Joseph


When I first took ship, I'd thought that it would be nice to see the city in which, two generations ago, my family had practically ruled. But there was nothing much nice about Kirkwall. In fact, if anywhere in Thedas could be compared to the Black City, I thought this place came closest.

A massive burned out crater sat where the Chantry chapel used to stand. Rubble lay in dusty, jagged mountains around ground zero. Most of the nearby buildings were badly damaged, if not completely destroyed. Indeed it was a miracle some stood at all, balancing precariously on jagged corners and whittled pillars. Shock was still heavy in the air, and uneasy Templars surrounded the perimeter.

Even a full week after the attack, family members and the devout still stumbled, weeping and worried, through the wreckage. They pulled at the rubble, looking for what was left of those they loved. Many called out with hoarse voices, daring to hope that their people might yet remain alive – that their trembling forms were still breathing, trapped in the rocks and desperate for help. Still others shuffled between the mangled linens bags which lined the edge of the ruin, seeking only a body to bury.

The elements had not been kind to the dead. I would never get used to the scent of decay, the smell seemed liable to burn my nose off. Many of the body bags were sized for children, and I remembered with a pang that the chapel had also housed an orphanage.

Even after facing down legions of undead and hordes of Darkspawn, the gruesome wake of devastation turned my stomach over. Holocausts like this belonged to the mindless and the monsters. How Resolutionists managed to cling to the lofty ideals of equality while flaunting such blatant disregard for human life, I couldn't understand.

Keran's fists were clenched as he surveyed the ruin.

"Have you been up here before?", I asked.

"… Yes." His voice seemed to come from far away. "I was one of the ones helping to look for survivors in the days after the attack." Keran was silent, then added bitterly, "There weren't many."

"If this is too…" I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, "frustrating, we can leave."

"No." Keran replied quickly. "No, I'm fine. I am."

"Were you close to anyone here?"

"Not close. But I did know most of them. Elthina didn't deserve this kind of death. None of them did."

"I'm sorry." It was all I had to offer. It wasn't nearly enough.

"We still don't even know how they did it." Keran remarked starkly. "This could happen again and we'd be powerless to stop it. And I don't know if I should blame the mages or Meredith for taking things too far." There was a faint tremor in his voice, like the thunder of an oncoming storm. Or he might have been about to vomit.

I looked back over the site slowly, "Hundreds of innocents are dead by the Knight-Commander's direct orders, hundreds more at the hands of the Resolutionist. Neither had any right to go so far. They're both responsible for their own choices. They both have blood on their hands."

Whether Keran liked the answer or not was unclear. He gave no reply. We stood silently on the hill for a time. Finally the stillness became too much for me to bear.

Not having any real destination in mind, I maneuvered down the slope to the heart of the crater. Keran followed a few meters behind. I knelt and picked up a piece of rubble the size of my fist, turning it over in my palm.

I don't really know what I had been expecting to see, let alone what I'd planned to do about it. This Chantry Incident was none of my affair and I had no reason to want to help the Templars. Especially here, in Kirkwall, of all places. And yet, the tragedy surrounding me was not something one could easily ignore. Standing here in the aftermath, I was possessed by a deeply rooted frustration, a desire to bring the people who had caused this suffering to justice. Whether it was rightly my fight or not. This tendency had gotten me into trouble more than once.

Keran breathed deeply. "Messere– do you… do you think there could have been peace? If just one side had been willing to humble themselves?"

I knew what he wanted to hear. Keran wanted to believe that taking the high road mean never falling. Never failing. That if we could just be good enough, we'd free ourselves from all pain and disappointment. The desperation in his voice made me want to say yes.

But such an assurance would be a cruel lie at it's heart. Having virtue didn't free us from conflict. Not even Andraste had been exempt from suffering.

I shook my head. "Peace can't be made in half measures… Though I wish it were otherwise."

His eyes dropped. "Maker preserve us", the Templar sighed.

I grimaced. "Preserve us from ourselves."


Both in need of a stiff drink, we made our way back to Lowtown afterward. Like everywhere in Kirkwall, it bore the fresh scars of battle. Burnt ruins plagued every street. Many of the shadowed alleyways were swollen with rubble, pushed there to clear the main streets. Dark bloodstains marred the walkways and walls like bruises; and beady, suspicious eyes stared out from the filth like so many rats. Occasionally, we passed a putrid linen cloth draped over a human form.

Bandaged and blackened, beggars lined the street, almost as filthy as the corpses they squatted beside. An emptiness was in their eyes; these wretched folk were long since blind to the horrors surrounding them. They seemed wary of Keran and me, and most kept their distance. For his part, the Templar seemed to pity them with sincerity, and not the haughty assumed sympathy that so many of the Order had learned to paint on their faces.

There was a stillness and a stench in the humid air, and the silence of ten-thousand souls still unable to understand what had just happened. The whole of the city seemed to be drenched in the toxic fumes of death and smoke, so thick in the air, you could taste it on your tongue. Frankly, burning darkspawn did more for the appetite than the redolence which permeated Kirkwall.

As the sun dropped below the horizon, we stopped outside of a dingy looking place with a crudely carved human figure hanging from a rope above the entrance. "Here we are", Keran stated.

I raised an eyebrow. "This looks like the place to go if you need a knife in your belly, not ale."

The young knight hesitated. "There are places in this city where the drinks are worth paying for. This isn't one of them. But the Hanged Man can't be beat for company. Or," his voice quieted, "anonymity. I think it's best we don't flaunt you in the fancy Hightown taverns, messere."

"That's probably for the best."


Walking in was like entering an entirely different world. Ale was flying through the air, men were howling and arm wrestling and losing their last salary in Liar's Dice. You'd not suspect the city outside had been brought to its knees.

Keran found a free table and ordered two tankards from a plain-faced waitress. After a brief silence, I made an attempt at conversation. "You said you knew the Hawke family?"

"Yes, Warden-Commander. Better than most."

"Tell me how you met. And, please just call me Joseph. I'm not much one for ceremony."

He gave me a look, but nodded. "She saved my life. I was just a recruit in the Order, fell into a… eh, trap set by a coven of maleficarum. Hawke didn't know me from the Maker, but took on the blood mages and their demons for my sake all the same."

"Saintly of her."

"She had a reputation for sticking her nose into other people's business. Fortunately for me. Cullen paid her for her services after the fact, but Athena never asked him to."

"Am I to take it the Champion lived up to her legend, then?"

"She always tried to. It's hard living up to that kind of standard."

The drinks arrived. Keran took a hearty swallow before continuing, "I tell you what though – she really had a soft spot for mages. The past few years, Hawke was using her influence to push for mage rights. Was actually making progress… before…" He took another swallow. "Well, you know."

"Cullen said it was Resolutionist friend of hers that leveled the Chantry. What sort of people did she most often associate with? Who fled with her"

"Er… all sorts, really. None of them had much in common except that they were friends with Athena."

I looked at him expectantly.

"Well, there was her sister, of course. Bethany was a Circle mage. Then there's Guard Captain Aveline; Varric, the undercity dwarf merchant; an apostate named Anders... and a couple of elves, I think. One was Dalish. I'm pretty sure a pirate followed her around for a while, too, but I don't think they got on very well."

He was right, she'd collected quite the menagerie. One name in particular sent a chill up my spine. "Anders?"

Keran tilted his head. "Does that name mean something to you?"

"I knew a Warden who went by it", I muttered, shaking my head. "One of my best friends."

"You think they might be the same person?" Keran's tone was incredulous.

"No. He died a long time ago…" I remembered receiving the news like it was yesterday. Anders had been sent out with two other Wardens on patrol. No big event. Nothing should have happened. But they didn't come back. The search party had found them easily enough. They just had to follow the smell of flesh put to fire. Most of the bodies were too mutilated to be identified. All of them were dismembered. Burned black. No survivors. The work of maleficar.

Keran frowned. "Oh… guess they couldn't be the same. What an event that would've been, wouldn't it?"

"Truly." I scratched the stubble on my chin. "Tell me about this 'Anders.' What did he look like?"

Keran brushed his hair back, expression thoughtful. "He was tall. Angular in feature. Blonde hair. Dark eyes, I think."

My stomach lurched. It couldn't possibly be the same man. No. Because the Anders I knew was dead. Dead for seven years. A ghost for the demons to taunt me with in my nightmares.

"What was he like?" I couldn't help but ask.

"We called him The Healer. He had a clinic in Darktown where he took care of sick refugees. He's Athena's partner. Common law, of course. A wedding in the Chantry would have put him too much in the open. He already had the Order stirred up. They tried to apprehend him more than once, and he gave them a black eye every time." Keran's peculiar use of pronouns was not lost on me.

This Anders didn't sound at all like the Warden I'd travelled with. No, the man I'd known had been a lecherous sod who's most distinctive feature was his selfishness. He'd been brave, for a coward, and had on occasion shown a remarkable capacity for caring; but he certainly wasn't the type to challenge the Templars directly. And getting married? Out of the question.

There were things that were eerily familiar, though. His talent for healing. His distaste for the Templars and uncanny knack for slipping through their grasp. But it couldn't be the same person. It couldn't be because, as I'd already pointed out, Anders was dead.

I took a deep swallow of ale. "Surely Meredith didn't knowingly allow an apostate to run loose in her city."

"Once he was under the Champions protection, there wasn't much Meredith could do."

"You mean to tell me the Commander was afraid of Hawke?"

"No, but… she was careful. Waiting for the right moment, I think. There was too much at stake to be tactless."

"I see." A politician. Shaking my head, I remarked, "She certainly got her opportunity. Though, it doesn't look as if that ended well for her."

Keran managed a heartless laugh.

"Right, well if it's all the same to you, Ser Knight, I'd like to take a look at Hawke Estate now." There were questions that needed answering. Nagging suspicions in the back of my mind that needed to be addressed.

Both of us were silent on our way back to Hightown. I kept my eyes and ears alert for any sign of unsavory pursuit, but we may as well have been the only people in the city. Considering Kirkwall's reputation, I wasn't sure if I should feel relieved or worried. We reached the mansion without incident.

The moon cast a milky glow on the white stone of Hawke Estate. Three Templars guarded the entrance. Above them, a thick red streak coated the doorframe. My spine prickled with recognition. This just kept getting better and better.

"Is that–?" Keran had noticed it too.

"Blood."

"But, why?", he asked anxiously, remaining stationary as I walked towards the door.

All I answered with was a shrug. This was not a secret for the Templars to know, even the well intentioned ones. For mages, a frame marked with blood was a warning. It told apostates and their families to stay away, because the Templars had found out where they were hiding and a place which offered aid could offer it no longer.

To have this augury painted over Hawke Estate meant Athena had not simply been bedding an apostate and sponsoring mages in the political realm – she had been helping fugitives escape the Order directly. A hanging offense. A revolutionary offense.

"Sorry serah, this area is off limits." One of the guards declared as I got closer.

"Commander Cullen has given this man special permissions", Keran replied.

The guard grimaced, "Sorry Ser Keran. Commander Tortan says nobody gets in."

"This is Warden-Commander Amell. He's looking in to the situation."

"The Amell?" There was a newfound awe in the Templar's voice. She fixed her attention back on me. "It's an honor to meet you, messere."

"The pleasure's all mine", I replied, not sure I was happy with Keran using my name as leverage.

"I wish I could help you", she apologized. "Just, the Commander would have our heads if he found out. I'm sure if you asked he'd give you a writ."

"It would only take a moment", I coaxed. "I won't tell him if you don't."

"Sorry." She refused.

Tortan was really starting to get on my nerves.

"Oh, come off it!", Keran protested. "Cullen's the same rank as Tortan. That should be more than enough."

She didn't budge. "He needs a writ from Knight-Commander Tortan. End of story."

"Looks like I'll have to get a writ them", I sighed, having no interest in continuing to debate with the guard pup. "Thanks anyway."

"Good night, messere."

"Likewise."

Keran tagged after me as I rounded the corner. "Tortan won't give you a writ, you know that." He hissed. "Not when he finds out what you are!"

"You're absolutely right." I replied, twisting my neck up to look for any open windows.

"I don't follow."

"Ah-hah."

Keran followed my gaze to an open window. "Huh. I guess they didn't have time to lock the place up before they left."

"Lucky for us."

His expression was quizzical. "What are you going to do?"

"Break in."

"What!?" He gaped at me, "You're not serious? How are you even going get up there?"

"Magic, naturally." I unstrapped my swordbelt, untied the locket around my neck, and took off my coat. "Unless you know of another way in."

There was almost certainly a secondary exit, in case the fugitives Hawke had been helping needed to make an instant escape. But that sort of getaway could be hidden anywhere, and seeing how I didn't know where it was, the window was my first and best option.

Keran didn't answer me. He shifted weight from foot to foot, looking like he might bolt at any moment. I almost laughed, but that probably would have made his nerves even worse. What a character this knight was turning out to be.

"Listen, don't scream, ok?", I asked.

"Er…"

"It'll make sense in a minute"

Handing him my necklace and swordbelt, I knelt, focusing my magic. Shapeshifting was tricky, and it had taken much longer to learn than simpler arts, like throwing fireballs. If you happened to neglect a certain aspect of the animal, you could very well kill yourself. Like the one time I'd tried turning into a salmon, and forgotten the gills. Nasty business. But at least I'd practiced my chosen shape before. I was confident in my ability to do it again.

A glowing yellow magic began to spread over me, distorting my figure. I winced as my heart changed shape, my lips hardened, and my bones withered hollow. It felt as if my entire body was collapsing in on itself.

"Maker's breath", my Templar friend gasped, taking a step back.

In less than a full minute, I was no longer a man. Instead, my form was that of a tawny owl. Clothes now much to large for my figure lay in a heap around me. I twisted my head, taking a deep breath to make sure everything was in the right place before spreading my feet and stretching my wings. I looked up at Keran expectantly.

"You're a shapechanger, like the Chasind witches!" He drew in a sharp breath. "The Chantry… they said the stories were fairytales. But you– you just… how did you do that?"

I shrugged my wings. He stood there, utterly dumbstruck, until I hopped over and pecked at his shin.

"Oh!" He lifted me delicately, and if afraid I might be explosive. "Ready?"

Without waiting for a reply, he flung his arm upward. I pushed off as hard as I could, making halfway to the window before I remembered to breathe. It was easy enough to get through the opening, but once I was inside there was no wind to carry me. Balance lost, I went spinning, hitting the ground hard and rolling wing over talon. At least the ground was carpet. Not that this did anything to keep my feathers from getting bent.

Shaking off the failed landing, I took in my surroundings. Owl's eyes made it easy to see in the dark house. The window opened into a sort of balcony, overlooking a living room. Hopping across the red carpet, I fluttered up to the railing to get a better look at things.

The building was spectacular. White stone walls were lined with expensive looking paintings. The Amell coat-of-arms was hung in several places, as well. Strange to think this had been my family's home, and that in another life I might've lived here, dressed in silks, drinking fine wines, and laying in a feather bed.

There was an empty desk directly below me and a curved staircase to the right. The other side of the room opened to a foyer, and presumably the door that the Templars had under guard. I turned my head around. Directly behind me was a hallway, leading to only one room. It seemed like a good place to start my search.

The hall led to a grand bedroom with its own fireplace and an extravagant four-poster bed. In one corner was a desk, with a lockbox sitting open on top of it. I clawed and flapped my way up the chair and hopped up next to the container. It looked as if several things had been taken out of it quickly, the rest left in a disorganized heap. Mostly nostalgic trinkets, by the look of them. Pictures of people I didn't know, children's drawings folded and carefully preserved. A thimble. A pressed orchid. A hawk feather. There was a draft of a manifesto declaring mages rights, too.

I was about to decide nothing in here could provide me with useful information when I saw the necklace. It sported a silver pendant with preserved Darkspawn blood spread over the center. This was a Warden's amulet, given to those of us who survived the Joining. They weren't trinkets, they weren't given away by their owners. My heart began to race, dread prickling my feathers.

Maybe it meant nothing. Perhaps Hawke found it in the Deep Roads, on a body. Slowly, I turned it over in my claw. A familiar engraving was etched on the back.

Anders

That was it, then.

He was alive.


WHEW! It's been SO long since I've been able to sit down and work on a story. It feels so wonderful to finish something. 3 Hope you all enjoy! I'm sorry for the long wait.

Don't be afraid to comment/critique! But be gentle, I'm quite rusty! ^^;