Chapter Eight

Glorious and Wild


Court had gone on past the lunching hour, but no one present seemed to mind. Only one case remained to be heard, after which many of those in attendance would have the afternoon free. It had been a very educational morning, if also dry and boring, watching the political and judicial wheels spinning. Danica shifted in the seat she had been granted next to Aveline's clerk, willing her tingling leg to hold her when the time came to stand. Her curiosity called her attention back to the room around her, when Donnic himself stood to present the final matter.

Danica had been told that Aveline's court of high justice heard only cases of crimes against Kirkwall itself or those involving city officials, whether as the accused or the injured party. She hadn't expected to see one of the latter before she came today, and was wise enough not to ask Aveline about whatever lesson of experience passed across the viscount's face when this case was mentioned this morning.

"Accused is former guardsman Brigham, no family name, late of the Templar Order and recruited into the City Guard following the retreat of same from the City of Kirkwall."

Aveline, sitting up now in the high-backed chair from which she conducted the affair, raised a hand to stop the presentation. "Former guardsman?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. Following my investigation into the events of which he stands accused, I exercised my authority to strip him of rank and right in addition to jailing him pending your judgment."

Nodding her acceptance, the viscount gestured for him to continue. If she privately thought decorum requiring her husband to call her "Excellency" was riotously amusing, she showed no sign of it now. Court was court, and her humor would never in these circumstances rise above her awareness of victims she had failed in the past.

"Three mornings ago, Nicola, no family name known, an elven woman in the employ of the Comte and Comtesse du Launcet, was found dead in an enclosed alley to the west of the estate she served. Evidence of her person indicated forced violation, her death apparently resulting from a broken neck. Thirteen witnesses, whose statements were delivered to Your Excellency yesterday, gave testimony that they observed Brigham in various stages of his flight from the location where the remains of the victim were found.

"When put to questioning about his involvement in the events, the accused protested that his liaison was conducted with her consent, but would not offer further testimony. On review of the statements provided and as a result of my own enquiries, I availed myself of the remedies previously mentioned and present the matter now to Your Excellency for ruling."

Having heard the formal presentation, even though she'd gotten most of it at home from Donnic the day of, Aveline turned her attention now to the accused. Here, her countenance was every bit the Guard-Captain of her past, stony and blank. "What have you to say in your defense?"

Eyes on the floor, Brigham attempted to wait her out. When it became clear nothing would happen until he spoke, he offered only, "I did nothing to her she didn't want."

Sharply, in a voice that commanded his attention upon her, Aveline pressed. "Do you deny causing this woman's death?"

As he opened his mouth to speak, the former guardsman found himself wholly unable to lie under the piercing gaze directed at him from the dais. Instead, he simply repeated himself, mindless of the admission hidden within his evasion. "I did nothing to her she didn't want."

Repeating her direct question netted the same response twice more.

Aveline thumbed through the witness statements she'd brought with her, reviewing certain facts as she considered the case before her and weighed the defendant's lack of denial. At length, she addressed the Guard-Captain. "In comparing the facts presented and the testimony given by those witnessing these events, the meager defense presented by the accused is found to be wanting. Hang him. One week hence, at dawn. Speak to me of a stay in judgment only if appropriate parties can't be located and notified within that time."

Danica joined the viscount in her office after the court had formally been brought to a close. "Again, Aveline, thank you for letting me see some of the process. I don't know if I'll give in to what everyone thinks is a good idea, taking any involvement in government beyond my current role on the council, but it was good to see things as they work."

"For what it's worth, I don't think you'd do badly. There's a strong sense of justice lurking somewhere under that smart mouth. I swear if I didn't know better, I'd have guessed you to be Hawke's long-lost sister."

"Ha! I'm told an old assassin friend of Alistair's took that to be the case in Antiva as well, before we got around to proper introductions. If it does come down the Amell line, it kind of makes me wonder what Leandra was hiding after everything I've heard of her. You're joining us again at the Hanged Man tonight? See us off?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Off with you now; enjoy what's left of your day. Bran's due a tongue-lashing, and I assume he thinks the same of me."


Anders took his time over the morning meal – well, for him, anyway, as it was already close to midday when he roused himself enough to make the trip downstairs. At loose ends with the others gone hunting for supplies or whatever they were up to, the healer was content to let the day pass slowly, even if he might have been a bit anxious to leave Kirkwall behind. Pushing his plate away, he caught movement in the corner of his eye and saw Carver slowly descending the stairs, quite obviously favoring his left leg.

Abandoning what was left of the small beer he'd been drinking, he rose and crossed the common room, his question to Carver plain on his face as he approached.

"Good. It's just you, and not, um. Him. Um…" The warrior glanced about a bit, leaning now on the wall beside the staircase to take his weight off the leg. "Could you… do you think… Um… Private?"

More red in his face than in the sauce I tossed over the bread just now. Hopefully it's related to the stammering and not whatever his condition is. "Right, then. Lean on me, back we go." For convenience, he shuffled the man into the room he and Davin shared, as it was closest. "What's happened to you?"

"There's an… Um. A burn."

"A burn? What would you find in here to burn yourself on?"

"Well, it's… two burns. Small ones. But… Deep, I guess? With the leg not working right?"

"All right. You don't have to be uncomfortable with me, I know you know this as often as I've healed you before, but you're getting more so. Shall we just get it over with?"

Carver's color only deepened, and he hated it. They'd been stuck on the road for days with each other. It wasn't as if there was anything Anders hadn't seen by now. It wasn't like anything novel was going on, either, but in his mind he could just hear the responses if the others found out this way. Saying nothing, he fixed his gaze in the far corner and fumbled with the catch of his trousers, shifting his breeches and smalls far enough out of the way to expose the injuries.

Anders saw, high on the man's leg, two circular burns, less than a hand's width apart. "Maker's breath, Carver, did you drop a candle or what?"

"Can you just… You know?" Carver waggled his fingers at the wounds in what seemed to be an indication of magic.

"Not without knowing what kind of burn it is, and…" The healer trailed off, passing a faintly glowing hand over the cracked and blistering skin, careful to avoid any contact that would further embarrass the warrior. Registering the muscle weakness he found beneath, he continued. "I'd also need to know the extent of the damage. It's a quirk I have. When my patient is conscious and speaking, I prefer not to guess at proper treatment."

Carver breathed deeply once, then twice. "It's just that… Merrill and I… and she…"

Anders blinked for a moment before his mind leaped into action, and he offered some small thanks to the Maker that he was able to keep his clinical face on at the thought. "Got it. Hang on." Retrieving a needle and cloth from his packs, he set about clearing out the blisters before igniting his power and channeling it into muscle and skin. After another mortifying moment for Carver, he was able to give the nod for the man to dress again, turning around to afford him some privacy as clothes were tugged back into place.

No help for it, I suppose. Now that he's decent again, I have to ask… "Does Merrill… need me to teach her how to properly use the electricity?"

"What?" Carver cursed his voice for pitching high. He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, but… "No. No. She got it fig- she got it figured out. She just, ah… She pushed down with her hand there to stand, and… Forgot to shut it off."

At hearing this, Anders lost his healer-like composure and shook for a moment with silent laughter. No, there really is no help for it. Sobering, he turned back to face the warrior fully. "Really, though, Carver. You're both all right?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"It's just this whole thing has been brewing for a while. If it's not my business feel free to say, but if it's what you want, then I'm happy for you."

"Right. It is. And we are. Erm. Thanks."

"That's good, then." Knowing it would embarrass the man and knowing he wouldn't be a proper healer if he didn't offer, Anders was left with no choice. "You know you can talk to me if you need anything. Preventives and such. And you can let the rest know on your own time. I won't be filling Davin in on the details, I promise you."

"Right. Yes. Thanks." Abandoning dignity, Carver fled back to the sanctuary of his room.


The healer wasn't the only one content to remain at loose ends. Fenris, for all the little sleep he'd gotten before rising yesterday, had remained awake quite late contemplating the strange turns his life had taken since his final escape from Tevinter. Strangest among them, he had supposed, being his willing return to the land of the magisters, and the relative safety he felt while there in the company of those he'd come to trust.

Rising later in the morning than he would have thought possible, he was agreeable enough to taking a cup of tea with Varric when the dwarf called out to him as he passed. Or taking a cup of tea in Varric's company, at any rate, the elf thought, recalling his friend's dislike for the drink.

"Heard about your rumble in Hightown yesterday, Elf. Wouldn't have pegged you as the one who would miss pounding on gangs in the dark."

"I had just begun to reflect on the life I had here at the time as well. Some elements are more easily forgotten than others. I was fortunate that the guard lieutenant was in a position to see the attack and assist."

"Good for you!" Varric allowed himself a moment to chuckle. "Never thought I'd hear you praising the arrival of a mage."

The dwarf's incessant needling of his friends had not been among the things Fenris forgot. Giving Varric his usual empty expression over the rim of his cup, he blandly intoned, "I believe I may detect a number of stray follicles about your jowl, Dwarf."

Varric grinned broadly. "That hurt, Fenris, that really did. Why not just fetch your enormous sword and cut me with it? Tomorrow's it, if you're staying on with the rest of them. Should I ask if you're ready for Ferelden, or if Ferelden is ready for you?"

"The destination means little to me. I have given no thought, even, to whether we will stay in Denerim or travel beyond. Perhaps I will ask the king on our arrival if his capital city possesses a sufficiency of broody youths, or if I should remain to inspire expectant mothers."

The dwarf's palm struck the table as an accent to his mirth. "Twice in a row! Now I'm wondering if I should trust you to give me accurate details of your trip around the world. Be a friend, Elf, and tell me all about it. I need to hear the truth so I can put together what to edit out. Or in."


Hawke maneuvered through the Lowtown market with vague purpose, recalling the vendors he'd need to provide for their upcoming voyage. Various trinkets and crafts caught his eye as he wandered through the stalls, lifting random bits to consider as gifts. Or, as had been the case with a few, for closer inspection to determine what in the bloody Void they were meant to be. It occurred to him as the sellers complained that he had no true appreciation for art that the trappings of noble life had never properly fit him. He had always been more at home having little and giving meaningfully, he supposed.

It wasn't until he heard Merrill speaking at his elbow that he realized she'd been uncharacteristically quiet since she'd joined him in the market.

"Hawke, you're a healer."

Puzzled, Hawke angled his head to talk with her as he aimed himself in the general direction of the stall he'd meant to visit. "Only when Anders isn't around to be, yes."

"But you spent so much time in the clinic, you must know. Is it… Is it easy to heal a burn?"

"That… would depend on the burn, Merrill. On how severe it is, and what kind it is. Why do you ask?"

"What if it was two burns? Just little ones, in circles, with maybe a blister?"

"Should be easy enough to heal, then, if you got the blisters out of the way. Why? Were you burned on your way to find me?"

The elf's face took on an abashed look, and she suddenly found it hard to hold her friend's eyes. "Well, I… sort-of-charred-Carver-on-the-leg-with-lightning-this-morning."

Playing the words back in his mind, as they'd been delivered at twice the speed of Merrill's usual lilt, Hawke took a minute to arrive at his question. "Why would you have had reason to be using electricity around Carver?"

"It's only that after we woke up this morning, I thought it might be a good idea to try out that sparky thing Danica showed me in the market back in that little village." Absently, Merrill let the electricity flow over her hand to illustrate her meaning. "Charity, was it? Only I forgot I was doing it and-"

"Wait. Wait. Back up. After we woke up?" The implication was settling in – and Danica just would show her that, wouldn't she? – and he realized he'd not once, in eight years' time, considered that the elf might actually respond to his brother's… whatever it was. "You and Carver? When did this happen?"

"I-i-it only happened yesterday, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it didn't really happen a long time ago and I just didn't notice."

"And you're… happy? This is something the both of you wanted?"

Unable to stop herself, Merrill was now beaming again, which would have been all the answer he'd needed. "It is. It really, really is. But then I forgot I was – oh, look, I forgot I was doing it again! – and I put my hand on his leg to stand up and it hurt him. He said it wasn't bad, but there were the blisters, but he wanted me to meet you like we planned, so if I was going to do that I made him promise to talk to Anders."

Maker's mercy, and he'd do it for her, too. Rumbling his amusement, Hawke assured her that if Anders was seeing to it, all would be well.

As more items were pressed into his already overfull pack, Merrill went on. "Do you think we're almost done, here? I just thought, Carver must think I've gone mad, with the amount of laughing I was doing this morning when I realized how many of Isabela's jokes I understand, now."


The evening went on much longer than had been planned, with Aveline repeating her insistence several times that letters be written from wherever they ended up. Of all of them, it had been Merrill who surprised the rest by suggesting that going on to Denerim was the right thing to do, if they wanted to keep their good memories in Kirkwall and leave the rest.

Danica admitted that as the day progressed, she'd become increasingly anxious at the thought of finally going home. If she saw the pride in the grin Anders gave her at hearing how she said the word, she pretended her ignorance well.

Merrill passed most of the evening held close against Carver, who managed to stop changing shades of red when Aveline stepped to his other side and whispered in his ear that it was about time they sorted it out. Somehow, those in the know managed to rein in their laughter as the elf prodded the man's leg and asked repeatedly if he was all right, when she thought no one was looking.

Fenris was content to recline with his mug and watch the exchanges passing back and forth throughout the room, pleased with knowing there would be many more such evenings in his future.

As they broke away from the group to sleep off their last night in Kirkwall, Anders confessed to Hawke that he had given heavy thought to returning to the Circle tower, to see as they had with the Gallows what had become of it, but had this afternoon decided against it. He'd arrived at the wisdom that going back didn't necessarily have to mean looking back, and perhaps staying in Denerim for a time – or longer – would be a decent step toward looking ahead.