked away.

Varric retrieved his drinks from the bartender at last and turned to go. "Well, forget I said anything. I'll just make something up."

As he started to walk away, he heard from behind him, "B— Blond. T— Tell her... it's just... blond." Varric the Meddler nodded vaguely then continued walking, a mischievous grin breaking out on his face.