Been forever since I wrote anything but oneshots, but here we go. Let's see how long I'll take this.

For new readers, this is going to be a Bethany-centric multi-chapter fic set in the modern AU first outlined in my oneshot "Born Free and Everywhere in Chains" reading it and its prequel, "Orphic Memories", might give you an edge over other readers in understanding hints and references, but I'll endeavour to keep it from becoming a requirement. Not that I wouldn't like for you to read them, you know. There are, however, some retcons from Born Free, so it's not precisely the same AU. Most importantly, the Mage Rebellion began in 9:37, not 9:34, and Marian Hawke is the Champion of Kirkwall. Viscount Dumar of Kirkwall is alive, Knight-Commander Stannard is not.

I was disappointed with the strength and cleverness of the opposition posed by Corypheus, and the ease with which the Inquisition managed to accomplish all their aims. In keeping with the - I believe - fairly realistic modern setting, I'll try to make the struggle seem more real.

The pairing is Hawkecest. If you're no fan of that, feel free to think of them as stepsiblings or whatever or, you know, just skip the relevant parts.

The awesome cover image is called "The Light Shall Lead Her", and was made by my good friend sumenya over on deviantArt.

The opening quote is from Tito's aria "Se all'impero" from Mozart's opera La Clemenza di Tito. Rough translation: "If, to rule, oh dear gods, / a harsh heart is required / then take from me the empire / or give me another heart."


Se all'impero, amici dei,

necessario è un cor severo

o togliete a me l'impero,

o me date un altro cor.


Over the village of Haven, a dark grey helicopter of the Royal Ferelden Air Force took flight.

How long had it been now?, Hawke wondered, looking down at the snow-covered village below them. The last memory she could recall before the darkness, before … it … had been of her audience with the Divine early in the morning. Outside, the sun stood at its zenith. Just over a day, then? Her watch had been taken from her, as had her phone, so there was no way to be sure. Just as long as … just as long as …

Oh, damn it. Her rambling strain of thought interrupted, Hawke's attention returned to the pulsing pain emanating from her left palm. Part of it was physical, like ice in her veins and fire on her skin. That part of the pain was simple enough to bear, even weakened and wearied as she was. On the other side … ripples in the Veil caused by a wellspring of living mana, if she had to describe it. It was sensory overload, nausea and electric shock all at once. Every now and then, she felt herself drifting, saw things – rather, ideas of things, or flickers of ideas of things – that didn't belong. It felt as though she wasn't quite here nor there, nor properly in-between, wherever that might be. Whatever that thing on her palm was, it was curving Reality around itself.

"Ma'am? Enchanter Hawke, are you listening to me?" Startled, Hawke looked up at the woman seated across from her, by the open door. There was little about her that did not serve to intimidate. If Templar uniforms were mildly disturbing in their rigid plainness, the Seeker's perfectly-pressed black uniform took the cake, court-martialled it for seditious sweetness and had it executed. Her sidearm and the ceremonial dirk at her belt looked rather more worn than Hawke was comfortable with, and her posture was as straight and imperious as something very straight and imperious indeed. The Seeker's permanent scowl had now chosen her as its next victim.

"Ah … I'm sorry. I was … distracted. Please, you were saying?"

The Seeker's scowl only deepened. Hawke told herself that the woman had been nothing but fair to her, even removing her handcuffs, and that some people were just naturally grim. It didn't help much. "The scouting parties last checked in at 1050 respectively 1115," the Seeker shouted over the noise of the helicopter's engines. "They are currently presumed KIA. The whole area is overrun."

Hawke glanced down at the ground beneath them. The craggy slopes of the Frostbacks flew past like water. "What if they're still alive?"

"Then we'll find them on the way up. We are going to require some additional firepower one way or the other, if we are to get you to the Temple safely. We are approaching the FOB now, that's the closest landing site. Unless you want to abseil into the Temple, we'll have to make the rest of the way on foot." Turning briefly to look out of the door, the Seeker then sharply rapped against the door to the cockpit. A light tremor went through the helicopter as it descended.

"I … think I prefer that," Hawke managed to say, holding on to her seat. She wasn't used to losing her balance, but it was a lot harder to maintain a sense of the Earth's gravitational pull when you weren't sure which direction the Earth was in. "What's the situation near the Temple?"

"I know as much as you do. The volunteers that found you were the last scouting party before we had to retreat down the mountain. Everything we've sent up to the summit, we've lost contact with soon after, and we're still trying to access satellite imagery. In all likelihood, demons are thick on the ground."

"Maker above … what on Earth could have caused this? A thaumic bomb?"

"Possible. It doesn't match the effects of any kind of thaumic weapon I have ever heard of. We are trying to get our hands on an expert from the White Spire, Orlesian missile command or the ITEA. For now, we're treating it as an unspecified arcane calamity. What matters is that we get that Breach closed, soon."

Hawke looked down at the mark on her hand. It was pulsating with mana and otherworldly light, sending jagged shocks through her arm every time it did so. And the Breach was still growing minute by minute. "Do you really think I can help?"

The Seeker gave her a long, hard look. The helicopter touched down at the forward camp, raising dust and snow around it. "I don't know," the woman eventually shouted over the furious flapping of the rotors. "But every time the Breach expands, so does the mark upon your hand. There is some kind of sympathetic relationship between them. Maybe you've got a tiny rift growing inside you, maybe it's some kind of scar. No matter what it is, you're our best bet. Unless you have a better idea?"

The forward operating base was located in what had been a small alpine blockhouse along the road leading up to the Temple, until debris from the explosion had blown off the roof. A small, relatively even area had been cleared to allow helicopters to land, and small groups of mercenaries, Templars and policemen were lounging around the site. As Seeker Pentaghast led Hawke to the hut, she could feel their glares on her, saw their dark looks. Those men and women had found their culprit.

Inside the blockhouse, or what remained of it, a rudimentary command centre had been established. Power cables connected a small, loud generator placed outside to an array of laptops and radios around the hut. As they entered, a redheaded woman in a light grey duffle coat rose looked up from her screens to greet them. There was something familiar about her, and particularly about that heavy Orlesian accent of hers, that Hawke couldn't quite place. "Good to see you. Did you get through alright?"

Clearly, Seeker Pentaghast had no time for pleasantries. "Give me a status report. What's the latest position of our scouts?"

If the other woman was piqued, she didn't show it. Hawke suspected that the Seeker used this sort of tone with everyone. "We've lost contact with a section of volunteers we sent to scout along one of the hiking paths, and another group containing," and here she threw a quick glance at Hawke, "our special associates along the main road. The commander went off looking for them ten minutes ago, and hasn't reported in since."

"Then we'll have to rendezvous with them on the way up. Getting Miss Hawke here to the Temple is our top priority now. If we head along the main road, we can pick up the commander and one of the scouting parties along the way."

"That's where the demons will be strongest," the redhead pointed out. "There's another way, the hiking path that Knight-Corporal Trevelyan's group took. It reconnects with the main road just short of the Temple ruins. That way, you can slip past the majority of enemy forces." For a moment, the Seeker seemed conflicted. "The commander took almost an entire platoon with him, and the apostate is quite capable himself. With any luck, you'll meet near the Temple."

"An apostate?," Hawke echoed.

The woman shrugged. "Aren't all of you apostates, these days? We do need all the help we can get. Anyway, which will it be – the main road or the hiking path?"

Hawke glanced at the Seeker. How odd to think that an hour ago she had been kneeling on the floor in a damp cellar, her hands and feet bound. "The hiking path does sound like it'll be safer. And someone needs to find out what happened to the scouting party there, right?"

For an instant, Seeker Pentaghast glared at her, then scoffed. "Very well. Leliana, keep me appraised of any news from the commander. We will try and assist as needed, but we can't get tied down in fighting."

"You think I should send some reinforcements after them? There's a battalion of RFA paras due to arrive in an hour, but until then I can send some of my people in the chopper."

"A handful of your agents won't make much of a difference. The commander and I will handle it. You sit tight here and try to get some solid satellite data for us."

"Will do. Oh, just a sec." She skipped over to her workstation and rummaged around in a mess of keyboards, mice and cables for a moment before producing a gun and handing it to Hawke. "Here, take this. Magic or not, a bit of firepower never hurt anyone. Well, you know what I mean."

Hawke found herself staring at the pistol. There was no denying that she had killed people before, more than she cared to admit. And demons – well, demons weren't even people, were they? But she had always done so with magic. A gift the Maker had given her to help, not an implement made for murder. "That's … not really my thing," she managed to say, even as the Seeker snorted with distaste.

"Take it anyway. It would be the act of a suicide to go up there unarmed."

"Do it. We need to get going. You've got my frequency?"

"I do. Maker go with you."

"And with you."

Hesitantly, Hawke shoved the gun in her trousers' waistband. That's how they did it on the telly, wasn't it? The Seeker beckoned her to follow, and silently they began their long walk up the mountain. Once they left the FOB and the main road up to the Temple behind, the snow soon reached up to their knees. All the time, the Breach stood above them, bathing the mountain in an unearthly green light.

"Keep your guard up," the Seeker warned her when she briefly turned around to look down at the valley (and quietly discard the gun into the snow). Scarcely anything seemed to have been spared by the explosion. "The demons we are dealing with are cunning, and not above ambushing us." She scoffed. "I would have thought … well. With your experiences from Kirkwall …"

"That was a long time ago."

"Four years? That's when the Circle fell."

But that had been different, Hawke thought to herself. There had been no choice about fighting then, and others, old friends and companions, watching her back. After that? She'd been staying out of trouble. The handful of blood mages and violent apostates she'd brought in with the MCIS hardly counted, her handler had done most of the work on that. No, the last time she had fought in earnest had been years ago, in the darkest alleys and hovels of Kirkwall's Lowtown, trying to distil some order from the chaos. At least, that had been the justification. Now, she wasn't sure just which side they had been on. She swallowed, briefly touched the old, frayed red silk scarf around her neck. "Let's move on, shall we?"

It did not take long for them to encounter opposition. The Seeker noticed them first, stopping Hawke in her tracks with an outstretched arm. "Shades, three of them. Should be trivial enough." She quickly surveyed the area. The shades, shambling, shapeless creatures, had not noticed them yet, and wafted about a half-overturned fir tree further along the path. "I'll get their attention," the Seeker decided. "You, do your magic."

Get their … before Hawke could finish the thought, Seeker Pentaghast had drawn her handgun and stomped off in the direction of the demons. 'Getting their attention' turned out to involve simply approaching the shades and opening fire. Hurriedly, Hawke followed, raised her aching hands and gathered her mana. One of the shades reached out for the Seeker, even as her bullets tore through its flesh and cut its hide to rags – Winter's Grasp! A thin layer of ice spread across the shade's hide, and, hopefully, froze whatever flowed in its veins as it slowly ground to a halt …

Pentaghast's next shot stroke true, and shattered the shade into a thousand crystalline pieces.

By now, however, its brethren had caught up to them, one going after the Seeker, the other … where was the other? … she had a terrible suspicion that it was right behind her. Fireball.

A mangled whine told her that it had, indeed, been right behind her. Whirling around, she found herself face-to-slime with a brightly burning shade. The flames rolling up its hide like fire did not seem to concern it, as it lunged forwards at her. Slightly startled, Hawke stumbled backwards, tripped over something buried in the snow and fell. Oh, she did not need this right now.

She narrowly avoided the swipe of a burning claw, tried to regain her concentration. Supposing the demon weighed around sixty kilograms, the force required was … oh, screw this. With rather more force than would have been strictly necessary, Hawke reached out and cast Fist of the Maker.

The spell almost knocked the air out of her, but more importantly resulted in the shade being lifted off the ground for a few moments, before slamming back onto it. Even with the thick snow cushioning its fall, Hawke had to wipe bits of demonic essence of her clothes before turning to see how the Seeker was doing.

Having concluded that her pistol did not do the demons much harm, Seeker Pentaghast had drawn the dirk at her waist. Hawke wasn't sure if she was surprised to see that, rather than the ceremonial weapons the Templars wore with their uniforms, this dagger was visibly sharp and practical. The Seeker seemed to fire, reload and thrust at the shade all in the same movement, and it was over within a blur.

Hawke rose to her feet, patting some of the snow off her coat. "Glad that's over."

The Seeker gave her an incredulous glance. "They were mere shades, and only three of them. There are thousands of demons out there. It is not even close to 'over'."

Biting her lips, she nodded. There was a brief pause. Then, Seeker Pentaghast snorted and resumed the hike up the mountain path. The area was densely forested, and with each of their steps, snow-laden tree branches dropped their loads.

It did not take long until they reached the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, now reduced to its foundations, and with it, the sounds of fighting. To the crackle of a machine gun, the Seeker and Hawke broke into a run. The roar of a demon, frantically shouted commands.

They left the treeline behind to find what might once have been a place for weary hikers to rest their legs. Now, it was a battleground. A motley squad of volunteers had set up a haphazard defensive position, but it was apparent that they were barely holding even as tens of demons were felled by gunfire and lightning bolts. Opposite it, just a few metres away, was … something. Her eyes told Hawke that it was like a tear had opened in the air, surrounded by wafts of green light. Her magic, and the mark on her hand, told her it was a piece of the Fade come into this world. Like it was both there and not there. But that's impossible … oh, sweet Maker, is that what the Breach is like? Mesmerised, Hawke raised her marked hand at it, and felt an ache, like a magnetic pull, drawing her towards the tear …

Pentaghast grabbed her by her arm, and quickly the Seeker and Hawke made their way to the soldiers' position, dropping into cover behind what looked like a snow-covered park bench strengthened by sleeping bags. One of the fighters, by appearance the only human amongst them, hurried to their side. Hawke barely recognised the familiar Templar uniform under the splatters of blood and demonic essence as he threw a haphazard salute. "Ser, Knight-Corporal Trevelyan! We were scouting the side paths when that thing opened up an hour ago, demons have been pouring out like we're handing out freebies ever since. Are you our backup?"

Reloading her gun, the Seeker ignored his question to take a few pot-shots over the bench. "We need to break through to the Temple," she shouted over the roar of the guns and the demons. "Can we count on your assistance to get there? It is vital that the prisoner here get to the Breach in one piece."

She blushed at that, and avoided the Templar's glance. "Not sure how we'll do that, ser, but we'll bloody well try. Hey, Lavellan! How's our ammo?"

"What do you ask me for?," a Dalish elf to the side yelled back, even as she yanked her rifle around to land a bullet in a shade's head, or rather, what would have been its head if it were a mortal. "Low, I guess. Won't be keeping for long, at the rate they're coming for us, that's for sure."

"I'm a mage," Hawke pointed out. "Bullets seem to go right through those things, but maybe if I set up a Wall of Fire around the tear …"

"Handgun bullets, you mean? We've been doing fine with rifle rounds. Still, you think it'll help? Be my guest. Adaar here," he thumped at an intimidatingly tall ox- Qunari woman behind him, who seemed to be taking the opportunity for a quick lyrium potion, "already tried something like that, but she couldn't keep it up for long. Maybe if you two work together, we contain them, buy us some time."

Hawke glanced at the Seeker, who nodded her approval. "Do it."

Staying in cover, she hurried over to the Qunari. "How's your mana?," she asked, trying to formulate a plan. It looked as if demons were appearing out of thin air every few seconds in a wide radius around the centre of the rift. How large would their barrier have to be? Could the demons appear up in the air, or were they bound to the ground? They've got mass, stupid. You can deal with them if they have mass.

The Qunari looked up at her with some surprise. "I … about fifty per cent, maybe?"

"How many kilothaums?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nevermind then." Likely a hedge mage, then, Hawke thought. She had been lucky, but she'd heard stories of some apostates being trained with grimoires dating all the way back to the Fourth Blight. "You think you're good to go?"

"Yes. I heard what Ser Trevelyan said, and I shall do my utmost. I will take the left side, like this?"

Hawke followed the Qunari's gesture and nodded. "Fine by me. On three …"

"Lavellan, Cadash!," the Templar shouted at his comrades, "covering fire!"

On the count of three, the two mages jumped from their cover, and at once set to encircle the rift in a ring of fire. What demons attempted to cross out of the circle were quickly picked off by Lavellan or Cadash, and for a brief moment at least there was no demon to be seen. Rising to her feet, the Seeker waved at the others to follow. "Let's move while they're occupied!"

"Oh, for … grab your gear and move it, guys!"

As the soldiers ran for it, Hawke kept an eye on the circle of fire. It was holding the demons in, but only just. Biting her lip, she glanced at the rift. It was a bit like a black hole, wasn't it? Only except of leading who knows where, it led to the Fade. Maybe she could … well, it was worth a try, at least. Raising her hands, focusing, Hawke took a deep breath and focused on the rift. From the way it felt, it had no mass of its own, and she had not expected it to. Still, the air, the ground around it … finding what she had sought a grim smile appeared on her face. She raised her hands to perform the required gestures, her thoughts channelled mana, and she cast Pull of the Abyss.

Or would have, anyway.

Her left hand lit up like a lantern as she raised it towards the rift. The rift seized on it, as though it was attempting to swallow her whole, and something entered her body. It was not mana, not as she understood it, but it was similar, in a sense. It was the difference between … what was this? It was what the ocean was to a glass of water, or a lucid dream to a movie, or a Qunari curry to a Fereldan pie. The last comparison was, perhaps, the most appropriate, for the blood in her veins seemed to have caught on fire. Hawke screamed. Her legs gave out under her, but she barely noticed as she tried to remove her hand from the rift, as every cell in her body seemed to burst under the deluge of otherworldly energy –

And then, it was over. Her hand clutched to her chest as the pain subsided, Hawke raised her gaze at the rift. A faint shimmer of Veilgleam still stood in the air, but even now she could feel the Veil mending its tears.

Slowly, the others stepped to her side, the elf Lavellan helped her to her feet. "Praise the Maker … He smiles upon us still," Trevelyan whispered, going down on one knee.

"You did it …," said the Seeker, quietly. "You closed a rift. So you can help us …"

When she attempted to reply, a violent cough interrupted her. "That wasn't me," she rasped, once she had recovered. "I have no idea what happened there. It's the mark …"

"I wouldn't worry about that. You will learn to control it. Lessen the pain. I am sure of it. What's important is that we now have a way to fight back and, hopefully, close the Breach. Through you, the Maker walks with us."

Hawke steadied herself, took a deep breath. After that brief initial shock, her body did not hurt, barring her hand, nor did her mind. "I pray you are right, ser."

The Seeker looked up at the Breach in the sky. "It is all the more urgent that we get to the Breach. I hope our people up there are alright. Trevelyan, you and the dwarf take point." With this, they gathered the rest of their gear and resumed their long hike up the mountain.

They walked in each other's footsteps; even so, they made slow progress through the thick cover of snow, Hawke walking in the group's middle between the Templar Trevelyan and the elf, Lavellan. "You're the woman we pulled out of the Fade, aren't you?," the elf eventually asked with little candour. "The survivor."

"You were there?"

"The shem and I, yeah. First on the scene. No need to thank us, after what you did to that rift there we're more than even."

"Still, thanks." Hawke paused. "So, uh, you're Dalish?"

"Did the attitude give me away, ma'am? I'm real Dalish alright, not like those flatears who paint vallaslin on their faces and claim they're one with nature. Clan Lavellan."

"I … I didn't mean to be rude. I had a very good friend who was Dalish. If I may ask, what brought you to the conclave?"

"You mean what's a Dalish doing mingling with all your human nobs? Keeping an eye on them, mostly. Get too many shemlen in one place, usually means shit's about to hit the fan. And since shem politicians like to wave their pricks around, that hurts the clans. So we like to be prepared. Lavellan, at least. Won't hear many elvhen care about human politics."

"So … you were a spy?"

She laughed. "I guess? None of that cloak and dagger stuff, I'm afraid. It's mostly just sitting around a lot and sending a few messages home when interesting stuff happens. Besides, I'm not the only one. Cadash there's Carta, and he's got the missing fingers to prove it. Mages and Templars fighting means a lot of the blue stuff, which means a lot of dwarves are suddenly very rich, and the Carta would like to keep it that way. And the big girl behind me's a Qunari spy, plotting to make us all into mindless servants of the Qun."

"That is not true," the Qunari mage responded with calm indignation, and to the sound of quiet sniggering from Trevelyan and Cadash up front, "And I do not know how I have given you cause to think so. I am a …"

"Yes, yes, a merc, we get it. Don't mind her, ma'am, she's a bit slow on the uptake as regards these things. Anyhow, that's why we didn't end up as demon-fodder. The nobs at the Temple wouldn't let us ordinary people in, and look where that got them."

"That's rather macabre," Trevelyan chided from up front. "A lot of people died up there."

"We didn't," the elf pointed out. "Sucks to be one of those guys, but I'm not going to be all mopey about not being a perfectly well-done hunk of elf steak."

"I prefer my elves bloody," the dwarf Cadash said. "Keeps the flavour intact."

"Not me, though!," Lavellan cheerfully replied. "Far too stringy."

Seeker Pentaghast snorted. "Cut the chatter. We're in enemy territory."

Hawke wasn't sure the demons were listening in on them, but no one dared to push their luck. The Seeker was in a foul mood, not that she could blame her.

Shortly afterwards, the hiking path rejoinder the main road. Most of the area around the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been closed off behind a security cordon for the Conclave, but even so the road was lined with abandoned vehicles in various states of ruin. Between them, demons, but with their efforts joined with those of Trevelyan's squad, they continued to make good progress. All along, they found evidence of another group that had followed their path upwards: footsteps in the snow, empty casings, cigarette butts. Each time they chanced upon further evidence of the other scouts' group, the Seeker urged them to hurry.

Thus, and through the benefit of the road, it took them less than half an hour until they discovered the next rift in the Fade, and with it the next group of scouts, beset by demons. As they hurried to join the fight, and Hawke prepared her first spells, she recognised her surroundings as the remains of what had been the first part of the Temple complex, a guesthouse for pilgrims and, lately, some of the less important observers to the Conclave. This was where Hawke's quarters would have been, if not for her family name … Now, though, the guesthouse had been ruined to its foundations. With every step, shards of glass from the building's façade cracked under her boots. The rift had opened up in the middle of the refectory, and the surviving scouts were using sundered, overturned tables as rudimentary cover and barricades. A handful of corpses had been laid out behind the remains of a stainless steel buffet, and some distance from them, the wounded were being cared for. Even so, Hawke thought, the remaining men did not look overly desperate, or frightened – only tired. Shards of ice suggested the presence of a mage among them, though there was no time to examine the Veil in detail.

Instead, she stepped forwards, raised her hand – focused on the rift –

This time, she was prepared for the magical shock that entered her arm as the mark on her palm appeared to be swallowed by the Fade. Even so, it knocked the air out of her lungs and made her blood boil. Grinding her teeth, she managed to keep her hand steady. She felt the Veil bending around her, mending itself, reasserting its reality – and then it was done.

Shaken, Hawke took a step back and looked up at the sundered sky. The Breach seemed to grow by the minute, each time sending ripples of energy into her – into the mark. Already, it seemed to eclipse the sun, bathing the snowy peaks of the Frostbacks in an eerie green. The second time had been easier than the first, but still …

"Fascinating," an unfamiliar voice said beside her. She looked down to find a bald-headed elf in a worn brown jumper standing next to her. "May I?" Without waiting for a reply, he took her left arm by the wrist and inspected the mark. "It is still growing, unfortunately. But it is a good thing that you were able to seal the rift. I had hoped as much. Do you know how you do it?"

"I … no. It just sort of happens. It's like I'm reaching into the Fade …"

"And you would be the authority on that, I imagine. We live in interesting times, don't you agree?" A smile appeared on his face. "Apologies. My manners are a bit rusty. My name is Solas." He reached out his hand.

"Hawke," she replied, shaking it briefly. "You, er, seem to know a lot about this mark?"

"I have studied it, however briefly …"

The other voice was rather more familiar. "What he means by that is that he kept it from killing you while you slept."

It would have been difficult to put her reaction to paper. She turned to face the voice with shocked stiffness, a lump in her throat the size of the Frostbacks. "Varric …," she aspirated, "Blessed Andraste, what on earth are you doing here?"

The dwarf had stepped out from behind the cover of an overturned dining table and nonchalantly strolled towards them, his darling old repeating crossbow shouldered. Despite the cold, he was wearing his customary coat and open shirt, and had a wide grin on his face. The years had been kind to him. "It's good to see you too. It's been a while … Sunshine."

It was like a spell had been broken. Forgotten was the jaded cynicism she had acquired since Kirkwall, forgotten were the Breach and the Divine. Bethany Hawke giggled like a young girl, dropped to one knee and embraced the dwarf. "Sweet Maker, it's been so long … I never thought I'd see you again."

He patted her back. "And right back at you. You know I've been trying to contact you? You kinda dropped off the radar after Kirkwall."

Bethany bit her lip. Their flight from Kirkwall … that was not a thing she remembered with much fondness. They had been together, at first. All had taken part in the revolt, whether by choice or not, and all except for dear Aveline had had to flee the Chantry's retribution. She still recalled the midnight meeting in Viscount Dumar's office, all of them still weary and bloodied from the fighting. The viscount had offered them sherry, she recalled. Who drank sherry after such a battle? At that time, they had been united, but once they had left Kirkwall's borders behind, Fenris had left, and Isabella had taken her ship north again. Merrill had gone who-knew-where, gone back to hiding in archives and museums once again. Then Anders had disappeared one night, to everyone's relief. Even so, Varric had gone after him, and then only the two of them had been left.

That, of course, had not ended well.

"I was hiding out," she replied, rather lamely. "I … spent some time at Redcliffe. Giving a hand here and there, you know. I was here on the Grand Enchanter's orders. Celebrity endorsement and all that, I guess."

The dwarf snorted. "I hear you. Anyway, it's good to see you."

Seeker Pentaghast had joined them after seeing to the soldiers. "I didn't expect to find you here, Varric," she scolded. "You should have told me."

"Really, Seeker? I distinctly remember you telling me to make myself useful."

The Seeker snorted. "Need I remind you that you are still technically my prisoner?"

"Hey, you got to play the hand you've been dealt. Now, I think there's a giant hole in the sky that needs closing?"

"Sooner would be better," Solas agreed. "Has the commander given the order to march yet?"

Another familiar voice replied from behind her. "He has. We're leaving a squad to watch over the wounded, but we can't stop here." Bethany froze. That was a voice she had not heard in a long time. Or hoped to hear. They'd gotten along alright, Bethany told herself, they'd been colleagues and partners for six years. He'd saved her life, once. And yet … on the back of her neck, an old scar, long healed, seemed to open and burn again, the sole remnant of a wound inflicted long ago. Well, self-inflicted, in a sense.

Taking a deep breath, she turned around, trying to keep her face expressionless. "Knight-Commander," Bethany said, carefully controlled. "It's … been a while."

Ser Cullen had not been unchanged by the last three years. Dark rings stood under his eyes, which were aflame with grim determination. He still – no, he didn't. This was probably the first time she had ever seen him in civilian clothing. Even so, the way he wore his overcoat and the suit beneath it looked impossibly uniform-like.

Though he did not look surprised, he avoided her gaze. "Enchanter Hawke. It's, uh … been quite a while, hasn't it?," he echoed back at her.

"It has, hasn't it."

"Quite." He gave a quiet cough. Varric had to turn away to hide his sniggering. "Anyway, we've got some idea of where ground zero was. From what you did to that rift earlier, I imagine we're trying to get you there. We can march at your command."

The Seeker nodded. "We can't afford to linger here. Have them form up."

"They are volunteers, but I'll get them moving. Somehow. Hawke." The Templar turned away.

"Well," Varric commented, "that wasn't awkward at all."

"We didn't part on the best of terms, not exactly. I'm just glad he didn't shout at me. Maker knows he has good reason to."

With a few shouted command, Ser Cullen managed to form the survivors up in two files, one on each side of the road. Bethany had little appreciation for military drill, despite having been under Templar protection for six years. Much of it seemed pointless. Marian had served, of course, but she had never talked about her time in the army. Even so, despite her lack of understanding, it was obvious to Bethany that few of the survivors had much military experience, either: excepting a handful of low-ranked Templars, most of them appeared to be Haven police or local volunteers. Most of them carried handguns of some description. Bethany knew enough about guns from Marian to know that Lavellan with her hunting rifle and Cadash with his machine gun were the only ones appropriately armed.

She filed in between Varric and Solas, and Ser Cullen shouted something along the lines of 'Without step, for-WARD!'. Slowly, the two columns began to move. Ahead of them, the ruins of the main Temple were already clearly visible against the Breach. Of the centuries-old edifice, only the foundations, piles of rubble and a few towering, crumbling arches remained. It nearly brought a tear to Bethany's eyes. She hadn't been here for long – just a few weeks, in the run-up to the Conclave. And yet … she barely remembered the last few days. Only the Divine, radiating holy purpose wherever she had gone. She had been so beautiful, so kind. Somehow, Bethany knew, her forgiveness counted for more than twenty years of doubt and guilt. Through her, Andraste Herself had spoken to her.

And yet, the Maker had seen fit to take Justinia away, and everyone else who had been at the Temple, excepting herself, poor sinner that she was. Where was the justice in that?

"So," Solas asked after a while, "by all reasonable accounts, you entered the Fade in the flesh. How much of it do you remember?"

Bethany frowned, glanced over her shoulder. "People keep saying that. I always thought the ancient magisters who brought the Blight were the only ones to ever physically enter the Fade." She blushed a little. "And I did not use blood magic, I swear it!"

The elf chuckled. "I did not mean to suggest you had. But if you didn't, then someone else did. The explosion was not caused by the Breach, it fuelled it. There is more power in the sudden, violent deaths of so many than in any blood magic ritual I know of. Even so, it should not have sufficed to tear open the sky, and send you into the Fade."

"Something to ponder then," Varric said. "Later."

Bethany bit her lip. What Solas had said made sense. All magic was, strictly speaking, endothermic. To lift a rock in the air by a metre, the same energy had to be expended as if one lifted it by hand. Normally, a mage drew that energy from the Fade, limited only by her mana and any lyrium pills she may have taken beforehand. A blood mage, on the other hand, drew his power from the very life of his victims, bypassing the Fade entirely. All magic, however, reshaped the Veil around it. She could not even begin to comprehend the amount of energy that must have been required to tear the Veil asunder, send a person to the Fade in the flesh. According to the ancient histories, the magisters who became the first Darkspawn had sacrificed thousands of slaves and tons of lyrium to commit their sacrilege, and even they had not torn open the sky. There had to be some sort of focus, some sort of trick. Maybe the explosion had been a primer, so to speak, to get the Veil to tear itself apart?

She realised she was thinking of all those who had been lost – including the Divine – as fuel already. It was enough to send a shiver down her spine. That's how a blood mage thinks. The magisters, like that Corypheus monster from the Warden prison, had thought nothing of scaling the walls of the Golden City across a mountain of corpses.

They entered the remains of the Temple. Bethany was hard-put to make out the two crumbling pillars they marched between as the remains of the main portal. What may have happened to the Sacred Ashes? Surely the Maker would not have suffered the mortal remnants of His beloved to be profaned thus.

But He had not saved Justinia, either.

Something cracked beneath her feet. Bethany looked down. It looked like wood, burned to charcoal … wood with fingers. She froze. "Don't look, Sunshine," Varric told her. It was hard not to. The … thing blended into the ashes and the rubble around it, but one could still make out the shape of a human body. Taking a deep breath, Bethany looked up. That pile of rubble – that broken pillar – that shattered statue … now, she could see the people in them, still trapped in their last poses. Some were still burning, or glowing with embers. Oh, Maker … this was just like those pictures she had seen of bombed-out Vyrantium at the end of the Great War, wasn't it? Like someone had detonated a thaumic bomb at the Temple. Except this was not some grainy old monochrome photograph, but gruesome death in glorious colour and high definition.

"Don't worry, Sunshine. We'll make whoever did this pay." Bethany bit her lip, reached for the faded red neckerchief, then stopped herself.

Ahead of them, Ser Cullen gave the order to halt. The Breach was now almost directly above their heads. Following a curious Varric, Bethany headed to the front of the column, where Ser Cullen and Seeker Pentaghast were inspecting the situation. Rubble had blocked the passage along the central nave of the Temple. Even so, one could plainly see the rift that had opened up where the sanctum had been, simply by following the whirlwind-like vortex reaching down from the Breach. "We'll have to go around," Cullen was saying as they approached.

The Seeker glanced at her. "No time. The Breach is growing by the minute, and new rifts are opening up all over Thedas. We need to do this now. A small party will be able to scale the rubble. Hawke, Varric and Solas go with me, Trevelyan's team takes the right. The rest of you will have to find another way and support us as best you can."

There was a small pause, then Cullen nodded. "As you say, Seeker. May the Maker go with you."

"And with you. Let's get moving."

As Ser Cullen lead his remaining scouts to find a way around the obstruction, the Seeker began to scale the rubble. The others followed in her footsteps, carefully avoiding loose stones. The pile was barely two metres tall, but with every two steps forwards, they seemed to be sliding one and a half step back. By the time Bethany reached the ridge at the top of it, she was breathing hard. The way down, thankfully, was considerably easier, due to a conveniently-toppled pillar.

And then, they stood before the rift, the original rift.

The innermost sanctum of the Temple, Bethany had heard, was located below the ground, in a cavernous chapel hewn into the mountain. She had never been there herself. It was sacrilege for the impure, or unrepentant sinners, to enter there. After last morning, however, after Her Perfection had absolved her … well, that was beside the point, wasn't it? They had to get down there, sacrilege or not.

Part of the balustrade on the upper floor was still standing. Cullen's group had found a way up there, apparently, and were taking up positions behind it. She briefly caught his eye, he looked focused and calm. Well, good for him. To their right, Trevelyan's group of volunteers had followed them across the rubble. Lavellan glanced at the rift and levelled her worn old hunting rifle.

"I don't see any demons," Bethany said, shivering.

Varric snorted. "Bet you ten to one it'll throw a pride demon at us the moment we let our guard down."

"I wouldn't take that bet."

Following the Seeker, they jumped down into the innermost sanctum, or what remained of it. Bethany wished she had her staff with her, but she'd thrown it away not long after Kirkwall. "Solas," she called out, "are you sure closing this tear will also close the Breach?"

"It's worth a try, is it not?"

"Encouraging."

Behind them, Adaar bristled. "This place feels wrong." Bethany could not help but agree. She could feel the frayed edges of the Veil around her, neither real nor unreal. A slight buzzing sound seemed to fill the air, and it did not take her long to find the source of it. Jagged spikes of bright red crystal protruded from the ground. The air was humming around them. They, too, were not properly here. "Varric," she called out, "is that …"

"Red lyrium. Just like the stuff Meredith wore around her neck. What's it doing here?" He scoffed. "Oh, bloody hell. Just don't touch it, okay?" Bethany nodded. All raw lyrium was dangerous to handle. It radiated Fade energy. Stay near it too long, and your cancer risk shot through the roof. And the red stuff … she was steering clear of that, even in its processed form.

Slowly, weapons at the ready, they approached the rift. Already, she could feel it tugging at the mark on her hand. Bethany shared a look with the Seeker, who nodded. "Do it."

She stepped forward and took a deep breath. Then, she raised her hand …

Something materialised behind her. "Oh, for fuck's sake …," Varric muttered, even as the cry of "Pride demon!" was taken up by the others.

Bethany had fought pride demons before, though always at the side of Marian, and thus knew what was coming. She narrowly dodged the first lash of the roaring beast's lightning whips. "Fire at will!," someone shouted, but was already drowned out by the demon's roar and the sound of dozens of magazines being emptied at it. Even so, the demon barely seemed to feel the rounds burying themselves in its hide as it turned towards Bethany …

"In the name of the Maker, fight me, beast!" The Seeker! She had drawn her pistol, but the hand she pointed at the demon was empty but for a bright golden shimmer. The demon halted in its tracks, looked over its spiked shoulder, then turned with the grace of a mountain and stormed towards Seeker Pentaghast. Oh, sweet Maker, there was no way that could end well …

Even as she thought this, however, the Seeker had dived to the side to avoid the first blow, coming to her feet again after a perfectly executed sideways roll. Well, colour her impressed. Bethany gathered herself and cast a Fireball at the demon. This, at least, it seemed to feel. Beside her, Solas opened into a barrage of ice spikes.

If one had asked her how long the battle lasted, Bethany would have guessed at an hour, maybe two. Over and over, the demon seemed to lash out, at times taking two or three volunteers at once down. Over and over again, they hit it with spells and weapons until it finally went down. In truth, it took perhaps three minutes until the pride demon staggered, fell, and finally was banished. Stumbling a few steps backwards, Bethany tried to catch her breath. Oh, Maker, how much she had forgotten …

"Quickly now!," someone shouted. "Close the rift, before more come through!"

Right, she thought, turning around. The rift was still pulsing with raw energy, and this time she could tell just by looking at it that it was safe to approach for the moment. Bethany took a deep breath and raised her hand.

It was all over in a flesh. With the Fade, darkness enveloped her. There was an explosion, and then silence.

Except for the voice.

When she would later tell others about it, they would point out that she was delirious. That all sorts of things were happening around her, and that the human mind was treacherous and deceitful. None of it mattered. The woman's voice was golden, if sound could have a colour, and it was burning with the fire of a thousand suns, if words could burn. It said:

Fear not, for I am watchful. You have been chosen.

And then, darkness.


Some notes:
1) Thaumic weapons, in case you didn't get it, are this world's analogue to nukes. Current thaumic powers are: the Empire of Orlais (and, by extension, the Andrastian Chantry), the Tevene Republic, the Qun. The dwarves of Orzammar and Nevarra are both believed to possess thaumic weapons, but their arsenals (if they exist) are far smaller than those of their more powerful neighbours. A thaumic weapon was used in warfare only once, at the culmination of the Great War between the Allied powers and the Tevinter Imperium, when Templar commnandos smuggled the first-ever thaumic bomb into besieged Vyrantium. A second thaumic bomb, though improvised and significantly less powerful, was used by the renegade mage and activist The Anders Mage to destroy the Kirkwall Grand Chantry in 9:37. For those who don't know, the term thaumic derives from the Greek θαῦμα (thauma), meaning "miracle" or "wonder". It is, essentially, a technical term for magical energy. This is also where the unit of measure thaum (or, more commonly, kilothaum) comes from, which describes the strength of a mage's connection to the Fade, i.e. his present mana.

2) Bethany is exhibiting very, very poor gun safety. Don't stick a gun in your waistband ... actually, if you do, you're probably doing the human genome a favour.

3) Religion - Andrastianism - is a much more powerful force in this world than any form of Christianity is in most of the civilised world in real life (i.e., not the US). Fuelled by the presence of magic and the protection of the Orlesian empire, much of Southern and most of Northern Thedas still fervently believes in the Maker and His bride, with all the ills that come with that. In recent years, the downbreak of public order in much of Ferelden and Orlais has left the Chantry as one of the only institutions which can still inspire loyalty from a wide crosscut of the population, and a vital player in politics.

Whoever can tell me where the voice at the end takes its line from gets a biscuit.

Please leave a review.