A/N: Hello everyone! Back in 2012, my first story Chant of Darkness got me started on fanfiction. It was my first test, and I was proud to say I finished it. Now, with Inquisition ending, I've found myself asking what happened next to these characters. Here is my answer; I hope you all enjoy it!

DG

Chant of Darkness: Second Verse

Chapter 1: Mission Accomplished

"TO THE CHANTRY!"

Dozens of voices and mugs rose to answer the toast. Some might even have meant it; it was hard to say after so many mugs of cheap ale.

The man slumped down in his seat. For the fourth time this evening he had toasted the Chantry, which was perhaps a little ironic because for so very long he had desired nothing but its destruction, to hear the mothers weeping in despair, to hear how their Templars had abandoned them, to sit and laugh as that nest of hypocrites were exposed for the liars and charlatans that they were…

Now he had gotten his wish.

Now it was all over.

The Chantry had fallen, through no action of his, which was unfortunate, but at last…the Chantry had fallen.

His mother had been avenged.

He was free.

FREE!

And yet now…now…

The man frowned into his ale, as horrible as it was; at least it did the trick.

He glared at his distorted reflection, and felt…nothing.

He was free, but now…now…

He took a large gulp of the foul brew; it burned its way down his throat, and slopped down his dirty beard, his soiled coat and shirt.

He slammed the mug down hard.

He was free, but now… now…

He belched loudly.

What now?

His forehead struck the table; he knew he could not remain this way long. If he did, he would likely find himself dumped out in the street again. The last time that had happened, some lowlife bastard had made off with his coat, his good coat.

His bloodshot blue eyes narrowed.

He wished he could find the will to care.

He had been on the island of Estwatch for the past three months, one month before getting word of the destruction at the Conclave. The pirate enclave here was the one of the best places for raider recruitment outside of the docks of Llomerryn. He had returned here to try and rebuild his contacts, to form a new crew, find a ship, and start his life again.

That plan had not worked out, not surprising considering everything that had happened.

Now…the Chantry had fallen, and with it…his purpose.

The man groaned, trying to keep his stomach from turning over.

Blood and spite help him; he would not vomit all over himself again, not if he could help it.

After everything else, that would be…the final insult.

He leaned back, hoping that his stomach would calm, all around him the raiders and assassins that frequented, the Broken Bootstrap went about their business. Murder, theft and mayhem were being planned even as he chose to drown himself in cheap ale, but for some reason, it had no appeal anymore.

He snorted at the sight, wretches all, oh how he hated them.

He picked up the bottle from the table and refilled his mug.

A cruel sneer split his features.

Such hatred called for another drink.

He leaned forward again, once again catching his reflection in the foul smelling brew.

He frowned.

The face looking back at him was a stranger.

Dirty black hair, scraggly beard, bloodshot eyes, and dirty clothes, all these described the miscreant staring back at him. He barely recognized himself, he barely recognized the man he had become.

He had not always been like this. He had been respected once. A man with a future, a mage with powerful magic, a fair ship, and a strong crew, he had even made captain, and once his revenge was complete the seas of Thedas would have been his playground.

He snarled.

That was before he had struck his deal with the so called Witch King.

That was before the Grey Wardens of the Lost Garrison.

That was before his best friend Justin Oslin, him and his circle pet of a whore!

The whore he could forgive, but not Justin…not the Captain.

His friend…and his betrayer!

May he rot in the dark pit of the void!

He almost flung his mug across the room, but since it would be a waste of perfectly bad alcohol, he held his temper in check.

He downed the booze, and slumped back down onto the table in defeat.

It was better this, than the alternative.

He tried to take a deep breath.

All Justin had to do was let him go. All he had to do was let him take his revenge, but he hadn't done that had he…no.

No, it was far too easy to destroy his best friend's life.

What did he have now?

No ship.

No woman.

No crew.

No revenge.

And…what was worse!

The man rubbed his right knee or rather the stump that had once been his knee.

He almost sobbed.

It wasn't enough that Justin had betrayed him.

He had left him a cripple too!

The captain had done this to him, him and his circle pet!

He had taken everything, and left his old friend with nothing!

Nothing!

He had even run him through, tried to take his life, it was only through, magic and blind luck that the mage had survived his fall into the rocky shore along the coast of the dragon bone wastes.

The mage sighed.

He should have died that day.

Perhaps, it would have been better if he had.

An elven serving girl approached his table.

"An…another bottle, Serah?" she stammered.

He growled, the girl was a tit mouse, a slave here who was little better than a whore.

He glared at her and threw another coin down on the table.

She scooped it up and scurried back to the bar, likely grateful that she had escaped his wrath, soon she would return with his ale.

He sneered.

Either that or he would burn her alive.

She had seen his bad side once already, seen him start to change, and with no Templars here on Estwatch…

A mage could do what he liked.

He sneered at that.

It was not much, not considering the power he had once wielded, but it was enough.

It had to be.

He frowned again.

He had spent the last few months trying to contact the Witch King. It was surprising that his old patron had not made a single move since the Chantry's destruction. The man had been so eager to see Thedas destroyed, destroyed and remade in his image.

Yet… he had heard…nothing.

There were rumors though, unsubstantiated rumors that said the Witch King was dead. That he had challenged the Hero of Ferelden and had lost. For so long the Witch King had been…obsessed with Solona Amell, the warden mage had been his main focus, the subject of all his ire for almost ten years.

If he was dead, it was a fair bet that the woman had killed him, and if he was dead.

Where did that leave those that had enjoyed his patronage?

The drunkard could not be sure.

A shadow fell across his table, not the mousey little waitress, but someone else, someone larger.

The mage looked up.

"Go away," he growled.

The man did not move.

His blue eyes narrowed, arcane fire began to glow in his fist.

He staggered upright, using the table for balance.

"I said…"

The man did not let him finish.

He struck the mage with one large meaty fist.

Blood sprayed from the mage's nose as he flew against the far wall, stars exploded before his eyes.

Two equally large fellows seized him by the arms, the mage tried to struggle, but it did little good.

He was too drunk, and still stunned by the other man's strike.

The three toughs dragged him out of the Broken Bootstrap. To his credit, the mage did not even cry out.

There was really no point.

It wasn't like anyone would lift a finger to help him.

In Estwatch, you looked out for yourself, or you died in the gutter.

The mage chuckled.

It seemed he was on his way to the gutter.

How lovely.

He shook his head as the dragged him out into the night.

Whatever they were going to do, he hoped it would end…quickly.

IOI

They pulled him down the street, passed the whores and their customers, they pulled him passed the docks where the ships sat at harbor and men too old or too young to raid unloaded the booty.

The mage said nothing, it wasn't like he was surprised his life was about to end, it had been a long time coming after all.

Besides, what did it matter now?

The Chantry had fallen.

His grand work was done.

They dragged him out beyond the port and onto the beach, the one time he tried to speak; one of the tough's kneed him in the gut. The mage vomited in the sand, but that did not slow his captors. He could hear their angry snarling and prodding. They did not look familiar, but that was not surprising.

There were no shortage of angry men in such places, men more than willing to take out their own anger for a bit of coin.

Tonight, he was apparently their whipping boy.

He tried to work up the will to care.

He saw torches up ahead, a small gathering on the beach.

It was there that he was being brought.

The mage tried to smile.

It would be there that he would meet his captors.

It would be there, that he would meet his fate.

The toughs flung him down on the sand, hard. The mage spit and tried to sit up.

One of those that had dragged him out here kicked in the side, when he slumped over the man flung his staff down on top of him, hard enough to make something crack inside his chest.

The mage groaned and tried to take it into his hands. A hard boot caught him across the face.

The staff went flying.

He started to curse the one who struck him when he felt cold steel at his throat.

He froze.

The cutlass blade was sharp enough to draw blood.

He closed his eyes and waited.

If this was it, then good.

He had grown tired of waiting.

He heard a cold chuckle above him, a sound both cold and merciless.

"'Ello Birdie, been a long time."

The mage blinked, his bloodshot eyes focused on the person standing over him.

He was surprised to say the least.

His would be murderer was short, even for one of her kind, a thin scrap of an elf in a dirty long coat and a wide brimmed hat. Dark dirty brown hair hid most of her features; even from here he could smell seawater and oil.

He probably should have been afraid but he wasn't.

He knew what she was capable, this elven pirate.

After all, they had been shipmates once.

He chuckled.

"Little Nan," he purred, "What an unpleasant surprise."

The elf's ear's lowered slightly, her dark eyes flashed with barely contained rage.

"That is kinda funny coming from you, Birdie," she replied, "Especially since I now hold your fucking life in my hands."

The mage snorted with amusement.

"I guess you didn't track me down then just to say hello?"

She leaned down; her blade dug into his neck, not enough to kill, but plenty enough to draw blood.

He tried to lean away, but it was no use.

If Little Nan wanted him dead, he would be.

That was just the way the elven pirate was.

She glared coldly at him.

"How the mighty have fallen, Eh? The mighty Andreas "Birdie" Wren, Captain of the Rebel Queen, betrayer of his own shipmates, now just a crippled drunkard laying on the beach, waiting for your throat to be cut."

She gave him her most wicked smile.

"There is justice in that I think, especially after what you pulled."

Wren snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I don't go by "Birdie" anymore," he spat, "and as for the Queen, talk to the Grey Wardens, they were the ones who sank her."

The elf forced her blade tighter against his throat.

"Yeah," she snarled, "And all because of your bungling."

Around him, several of the men nodded their ascent. Likely members of his old crew, but he could not say for certain.

Justin had always been the people person when it came to dealing with the men. Wren had always preferred the abstract.

He sighed.

Maybe that was why he had disbanded their old crew in the first place. So, that he wouldn't have to explain why he needed to do what he did.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Nan had him where she wanted him.

He could have tried to fight, but what would be the point.

It was all over for him anyway.

Nan leaned in close; he could smell the scent of old leather and the sea. The elf had never cared much about her appearance, probably why she had survived as long as she had.

She gave him her coldest smile.

"Capt. Oslin is not here to protect you anymore, Birdie," she spat, "Your old shipmates have waited a long time for this."

She sneered down at him.

"It is just as shame that you are such a wreck. It would have been nice to have killed you in your prime. Now…it just seems like we are doing you a favor."

Wren chuckled.

The elf had no idea.

"Go ahead then," he growled, "Take your precious justice."

He glared hatefully at her.

"I'm tired of looking at that stupid looking hat of yours anyway."

The elf sneered.

"If that is the way you want it, Birdie, then fine."

She stood up raising her blade over her head.

"So long Andreas Wren, give the demons our regards."

The mage chuckled.

The woman thought this an execution. She had no real idea.

This wasn't punishment, it was release.

And Andreas Wren, the Son of Flemeth, welcomed such an end.

He closed his eyes, awaiting the blade.

I'm ready, he thought.

Time to go home.

A/N: Is this the end of Birdie? Will the pirates have their revenge? And what of the Lost Garrison, what have they been up to while the Inquisition rages. If you want to hear more, shoot me a review.

Until next time dear readers.

DG