There was nothing I hated more than a mark who was late.

I mean, honestly. You go through all the time and effort in learning their schedules, their routines. Knowing exactly when they'll be at any given time. Time your break in of their home to twenty minutes before they're due back; just enough time to get your ambush set up without leaving you room to get bored.

He was an hour late, and I was very bored. The fire his servants had set was running low, and if he didn't show up soon they'd be back in to top it off. Which would be annoying, because they'd probably do a bit of cleanup while they were here.

Meaning I'd have to leave to avoid being spotted, which would mean a wasted evening.

Worse, I'd already combed through his wine, his correspondence, and his brandy. The first was proof that dwarves had no taste, the second was mostly written in a cipher that I couldn't be bothered to figure out, and the third was only marginally better than the wine.

There was a lovely Antivan though. Forty years old, with a very smooth finish.

I was lounging next his door, sipping from a wooden cup when I finally heard the heavy footsteps approaching.

A silent step back put me in the shadowed corner at the same time as keys jangled. The lock clicked a moment later, accompanied by the quiet hum of a man content with his life.

I held my breath, going perfectly still when the blonde dwarf slipped inside. He was dressed well, in reds and purples, with a fat collection of letters held carefully in one hand. The man of means closed the door with an absent kick of his boot, still humming as he strolled over to his desk.

I waited until he was just about to turn before I made my move.

"Varric Tethras."

"Shit!" Letters flew into the air, followed an instant later by a flicker of steel.

I ducked left a heartbeat before a knife could slam into my guts, the thrown dagger ricocheting off of the wall where I'd just been standing. I took two stumbling steps to recover my balance, making sure I didn't spill my drink in the process.

Then I burst out laughing. "Three times!"

"Maker damn you Buzz!" He glowered at me. "How'd you get in this time?"

I grinned, strolling casually into the firelight. "A lady never reveals her secrets, Varric."

His glower didn't let up. "We both know you're no lady, and that better not be my best brandy again."

"Nah. I didn't find where you hid that bottle of Nevarran. This is that one from Antiva. Not bad, not as good." Rolling my neck a bit, I got my bag off of my back and tossed it onto his table. "Jobs are done. Obviously."

Varric let out a frustrated breath, then visibly forced himself to relax. "I figured, or you wouldn't be here looking for payment. What went wrong?"

"What makes you think something went wrong?"

He rolled his eyes, turning his back on me to start picking up his letters. "You only break into my room like this when you're pissed off. So, what went wrong?"

I felt my own amusement dry up quicker than I'd have liked. Sitting down at the table bought me a few moments to gather myself, and sipping the brandy earned me a couple more. By the time he finished gathering his correspondence I was ready with my report.

"The Dalish are of Clan Sabrae." I told him. "Same clan as one of the Wardens that those Ferelden bounties are about. There's some kind of tension in the camp, their First is living in her own Aravel away from the rest. One of them is definitely a smith, maybe capable with Ironbark, maybe not. Couldn't get a good look at what he was working with."

Varric grunted. "Let me guess. They saw you and started flinging arrows."

The hand not holding my drink rose to point at the long ears extending from my head. "I've got these, remember? They wanted to know what a flat-ear was doing around their camp, and didn't appreciate it when I insulted them in return. The arrows started after that."

"Told you that your mouth was going to get you in trouble." Setting the letters on his desk, he leaned back against it, crossing his arms. "Still, we expected that. So what really went wrong?"

It was my turn to glower at him. "I was going to wait at your estate, but you failed to tell me that your brother was already back in town."

He had the grace to wince. "...shit, Buzz. He wasn't due back for a month. I was as surprised as you."

I met his eyes for a long moment... then sighed and sunk back in the seat. Varric lied. A lot.

But he wasn't lying at the moment.

"...sorry for the breaking and entering thing." I murmured. "I'll stop doing that."

He was already waving off the apology. "It's all right. If I went into a place expecting me and got Bartrand, I'd be pissed too. What did he say this time?"

I waved the cup slightly. "Don't worry about it. I've heard worse from old ladies in the market place. Just not what I wanted to deal with after running for my life from the Dalish, then dodging a Templar patrol right after I got back through the gates."

Varric sighed again. Then he moved over, grabbed the bottle of what I was drinking in one hand, another cup in the other, and joined me at the table. He refilled my cup when I held it out, then we both settled into a companionable silence as we sipped the fine alcohol.

"What else do you have for me?" He asked finally.

Setting my cup aside, I tugged open my bag and pulled out several thick sheets of paper. I held them out, "The new guard rotations, as best I can figure them. They've cut back on the Lowtown routes again, bulking up on their Hightown busy-work. The nobles must be complaining about the common people being able to walk around in broad daylight again."

He reached out and took them, glancing over what I'd written. "These are worth a few sovereign, easily. How about the Templars?"

I shook my head. "Meredith isn't an idiot like Captain Jeven. They're still working on random sweeps as far as I can tell. A couple are playing Guard, doing investigations, but I don't know if that's on orders or personal initiative."

"I won't ask you to find out." Varric promised, setting down the intelligence I'd just given him. "Not bad for a couple weeks work. I'll adjust your investments accordingly. Need any coin to spend?"

"No, I'm good."

The saddest thing about living in Kirkwall was probably the fact that Varric was the closest thing to a trustworthy bank you could find in the city. He managed my investments at least as well as he did his own, and provided monthly updates on just how much of my gold he was currently sitting on. It also helped that he paid promptly for work well done, and understood when random circumstance caused delays or an inability to complete a job.

I'd made plenty of mistakes since I'd woken up in Thedas last year, but tracking him down hadn't been one of them.

"I don't have any more jobs for you at the moment." He said finally. "I'll track you down once I know what Bartrand's latest scheme is."

I hummed, doing some quick mental math. If I had the date right, then Blight had been raging in Ferelden for eight months. My memory of my time on Earth was getting hazier the longer I was here, but I'd taken care to write down the timeline shortly after I'd arrived.

Eight months into the blight meant that the expedition was at least four months away. Probably closer to five or six. Close enough that Bartrand would already have the map?

...probably, but I didn't want to gamble on being wrong. Not when it would lead to even more awkward questions from my main source of income.

"That's fine." I shrugged again. "I need a break anyway. You know where to find me."

Varric gave me a tired wave, "I'll send a runner, as usual. Wicked Grace tomorrow night?"

"I'll think about it." Standing, I hefted my cup in salute before tossing the rest of it back. It burned pleasantly all the way down my throat, leaving me feeling comfortably warm when I grabbed my pack.

Slipping out of his room, I padded down the stairs into the Hanged Man's bar. It was still doing a fairly brisk trade considering that it was well after midnight, but it was far calmer than it had been a few hours ago. Calm enough that plenty of people noticed the elf with her heavy cloak and a bag slung over one shoulder.

A few gave me dark looks, but my status as Varric's preferred pair of eyes kept me safe from anything worse.

Well, so long as I was inside the building.

Once I was outside though...

Once I was outside I was just another elf in a city that already had too many of them for most of the Humans' taste. Worse, I wasn't an abnormal giant like Solas or Fenris. I was only a few inches taller than Varric, and he definitely weighed more than my slender little frame did. The only thing unique about it was the fact that my ears were far longer than any other elf's that I'd seen.

I guess it made me exotic, but that was the last thing an elf wanted to be in Thedas. It drew all the wrong kinds of attention.

The first few months I'd tried to hide them under my black hair, but I hadn't been able to find a style that worked. After the second time someone had used it as a handhold during a brawl I'd given up and shaved down everything except for a single strip down the center. And even that I'd cut pretty short.

Not because I really liked the horse's main look, but because going bald made me too much like Solas. Well, that and the fact that I rarely had the time to actually keep the sides shaved. It left me with a perpetually varying amount of stubble on either side of my head. Hence Varric's nickname.

"Focus." I muttered, tugging my cloak's hood up and over my head. "Get home."

The alienage wasn't very far from the Hanged Man, thank God, but wandering around distracted in Lowtown was a good way to end up dead. Or worse. Having better night vision than when I'd been Human helped a little, but not as much as it could have. There were just too many shacks, corners, and alleys for ne'er-do-wells to lurk in Kirkwall.

I had no idea how Merrill was going to survive when she showed up.

Tonight must have been a slow one as far as the usual rabble went. I only had to pick up the pace once to avoid three dwarves mugging a fourth before I made it to the stairwell leading down into the pen that the city kept its elves.

A single guard was leaning against the iron gate. One hand began to fall to the hilt of her sword before I tugged my hood back a little, letting her see my features.

"Maeve." Sergeant Brennan groaned. "Not again. I can't keep opening the gate for you after dark."

"I could climb it if you'd rather." I smiled. "Or you could stop keeping us caged like-"

"-slaves." A hand rose to rub at her temples. I had that effect on people. "I know the speech, and you know there's nothing I can do about it."

"I was going to say dogs tonight."

The Human snorted. "Sure you were. Fine, but this is the last time, all right?"

"You've said that twice already."

She grumbled under her breath, already turning to pull at the heavy chains holding the gate shut. Old mechanisms groaned in protest, wheels and cogs turning slowly as she pulled. She kept it up until the gate had creaked open just enough for me to slip in, letting me duck past her with a quiet word of thanks.

Whatever she said in reply was cut off by the squealing of the gate as she shut it behind me.

I picked my way down the stairs, smiling a little at the sight of the Vhenadahl. It was draped in red and blue fabric this week, its leaves stretching well above the apartments around it. I gave it a polite little bow before glancing up among it's branches.

It took me a bit to find the night guard on our side; Zatris was lounging on one of the thicker branches, his old bow resting on his chest. He gave me a silent wave of greeting, then followed it up with a gesture to tell me that nothing had happened tonight. I gave him a bow as well, tugged my bag over my shoulder again, and then made the short walk over to my apartment.

It was easy to pick out; it was the only one around the great tree that had a proper lock on it.

I felt myself relaxing once I'd closed the door behind me, setting both the lock and dropping a wooden bar down to barricade it shut.

"Home sweet home." I murmured, turning around to take it in.

By the standards of the alienage, I knew I was living in the lap of luxury.

I had a nice little dinner table, a couple of chairs that only wobbled a little, and a fireplace just big enough to actually keep the building warm. I'd bought and scavenged enough materials to make my own wine cabinet, and filled it with cheap but palatable bottles. There were even a couple of books stacked neatly on a shelf.

By the standards of Earth, of my middle-class origins...

The bathroom was a plank over a bucket. I had the wine because the one time I'd made the mistake of using the alienage's well I'd spent two days doing nothing but voiding my guts into said buckets. I'd thrown out the straw bed after the first week and strung up a hammock instead, which was only a little better.

And I couldn't get rid of the damned rats and mice no matter how many times I tried to seal up the cracks in the walls. My attempts to convince everyone in the alienage to adopt cats to deal with them was slow to get off the ground, but I was still hopeful there.

Tossing my bag onto my little table, I tried not to be relieved when it didn't collapse at the impact. Shucking my cloak and boots, I started on what bits of leather armor I had. Those got laid out more nicely, leaving me feeling far more comfortable in a plain shirt and breeches.

Padding over to the fireplace, I tossed a few more bits of wood into place before narrowing my eyes in concentration.

"Flickum bicus." I muttered the first spell of my favorite fictional wizard, and felt the tiny thrill run up my spine when flames ignited amid the kindling. They slowly built up as I nudged the wood around, making sure not to smother it.

Once it was crackling away I grabbed my journal from a shelf, the pen I'd paid Varric to give me, and settled down at the table.

Day 187, Kirkwall Day 91, I wrote in English, the only way I could know for certain that no one else would be able to figure out. Varric had already 'borrowed' it once, and spent an entire evening grilling me about the 'code' I wrote in.

I spent the last two weeks on another job for Varric, a twofer this time. Watching the new guard captain from a distance and picking out the patrol patterns, then heading out of the city to check on the rumors that a Dalish clan has moved into the area.

The first one is definitely that corrupt idiot that Aveline replaces. I'll have to keep an eye on Brennan when I can, and hope she's not reassigned. She may lock us up at night, but she does her job of keeping slavers and muggers out, and is sympathetic to us. We could do far worse. Memo; ask her to warn us if she's going to be moved to a different duty.

Sadly my secondary mission didn't go as well. I managed to get up onto Sundermount and picked out where the Dalish were camped. They didn't catch me then, I don't think they thought anyone would approach from that direction, but their sentries spotted me as soon as I got close enough to figure out where Merrill was.

I bit my lip, chewing on it while I dipped the pen into the inkwell.

I don't think they were serious about killing me, or else I wouldn't have gotten away, but I definitely botched my first chance to talk to her. That's a problem. When Hawke takes Mythal's amulet to the top of the mountain is the only shot I have of finding and talking to her.

She's far less likely to kill me than Solas is. The two of them are the only people I can think of who might be able to explain just what happened to me. Why I'm here, why I'm in this body.

How to go home.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my hand to relax before I broke the very expensive pen. I thought of home, my real home, as sparingly as I could. If I didn't... tears, sobbing, curling up in a ball. The kind of thing I couldn't afford.

As far as I can tell, I should have another four months before Hawke's indentured servitude ends. I need to keep accumulating money in the meantime, just in case I have to help back the expedition. The last thing I want to do is go down into the Deep Roads, but if Mythal doesn't have answers then I'm going to be stuck here until Solas wakes up.

Which would mean being stuck here for at least six more years. Probably longer. I'd need the kind of financial security that Hawke and Varric's little jaunt provided.

That should be plenty of time to figure out a way to approach Merrill as well. That and find Hawke.

Another bite of my lip, a nervous double-tap of my pen on the paper.

Varric might have been the first canon character I'd hunted down as soon as I'd made my way south to Kirkwall, but Hawke had been the second.

I hadn't found them. I hadn't even found Gamelin Amell yet. Oh I'd certainly heard about him, usually in dark mutters, but I hadn't thought it would be quite that hard to track them down. I'd even asked Varric a few times about up and coming talent in the city, but if he knew about Hawke he hadn't said anything.

He or she definitely isn't working for the smuggler, but I can't remember the mercenary company that was the other option. There's too many of them in the city as is, and they're always coming and going. I'm going to keep my eyes and ears open. If I can't make contact with Merrill, then helping out Hawke is the best option I have for being able to go with them to crack that amulet open.

That and I still need a proper magic teacher. In the words of The Iron Bull, my magic 'clunks' to the point where even I know I'm not doing it right. Maybe I'll head back out into the wilds this week, experiment some more. We'll see how I feel.

Time for bed.

Leaving the journal out for the ink to dry, I rose and stretched with a quiet groan before walking to my 'bedroom'.

Climbing into my little hammock, I smiled up at the little dream-catcher swaying above me. My fingers rose, running through the crow and gull feathers I'd hung from the little hoop before I let them fall, letting myself go limp.

Sleep rose over me at once.