Hawke stared down at Meredith's corpse, emotionless. The pulse of lyrium held around them, suspended in the air by glowing red fragments of the shattered blade. The idol could do no further harm. Its lingering power fueled the magic within her, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end. She could feel the currents of electricity racing through her heart despite her efforts to calm the adrenaline still pumping mana through her veins. Nostrils flaring and chest heaving, her face remained passive as she breathed in the choking fumes of smoke and fire, and the pungent stench of death and decay. The Knight-Commander's petrified remains cracked and smoldered – a safe sign that Kirkwall's greatest tyrant was no longer a threat.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and Hawke whipped around to meet her comrade with wide, scornful eyes. He had doomed them all; and he knew it. Anders flinched and withdrew to stand between her and their companions, a line of shaken templar's at their backs. Even Knight-Captain Cullen looked somewhere between dread and disbelief.

This day, there was no celebration. There were no cries of victory, no shouts of joy or relief. The billowing clouds from the chantry ruins covered them all in shadow, choking the sky and raining ashes down upon the broken city. A chill wind whisked its way through the gallows, along with a cold, hard truth that nearly brought the mighty templar order to its knees.

Hawke could see it in their eyes: They felt the same fear.

One of the knights took a bold step forward and unsheathed his blade. It shook lightly in his hand. A few of the others began to follow suit, and Hawke turned to pin Cullen with a glare.

"Stand down, all of you!" he ordered.

They obeyed immediately. Her hand hovered just above her staff, and her companions had already taken up positions around her – ready and willing to give their lives for the woman who had already done the same for them. She was their friend. She was their leader. And they did not hesitate.

She held her chin high as another gust of wind blew past them, picking up her dirty, matted hair and tossing it wildly around her. Her mage armor gleamed in the few rays of light that dared to pierce through the rolling clouds overhead; and her eyes scanned the faces of each and every templar around them.

"Do not think for one moment to question what your eyes saw here today. Meredith was driven mad by a magic of her own volition, yet you were too blind in your prejudice against magic to see it!" Her eyes met Cullen's once more. "Magic is not the curse. It is simply another tool." She stood straight and pointed at the charred remains behind her. "It is weakness, which can be found in all men! Meredith made her choice. I suggest you think carefully about yours."

Every pair of wary eyes was on her now. Cullen was watching her intently, seeming to weigh her words against all they had seen here today.

"Champion, I…"

"Hawke, please." She held his gaze. "I would be known by my name and not by a title which brought nothing but unrest amongst those who would think me unworthy of it."

The templar leader regarded her a moment. "…Hawke. There is…no easy way this can be resolved."

"Of that I am well aware." Her eyes were like steel. "It seems complications have forced all our hands."

"Indeed."

Hawke studied him carefully. She had already studied their escape routes. Had she known Cullen to be the sort of templar who jumped to conclusions and took perverse satisfaction in persecuting mages like some of the other did, she would have been long gone by now. But he was not. Suspicious? Yes. Harsh? Sometimes. But these were necessary traits in a knight-captain; and she'd known him a long time. He was wise with experience, and a good man. If they acted rashly, war would break out here and now. Every soul in that courtyard knew what had been set into motion could not be undone.

The Knight-Captain addressed her directly. "As it stands, I have no quarrel with you. The Rite of Annulment was Meredith's last grip for control; and while I understood her necessity to keep order… I also knew it wasn't right."

This time it was Hawke who regarded him carefully.

"You stood by the mages." He conceded, eyes intent. "But you fought for innocents. I cannot condemn you for that. As a matter of fact, were it not for the Divine's stance on the subject, I might be so bold as to put you in the Viscount's seat."

To this her eyes widened slightly. She ignored the hushed murmurs around her and the incredulous stares of some of her comrades.

"You have done this city many a great service, even aiding our order in such delicate matters, despite your status…" He leveled his eyes at her. "But…the apostate," he inclined his head behind her, "will need to face the consequences for his crimes committed against the Chantry."

She turned her attention to face him fully now. It was only a moment, though, before her fellow mage tore his gaze away to stare at the stone ground beneath them. The feathers adorning his robes fell with his shoulders as he swallowed thickly under her knowing look.

"Many were there to witness this man's crime, to hear him plead guilty," he continued. "I cannot delay punishment of so severe an offense."

"Of that, we can all agree." She spared a glance over her shoulder, staring into the city of smoke and ruin with glazed eyes. Her awareness of the situation began to slowly settle around her, and the weight was near to crippling. She breathed deeply.

"Knight-Captain-"

"Cullen, please," he offered a weary smile. "You called me a friend once. I would still have you see me as such."

The corner of her mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile. "Cullen. I take it we have settled you're terms?"

The Knight-Captain nodded and raised his hand. Quickly and carefully, three templars moved in behind Anders and restrained him with little effort. He did not fight back.

"Confiscate his staff and strip him of his belongings," he ordered. "Lock the prisoner up in the main hall until further instruction. Keep a full guard on him at all times."

Hawke's face remained stoic as she watched them vigilantly carry out their orders. "We must look for survivors."

"Yes, we both have much to do… And you, Guard Captain, will undoubtedly have your hands full." He turned towards Aveline, who had been silently observing the entire ordeal with the others.

"Not a single guardsman will be off duty until at least a month after this mess is cleaned up," she nodded. "Maker forbid we actually have an Exalted March on our hands…"

"I shudder to admit it, but the ripples of these events bode ill for us all." Cullen brought his eyes to the petrified statue of his former commander. "It will take a miracle to avoid a war, and even more to move on unscathed… but I understand Kirkwall has done it before."

"It will have to do it again." Hawke's fixed her tired eyes on her weary comrades. The voice that spoke did not even sound like her own. "It always does."

"Andraste give me strength." Cullen sighed to himself. "I'm going to need it."

"We all will," Aveline added, meeting Hawke's far-off expression.

Hawke simply nodded; and with that, they left – the Champion of Kirkwall and her five companions – through the iron gates of the gallows and in search of survivors of all this madness.

By nightfall the streets were empty. Piles of rubble lay scattered and strewn across Hightown, illuminated beneath the waning moon. The wind whistled through the broken pillars of stone, moaning low and sad as it swept over the ash and debris. Hawke stood alone with them, in what was left of Viscount's Way. In Kirkwall's new graveyard.

So many faces filled her mind in that moment. Faces she had known. Faces she would never see again. Grand Cleric Elthina, among them. There was a time when bitterness did not allow her to care for this place, care for Kirkwall or the woes of its people. But that time was a distant memory to her now; and the loss she felt now cut almost as deep as the loss of her mother.

Turning towards her estate, her eyes traveled up to the massive break in the stone left above the entryway from a stray boulder that had flown all the way into her main hall. Aside from the gaping hole and the damage to the floor, no other harm had been done. It was a miracle Orana and the others were unharmed.

She peered inside, to the darkness of her kitchen corridor. …It was all so silent. Everything about this place was a ghost to her now. A numb shiver wracked her body when winter's first gentle flake of snow blew upon her shoulder. Silently, she went inside.

Her movements through her Hightown estate were steady, her descent into Darktown urgent and purposeful. Clinging to shadows and soundless as the night itself, she moved with the guile of a trained assassin, stopping only to lift the wooden door lying deep within the reaches of Kirkwall's under city – the secret passageway to the gallows.

Staring helplessly into the darkness, a shuddering breath fell from her lips.

"Maker forgive me."

A/N: :) The support and feedback I got from my first story has inspired me.
It's been some time; but I'm back for round two.