The easiest way to get people to trust you is to be a bad liar.
Anyone who stopped to think about it would know that Varric’s not. He’s a storyteller, rogue, and occasional spymaster. If he wasn’t quick on his feet, he wouldn’t be alive. He certainly wouldn’t be half as popular as he is.
But the Seeker demanding answers is willing to believe that she can see right through him. She’s underestimated him. The whole damn Chantry has if this is the interrogator they sent. It’s more than a little insulting. Useful, sure, because he knows Hawke is still safe within 15 minutes of being rudely dragged from the Hanged Man, but he can’t help but feel like he deserves a more practiced captor. Still, he needs her to limit her stabbing to books. (Another demeaning gesture. He burned through more than one contact at printing presses during his time with Blondie’s illegal manuscript. Getting this book reliably printed was difficult.)
So he starts with the story he wants to be true. Heaving bosoms, shining armor, effortless battles with the heroes getting nary a scratch for their troubles. Every word is an outrageous lie. The Seeker’s bullshit meter might need work, but she’s clearly seen enough fights to know what he’s saying is impossible.
When she calls him on it, Varric tells her the unvarnished truth instead. He tells her about exhausted, terrified refugees fleeing from a war they could never win, about seemingly endless enemies coming from all directions. He tells her about a near conflict with the only other people they had seen in days, religious beliefs ingrained so deeply that they nearly came to blows in between the corpses of monsters. About a dead sibling left on the side of the road, because they didn’t have time for anything more.
By the time he reaches Flemeth’s involvement, Varric knows she’ll believe anything he wants her to.
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He still tells gentle lies, of course. He has a reputation to maintain.
The dramatic meetings, the nasty fights, the gangs jumping from roofs and appearing from behind large crates – all of it is at least exaggerated. Part of it is vanity; even a Champion’s day to day life can be boring. Mostly though, he’s testing the Seeker’s limits, seeing what she knows. Not much, he realizes pretty quickly, and that’s a relief. There’s little to hide in the early days. There’s much more later.
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He delivers the serious lies with the same straight face as before. Everyone noticed Anders’s worsening demeanor and openly disapproved. Of course no one knew what Anders was planning. Even Hawke. Especially Hawke. They shared a bed for years and a heart for even longer than that, but somehow, that slipped through the cracks.
There’s a moment where the Seeker scrutinizes him, and Varric worries that he made too much of a point earlier about how bad of a liar Blondie is. If she suspects Hawke of being involved or realizes that Varric has been running a similar charade, the past few hours have been for naught. But her thoughts are on how the explosion worked exactly, and Varric is glad to truthfully say he knows nothing about that. His thoughts were elsewhere when it happened.
His feelings about the situation are complicated, to say the least, but his loyalty to his friends runs deeper. The Chantry isn’t interested in Anders right now; they’re interested in Hawke. Not that it would really matter – both of them are more than capable of defending themselves and each other – but he’d rather they stay hidden.
“I wish I could help you,” he tells the Seeker, and that’s the biggest lie of all.