Maria didn't know where the rubber bouncing ball came from, but she found herself immensely happy to have it after being locked in a room with Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana for three hours.
"It is clearly a trap." Leliana snapped.
"The Templars…" Cullen began, again.
"I do not believe for one moment that we have brought enough political pressure to change the Lord Seeker's mind after his abhorrent behavior in Val Royeaux." Leliana gestured to the computer screen over her shoulder. Maria didn't need to look to see the bottom corner was playing news footage which seemed to feature her showdown with the Lord Seeker every fifteen minutes or so in between clips of her sealing the crack outside Redcliffe, defending the Crossroads, photos of her facing down the Magister…
It was like nothing in fucking Thedas happened that didn't involve her. That thought made her toss the ball a little harder than she needed to against the wall. It bounced right back into her hands regardless and she caught it effortlessly, continuing to stare up at the ceiling.
She honestly wasn't entirely sure any of them had noticed she left the table an hour beforehand to lay down on the floor, her head pillowed on her coat, the ball rhythmically being thrown and caught over and over again.
"And the witches are insistent that the Magister is the only one who can approve an alliance. He has opened up proper channels to negotiate, but insists Miss Cadash do so in person." Josephine dug her knuckles into her temple, staring down at her tablet.
"Also a trap." Leliana leaned over the table, exhausted.
"There are enemies everywhere." Cassandra glared at the papers littering the table. "I do not know which path the Maker intends us to take, but we must choose one."
"Can we not send a delegation to both?" Cullen asked irritably.
"Both sides will only speak to the Herald. She can not be in two places at once." Leliana shoved her hood down, ruffled her bright hair. "There is risk…"
"Redcliffe."
Maria caught the ball on the return bounce and pushed herself off the floor, turning to look at the humans crowded around the table. At her one word answer, all of them seemed to remember she was there. They drifted into uneasy silence while Maria rolled the ball between her palms thoughtfully. "If we have to choose one, I want to choose Redcliffe and the witches."
"It will do little for our prestige." Josephine sighed. "They are sympathetic, at times, but feared and…"
"The templars are a powerful enemy." Leliana steepled her fingers together and collapsed into one of the chairs. "And Redcliffe presents as a more dangerous option. We could send additional diplomats from Orlais to the Templars, but we will be alone in Redcliffe. You will be alone in Redcliffe."
"I will go with her." Cassandra cut in immediately. It was nearly enough to warm Maria's heart.
"It is not the same, Cassandra." Leliana sighed. "We cannot guarantee your safety, Herald."
"It doesn't sound like you can guarantee it anywhere." Maria gestured to the table, to the screen behind them. "I'm not made out of glass. And I don't give a fuck about prestige."
"Herald…" Cullen began. Maria glared at him sharply and stood, striding to the table. She picked up the remote to the screen and pressed a series of buttons, bringing up surveillance footage from a camera outside the hotel in Redcliffe. She could see people milling around anxiously. A child escaped from somebody's clutches and was pulled back into the knot of the group quickly.
"Cullen, there are innocent children. They didn't ask to be born this way, they didn't ask for this."
"It is not so easy to leave the Templar order. They are just as trapped as…" Cullen began to argue. Maria slammed her open palm down on the table, her temper flaring.
"They're not! They're grown ass adults hooked on lyrium. They can face the consequences and walk at any time, but these fucking kids Cullen… the only way they can cut the cord is death."
"You only think it's that easy because you don't know what it's like to be trapped in an order that demands everything from you!" Cullen pounded his own fist on the table, color rising when he glared down.
"Did you not see the tattoo on my back? Do you think I wanted it?" The words poured out of her mouth and she couldn't haul them back, couldn't shove them deep into her pockets with all the other unsaid things. It was like a cork popped off a bottle, the pressure too much to bear. "I've hated every single second of being Carta, but I'm the one who joined. I choose it and it doesn't fucking matter why I did. And I could have left, I could have left ages ago but I didn't want to face the damn consequences so… damnit, it was still my choice."
Her choice. Her punishment. Her failure. It was her broken bones and bruised flesh, her aching heart and shattered dreams. She hadn't been born Carta, she'd been born the beloved eldest daughter of a good man, a good cop. She'd had a doting grandmother, a precious younger sister, a husband who loved her with every fiber of his being.
She hadn't been born this way.
"They can leave, Cullen. You left." She pointed out, fingers digging into the papers beneath her fingers. "They can do the right thing."
Silence echoed around her and Cullen finally withdrew, nodding tersely. "If this is what you wish. We will come up with a plan to infiltrate Redcliffe, Herald. It is, after all, your risk."
"There are abandoned subway tunnels under the city." Leliana stood swiftly. "I recall them from my time in Ferelden. Perhaps we could sneak additional support…"
"I will select a team." Cullen promised, inclining his head down to Maria respectfully. "The witches will do just as well at closing the vortex as the templars would, I hope."
It wasn't about the vortex. Or at least, it wasn't all about the vortex. Maria nodded, pressing her hand firmly against the table. She hadn't realized it, but she was trembling.
Josephine accompanied Cullen from the room, chattering about her plans to inform their allies. Maria waited in the heavy silence, staring at her hand against the wood, waiting for Cassandra to just fucking leave.
"If there are consequences for leaving the Carta…" Cassandra started awkwardly. "If there are problems that arise from your role here… I do not wish you to face them alone. I… we owe you a great debt. You have been helpful. You do not need to return if you do not wish it."
"I'll keep it in mind." She couldn't look up into Cassandra's face, couldn't trust herself well enough to hide the turmoil of her emotions. Cassandra didn't say anything else but turned, robotically, on her own heel before striding from the room.
"I think you have grown on her." Leliana's voice was soft, gentle. "Certainly more than she anticipated you would. She is… difficult at times. But she is a loyal friend."
"Maker." The word came out a bit strangled, but she pushed for the humor anyway. "What do you say about me when I'm gone?"
"That you are also difficult." Leliana teased. "But a good woman."
Maria swallowed a lump in her throat and looked up. The moment she met Leliana's eyes the woman held out her hand. "May I have that phone I gave you back?"
"Be my guest." Maria dropped her hand quickly into her pocket and fished out the dreaded black device, plopping it unceremoniously into Leliana's hand. There were three unread notifications. Leliana saw them and sighed.
"He has deluded himself that he is in love with you." Leliana put the phone down on the table. "That you love him and that, truly, is why you have stayed. He believes you are meant to be together."
"Dwyka doesn't know what love is." Maria did, though. Maria remembered the feel of Fynn's heartbeat under her fingertips, the way Bea giggled, her father's booming laughter and Nanna adding honey to the bitter tea she prefered so Maria would drink it.
"I believe you are correct." Leliana nodded to herself. "I have an opportunity. Dwyka has… infringed on the territories of other gangs recklessly. It would be easy to make it look as if they had him executed. In fact, I suspect they will wish to take credit to increase their own credibility."
Leliana's voice was completely calm, but there was no mistaking the tense, serious edge to her voice. "I wish I had a bit more time to get agents in place, but I believe it can be done. Are you ready to move ahead?"
"When?" Her lips felt numb, the blood draining from all her extremities.
"I wish to time it with your return to Redcliffe. You will be safely photographed elsewhere. I will ensure your sister is seen here by multiple people. They will not connect it to you." Leliana promised, eyes flashing. "You have my word."
Maria nodded, swallowed her fears and clenched her fingers into fists. "I'm ready."
Leliana paused, eyeing her cautiously. "The information Dwyka is using to keep you in his grasp… does anyone else know it?"
Maria shook her head firmly. "I don't think so."
"And you will not tell me what it is?" Leliana asked softly. "I will not think less of you, I swear. I want to help. Whatever you did..."
She couldn't say anything. She couldn't ever say anything. She looked down quickly, her throat swelling closed, her heart thudding in panic. Leliana sighed softly, defeated.
Maria swallowed, the words bubbling in her throat, a strangled mumble that was barely comprehensible to her own ears. Leliana heard her anyway and stopped, frozen.
"Herald?" Leliana crouched down until she was shorter than Maria stood, peering up into Maria's face. "Maria…"
"I didn't do it." The words were clearer, stones falling from her lips. "It's not my secret. It wasn't me."
She didn't know how to feel. Perhaps it had been naive to expect to feel relieved, to feel like a weight dropped off her shoulders. Dread probably would have been more reasonable. Somebody knew her secret. Leliana knew and Maria couldn't take it back, couldn't swallow her words.
For once, their fate fell blissfully out of her hands.
But she didn't feel anything. The world seemed miles away from her and Maria floated above all of it with serene detachment. Shock, she thought ruefully. She'd heard of people going into shock or dissociative episodes. Maybe her mind finally fractured under stress.
But it all came back to not knowing how to feel. Didn't know what to do. She needed to tell Bea. Soon. Eventually. But she couldn't bear it at that moment.
So she hid. Instead of walking out of the Chantry, she began to poke around. She found herself in the loft where the choir sang. Then she climbed higher. Higher still. She climbed until she emerged into the weak winter twilight into the dome that housed the great bronze bell. Maria easily could have folded herself up underneath it, but it didn't seem necessary. She perched precariously on one of the wooden railings instead and peered out over Haven. The buildings were covered with a dusting of frost to match the snow capped mountains. The streets spiraled out in a haphazard maze of street lights and parked cars that never moved (fuel was too scarce for civilians, after all).
The people below looked so small. She couldn't make any of them out clearly to give them names. They wouldn't be able to spot her skulking in the shadows. But she could heat them. A burst of laughter, a Chantry sister singing, children squealing.
It was nothing like the traffic and neon lights of Ostwick. Nothing like the noise of the tenement she grew up in. The air smelled crisp and clean, smog didn't choke everyone below.
She didn't have to go back to Ostwick. She could stay up here in the mountains, free and clear. She could learn to love the snow, she could take up painting.
She could do whatever she wanted if…
She let her eyes fix on the vortex spiraling high on the mountaintop. She tried not to shiver.
If she survived. If the world didn't end.
"My, don't you look pensive."
She nearly fell off the railing, her hand reaching for a gun she wasn't carrying. The figure slipped from the shadows with his hands held dramatically high.
"Dorian." Maria slumped back against the wood beam, closed her eyes for a heartbeat before working up a good glare and piercing the witch with it. "That thing with the shadows. Neat trick."
"Nonsense." Dorian waved it away. "Any dimwitted teenager could accomplish it. Well, any dimwitted teenager with enough magical talent and ambition at any rate."
"How many of those exist?" Maria asked skeptically.
"Ah. None I suppose." Dorian grinned cheerfully. "I was the only one and I passed through that dreadful phase of life ages ago."
It made her smile, the first flicker of emotion since she climbed the tower in the first place. Dorian leaned against one of the other beams supporting the bell's roof, appraising Haven beneath them. "I admit you proved harder to locate than I thought. But, of course, I didn't think the beloved Herald would be skulking around on rooftops. Thank Andraste's pillowy breasts for Nyx."
As if responding to her name, a flutter of feathers landed near Maria's hand. It was the first time Maria got a chance to closely examine the tiny, delicate bird with the inquisitive dark eyes and bright yellow beak. It was staring at her sleeve, beak darting forward to peck at one bright button at her wrist.
"Sorry." Maria apologized without quite considering that she was apologizing to a damn bird. "I think it's sewn on."
The bird chirped sharply, annoyed.
"I have it on relatively good authority the templar order invited you and half of Orlais to dinner." Dorian's frown deepened. "I do hope you're not fooled."
"You're assuming they have sinister intentions?" Maria gently reached out one finger to touch the small creature's head. It let out a gentle coo and she smiled at it.
"Of course they have sinister intentions!" Dorian sputtered. "The templar order can't have a dwarven criminal running amok claiming to be the Herald of Andraste!"
"I haven't claimed that." The feathers were so soft under her fingers. "You're a pretty bird, aren't you?"
"It doesn't matter!" Dorian scowled down at her. "Do stop flirting with my familiar and consider how precarious your situation is. The witches…"
Maria paused in the act of bringing her wrist to her lips, arching one eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the Magister was just inviting me for tea, not attempted murder."
"Alexius is not the sole consideration! I know it is tempting to go with the stronger party, but that does not mean you're making the correct decision!"
Maria calmly used her teeth to snap the threads holding the brass button to her coat. She brought her fingers up and gently tugged it free. "I know. That's why we're going to save the witches from whatever the hell Alexius is up to."
"And furthermore…" Dorian interjected, just seconds before her words sank in. She watched them land solidly in his skull as she freed the button from her coat and offered it to Nyx in her upturned palm.
The bird whistled with joy, snapping it from her fingers and flying into the air. Maria craned her head to watch it fly free, her gift securely in its beak. "If I've got a chance of dying either way… well, I'd rather not go surrounded by upper crust Orlesians."
Dorian's mustache twitched again. "I knew I was not wrong about you. You seem remarkably grounded for a heretical religious leader, after all."
Maria scoffed. "They can put that on my tombstone."
"I will mention it, but I won't have anyone order it yet." Dorian leaned on the railing next to her, sparkling brown eyes catching hers.
"I'm going to live?" Maria didn't allow her eyes to flick to the vortex, but Dorian's did.
"Yes." He declared imperiously. "We're both going to live because we're both far too pretty and clever to die in the Ferelden muck."
Maria laughed before she could stop herself, slamming a hand over her mouth quickly. Dorian simply smirked and offered her his hand. "Now, take me to the people in charge of keeping you alive so I can improve their plans."
His sculpted tan fingers curled upwards in gentle invitation, his eyes danced with mirth, and it shouldn't have been easy to take his hand.
But it was. It was so easy, she didn't even think twice about it.
xx
Varric hadn't been particularly surprised they'd all been moved out of the little house where Maria Cadash slept. He suspected, strongly, that Bea Cadash turned out to be rather more of a force to be reckoned with than anyone anticipated. She demanded her own space for Maria, herself, and Cole. By damn, the woman got it.
So Varric really had no good reason to go out of his way to walk next to the little unassuming two story where Maria Cadash holed up, but he couldn't help himself. He'd barely seen her in the days since their return to Haven. She could still be avoiding him, but somehow he thought the endless meetings in the Chantry were more to blame. He only caught glimpses of her while she sloshed through the snow slick streets on her way to or from something.
But she did wave when she saw him, at least there was that. And Varric got word almost immediately when the decision was finally made. They'd be going back to Redcliffe to trick the Magister and heroically rescue the poor, beleaguered witches. Varric, as the self-appointed hacker in chief, would be by her side.
Then they'd seal the vortex up and call it a day. And Maria…
Maria would die. Or vanish into the ether, back into the shittiest neighborhoods of Ostwick. Unless, of course, Bea had her way. Varric hoped she did, it would ruin the fairy tale ending if his heroine ended up in the same shitty situation she started at. Maria Cadash deserved better.
Varric could offer her better.
And it was that thought that made him show up at Maria's doorstep, flimsy excuse in hand, the night before they were due to leave for Redcliffe. Hopefully, he thought, for the last time. He brought his knuckles up to the wooden door frame, took a steadying breath, and knocked.
"Come in!" Bea's voice rang brightly. Varric heard the clash of pans and reached for the door knob, pushing his way out of the cold and into the warm glow of light spilling out. He shut it quickly behind him and turned to peer into the kitchenette.
Both Bull and Cole sat on stools up against the kitchen island, the Qunari's creaking ominously when he turned. Sera sat on top of the laminate countertop, long legs swinging, eyes glued to Bea's form like a fish dangling from a hook.
Bea herself swayed lightly in time to music pouring from a phone, her hips rolling to the gentle beat as she tossed a cutting board into the sink, light flashing off the steel knife she held in her hand. The skimpy tank top she wore revealed the curling ink over her shoulder, the Carta triangles with the OW in the center.
He should have been pretty concerned about the knife in Bea's hand, but honestly he was more distracted by the fact Bull had chucked his shirt and sat bare chested. Bulging muscles and taut pectorals on full display as he waved in acknowledgement. "Hey Varric."
Bea stopped dancing immediately, rounding gracefully with blade still in hand to glare at the doorway. She gestured with it rather threateningly. "I didn't invite you."
Let it never be said that Varric Tethras couldn't come up with some grade A snark even with a knife pointed at him. He let his eyes flick pointedly to Sera, then to Bull's bare chest. "Is it because my tits aren't impressive enough?"
Sera snorted. "Tits out or get lost!"
"That's hurtful, Varric." Bull brought a mug up to his mouth and sipped from it carefully. Varric noted, gleefully, that it said 'number one dad' in big block letters.
"But I don't…" Cole began, frowning.
"You live here, kid." Varric threw Cole a good natured wink. "You don't count."
"What are you doing here?" Bea demanded, gray eyes blazing with temper. Varric held both his hands up in surrender, one clutching his phone.
"Ruffles wanted me to check and make sure Maria's email is working on her phone. She here?"
"No." Bea snapped.
"Boss is upstairs." Bull answered at the same exact time. The glare she shot him was scorching, but Bull simply shrugged. "Didn't realize we needed time to get our story straight little B."
"She's nervous." Cole muttered. "Paper under her fingers, words blur on the page. Staring at the same line for five minutes, counting the steps into Redcliffe in her head over and over and…"
"Eat your green beans, Cole." Bea interrupted, lifting her chin imperiously into the air while she stared down Varric. "She's busy."
Busy driving herself crazy, it sounded like. But Bea was puffed up like a cat cornered, ready to hiss and scratch. Just like the strays that lived outside his building and ate out of the Hanged Man's dumpsters. In fact, put Bea in a black dress and cat ears and she'd do a perfect impression of that one with the white paws with the too smart eyes, the one Hawke called…
"Easy, Mittens." Varric tipped one side of his lips up in his most charming smile. "I'll only be a second."
She blinked, stunned by the nickname that suited her feline demeanor so very well. "Mittens?" She repeated. "What the fuck…"
"Yes." Cole nodded. "Playful. Purring. Proud. Pretty. It fits like your favorite dress."
"Thank you kid." Varric didn't bother to contain his amusement.
"I'd like to hear you purr." Sera offered lewdly with a wink. Bea, helpless to do anything but flirt back, let her eyes dance back to the lanky elf. Bull took the chance to lean over most of the island and retrieve a lone plate piled high with roasted chicken, green beans, macaroni and cheese, and one chocolate chip cookie perched to the side precariously.
"Here." He pushed the plate at Varric with a sly wink. "See if you can get her to eat. Flash some of that chest hair if you need to."
"Damnit." Bea glared at the plate, then at Bull, before swinging that mutinous expression back to Varric. "Fine. Whatever. But if she doesn't eat a fucking vegetable I'm shaving that rug of yours off."
"Yes!" Sera exclaimed. Varric felt distinctly uncomfortable at the electric excitement lighting up his face. "So good! I'll hold him down."
Varric suddenly realized he'd have to spend the rest of his time in the Inquisition sleeping with one eye open. He beat a hasty retreat with the warm plate in one hand, not even bothering to pause at the bottom of the steps. The laughter followed him up the steps, the warm sound at odds with the freezing draft coming from the loft. He poked his head up tentatively, eyes drawn to the window immediately as the source of the chilly breeze.
It was thrown wide open in spite of the temperature. Maria sat in the windowsill, one leg curled under her, hunched forward over a book in her lap. In deference to the chill, she wore her coat over a battered old t-shirt and his stolen sweatpants. She had a pipe in one hand, a pretty glass thing she brought to her lips, inhaling deeply and turning to blow the smoke out the open window.
Somebody dipped into her younger sister's illicit substances. Varric rolled his eyes, not without fondness, climbing the rest of the steps. Maria stared out the open window and didn't seem to notice his presence until he dropped the plate on the dresser. The sound caused her to startle and fumble the pipe, swearing elegantly and looking up in alarm.
She laughed at herself when she met his mock disapproving gaze, a delectable pink flush spreading underneath her freckled cheeks. "Shit, Varric. I thought you were the Seeker."
"You're lucky I'm not." He made his way casually to the windowsill and leaned against it, the cold night air stealing away the acrid smoke of the pipe. Her pupils were a bit too wide, the whites around them just a bit too red. He couldn't claim to be an expert, but he'd judge her as being comfortably stoned, but not obviously so. She smiled under his scrutiny, dropping her gaze down to both pipe and book, lashes dusting her cheekbones.
"I'm lucky you're not my sister." Maria confided, fluttering her lashes innocently. "I didn't ask first, but I'm pretty sure she's wearing the jeans Josephine bought me."
Ah, the familiar refrain of sisterhood. How many times had he been out with Bethany and Hawke just to have one of them stop suddenly and ask where the other one had found that sweater, or belt, or earrings, or… "Your sister sent dinner up. If you don't eat she's threatening me with assault."
"Did she send up cookies?" Maria asked immediately, eyes sliding past Varric to the plate. Varric took the opportunity to drop his eyes to the book she held. He recognized his own words spilling across the page. The one paragraph by her thumb leaping out like it was written in red ink.
I wish I could say I leapt to action. That I rushed in immediately toward the figure collapsed among the glowing red stones. It was Fenris, instead, that cried out Hawke's name and ran forward. Anders followed close on his heels and both men dropped beside the small, thin form I'd spotted. I stood, frozen, thoughts whirling in my head like a storm. I sent Hawke to the mine. I trusted my brother to have her back. And, instead, he left her to die. In those seconds, I convinced myself she was dead, and that I had killed her.
"Princess, if you're going to linger over any parts of this, I wouldn't recommend this bit." He tapped the page, swallowing the bitterness that always rose up in his throat when he thought about Bartrand. "This is shit, but beginnings are always the hardest."
Maria's eyes focused on him, alertness dulled only slightly. "He really did that to her? To you? Your own brother..."
He couldn't look in her eyes and have this conversation, so he ripped his gaze to the window instead and looked out over the town. "Yeah. Bartrand was always a greedy bastard."
"Did you get a chance to kick him in the balls at least?" Maria joked weakly. Varric worked hard to summon up half a smile for her and shook his head.
"He's dead. I killed him." Varric admitted. He could still remember the shock on Bartrand's face when Varric fired the lethal bullet. "Self-defense, since he was trying to kill me first. It was all over the fucking news. Happened three years after we got out of those damn mines."
"I was avoiding the television news then. Still." Maria traced her fingers over the words, his heartache on the page. "I was still pissed about the trial and the way the reporters…"
The way the reporters painted her like a cold blooded gold digger sick of her rich boyfriend once daddy cut the purse strings. Instead of finishing her thought, she gently brought her hand up to his shoulder. "I can't imagine. I can't… if Bea did that to me… fuck, I'd never be able to trust anyone. Every again."
Her fingers burned through his coat, their weight comforting and reassuring. The air crackled vibrantly around her, like the universe insisted on illuminating her. Varric mastered his expression back into something calmly genial and smirked. "Somehow, I think you're safe. Me on the other hand…"
Maria's smile turned sad, troubled. She pulled her hand away and ran it through her hair, the other dropping the pipe on the windowsill. "Bea wouldn't hurt you."
Oh, Beatrix Cadash certainly would. Varric knew enough dangerous women to recognize one when he saw her. Bea was curved like a switchblade, wicked and ready to carve a man to shreds in a second while smiling with her painted lips and dancing eyes. If Bea thought Varric posed a threat, she'd find a way to get rid of him. He didn't doubt it.
So why the fuck were the Cadash girls still tangled up in the Carta? Bea Cadash knew what Dwyka did to her sister, Varric saw it on her face, saw it on the way she squared off against him protectively downstairs. What the hell could be so daunting that both women stayed in a situation they obviously both hated?
It didn't matter, Varric reminded himself stubbornly. What mattered was what happened next, and Varric could do something about that.
"After this is over… you three will need to go somewhere." He began neutrally, calmly. "Bea said you're not going back to Ostwick."
"That sounds like something she'd say." Maria sighed, leaned her head back wearily and exposed the long pale line of her throat. A cheap, tarnished silver chain circled her neck, disappearing into the shirt. Varric let his eyes drift over it, momentarily distracted, before he continued on.
"You could disappear." He offered, fighting the urge to lean forward and push the strands of red hair falling forward around her chin back behind her ear. "Anywhere you wanted. Rivain is nice this time of year."
"How?" Maria asked skeptically. "I'd have to wear those glasses every moment of every day. My face is all over the news."
"I can help." He had to say it now, before he lost his nerve. "Wherever you want to go. I can make it happen. I've got the connections, I've got the disposable income, and I've got the technology to make it happen."
Maria's mouth dropped into an almost comical little 'o'. Then she recovered, pushing herself upright and looking warily towards the stairs. "Varric, you can't talk like this. If Cassandra…"
"Fuck the Seeker." Varric didn't care what she had to say. "Listen. These people are nice enough for religious fanatics, but I've seen what happens to good women who get stuck in these impossible situations. You don't have to stay here. This isn't your only option."
"Varric…"
"Just don't go back to Ostwick, Princess. Take the chance and get the fuck out while you can before the Carta gets you killed." Varric knew he was walking the fine line between begging and persuading, but he didn't care about that either. He didn't want to wake up and see the headline, someday, that Dwyka smashed her head in or that she ended up in an alley with a bullet in her skull.
"Anywhere I want?" Her eyes met his, startling in their intensity. She leaned forward and the wind caught her hair, blew the sweet spicy scent of her perfume over him. He wasn't sure if she knew what she was doing, but her hand came up again to rest lightly over the unbuttoned V of his shirt, tracing the hard discs of the buttons with her finger.
"Anywhere." He promised. "No strings attached. Just… just think about it."
He brought his hand up to cover hers, their bare skin scorching where it touched in spite of the freezing wind slicing through the room. She continued to look at him, face tipped up, so close to him… close enough to fall into his arms. Close enough for him to wrap her up in his arms and…
"What if I wanted to go to Kirkwall?" She whispered so quietly it was almost lost to the sounds of the town outside, to the burst of sharp laughter downstairs.
His apartment burned, with the Hanged Man and so many other places, homes, businesses. If it wasn't for Hawke's mansion surviving miraculously untouched, he'd have been out on the streets with most of their friends. But he pictured Maria curled up on his battered, much loved leather sofa like a cat anyway, the skyline of Kirkwall framing her as beautifully as Val Royeaux had.
He remembered that Leandra Hawke went on a binge shopping spree after they hauled Sunshine off to the Gallows, after Varric transferred Bartrand's share of Rogue Tech into Hawke's hands. One of the more extravagant purchases, beyond the fucking masion itself, was a grand piano nobody could play. The only action that piano saw, to his knowledge, was Isabela getting plowed by some random party guest on it several times.
Maria could do better. Maria could do it justice.
She was still looking at him, eyes beguilingly vulnerable. Probably because she was high, because he'd done nothing to earn that blooming warm trust in her eyes.
"It's seen better days." Like he had, honestly. Varric squeezed her hand gently and pulled it from his chest, letting it drop back into her lap. "Kirkwall doesn't deserve you, beautiful. But if that's where you wanted to go…"
He'd take her there. At that moment, he'd take her anywhere she asked.
Maria pulled back and dropped her eyes, nodding. "I'll think about it." She promised. Varric nodded himself, trying to remember that was what he wanted. He hadn't come here for more, he hadn't come here to demand anything else from her.
He hadn't come here to kiss her. Not now, not with tomorrow looming over them like a nightmare yet to occur.
"Alright." He managed a smile for her, turning from the window. "Get some sleep, Maria. Try to eat something for the sake of my physical safety."
He only made it a few steps before she made a noise behind him that sounded like 'wait.' Varric turned, half-hoping she'd rush forward and kiss him instead so they could finally deal with the spiraling tension blooming like plants in a hothouse between them.
Instead, she held out Hawke's tarot card, the Lovers mocking him from her grip. "Surprisingly, it didn't run away and lose my place." She joked weakly. "But I'm probably pushing my luck, right? Do you want it back?"
Hawke's card. Hawke's magic. Maybe it was superstitious, but if some of Hawke's power could just rub off on her, keep her safe when she delved into the lion's den... "Keep it for now, Princess. Maybe it'll be a good luck charm."
"Alright." Maria scoffed, but she dropped her arm back to her side and shrugged. "If you insist. Goodnight."
Varric nearly choked on the word, maintaining his careful smile the whole time. "Goodnight, Princess."
He turned back to the stairs and didn't see Maria carefully slip the card into her coat pocket, but he felt her gaze on his back as he descended the stairs. He imagined there was a note of longing in it, one that weighed heavily in the cold room.
It was just his imagination, he was sure of it, but damnit he wished it wasn't.
