Nobody followed Maria upstairs and she was fiercely, spitefully glad. She couldn't bear any more pointed politeness or cozy, patient coddling. She wanted to yell, to scream, to throw things and… fuck her head throbbed. She collapsed in the armchair next to the bed, buried her head in her arms and took a deep, shuddering breath. Was this a migraine? Did she fucking get migraines now?

She was too damn old for this.

A small part of her, a younger, softer part of her, wanted to wail and screech and tear out her hair in despair. It wasn't fair, she hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. All she wanted to do, all she ever fucking wanted to do, was take care of her family. Tears pricked at her eyes and she squeezed them tightly shut.

She wasn't going to cry. Crying wouldn't fix anything. She raised her hand to her eyes, prepared to rub them briskly, but her elbow caught the book that sat on the armrest, sending it spilling to the ground with a heavy thud that seemed even louder in the empty room. She looked down at the thick book, uncurling her body just enough to reach and grab it, and peered at the cover.

She didn't recognize the cover, the edition must have been different than the one she borrowed from the big public library in Ostwick years earlier, but she remembered the title. She stared at the words, reading it over and over again. History of Madness by Michel Foucault. It was apt, she may as well find this in the crazy mess she fell into. Someone was using a ticket stub as a bookmark, placed more than two-thirds through it.

"I am afraid, Miss Cadash, that is significantly heavier reading than I would recommend during your recovery."

She hadn't heard him come up the stairs and she nearly jumped out of her skin, squinting up over the book in her hand to meet the elf standing on top of the stairs, balancing a tray with a steaming mug and what smelled like breakfast. Her traitorous stomach rumbled.

"I already read it." She said dismissively, sitting the book down on the armrest as nonchalantly as possible. The elf raised one sculpted eyebrow in what she assumed was disbelief. She splayed her hand over the book cover as if it were hers. "Foucault's first major work. He traced the evolving meaning of madness in culture, medicine, the law… he concluded that structures of power use the term insanity to label and exclude undesirable elements of our society."

If the elf had hair, his eyebrows would have vanished into it, but he was smiling apologetically. "Ah, and your opinions on the matter, Miss Cadash?" His tone turned serious, thoughtful.

"Don't trust anyone wearing a white coat with a clipboard." She advised, unable to keep the sly, self-satisfied smile from her lips. "Particularly if they try to tell you that you're bonkers."

Solas chuckled quietly, holding the tray up like it was a peace offering. "I admit, I did not expect you to be so well read. I remember you recognized Mister Tethras from his books, but… I do not believe many of his fans also delve into sociology or philosophy."

"Hard in Hightown is all about philosophy." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to defend the novel, but she'd already started. "It goes to the root of the nature of mortality. Do we all strive for personal advancement or the glory of our cause? Which is the higher purpose?"

Solas's smile tipped up even further. "I admit, I have not read it. I was put off by… a very vivid excerpt involving a brothel. I assumed it was simple self-gratuitous smut and violence."

"There isn't anything simple about smut and violence." She teased, watching a bit of color pop into the elf's pale skin. She fought the instinctive urge to chase it and see just how red she could turn the man before he fled back down the steps. She owed him, after all. "Varric said you saved my life but I didn't get a chance to thank you."

"We should be thanking you." Solas declared calmly, sitting the tray on the other armrest precariously. "Please, eat. I imagine you have questions and I am the mage most familiar with the veil here. I have a working theory of what has happened and how it can be put right."

The tray was loaded with eggs, sausage, bacon, a waffle dripping with golden syrup, and a bowl of oatmeal. It was more food than she'd ever eaten in one sitting but the smell of it all made her ravenous. She settled it into her lap immediately and picked up a fork, cutting into the sweet smelling waffle first as Solas settled himself on the foot of the bed she'd woken up in.

"The fact that you survived the vortex not once, but twice, is nothing short of miraculous. Tell me, Miss Cadash, what do you know of magic?"

"Maria." She corrected hastily, swallowing the waffle. "Please… please stop calling me Miss Cadash. It makes me sound like a school teacher. I'm not cut out for that line of work."

"Maria." Solas repeated as if tasting her name before nodding once. "I will try. I apologize if I forget."

He was so oddly formal, like someone out of an old book. Was he Dalish? He didn't have the tattoos, but no elf living in the city ever talked like that. She didn't ask, despite her curiosity. "I was always told to stay away from magic, that it was dangerous. I've met a handful of free witches, bought some enchanted things off them, worked a job or two alongside them, but… I don't know anything about how they work."

Nanna said that magic was a curse for humans and elves, the dwarves were lucky to escape it. Solas nodded as if unsurprised. "The veil separates our world from the Fade. Most may see into it, but none may cross over. The veil is a wall, keeping us out."

"Why not call it a wall then?" Maria asked in between another bite of waffle. "I guess it's less dramatic than veil, but…"

Solas's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Perhaps. But, the wall is not as solid for some as it is for others. Some creatures are born with the ability to see through it, and it is simply one step from seeing to grasping, pushing through and bringing something back from the other side."

Solas paused, picking up a spare fork on her plate and holding it up. "Have you heard that all matter is made of particles? That you, this fork, myself, every object in this room is made up of atoms so small, all vibrating together? Constant energy, even in the most still of things."

She thought she remembered something like that from science class. She nodded, digging for the information through the back of her mind. "Yes. Something about… physics?"

Hard science was not her forte. She preferred English, literature, sociology and psychology. Fynn used to…

She choked on the emotion, hid it carefully. She didn't want to think about Fynn, not now. This was important, she needed to pay attention.

Solas nodded, approving. "Yes. It is theorized that the people born with magic are vibrating at a different frequency which allows them to reach through the seemingly solid veil."

As she watched, she saw that Solas was making the fork vibrate ever so slightly. She could even hear a small hum from it. "And they pull their magic from the other side, and then use it… do things like this?"

"Or weave spells. Some create the enchanted items you purchased, others tell fortunes or consult with spirits. All of that, and more, is possible. Those that vibrate more strongly are more in tune with the fade than others. Some with magic are what they call kitchen witches, barely capable of brewing up a solid enchantment. Others are capable of destruction of the magnitude that can level cities."

Maria remembered the news footage from Kirkwall, the ruined city blocks where a grand cathedral once stood. Outside her window, the vortex spun leisurely above the ruins of the ancient temple. "And they can pull demons through?"

"Yes." Solas said quietly, his gaze turning sympathetic. "You had never seen one before? It is a frightening experience, but you were admirably brave."

She had seen demons wearing the flesh of people, but nothing like those monsters. The bite of eggs she'd taken suddenly seemed dry and stuck in her throat. Solas continued on, nonplussed. "Demons sometimes come through on their own, as well, but it is rare. Most spirits and demons are called by a witch or warlock to become their familiar. They often take the shapes of animals. I believe the Champion of Kirkwall has a familiar that is a rather large dog."

"Do you have one?" She asked curiously. Solas smiled again, patient, and wrapped his fingers around the bone hanging from his neck.

"Yes, but mine is not bound to a physical form." He admitted quietly. "Perhaps I will introduce you someday, if you would like me to."

Why the hell not? It wasn't like any of this could get more bizarre. She gestured to his fork with her own. "So, are you trying to tell me I'm vibrating now? Because I definitely feel different."

"Different how?" Solas asked, thoughtfully stroking the bone.

"I feel… something in my fingers when I touch things." She admitted. "A buzzing. It's more noticeable with electronics."

Solas nodded once as if she'd confirmed his suspicions. "Yes. That would make sense. All magic users can feel… some disturbance with technology. Typically right after casting a spell, or if they are attempting to use both at the same time. Like placing a call and lighting a candle."

"Don't multitask and cast?" Maria joked, placing her fork down nervously. She was beginning to feel a whole lot less hungry. "They should embroider that on pillows or something."

"Perhaps." Solas watched her with those sharp, nearly predatory eyes. He didn't miss the way she rubbed her wrist, a gesture meant to soothe her when she felt this much on pins and needles. If she could survive what happened with Fynn, she could survive anything, she reminded herself.

"Why do I feel like this?" She managed to keep her voice neutral but it was a struggle.

"Whatever happened at the temple altered you. I suspect the matter that makes you shifted, changed. Prior to the first attempt to seal the vortex, your molecules were vibrating at such a pace that it nearly ripped you apart at the seams." Solas redirected her attention to the fork he held. She noticed it was vibrating even quicker, the hum a strange, eerie music not unlike a piano chord lingering in the air. "Now, the vortex is calm and you are more stable. Still, you are at a frequency that makes you more attuned to the veil now than any other living creature. There is power inside of you that will not rest easily. I confess, I am unsure what you are capable of nor do I know the long term effects of what you have endured. I only know that you still are the only hope for ridding the world of that scar above us."

As quickly as it had started, the fork stopped vibrating and he placed it down gently. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. "I'm just a Carta rat from Ostwick. This can't be happening to me."

He looked sympathetic but he nodded firmly as if he were a professor and she a favored student. "I must ask that you consider staying here for the time being and assisting with this endeavor. I cannot guarantee that no harm will come to you, but I promise I will stay by your side and do my utmost to make sure you survive, Miss Cadash."

"Maria." She corrected again automatically.

Solas smiled. "Maria." He repeated, gently. "A fine name for a fine woman, I suspect. I think it will be remembered fondly."

xx

Cassandra blew back in with the same vengeance with which she'd stormed out when Solas informed her, tersely, that she was not helping matters. That had been hours ago. Now her pointed face and bright eyes were focused on him like a laser while Varric was in a rather compromising conversation via his earpiece. Thankfully, the Seeker didn't seem to realize who he'd been talking to. She assumed, probably, it was Bianca.

"What do you mean they left?" Cassandra asked, voice dripping menace as if it were venom. He looked up, irritated.

"Sorry. I thought we were both speaking the same language. Do you want me to mime it?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. Inside his earpiece, he could hear the breathless excitement like it was palpable.

"Oh she sounds like a peach Varric!" Hawke whispered in excitement. "Is she the grumpy Seeker? Please tell me that's the grumpy Seeker."

He barely contained his smirk. Cassandra was turning a satisfactorily color of red. "Where did they go?" She continued, undeterred by his sarcasm.

Varric shrugged nonchalantly and looked back down at his tablet. "Seeker, I didn't realize I was babysitting. I thought you said the lady was free as a bird." Not that it mattered, he'd have let her breeze out with Solas regardless. Something about the Seeker interrogating Maria about her checkered past annoyed Varric, caused the same instinct that made him shelter his friends burst to life. And the Seeker had been too proud to run the Google search…

But Varric hadn't. He'd done it almost as soon as Maria stormed upstairs, welcomed the distraction from the rest of his emails. It hadn't taken him very long. He had the name, he had the year, he had the place.

The details in the paper were sparse, the Free Marches had some of the strictest closed trial rules around. No reporter ever set foot in a courtroom, they all had to wait breathless outside. Still, it had been a sensation at the time and made it into nearly every major paper in Thedas. He couldn't believe he missed the whole shitstorm until he looked at the dates.

The actual murder happened the same day he dived into the mines trying to find Hawke with Broody and Blondie. By the time the four of them made it out, they'd been just in time to confront Sunshine getting pulled into the Gallows. Varric was stuck dealing with that, the hollow place where Bartrand had been, and all the complications of dealing with being stabbed in the back by his only brother.

A naked conga line of beautiful women could have been making their way through the Free Marches that week, but Varric probably wouldn't have even looked up from the mountain of paperwork and his never-full-enough mug of beer.

The news reported several facts. Fynn Dunhark had been a golden boy, heir to a fortune, top of his class at the prestigious university in Ostwick. Somehow the man found himself leaving his cushioned life behind to slum it in a cheap tenement apartment in Hercinia.

Varric suspected the young man had found himself enamoured with a very fine set of curves, a sinful smile, and piercing stormy eyes, but that was just an educated guess.

Then Fynn Dunhark had died, shot in that poor neighborhood in Hercinia, miles away from his sheltered upbringing in Ostwick. He was declared dead when paramedics arrived and the only other person in the house was a woman with known gang ties, a rap sheet filled with petty crime, possessing one illegal firearm. Everyone drew their own conclusions pretty quickly. Varric himself didn't know if he could paint a more damning picture.

In fact, it was too tidy.

Varric had a chance to watch her while he tried to break down the events of the last four days for her. She didn't have the air of a woman who killed in cold blood. She also had one nervous habit that he kept noticing. Whenever she was mulling over a piece of information that caused her concern, she traced her thumb up and down the arrow tattoo on her left wrist. It was a nervous habit that he found endearing. Varric remembered the initials inked into her skin, FD and MC. It looked like he'd been spot on about it being a lover's tattoo.

Varric would also bet money that the woman wasn't just found innocent, but that she was actually innocent. Her reaction, prickly as it was, didn't seem designed to hide anything. It looked to him more like a coping mechanism, an escape rope out of a painful situation.

He wouldn't like it if people kept asking him if he'd murdered a former lover either. Maker, she couldn't have been older than much older than Hawke was. She must've been a damn kid when Fynn Dunhark was shot. He was a couple years older than her, but he had felt like a little kid the minute he realized what Bartrand did.

The same damn day. What a coincidence. He'd told Hawke the same thing, and she'd responded with a mysterious 'no such thing as coincidences, Varric.'

Damn witches.

"You will help me find them." Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him. Hawke snickered in his ear.

"You heard the woman, Varric." Hawke whispered through the earpiece. "What do they say to dogs to get them going? Mush?"

It wasn't fair that he couldn't make a proper retort and let the Seeker know who he was talking to. "Can it wait a minute? I've still got four-hundred emails to get through."

Hawke laughed quietly. "As if you ever answer your emails, you dirty, lying dwarf."

"Now!" Cassandra demanded.

"Well, sweetheart." Varric drawled as if he was talking to Bianca, placing one finger up to his headset. "You heard the lady. I guess all this unfinished business will just have to wait."

"I'll look into the red lyrium, Varric." Hawke promised softly. "Be safe. Call me the second you need me."

With that, the line disconnected. Bianca's voice slipped smoothly back in. "Would you like me to continue pulling articles for Maria Cadash from this time frame regarding the incident? I can aggregate them."

"See if you can pull the official records." Varric directed, sitting up and depositing his empty mug in the kitchen sink. "Through proper channels first, put a request in."

"What are you up to, dwarf?" Cassandra asked suspiciously. Varric affected wide-eyed innocence.

"Research, Seeker." He grinned rakishly and shrugged his shoulders as if helpless. "You heard me say 'go through proper channels', didn't you? Don't glare at me."

Cassandra continued to look at him as if he were something she'd scrape off the bottom of her shoe. Varric paused, looking up at her slyly. He couldn't resist. "Well, I guess you haven't stopped glaring at me this whole time, have you? Carry on, then."

One hour later and Varric was really wishing he'd been paying better attention when Solas and Maria clomped down stairs. Honestly, he'd been nearly caught staring at articles about her, things he didn't think she'd appreciate, so he had been more than glad she didn't bother with more than a wave in his direction before vanishing.

But it was fucking cold outside and the woman seemed to be nowhere and everywhere all at once. It was almost like she had clones of herself running around because everyone swore they'd seen her, all with the same dewy-eyed excitement, all of them pointing in different directions.

The only good news was that he could practically see the steam coming out of Cassandra's ears. "I will go and search by the chantry. Again." She stated, disgust rippling through the words. "If you find her, tell her I need to see her. Urgently."

Somehow, he didn't think that tone of voice would work on Maria Cadash, but he wasn't gonna argue with Cassandra when she looked so particularly murderous. He watched her, amused, until she vanished around the street corner, nearly knocking over a teenage girl with headphones stuck in her ears.

"She wants you to sign this."

He turned, startled, to the kid holding out the book insistently. He carried two bags, a worn backpack slung over his shoulders and a messenger bag hanging on his hip. Hair so blonde it was almost as long as Fenris's hung in choppy bangs, obscuring eyes Varric thought were pale. His gloves were ripped, fingers exposed, and he had a switchblade jutting from the pocket of his tattered jeans. Interesting, Varric thought. Weapons were definitely still being seized when people came into Haven.

"Sure kid." He shook the spooky feeling, reaching out to take the hardcover. It was worn, the corners rounded, spine well broken. This was a book that was loved, cherished, read and reread. He looked down to see the cover of his Hard in Hightown series staring up at him.

"This one is her favorite." The kid continued, blinking owlishly. "She reads it on the bad nights when she can't sleep. Pretends she's somewhere else. Someone else."

Something tightened in his chest. "Glad to help. I think."

"You do!" The kid smiled, soft. "Kind. Like she is. Even when it's hard."

Well, Varric was sure he'd had stranger conversations even if he couldn't remember them off hand. He should introduce this odd boy to Daisy, maybe they'd hit it off and have perfectly insane conversations together the rest of their lives. "Who's this for?" Varric had a pen in his coat pocket and he pulled it out, uncapping it with his teeth and opening it to the inside cover.

"Maria." The boy said as if it was completely, utterly obvious. Varric looked up again, peering suspiciously into the boy's joyful face.

"Maria Cadash?" He questioned. The kid nodded, beaming.

Maria had come to Haven with someone else, her sister had said so. A young man she rescued off the streets of Ostwick, one that tagged along almost everywhere. One that nobody had been able to find. "Cole?" Varric guessed.

"Yes?" The kid questioned back. "But don't write my name in the book. It's for her, remember?"

Bea warned Ruffles the kid wasn't quite right in the head. "Hey, I think Maria will just be happy to see you. Let's go find her and we'll worry about the book in a bit."

"I can't!" Cole began to wring his hands. "Everything is wrong and she's scared! The book will make her happy. And I have the perfume she likes, soft gloves the color of grass, keep her fingers warm. It's cold here. Very cold. She doesn't like to be cold. Her jacket is too thin, she didn't eat anything. Left the money with me but I didn't need it. I should have been here. I would have kept her safe."

Varric couldn't help smiling. "Alright kid, I'll sign the book and we'll go find her."

"Thank you." Cole seemed to sag in relief. "Maria Cadash. Do I need to spell it?"

"No kid, I'll figure it out." Varric chuckled.

"Good. I only know how it sounds. Music when Bea laughs." Cole admitted, shifting nervously. "You like her."

"Everyone likes her." Varric knew the perfect thing to write in this book. His fingers flew over the page, leaving a brief, teasing note.

Good to see your life was already full of weird people before we met, Princess. I'll fit right in.
Varric Tethras

"Not everyone." Cole muttered under his breath. Varric looked up, eyes narrowed, observing the kid in front of him. Before he could ask for clarification, a joyful shout pierced the air. Varric watched as Cole tipped forward from the impact of something into his back, pale arms wrapping around his narrow torso and hugging him fiercely from behind.

"Where have you been?" Maria Cadash asked, both irritated and relieved. She whirled Cole around to face her, took a step back so gray eyes could dart all over his face and body as if to reassure herself that yes, he was unharmed. "Bea's been calling you!"

"I answered." Cole smiled, relaxing in the embrace. "I brought the things that make you happy."

"Cole, I don't care about stuff." Maria huffed, exasperated. She whipped the gray knit cap off her head and ruffled her red hair before she held it out. "Here, thanks for letting me borrow it."

Cole beamed, took the cap and whirled to yank the book out of Varric's hands, presenting it like a prized gift. "Here. I had to find him, but the Seeker was angry. I had to wait."

Varric folded his arms across his chest and watched, pleased, as the realization dawned on Maria's face and she looked past Cole to him. There was no hiding the delicate pink flush that rose unbidden to Maria's face as she snatched her book away from Cole. "Right. Got a great deal on this from a used bookstore, Tethras."

"No you didn't." Cole frowned. "It was new. You couldn't wait for it to show up in a used bookstore, you had to read it right away."

Priceless. Varric allowed himself to wallow in the smugness and shameless appreciation of Maria's pink cheeks deepening into crimson as she traced the worn corners of the book.

"Right." Maria repeated. "Thanks Cole. Helpful as always."

"The Seeker's looking for you." Varric would tease her mercilessly later just for the pleasure of seeing her eyes sparkle and skin color. He had so very few amusements up here, after all. "Said it was urgent."

"Let me…" Maria started.

Maria's sentence was interrupted by a piercing shout, one that had all the people milling about in the street stopping to stare. "STEP AWAY FROM THAT CREATURE!"