Atonement

By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)

Part One

A healer in a village, halfway along the road between Kirkwall and Ostwick.

It was the only scrap of information he had, and even that was uncertain. But after a year of hunting prey that vanished like dust each time he drew near, he was willing to take anything he could get. He had one more task to complete before he could continue his search.

Prince Sebastian Vael knelt on the ruins of the Chantry, a bouquet of white roses in hand. A year later, no one had rebuilt the Kirkwall Chantry. There wasn't the time or the resources, with still no Viscount and the templar order licking its wounds. The few surviving priests and brothers stayed in the Gallows, under Knight-Commander Cullen's watch. Sebastian stepped over the low wooden blockade surrounding the building's foundations...all that remained of his old life.

His home.

The old hate welled up inside him, sharp and sickening. As the ash and rubble crumbled under his feet, the images began to flash before his eyes again, as they did every night. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, but the memories were still too fresh.

The beacon of brilliant light. Anders, silhouetted against its glow. The screams of despair and astonishment. The shockwave that knocked them all to their knees.

And Natale Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke, reaching for the murderer's hand and pulling him to his feet. Hawke, who spared the life of an abomination in every sense of the word. Hawke, whose pitiless grey eyes promised his death if he dared pursue the man who sparked a holy war.

She hadn't made a move against him yet. But he hadn't caught up to her either. It was only a matter of time.

"Serah! You are not allowed in these ruins! It isn't safe-"

Sebastian turned around to see Knight-Commander Cullen, picking his way across the fine pebbles and broken stones. Cullen started a little, recognizing him.

"I have come to pay my respects to an innocent woman of faith," said Sebastian evenly. Cullen looked like he wanted to protest, but finally just gave a helpless shrug and waved him forward. Sebastian walked to where the center of the Chantry would have been, laying the white roses at his feet.

There was so little left. That hurt more than anything else. Men could raze cities, but magic...it was as though the Chantry never existed save for a few bits of stone and metal. As though those happy, peaceful years he spent as a brother never happened at all. He closed his eyes and tried to think of Elthina at the Maker's side, once again with the lord she'd served and loved.

"I know saying I'm sorry doesn't help." Cullen's boots made a soft crunching noise as he stood beside Sebastian. "But I am. I truly am. Elthina was-"

"You don't have to be sorry. You weren't the one who did this." He could not keep the hate from shaking his voice.

Cullen frowned. "Perhaps not. But the templars made no move against...certain apostates thanks to the Champion's influence," he said slowly. Neither of them mentioned who, and a very uncomfortable silence fell. "Maybe...maybe if we had done something-"

"If you'd tried, she would've killed you," said Sebastian, remembering the look in Hawke's eyes every time she dealt with the templars. "Make no mistake about that." His hands ran up and down the bow at his side. His grandfather's bow.

Even that had been a gift from Hawke. Sebastian looked down at the finely carved wood, feeling slightly sick. The accursed woman touched every aspect of his life for the last seven years.

The templar watched him thoughtfully. Finally, Cullen asked, "Then why pursue her?"

"It's not her I want," said Sebastian. It wasn't true, but the sound of the words helped. "I cannot rest knowing that the monster who did this walks free." Sebastian turned to go, but Cullen's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Prince Vael...do you know how many templars they've killed in the past year?"

Sebastian swallowed, gathering his resolve and his anger against the sudden stab of fear. He didn't know. And he didn't want to know.

"The righteous stand before the darkness. And the Maker shall guide their hand." He didn't not turn or look back. The time for compromise was over. The time for peace was over.

Hawke and Anders had made certain of that.


Every step hurt. Not for the first time in her life, Natale Hawke cursed the fact that she'd always been rubbish at healing. Apparently the Amell mages were better suited to killing people than fixing them. The arrow wounds felt older, duller, but that would have to be enough for now.

One hundred steps. Two hundred steps. She didn't have far to go. But the final ascent was still almost nauseating even in the foothills of the Vinmark Mountains. Her side jarred with pain every time she planted her feet.

She clenched her teeth, and white light briefly played around her hands, little sparks of lightning flickering in the air. The soft, muddy ground sucked at her boots, and she was forced to lean on her staff like an old woman, the blue crystal striking little flames every time it hit stone.

Anders, she thought. Think of Anders. She brought his image to the forefront of her mind-his gentle brown eyes, his warm half-smile, the cooling magic in his touch. Anders had patched up dragon burns and purged spider poison before. What were a few holes in her side?

A bark roused her from her pain, and she couldn't help by smile. Calenhad bolted out of a narrow crevice in the side of the mountain, barking with joy and splashing in the puddles. But he stopped in his tracks when he got closer, whining at the smell of blood on her.

"It's ok, old boy," Natale whispered, leaning down stiffly to scratch his ears. "I'll live." She made her way to the opening of the crevice, leaning against the stone. With some effort, she pulled a knife from her belt, drawing just a little blood from her palms. She closed her eyes and allowed her senses to expand, ignoring the now stabbing pain in her side and Calenhad's startled yelp.

Animals, a few more than usual in the labyrinthine cave complex thanks to the pouring rain of the last few days. Nothing important. She wiped the blood from her hands, taking a few deep breaths and cursing under her breath. Her head pounded, and she knew further magic was out of the question. Instead, she followed Calenhad into the cave, trusting the dog's nose where her own eyes failed. The smell of damp assaulted her senses...bringing with it an odd sense of comfort.

Home for now. Though if today was any indication, not for long.

This was the longest she'd dared stay in an area, but it worked to her advantage. The caves were too narrow for smugglers or criminals to use, and she and Anders had cleared out the spiders infesting the place tunnel by tunnel, room by room. Her boots echoed off the stone as the light from outside quickly faded, leaving her in total darkness.

She reached out her fingers, feeling for Anders' magical barrier. It met her touch like a wall of ice, barely shimmering in the dim light. Natale pushed ever so gently-a knock rather than a kick.

A moment later, the barrier evaporated, only to reappear behind her and Calenhad as they walked deeper into the cave. She could see warm, flickering firelight around a bend in the corridor, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Anders sat against the wall of the cave in a little opening, barely larger than her old closet in Kirkwall. Clothes, papers, bits of supplies lay in neat piles all around the floor. He leaped to his feet when he saw her.

"Maker's breath, what kept you?" he asked, his voice sharp with worry. "You were supposed to be back hours ago!"

Natale grimaced and swayed a little on the spot; in a moment, Anders was at her side, steadying her.

He looked at the cold sweat on her brow, her paper-white face, and felt his heart clench. "Templars?"

She shook her head. "Don't think so. Help me with this first, will you?" He helped her sit, leaning her against the rough wall while he stripped her of her heavy, damp armor and tossed it next to the fire.

She managed a grin for him. "You're getting alarmingly good at undressing me."

Anders returned the smile-strained, but a smile nonetheless. "What can I say? I've had four years of practice." He unhooked the chestpiece and loosened the straps on her undershirt, lifting it to take a look at the arrow holes. They still bled slightly and stained the fabric red, the entry wounds jagged and torn from the barbs that still stuck in her pale skin.

"Did you happen to keep an arrow?" he asked tersely.

Natale nodded and gestured to the pocket inside her chest armor. Anders picked through it before coming up with a slender arrowhead. He examined it carefully, then frowned.

"Hmm. Nathaniel used to use bolts like these; the barbs break off and dig into the skin. Painful, but nothing lethal." He placed his hands on her side and closed his eyes, blue light swirling around his body.

Natale always loved watching Anders heal. It was a gift, one that she would never understand or have. He ran his hands along her exposed skin, little tingles of magic and warmth purging the pain, knitting her wounds shut. There was a flash, then a rush, and Anders opened his eyes, breathing hard.

He pulled out the arrowhead again, very careful not to touch its edges. Something about it looked familiar, and it filled him with a sense of foreboding.

"Who shot at you?" he asked.

Natale stretched her limbs and body cautiously; no pain, no fatigue. Anders really was a miracle worker. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. It had all happened so fast as she was on her way back from the village. She frowned, thinking. "About five men. Soldiers, I think. Too well organized to be troublemakers looking for a quick bounty."

Anders didn't bother asking about survivors. If she was alive, they weren't. The Champion of Kirkwall was not known for mercy or charity. Instead, he snapped his fingers and raised the small fire in the center of the room, placing a makeshift kettle over it. He sighed, staring into the flames.

"I'd hoped we could stay here longer," he said quietly. "It's been nice having some place to go to for more than a few days."

"And foolish," said Natale. She got gingerly to her feet; everything seemed to be in order. For the umpteenth time, she began to pack things away before she felt Anders' hand on her arm.

"You need rest, love."

"We need to move. I'm sorry to put you through this again-I know you liked the villagers."

He didn't meet her eyes. "Do you think..." His voice trailed off as his hands glowed, feeling for the magical barrier that stood between them and half the Chantry's armies.

"Not on purpose. But word gets around...and certain people know you have healing powers." Her voice suddenly hardened, and she gave a mirthless laugh. "No rest for the wicked."

It took her precious little time to pack up everything they needed. One of the benefits of magic was the ability to travel lightly. She finished putting away their bedrolls just in time for Anders to hand her a mug of hot tea.

"If you won't rest, at least have something to drink before we go," he said. He watched as she accepted the tea quietly-her lovely pale face sharpened and hardened from a year on the run, her long hands calloused and slightly scarred. He had once asked her if she regretted it, losing everything she worked so hard for in Kirkwall for a difficult cause and a dangerous man.

She'd smiled, a real smile that warmed her tired eyes, called him a fool, and said no.

"Ready?" asked Natale, snapping Anders from his reverie.

"Always," he replied. His hands glowed again as he dispelled the barrier, and the two of them began heading deeper into the cave complex for the other exit, the lyrium glow of her staff lighting their way.

It wasn't until they'd squirmed their way, packs and all, out of the cave and into the damp night air that Calenhad started to snarl. She shushed the dog and put out the staff, all of them listening intently.

Nothing. But the hairs on the back of her head began to prickle. She took one step, then another-and all hell broke loose.

Arrows showered the ground, deflected at the last second by Anders' magic. Natale swore under her breath, her eyes beginning to glow red along with her staff. Lightning played around her hands and she lashed out into the darkness.

Ten men, silhouetted against the jagged sparks of lightning. She whistled for Calenhad, who leaped for the closest assailant and tore out his throat with a single savage shake.

Soldiers, she thought in a kind of disconnected trance as magic and thunder crashed around them, are no match for a cornered mage. Blood pounded in her ears, and she followed its scent. She needed no sight, no sound-she could feel the pulse of life inside her prey.

The temptation rose, as it always did, to take a little more. Push a little harder. She forced it down, energy crackling like a maelstrom. Screams, then a few disconnected thumps as bodies hit the ground, and it was all over. Anders knelt over one of the bodies, looking stricken.

"Natale-" He pulled a scrap of cloth from the dead soldier's armor.

She looked down at the crest, feeling a weight of lead drop into her stomach. "Starkhaven," she said slowly. By the light of her staff, she inspected each of the other bodies, all bearing the insignia of the Vaels.

No fear. No vengeance. These were luxuries, and on the run for their lives, she did not have time for either. Instead, she carefully and deliberately removed the crests from each of the ten soldiers, burned their bodies to ash, and left the little scraps of cloth in a neat pile at the site of the massacre.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving Sebastian a warning." She looked down at her hands. She had spilled more blood, both innocent and enemy, in the last year than in her entire tenure as Champion. How many more would she have to slay?

Anders hesitated, then came to stand by her side. "Natale...it's me he wants."

"And he'll have to come through me," she said fiercely. And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the forest, leaving the dead in her wake.


"Blessed be the souls of the faithful, that they ascend to Your right hand."

The words stuck in his throat. He tried again. On the third try, the prayer came, and so did the rage. She was taunting him. Showing him that no army, no soldier, could ever hope to snare her or her abomination.

He looked down at the torn scraps of uniform, scattered among piles of ash and scorch marks in the ground. The smoky tang of lightning and magic was long gone, but he didn't have to imagine it. He knew it all too well personally.

Fifteen good men lost to Hawke in one day. Fifteen men with wives, families...children. Who bent before him and swore to defend Starkhaven. And he rewarded their loyalty by throwing them at the most powerful maleficar in the Free Marches the moment he had an opportunity. He closed his eyes.

Unbidden, the desire demon's words came floating out of his memory...in her voice. All you have to do is kill anyone who stands in your way.

He thought of the gentle sisters in the Chantry. Of the templars. Of Elthina. He was doing it for her, for all the innocents slaughtered in the war they had started. Sebastian gathered up the scattered bits of cloth and called for his captain.

"Your Highness?"

"Return these men's effects to their families," said Sebastian. "I'll need a few scouts to pick up their trail. Do not engage Hawke; just let me know if you find them."

Captain Alrain bowed slightly and began heading back to camp. Sebastian followed in silence, resigning himself to another night of restless, uneasy sleep.

He would not truly rest until he had Anders' head on a spike.