Hello, fellow Dragon Age fans. Hope you like. :) It will switch POV from chapter to chapter, between Hawke and his companions.
A bolt of lightning split the sky, its jagged features a harsh white against the deep purple of the early morning sky. The accompanying rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath Garrett Hawke's feet, made windows rattle. It was a fitting beginning to a day that promised to bring a storm of a different nature. The streets were empty, and not just because of the hour. Since the first troops made camp outside the city walls, no one seemed to leave their homes unless necessary. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the streets, a harsh contrast against the dark armor Hawke wore that morning. He never left home without that armor on, though it had nothing to do with fear, but rather the image he projected while donning his Champion armor. While other, less learned nobles may worry of some stray rock or arrow falling from the sky to slay them, Hawke knew better. The Templars had no intention of an actual fight. They were too confident, too full of themselves, to believe Kirkwall would stand against them. They expected to spend a few days camping beneath the walls, or rocking aboard a ship in bay, waiting for the frightened nobles to grow frightened and cede the city to them. And if Hawke tried to rally a force to fight the Templars, to convince the nobles to fight, well, they could handle one man, couldn't they?
Luckily for the Champion of Kirkwall, half the nobles fully believed he could lead them to victory in the coming battle, while the other half were frightened enough to support Hawke, whether they wanted to or not. Those half would need to be watched, and were being watched. Kirkwall may be a large, secure city, but it only took one traitor with sufficient knowledge to allow a small Templar force into the city, dooming them to lose the battle. Hawke would have to keep an eye on them all during this meeting this morning, see which may be hatching a plan even now. At least one of them would be, and likely a group would already have a plan. The merchants were being watched as well as they were the ones suffering the most ever since Hawke ordered the city closed, with no one allowed to enter or leave. Not for the first time in the two weeks since he killed Meredith, Hawke found himself wondering why he agreed to become Viscount. He did not desire such power, did not seek it. There had never been some plan to take power at any point. It just seemed the right thing to do, with Kirkwall in such chaos after the events Anders set in motion, to agree to sit that damnable seat after he was elected. To not do so would render the sacrifices of everyone who fought against Meredith's tyranny meaningless. The Templars would have simply strolled into Kirkwall, murdered every mage within the Gallows, and retaken control, Hawke's fight nothing more than an easily erasable and forgettable blip in the story of the city. Besides, when had Hawke ever refused to do what was right? He would need to learn to say the word no one day, but today was not that day.
The rising shadow of the Viscount's Keep rose before Hawke, the dull glow of torches dim against the darkness. Another flash of lightning, and the entirety of the structure was lit before his eyes, an impressive structure that stood tall amongst the estates of Hightown. Two of the city guard stood flanked the entrance, nodding in Hawke's direction as he entered. Inside the city guard were the only presence to be seen, standing guard at doorways and patrolling the halls. Normally there would be servants scrubbing steps and floors, dusting bookshelves, performing the daunting task of cleaning the massive palace before petitioners arrived, but not that morning. Hawke had closed the Palace to everyone but the City Guard, the only exception being meeting such as the one he was about to attend. Aveline was speaking with three of her men, nodding his way as he passed. She was one of the few of his friends and companions that stuck around to fight this battle, mainly because she was too damn proud to leave. The City Guard were hers, and she would never abandon them. Hawke couldn't have been happier she stayed. Aveline was a veteran soldier, who served in King Cailan Theirin's army at Ostagar. The redheaded warrior had made it her duty to prepare her men for battle, with the Guard's days consisting mainly of nonstop training. While Hawke had also fought in the military, he was no veteran, and having fought alongside the redheaded warrior, he could think of no one he trusted or believed in to train an army than Aveline.
The frightened murmur of the nobles reached Hawke's ears before he opened the door to the larger of two council chambers within the Viscount's Keep. Inside, he found the thirty heads of noble families he had requested the presence of, seated around the massive oval shaped table that dominated the room. Their conversations all stopped immediately, every head turning the Champion's way. At the head of the table stood the Viscount's chair, a horribly oversized monstrosity of elaborate carvings, the herald of Kirkwall stitched into the plush back with golden thread and carved into the armrests. It looked comfortable, until one sat in the cursed thing. In a corner near that chair, Orana stood by to serve them. Hawke took the seat, and a deep breath. "Thank you for coming, my lords and ladies. Let me start by updating you on the situation. As of last night there are a thousand Templar troops encamped outside our walls, with another five hundred mercenaries and poorly armed peasants. More will assuredly arrive in the coming days. Late last night, a messenger appeared at the gates with terms." Hawke nodded at Orana, who handed him the parchment being discussed. "These terms were addressed to 'The Champion and Nobles of Kirkwall.' I am to surrender myself, my companions, those mages within the Circle, open the city gates, and await judgment. All noble families are to stay within their homes and refrain from participation in any battle that may occur, under threat of severe punishment. If these demands are not met within one week, then their army will attack the city."
Once he was done summarizing the contents of the letter, he passed it to the person to his right, letting everyone else read for themselves. "What are the numbers of our own forces?" Lord Harold Phillipe asked, the second youngest of the nobles in the room.
"Seven hundred. Five hundred City Guard, one hundred mercenaries from Bloody Claw, and one hundred volunteers from both your families and Lowtown. In a week, our numbers will approach as much as eleven-hundred, I assure you." At the moment, there were two hundred and fifty recruits in training, and Hawke could get at least another hundred to join and be ready to fight in a week. Although he doubted the Templars would actually attack in one week.
"And what will the Templars number?" Lord Varran asked, a cowardly, fat old man who Hawke fully expected to try and betray the city.
"I cannot accurately predict that number. Certainly much more than we will be able to field. I feel confident that they will not field an overwhelming force, because they are not expecting the fight we will give them." Hawke leaned forward, the chair already bothering him, and folded his hands together on the table. "You've all received your chance to leave already. It is too late to change your mind. If you are having second thoughts, forget them. Understood." The nobles nodded, some with complete conviction and others numbly, fear plain on their faces. Hawke took note of which applied to each of them. "We have food to last months. We have rebuilt the walls around Lowtown over the past two years, and even if Lowtown were to fall we can force the Templars into a long, bloody battle on the steps leading here. We will win this fight, I promise you." What they would do after that, when the Templars regrouped and came back with a bigger army, Hawke could not say. The rest of the meeting was bogged down in a numbers discussion. How much food was in their stores, how many weapons they had, how many soldiers, the amount of gold the merchants, and in turn the nobles, would lose as a result of the city's gates being closed. When the meeting was over, Hawke waited for the others to leave, as always. Once the chamber was empty, he stood, legs asleep and ass numb. Orana was still standing in the corner, silent as ever, but she offered a weak smile in his direction. The two of them left together for the trek back to Hawke's mansion.
The lightning was no longer cracking across the gradually lightening sky, replaced by a light drizzle that steadily increased as Hawke and his servant drew closer to home. Once inside, the Champion was glad to see that a fire was still burning in the hearth. Bodahn was awake, of course, sorting a stack of envelopes on the desk. Hawke asked Orana to help the dwarf cook breakfast, and headed up the stair, a spring in his step. He removed his boots outside the door to his bedroom, and opened the door slowly, as quietly as he could. A loud protest from the hinges announced his failure. Luckily, the beautiful creature in his bed was not awoken, moaning as she rolled over but her eyes staying closed. Hawke took a seat on the bed, studying the features of her face, features he found absolutely lovely, more than any woman he'd ever met. The cute little ears, the perfectly formed lips, the slightly too large nose, the soft expression that he knew from experience could change to one capable of frightening the most hardened warrior. Even with her eyes closed, their green color was burned into his memory. Her light brown hair was disheveled from sleep, making her even more irresistible. As if on command, her eyelids fluttered, slowly opening, two flawless emeralds sleepily staring at him. "Good morning, love," she said.
"Good morning, Vivienne," Hawke responded. He would have lay down next to his wife, but he still had his armor on, and it was too late in the morning to bother taking it all off.
Vivienne sat up in bed, smiling at him, the perfect ivory of her teeth yet another feature he found lovely. Teeth, what a lovestruck fool he had become. "You do not look to be having the best morning, Garrett."
"When am I ever happy after a meeting with my fellow nobles? They are frightened, and I cannot blame them. I expect that at least half of them are trying to sell me out to the Templars, and if that doesn't work they will make plans to flee the city. I expect grave doubts among my most loyal supporters. The only ones truly on my side, who I know will stand by me, are my friends. Aveline knows nothing but duty, and will fight to the end. Bethany is my blood. Merrill is too good natured to betray me. I would have wondered about Varric a few years ago, but while he may not stay around until the end, I know he will be loyal, and face me like a man if he does decide to leave." Hawke couldn't help but wish that Fenris was here. Sebastian was never truly loyal to him, nor was Isabela. Anders was dead because of his foolish actions. While Fenris had not fought against Hawke after the destruction of the Chantry, he had left afterwards, their friendship irreparably damaged.
"I am also by your side, my love," Vivienne said, placing a hand on Hawke's cheek.
"I hope your father is as well."
He regretted the comment immediately, knowing what his wife's reaction would be. As expected, she looked away, removed her hand from his cheek, her smile seamlessly turning into a frown, a frown that always asked the question, "When can we forget the circumstances behind our marriage and just love each other?" In a perfect world, Garret Hawke would be allowed to do just that. This was not a perfect world, however. Vivienne's frown left her face as she threw the blankets off of her and swung out of bed, completely bare. She stopped to give Hawke a kiss on the cheek before gathering her clothes out of the closet and walking into the bathroom, where Hawke could see the steam rising from the bath and smell the fragrances and oils within. Bodahn had already visited that morning, it seemed. Before she closed the door, Hawke stood from the bed and placed his hand on it, keeping the door open. "I'm sorry, my love. I did not mean to cause offense. You know that I love you, that I am only truly allowed to be at peace when I am at home with you, do you not?"
Vivienne smiled her smile again. "I know all of this, and can only hope you know that I feel the same towards you." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, careful not to let her bare skin come in contact with the sharp edges of Hawke's armor. After she had closed the door, the Champion found himself standing there for a few moments, thoughts entirely on his wife of a year. Vivienne Freamin was the only daughter and second child of Anton and Jeanne Freamin, a family whose wealth and influence was among the greatest of the noble families of Kirkwall, and also one of the oldest families as well, their roots having implanted themselves in the city during the final years of the Tevinter Imperium's rule over Kirkwall. Hawke's marriage to Vivienne could be accredited to his mother, despite Leandra Hawke's death years before. Mother had dedicated a lot of time to finding a match for her son, and despite his protests to the idea had never given up. It was through his mother that Hawke first met Vivienne, at a party the Freamins had hosted to celebrate Hawke's ascension to Champion. A purely political affair that Hawke had very nearly skipped out on, but ultimately decided to go to because he had skipped another similar function days earlier. Mother wasted no time in introducing him to a variety of daughters and divorced ladies of various ages, and while Hawke treated them all with respect, he left their presence at the first available opportunity.
Three hours had passed since his arrival at the party before Mother brought Vivienne across the room to meet him, a determined look on her face that told her son she was determined to find someone he liked. Hawke was grateful, because it allowed him a chance to escape a dreadfully boring conversation with three lords whose names he did not even know at the time. The first thing Hawke noticed about his future wife, as Mother made the introductions, was Vivienne's eyes. Such a shining emerald color, with a confidence and belief in herself that Hawke was not used to with the noble ladies Kirkwall. They were all so timid, so nervous, the pressure from the heads of their households on them to impress Hawke. Vivienne seemed right away to be a proud woman who was interested, but would not beg. By the end of the night, Hawke was grinning foolishly, completely infatuated. The two of them spent two hours exchanging small talk of no importance, and that was enough. When the night ended, Hawke found himself stumbling over his words while asking to see her again.
Hawke's genuine interest in Vivienne made their eventual marriage easier, even if the reasons were purely political. Despite his thinking the opposite would happen after Mother's death, the pressure on the Champion of Kirkwall only grew through the years, especially as he found himself the one calming influence within the storm that was Meredith and Orsino's feud. Knowing he would eventually have to choose a side, and knowing he would need the support that a family such as his could provide, Anton Freamin approached Hawke with the marriage proposal. The two of them sat in Hawke's office within his mansion, an untouched platter of cheeses and crackers sitting next to an unopened bottle of the best wine Hawke had in his cellar, while Anton promised the full support of his family if Hawke would marry his only daughter. Obviously this was not to be done out of the goodness of Freamin's heart, he craved the status that being an in-law to the Champion of Kirkwall would bring his family, but Hawke knew that the older man was right. The day would come when he would need to choose a side, and when that day came the support of a noble with Anton's influence would be invaluable. Hawke agreed to the betrothal, the two shaking hands and sealing the pact with a glass of wine. Three months later, in a grand ceremony within Chantry, every important figure in the city in attendance, Garrett Hawke and Vivienne Freamin were married.
Anton Freamin more than lived up to his word in the aftermath of Anders' destruction of the Chantry. Hours after the news reached the rest of the city of Meredith's death at Hawke's hands, the nobles voted Hawke the new Viscount, and were lining up to profess their loyalty. There were some holdouts, but they lasted no more than a day. After Hawke held council with the nobles for the first time, Kirkwall's path was set, and gold, weapons, and children were pledged to the coming battle. Hawke held no illusions that these nobles would stay loyal if the Templars were to breach the city, in fact he expected most of them to sell him out as soon as the chance presented itself, even Anton, but by that point their support would no longer matter. He would have his army. May of these nobles' children had joined Hawke's makeshift army, most of them young, green, and enthusiastic, though some were proven warriors, and he knew he could count on those families to stay loyal, at least.
A knock on the door interrupted Hawke as he was eating his breakfast with his wife, Bethany walking into the kitchen moments after Bodahn opened the door. He stood to greet his sister, as did Vivienne. Leaving his breakfast unfinished, he led Bethany out of the dining room, the two of them walking over to the desk where Hawke's letters still sat unread. "Do you ever read your letters, brother?" Bethany asked.
"Yes, but I like to procrastinate as long as possible," he joked.
"Always the joker, Garrett," Bethany said fondly. "How did your council go this morning?"
"Same as every day. They all support me, half out of belief and idolization and the other half out of fear, both of me and your mages."
"They are not my mages," Bethany said, not for the first time.
"My apologies," Hawke said, a wisecracking smile on his face. "How are things in the Gallows?"
An all too brief smile came to his sister's face. "We are as scared as everyone else, but we are hopeful. What we did, defeating Meredith, it was unthinkable to so many of us. She was the symbol that kept mages cowering in fear. Now that she's dead, the idea of victory, of freedom, it is no longer so laughable, no longer a reality we can only visit in our dreams. You need not worry about whether we will be able to fight, no one will fight harder."
Hawke was glad to hear that, but also a little frightened. If the battle were to grow desperate, the possibility of blood magic and demons running loose through the city was great. With Bethany among a group of seasoned, experienced mages training them for the coming battle, he could only hope the mages retained control of themselves. Hawke took a seat at the desk, exhaling as he did so. "Did you hear about the letter that came?"
Bethany nodded. "I don't suppose we will be surrendering ourselves?" Hawke snorted. "I'm sure a few eyes lit up with opportunity when you read that in council."
"Of course. They are being watched."
"That's good." Bethany walked away from the desk, aimlessly wandering around, stopping to look at various random objects. "I remember how happy Mother was to have this estate back. I wonder what she would think of what is happening. She would probably be just as torn over what to do as the rest of us."
Hawke considered that for a moment. "I believe she would have supported us. Or hope so, anyway. Family and doing the right thing always mattered to her more than status or wealth. I'm sure she would have been the loudest of the voices telling me to stop Meredith, if for no other reason than to make sure you were safe."
Bethany made her way back over to where he sat. "I miss her so much. Even after all these years, I would wake up on the days she used to visit, looking forward to seeing her. We've lost so much, Garrett, and we still find ourselves fighting, never allowed a moment of peace. No matter what happens, I hope we can find a moment of peace when this is over."
"Not very likely," Hawke said. "If we win, the Templars will return. If we lose, we'll either be dead or on the run."
Bethany pushed him gently. "Maker's breath, you cannot indulge me by telling me my fantasy is possible?"
"Sorry." Hawke chuckled. "How about this? If we win, we'll have a week or two of peace while the Templars rebuild their army. If we are on the run, at least we won't be fighting. Maybe we can find an isolated plot of land to live on, away from civilization, where we won't be found."
"You're making running sound like the best option," Bethany joked. Still, it made Hawke think if maybe she was right.
This chapter was a lot of setup, but it was necessary setup. I'll be updating this on a weekly basis, at the latest, review at your leisure, though I'd like to get a solid number of reviews every few chapters, just to be sure people are reading it. No need to be kind, if I've made mistakes or there's something you think I should go a different direction with, let me know. I am always opened to suggestions of any kind, and will take every single suggestion into consideration.