Despite the Knight-Commander's threatening ultimatum, Fenris had no intention of meeting her in the Gallows. Not right now, at least. He had left Hawke's other companions behind, gathered around the murderer's body. He couldn't bear to see their faces, their accusing stares, their pain. Somehow seeing their grief would make his own all the more real. Fenris felt bereft, a ship lost at sea with no lighthouse in sight. Since killing Danarius, he had hesitantly begun to build his own life to parallel Hawke's. He had not the slightest idea how he could go on without her.

As Fenris' light feet carried him inexorably towards the Chantry, he heard running footsteps behind him. They were calling his name, wanting him to come back and put things right. Just like Hawke had always done.

"Fenris!" They had caught up to him. Varric was there, and Aveline. Merrill was close behind. It struck him how small their group had become since Hawke had brought them all together. First Bethany, then Isabela, now Anders. Not that the last was much of a loss, Fenris thought, his lip curling.

"Fenris, where are you going?" Aveline asked, reaching for his shoulder. He dodged away with an indistinct snarl.

He couldn't explain it; they wouldn't understand. Fenris had to see it with his own eyes; he had to see her body, broken and small, before he could believe that she, the Champion of Kirkwall, the woman who had made him less of a wolf and more of a man, could possibly be dead.

"She's gone," Varric said quietly, jogging to keep up with the elf. "No one could have survived that. Not even Hawke."

They rounded the corner into the Chantry courtyard. Clouds of dust and smoke obscured most of the square. Mounds of debris were scattered everywhere. Bodies and body parts were strewn over the cobblestones in a macabre tableau. The acrid smell of burning flesh was pungent, and behind him, Fenris heard Merrill gagging. The gaping hole where the Chantry had stood was aflame, a raging inferno content to burn itself out.

"Hawke!" Fenris shouted into the fog. Distant screams echoed from Lowtown. He hadn't really been expecting any more of an answer. "Marian!" He began to move, combing through the bodies and rubble, looking for any sign of her.

"Fenris, she can't possibly –"

"Shut up and help me!" he snapped, using his sword to turn over a dead Chantry sister. Most of her robe had been burned off, her skin black and peeling. Fenris shuddered to think this could be Hawke's fate. He pushed the thought away.

There was a violent coughing fit somewhere to his left. Probably Merrill, he thought, before Aveline's sharp voice rang out.

"Fenris! Here!"

Fenris followed the noise. Figures loomed out of the fog. Aveline was bent over two figures, one of which lay motionless on the ground. The other was sitting up, coughing. She was bleeding, bruised and extremely dirty, her short black hair turned grey by the ubiquitous dust, but she was alive. Relief flooded through Fenris at the sight of her.

"Take – more than – that – to – to –" Hawke coughed, "kill little – old me, right?" she cracked, trying to grin and dissolving into another fit.

"Here, drink this," Aveline said, pulling out a healing potion. Hawke drank it in two gulps, pausing in the middle to cough again.

"This – damn – dust," she gasped. "What about – Elthina?"

"She's alive, but only just," Merrill piped up. She had her fingers on the prone figure's pulse. With a start, Fenris realized the unconscious woman was indeed, Grand Cleric Elthina.

"We're far too exposed here," Aveline said urgently. "We need to get them somewhere safe."

"My estate is closest," Fenris said. "We can take them there." He knelt to pick up Hawke. She slipped her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his chest. She was unconscious in moments, though whether she had fallen asleep or passed out, he could not say.

Aveline handed her sword and shield to Varric, then scooped up the Grand Cleric and slung the unconscious woman over her shoulders.


Fenris' house was dark and empty. Merrill tripped over a broken chair in the foyer, crashing into Varric and sending Aveline's weapons to the floor.

"Sorry," she said meekly, righting herself as Varric retrieved the sword and shield.

They laid the two injured women on the floor in the great hall, and Aveline set to work with healing poultices while Merrill attempted to force small doses of potion down the Grand Cleric's throat. Varric stood guard at the door, fidgeting with Bianca's gears and mechanisms, running to fetch things when necessary. Fenris paced, prowling around the room like a wounded wolf. When their charges were stable, Aveline took Fenris aside.

"How bad?" Fenris asked.

"Considering she was blown halfway across the courtyard, very well," Aveline said. "Hawke's armor protected her from the worst of it. She's got plenty of lacerations, bruises, a few broken ribs, and I'm fairly certain her lung is punctured. She may have internal bleeding that we don't know about, and if that's the case, time is of the essence. I've given her a healing potion and stopped her bleeding, but I'm no healer. If only Anders –"

"Do not speak to me of that abomination!" Fenris snarled. Merrill and Varric looked over sharply.

"Yes, yes, Fenris, you were right! Is that what you want to hear? My patience with you has nearly reached its end. You are not the only one who has suffered today." Aveline sighed and ran a hand through her fiery hair, frustrated. Her outburst was not helping, though it did make her feel better. "All I'm saying is Hawke needs a healer, Fenris, and a damn good one. I don't know who to go to now." Now that you killed Anders. Aveline had left it unspoken, but the accusation was implied.

It seemed that in his haste for revenge on Hawke's murderer, he had unwittingly sealed her fate. Swallowing hard, he asked, "What of the Grand Cleric?"

"She's still unconscious, but her wounds seem minor. I believe that Hawke most likely used her own body to shield the Grand Cleric from harm, taking the brunt of the explosion herself."

Of course she did, Fenris thought. "So what can we do?"

"Varric," started Aveline, "didn't you once say you knew everything and everyone worth knowing in this city? Do you know of a healer that could help us?"

"That was years ago, Aveline!" Varric protested. "I never needed to know of any healer other than Blondie. He was the best, and by far the cheapest. Besides, all the mages in the Kirkwall right now are either in the Gallows, or running for their lives."

"Not all of them," came a strong, clear, female voice. Varric wheeled around and shoved Bianca, locked and loaded, right into Bethany Hawke's face.

"You can put that down, Varric," she said, "I'm here to help."

Varric lowered his crossbow. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Sunshine," the dwarf said, grinning.

"Bethany?" Hawke said groggily, attempting to sit up, and the Grey Warden hurried to her sister's side.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," Bethany said. "I thought you were dead. The city is in chaos. I've been hearing the wildest rumors since I got here – something about the Chantry being blown up with the Champion and Grand Cleric still inside – oh, Maker!" She had spotted the Grand Cleric lying on the floor. "Is it true?"

Hawke nodded, hissing in pain.

"Here, let me heal you. And you lot, clear out! I need some room," Bethany barked. Aveline, Varric, Fenris, and Merrill obediently took a few steps back. Bethany's hands glowed blue as she gently touched her sister's side, seeking out and healing the injuries within. Hawke gritted her teeth, crying out only once. Finally, Bethany sat back on her heels.

"Feel better?"

Hawke nodded. "Much. Can you do anything for Elthina?"

"I'll do what I can." The younger Hawke moved to the Grand Cleric's side.

"Now that I'm ready to die another day, what in the name of Andraste's left buttcheek happened?" Hawke asked, slowly getting to her feet and stretching.

Her four companions looked at each other uneasily. They had all been so focused on helping Hawke, they had forgotten that she had not been present to see Anders' last desperate act and had, instead, been caught up in it.

"Who wants to take this one?" Varric said.

"Don't look at me," Fenris snapped. "You're the story-teller."

Varric grimaced. It was going to be hard to make this one sound good. Before he even opened his mouth, however, Hawke interrupted him.

"The truth, Varric. Not the version you're going to tell the public."

"Alright," he said, sighing in resignation, "but you're not going to like it."

Varric spoke for a good twenty minutes, careful to tell everything exactly as it had happened and not to leave anything out. Hawke gasped, rolled her eyes, or swore appropriately as his tale progressed.

"So this is what Anders was planning all along?" Hawke said in a hushed voice. "How could we have missed this? Didn't anyone notice how desperate he was becoming?"

Her companions shook their heads.

"Search me," Varric said. "I always thought Blondie was a bit cracked, but mostly harmless."

"His actions will make it next to impossible to reason with Meredith and Orsino, even with the Grand Cleric's assistance," Hawke said, rubbing her temples to clear her head.

"I hate to break it to you, Hawke," Aveline said grimly, "but I think the time for reason is over."

"I thought so," Hawke said ruefully. "What of Anders? Has he fled the city? Or did Meredith strike him down where he stood?"

"Uh, not exactly," Varric said with a sidelong glance at Fenris. The elf grimaced and turned away. "Broody used his magic fisting thing on him."

"Oh, Maker," Hawke breathed, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. "What Anders did was horrific, but I never wished him dead. I wanted to believe in his cause, but . . . not like this." She took a deep breath and stood once more. "So it goes. We should get to the Gallows."

Bethany had finished healing the Grand Cleric to the best of her ability. She slumped against the wall, her eyes closed, her staff lying on the floor beside her.

"Sister?" Hawke asked tentatively.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

Bethany's brown eyes opened, weariness evident in the slight lines around her eyes. "I've drained my magic completely, but I'll be alright. The Grand Cleric is healing on her own now, but she'll need to rest. You should too, Marian. I didn't heal you just so you could go charging off into battle."

"Well, you know me," Hawke quipped. "And whatever happened to Grey Wardens not interfering?"

"I'm not a Grey Warden right now; I'm your sister," Bethany said. "Go, do what you must for Kirkwall. I'll stay here with Her Grace. We'll be fine."

"I hate to be a drag, but the situation in the Gallows is going to need our attention sooner rather than later," Varric said pointedly. "What's the plan?"

"We go tell Meredith what's what," Hawke growled. "Where are my daggers?"

Silence. "Um . . ." Merrill started. "Well, they might still be near where we found you. They might have been thrown clear of the blast."

"Shit," Hawke swore, evaluating her options. If they tried to look for the two she had been wearing in the Chantry, they would be wasting time, and there was no guarantee they could even find them. "Nevermind. We'll swing by my estate on the way to the Gallows. I have some spares. They're not as nice, but they'll do. Aveline, Fenris, Varric, and Merrill – with me. We've got a Knight-Commander to put in her place."