Conviction, a dragon age fanfic

A/N: This story starts off in the search for Leandra (All That Remains) in Act 2. It pretty much follows the story from there, mostly told from Fenris' perspective, though there are segments of Marian's perspective too. The end though is different, because the ending of the game just didn't seem to suit where my story went. Anyway, I hope you like it. Maker knows I've been working at it long enough.

Just so you know, I do like Anders a lot- he was my first romance partner and I'm nearly as infatuated with him as I am with Fenris. But the story took itself in its own direction and in it Marian disliked Anders, so I ran with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of the characters. I totally wish I did, but I don't. There you go.

Conviction

Marian Hawke always stands on the strength of her convictions, no matter how unpopular her beliefs are. She always has, and always will, stand up for those beliefs. Like her or hate her, you have to respect her. She will fight for a losing cause to her last breath if she believes in it.

Fenris would have been lying if he said he'd never seen the kind of fervour Marian Hawke was now displaying. He saw it whenever Anders talked about mage freedom. But he'd never seen it in her before.

Mage freedom was Anders's cause. And though Hawke was a mage, desiring to stay free of the Circle, he knew if it came down to being caged or being dead, she'd go peacefully with the Templars.

But this was not an abstract idea, not like mage freedom. This was her mother's life on the line. She'd seen this killer's work before, and had no desire to find her mother's severed hand in a bag.

Without a mother- or, at least, one he remembered- to compare her feelings to he didn't fully understand them. But then he imagined seeing her severed hand in a bag, and cold horror filled him.

He would do anything to stop that. And he suddenly understood her urgency.

But what they found was worse than Leandra's severed hand.

Her head had been stitched onto a body comprised of the parts of an unbelievable amount of women.

This is what magic does, he thought as Hawke went psycho. Spells were flying everywhere as abominations and corpses rose all around them, and the fury of one mage destroyed them all.

Her power was frightening.

Then she turned to the mage responsible for this, fury in every taut line, and he seemed to understand that he was in grave danger.

He backed up a pace, but her knife was in his throat already. She'd clearly remembered the lessons Isabela had given her.

She watched him fall, and then ran to her mother's side, dropping her staff in disgust, kicking it aside.

"Mother," she cried, tears in her eyes, looking so vulnerable that he just wanted to run to her and hold her, protect this tender Marian that he'd only ever seen once before- the memory of that night was burned into him- from the world. "Mother…"

"Darling," Leandra whispered, forcing the words out. "You're so strong. So brave."

She was crying now, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes from the personal scene, though he tried. She deserved this moment alone.

"I'll see Bethany now," Leandra whispered. "And your father."

"I'm sorry, Mother," she sobbed. "I tried to find you… Mother!" Desperately Marian cradled her mother to her chest.

But she was gone.

He moved in close and put his hand on her shoulder, felt her helpless trembling as she sobbed, leaning against his leg, and had no words.

Where once the Estate had felt like a celebration of magic, now all traces of anything vaguely magical were removed from sight.

No staffs could be seen, no robes, and even Anders' manifesto was gone. Fenris was so accustomed to seeing pages of it everywhere he went that it took him a few moments to place what was different.

She was sitting on the bed, head in her hands, breathing shallowly.

"I know there are no words for this," he said, "But I'm here for you."

She looked up at him and it was obvious she'd been crying.

"Fenris… is this my fault?" she asked, voice cracking.

"Would it help if I said no?" he asked. She rocked compulsively back and forth, sniffling, and he knew the answer was no. "You ask for forgiveness. But I am not the one who can give it to you."

"I just need someone to tell me that I… that I…" Tears started leaking down her cheeks.

"You did all you could," he tried to assure her. "You could have done nothing more."

"I've heard that the dead go to the Maker's side," she began in a trembling tone. "Fenris…"

But she started sobbing in earnest and her voice failed her. He sat beside her and took her hand in his own. She buried her face in his chest, so he wrapped his arms around her, feeling oddly protective of her.

"Words merely get in the way at times like this," he said and held her tightly. He had run after they had made love in this bed, but he was not going to run now.

She needed him.

Marian Hawke has never been one to run from problems- but when her father dies, she falls to pieces. She is the eldest and it has fallen to her to lead the family. She tries to put on a brave face, but Bethany can see right through it. Bethany always did know her big sister best.

"No, Anders," she snapped furiously. "I will not help you smuggle apostates out."

The man frowned.

"I know what happened with your mother upset you…" he began, and she narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"Upset me? Upset me?" she shrieked. "I saw my own mother's head stitched onto a body comprised of parts from a dozen women, Anders! I will not help you smuggle out mages. Magic is dangerous and should be controlled!"

"Even yours?" Anders asked softly.

"I want nothing to do with magic anymore," she said flatly, and stalked out of his clinic on her heel.

Fenris visited her at the Estate not long later and heard her arguing with Anders again.

"Stop trying to convince me," she snapped. "I am over mage freedom. You will not spread your bloody manifesto around my house for the Templars to find and incriminate me."

"That's the last thing I want to do!" he protested, and she shoved a wad of papers into his hand.

"If you've left anything else in the house, I suggest you fetch it now. You're not coming back."

"But-" the mage began, and she glared at him.

"Out," she snapped. "And don't come back."

Fenris smirked at Anders as he entered the house, passed the scowling mage, and warmed his hands over the fire.

Perhaps it is because she blames magic, perhaps because it reminds her too much of her father, but whatever the reason Marian stops using magic after he dies. She hides her staff and his under her bed and silently watches Carver practise his swordplay, copying him with a stick.

One day she approached Fenris and asked him if he could teach her swordplay.

"I need to learn to defend myself," she said. "Without…" her voice trailed off and he knew she'd been about to say 'without magic.'

Well, he wasn't going to refuse her.

"Of course I can," he said.

Hawke became even busier after her mother's death. Fenris knew it was because she didn't want to think about it. And if she didn't give herself time to think, she wouldn't.

It was obvious she wasn't sleeping. He guessed she was having nightmares. He would be if he'd seen Hawke all stitched together like that. The bags under her eyes grew deeper every day and she pushed herself harder and harder.

"You can't keep doing this," he said gently once after she nearly collapsed. Making sure she was stable on her feet before letting her go, he stood close by her side.

"I have to," she said. "There's no other way."

Her frenetic activity did drop off, though.

She had found another way to bury herself. She had taken to drinking in the Hanged Man until she passed out, until Varric told the bartender to stop accepting her coin.

She raged at him furiously, but he held firm.

"I won't let you do this to yourself, Hawke," he told her and walked her home. He took Fenris aside after she was sleeping.

"Talk to her. She trusts you," he said softly. "You're the only one she'll listen to." He didn't tack 'elf' onto the end. This was much too important.

"I'm trying," Fenris replied. "You know how stubborn she is."

"Aye," the dwarf sighed. "That I do."

She started to fixate on one quest after another, refusing to stop or listen to reason, and when she couldn't find a quest she drank herself comatose. Fenris even feared she might attempt suicide by Templar, and surreptitiously met with Carver.

"She's going to either kill herself or drink herself to death," he said. The Hanged Man had stopped serving her, but she'd kept going to other taverns, ordering alcohol delivered to the estate, or drinking what was already in the house in an attempt to not dream. "She's a danger to herself."

The Templar closed his eyes wearily.

"I'll try," he said.

"Even if it means taking her to the Gallows," Fenris said. "You have to do something." The reluctance on Carver's face was clear.

"If I can avoid it…" he muttered. "I promised her I wouldn't."

The pain on the elf's face was visible for just a moment before he turned away.

"Please," Fenris said simply, letting the world see a tiny part of his heart. Anything to save her.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," Carver told her firmly in the seedy tavern.

"Like you care, Carver," she slurred, and her brother was horrified by how far gone his sister was. "You just want me in your damned Circle."

"No, I…" he began, but she kept talking.

"Well take me. Make me…" she gestured vaguely at her forehead and he guessed she meant Tranquil. The very thought of his spirited sister being one of the emotionless, obedient slaves in the Gallows horrified him. "I don't want this. I can't avoid it. I can feel it in me and I hate it. I don't want to live like this."

He wasn't sure what she meant to be perfectly honest.

"What can you feel?" he asked uncertainly.

"Bloody magic," she said. "It's there. It won't go away. I've tried. I even considered summoning a demon so your lot would have to kill me, but Merrill wouldn't help me."

This statement terrified Carver.

"Don't do that, sister," he begged her. "You can't do that. Mother would hate to see you like this."

She sat bolt upright.

"You're right," she said. "She would."

He sent a quick prayer up to the Maker, hoping against hope she'd stop this talk of blood magic.

Then she slumped back down.

"But a bloody mage took her away from me so she'll never know."

Her head slipped on her arms and she started snoring.

Carver bit his lip as he felt tears prick his eyes and he looked at Fenris in the doorway. The elf regarded him sadly.

Marian Hawke is eighteen years old and has just lost her father. Her mother has fallen to pieces so it is up to her to lead the family, her mother and her fifteen year old twin siblings. She cannot deal with her emotions, she is desperate to escape the memories which keep catching up with her, her father's haunting presence she can never quite measure up to, so she keeps moving the family, from place to place, without any time to settle, and starts drinking of a night.

Mother is too grief-stricken to realise what is happening to her eldest daughter and Carver is too resentful of her to realise. Only Bethany seems to realise how much pressure Marian is under and takes on more responsibilities to relieve the sister she practically worships of her burdens.

Something Carver said must have gotten through to Hawke, for after she sobered up she did make an effort to stop drinking. She still couldn't look at the staff she'd hidden along with all the other magical items, but she gathered all the alcohol she had from her hiding places. Merrill, helpless as any of them to assist before, subtly slipped it out of the house and junked it somewhere. Fenris had never felt the urge to thank her before but he did thank her now.

She continued her training in swordplay, with more focus and energy than he'd seen her use in weeks. She grew tired easily, as it was much more physically demanding than magic was, but she was determined to master it. Her training in magic also gave her great focus, which was a massive asset to swordplay.

"These are good books," she said one day, browsing the dusty bookshelves. "Why aren't you reading them?"

"I… Danarious never…" Very red, Fenris was suddenly incredibly interested in a crack on the wall. She looked horrified.

"You can't read? I insist you learn! We start right now!"

She started with his name, and moved on from there.

She was an excellent pupil, and an excellent teacher.

He'd taken to watching her while she slept to make sure that she was alright and his presence seemed to calm her after a nightmare.

Everywhere she looked reminded her of her mother in the Hawke Estate. She packed her things and moved into Danarious's mansion with him, leaving her own estate in the hands of Orana and Bodahn.

He tried to tell her she needed to deal with her emotions rather than just push them aside several times, and each time he was brushed off. Carver visited regularly to check up on his sister, seeming more and more relieved on each visit, and profusely thanked Fenris for helping her.

"No more talk of demons?" he asked her warily one day, and she smiled a little ruefully.

"No," she said. "Must have been the drink talking."

"Thank the Maker," Carver sighed in relief.

"You can't go on hiding from it," Fenris said one day, gently, as she recovered from a training session. If he handled this too abruptly she had been known to explode in his face. He expected the customary brush off he usually got, but was surprised.

"I know that I ought to deal with it," she said, staring at the floor, "But I just can't."

He put his hand on hers.

"I'll help you," he said. I'd do anything for you, he thought.

It was months before she moved back into the Estate. She'd been there several times for short periods, extending each time, but now she felt she could no longer stay away. She was dishonouring Mother's memory by hiding.

He didn't move in, but Bodahn and Orana were under strict instructions to fetch him if she had a nightmare. He lay awake, waiting for their visits.

They were frequent at first, several times a night, and often he would end up sleeping at her house anyway. Always a light sleeper- Hadriana had a habit of calling him in the middle of the night to torment him- he woke whenever she tossed and turned. She grasped at him desperately and he murmured soothing words, once planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, until she went back to sleep.

As time passed he was called less, and soon she was sleeping through the night without him there. He was glad, but curiously sad. He'd liked been needed.

When Marian finally plucks up the courage to pick up Father's staff, she almost drops it from the force of the memories that assail her. But from then on she is seen practising with it in a failed attempt to be her father, and it is this staff that she has with her when she flees Lothering with her family, when she fails Bethany.

It becomes more than just a symbol of how she cannot live up to her father's memory after that- it becomes the symbol of her failing Bethany, and beyond that, Mother. Mother who relied on her to protect her little sister, yet she failed.

She asked him to be there when she picked a staff up again.

She told him that she couldn't hide from magic anymore, that it would drive her mad, so she had to use it. It was just a tool, she said, like any sword, and just as it would be a waste of a good sword not to use it, it would be a waste of her Maker-given talent- she had taken strongly to the Chantry, which she was fairly indifferent to until this, in an attempt to find comfort, a pursuit he approved of much more than getting smashed every night- not to use it.

He'd heard the argument before from Anders. But this was different. She was trying to convince herself, not him.

Though he privately thought she should stick to the sword, which she was getting very good at, as focussed as she was on learning it, he agreed.

She stared for a long time at the staff before reaching out and grasping it with a trembling hand. Holding the length of delicately carved wood, she looked distinctly uncomfortable. But she persevered. She first practised her simplest spells and worked up slowly, until she was nearly as comfortable using it as she had become with the sword he had given her.

But magic was simply a means to an end for her now. She didn't like or hate mages- though Anders remained banned from the estate, something the mage was still steaming over and which Fenris was openly gleeful about- but tended to take the Templar's side of an argument lately.

"I've seen magic at its worst," she said. "No amount of using it for good will change the extent of the damage it can do."

Anders refused to give up on her, and she gave up on fighting him. Their previously good friendship had degraded into him opening his mouth and her glaring at him furiously or threatening to close it permanently for him.

Merrill, on the other hand, she had grown closer to. For all her talk of demons, the other mage had supported her through her venture of first not using magic, then easing back into it. Fenris would never be fond of the elf, but he greatly appreciated the support she had given Hawke.

Aveline, unsure how to approach her friend after she'd blown up in her face at the Barracks for daring to mention Leandra's name, simply repeated that she was "always here when you need me," and that she had "all the time in the world" for her, no matter what paperwork needed doing.

Varric told her his customarily exaggerated stories of her exploits.

"If anything," she said bitterly one day, "It sounds better than saying I drank myself comatose every night."

By the time the problems with the Qunari came to a head, she was almost back to normal.

Marian Hawke is accustomed to battle- all her life has is a battle. An apostate with a temper doesn't remain apostate long. Bethany never struggles with her temper, but Marian is a different story. Marian always struggles to focus through her anger, until Bethany's small hand is on her arm and the beautiful voice of her little sister whispers soothing things into her ear.

The battle in the square had not been a hard one, comparatively to other battles Hawke fought, but the Qunari mage- saara something, she remembered from an escort mission gone bad years ago, when she had first met Petrice (and nearly killed her. It would have caused her a lot less trouble if she'd just done it back then, she reflected now)- had knocked them all to the ground, and she'd hit her head. She was feeling distinctly dizzy as she stared at the mage gathering power in his fists.

She reached for her staff but knew she wouldn't get it in time, even if she could summon the focus to defend herself and her companions, and sent a prayer up to the Maker.

Then the power in his hands died and a sword appeared through his heart, and as he fell, a Templar was revealed behind him.

"I am Knight-Commander Meredith," the woman said, helping her up.

"Knight-Commander," she said, reservedly. She had nothing against the Knight-Commander- she greatly admired her in fact. But Meredith had just seen her casting spells and knew she was an apostate.

"I know you," Meredith said. "You're Ser Carver's sister. Strange he never mentioned you."

She never thought her brother's loyalty would cost him his job.

"He's a good boy," she said. "He understands family loyalty." She paused before continuing. "Perhaps better than I."

It was a painful admission, but one she'd had to make.

"Indeed," Meredith said.

"Look, I'll turn myself into the Gallows after this is all over- but magical or not, you need help to contain this threat. Let me help you, Knight-Commander."

They locked gazes, Hawke's questioning and Meredith's thoughtful.

"I will overlook your own use of magic- for now. Meet me at the Keep."

She turned and strode away and Hawke released a breath she'd not realised she'd been holding.

Marian is always prepared to sacrifice herself for those she loved. She had proved it several times by packing up at a moment's notice to leave if she had to, no matter how much she loved a place. She'd even go to the Circle if it meant her family could be safe- but she'd die before she let them take Bethany.

After Bethany dies, it is Fenris who takes her place. It is Fenris who Marian leans on, relies on to keep her stable and to keep her temper in check. Perhaps he isn't the best choice, but he is her choice.

Fenris felt terrible after the duel, seeing as how he'd suggested it.

Watching her run circles around the poles, shooting spells at the Arishok and dodging his massive, sweeping blade narrowly time and again, he found himself untying the red fabric around his wrist, Hawke's favour, which he refused to take off, and winding it between his fingers anxiously, gritting his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn't shatter under the pressure.

She was panting so heavily that he was surprised she'd not passed out from exhaustion as she threw another spell at him. They were getting weaker now and less frequent. She was struggling to maintain the energy needed to cast them.

Finally she collapsed against a pole and the Arishok bore down on her triumphantly, raising his blade.

And she drew her sword, previously ignored because it was totally impractical against the monster of a blade the Qunari wielded, and plunged it into his heart before rolling to the side as the Arishok stared in astonishment at the hilt protruding from his chest.

Then he collapsed.

She stared for a moment at the massive man lying beside her, struggling to keep her head raised, before her eyes closed and her head hit the ground for the second time that day.

Fenris ran over to her before anyone could move. Apart from her bruises and cuts, one particularly deep one on her left forearm, she seemed to be suffering from exhaustion more than anything else. It was incredible. She was incredible.

Maker he loved her.

"Mage!" he shouted, voice cracking slightly. "Get over here!"

Anders ran over and knelt beside her, examining her carefully.

"Her injuries will heal naturally. She seems to be simply exhausted. Not that I blame her," he added. "Rest, and a lot of it, is what she needs." He lay his hand on hers a moment too long, and feeling Fenris' eyes boring holes in him, hurriedly let go and rose.

"Don't touch her, mage," he hissed.

With her unconscious, it seemed okay to express his jealousy.

Fenris insisted on carrying her back to the Estate, where he laid her gently in bed before sitting by her side and refusing to move.

Anders' ban had not been revoked, so he was kept out. If she'd been injured, Fenris would have relented and let him treat her. But he had said that she just needed rest, and he didn't need to be watching over her for that to happen.

She was murmuring in her sleep. He heard 'Bethany' uttered on multiple occasions, she kept begging Mother to forgive her (whether for failing Bethany or her he wasn't exactly sure) and his name came up frequently.

He was glad she was unconscious. He turned bright red each time.

She opened her eyes several hours later.

"Fenris?" she croaked.

"I'm here," he said softly, taking her calloused hand in his. She had done farm work all her life, worked for Athenril for a whole year after arriving at Kirkwall, not to mention her combat and sword training, and had amassed quite the collection of callouses over time. Her hands told her story all on their own.

"Fenris," she murmured in contentment and her eyes closed again, her fingers curling around his.

Marian always wants to do what is right. She feels it's only right to repay all her family's effort to keep her out of the Circle so she fights to stay free. Likewise, when she doesn't have a family whose efforts she needed to repay anymore, she feels it only right to turn herself in.

Once she was fully recovered, she insisted on going to the Gallows to turn herself in. The Templar on duty looked at her as if she were insane.

"You're joking," he said. "Me, imprison the Champion in the Gallows? You think I have the balls for that?"

"But I'm a mage," she said, perplexed.

"You're the Champion," the Templar stated. "That supersedes all else."

Marian Hawke never supports a stance she does not believe in. She would rather remain neutral and be greeted with suspicion by both sides than take the wrong side. She always looks at the bigger picture- and in this case, the bigger picture supported the Knight-Commander rather than the First Enchanter.

Fenris really shouldn't have been surprised when the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander nearly came to blows three years later.

"Let the Champion speak. Or are you afraid of what she has to say?" Orsino mocked Meredith.

"The Champion is Kirkwall's greatest defender," Meredith snorted. "I highly doubt she would support sedation."

"First Enchanter," Hawke said, not even looking at Meredith, "I don't care what reasons you have, this is not justified. Everything the Knight-Commander has done is to keep peace in this city."

The elf's face darkened.

"You are a mage, Champion," he said. "Would you support our oppression?"

"I support order," she snapped. "You are trying to incite rebellion."

Hawke's attitude towards magic had grown more ambivalent as time passed, though she remained Meredith's most ardent supporter, and Fenris thought she was mellowing somewhat to Anders. She'd finally retracted his ban last year, on the condition that his manifesto didn't end up in her house again.

He hadn't visited, having finally stopped trying to convince Hawke to take his side of the argument. There was, really, no arguing with what had been done to Leandra.

"You're a mage," he tried one last time.

"You think I don't know that?" she asked with a deep sigh. "I'd almost prefer to be Tranquil."

After that, he gave up.

Fenris was incredibly pleased that the chasm between the two had grown insurmountable. The pair had been so close before that he'd been constantly jealous of Anders.

Hawke had spent so much time in Anders' clinic she'd began to think she loved him. But she also liked Fenris. For a time she'd not been able to decide, then Fenris had kissed her.

That had led to a night she still remembered as if it were yesterday, though it had been three years ago. She had run to Anders after Fenris had walked out on her, hurting her terribly in the process, and would have forgotten all about Fenris- or tried to- if the whole Leandra business hadn't happened.

Fenris had almost stopped thinking of Hawke as a mage by now, as she herself didn't think of or refer to herself as one either.

Fenris wondered if he was a bad person for being glad about her tragedy.

"Hawke," Meredith said in her office later. "Thank you for coming. And for your support. I truly appreciate it."

"Always willing to help, Meredith," Hawke replied. In public they might refer to each other by their titles, but in private they were a lot less formal with each other. Hawke had supported Meredith through the hardest time of her reign and Meredith had found that the support of the Champion, a mage herself, for the Circle, had made many mages less inclined to fight the Templars, and it was for this reason that she hadn't locked her in the Gallows, though she was certain Hawke would go willingly if she asked.

"There was an accident in the Circle. Many phylacteries were destroyed," Meredith said, getting straight to business. "Many mages took advantage of the situation to escape. Most were recaptured. However…"

"However, a few have remained loose," Hawke finished as Meredith indicated she should follow her. The mage fell into step with the Templar as they walked out the office.

"Yes. Three. My assistant Elsa will tell you about them." She indicated the woman, and she rose. "Please deal with this quickly, Hawke. You know better than anyone what these mages do."

"Always willing to help," Hawke replied sincerely.

"Blood magic," she muttered in disgust as she crouched by Nyssa's side. "Of course."

"It's all too easy for mages to turn to it," Fenris sighed. "And when cornered they all do."

"Indeed they do."

Once she would have argued the point with him, he knew- they'd had many arguments on the subject before Leandra's death- but now she agreed with him. She herself had not turned to blood magic, and never would, she insisted, even if cornered. She didn't consort with demons, and did not support mages, despite her own magic, supporting the Templars instead.

In fact, she was personally fond of Meredith, and valued her as a friend as well as a leader. When Anders bitched about Meredith, she defended her fiercely until the mage stopped mentioning her.

Hawke was incredibly pleased about having shut him up and wore an incredibly smug smirk whenever she won an argument.

Fenris couldn't resist digging at Anders either. He never had been able to resist any ammunition, and the mage had always provided him with plenty.

"The Templars go too far," the mage said as he examined the elven woman's body, always determined to defend his kind, despite the obvious crime before him.

"Ask Hawke about her mother, then see who went too far," he replied. Mentioning Leandra usually shut Anders up.

"Blood magic," the mage muttered in disgust to change the subject, and Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Consorting with demons. Why do they do this? All it does is prove Meredith right."

"Like you can talk," she said, and Fenris smirked.

"Justice is a spirit, not a demon!" Anders protested fiercely.

"Shut up while you're still ahead, Blondie," Varric recommended.

"He isn't ahead," Hawke snorted. "He's so far behind, behind doesn't even begin to cover it. Fenris, next time I get the insane urge to bring him along, hit me."

"I'd rather hit him," the elf replied. Anders' scowl as he fell back was all the reward he needed.

"Do that too," she said. "Maybe it'll knock some sense into him."

"Don't bet on it."

"Even I'm not stupid enough to bet on that," she laughed.

Marian would do anything for her family, go to any lengths to protect them. Devoid of a family to protect, she adopts her friends as her family and treats them with the same care. This time, she is determined not to fail like she did with her family.

When she got home, another letter from Meredith was waiting for her.

Hawke

I need to speak to you on an urgent matter. Given your recent actions, it seems you are the only one who can help me.

Meredith

She hurried to the Gallows to meet her friend.

"Is something wrong?" she asked as Meredith paced restlessly in front of her desk.

"Hawke," she said with a sigh of relief. "It seems you're the only one who answers my summons these days. There is a conspiracy against me. The mages have become bold since Orsino attempted to incite rebellion. They're sneaking out of the Tower at night to plot my downfall- with my own Templars helping them!"

Meredith twisted her fingers together anxiously. It was only in her office that Hawke saw the true strain the situation put on her friend. If she showed it in public, she would be seen as weak.

"Conspiracy?" Hawke asked, narrowing her eyes. "Tell me more."

"The mages have deceived my own people, and even pulled the wool over the Divine's eyes. They would incite open rebellion, but the Divine refuses to see this! Surely Orsino attempting sedation in the market in broad daylight is enough proof of his intentions, but you, it seems, are the only one who sees that." She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I need hard evidence to bring before the Divine, to prove that I am not driven solely by hatred."

Hawke chose her next words carefully.

"It seems… rather personal, to me," she said. "Your hatred of mages."

Meredith stared at her for a moment.

"I don't hate mages," she said. "I feel sorry for them. They are terribly cursed. My… my sister was a mage. Such a sweet thing. We hid her for so long, but…"

Hawke put her hand on Meredith's shoulder to comfort her.

"She was family," she said softly, knowing well the end to this story.

"Amelia killed over seventy people by the time the Templars managed to deal with her. She killed her family, and I only narrowly escaped."

"It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't your sister," Hawke told her gently.

"But we protected her. Sheltered her. If we'd turned her in…"

"Hush," the Champion said. "You couldn't have known how it would end. My family sheltered my sister and I too. Don't blame yourself."

"Who else is there to blame?" Meredith asked bleakly before pulling herself together. "The conspirators are meeting in a courtyard in Hightown, a loyal lieutenant of mine told me. You are a neutral party, Hawke. You are the Champion of Kirkwall. Even Orsino listens to you. You need to go and find out as much as you can for us to bring before the Divine."

"Of course," Hawke said.

"You willingness to help is greatly appreciated. I knew I could trust you with this. Thank you, Hawke."

Hawke barely had time to loot the bodies of the conspirators before she was running to the docks.

"Another secret society meeting in a warehouse," Varric said. "Do you think the owners charge rent?"

She snorted with laughter. Merrill tittered a little.

She'd tried to bring Anders- if only to piss the mage off- but he had refused to come. She didn't need him for healing anymore- he'd taught her when they were still friends and she spent an inordinate amount of time in his clinic- but it would have been nice to have him along to tease.

Merrill was no fun anymore now she'd grown more used to human humour.

They cleared the warehouse out with ease. None of the conspirators were prepared for them. They were prepared for an assault, yes- but Hawke and her companions ranked above an assault. Then they turned to the one remaining conspirator. He'd hidden like a coward throughout the fight.

"I tried to tell them not to. I don't hold with kidnap after what happened to me," Keren said.

"Kidnap?" Hawke asked, eyes narrowed.

"They took someone. Said we needed leverage against you. One of your friends."

She looked around, perplexed. Fenris, Varric and Merrill, the only people she counted as friends these days, apart from Aveline and Meredith, were standing behind her covered in blood.

Isabela had run out on her after they'd found her damned relic, Anders was a right arse, and Aveline was much too busy with the Guard to run around after her these days. She completely understood, of course. She'd seen the massive piles of paperwork on her friend's desk and didn't envy her.

And they'd not simply kidnap Meredith- if they could get their hands on her they'd simply kill her.

"A lad called Carver."

Her eyes widened fractionally.

"No great loss," she said, trying for nonchalance to belie her deep fear for her brother. "He's a bit of a tit anyway." Fenris recognised the edge to her voice, and clenched his fist, ready to put it thorough Keren- literally.

"He's at the Wounded Coast," Keren continued quickly, perhaps recognising her barely veiled anger- smart boy- and knowing that she would kill him if he pushed. "Please, let me go."

"I'm telling the Templars about you and your fellow traitors," she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

"No, please…"

But she had stalked out already.

Marian always tries to protect Bethany. She's just a slip of a girl, and looks so delicate. In her care for her sister, she forgets that Carver too needs protecting. Carver is resentful about this, because he believes it is because he is not a mage and not worth as much- but really it is because she sees him practising his swordplay and thinks he is strong enough to cope on his own.

As soon as Carver woke she ran over to her brother, checking him all over for injuries.

"Sister, what are you… wait, where…" he was staring around him at the Wounded Coast, and the inevitable bodies Marian Hawke left in her wake, which was certainly not his room, which he last remembered being in.

"These bastards won't be bothering you again," she said, voice hard.

"Thank you, sister," He opened his mouth to say that he was once again in her debt and shadow, but booted footsteps thundered into the clearing and the siblings looked up to see Knight-Captain Cullen and several Templars, including Samson, staring around.

"I see we got here too late," the Knight-Captain said, raising an eyebrow.

"Sir," Alain said, coming up beside Hawke, "These people tried to reach a peaceful solution. It was Grace who… she killed Ser Thrask."

"I see," Cullen said. "Champion. What do you recommend?"

Hawke took a moment to reply.

"Alain stood against his elders. Go easy on him," she said, and the mage shot her a grateful smile, which she returned.

"You mean he was one of them until he had a sudden change of heart. Fine. Take the boy for questioning," he ordered and two of his Templars flanked the young mage out of the clearing. "Any other recommendations for the Knight-Commander, Champion?"

"Samson is a Templar at heart. He should be reinstated."

"Do you want that?" Cullen asked Samson, who looked positively overwhelmed.

"More than anything, sir," he croaked.

"Very well. I will see what I can do. Thank you, Champion." With that they left the clearing, Carver with them, and the companions stared at each other.

"Let's get back to Meredith," Hawke said, breaking the silence.

When Marian falls in love, it is not simply a matter of convenience or a small thing. She stays in love, no matter what happens.

At first, Marian knows only one type of love, and that is the fiercely protective kind she must demonstrate as the head of her family. But slowly she learns that there is more than one type of love- there is love that leads one to nurture and protect, and love that lets the other go.

Fenris stared at Hawke, marvelling at her beauty, and before he could stop himself, started to talk. Maybe it was the alcohol he'd imbibed that night.

"You're a beautiful woman Hawke," he said. "And… and we never discussed what happened three years ago."

"You didn't want to talk about it," she said, staring at the floor. "I didn't want to push you."

He rose and approached her chair. She looked up at him, pain in her eyes. Pain he'd seen every day for the last three years.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly.

"Just tell me one thing, Fenris. Why did you leave?" He sighed deeply.

"I've wondered that many times over the years," he said. "The rush of memory… I just couldn't cope. I thought it would be better if you hated me."

"I could never hate you," she said sincerely. "Never."

He then whispered his deepest desire so softly she had to crane to hear him.

"Could you love me, then?" he asked.

"I always have," she said, and rose. He approached her gingerly, tenderly, unsure how long this would last, and wrapped his arms around her.

"If there is a future to be had, I will go into it gladly with you," he said, and kissed her.

This time, he did not run.

It wasn't long before Kirkwall exploded. Orsino pushed and Meredith pushed back.

"You have no right to do this!" Orsino protested.

"I have every right," Meredith replied steadily.

"People are going to start talking if you keep going like this," Hawke said snidely.

"The Champion will not stop me!" Orsino cried. "I will be heard!"

"Would you shut up?" Hawke snapped, irritated. "I've had just about enough of your waffling on." Meredith looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Not you. Him," she clarified, pointing at Orsino.

It looked like this could go on forever before Anders walked up. It might even have ended peacefully. Fenris and Hawke glared coldly at him, but he was undeterred.

"I removed the possibility of compromise," he announced, "Because there is no compromise!"

"Anders, what have you done?" Hawke asked eyes wide with trepidation.

"Like you care," he snapped. "For three years you've shunned me, only invited me out to mock and ridicule me. You're ashamed of me, both of you!" He was glaring at Fenris too as he spoke. "You're a mage, Hawke! How can you support our oppression?"

"I support order," she snapped. "You obviously prefer anarchy."

"At least we would be free!" He slammed the butt of his staff against the ground.

And then, everything exploded.

The ground beneath them shook so hard that Hawke clung to Fenris' hand to stay upright and an almighty boom sent the both of them to the ground, hands clasped over their ears, arms still linked. They stayed there until the ground stopped shaking and when they looked up, fine dust was drifting through the air, into their mouths and noses.

Hawke coughed.

"What the hell was that for, Anders?" she asked furiously, but the mage didn't reply.

"The Grand Cleric has been killed by magic," Meredith said, slowly. "The Right of Annulment is in order!"

"The Right of An- but the Circle had nothing to do with this!" Orsino protested, and for once, Hawke was on his side.

"Knight-Commander… Meredith… Anders did this, not the Circle. Execute him if you must, but don't punish them!"

"Oh, I get it. You're on his side. You always have been, haven't you, Champion? I wondered, you know. What is an apostate doing supporting me? What is your part in all this, how did you rise to power so fast?"

"Meredith!" she protested.

"I am going to have order in this city! Templars! Kill her! Kill the mages! Kill them all!"

"We agreed to arrest the Champion, Knight-Commander," Cullen protested.

"Do as I say!" Meredith shrieked.

"No," Carver said, stepping in front of her. "I won't let you."

"Nor will I," Cullen said firmly, joining her brother. Meredith seemed staggered by this.

"They have corrupted even you…" she croaked, and pulled her sword from her back. It glowed red and Hawke took an involuntary step back.

"Is that…" Fenris whispered.

"That's the idol," Varrick confirmed.

"Sod," Hawke said.

Marian Hawke did not enjoy having to fight her friend, but did it out of duty. Cullen did not enjoy having to fight his commander, but did it out of duty. Even the mages joined in- though it may have been self-preservation more than duty that drove them.

However, for all she was insane; Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard was just a mortal like any other.

And she died like any other.

During the course of the battle, First Enchanter Orsino drew the corpses of the fallen to him and became a horrid abomination, and Fenris saw Hawke spit on the ground in disgust.

"Mages," she muttered. Now she had not only Meredith to deal with, but shades and demons too.

But after it was all over, the Templars knelt before her.

"Revoke the Right of Annulment," she ordered Cullen. "And take this… piece of filth," she added, with a disgusted look at Anders, "Out of my sight. I don't want to see him again."

"Yes, Viscount," he said, throwing Anders a dirty look. The title struck her speechless.

"Me?" she asked in astonishment as he left, escorting the mage.

"I can think of none better," Fenris said, and she turned redder under the blood flecking her cheeks and the flush of battle.

"Carver," she called and her brother came over from the other side of the battlefield.

"Take the rest back to the Circle," she ordered, gesturing to the surviving mages. He nodded, submitting to her authority. This was, after all, now her mess to clean up.

"I don't envy you this mess," he said with a grin before heading out of the Gallows. The mages followed him meekly. They didn't want more trouble.

Hawke stared around the Gallows courtyard, at the strewn bodies- and the grotesque statue of Meredith.

"Can no one in this city fix their own lives?" she complained, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.