A bitter silence hung over the old battlefield just north of Kirkwall's north gate. A cool morning breeze gusted up from the Waking Sea to the south, rustling the tall grass and keening off spear points. The sun rose blood-red on the eastern horizon, bathing the city's white-brown walls in crimson light. Many booted feet thumped on cobblestones, buckles jangled, and leather straps creaked as the Kirkwall delegation marched north along the old trade road. But no one spoke.
All about them was the debris and ruin of two years ago, great mounds of earth and trenches that gashed the ground, and scattered remnants of all the trinkets that accompanied by army on the march, all shattered, all broken, all destroyed. The weight was overpowering.
Soon enough, they drew up to the Starkhaven camp. The scarlet and black trefoil banner of that city flew at its center, accompanied by those of the other Marcher city-states, though none flew as high. The soldiers on watch stood tall and proud, pikes held arrow straight. One of them, whose gleaming plate armor marked him as an officer, stepped forward as the Kirkwallers came to a halt in perfect order, their final footstep echoing briefly on the cobbles. Varric emerged out from among his people in answer.
The Viscount seemed to have put aside his title for the day, for he lacked the iron circlet of office, wore his old brown leather fighting coat, creased and battered with use, and Bianca the articulate crossbow was slung on his back. The rest of the Kirkwallers were similarly armed and attired. Before the Starkhaven soldier could speak, Varric beat him to it.
"You know damned well who we are," he snapped at the man, "Just go and get your prince and make it quick."
The other man bowed briefly and motioned to one of his fellows, who practically sprinted off. The silence fell again. At length, a larger company of soldiers came marching up through the camp. They fell into line with the entrance guards, parting to reveal their prince, who strode out in front of his followers and halted at about the same distance as Varric. Two mages accompanied him, staves out and held firmly in their hands.
Clad in the same mirror-bright white armor he had worn when he fought alongside Hawke years ago, Sebastian Vael looked every inch the lord he was. The weight of the prince's circlet had begun carving lines into his face, though he retained the chiseled good looks that had given his parents such cause for distress. But a cold, hawk-like scowl marred his handsome features. Neither he nor Varric bowed. The dwarf's gloves creaked as his fingers flexed, loosening up in preparation for battle. Sebastian held his bow in one hand and a full quiver of arrows rested on his back. He opened his mouth to speak. Varric interrupted him.
"You want to trade again? Fine. Send your people to talk to my people. There. Done. Now get off Kirkwall land." He began to turn around as if to leave.
"I do not accept that as satisfactory, Viscount!" the prince answered, "I and my allies will not be treated with such disrespect!" He still had a fine ringing voice that carried well and brought Varric to a halt in mid-turn.
"What. More. Do you want?" the Viscount growled.
"A civil conversation, to begin with," Sebastian said. "Will you accept the hospitality of our camp or shall we join you in Kirkwall? We have a great deal to discuss."
"It would be best if you stayed outside Kirkwall," Aveline put in, walking up to stand beside Varric. The Captain of the Guard's glare was fierce enough that the prince actually began to look away before he caught himself. "I cannot ensure your safety within the city. There are too many who have lost people to your invasion, myself included."
Sebastian nodded once.
"Well enough, Captain. Your honesty is appreciated. Please, come with me. The other ambassadors await our arrival."
The prince led them through the camp to an enormous pavilion, big enough to hold twice as many people as it currently contained. The escorts of both sides were led off to an adjacent tent where long tables and benches had been set up, along with food and drink. Within the nobles' pavilion was a broad wooden table of some dark wood, varnished until it resembled a black mirror, and many chairs of the same sort. Sebastian seated himself at one end and Varric immediately claimed the chair opposite. The others of both delegations arranged themselves to sit closer to their rulers.
"If I may," the prince began, "I would like ask the blessing of the Maker upon our meeting. Surely we are in need of it." The Starkhaven half of the table bowed their heads, as did Hawke and Bethany. Sebastian's voice grew softer and the icy frown left his face as he spoke, and for the first time, there was peace and weight in his words.
"And the Maker, clad in the majesty of the sky,
Set foot to earth, and at His touch
All warring ceased. The vicious
Beasts lay down and were quieted;
The meek lambs became bold
And rose up, casting aside their shepherds
To dance at the Maker's feet."
A brief silence followed, and Sebastian concluded his prayer. "May the Maker guide us in these troubled times and lead us back to the path of peace. So let it be."
The words were echoed by the Starkhaven contingent, and Hawke could have sworn she saw Varric's lips move silently. For a brief moment, there was peace, hovering in the air. Then Varric spoke again and it vanished.
"I'm surprised you weren't struck by lightning just now," he muttered, "Considering you've done just about the opposite of that verse ever since you left Kirkwall."
Sebastian did not rise to the bait this time, but looked to the others present, raising a hand to gesture towards those on his side of the table.
"Permit me to introduce my fellows. This is Baron Harwin of Tantervale, Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, First Enchanter Bertillon of the Circle of Magi, and Lady Sommer of the College of Enchanters. I believe you are acquainted with Ser Nathaniel Howe of the Grey Wardens."
Nathaniel bowed briefly, his lean face creased in a frown. His plain hunting leathers and dented red steel brigandine stood out among the finely dressed Starkhaven delegates as much as Sebastian's own armor did, particularly with the spread-winged griffin of the Wardens etched upon his chest.
"We met briefly long ago. I won't be offended if you don't remember me. But you may have saved my life and I always repay my debts."
"I remember you," Hawke said, returning his bow with a brief smile. "I try to remember everyone and I recall that you seemed like a good sort, though you could stand to smile more."
"So my sister tells me," Nathaniel agreed. There was a twitch of his lips that might have been an attempt at rectifying the deficiency.
"I get it," Varric grumbled at Sebastian, crossing his arms. "You want to humiliate me in front of as many important people as possible. Well, you know who my friends are, so feel free to get on with it any day now, I'm sure your backers have better things to do as well as me. I've already agreed to reopen trade, I thought that was the only reason you dragged me out here."
"Even were that the case, surely it is not so impossible for me to wish a chance to speak with all of you?" the prince answered with a little sigh, looking over each of the Viscount's friends in turn. "I was hoping that matters between us would not be forever tainted by what has happened. But we shall speak of that later. You have agreed to reopen trade. That is a fine start. There are two things further. First, that you read and answer any future messages from Starkhaven and the Dwarven Merchants Guild with the same promptness and attention you show to others. Are we agreed?"
Varric threw up his hands.
"Fine, ruin one of the only good things about being Viscount. Done. What's the second thing?"
"The second," Sebastian said, leaning forward with a fierce glare, "is that you permit our people to search Kirkwall until either the apostate Anders or evidence leading to him is found."
Varric stood up.
"No deal. Come on, Hawke, we're going."
"Varric, wait," Hawke said, putting a hand on his shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Let's at least try to change their minds first." The dwarf stopped, shrugged, and sat back down again. When Hawke looked back to the prince, it was not anger or coldness on her face. It was pity and sorrow in equal measure.
"May we ask what particular grievances your allies have with Anders? It's been six years since the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry. The Mage Rebellion is over and the mages won. What makes you think any evidence is left in the city or that he's anywhere near it? For that matter, why have you all picked now to stand behind Prince Sebastian?"
"Both the College," said Lady Sommer, "And my colleague's pretentions at a new Circle, now that we are both relatively secure, feel we must demonstrate that while Anders' actions may have led to our freedom, whether to live as free mages or to rebuild the prison of the Circle in a slightly prettier manner, we do not condone them. Too many good people died because of what he did. If he claims what he did was to obtain justice for all mages, let him face that same justice. We must be accountable when one of our own commits such an atrocity."
The First Enchanter, who was visibly restraining himself from interrupting her, jumped into the gap. "Indeed," he agreed, "While the Circle may not agree with the second Imperium my fellows are in the process of founding, in this, we are allied. If your Guard Captain had been willing to listen to reason prior to your appointment, Viscomte, we could have dealt with this matter years ago."
"I defended my home from a brutal and unprovoked invasion!" Aveline snapped, standing up and bringing her hands down on the table with a resounding bang! "Don't pretend that the reason for it was anything else than to conquer Kirkwall for Starkhaven so Sebastian could tear it apart until he found Anders or razed it to the ground, whichever came first! And I see no evidence that your own plans are any different!"
A great uproar broke out at once, with everyone talking over each other at increasingly loud volume in an effort to be heard that only made sure no one was. Hawke sighed and motioned to her sister. Bethany raised her staff and when she brought it down, a brief burst of flame sparked from its tip. The shouting went from angry to alarmed, demanding explanations or threatening reprisals, but then they died away.
"Thank you," Hawke said to Bethany, then turned back to the gathering with a stern frown. "Now that I have your attention, my lords, let me say that although I wouldn't have put it so bluntly, Aveline is right. So far, you offer no proof that Anders is anywhere near Kirkwall, let alone inside the city. You have also not offered assurances that your investigation, as you call it, won't be the witch hunt that the prince intended previously. That being said, I'll admit that there may be leads, even if they are six years cold and of little use to you. Why don't we request the aid of the Inquisition? They have no stake in our quarrel. They could investigate Kirkwall under our joint supervision."
"This would be the same Inquisition that both you and the Viscount were part of, however briefly?" Sebastian said, "And that betrayed the trust of Starkhaven by aiding your resistance to my forces? And that is led by an Inquisitor who made pact with the rebel mages? I hardly think they are impartial in this matter, nor are any of you. I have not forgotten how you defended Anders while the ruins of the Chantry were still burning, Hawke. You are still defending him, and this time I will not be denied! For you are wrong, we do have evidence that Anders is within your walls. Warden Nathaniel?"
All eyes turned to the Grey Warden hunter, who nodded gravely.
"As you might imagine, the Wardens have no wish to be associated with Anders and his actions. After Kirkwall, considerable resources were devoted to the effort to find him, but with the Mage Rebellion and what happened during the false Calling, we were…delayed quite a bit. With the recent calm, I was assigned to take up the task once again and though it has taken me quite some time, his trail leads here and it is recent enough for him to be within the city. With the Antivan blockade in place, he cannot have left by ship, and with Prince Sebastian's allies now encircling you by land, it is unlikely he left that way either. For what it's worth, you have my sympathies, Hawke. He was my friend too, of a sort, long ago."
The Champion flinched as if struck, closing her eyes. Her shoulder slumped under the weight of the realization.
"So, call the Inquisition if you wish," Sebastian said coldly, "It is our side they will take this time, whether they like it or not. We will not have them keep this abomination from us again."
Hawke's eyes snapped open, filled with electric blue fury and she looked straight at him. The prince met her gaze steadily.
"My guards will—" Aveline began, only for Sebastian to cut her off with an angry slash of one hand.
"They will do nothing, Guard Captain, unless you wish to be held responsible for his escape!"
"Andraste's holy shit, Choir Boy," Varric snarled, "You're not—!"
"You will not blaspheme in my presence, Varric!" the prince snapped back.
"Elthina would be ashamed of you," Bethany said, and Sebastian visibly reddened.
"You dare invoke her name to—"
"My lord?" Bann Trevelyan put in, tapping him on the shoulder, "Enough. You have what you came here for. If you wish to speak privately with the Kirkwall delegation, that can be arranged. I came here to see trade restored and Anders taken into custody, nothing more."
"No," Hawke said quietly.
The Bann raised an eyebrow.
"Champion, you must realize you are in no position to—"
"I said NO!" Hawke thundered, silencing the Ostwick lord with the sheer force of her voice. "And," she went on, quiet again, "I meant no. You aren't killing Anders to score political points in my city. That is not justice."
"The man is an abomination and the greatest mass murderer alive in Thedas!" Sebastian said, anger twisting his face into something ugly, "How can death not be justice for his crimes?"
"You left out the next verse of your prayer, Sebastian," Hawke said, walking over to the midpoint of the table.
"All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned!
Let no soul harbor guilt!
Let no soul hunger for justice!
By the Maker's will I decree
Harmony in all things.
Let Balance be restored
And the world given eternal life."
The prince struggled for words, looking rather like a landed fish. Varric leaned over to Aveline and murmured, "Ten sovereigns says she turns this into an argument on theology and whips his ass."
Though the Guard Captain didn't smile, he heard it in her answer. "I don't take losing gambles."
"That verse…" Sebastian managed eventually, "That refers to the day when the Maker returns to us, Hawke, when the world is made anew. This is not that day or that world. It is full of sin and wickedness and we can only deal with it as it is."
"I'm reminded of the words of the late Divine Justinia the Fifth," Hawke remarked, walking closer still. All eyes were upon her and the ambassadors held their breath. "I'm sure you've heard this particular remark of hers, it was repeated all over Thedas just before the Mage Rebellion broke out in earnest. Idealism is the Chantry's stock in trade. A religion without ideals is nothing but tyranny. Said during a debate with the late Lord Seeker regarding the fate of mages in the south. And we all know what happened to him and what he planned to do, don't we, my lords?"
An agreeable murmur rose around the table.
"You tell him, sis," Bethany whispered under her breath, a delighted smile on her face.
"Yes, well…admirable as she was, Justinia could not prevent the war, nor even stop it. It is doubtful that the Conclave she planned would have succeeded," Sebastian said. But he took a step back as Hawke continued forward, only a few paces away now.
"And Andraste died without ever having conquered Tevinter. She didn't even found the Chantry as it is today. Failure at a noble goal doesn't make the goal wrong or the effort meaningless. You knew that once."
"And what alternative would you offer?" the prince demanded, taking another step back. "What would you call justice for Anders' crimes? Do not tell me that idealism demands this monster walk free!"
Whatever Hawke might have said was lost to the ages, for a soldier burst into the pavilion, flustered and out of breath.
"Ah, my lords! Urgent news from the sentinels! My, um, that is, apologies for the interruption and I beg leave to speak!"
"Go ahead, I think we'll survive not being called 'm'lord' for once," Varric said to him, waving a hand.
"Yes, thank you, my—um, sir. A single man approached the camp and said he wishes to surrender to us. He…ah…he claims to be the apostate Anders."
In the brief stillness that followed, Varric's voice could be distinctly heard by everyone.
"Well…shit."
A/N: I originally intended this chapter as a funny little short with Varric trying to draft his letter, but unfortunately this website doesn't accept strikethroughs in text. So I just started working on the one after that and it just kept growing on me. I can't seem to write a mildly interesting side story without it turning into something serious. As always, this is unedited stuff, so apologies for the quality or lack thereof. If anyone actually wants to help edit it, by all means, let me know. Oh, and I forgot to mention, I most certainly do not own Dragon Age or anything associated with it, much as I might wish otherwise.