Well, Maria thought to herself, she'd been a semi-decent Inquisitor for approximately seventy-two hours. In all honesty, a better run that she expected to have before she finally ran into the one thing she could not do.

That one thing was reading a fucking speech.

She buried her face in her hands, ignoring the scattered notecards all over the floor, the ones she'd thrown there in a fit of pique. She couldn't meet Josephine's anxious gaze one more time, but she felt it on her shoulders anyway. The silence hung over them like miasma, poison she was going to choke on.

"Alright, Inquisitor." Harding kept her voice carefully light. "Maybe we need to try something a bit different."

Maria looked up, spearing Harding with a glance she hoped conveyed her complete exasperation with the entire situation. She'd had it with the camera pointed at her damn face, the notecards containing Josephine's carefully chosen words, and Harding's disappointed little wrinkling her brow. She felt like screaming.

Instead, Maria sighed and bent down, sweeping most of the cards back into her hand, shuffling them back into order without thought. She stared at the neat, precise handwriting until her eyes ached. The words flowed when she read them in her mind, but the second she tried to push them into the air, they turned to lead weights and awkward silences.

"Let me see those." Harding plucked the cards from her hand and frowned at them.

"Perhaps I should rewrite it. Again." Josephine stepped forward over Maria's shoulder. "Allow me…"

Maria wasn't certain that rewriting the speech she was supposed to be giving would help any more the third time around. She'd still be nothing more than a wooden puppet, dull and lifeless, stumbling over the simplest words, unable to look at the camera without turning red and stuttering.

"Good idea! I've got a better one." Harding grinned and held Maria's gaze before tossing the cards over her shoulder where they fell like a deck of cards, scattering in all directions. Maria huffed a small laugh, shaking her head.

"Does that mean we give up and I can go do something productive?" Maria asked. She had a little under a thousand things on her to-do list. Re-establishing connection with the outside world came with a cost, after all.

It turned out, everyone thought they were ghosts. Orlais and Ferelden had rescue teams scouring the area, the meager forces either country could spare with Ferelden trying to clean up from the witch rebellion and Orlais in full scale civil war. The would-be rescuers were more than a little confused to discover that so many people had escaped Haven, found a magical fortress, and flourished in the aftermath.

But it was Maria's continued, implausible, survival that really astounded the world. Unfortunately, she was trending across all the social media channels. Again. Harding's footage of the avalanche that buried Maria had gone viral almost immediately. Memorials sprung up in the most unlikely places, from Denerim's chantry to the docks at Ostwick. Josephine released a statement, but it became increasingly clear it wouldn't sate the appetite of Thedas. They wanted Maria, more than just the photographs of her greeting the rescue teams. More than the stolen video clips of her wandering Skyhold carrying supplies. They clamored for her to speak, to tell her story, to shine her attention on them.

Maria didn't really think even her sputtering on camera would be enough. She worried the world wouldn't be happy until it swallowed her whole, honestly.

"No more reading off these cards." Harding stated, fiddling with her camera for a moment before putting it back on it's tripod and dragging her chair over to Maria's. Harding sat down and leaned forward, lightly placing her fingertips on the back of Maria's palm. "To be honest, you suck at it. A lot."

"The honesty I need to hear." Maria joked weakly, sagging back in her chair. "Tell Josie to give it up."

"Inquisitor…" Josephine sighed. Harding shook her head and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, we've got to try one more thing before you're off the hook." Harding tapped her finger lightly on Maria's skin. "Tell me what happened."

"Fuck, Harding." Maria raised her marked hand to her forehead and rubbed away the impending headache. "You were there. You know what happened."

"I know." Harding said softly. Maria fixed her gaze on Harding's and watched as the woman swallowed some great emotion, a shudder passing through her. "Hard to talk about, isn't it? I swear every time I try to remember, I can hear the people we lost screaming. Smell the smoke."

Maria gulped down her own panic, the fear that she'd look up and see the dragon's wings darkening the sky through the pretty windows. She sounded like she was begging, but she didn't care. "Harding…"

"What happened first?" Harding pressed softly. "I was back with Varric, I couldn't see. I heard the gunshots, they said you were on the frontline."

She'd been. With Solas, then Bull. The girl who died beside her, choking on her own blood. Maria never even knew her name. They'd lost so many people, and Maria never knew any of their names. She flicked her eyes to the camera and Harding squeezed her hand.

"Don't look at it." Harding directed. "Look at me."

If she looked at Harding, she may cry. She blinked several times, trying to bring her expression under control. The silence stretched on until Maria let out a long, heavy breath. "The Templars came in armoured SUVs. We barely had any warning, so we erected barriers out of anything we could get our hands on. They'd been poisoned by the red lyrium, like we saw on the news in Kirkwall with the Knight Commander, but there were so many of them. They didn't care if we shot them, they kept coming out of the darkness like a nightmare."

"But the Inquisition had explosives." Harding supplied softly. Maria nodded, focusing on Harding's hand on hers.

"Yes." Maria's voice sounded a bit more sure. If she ignored the camera, ignored Josephine's silent presence, and just focused on Harding it was easier. "Yes. They'd been left there. The Inquisition requisitioned your drone to deliver the explosives…"

Harding gently prodded Maria through most of it, but the words flowed when she spoke. The templars. The dragon. Corypheus. The avalanche. One rolled into the other, but by the time they got to Skyhold, Maria felt raw, scraped clean on the inside. Harding pulled back, looked at Josephine expectantly.

"We will need to edit it for length and clarity." Josephine nodded, all business, but Maria saw her hands shaking as she typed something into her tablet. "But…. forgive me."

Josephine wiped her face briskly with her sleeve, shooting Maria a watery, wan smile. "I was not prepared to be so moved. I will remember that you should not be scripted. For the future."

"Well, Inquisitor." Harding smiled, tears in her own eyes as well that she dabbed away. "How was that interview you said you'd never give me?"

Maria laughed, the sound relieved and choked. "Maker." She wheezed. "Did you get me saying that on camera the first time? If so, you should tack it onto the end."

"I'll keep it in mind." Harding stood, extending her hand to Maria. "Not bad, Inquisitor. Not bad at all."

"I try." Maria reached automatically for her phone in her pocket, frowning at the ever present notifications while she allowed Harding to hoist her up. She skipped the emails, those she needed to pick through at night when she wouldn't be interrupted and they wouldn't keep multiplying on her. The text messages usually were more urgent.

Usually being the key word. The first one, of course, was from Sera. It consisted of a string of nonsensical emojis (fried shrimp? Who actually used the fried shrimp?) plus a blurry photo that could have been Cullen's desk chair on top of one of the turrets. She sent a simple thumbs up and moved to the next one.

Varric. Again. She opened up the message, hunching her shoulders defensively as Hading and Josephine talked over her, to read the string of messages.

Varric: Let me know if you get this. I made another minor adjustment.
Maria: Stop fucking with it before you fall off the walls. We don't have health insurance here.
Varric: Let me guess, no worker's comp either?
Maria: Negative on the workers comp. We may have beer, though.
Varric: That's the best medicine. Hey, do you have a minute?
Maria: Also negative. Cullen wants me to meet his senior officers and introduce myself properly.
Varric: Right, when you have a second.
Maria: Sure.
Varric: How about now?
Maria: Leliana's explaining Orlais to me.
Varric: Right. Let me know if you figure it out.
Varric: Later tonight?
Maria: I can't, I'm going over supply manifests with Josephine.
Maria: Maybe tomorrow.
Varric: So, it's tomorrow. Just in case you haven't noticed.
Maria: I've been told. I'm sorry, I'm swamped. I've got a speech to memorize and give for Harding and Josephine.
Varric: Alright, Princess. I'll stop bothering you - come by when you can.
Varric: And in case nobody told you yet today, you're knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I've ever seen by far.

Fuck. Fuck. Why was this so fucking hard? Three days of messages, three days of ducking around Varric wherever and whenever she saw him. Three days nursing her bruised ego and railing against her own stupidity for believing for even a moment Varric fucking Tethras truly…

He'd be what she needed, if she asked, because he was kind, because he felt bad for her, because she wasn't bad to look at. But she could never be what he actually wanted, and that… that stung. That stung far more than she could deal with just now on top of everything else. She certainly couldn't spend time in his orbit, smelling his cologne, listening to his sinfully rich voice, waiting for his smiles and his laugh.

But she couldn't ignore him either. She couldn't.

Maria: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess.

As she typed the message, another one popped in. She swiped to view it and fought back a smirk.

Dorian: Fasta vass, come here.
Maria: Where are you?
Dorian: Follow the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth.

What did she do to deserve Dorian Pavus's histrionics today? Maria simply pulled up the group chat, typing one simple question into it.

Maria: Anyone point me to our favorite neighborhood magister?
Dorian: I am not a Magister, you heathen.
Bull: Have you tried following the trail of spilled wine?
Sera: or smell of hair wax
Vivienne: Second floor rotunda, darling. You can't miss his ostentatious shirt.
Maria: Thanks Viv.

She slipped her phone back in her pocket and frowned at Josephine. "I've got to go."

"I will email you the final footage for your approval." Josephine declared smoothly, making a note in her tablet. Harding simply saluted lazily.

"Don't." Maria groaned, making a bee-line for the door. "I'm not going to watch it anyway. Just… whatever works. Do that."

She fled before Josephine could argue, flying through the crowd in the great hall before anyone could stop and catch her attention. She found that speed was the key for moving across Skyhold, because if she slowed down for even a moment, she got roped into a hundred different projects of varying degrees of importance. She slipped into the rotunda and turned toward the stairs…

"Inquisitor." Solas called. "A moment?"

Well, at least it was just Solas. She paused and turned to look at him. The elf was studying the blank wall in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. "What's up?"

"I find the act of painting meditative and I wish to design some murals for this room. I asked Skyhold, but I believe the spirit wishes you to make the final determination." Solas turned his back on the wall and pierced her with his gaze. "Would you like to see some sketches before I proceed?"

"You can paint?" She asked instead, curious. Solas simply smiled.

"I can." He admitted. "I think I do so rather well. One of my few true talents."

Sera could draw too, although she sincerely hoped Solas's paintings were much less provocative. Sera's most detailed sketches seemed to feature big breasted women in various states of undress. Maria wondered, momentarily, if it was an elf thing. Then, she internally winced and scolded herself for being a bit racist.

"Yeah, sure. I don't need to see them. This is kinda your office, isn't it?" Maria waved at the room, empty of all but a neat little couch and a tidy desk littered with papers. "Whatever you want to do."

"A dangerous offer." Solas smiled warmly down at her. "I shall try not to abuse the privilege. I thought, perhaps, to create a visual history of the Inquisition? The destruction of the conclave, the Inquisition's formation, recruiting the witches at Redcliffe and…"

"Haven." Maria whispered softly. Haven. She ached with it's loss and all the fallen they'd left, so raw and fresh again after the interview. She feared she would carry it with her the rest of her life like a scar on her heart.

"Haven." Solas repeated. "It weighs on you. I am sorry."

"I think we're all still reeling." Maria tried to make her tone light, shrugging. "How did you ask Skyhold? About the murals? Varric keeps trying to talk to her through Cole but I don't think it's going well."

"It is not, but Varric is a child of the stone. He does not understand such things." Solas muttered, examining the walls.

Maria flinched just a bit. Well, maybe she should have asked about the painting skills being an elf thing then. If 'children of the stone' was getting thrown about so casually, it certainly would have put him in his place.

"I want to understand." She insisted instead. "You know about spirits. You said some of them were your friends. Can you… can you introduce me? Is that how it works?"

"You wish to learn? About spirits and the fade?" Solas asked, incredulity lacing his voice, piercing her with his eyes.

"Yes." Maria answered sternly, lifting her chin. "You're the expert. I can clearly do… something with this mark on my hand. Teach me about the fade before I shoot myself in the foot."

Solas continued to look down at her, blinking slowly, before he shook his head. "You are full of constant surprises."

It wasn't a no. Maria smirked. "So… you will?"

"Cadash!" Dorian shouted from above them. "I can hear you distinctly not making your way up here. Solas can wait his blighted turn."

"If you wish." Solas smiled, hesitant. "But Dorian is right. We will do so at another time."

"Great." Maria grinned, waved her hand at the walls. "Have fun. Don't let Sera help."

With that parting bit of advice, she sauntered to the stairs, leaving Solas to his quiet contemplation. She made sure to take her time, lingering an extra second before emerging onto the next floor.

Which… had sprung bookshelves. Apparently. She blinked, looking around, taking in the rows of empty shelving. Dorian stood in one of the new alcoves, scowling and tapping his fingers on the wood. "Was putting me on blast in the group chat strictly necessary?" He asked grimly.

"Next time, you'll answer my question instead of being so dramatic." Maria tipped her head to the side, examining his tailored black shirt with the intricate silver embroidery over the shoulders. "I don't think that shirt is so bad at all."

"Because you have proper taste." Dorian sniffed. "You also have an empty library."

"Odd." Maria agreed, tracing the nearest plush armchair with her fingers, taking in the rich velvet upholstery. "Wasn't this Cullen's office yesterday?"

"That's over on the battlements now, under his bedroom. Frankly, I think he's happier." Dorian waved Cullen's migrating office away dismissively. "This lackluster excuse for an archive is outrageous. And Fiona will not see reason."

Maria finally noticed the other figure on the floor, the elf glaring holes into Dorian's back. Fiona stepped forward, pleading. "Inquisitor, you must understand, I cannot simply agree to hand over our history for the perusal of…"

"Ethnocentrism at it's finest!" Dorian sniffed. "She's concerned I'll find something useful her people missed."

"His people tried to enslave us!" Fiona lifted her chin, icy and regal. "I will not…"

"Dorian did an awful lot to prevent that from happening." Maria wouldn't sit here and just… let Dorian be slandered. Not when he was the only one who knew what Fiona's idiocy nearly cost them. "What's the issue?"

"All the knowledge of the southern circles is sitting, abandoned, in their shoddy little prisons." Dorian pointedly didn't look at Fiona, but stared imploringly at Maria instead. "It should be here where it can be studied, where perhaps we can use what we find. Even Madame de Fer agrees, but unfortunately Fiona is rather distraught that my grubby little Tevene hands will be all over it."

"Those tomes are quite valuable!" Fiona insisted. "They must be left in…"

"The circles you ran out of?" Maria broke in, raising an eyebrow.

"Until they can be collected by the witches and catalogued appropriately…" Fiona persisted.

Maria fought the urge to roll her eyes and balled her hands into fists, hunching her shoulders. She bit out the words like bullets. "Grand Enchanter, your witches joined the Inquisition because it wasn't a very good idea to keep going it alone. May I remind you, now is probably an even shittier time to strike out solo."

Fiona bristled. "Are you saying we would no longer be welcome if…"

Balls. Who the fuck had time for this? Maria rubbed her forehead, attempting to soothe the headache returning with a vengeance. She lowered her voice to a steely command. "I'm saying that maybe you should remember you are part of a team and act accordingly. Which includes treating everyone here with the same respect you insist on receiving."

Fiona set her jaw and looked like she had every intention of continuing to argue, so Maria turned to Dorian instead. "I'll get Cullen to see if we can spare some people once we've got a clear path in and out of Skyhold."

Maria paused, shooting a disdainful look back at the elf. "Unless that's going to be a problem, Fiona?"

"Of course not. Inquisitor." Maria could feel the acid on the other woman's tongue. "I hope this decision proves wise and that you are not judged harshly on your… trusting nature."

With that, the woman rotated robotically on her heel. She reached the nearest door and pushed it. The door remained resolutely shut even as she struggled. It finally fell open only once she pressed her entire weight into it, leaving Fiona scrambling in a rather undignified manner to regain her balance. Maria heard Vivienne's voice drifting from the other room before Fiona slammed the door shut behind her. "Careful, darling. A fall at your age would be disastrous."

Maria barely covered her laugh with her hand, immediately looking up to see Dorian not even bothering to hide his smug satisfaction as he spoke. "Well. That felt rather vindicating, didn't it?"

"Is that why you wanted me? To make her give you books for our new library?" Maria asked, trailing after Dorian as he settled into one of the plush chairs at a rather sturdy table. "I'm guessing we can't just order the ones you want online and have them shipped?"

"If only. Although I do wish to place an order for some items from my homeland. Nothing illegal to get southern panties in a twist, I promise, just some charts. I confess I'm not entirely certain what our address is, however. Not to mention whether or not we're eligible for two-day shipping." Dorian's fingers continued to tap, anxiously, on the wooden surface of the table. Maria wrapped her arms around her waist and waited. "You know. Corypheus claims to be Tevinter himself. A Magister, in fact."

"He didn't look human to me." Maria replied, shrugging. "He looked like a demon. Don't demons lie? A lot?"

"Perhaps." Dorian mused. "They say the blight is punishment for the sins of our Magisters who dared to walk in the realm of the Maker."

"They're also rather convinced I'm the Herald of Andraste." Maria shrugged her shoulders a second time. Humans were strange. Fuck if she knew what the truth was behind Corypheus. Honestly, she didn't see how it mattered one way or the other.

"Not Andrastian, I take it?" Dorian teased, but the longer she listened, the more she heard something wrong under his light tone. He continued talking regardless, the words meaningless. "Not that I blame you. Boring stuff. I was raised Andrastian, of course, but I'm afraid that I've been lying about attending services to my eternally disappointed mother for…"

"Dorian." Maria interrupted. "What's wrong?"

Dorian's fingers lost their rhythm, the incessant tapping ceasing while his dark eyes bored into hers. "You're rather observant today."

"Survival instinct." Maria claimed. One she'd finely honed. "Don't change the subject. What's happened?"

If it was bad news, Maria wasn't sure she could handle any more. Dorian simply sighed, slumping in his chair. He was silent for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I received word from a few of my remaining friends back in Minrathous. Do you remember Felix?"

How could she forget Felix? Their, admittedly few, interactions were branded in her mind. Him stumbling against her, him pleading with his father, the ghoul with the unseeing eyes and Leliana's arm around his neck…

"I never asked..." Guilt churned in her stomach. She hadn't asked, she'd fled and let the Inquisition deal with it because she'd been choking on Varric's blood and Hawke's inferno. She'd been a weak, spineless thing good for nothing but being led back to Haven by her nose.

She couldn't. She couldn't do that again. She was the Inquisitor now and she had to deal. She choked down the memories and took a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists until her nails cut into her skin, the pain a stark reminder of where she was, whose eyes were staring at her. "I never asked how he was. What happened to him and…"

And his father. The man who would have killed them all.

"You were exhausted and there was no need for you to manage the fallout after… after everything." Dorian frowned. "It was my mess to clean up, after all. We packed them on their plane and sent them back to Tevinter. Alexius was arrested as soon as he stepped foot in Minrathous on the King of Ferelden's insistence, although I'm sure he'll be quietly released once it's diplomatically safe to do so. Felix…"

Dorian's voice grew hoarse with emotion, his eyes dropping to his hands. "I'm afraid Felix has passed. He pulled a thousand strings to get in front of the Senate, to deliver a rousing speech denouncing the Venatori cult and warning the Magisterium, and… then I suppose he laid down his sword."

Maria felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving them both floundering as Dorian struggled to bear the grief written all over his face. Maria's numb lips asked the question before her brain could process it. "He was sick?"

"The blight. He was on a research expedition with his mother into the abandoned Deep Roads. She… she passed several months ago. Alexius is alone now. I suspect all he really wished was the power to save his son."

Dorian's raw devastation was the only thing that prevented her from pointing out that he'd nearly killed the entire world and everyone Maria had left in his mad quest to save Felix. She couldn't forgive him. Not even for Dorian.

But she knew better than to say it. Particularly when Dorian covered his face with one hand, the slight tremor in his shoulders the only sign of the sobs he struggled to hold back. Maria unwrapped her arms from her torso, hesitating only a moment. With Dorian sitting and her standing, she stood just a bit taller than him. She stepped forward, tentative, and rested her marked palm on his shoulder. His free hand reached up almost immediately to cover hers, a silent gesture of gratitude while his long fingers wrapped gently over her hand and squeezed.

"He was the best of us, you know." Dorian murmured beneath his hand. "You could always count on Felix. If he had not been my friend, I… I don't know what I would have done. I don't know if I would be here now."

"He clearly thought you weren't half bad either." Maria offered, at a loss for anything else to say with that weighted confession in the air. "He went along with your crazy plan in Redcliffe, didn't he?"

Dorian's laugh sounded broken, laced with unshed tears, but it was still warm and unbearably soft. "Of course he did. It was a brilliant one."

Dorian dropped his hand from his face, eyes shining with emotion. His fingers gripped hers again. "At least Felix wasn't the only decent sort kicking around Thedas."

xx

Varric tried not to be overly obvious in his leisurely stroll to the rotunda. Up the courtyard steps, through the gallery where Vivienne set up her alchemy table because she claimed the light was ideal. Fiona nearly ran him over in her hurry to escape past the other witch, her face blotchy with fury.

Maker's balls, what did Dorian do? The last thing Maria needed was Fiona deciding to cause trouble because Sparkler stepped on a few toes. Varric scrubbed his hand across his jaw, casting his eyes back down at the group chat while he ambled past Vivienne holding up a glass beaker to the light.

"Leave Dorian to his tantrum." Vivienne advised, lifting her eyes from her work. "I've found the Inquisitor is the best one at talking him down. She's more than capable."

"And miss the material for my next book?" Varric asked cheerfully. "Never."

Vivienne shrugged her elegant shoulders. "Suit yourself."

He would. At first, he'd been… understanding of Maria vanishing into the ether. He even tried to convince himself it was better, tried to talk himself into some gratitude that she wasn't rubbing her rejection in his face. She was being kind, that was all, and sensible. Extremely sensible.

Except Varric needed to talk to her about an over growing list of items. He'd prefer to make his confession about Hawke in person, after all. He still needed to explain how the new AI on her phone worked and assuage any worries about robot eavesdropping, which was always better done face-to-face. The wi-fi in the castle was still spotty and she seemed to be the only one who could reason with her damn…

As if it knew the direction of his thoughts, when he placed his hand on the door leading to the rotunda and shoved, Skyhold kept the door stubbornly shut. A gloating declaration that the group chat messages didn't say Maria Cadash was looking for Varric Tethras, did they?

"You learn to read?" Varric grumbled quietly, praying to the Maker himself that Vivienne couldn't hear him. He pressed forward again.

The door didn't budge. Varric knelt to examine the lock, frowning, but the knob rattled. It was, he thought, like a snake warning someone they were getting too close to its territory.

"If you think I won't pick this lock, you've got another thing coming." Varric threatened. He had damn good lockpicks, and nothing but time. At the very least, he'd put some good scratches into…

The door slid open silently just a crack, relenting to his whims. Or so Varric thought. When he went to shove it the rest of the way, it held fast. Varric could see a sliver of the room, now filled with empty shelves and plush chairs. One of those chairs contained Dorian Pavus, Maria standing in front of him, close enough to fall into his lap. She had her hand on his shoulder and as he watched, Dorian dropped the palm that covered his face to the table beside him. Varric could see the traces of lingering emotion etched into his handsome features. Maria smiled, a tenuous thing, but still there. She shook her head in silence, refuting whatever he'd said. Dorian took the hand he had trapped on his shoulder and lifted it, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste, courtly kiss on them.

The door closed gently, like a mother tucking their children into bed. A clear signal that Varric was interrupting a moment. One he had no part of.

And the author in him, at least, could see the beauty in it. Dorian playing the part of an exiled stranger chased from his homeland, a prince in all but name trying to do the noble thing and fighting evil despite losing his family fortune meeting. Maria starring as a former criminal with a heart of gold, one who found herself lifted from the gutter to lead the righteous in a fight for the very soul of the world. It was a damn fine story. Varric almost wished he would have come up with it himself. Almost.

The rest of him felt sick with envy. A monster inside him desperately craved the right to place a kiss on Maria's skin, the opportunity to have her lean towards him with that same sort of careless intimacy, to have her fall against him the same way she had their doomed night in Haven.

But it wasn't him. Yet again, it was someone else who had that privilege. Varric turned, blindly stalking past Vivienne. He tried to ignore her sharp, lingering gaze on his shoulder blades. It didn't burn as much as the jealousy in his stomach anyway. He threw the door open and emerged on the walls back above the courtyard. Down below, he could see children drawing on the ancient walls with brightly colored chalk. Their laughter rang brightly, full of sheer joy.

It hit him like shrapnel and he ran from it, back up the battlements. He wasn't sure, entirely, where he was going. He just needed to keep walking, to put the picture of Maria and Dorian firmly behind him until he could look at it with some distance. Until it didn't feel like holding a bleeding heart…

"But it's not like that!"

Cole's furious protest from behind him made Varric stop short, turning to watch the kid scramble after him. The kid's cheeks were flushed pink like he'd run halfway across the castle to catch Varric. He huffed to catch his breath, staring down Varric with panic. "No. She wanted to show you, but it knotted up all your strings. He needed her. Loss comes in waves, a small smile sneaking snacks into the study. Gone. He's gone now and he was one of the last bits of home that didn't cut the wrong way. She knows grief. She understands how to carry it."

"Kid, it's fine." Varric pinched his nose, hard, hoping the pain would clear the image from his head. Maria's flushed cheeks, her shy amusement as Dorian's lips brushed her skin. His princess in her castle with her devoted knight at her feet. Not him. Never him.

"But it's not." Cole protested vehemently. "You're both so scared. But the fall isn't far and it's soft underneath the walls. Alone isn't safe. If no one knows you're alive, you aren't."

The kid's imploring tone softened, his eyes bright with emotion. "Tell her. You have the words and she's been silent for so long."

He had a million things to tell her. But having her shoulder his bruised heart wasn't on his list. "It's alright." Varric repeated. "It's complicated, kid."

"It isn't." Cole protested.

Varric's phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down, the unknown number flashing across the screen. It could only be one person. "I gotta take this."

He transferred the call directly to his earpiece, answering with a small amount of wariness while he turned his back on Cole to stare out over the mountains. "Hello?"

"I've got good news." Hawke's sanguine voice was just what he needed to hear. He closed his eyes to bask in it for a second. "And I've got bad news. Which do you want first?"

"I could use some good news." He looked back over his shoulder, but found Cole had vanished as suddenly as he appeared. That… probably didn't bode well. He sighed and leaned on the battlements, looking out instead, ignoring the prickling in his gut.

"The smuggler you sent me didn't slit my throat on the freighter to Jader. Which, by the way, rhymes."

Varric chuckled almost against his will. "And the bad news?"

"You know that sleeping thing I said I'd do on the ship? Well, guess who forgot how much she hates sea travel. I hope you're not expecting me to be in working order when I climb those damn mountains, Varric, because I'm going to need a nap."

Guilt twisted inside him uneasily. He didn't want Hawke exhausted, falling prey to red templars or Venatori on the road. "You can stop and rest, Waffles. A day or two isn't gonna kill us."

"It may." Hawke joked. "The way your luck's been lately? I won't chance it. Besides, the more distance in between me and Fen I can get is best."

If someone didn't know her well, they'd miss the hitch in her voice, the careful lightness almost smoothing it over. Varric sighed. He hadn't heard a word from the elf, but he hadn't expected to. It wasn't exactly Varric asking Hawke to come that caused the problem. It was Hawke declaring she was coming alone.

Varric wasn't entirely sure how that fight played out, although he knew it ended with Bethany sealing the lovers in separate rooms for a good long while. Hawke had her way, like she usually did, but Varric knew that wouldn't last long either. The second Broody stopped brooding, he'd be off like a rocket on Hawke's tail. It might take him a bit longer without Varric's contacts smoothing the way, but Broody had experience smuggling himself out of and into places. He'd make it, eventually, Varric was certain.

"Should've just taken him with you." It's what Varric said the first time. And every time he'd spoken to Hawke since.

Hawke gave varying reasons why he couldn't come. The first, that Bethany needed him (patently false. Sunshine was perfectly capable of defending herself). The second, that he was just as much a fugitive as she was, clearly also false.

"Bring him into a hotbed of Tevinter magic?" Hawke scoffed. "I'd never hear the end of it."

Another lie. Hawke wasn't telling him something and she was hiding it from Broody too. That meant it was almost definitely going to bite them all in the ass. Eventually. Hopefully after they dealt with their Corypheus problem.

"Any idea what your ETA is?" Varric asked. "Your trusty dwarf would very much like to get all the yelling and threats against my life done and over with."

"Depends on whether or not I can steal a car, how far that car can get me, and if I have to walk through snow up to my tits to get up there." Hawke mused. "I'm in Jader now. Bet I can make it by tomorrow night."

"Take a nap." He ordered. "Then you can start back up again."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead, Varric." Hawke teased.

For some reason those words sent an icy shiver of dread through him. They felt like a bad omen, and Varric wouldn't count himself superstitious, but…

"Be careful, at least." Varric pleaded. "I know you don't want to hear it, but we'd be lost without you."

"Varric!" He could see Hawke's extravagant reaction in his mind, her fluttering hands, her mouth dropping into a startled, theatrical o. "I didn't know you cared."

"Of course I care." This was closer to honesty, to vulnerability, than either of them cared to go. But he'd called her here. Pulled her into danger again. His best friend, maybe the truest friend he'd ever had. If there was a time to be real, this moment with them standing on the edge of the end of the world was it. "I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you."

Especially if she got hurt trying to save his ass.

"It's gonna be alright, Varric." Hawke soothed immediately. "No need to get sentimental on me now. Besides, you need to save some of the good shit for my kickass memorial service, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." He laughed weakly. "Pyrotechnics are already ordered, just like I promised."

"Excellent!" Hawke cheered. "Now, let's see if I can remember how Fenris taught me to hotwire a car. See you soon, Varric."

The line clicked dead before he could get another word in. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head, staring out over the mountains. His head felt quieter already. Hawke was coming, fuck, maybe she'd know what to do about…

"Cole told me I needed to find you." Maria's quiet voice was almost lost in the wind. "He said it was important."

Oh yeah, he knew the vanishing spirit kid was gonna be an issue. He spun, gluing on a smile, trying to replay the conversation. He hadn't called Hawke by name, had he? Maker's breath, how long had Maria been standing behind him, silent as a ghost, still as one of those statues of Andraste. Her eyes were unfathomable, the sky during a storm and she wore an expression Varric couldn't quite read. It could have been anger, but it seemed to lack any heat. Maybe it was just weary resignation, a woman preparing for her eventual martyrdom.

Her eyes flicked to his earpiece and she jerked her chin at it. "Bianca?"

Bianca. Hell, if she thought he was talking to his AI, he'd take it. And it was an excellent segway to the things he actually needed to talk to her about.

"Nice to see you too, Princess." He greeted, softening his smile into something more real. "Speaking of Bianca…"

Maria shut her eyes a second too long, opening them on a shaky exhale and plastering a wooden smile over her features before she interrupted him. "You seem fine. Cole thought you'd be jumping from the battlements, but I can see he was wrong."

Maker's ass, Varric was going to have a talk with the kid. The last thing he needed the woman whose dad ate his gun worrying about was who'd be swandiving off the keep. Varric wasn't that dramatic by a long shot. He grinned playfully. "It's a long way down and we've got Netflix again, so I'm off the danger list."

"I can see now why you were so eager to get it up and running. I'm glad it worked." Her facade was far too brittle, he felt like he'd shatter it with just the wrong word. She wasn't even looking at him, but past him, into the abyss beyond. "I'm glad you're feeling better. Listen, if you're okay I've got to go. I've got a million things and…"

She impatiently shoved her hair back from her face. Varric watched, wary. "Maria…"

"Varric." She snapped. "It's fine. It's fine, everything is fine."

Cause anything that had to be said three times was clearly true. But Varric couldn't think of the right words to say to fix… whatever had just gone sideways. He wished he was brave enough to take her hand, intertwine their fingers together, make her stay put until he got to the bottom of it.

She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.

His tongue froze inside his mouth while he tried to find his words. But really, he only wanted to say one. Just one. Stay.

Instead, Maria's false smile seared itself into place. "See ya, Varric."

And as he watched, Maria fled back into her castle, leaving him bereft. Again.

xx

Varric: In case nobody told you yet today, you're knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I've ever seen.
Princess: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess.
Varric: Let's forget whatever happened on the walls. I didn't mean to get you worked up.
Varric: I watched your interview. You did great.
Varric: Talk to me, Princess. Please.

Varric stared, morosely, at his phone. He'd been assigned a tiny broom cupboard off the side of the courtyard by Josephine, although he swore it had been larger. Now it seemed to barely contain his desk, bed, and a dresser with enough room to walk from one to the other. It also, Varric thought snidely, had some sort of issue with the heat. His crackling fireplace looked quaint, but it served no functional purpose. His room constantly felt somewhere just above freezing.

He tore his eyes from the accusing light of his phone, his unanswered messages, and looked back at his tablet. He forced himself to watch the whole interview twice, even though it felt like rubbing against sandpaper to see Maria's mouth spin the story of their desperate fight for survival, their half-baked flight into the void.

Her own near brush with death before she stumbled into his arms. She left out that part, the way he held her, the way she tried to fight him off before relenting. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she didn't remember it at all.

The last five minutes were easier to watch. He hit play again, watched the last of the clip begin to roll, Maria's voice quietly spinning magic as she spoke to Harding. "I want Skyhold to be a safe place. Not just for the people who fled Haven, but for everyone. The world is in danger from magic we don't understand and we have to work together to take care of people who can't fight on their own."

"Before the attack on Haven, people were frightened of what the Inquisition represented. Do you think the purpose has changed?" Harding asked calmly.

"The attack on Haven did change us." Maria insisted, a flicker of fire in those stunning eyes. "It changed everything. The Inquisition will unite Thedas around a common goal, protecting our people. Not just from Corypheus, but from the worst parts of these wars. Starvation, homelessness, and disease can kill as many people as a dragon. We have to be ready for that too. The Inquisition will serve everyone who needs us. Regardless of what they believe."

Maker, she was good. But the best part was what happened next. Whoever made the decision to leave it in was a genius. Her whole interview she'd been calm, although at times her eyes gleamed with both fury and unshed tears. There'd been no trace of nerves, Harding gently soothing them away as she was being interviewed.

"Thanks Inquisitor." Harding said, easily casual, falling back into reality.

Maria's eyes flicked directly to the camera, then back to Harding. A slow, small, triumphant smile tipped up one side of her lips, her eyes still glimmering with emotion. She looked heart wrenchingly vulnerable, easy to adore, and at the same time recklessly, amazingly brave.

"Thanks Harding." Maria breathed, shoulders relaxing, just before the image cut away to Ruffles.

Judging by what he'd seen of the coverage, it was nothing short of a rousing success. A near miss that made their Herald a hero, made her an Inquisitor with just enough blazing courage to delight the masses.

Varric hit stop on the video again, spared a chagrined glance at his phone. His own messages lingered pathetically.

Bianca.

She didn't know. She couldn't know. Nobody knew.

Except, of course, that probably wasn't technically true. Somebody in Rogue Tech, Bianca's secretary at least, had to have some idea. Hawke knew, although she was very good at pretending she didn't know anything. What's-his-name might know. Varric didn't care that much, but he might.

How good was Nightingale? Good enough to ferret out his darkest secret?

But even if Nightingale discovered their sordid affair, it'd been cooling for years. Fuck, he hadn't even seen Bianca for at least a year. Kirkwall going to shit really ruined any furtive liaisons. Nightingale did know about Bianca's digging in Maria's past, of course. Was that enough for both women to draw their own conclusions?

Varric ran through his phone call with Hawke, again, listening with an outside ear.

Of course I care. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you.

He could have been talking to anyone, but she'd thought he'd been talking to Bianca. Maybe the real Bianca. If she'd heard what he'd said. If…

She heard. She definitely heard. That's why she thought he'd been working on the communications so hard, to contact a lover. After, of course, attempting to seduce her in Haven. No wonder she wasn't answering, no woman would. Even if she didn't care about him, even if she'd rather keep him as a friend, the thought that he'd been lying or using her…

His journal was open beside his phone, lines scrawled unsteadily on a blank page, the Lovers tucked in between the pages.

I never tasted the stars before your kiss
Never relished the flavor of the universe imploding
But now I'm watching from the center of the flames
Awash in the uncertainty of oblivion
Wondering if this is what it feels like to burn.

Fuck. Fuck.

It was getting late, but not so late that she wouldn't still be awake. Varric needed to fix this, the longer it festered, the worse it would get. He'd already waited over a day and…

He stood, knocking his chair back into the bed, grabbing his coat from where he'd thrown it on the comforter.

Thank Andraste he did

The trickle of dust from the ceiling was barely visible in the dim light of his shoddy lamp and inefficient fire, he barely had time to recognize it for what it was before the stone above him cracked open, dumping plaster and stone and one sputtering, irritated woman on his bed.

He blinked, shocked, down at Hawke's sprawled form. She squawked, sitting up, coat askew, backpack slung half off, covered in snow and rubble.

"Maker's balls, Varric." Hawke asked, inquisitive blue eyes skipping around his room, a teasing smirk twisting her lips. "Why did they stick you in a closet?"

He didn't bother answering. He pointed up at the rapidly closing hole above his head. "Explanation, Hawke?"

"I was a bit lost. Maybe it's the castle's idea of a shortcut? You weren't kidding about it being a bit of a diva, hm?" Hawke stretched, examining his repaired ceiling with a good deal of curiousity. "I like it when impressive medieval fortresses come with attitudes."

"Why didn't you text me?" Varric demanded, exasperated.

Hawke simply grinned, sitting up in the mess that had been his bed, extending her arms. "I wanted to surprise you! And look, I did!"

She certainly had. And, as always, her timing was horrid. Varric chanced a glance back at his phone. The second he did, he watched Hawke's sunny smile drop from the corner of his eye. Without her mask, Varric realized how fucking exhausted she looked, how brittle her own bravado was.

"Varric?" She asked softly.

"It's fine. Let's see if we can clean off the bed. You look like you're running on empty. We can wait until tomorrow to…" Varric thought it would be excellent if the castle decided to clean it's own mess up, but somehow he doubted that would happen.

"I'm fine." Hawke protested immediately. "I'm good to go, I swear. And I wanna meet her."

Her. Her. The inspiration for his latest shitty attempts at poetry. The woman he couldn't get out of his head because she'd gotten under his skin.

"Tomorrow." Varric promised. "When's the last time you ate? Real food, not candy bars and coffee."

"Varric." Hawke repeated. And in that moment, he knew she'd seen. Somehow, he'd let his guard down long enough that she'd managed to glimpse his battered, broken soul. His insecurity and his vulnerabilities all laid bare. "What happened?"

"Food first." Varric muttered, tugging his coat on. "And fucking beer if I can find it. I'm gonna need it if you're expecting to hear how badly I've fucked this one up."