Literally nothing has changed except the chapter layout. Editing will come after I've finished the story.
That being said, welcome back, everyone.
Word count: 5,654
Warnings: Canon Divergence (though not for a while. Kinda), Canon-typical violence, slightly violent interrogation, Character Death.
Act I: Scene I: From Lothering to Kirkwall
Varric… Wasn't entirely certain what was going on.
Well, from the shiny silver Templar uniforms and the rough treatment, he had an inkling of what was about to go down, but he wasn't entirely certain how it had come to this.
Okay, in truth, he kind of did. To a point. Ancestor's cursed Hawkes.
Varric grunted as he landed on the hard stone chair. He twisted to sit more comfortably, growling, "You know, I've had gentler invitations."
The sight of the black-haired, copper-eyed woman in black Templar armor, glowing eye of the Chantry emblazoned proudly on her chest, reaffirmed any ideas his imagination may have dredged up.
"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry."
Ah yes, the Seeker. Just as the rumors said, she truly did look like Serah Hawke. Her black hair, though a bit longer, was the same messy bedhead, the color of her eyes only the slightest bit off- copper, not whiskey, Hawke's whiskey-toned eyes were very distinctive. Similar face shape, too, just a bit softer with a more girlish curve. If she'd only had Garrett's trademark scar across the nose, Varric could swear she was the female version of his old friend.
Varric chuckled. "And just... what are you seeking?"
"The Champion."
"Which one?"
"You know exactly why I'm here!" Cassandra shouted, storming forward and throwing a book into Varric's face. It landed open in his lap. Varric recognized that book; he'd lost it not a week ago, in all the chaos of trying to leave Kirkwall. He never thought he'd see it again...
Varric froze at the sudden blade at his throat.
"Time to start talking, dwarf," Cassandra ordered, taking the blade and shoving it through a good half of the book. The dwarf jumped to avoid having a knife through his family jewels. "They tell me you're good at that."
Varric let out a short, strained laugh, examining the knife stuck in the book he'd so carefully written and illustrated. A damn waste…
"What do you want to know?" He wondered. Oh, playing with this one was going to be fun...
"Everything," the Seeker said quickly. "Start at the beginning."
Letting out a sigh, Varric looked down at the page the book had opened to, nostalgically running two fingers down the familiar Hawke crest.
"Now, I'm sure you've heard at least part of this before, so I can jump right in…"
...
Garrett and Carver Hawke ran into a broad flat clearing and right into a small group of darkspawn. The three creatures fell quickly to spells and sword.
"Scouts," Carver cursed, yanking his blade free. "Well, we'd have to fight them sooner or later." Hawke nodded, flicking the blood off his clawed hand and turning with Carver to confront the now-encroaching darkspawn threat that seemed to have risen from the very hills.
"Then we make our stand here."
More and more darkspawn fell to the near-unstoppable power of the Hawke siblings, but for every one they killed, three more took their place. They had limitless determination, but their foe was equally unending.
"We can't keep this up forever!" Carver exclaimed, snarling as he ripped his blade from a darkspawn corpse. His back hit his brother's, who was busy finishing a spell that set a good few enemies aflame.
"Whatever happens, we get through this together!" The older brother assured, readying himself for the next assault. A small group of darkspawn appeared over the hill.
"Shall I deal with them?" Carver asked, grinning.
"All yours, Brother."
And so they threw themselves back into the fray, cutting down foe after foe. Their enemy seemed limitless, and just when they thought it could get no worse…
The ground trembled. The hurlocks began to retreat, if only slightly, as a new foe came over the rise.
The ogre was larger than any creature they had ever seen! It was easily taller than ten men, with legs like tree-trunks and arms like thick bands of twisted steel! It's neck was like an ox, its horns those of a tainted dragon! It's roar was loud and fierce and would break the spirit of lesser men!
But Garrett and Carver were not lesser men. No! They were Hawkes, descendants of the great House Amell! They feared no man nor manner beast! They faced the ogre bravely, Garrett with his magic, Carver with his blade.
And when the great darkspawn fell, it fell with a howl that shook the heavens and the earth!
With the defeat of the great beast, however, came the return of the horde, and the Hawke siblings were tired and spent. They knew they could not win.
But ho! Hope was not lost! For from over the mountain the twins had been backed against came a great dragon, large as only the oldest of dragons, spiked and fanged and-
…
"Bullshit! That's not what really happened!" The Seeker exclaimed, waving her fist in Varric's face before backing off.
"Does that not match the story you've heard, Seeker?" Varric taunted, leaning back a bit in the chair.
"I'm not interested in stories," Cassandra proclaimed. "I came to hear the truth."
"What makes you think I know the truth?"
"Don't lie to me!" Cassandra shouted, stalking forward. "You knew him even before he became the Champion!"
Varric held his hands up in a placating manner. "Even if I did, I don't know where he is now." Trust Hawke to get him in trouble, even after he'd long left. Damn that man to whatever cruel fate could wait a person in the Beyond.
Cassandra turned away, clearly steaming. "Do you have any idea what's at stake here?" She asked.
"Let me guess," Varric sneered. "You're precious Chantry has fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war, and you need the one person who could help you put it back together."
The Seeker turned and stalked back, seemingly composed. "The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began. If you can't point me to him, tell me everything you know."
"You aren't worried I'll just make it up as I go?" Varric asked challengingly.
"Not. At. All," Cassandra rebuked, tone confident.
Varric smirked, leaning forward.
"You'll need to hear the whole story. But, let me tell you, some parts might not match the legend you think you know.
The Blight had been unleashed on Ferelden. Darkspawn poured out of the Wilds, clashing against the army at the ruins of Ostagar.
The battle… Was a disaster. King Cailan died on the field with his men, betrayed by his most trusted general.
Unopposed, the horde marched on the village of Lothering. The village burned, and many innocents were slaughtered. The Champion's family barely escaped in time…"
...
Leandra's cry caused both Garrett Hawke and Marcus Amell to turn back, rushing to her aid against the darkspawn. Bethany cast flames to block the path, but a few slipped through. Amell felled one with his blade. Carver and Hawke took care of the other.
Amell and Hawke nodded to each other before joining the rest of the group.
"I think that's all of them," Carver said.
"For the moment," Bethany added, helping to steady her mother.
"Maker save us," Leandra lamented. "We've lost it all. Everything your father and I built..."
"At least we're alive," Hawke said almost jokingly as he came to stand beside his mother. "That's no small feat." Amell raised one eyebrow and shook his head at his cousin's odd way of "reassuring" his mother.
"Yes. You're right," Leandra said.
Bethany scowled a bit, turning towards Carver. "We should have run sooner! Why did we wait so long!?"
"Why are you looking at me?!" Carver exclaimed. "I've been running since Ostagar!"
Hawke, watching the slowly dying flames Bethany had created earlier, decided now was an excellent time to step in. "Speaking of running... Not to interrupt, really, but I don't think the Blight is going to wait while we stand here and point fingers."
"Please, listen to your brother!" Leandra insisted.
"Then let's go, Brother. Lead on," Carver growled.
Hawke sighed but started forward, Amell falling in right beside.
Now, Garrett Hawke and Marcus Amell might have been related, but they really looked nothing alike. While Amell had the white hair and silver eyes prominent among strong mage families, he had none of the magical talent normally associated with his family. And Hawke, with all his magic and power, looked nothing like an Amell descendant; instead, he was dark haired and whiskey-eyed like his father, Malcolm Hawke. Their personalities were fairly different too; where Hawke was snarky and sharp, Amell was polite and kind, like the balm for Hawke's burns.
…
"This can't be right," the Seeker protested. "The only Amell I've heard of was fighting his way through the Blight at the time."
"Well, technically, this one was too," Varric mumbled. A bit louder, he explained. "You see, Seeker: this Amell, like someone I once knew, was a ghost. Unlike said person, he was a good one. Funny how he's related to the Hero of Ferelden; from what I've heard, that man couldn't take two steps without being noticed. The Amell I knew couldn't get noticed to save his life."
A moment of silence stretched out as Cassandra processed the new information. A silence that was broken by Varric clearing his throat.
"So, can I go on now? Or do you need more time to wrap your head around this?" He asked. Cassandra looked as though she were still absorbing the new information, but she nodded.
"Continue."
…
It wasn't long before uncertainty began to show itself among the group once again.
"Wait!" Bethany called. The group slowed to a stop just before the rise to look back at her. "Where are we going?"
"Away from the darkspawn. Where else?" Carver said, impatient to get moving again. Amell shooshed him.
"And then where?" Bethany asked. "We can't just wander, aimlessly."
"Why not?" Hawke quipped, earning him a glare from both Carver and Amell. "As long as we wander aimlessly away from the darkspawn, I'm happy."
Amell shook his head. "As much as I hate to do so, I have to agree with Hawke. So long as we stay together, I don't think it really matters."
Leandra looked thoughtful for a moment.
"We can go to Kirkwall," she finally said, confidant. Both Hawke and Amell looked doubtful. Bethany almost looked appalled.
"Well, that wouldn't be my first choice," Hawke said.
"There are a lot of Templars in Kirkwall, Mother," Bethany warned.
"I know that," Leandra argued. "But we still have family there. And an estate."
The group didn't take long to listen to their mother's- and in Amell's case, aunt's- voice of reason. Bethany sighed.
"Then we need to get to Gwaren and take ship," she said.
"If we survive that long," Carver grumbled, turning and walking over the rise. "I'll just be happy to get out of here."
Amell shook his head wordlessly as he and the rest of the group followed.
Right into a group of darkspawn.
Amell cursed loudly as he all but ripped his sword off his back and jumped into the fray, Carver right beside him. He could hear Bethany and Garrett behind him, standing in front of Leandra while invoking spell after spell.
The sounds of another tussle a little ways ahead caught the attention of the family. A female warrior stood at the side of a male Templar. The two were backed into a corner and desperately trying to fend off their opponents. The Templar struck one down, they cried out as he was caught from behind. His companion quickly jumped to his aid, tackling the assailant and beating it's face in before cutting off its head.
"You will not have him," she growled. She snatched up her partner's fallen shield and helped him to his feet, orienting herself so that she was between him and the darkspawn. More softly, she assured, " They will not have you. Not while I breathe."
Hawke and Amell exchanged a concerned but determined glance before leaping into the fray at the Templars' defense. Hawke made sure to reign in his magic, using only focused spells in such a close proximity to injured potential allies. Amell, however, completely let loose on the darkspawn, his sword a deadly blur of motion. Bethany and Carver backed them up, but gave Amell a wide berth. The wrath of an Amell is a terrible thing.
By the time they were done, the darkspawn had all but been torn to pieces. Hawke and Bethany watched the Templar and his companion warily. Amell stood between the two pairs protectively. The woman crouched beside the Templar, faced as pained as his.
"Stop squirming, Wesley," she said. Said Templar struggled to his feet from where he had sat on the ground in the aftermath of the combat. "You'll make it worse."
The man straightened unsteadily, turning towards Hawke and Bethany. The group had already sheathed their weapons, but Hawke kept his hand on his staff.
"Apostates, keep your distance," he growled. His partner looked between him and the group that had just saved them, uncertain as of what course of action would be wisest.
"Well the Maker has a sense of humor," Bethany snarked from behind Amell. she shook her head. "Darkspawn and now a Templar. I thought they all abandoned Lothering."
"The 'spawn are clear in their intent," the Templar continued firmly. "But a mage is always unknown. The Order dictates…" He staggered a bit, and his partner moved to assist him.
"Wesley…" She murmured. Her face looked pained, but her partner brushed her off.
"The Order dictates," he began again, stepping out of her grasp and towards the two mages, straightening to his full height. Amell became more aggressively protective, stepping forward so that he was almost chest-to-chest with the other man. His face hardened and lips pressed into a fine line. There was an icy kind of anger in his silver eyes, as if he hadn't quite come down from the battle-high.
"Dear, they saved us. The Maker understands," the woman said, clearly trying to defuse the situation. Amell and the Templar stood off for another moment before the Templar crumpled, face showing the pain his confidence- or bravado- was concealing. Amell huffed and shook his head as he took a step back towards his cousins.
"Of course," the Templar whispered, stepping back towards his partner. He staggered a bit, and she was right there to support him.
"I am Aveline Vallen," the woman said. "This is my husband, Ser Wesley. We can hate each other when we're safe from the horde."
"A strange time to be hunting apostates," Hawke sassed. He gestured to Wesley. "His fellows left with the Chantry Priests."
"I was traveling to Denerim on business for the Order," Wesley explained. "But, I- I had to turn south when I heard of Ostagar." He looked down, ashamed.
"Bad luck," Aveline began, giving her husband a hard glare before continuing, "and judgement brought us together here before the attack."
"The nice Templar has been convinced to postpone his hunt for illegal mages," Bethany mocked. She placed her hands on her hips and bent forward a bit in a pose reminiscent of one speaking to a small child. "So let's not dwell upon it, shall we?"
Aveline smiled and nodded. "Wise girl."
Hawke scowled a bit. "He's gentle for a mage-hunter," he muttered. "The wrath of the Templars is terrible indeed." Amell shot him a stern look, as if to say, "shut up," before turning to the couple.
"How bad is that wound?" He asked Wesley, gesturing towards the Templar's ripped and battered and bloody armor. "Can you keep up? We have to go."
Wesley frowned, flexing his wounded arm. "I fear my sword arm's lost, even with healing."
Aveline placed her hand on her husband's shoulders, face a bit softer. "Then you will have mine, as always." She hardened her visage as she turned to Hawke and Amell. "For now, we move with you. North is cut off. We barely escaped the main body of the horde."
Carver's eyes widened. "Then we're trapped!" He exclaimed. "The Wilds are to the south! That's no way out!" The rest of the group exchanged panicked glances or resigned looks.
"We have no choice," Amell broke in, gesturing to silence his youngest cousin, who was about to say something else. "The darkspawn have us fenced in." He stepped forward between Aveline and her husband, eyes hard, blade drawn, shield wide. "We go south."
Seeing no real reason to argue, the party fell in behind Amell. Leandra lingered for the briefest of moments, gazing upon the smoke rising above the hills in the direction of what was once Lothering. Of what was once her and her children's home. With a long blink and a sorrowful sigh, she turned away and followed her children and companions. The time for goodbyes was over, or so Leandra thought. All that was left was to move forward.
The path forward, through the Wilds, was littered with darkspawn. Amell himself felled more than he cared to count, and was covered in more blood than he cared to think about. He was tired; his muscles ached, his body begged for some kind of rest.
One look at the others told him they were faring no better. Especially Leandra and Wesley; Leandra was definitely not the kind of woman suited for such harsh travel, and Wesley was beginning to take on an almost sickly color as his wounds began to truly affect him.
We can't keep going on like this, Amell thought, ripping his sword from the body of a darkspawn emissary. His companions finished off the first batch of darkspawn, only to be faced with another. Amell was given no choice but to throw himself into the fight once more, even as his body screamed in protest. By the end, his fellows did not look much better than he felt.
They can't go on like this. He could hear Aveline's ever-reassuring voice reminding them that they needed to press deeper into the Wilds before the darkspawn got a chance to regroup. She had a fair point, but Amell made a show of stopping to loot the corpses, if only to give his companions a short time to rest. They needed it. Maker, did they all need it.
Hawke crouched beside Amell to help him strip the corpse of an unlucky refugee and gave his cousin a weak half-smile. The mage was in a bit better condition than the rest of the group, but only a bit. The constant casting of spells, especially the Creation magics that sustained them when they ever got in a tough spot or hurt, was beginning to wear on him, and without lyrium potions he had no way of replenishing his mana. It was likely only by sheer will that he was still able to maintain his usual, joking demeanor.
"Make the most of this rest," Amell murmured, eyes flashing to check on the rest of the rag-tag band. Aveline wasn't looking as near good as she sounded; she could barely hold her sword, barely stand with her normal confidence. Carver was resting against his massive sword planted in the dirt, the muscles of his arms quivering. Bethany was likely the most worse-for-wear out of those that could fight, but she kept flinting between her mother and Wesley to make sure they were as well as they could be.
Amell couldn't help but crack a smile at her valiant efforts to keep up moral. It was much appreciated, and he only wished he could do the same. But, upon finding that there really wasn't anything else to take from the dead, he was forced to called the group to move onward.
He had a nasty feeling about this next clearing, one that settle uneasily in the pit of his stomach. Whatever awaited them, it wasn't going to be good, he just knew it.
Hawke and Carver stuck to Amell's side as they made their way over the crest of the hill and into the clearing. Aveline walked not far behind the three, Bethany and Leandra a little ways behind her, and- finally- Wesley trailed in the very back, his wounds catching up to him in force. Amell noted all the possible entrances and exits to the clearing, already planning for the worst. Something did not seem-
The ground shook violently, startling and confusing the entire group. Hawke and Carver exchanged frightened looks. Aveline whirled around, trying to find the source of the calamity. Amell drew his blade and readied his shield, dread growing by the seconds past. From the path directly across from the one the group had come from- a path Amell had almost immediately ruled out as a potential escape route- came the largest darkspawn any of them had ever seen.
And it was charging straight for them.
Amell, Hawke, and Carver dove away swiftly, Aveline managed to avoid being hit by shear luck. Wesley had nothing to fear, hugging the wall a ways away from the rising combat. Bethany only just succeeded in pulling her and her mother aside before they were trampled beneath the ogre.
"Maker, give me strength," she prayed, readying a fireball and tossing it towards the beast. It brushed the flames off with a raised arm, rounding on its would-be attacker.
The whole clearing seemed to freeze. Amell shouted in warning. Carver watched in terror from where he was prone on the ground. Aveline reached for her sword and shield even as she moved towards the pair. Leandra cried out for her daughter. Hawke's eyes widened as he reached towards his sister as if to pull her away. It would have been no use, anyhow: he was too far away.
They all watched, in horror, in dismay, as the ogre picked Bethany up and slammed her against the ground multiple times, before tossing her aside as though she were a rag-doll.
"Bethany!"
The horrified scream tore itself from Hawke's throat, filled with dismay and agony. Amell winced in empathy. The younger mage couldn't have survived that. As much as he wanted to believe she could, as strong as she was, he knew she couldn't. He couldn't do anything about that.
But vengeance? Yes, vengeance. Now that was something Amell could do.
Hawke watch, paralyzed, as his cousin stepped toward the ogre, each stepped filled with terrible purpose. Anger, rage, pain; the emotions made the white-haired warrior's feet lighter, his exhaustion fade away.
Carver staggered to his feet and dragged his sword up with him, eyes foggy and lost. Aveline looked horrified and ill as she readied her sword and shield. But the two shook off their disorientation and fell in behind the other warrior. The chaos flowed off the man's shoulders, frightening and bolstering his teammates. With a wild roar, he dashed forward, blade flashing in the light.
As the three lept forward into an assault, Hawke stood back at a distance. But he held back no longer. Each spell was filled with as much power as he could push into it. Fire, ice, lightning, shields and healing spells of varying strength for his companions... It was painful, yes, but worth it. Well worth it, especially when it allowed him to literally rip the ogre to bloody pieces and spread them across the clearing.
Leandra rushed over to her fallen child's side, falling to her knees there.
"Bethany! Wake up! The battle is over, wake up!"
I'm sorry, mistress," Aveline said solemnly. "Your child… is gone." Leandra cried out in pain, and Hawke kneeled across from his mother.
"Perhaps… We should grieve when we're safe," Garrett suggested, face pained. His mother whirled on him, snarling.
"And what do you know about grief?!" She snapped. "How could you let her charge off like that?! Your baby sister! Oh, my poor baby girl… my sweetheart..."
Amell placed a hand on his aunt's shoulder. "She gave her life to save us," he muttered. Wesley stumbled up to them.
"Allow me to commend your daughter's soul to the Maker, mistress," he said. He placed a closed fist over his heart and bowed his head. "Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, give this young woman a place at your side. Let us take comfort in the peace she has found in eternity."
Leandra gently laid her daughter's head on the ground, tears still streaming down her face.
"I will never forget you," she whispered. "Ever."
Hawke stood carefully, wincing at the pain and tiredness that rushed over his muscles. His home, now his sister…
"Our lives are much more important to her than our prayers," he said. He, Amell, Carver, and Aveline turned, back towards the berth of the clearing as darkspawn poured in.
Amell sighed. "Looks like we're too late."
Hawke nodded, preparing himself for yet another battle. He didn't have much to spare, but he pushed a little of his remaining energy into each of his remaining companions.
Too much, apparently, for he crashed to his knees with a silent gasp of pain. The three warriors spared him a backwards glance, a wordless thank you as they dashed forward. They could not go back to help him, not with danger so imminent. They could only hope. Hope that they could keep fighting long enough for the others to find safety.
But what little he gave them did not last long.
"There's no end to them!" Carver cried, backing up so that his back hit his cousin's. Another thud told him Aveline had joined their little cluster. The darkspawn hissed fiercely, slowly pressing the group back.
A roar stopped both the darkspawn and the three warriors dead in their tracks. From the crest behind where Leandra and Wesley had taken refuge came a dragon, large as only the oldest could become, teeth like daggers and claws like scythes. It uncurled itself like a cat from it's nap before taking to the air. It bathed the darkspawn forces in fire, being sure to finish the bulk of them off before landing and…
Transforming into an older woman in dragon-skin-and-crow-feather mage's robes and with white hair in a style reminiscent to dragon's horns. The steel, spiked headpiece she wore flashed in the light of the dying sun. She dragged a darkspawn corpse beside her for a ways before tossing off the the side, setting it aflame, and approaching Amell and Carver. A soft, startled cry had brought Aveline to her husband's side; the man was writhing on the ground in pain.
Amell stepped towards the witch, keeping an arm out to shield Carver behind him.
"Well, well. What have we here?" The witch wondered. "It use to be we never got visitors to the Wilds. But now, it seems they arrive in hordes!" She lifted her hands to the sky and waved them about, smirking as if it were all a great joke.
Amell watched the old woman warily, but kept his voice cool and calm, not hostile.
"Impressive. Where'd you learn to turn into a dragon?" He asked, partially joking, but partially serious.
The witch shrugged. "Perhaps I am a dragon," she said mysteriously. In a more matter-of-fact tone, she said, "If so, count yourself lucky. The smell of burning darkspawn does nothing for the appetite. If you wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know that you are heading in the wrong direction."
And with that, the witch began to walk away.
Carver pushed past Amell.
"So you're just going to leave us here?!"
The witch slowed to a stop and looked back at the two men over her shoulder.
"And why not?" She asked. "I spotted a most curious sight; a mighty ogre, vanquished! Who could perform such a feat?" She tipped her head to the side, bronze eyes flashing with fire. "But now my curiosity is sated and you are safe. For the moment. Is that not enough?"
Amell felt a hand on his shoulder and turned briefly to see Hawke standing- well, more like slouching- beside him.
"You could show me that trick of yours," Hawke quipped playfully, steadying himself against his cousin's shoulder. "That looks useful."
Amell shook his head disapprovingly. "Don't mind my cousin. I apologize, but we will not be able to get past the Wilds on our own."
The witch laughed, addressing Hawke. "I dare say it is! Such a clever child for a mage!" She turned towards Amell. "Tell me, how do you intend to outrun the Blight?"
"We're trying to get to Kirkwall, in the Free Marches," Amell explained.
"Kirkwall? My, well, that is quite the voyage you plan. So far, simply to flee the darkspawn."
Hawke snorted. "Any better suggestions? I hear the Deep Roads are vacant at the moment."
The witch laughed again. "Oh, you I like." Her face became more serious and strangely ominous. "Hurtled into chaos, you fight, and the world will shake before you."
Amell and Hawke shot each other a confused look, but did not ask the meaning behind her prolific words. They watched her turn her back and contemplate.
"Is it fate, or chance? I can never decide," she whispered. Her head dropped, then she turned back towards the group. "It appears fate smiles on us both today. I may be able to help you yet."
Amell looked to Hawke and Carver for advice.
"There must be a catch," Amell said.
"There is always a catch," the witch said with a chuckle. "Life is a catch. I suggest you catch it while you can."
"Can we even trust her?" Carver asked. "We don't even know what she is."
"I know what she is. The Witch of the Wilds," Aveline called from her husband's side.
"Some call me that," the witch admitted. "Also: Flemeth, Asha'bellanar, the old hag who talks too much." Flemeth chuckled, shaking her head. "Does it matter? I offer you this; I will get your group past the horde in exchange for a simple delivery to a place not far out of your way. Would you do this for a Witch of the Wilds?"
"Should we trust her?" Hawke asked Amell, moving his lips the barest minimum to speak.
"I don't see how we have another choice," Amell replied in kind. "Wesley is injured and your mother is tired. There's no way we can get past the horde on our own."
"Roast a few more darkspawn and I'll do anything you want," Hawke said.
"Sadly, my charity is at its end," Flemeth said. "There is a clan of Dalish elves near the city of Kirkwall. Deliver this amulet to their Keeper, Marethari." She handed over an intricate ebony amulet. Hawke could feel the magic beneath the surface, and it made him uneasy. "Do as she asks with is, and any debt between us is paid in full."
Flemeth frowned and stepped past the trio, towards Aveline and a now very grey-skinned, very sick Wesley. "Before I take you anywhere, however, there is another matter."
Aveline hunched over her husband protectively. "No! Leave him alone!"
"What has been done to your man is within his blood already," Flemeth said sadly.
"You lie!" Aveline shouted.
"She's right, Aveline," Wesley manages out haltingly. "I can feel the corruption inside of me."
"There must be a way to help him," Amell begged. Flemeth shook her head as she looked down on the couple.
"The only cure I know of is to become a Grey Warden," Flemeth said solemnly.
"And they all died at Ostagar," Aveline whimpered.
"Not all, but the last are now beyond your reach."
"Aveline, listen to me," Wesley whispered brokenly.
"You can't ask me this," Aveline said firmly. "I won't!"
Wesley smiled sadly. "The corruption is a slow death. I can't…"
Aveline placed a hand over her husband's heart, then looked up at Hawke for guidance. Instead of saying anything, he simply removed the blade from his belt and handed it to her.
"He's your husband, Aveline," Amell muttered. "We can't decide his fate."
"Be strong, my love," Wesley whispered. He placed his hands over Aveline's while they both shoved the blade through his heart.
Ser Wesley died with a smile on his face.
"Without death, there can be no peace," Flemeth said as Aveline rose from her knees. "It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun."
…
"Flemeth?" Cassandra asked doubtfully.
"I thought that might interest you," Varric said matter-of-factly.
"You expect me to believe a myth swooped out of the Wilds to save the Champion?" The Seeker's voice was exasperated.
Varric smirked. "Oh come now, Seeker. Do I need to recite the tale of the Warden as well?"
"No," Cassandra said quickly. "Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised to hear of her involvement."
Varric shrugged, mumbling, "I liked my version better too."
Cassandra shook her head. "What else aren't you telling me, then?" She demanded. "Did she send someone with the Champion?"
"In a manner of speaking," Varric diverted.
"So it's true. Continue. But if you tell me that they all flew to Kirkwall on a dragon-"
"Nothing so fanciful, I assure you.
The witch kept her word and got them to Gwaren, where they took ship. They sailed north across the Waking Sea, lashed by terrible storms. Two weeks they spent in that dark hold, packed in with the fearful and the desperate.
And then they saw it: Kirkwall, the City of Chains. Long ago it was part of the Tevinter Imperium, slaves coming from far and wide to work the quarries. Now, it's a free city.
But I use the word loosely. Sail through those black cliffs and you'll see what the slaves of old saw: the Gallows, welcoming you. That's where their ship landed, with all the rest…"
