Varric Tethras was a businessman, but in a world gone mad, he was also the last one standing in the bombed out wreckage of Kirkwall. It reminded him, hauntingly, of the news footage he'd seen of Denerim what… ten years before? In the final days of the Ferelden civil war, Denerim bore the brunt of the carnage. Varric couldn't pull his eyes away from the disaster unfolding on screens all over Thedas then.
He heard a helicopter far above the dark and gutted streets he slunk down and wondered if it was one of the same ones that hovered over Denerim during the final siege. Probably. Damn vultures.
As if in answer to his question, the device in his ear beeped and a sultry female voice answered. "THN 12 news helicopters. Lead reporter covering ongoing search for the Champion of Kirkwall. Twelve thousand followers on Twitter, average ratings of…"
"You're a gem, Bianca." Varric muttered. The AI in his ear hummed as if content.
"Shall I contact the Champion via secure channels and make her aware?" She asked politely.
"Hawke knows, baby." Varric muttered. "Trust me."
He pulled his leather coat tighter against the winter wind. It still sliced right through him and made him wish, longingly, for the thicker coat he never got to chance to pull from the back of his closet. His building was rubble now, along with the pub he owned on the bottom floor and most of his worldly possessions. Varric Tethras. Storyteller, businessman, liar, information broker, and homeless vagrant. At least he wasn't out on the streets, thanks to Hawke.
Hawke. Maker take her, that woman needed to get herself out of Kirkwall. She should have left days ago, the instant they knew the Seekers were coming.
As if thoughts of Hawke summoned it, Varric heard the soft patter of four paws approaching. The shaggy black dog, easily as large as a dwarf, melted from the shadows of a nearby alley, nose up to scent for danger. Varric reached out his hand, letting the tips of his ice cold fingers touch warm muzzle. "Hey mutt. Where's your witch?"
"Magical energy sensed in the vicinity." Bianca chimed in his ear. "Similar to magical signatures left by the Champion."
The dog bumped his fingers, intelligent dark eyes flashing up to his before he wagged his tail and circled back towards the alley, looking back at Varric in subtle invitation. Varric could take a hint, and checking uneasily behind him, he slipped into the dark alley.
Something dripped, a steady plop onto the pavement. From somewhere nearby, Varric heard the yowling of alley cats fighting. His eyes watered from the stench of garbage. Before he could allow his eyes to adjust, something bright burst to life in front of him.
A woman, small boned and petite with shaggy shoulder length black hair, held a lighter in one hand with a flame way larger than any zippo could hope to be. She was smiling, impish and delighted, but there were dark circles under her stunning blue eyes. "Varric." The woman sighed in relief, brandishing the lighter in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other. "I'd hug you, but…"
"Make sure nobody finds us first, gotcha." Varric nodded as Hawke tossed the white chalk into the air one handed, caught it on the downswing and immediately pressed it to the brick wall of the alley, drawing an elaborate square sigil with runes, dashed messily but functionally.
When she was done, Hawke put the chalk in between her red lips and pressed her palm against the drawing. Behind him, Varric felt something groan and shift. When he looked over his shoulder, the street was gone, hidden from view by another brick wall that materialized out of nowhere, seamless and perfect.
He'd watched her do this shit for years, but he never got used to it. The lighter doused itself and Hawke threw her arms around him, chalk still in place in her mouth. It made her mumbling hard to understand and he wearily pulled the chalk from her teeth with a halfhearted smile, patting her back awkwardly. "Try again, Hawke."
"That Seeker looked like a real bitch on the news, Varric." Hawke pulled away. "Did you tell her everything?"
Varric squeezed the human closer to his broad chest, to hell with the awkward angle. "Not everything, Hawke."
He couldn't tell her where Hawke was and he pretended not to know the fate of the rest of their motley gang beyond Aveline, who at least really didn't know where everyone was. If the Seeker knew how close the missing Champion really was…
"Don't know what she wants Hawke, but she's desperate for you like a templar jonesing for lyrium. You've gotta go to ground now. You should have left when your sister did."
They sent Sunshine off to Starkhaven with Choir Boy, hoped his influence in his hometown could protect her. Daisy vanished into the swarms of Elven refugees, another poor downtrodden soul among hundreds in the Free Marches, and Rivaini slipped effortlessly into the sea. But Hawke, damn Hawke, wouldn't leave their lovable shithole.
"Come with me and Fenris." Hawke ordered, scowling down at him. "Aveline hasn't done anything wrong, she didn't know… she didn't help Anders. We both did and I won't let you take the fall for me, Varric."
Hawke and Varric helped him get the supplies that blew the Chantry sky high and killed a hundred people, unknowingly, sure, but still. Varric hadn't been able to scrub the blood from his knuckles since. "Hawke, I'm not a witch. You have a giant target on your back and you know it."
She should never have been free, their Hawke. Witches like her were thrown into compounds like the gallows to endure their cursed existence in solitude so that everyone else could feel safe. As if, the author in him grumbled, safety wasn't just a false construct.
"You, Daisy, and Sunshine are the ones they'll blame." Varric guessed shrewdly. "It's convenient to burn the witch."
"Beth couldn't hurt a fly and Merrill is just a kitchen witch." Hawke scoffed irritably.
"Except for the demon thing." Varric reminded her softly, patiently.
"Well, sometimes chicken soup turns into demons when ingredients get mixed up." Hawke snapped irritably, finally letting go of him and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'll change you into a pocket watch and take you with me, Varric, so help me…"
"You make me a pocket watch and I'll never give you an accurate time the rest of your life." Varric joked. "Hawke, I can talk my way out of this. I can talk my way out of anything. Magic tongue, remember?"
Before Hawke could say anything else, she stopped, listening hard to the night. Varric heard it too, a motorcycle coming closer and closer. Hawke's shoulders relaxed and she snapped her fingers, the wall blocking the alley shimmering transparently in just enough time to reveal the dark bike spinning to a stop in front of the alley and the lanky figure slipping off it, pushing through the wall that let him through before solidifying.
"Varric." Fenris greeted, pushing the hood of his sweatshirt down to reveal his tattooed face and startling shock of white hair. "The arrangements are made, it is simply a matter of when we choose to leave."
Unbeknownst to Fenris, Bianca chirped in Varric's ear. "Escape reasonable at this point in time, but decreasing statistical chance of success by the hour. The Champion is in danger."
Didn't he know it. Varric huffed out a sigh. "Now's a good time Broody, before they find Hawke." Varric encouraged. "The Seeker isn't playing around."
Hawke stared at both of them, mutinous and frightened under her steely glare. She flicked the lighter again, but this time a ball of fire sparked to life above their head like a sun, revealing Hawke's favorite black trench coat over designer ripped jeans and scuffed old combat boots, her eyeliner smudged and her face flushed red. She began to dig through the messenger bag at her hip, sinking into a crouch as she pulled out a deck of cards.
"Fasta vass, Hawke, this is not the time." Fenris began impatiently.
"I'm not leaving him in danger." Hawke reasoned. "Not if I know it's coming, so let me look. Give me just a…"
The cards fluttered like magic, like living breathing things between her hands, moths in the night as she shuffled them. These weren't playing cards, he knew, but something much more powerful. Only for Hawke, though.
"I want to see the path ahead of this fine example of chest hair." Hawke murmured into the night. For a second, her blue eyes glowed with a power that put the flames above her head to shame. Then Hawke laid the first card on the dirty pavement and scowled. The card showed a wheel in motion, figures at the top and bottom clutching onto it.
"Where we are now." Fenris crossed his arms over his chest and glared in disapproval. "The wheel of fortune and us the fools at the bottom."
The next card Hawke flipped over was a woman wreathed in white holding a staff with the moon at her feet. Hawke pursed her lips thoughtfully. "The high priestess."
"The Seeker wants to take me to the Divine to tell her what happened here." Varric revealed with a careless shrug. "Or maybe to see the chest hair for herself. I've heard it's famous even in Orlais."
"Where we are, where you're going, and what you'll face…" Hawke flipped over the next card.
It was a tower, stark white against a dark background. The tower was crumbling, awash in flame and surrounded by lightning.
"Cheery." Varric remarked astutely. "What's that mean, Hawke?"
"Chaos." She whispered, tracing the card with her finger. "That the tower will fall and we must let it, nothing can be done. But that perhaps something new will grow in its place."
As she spoke, Hawke was flipping another card. It landed beside the tower and she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief before looking up at Varric, raising an eyebrow.
Twined together on the final card were two figures embracing as if helpless to do anything else. Emblazoned across the bottom of the card were two words:
The Lovers.
What in Andraste…
"The Lovers represent meaningful personal connections." Bianca supplied helpfully, the AI scouring the internet to supply the information to his ear. "Typically expected to be romantic. In this spread, it would represent a final outcome."
"Oooh, is the computer jealous?" Hawke teased.
"Would you like me to inform the Champion I am unable to express jealousy via secure message?" Bianca asked.
"She's got nothing to be jealous of." Varric started smoothly. Fenris snorted in amusement and Hawke traced the card gently before flicking her blue eyes up to him, piercing him with a pointed smile.
"Sure." Hawke grinned. "Whatever you say, Varric."
At least the Seeker didn't clap the cuffs on him. He could already picture the headlines screaming CHAMPION OF KIRKWALL STILL MISSING. FAMOUS AUTHOR AND BUSINESSMAN IN SEEKER CUSTODY. It would look nice next to a photo of the Seeker shoving him into the black sedan with tinted windows.
"Curly!" Varric greeted as he settled into the car cushions. "What are you in for?"
The former knight captain of the templars looked exhausted, a new scar on his lip, face rugged with stubble. "Mister Tethras." He greeted politely.
"Cullen has volunteered to assist." The Seeker folded her long limbed form next to him, banging one fist onto the divider separating the driver from the backseat.
"Volunteered or volunteered?" Varric asked with a raised eyebrow. He was pretty sure Seeker Pentaghast thought Varric had volunteered as well.
The Seeker scowled at him from under her jagged pixie bangs, jawline set in a hard line. "Volunteered." She snapped. Varric almost didn't hear her over the chime in his ear. He inclined his head to the side in acknowledgement of the notification.
"Secure message from the Champion, Varric. Would you like me to deliver it?" Bianca asked.
Varric nodded almost imperceptibly. Bianca continued. "Message states: flew the coop. Present in your journal. Be safe."
Varric struggled not to roll his eyes, pulling his journal from his jacket pocket and flipping it open to the first blank page. He very nearly snorted in exasperation. There, Hawke's idea of a little joke, her tarot card placed like a bookmark.
Damn witch, he thought fondly as he moved The Lovers to the next page. She knew he was a shitty romance novelist and one AI kind of guy. Not much would happen to change that.
"Should I send a secure message to Bianca Davri informing her of your travel plans?" The AI asked efficiently.
Varric swallowed and shook his head just minutely to the side, a movement that caught the Seeker's attention.
"What are you shaking your head about?" She demanded.
"Can't believe I'm leaving Kirkwall like this." Varric lied easily, shrugging his shoulders and watching the ruined city whiz past the windows. "Should feel like a holiday, but it doesn't. Must be you scowling at me."
xx
The bell on the bodega door signaled her arrival just before the store closed for the evening. Maria hated doing the rounds and put it off until very nearly the last minute. The old Rivaini man who ran the shop looked up from his magazine and froze while Maria slipped past all the shelves.
"Evening Serah Tulme." She greeted with a small smile she hoped conveyed just enough apology to squeak through this last stop with her soul somewhat intact. "Thought I'd grab a coffee while I was here. Did you shut up the register yet?"
"No." The man straightened, stiff and wary, "No, but it isn't fresh. I'll make a new pot just a moment…"
Maria waved her hand in the air to dismiss his concerns and smiled over her shoulder as she grabbed one of the foam cups. "Can't be worse than the shit I usually drink, serah. Don't bother with it."
He relaxed by a degree. "It's on the house then."
"Don't be ridiculous." Maria efficiently poured a cup of the liquid, which had an interesting sludge like consistency, then ripped open half a dozen sugar packets. "If you want to buy me a drink you'll have to take me somewhere nice than your bodega."
He laughed in spite of himself. While her back was turned, he'd reached beneath the counter and pulled out an unobtrusive manilla envelope. He laid his fingers over it protectively as Maria approached and flipped her own silver coin onto the counter. "I… I am sorry, I cannot pay the full amount and still afford…"
She knew he'd be short. Everyone was short, the economy was in the trash because of the war ranging across the south. Maria sipped at the bittersweet brew in her cheap foam cup, calm and thoughtful. "How short?"
The man took in a deep breath. "One hundred sovereigns. I know Dwyka will not understand, but perhaps you can…"
Maker, she'd try. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. You know me better than that." Maria chided while she reached for the envelope, tucked it securely underneath her jacket. "I just… don't be shocked if someone else is back here in a few days wanting the rest. I'll try to…"
"I know you will." The man sighed wearily. "Thank you, Maria Cadash. I am… I am glad you are the one who came to collect."
She wasn't. "Those idiot kids leaving you alone, Tulme? No more bricks through the windows?"
"After you put the fear of Andraste herself into them with that trick?" Tulme grinned, shook his head. "Never saw anyone run so fast. At least this money buys us you, Serah. You look out for us."
She tried, but she'd never be able to talk sense into Dwyka. He'd bleed these people dry and ask where his revenue went. "Have a good night, Tulme." Maria picked up the near fossilized coffee sludge. "Be safe."
She wasn't meant to hear Tulme repeat her words back to her retreating back, but she did. Maria pulled her phone from her pocket as she stepped out into the bitter cold night, used her bare fingers to read the blinking text message from Bea Cadash, her younger sister.
B - U coming tonight? Keep me entertained while I work.
Maria smiled to herself, sent a reply back immediately.
M - Isn't your job to be entertaining?
B - Like I have to work at it
B - please come out
B - u look like u need a drink
M - How do you know?
B - I know what day it is
Maria scowled at the last message, cursing her younger sister straight to the void and back. Finally, she sent one text back.
M - Maybe. I'll catch you later.
"You should go. She worries."
The soft, gentle voice at her ear made her just about jump out of her skin. The damn kid could move like a ghost.
"Cole, I told you to stop reading my texts over my shoulder." She huffed, hitting the button to hide her phone's glowing screen.
"I wasn't!" He protested, as if Maria would believe him.
Cole showed up near the beginning of the war, one of a score of refugees fleeing the religious upheaval in southern Thedas, or so she assumed. Honestly, she'd never gotten a clear answer about his origins, but she'd found him injured at the Ostwick docks while waiting for a shipment. Somehow, after she cleaned him up and let him sleep it off on her couch, the kid just moved in.
He must have gotten hit with a witch's hex or a templar's smite, because he was certainly addled somehow.
Maria's sister called him their feral brother. She wasn't entirely wrong. Still, she liked Cole, and he was attached to her nearly all the time. Spouting the kind of nonsense spilling from his lips at that very moment. "They like it when you collect, but you don't. You think you're hurting them, but if you didn't come he'd send someone else. Someone with bloody hands and bullets in their mouths."
"That's poetic." Maria ambled away from the storefront and shot a look up at him from under her lashes. "What's in my mouth, then?"
"A thousand words unsaid." Cole muttered.
Well, wasn't that the truth. She smirked and shook her head. "How do you know me so well, Cole?"
"You're very loud." His brow furrowed under the knit cap pulled down low over his forehead, choppy bangs obscured his pale eyes. "Just not where everyone can hear."
"You've got problems, Dwyka." Maria slunk into the smoky apartment, past the dead eyed man at the door. She pulled envelopes from inside her jacket, throwing them on the counter in disgust. Dwyka was at the scarred old kitchen table, a fistful of cards in his hands and a motley crew of various other degenerates surrounding him.
"Isn't that why I keep you around, Cadash?" He grumbled, thumbing the cards with his thick sausage fingers. He had a bad hand, then. "What's your fucking issue tonight?"
"If you keep bleeding businesses dry with your protection racket, you're not going to have anyone left to fund your lifestyle." She advised bluntly, hoisting herself up onto the counter so she could peer down at their game. She was rarely invited to play herself, Dwyka didn't like to be shown up.
"That's what you get for letting a bitch collect." Someone growled. "Too soft."
Maria didn't look away from Dwyka or acknowledge the comment. "You can't expect to keep making the same amount with the world gone to shit. Everyone needs to live a little leaner."
"You offering to pay the short out of your cut, Cadash?" Dwyka asked dangerously. "Or should I send someone without a bleedin' heart out tomorrow?"
Andraste's saggy tits, Bea would be pissed. She ran some quick numbers in her head as she thought, struggled to balance the rent and food budgets. She shrugged nonchalantly as she finished the numbers. "Why not?"
Someone laughed mockingly and Dwyka grinned. "Have it your way, Saint Cadash."
Well, at least Tulme's kids wouldn't be scared out of their wits. Maria could probably drop by one of the lounges and make up some of the shortfall playing Wicked Grace so Bea wouldn't have to sacrifice as much. Sometimes Cole even came through with some cash when things got tight.
Maria went to slip from the counter, but Dwyka's gaze pinned her in place. "You'll stay tonight."
It wasn't a question, but she'd try anyway. Maker, she'd try. "My sister wanted me at the club."
"Fuck your sister." Dwyka sneered, folding his hand in defeat.
"I'd like to." Another man muttered. It was nearly enough to make Maria bite her lip.
Maria hardened her heart, pulled her phone out of her pocket as the money in front of her changed hands and the men picked up their conversation as if she wasn't there. She sent one text.
M - Not tonight. See you in the morning.
A shame, she could have used that drink. She swung her ratty old backpack from her shoulder and dug around in it, pulling out a battered old copy of Hard in Hightown and leaning against the cupboard behind her.
The last member of the gang trickled out while she was in the middle of her favorite chapter, the big reveal that Donnen was betrayed by his former partner. Dwyka grunted as he approached, plucking the paperback from her hand and slamming it shut on the counter. Maria raised an eyebrow calmly. "You're lucky I'll find my place without a bookmark."
"You know better than to criticize me in front of my boys, Cadash." Dwyka growled, pinching her chin between his fat fingers. She could smell old tobacco on his fingertips.
"I wasn't criticizing you." She stared him down evenly. "I was informing you of the situation."
She expected him to slap her, but he did something worse, chuckling and running his knuckles slowly down her cheek. "Lucky you're a looker, Cadash. Otherwise you'd be more trouble than you're worth."
He released her, waving at her to follow him as he slipped into the bedroom. Maria left her book and her bag on the counter with a heavy heart. Dwyka was already pulling his shirt off. "Need you to go to Ferelden."
"Sure." She laughed, a hard hollow sound that rung in the room like a ghost rattling chains. "Heard it's lovely this time of year what with the witches fighting the templars and all the death and starvation."
"I've got a shipment of lyrium sitting at Jader and nobody has the stones to get it to either of the skirts." Dwyka muttered. "Losing money every day, but you could do it."
"I'm not suicidal enough to try it." Maria answered immediately. "I'll stay here. Thanks."
Dwyka turned his hard greedy eyes to her with a murderous grin. "We could send your whore sister, I guess. Maybe she could sleep her way to the peace talks."
Something icy ran down Maria's spine, but she didn't blink. "Wouldn't be very efficient." She remarked casually.
Nothing made him angrier than her flippant attitude. She saw his eyes go hard and flat, then he was on her, his fingers digging into her braided hair and wrenching her head to the side. Sharp pricks of pain brought tears to her eyes without her permission and his beer soaked breath was against her skin, filthy enough to make her wish she could take a hundred baths. "I own you, Cadash." He snarled, tightened his fingers until a small, pained gasp slipped from her mouth. "And when I tell you to do something, all I want to hear out of those pretty lips is 'yes, Dwyka,' am I clear?"
She had a gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans and she could reach it, put it right to his matted beard and pull the trigger. It would be easy, it would be over. Finally, blissfully over.
Bea would be alone, though. And as always, that thought stayed her hand.
"Yes Dwyka." She spoke through gritted teeth, choked back all rage and pain. A thousand words crammed down her throat until she suffocated on them.
"Good girl." He turned gentle in an instant, smoothing her hair and bringing his pale, bloodless lips to her cheek. "Get on the bed, Maria."
She never slept well at Dwyka's on the rare occasions she slept at all. But it meant that as soon as the sun came up, she was free to slip out into the dawn. She wasn't surprised that Cole waited outside, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands while he shifted anxiously beneath the rusted awning. He held it out to her trembling fingers.
She had three unread messages on her phone from Bea, but she couldn't bring herself to read them. She accepted the coffee gratefully, quietly.
"I don't like how he touches you." Cole whispered.
Neither did she, but it didn't matter. "Thank you for the coffee."
Her phone dinged again. Maria ignored it, but Cole nodded to himself. "She waited up. We should go home."
Maria couldn't ever go home, not really, not anymore, but it wasn't worth saying. "We should." She answered dully instead. She needed to pack, after all.