The golden dawn crept forward, bringing forth the day. The hillsides gleamed in the morning's light, and Kirkwall glowed from the flames of a thousand red wax candles. In the streets, from Darktown to the isles of the Chantry they flickered. Upon the harbor waters they floated and lined the halls of the Gallows from the topmost floors to the cellars below. It was as if a Fade dream had descended upon the city, covering the ancient stones with a green spring meadow, laced with white flowers. The little blossoms were everywhere - garlands strung around doors, bouquets strewn upon cots, single blooms tucked away in pockets and robes and new shoots sprouted up from the cobblestone cracks. They found their way into the Templar barracks, the Mage quarters, and the Tranquil rooms. Inside the Chantry they hung from the rafters, in the City Guard garrison they were wrapped in white ribbons, and in the Qunari Compound they hung from the edge of the rooftops. In the offices of the Viscount, the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander, the Guard Captain, and the Grand Cleric, sprigs of the tiny blossoms were left upon their desks, fresh from the fields, glittering with dew.
The Chantry bells rang out of their own accord, and the watch bells of ships lining the harbor docks sang out in concert. Templars and mages flowed out, confused, into the Gallows courtyard, looking up as white petals of Andraste's Grace drifted down upon their upturned faces. There came a sound upon the wind, carried by the ocean; a woman's voice, raised in song. The words were almost inaudible, but people would swear in the days to come, it had been sung in Arcanum.
Hawke grinned, sending another wave of magic to push more flowers over the edge of the Gallows roof. She stood at a distance upon the Harbor's cliff walls, surrounded by men and women she had hand-picked to aid her in this effort. They smiled with her, all tired from working through the night, but gratified at the sight of their completed task. None present would whisper a word as to how this event had come to be; nothing about Sandal's enchanted candles, all set to come alight at the same time; nothing about the fields of flowers they'd planted and tended for almost a year outside the city; nothing about the logistics, the maps, the magic, the planning that had gone into making this dawn unlike any other. For a fleeting moment she wondered if this event would make any difference in the grand scheme of things. She decided that it did not matter.
Author's note: Thanks to EasternViolet for editing and beta-ing!
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all of that universe's contents belong to Bioware, I'm just visiting.