After Blondie's secret tunnel caved in and sealed the last viable exit from the clinic, Varric sighed and headed over to Cullen's position. The tall knight was sitting on a crate and running a whetstone along his sword's edge The stone made a dull scraping sound as it dragged down the sharpened blade, almost lost amid the clamor outside. Cullen's gaze seemed fixed on the sword, unnaturally calm given what was about to happen.
"You good, Curly?" the dwarf inquired. He racked back the loading mechanism of his crossbow, feeding a bolt into the weapon before setting it aside for the moment. "Ready for this dance?"
The Templar nodded but didn't look up from his blade. Sparks flew as he ground the whetstone against the razor edge. He held it up to his eyes, inspected the edge, then returned to his ministrations. When he spoke his voice was low and soft, as if he wasn't really speaking to Varric at all.
"Eyes sorrow-blinded, in darkness unbroken," he murmured. "There 'pon the mountain, a voice answered my call. You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr, that within My creation, none are alone."
Varric raised an eyebrow.
"It's a verse from the Chant of Light," Cullen explained. "When the Maker revealed Himself to Andraste, who lamented for the suffering and pain of her people. In her hour of need, He delivered her and her people from destruction."
Varric was indeed familiar with the verse, but he didn't feel the need or desire to point this out. Instead, he frowned and said, "You really think it's time to start praying? I didn't think things were that bad."
"It… seemed fitting, considering what we're about to face." He paused in his care for his sword, then tossed the whetstone in to the dirt with a quiet curse. The sword now rested across his lap as its owner stared off at some point over Varric's shoulder.
"We're both going to die in here."
Varric sighed and hopped up to take a seat next to the Templar Knight-Captain. "You think so?"
"I'm no novice with a blade and shield, but we're woefully outnumbered. It's almost a certainty."
The dwarf cleared his throat, listening to the pounding against the door. If the shouts and screams were any indication, the crowd outside had almost doubled since the violence had started, no doubt bolstered by other Darktown natives drawn to the promise of murder and looting like moths to flickering candle flame.
"You, uh… you afraid?"
Cullen planted the tip of his sword in the dirt between his boots. "I am a Knight-Captain of the Templar Order. I made my peace long ago and face my fate with head raised high. It is my duty."
"Right, right. I get the whole chivalric code and everything. But what about underneath all that?"
The Knight-Captain of the Templar Order seemed to deflate a little. "The truth? I'm terrified. I don't want to die."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. I, uh… I'm scared too. I know I put on a brave face for the others, but…" He swung his feet, which didn't touch the ground from his perch on the crate. "I'd rather not die, you know?"
They sat in silence for a bit, listening as the door splintered inward. Chunks were now flying from its surface, letting in the clamor and noise of the mob outside. Someone managed to chuck a fire grenade through one of the gaps in the door and it shattered against the ground, spreading a pool of brilliant flames across the sandy floor. They quickly died away with a hiss, as the clinic's occupants had piled virtually every source of potential fuel against the door as part of their barrier.
It wouldn't be long now.
"You mind if I ask you a question, Curly?"
"Normally I'd say I would mind. But it seems somewhat pointless now."
The dwarf pondered for a few moments, then pursed his lips and said, "Why did you decide to stay? To defend Hawke, I mean. You could have easily joined your buddies outside in the crowd."
A dark look crossed Cullen's chiseled face, pulling his handsome features into a scowl. "The thought crossed my mind, if I'm being brutally honest. I have no love for mages, as you've probably guessed."
"Something to do with the Ferelden Tower?" When Cullen looked at him sharply, Varric just shrugged and said, "No offense intended. Just something I overheard."
"Well… yes. I've seen firsthand how destructive their powers can be." Cullen sniffed and flexed his hands around the hilt of his sword. "But tonight, for the first time, I saw the exact inverse. I watched as Marian Hawke engaged the Arishok alone to defend this city. I watched her hurl lightning bolts and fireballs, watched her fight and flail and almost die all to safeguard the innocent. Not unlike a Templar."
He glanced at Varric. "I wouldn't have been able to accomplish what she did, Varric. Even the Knight-Commander would likely have fallen if placed in the same dire situation. But Hawke not only stood her ground but emerged victorious."
Another grenade exploded against the ground, to cheers from the crowd outside. Cullen watched the flames lick across the sandy floor for a few long moments before it died away into nothingness.
"She wasn't acting to defend herself," he said. "She wasn't looking for greater power through blood magic. She wasn't even fighting to secure some great boon to ensure her freedom. She was defending the people of Kirkwall, to the death if necessary, simply because it was the right thing to do."
"And that made it special for you? Made it mean something?"
"It meant everything. I wouldn't be sitting here if not for her. Neither would you or your friends or even the crowd outside. We all owe our lives to her."
An icy look frosted over his gaze and he scowled at the splintered door, now almost knocked clean off its hinges. They could see hands gripping the ragged edges of the various holes blasted in its surface, doing their best to push it inward. Those rare places where the groping hands were absent, spears and sticks and sword blades were shoved through in a vain attempt to stab at something — anything — that lurked within.
"I figure," the Knight-Captain said, "that this is the very least I can do to repay the great debt I now owe."
He hefted his sword into both hands and stood from his seat. Varric wasn't far behind, heart thumping uncomfortably hard in his chest.
"In her," Cullen continued, "I see the potential salvation of this city. And if my death can ensure she lives to do what I can't, that is a price I am willing to pay." He glanced down at his unlikely companion. "What about you? Why are you still here?"
Varric chuckled and shrugged. "Hawke is my best friend. Where else would I be?"
A strange look came into Cullen's eyes. "She is truly blessed by your loyalty. Would that we all had a companion such as you to rely upon."
Varric snorted. "Mind telling her that when she wakes up?"
"It's a deal." The tall human cracked a rare smile. "But only if you manage to cut down more than I do."
"You're on, Curly."
CRACK!
The entire doorway seemed to shudder in its frame. The door bent inward with a great groan of stretching, tortured wood. The two defenders took a few cautious steps back. Varric hoisted his beloved Bianca up to a firing position, tight against his shoulder. Cullen raised his sword and kissed the flat side of the blade, blessing it for the battle to come.
"Let the blade pass through the flesh," he murmured, quoting from the Chant of Light once more. "Let my blood touch the ground. Let my cries touch their hearts."
Varric grimaced and, despite his best efforts to curtail his tongue, finished the passage.
"Let mine be the last sacrifice."
There was a deep, almost thunderous groan from the other side of the door as the battering ram was pulled back for a final, cataclysmic strike. Varric found himself screwing his eyes up in preparation of the inevitable explosion and the destruction that would follow. He was not disappointed.
CRA-CRASH!
The door was blown clean off its great iron hinges, smashing down with a resounding clatter and a billowing cloud of dust and ash from the flame-scorched ground. The cloud swarmed through the room, shrouding all in a blanket of beige. Pounding footsteps of invading rioters quickly followed and the clinic was suddenly filled with bodies.
The two defenders, alone against the horde, charged forward with weapons held high. They cried out, and then were lost in the chaos.
"For Kirkwall!"
"For Hawke!"
Marian saddled the horse for travel early the next morning. She let Brooke sleep, slipping out from their shared tent before the sun first kissed the horizon. Her first job, of course, was keeping an eye out for Lok. The man had stayed in their camp late into the night, butchering his prize from his hunt the day before. Marian had heard the scraping of that sinister-looking knife for hours after the two girls had turned in for sleep.
The kill was still there, the meat neatly stripped from the bone with a precision only a lifelong predator could hope to achieve. So was the man's horse: a jet-black steed that stood strong and silent on the edge of the forest clearing. The boar's head, however, was conspicuously absent. So was the man who had taken it.
Such a disappearance should have been comforting. Just last night she had wished with all her powers of fantasy that he would vanish from sight and leave the campers alone. But now that her wish had been granted, the lack of the green-eyed man left her cold and anxious in a way even Brooke's warmth could not soothe.
She needed to leave quickly, get back to town, and warn her family. Brooke would be fine; the Free Marcher girl was not inexperienced with woodland travel on her own, and once Marian was gone Lok would have no reason to continue skulking around. If he was truly hunting the Hawke's, he'd most likely follow Marian like a wolf after a rabbit.
The horse shook its head and whinnied as she saddled it, earning itself a harsh shushing from its soon-to-be rider. Marian slung her travel pack over its haunches, followed closely by her canteen and a small sling of supplies for the road. She also packed a not so small bundle of boar meat. It had been a "gift" from Lok, sure, but she wasn't going to pass up gifts freely given. Besides, her family needed the meat.
"You never struck me as the sneak-out-in-the-morning type of girl."
Marian sighed, knowing the game was up. The horse's whinnying had clearly given her away. She slowly turned, wringing her lucky red handkerchief as she did.
"You caught me," she said with a wry smile. "My plan all along was to ditch you out in the woods where no one but the elves could find you."
Brooke didn't smile back. She had wrapped herself in the rough wool blanket they had shared the night before. Her auburn hair was loose and wild from sleep, falling down her shoulders in a messy cascade of reddish-brown.
"What are you doing out here, Marian?"
"I'm… heading back to South Reach. You're more than welcome to join me if you like."
Brooke frowned. "Is this about that Seeker? I know you didn't like him, but—"
Marian wrenched the handkerchief tight. "He's dangerous, Brooke. Don't ask me how I know, but I don't trust him out here alone with us. With you." She took a step closer, chewing her lip. "We need to get out of here before he comes back. I need you to trust me on this."
For a long moment, she thought Brooke would refuse. She could see the young woman wanted to. She could see uncertainty in her face, in her eyes, in the way she shifted her weight. She wanted to ask questions, wanted to demand answers. Marian knew if she agreed to supply those answers, there would be no good way to lie her way free. But then the Free Marcher surprised Marian.
"Okay."
Hawke blinked. "Okay?"
"Okay. Help me tear down the tent and saddle my horse and we'll be on our way."
For a moment she was too stunned for words. She'd been sure Brooke would at least ask her why she was so determined to leave. But the redhead just nodded and turned away to pack up. She didn't get far before Marian called her back.
"Brooke?"
"Hmm?"
One last twist of the handkerchief. "Thank you. I mean it."
Brooke stepped back and enfolded Marian in a gentle kiss. She leaned back, arms resting on her lover's shoulders and shot her a radiant smile.
"Like I was really going to let you drop me in the middle of the forest? You're not going to get rid of me that easily. Now let's get moving before our knight in shining armor gets back."
Marian dropped Brooke off at her home on the outskirts of South Reach. She leaned down in the saddle and gave the redhead a quick peck on the cheek before handing her part of the boar Lok had given them.
"Stay safe," she said. "Our mutual friend may not be done with us."
Brooke smirked as she tucked the package under her arm. "I think you worry too much."
And I think I don't worry enough.
She didn't have the nerve to say it out loud. So instead, she wheeled her horse around and led it and Brooke's now-vacant steed back into the city. She glanced over her shoulder only once, to wave goodbye. The Starkhaven girl was already gone.
Her heart was racing already. She had to get back home, had to warn Papa before something terrible happened. She needed to ditch the horses back at the stables, move light and fast. If Lok had warned the local Templar forces…
It took too long to reach the stables, and far too long to get on the road again after dropping them off. She moved like a ghost through the streets of South Reach, feeling as if the village had suddenly swelled to a metropolis after only a day. Every footfall ticked away the precious seconds left before the end finally came for her, for Malcolm, and for their entire family.
She didn't know what would happen when she told her father. Most likely, they would leave. It was almost a familiar routine by now: the Templars would get too close for comfort and the entire Hawke clan would pull up stakes and vanish into the wind. In the past, Marian would simply go along with the chaos, let it tug her to and fro regardless of the final destination.
But it wouldn't be so easy this time. This time they had things holding them here. This time, Brooke was involved. And Brooke would not so easily be tossed aside like all the people from all the villages in the past. Brooke was worth staying for. Brooke was worth fighting for.
Papa had taught her that, seemingly a lifetime ago: if something was worth having, then it was worth defending. And what Marian had here in South Reach, her life with Brooke in this dirt-poor village, was worth defending. The girl was family now, as sure as Mother or Papa or the twins were family. And if Lok tried to take that life from her, tried to take that family from her, then he would learn just how willing Marian was to fight for what she had.
At last, the ramshackle little Hawke cottage came into sight around a bend in the street. The windows were dark and no smoke rose from the chimney, but that was unsurprising. Papa was at work, the twins were attending classes at the Chantry, and Mother was most likely off with one of her friends and chewing over the latest town gossip.
That was good. It would give her time to think, time to come up with an explanation that wouldn't send her parents into flight mode. If they could somehow get Lok to move on from South Reach, if they could distract or even eliminate him…
First thing first: she needed a staff. Mages could summon magic without one, but it was much easier when aided by a scepter crowned with a lyrium crystal. Marian didn't have one of her own, but she knew Papa kept his old staff from his days in the Kirkwall Circle hidden away from even the most prying eyes. Like the household sword kept out of the reach of the twins, it was meant as a last defense. And Marian knew where it was kept, under the loose floorboard in the kitchen, in the space between the floor and the ground where only spiders and other unsavory creatures crawled.
She threw once final glance over her shoulder before stepping through the front door. The street was clear of travelers and potentially unfriendly eyes. She had made it home safe and sound. The thud of the closing door cooled her anxiety the slightest bit. Distance had been placed between her and the source of her fears, separated by a thick barrier of hardwood. Now onto more important—
"Would you like to hear a story?"
A weaker woman would have screamed. Marian was not a weak woman, but the urge still seized her gut and crawled its way up into her throat before she could tamp it down.
Seeker Lok was sitting in the kitchen, leaned back in his chair with one boot up on the edge of the dinner table. The studs of his jet-black armor winked in the dim light, the heavy plates creaking with a soft, sinister scrape in time with his breath. A fresh-cooked platter of roast meat was sitting in his lap, the fork in his hand. He was staring at the hunk of roast speared there with a strange, predatory look in his green eyes.
"I like hunting boar," he said. "They are admirable prey. Not as elegant as a deer. Not as beautiful as a trophy elk. Not as intelligent as a wolf. But unlike all the others, boar are strong. All grit and muscle"
"What are you doing here?"
He turned the fork and ignored her. "Even struck with tenfold arrows and speared through the gut, they will continue fighting. Like the wild, rabid beast they are, they will fight and fight and fight until you beat the fight out of them. If you do not, they will pursue you for miles until they run you down and gore you to death with their fearsome tusks."
He sighed wistfully, twisting the fork between his gloved fingers. "There are no half-measures with boar: only complete victory or total failure. I like that. It makes the hunt so very… invigorating."
Marian moved to flee. She reached for the doorknob and her fingertips just brushed against its surface when Lok shifted and brought his other hand into view. Unlike the hand gently grasping the fork, this one held a loaded miniature crossbow.
"Not so fast," the black-haired man purred. "I am not finished with my story. Hands off the door, please."
Marian didn't move. Lok shook the bow for effect and made a dramatic effort of placing his finger on its trigger. Something very unpleasant glinted in his cold green eyes.
"Hands off the door," he insisted. "Please."
Marian did as she was told. Lok smiled his ugly smile. Then he gestured to the seat across from him. His gesture was exaggerated, overblown, like a mime pantomiming a seat at an elegant dinner party. His voice, however, was harsh and cold as a shard of ice.
"Sit."
Again, Marian did as she was told. Again, the Seeker smiled. The crossbow lowered back to his side. He turned his attention back to the roast in front of him, leaving his new captive shivering and helpless and trapped within her own home.
"I hunted boar for years," he continued. "But after a time, I grew bored of the unpredictability of it all. They always fought with such fervor, you see, so the whole measure grew… unsatisfying. It became an irritation and a waste of valuable time rather than a pleasant distraction. The beasts simply didn't know when to lay down and die."
"So I found an alternative." A smirk curled his thin, pale lips. "Rather than face the creature face-to-face in an honorable duel, I instead tracked it back to its lair. To the one place where it dropped its guard. Where it did not expect to be threatened. And then…"
His smile grew wider until it almost looked like it would dissect his face. His lips peeled back from perfect white teeth before he popped the hunk of roast into his mouth and chewed, again with exaggerated effect.
Marian's eyes never left his face, and a furious scowl never left hers. After a few long moments he met her murderous gaze and feigned a look of sheepish surprise.
"I do apologize, my dear," he said. He picked up the platter and held it out to her. "Would you like some?"
She slapped the plate away, out of his grasp. The dish shattered and tossed tiny cubes of roast across the floor. Lok looked at the mess with a frown on his gaunt face.
"A shame." He sounded genuinely disappointed. "It was quite a good cut."
Marian's hands were clenched into fists. "What do you want?"
"I think you know."
"It's not going to happen. You won't take me alive."
He settled back with his hands folded over his belt buckle. "You flatter yourself. I'm not here for you."
"But you are here for my father?"
"Yes."
"I won't let you take him either."
"Your father," Lok's head listed off to one side, a bored tone entering his voice, "is a liar, a thief, and a murderer. I'd be doing this shithole of a village a favor by taking him away."
"He's a good man."
"How many men has he killed since escaping the Circle? Hmm?" Lok pointed the fork at her. "Was he a good man when he blasted apart the soldier who gave you that scar?"
His hideous smile returned at the sight of her shocked expression. It was the leer of a man who was savoring every moment of his apparent victory. "Oh yes, my dear. I know all about your little mishap in the Brecilian all those years ago. I know what happened to you, and I know what happened to the Templar pursuing you."
"He was trying to kill me!"
"He was trying to apprehend you," the Seeker corrected. "For breaking the law. As Templars do with all criminals."
"And what was my crime?" Marian's fists were squeezed so tight on the tabletop that her knuckles were turning white. "Hmm? Being born?"
"Yes." The blunt answer surprised her. "Mages are not allowed to have children. And they are most definitely not allowed to have children while on the run from the institution that keeps them safe."
Marian spat. "I've heard of your safety. You cage people like me because you fear us. You keep us on a leash for all our lives simply because we control something you don't understand."
She leaned closer to the armored man, against her better judgment. "And when we dare speak up, when we have the gall to think we actually deserve something better than imprisonment, you Tranquilize us. You strap us down and rip away all our emotions, severing everything that could make us resent what you do."
"Strong words," Lok said with a raised eyebrow, "from a girl who has known nothing but a life of freedom."
Again, Marian found herself disarmed by his response. While she digested his reply, Lok tapped the fork against his chin thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes at the girl in front of him before settling back in his seat, one boot still resting on the edge of the table.
"Would you like to hear a story?" he repeated.
Marian didn't answer. Lok didn't wait for one.
"Years ago," he began, "I was serving as a Templar guard in Kirkwall. You know of this city, yes?"
"Yes."
"It was my duty to ensure all the mages were kept safe and secure within the Circle Tower. I was to escort them to classes, to meals, make sure none stepped out of place and none escaped."
"Sounds a lot like a prison to me."
Lok ignored her. "Most of the mages were decent enough. Kind. Intelligent. At peace with their fate. But there was one individual who caught the attention of the guards. His name was Alphius."
Marian scowled. "Is that name supposed to mean something?"
"Of course not. He died long before you were even a sparkle in your father's silver gaze." Lok rolled his eyes and continued his tale. "Alphius was always a weak man. Slim of build. Watery eyes. Almost always ill with something or another. A true rat of a man. But it didn't take long for the guards to realize it was not just clogged sinuses or sore throats that plagued Alphius. He was prey to a far more sinister illness. An illness of the mind and soul. A demon."
Marian narrowed her eyes.
"Our most skilled exorcists attempted to make contact with this entity, this creature attempting to force its way into Alphius. None were successful. We could sense it was there, but it remained hidden and elusive. And Alphius was suffering for it. He grew thinner and more sickly by the day. His skin turned pasty and lined with the wrinkles of a far older man. His eyes sunk deep into his head and his teeth began falling out. He was in a very great deal of pain, but there was quite simply nothing we could do to help him."
He shifted, his armor's embossed plates scraping together as he raised a hand to his eyes and inspected his fingernails with that same bored nonchalance. "Until one day, when all the Circle students were gathered for afternoon meal, Alphius suddenly stopped in the middle of the commissary. He just… froze, as if turned to marble. Templars were dispatched to ascertain the meaning of this interruption.
"He looked at them…" Lok's green eyes had taken on a faraway look as he lost himself in the memory. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "…and he smiled."
He tilted his head and met Marian's gaze. She hadn't realized she'd been listening to the Seeker's tale with undivided attention and scolded herself for being so easily distracted.
"The next minute," he said, "all descended into chaos. The Templars and several nearby acolytes were vaporized by a magical explosion. The blast tore through the hall's magical defenses and within moments the demons arrived; crawling through the cracks in the walls, up through pools of magma in the floor. They tore into student and soldier alike, staining every surface with blood. Many unlucky mages were possessed within moments, naught more than playthings for their new masters. Alphius himself was under the thrall of the worst demon of the lot. He charged at the nearest Templar and ripped his head from his shoulders with bare hands. He then punched a hole through another's chest, armor and all.
"It continued in this manner for some time. An hour, perhaps two. Alphius fled into other parts of the tower and destruction followed wherever he went." Lok shook his head. "And through it all, Alphius was still smiling that devilish smile. As if he had just made the greatest joke ever heard by mortal ears."
Marian scowled at the man, but still felt compelled to say, "W-what happened?"
"One brave soul, an acolyte of the Circle, hit Alphius over the head with her staff. Hit him so hard the stick snapped in two and fractured the boy's skull. The maelstrom stopped. The demons vanished. When he awoke again, it took four hours for poor Alphius to stop screaming at the sheer horror of what he had done."
He shrugged. "It was only later, of course, that we found the preparations he had made. The salt lines, the chalk runes, the carvings hidden beneath tables. All put in place to dismantle our magical defenses and let the demons in. And then there were the secret journals. Alphius had been the recipient of nightmares for years. He knew a fear demon had set its sights on his mind. His journals were full of terrified ramblings about this demon, which he called Dread. It worked through him, forced him to make those runes and carvings, but never allowed him to speak of its presence."
"And what about Alphius?"
"He was Tranquilized, of course. It was the only way to truly break Dread's hold over him. Without the rite, Alphius would simply have been his pawn again in a month, a week, perhaps even the end of the day."
Lok fixed her with a haughty, knowing stare. The stare of a man who knew he'd won an argument.
"And would you like to know what he said after the rite was complete? He thanked us. He thanked us for ridding him of his magic and banishing Dread from his mind forever. After the Rite of Tranquility was administered, he was able to sleep soundly for the first time in almost five years."
Marian's face drew up in a furious sneer. "And you expect me to believe that?"
Lok shrugged. "You can ask your father. I'm sure he remembers the explosion and carnage that followed, seeing as he used the cover of such chaos to escape the tower while our attention was focused on saving lives."
"You lie."
"You lie to yourself," Lok shot back. "You are so quick to thumb your nose at my order, but have you not considered that perhaps our duty is necessary? That perhaps there are those who were not as lucky as you, Marian Hawke, the girl who has yet to feel the influence of nightmares and demons?"
He cocked his head and frowned at her. "Do you think that if Alphius was sitting here, beside me, he would join you? That he would go gallivanting off with you and your father through a world that not only despises him, but would actively seek to destroy him if the truth of his magic was known?"
"But you didn't give him a choice," Marian pointed out. "You took that away from him."
"Dread took that away from him. We merely removed his capacity for violence."
"And literally everything else!"
Lok sighed, the first signs of frustration beginning to mar his flawless chiseled face. "You truly expect me to believe you enjoy it out here? Hiding away in the depths of this shithole of a city, constantly looking over your shoulder in fear that your pretty little girlfriend might discover who you are? What you are?"
"I—"
"Do you truly expect me to believe," he continued, "that you would not rather live out your days in a sanctum of knowledge and wisdom, surrounded by others like you? To live a life free from the persecution and petty discriminations visited upon you by common men?"
"I don't—"
"Tell me, Marian, have you ever lived in a city that housed a Mage's Circle?"
Marian frowned. "No."
"Have you ever met a mage who lived in a Circle, besides your escapee father?"
"No."
"Have you ever even seen a Circle Tower?"
"No."
"Then what right do you have to spit upon my work? Upon my order? Upon the institution that sought to protect the people from mages like Alphius and to protect mages like Alphius from themselves?"
Marian found it difficult to argue against such logic, though every fiber of her soul screamed at her that this man was wrong. He was lying, trying to trick her so when he struck she was confused and defenseless just like the boar he so enjoyed hunting.
But he wasn't finished yet. Lok folded his arms across his chest and glared at her with an emerald gaze that almost seemed to spit sparks. "Let me ask you a question: did you ever return to the spot where you were attacked? By the Templar, all those years ago."
"N-no."
"Did your father?"
"No."
"Before ending his life, did your father attempt to reason with the man? Did he attempt to talk to him, learn why the Templar pursued you with such vigor?"
"The man had just carved my face in half!"
Lok's voice overpowered hers. "Did your father even try? Or did he simply lash out with magic and kill on sight? Did your father act like a man or a murderer?"
Marian didn't answer. She knew if she tried, she would only be met with some other sharp-tongued barb, some dig at the very foundations of her belief in her world. That was his game, she realized; he was eroding every confidence she had, every safeguard she put in place to assure herself that her father was a good man. That she was a good woman for following in his footsteps.
"Men like me," Lok said slowly, "only exist because of men like your father. He is no saint, Marian. He did not flee persecution and imprisonment. He capitalized upon a tragedy to steal away into the night for his own personal gain. When we set out to return him to his true home, he killed us. Again and again and again, without mercy or remorse for his actions. I ask again: are those the deeds of a man or a murderer?"
"Enough!" Marian suddenly shouted. "Whatever you're trying to do here, whether you're trying to convince me to go to the Circle with you or… or turn my against my father, it won't work."
She glared at him with blazing blue-gray eyes. "I know all about your kind, Seeker Lok. I've seen enough of them to recognize them on sight. You hide behind your shield of morality, thinking you're some righteous knight in shining armor, protecting those who can't protect themselves from themselves."
Her scarred face twisted into a smile as ugly as his. "But all you really want is control. Control of people. Control of power. You didn't guard over the mages in that tower because you feared for their safety. You feared what would happen if they got loose. And when they did, you made damn well sure they never had the power to question your almighty authority ever again."
She scoffed. "I bet more than one Templar wet the bed the night after Alphius' little outburst, terrified at what might happen if news of his salt lines and magic runes reached the rest of the mages. And when their own nightmares hit them, I doubt they were of demons. They were of weak little men and women in dresses, fed up with your stupid rules and your stupid rites.
"So if you're here to kill me," she continued, "why don't you stop playing the part of the talentless bard and just fucking get to it? I'm not in the mood for any more bedtime stories, you evil prick."
Throughout her tirade, Lok's smirk never faded. "Cute."
His boot descended from the tabletop with a dull thud that rattled the table and made Marian jump visibly. The man's smile was wide and sinister when he saw it. He ever so slowly rose to his feet, his polished armor creaking and scraping as he did. Marian rose as well, hands balled into fists at her sides.
"Had you been blessed to live as long as I have," he said, "you would have found that what you call evil looks very different depending on your point of view."
His hand drifted to his hip, grasped the pommel of his sword, and drew it free with a slow hiss. The sunlight streaming through the open windows danced along its razor-honed edge and made the single ruby inlaid in the pommel blaze like fresh-lit fire. His other hand still gripped the crossbow, raising it to eye-level and aiming it directly at Marian's throat.
"A shame," he said, "that your life will be cut short before that lesson is truly learned."
He took a step toward her. "I will ask you only once: where is your father?"
Marian lit a fireball spell in each hand, the crackling flame consuming her hands in twisting orbs of flame. "I'll never help you," she snarled. "I'll die first!"
"That can certainly be arranged." He spun the sword lazily in his hand, letting the blade dance through the motes of dust in the air. "If you are so eager to add more scars to your already impressive collection."
Marian brought her fists up, prepared to unleash a torrent of flame at the man. Before she could, Lok did something thoroughly surprising. He threw the crossbow at her. It hit her in the shoulder, hard and heavy enough to send her staggering. Her hand flew wide and the fireball spell shot off at a wild angle. The bolt hit the wall behind Lok and the kitchen was instantly engulfed in flame.
Now free of the crossbow, Lok's hand clenched into a tight claw. There was a flash of blue light and Marian froze. Her limbs went rigid and her blood turned to stone in her veins, she tried to move even something as little as her eyes and failed. She tried again. And failed. It was as if the air had frozen into a solid block of ice around her, trapping her within with no hope of elements defrosting her invisible prison.
Lok's hand was still twisted into that claw, fingers curled like the legs of a dead and decaying spider. His sword hadn't moved even an inch throughout all the encounter.
"I think," the black-haired man purred, "that you have never faced a Seeker in combat. Do you know why?"
Marian could not respond, even if she wanted to. Lok knew this, if his wicked smile was any indication.
"When faced with the prospect of single combat with a Seeker," he said, "mages run. Not out of respect for our prowess in battle or our superior armaments. Not even out of cowardice."
Marian could do nothing but groan between clenched teeth.
"It is because of our own magical skill. Particularly our skill at manipulating lyrium, which, as you know, can be found in every mage's blood. We can speed its flow through your system, can cause a violent reaction with your body, or we can freeze it outright."
He took a step closer. "You are under my complete power, Marian Hawke. Do not try to resist."
Try to resist she did. Unsurprisingly, nothing came of it.
"You will tell me where your father hides of your own free will," Lok said, "or I will tear it from you, piece by piece."
His little finger twitched and suddenly Marian could talk again. It left her slack-jawed and jittery and she had to gulp several times before she was able to summon her usually stellar powers of speech.
"I…" she coughed. Her chest was barely able to move for breath. "I… won't let you hurt him."
"Wrong answer."
Lok clenched his fingers tighter and Marian's body was speared by a million tiny needles. They struck deep, forcing their way down to the very marrow of her bones. She tried to scream but couldn't — her constricted chest and lungs wouldn't allow for it.
"You feel that?" Lok flashed his white teeth at her. "That is how it feels when the lyrium in your blood is charged with reactive magic."
Tears began leaking from Marian's single functional eye.
"It's only a minute charge now. But much more…" The fingers clenched tighter and the needles dug deeper. Marian could do nothing to escape. "Much more and your very blood will be set aflame. It will consume you from the inside out, burning away all you are with chaotic abandon. A very unpleasant way to die."
He took another step closer. "Tell me where your father hides."
"N-no!"
The needles dug even deeper. She was now flushed a deep red, the cords standing out stark and clear on her neck. Her face twitched, muscles spasming against her will. Her entire body was acting against her will. Lok's blade came up, the point resting cold and sharp against her cheek just under her good eye. It dug in there, deeper and deeper until it pricked the skin and drew the slightest trickle of blood that fell like a wet tear down her face.
"Tell me," the Seeker repeated, "or that scar on your pretty face will be the least of your concerns."
"I-I won't…"
"If I apply more pressure," the man murmured, drawing even closer. He was almost nose to nose with her now, and the motion dug the blade in deeper to Marian's cheek. "I can slip this blade right into your eye socket. A single twist of the hilt and I pop your eyeball from your face."
"F-fuck you—"
The hand clenched into a fist and the needles set into her with newfound bloodlust. Her heart seized in her chest, the muscles of her arms and legs straining to clench and curl inward but unable to do so. She tried to scream but couldn't, tried to summon a pulse of mana to free herself but couldn't. The smoke from the still-burning kitchen stung her eyes and clogged her throat with scratchy barbs.
With the all the smoke pouring into the room, she didn't see the shadow that swelled up behind Lok. She didn't hear footsteps fast approaching. She didn't spot the crackling ball of flame, hidden as it was among the fire already crawling up the kitchen wall. Lok, apparently, did not notice either.
"One more time." he purred, oblivious to the threat now looming over him. "Tell me where your father is hiding."
"Right behind you, asshole."
Fire leapt out from the kitchen, pulsing in a tightly-controlled wave that hit Lok square in the back. The sword was knocked from his hand, the blade slicing a thin slash along Marian's face before clattering to the ground. The Seeker's hand fell to his side and the invisible cage holding Marian hostage evaporated in a quick pop of blue-white light. She collapsed onto her hands and knees, her entire frame shaking with wracking coughs as her lungs finally managed to suck down a full breath.
"Marian! Stay down!"
She heard someone shout, heard Lok's blade hiss through the air like an angry serpent mid-strike. Something crashed. The table was knocked into the air and thrown across the room, one leg snapped off by the force of its landing. All the windows shattered as a concussive blast sent Lok flying after it. He crashed right through the wall and did not reemerge.
Malcolm Hawke stalked through the smoke and destruction, staff in hand and fire licking at his arms. His eyes were blazing with blue light, just like that day so long ago when he'd saved Marian from yet another vengeful Templar. His strong hand wrapped around his daughter's arm and he hauled her to her feet.
"Up you get, Sparrowhawk. Did he hurt you?"
She coughed again and shook her head. "Nothing lasting. Is he dead?"
There was a grim set to her father's jaw. "No. I hit him hard, but he'll be back on his feet. We need to be long gone when that happens. Grab your essentials and some food for the road. We're leaving."
"We're not going to kill him?'
Malcolm shook his head. "We know our enemy now. We kill him, they'll only send another. Maybe two. Better the devil you know, right?"
They met outside two minutes later. The cottage was still on fire and the flames were now licking up the exterior as well. A cavernous hole had been punched through the wall by Lok's less than elegant exit. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, though a deep furrow in the ground showed where he'd made landfall.
"He's gone," Marian observed. "You think he ran?"
"I doubt it," Malcolm said. "Lok will fall back to strike from the shadows. I know his style. We need to leave before he can set himself up again."
"I need to warn Brooke."
"What?"
"Brooke. He's seen her face. Knows who she is. I need to warn her before Lok goes for her."
"We need to leave, Sparrowhawk." Malcolm's heavy hand fell onto her shoulder. "We need to find your mother and the twins and get out of this city before Lok turns everyone in it against us."
"I won't abandon her. I've seen what Lok can do to people when he doesn't get what he wants."
"Marian—"
"You said," she interrupted forcefully, "to ask myself whether she's worth fighting for. I said yes. What does that mean if I'm not willing to fight for her when she needs me to?"
"She doesn't know. About any of this."
"She doesn't have to. She knows Lok is bad news. That he's dangerous. I tell her he's got some vendetta and—"
A high-pitched whistle cut her off and her father shouted, "Down!" The arrow streaking through the air toward them ricocheted off Malcolm's shimmering magical shield, clattering off into the alleyway.
When the shield dropped, its absence revealed Lok standing just down the street. His armor was scuffed and smeared with dirt and his right eye was swelling with a fresh bruise. But that same nasty smile was plastered onto his sharp-angled face. His ruby-inlaid sword was resting on his shoulder, while in his other hand he clutched the miniature handheld crossbow. The weapon fell from his grasp, its ammunition spent.
Malcolm instantly summoned a ball of fire in his hands, letting it roar and crackle malevolently between his palms. Marian leveled her staff crystal-first at the armored knight, the polished head glowing bright amber with magical charge. Lok did not seem intimidated in the least.
"I told you I found a new way to hunt boar," he said, scuffing at the dirt with the tip of his boot. "Hunt them down at their home, where they do not think to be threatened. I did not, however, tell you the most important rule of any hunt."
He raised two fingers in the air and released a short whistle. Papa tensed at the sound and Marian followed suit at the sound that followed: the drumbeat of armored footsteps approaching from further the down road. A second later no fewer than ten Templar knights came marching into sight behind Lok. Malcolm's eyes widened, as did his daughter's. Both quickly extinguished their magic before it could be seen.
"The most important rule of any hunt," Lok repeated, "is to never hunt alone."
Even more eyes were watching now. Villagers were appearing in the windows, on front steps, peeking around corners. The Templars were doing a wonderful job drawing attention to the spectacle — which was, of course, what Seeker Lok wanted.
Marian saw with mounting apprehension that Knight-Captain Trevor was among the knights present. She didn't like the prospect of fighting him; he'd always been kind to her and her family. He'd known from the start that the Hawkes had been mages and had never once thought of turning them over to the unforgiving blades of his order. Now it looked like he didn't have a choice.
At their apparent shock, the Seeker let out a loud cackle and spread his arms wide.
"The time to choose is now, Hawkes!" he shouted, his voice booming through the streets so all assembled could hear. "Use your precious magic to defend yourselves, or fall in the face of sword and shield!"
"Marian," Papa murmured, "give me the staff."
"What?"
"When I tell you, I want you to run."
"What? No! I'm not leaving you!"
"Do as I say. Find Brooke." Everything about Malcolm was cold and grim: his expression, the set of his shoulders, even his clenched fists. He was every bit a man prepared to kill and die in the coming moments. "Say what you need to say. But we are leaving South Reach by sunset."
"But—"
"You stand there like frightened goats!" Lok shouted to them from down the street. He pointed his sword at them. "Is this truly the fearsome Malcolm Hawke, scourge of the Templar mage-hunters? All I see is a tired old man and his frightened little girl."
Malcolm's hand beckoned. "The staff. Now."
"You can't face them all alone! You—"
He grew tired of her arguing. His fingers clenched into hooks and an unseen force yanked the wooden scepter from her grip, sending it sailing through the air before it clapped into Malcolm's palm. He spun it in a single lazy circle with the easy familiarity only years of practice could impart, holding it so the crystal pointed down toward his boots and the bloodstained blade protruded over his shoulder.
"Go, Marian," he said again. "I will gather your mother and the twins when I'm finished here. We'll meet on the edge of town, near the windmill. Do you understand?"
"Papa, I don't want to—"
He looked at her and she bit back a frightened whimper. Her father's eyes were no longer their captivating silver. Swirling blue had taken their place, twin pools of roiling smoke consuming his eyes and sending wafts of magical discharge crawling up around his face.
"Do you understand?" he repeated. His voice was cold and hard in a way she had never heard before.
She quickly nodded. "Y-yes."
"Then go!"
He didn't give her time to argue further. He turned back to the assembled Templars and stepped toward them. The crystal at the head of his staff began to glow a brilliant cobalt — the same shade as his eyes, Marian noticed.
"You can chase me," he called out as he approached the line of armed and armored knights. They all drew their weapons and raised their shields as he drew closer. He glared at all of them with an uncharacteristic malevolence, that blazing blue stare sweeping over them all with the power of a vengeful god. "You can track me and ambush me and hurt me all you like. I've endured worse. But you will not threaten my family with such barbarism."
"You brought them into this, Malcolm Hawke," Seeker Lok leered. The chill breeze made his cloak flap and billow around him like the unfurling wings of a dragon. "You are the only one to blame for the danger they now face."
"Take me if you want," Malcolm said. "But leave my family out of it."
"I think…" Lok tapped his sharp chin, pretending to think for a few moments, "…no. Your daughter is a mage just as you are. And I'm sure she is not the only spawn of your cursed line."
He brought the ruby-inlaid sword up again, this time into a stronger two-handed grip. "But I will offer you a kindness, Malcolm Hawke: lay down your arms and your children will be sent to the Kirkwall Circle with you. You can live out the rest of your days as a happy little family, just like you always wanted."
"I'll die before I let you take my children to that accursed place," Malcolm snarled.
Lok looked truly disappointed. "If that is your wish. It was a charitable offer, but I cannot hold it against you for refusing. You always were stubborn in that way."
Malcolm's hand darted forward, carrying the staff forward in a fearsome thrust. A wave of invisible energy roared forth, kicking up the dust of the street all around him as it raced for the Templars. But Lok simply crossed his arms in an X across his chest and the repulsive wave broke harmlessly before him like an ocean wave across craggy rocks. The Templars had seen enough now; as one they raised their shields, brought their swords into a high guard, and leaped forward into battle.
The first was blown to bloody bits before he could even get within two paces of Malcolm. The second was sent staggering away, clutching at his head as a swarm of magically-conjured bees stung and bit at his unshielded eyes. Rocks flew up from the ground and pelted the knight's armor, and the air around Malcolm Hawke spontaneously burst into flame.
Marian knew her opportunity to flee this scene was quickly closing. Doing her best to shut out the screams of Templars and normal citizens alike that now echoed through the streets, she raced into the depths of the village and didn't look back.
Author's note: I was going to write an epic battle scene between Malcolm and Lok, but A) I realized this story is more focused on Marian and her experiences than the adventures of her father, and B) I'm lazy and didn't want to.
That said, don't worry. There are battles a'plenty still to come. :)
