A / N - sorry this chapter has taken unusually long! now i'm back at university i've had all sorts of assignments to be in. i'll try and complete the next one a lot quicker. thanks for reading, please review!
Gamlen looked unusually concerned as he approached Hawke barely a second after she stepped over the threshold.
"Where is Leandra?" he demanded. "She didn't turn up to our weekly visit."
"I don't know, Uncle, I haven't seen her all day," answered Hawke, perplexed. "Why?"
He groaned exasperatedly. "Can I not get answers from anyone around here?" He threw a look at Bodahn and Sandal, with whom he had appeared to be arguing with beforehand.
"Tell me what's going on."
Gamlen turned his attention back to her. "Your mother didn't turn up to our weekly visit. I don't suppose she took a different route…?" he wondered aloud, more to himself.
"She could be with her suitor,"" suggested Bodahn.
"What suitor? Leandra never mentioned anything about a suitor," Gamlen snapped at the dwarf.
She probably doesn't tell you many things, Hawke thought to herself.
"Well, those lilies arrived for her earlier, while you were out," Bodahn added to Hawke.
White lilies? Wasn't that familiar to her somehow?
Panic coursed through her. She couldn't let Gamlen catch on to anything. Trying to keep her voice as steady as possible, she said, "Maybe you should go home Uncle, in case she turns up."
Relieved with leaving the matter into more capable hands, and glad of being given nothing else to do, Gamlen complied quite eagerly. "Yes, yes, you're right. She could be there right now…"
With that, he bustled out of the estate before Hawke could change her mind.
"Is everything alright, messere?"
"Bodahn, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things," she told him firmly, unable to answer her question. The dwarf bowed, and Hawke called Torch.
The huge dog came bounding downstairs, presumably from taking a nap on her bed, and gambolled around her.
"Shall we go fine Aveline, boy? Yeah? Come on then."
He barked excitedly, taking off like a shot as soon as the front door opened.
Torch reached the Keep before his owner did, leaving Hawke to burst in on Aveline's office to the sight of the mabari charging round the room, his stubby tail wagging.
"Would you care to explain what this is all about, Hawke?" the guardswoman asked, a bite of impatience in her voice.
"This is an emergency," she gasped, clutching a stitch in her side.
"Sit down and tell me what this is all about." Aveline kicked out a chair, which Hawke took obligingly, her air of annoyance vanishing in an instant.
Hawke took a moment to catch her breath and allow her heart rate to return to normal. "Do you remember Ghyslain de Carrac's wife?"
Aveline snorted, her distaste of the man still apparent. "Yes, Nina, or whatever her name was. And?"
"Well, you remember how he said she received white lilies and we ended up finding her remains in that foundry?"
"Get to the point, Hawke."
Hawke shot her friend an irritated glare. "It's only turned out that my own mother is missing, and guess what? Lilies arrived for her, too."
"It could be –" began Aveline, but Hawke cut her off.
"I refuse to think this is a coincidence!" she said hotly, leaping out of the chair. Torch ceased his sniffing of the carpet and looked on, startled by this outburst. "She's my mother, and the only family I have left now. Please," she begged, clutching Aveline's arm.
"I'll rally the guard to patrol Hightown and Darktown in case she turns up there," said Aveline briskly, suddenly business-like. "Keep your sword close Hawke – we're going to Lowtown."
Hawke nodded, feeling somewhat hopeful and waited whilst the guardswoman took a moment to gather those in the barracks together; then, the two women set off. Torch kept close, uncharacteristically subdued – he seemed to know a lot was at stake here. They called on other companions and asked them to help; or rather, Aveline forced them to comply threateningly, no questions asked for the sake of not wasting time. On a normal day, Hawke would've found it slightly uncomfortable to be in such close proximity of Fenris, especially after their argument, but she hadn't the capacity to fret about such things at that moment.
Surprisingly, the group found Gamlen in a heated discussion with an urchin. After giving the poor boy a few silver, Hawke felt confident that they were now heading in the right direction. A sickening panic replaced her hope as she entered the foundry, more familiar than she would have liked.
"You've been here before, haven't you?" mused Varric, lifting Bianca from his back in preparation of attack.
Hawke chose not to reply. This had to be a mistake – yet the pools of fresh blood on the floor suggested otherwise.
"Looks like someone forgot to conceal their not-so-secret trap door," murmured the dwarf, lifting the latch.
"That wasn't here before…" Hawke said slowly. With some trepidation, she lowered herself down into what seemed like a hidden lair. Maker dammit, it was a lair. The group came to a room that could've been a workplace: books were scattered here and there, along with hastily scribbled notes, one of them stating this person's name as Quentin.
"Blood magic… necromancy…" Anders picked up several of the books, his brow furrowed. Merill looked over his shoulder, fascinated. "I don't like the looks of this."
"Hawke," called Isabela, interrupting the former in knocking objects aside for clues, "this looks just like Leandra."
"Oh, Maker," muttered Hawke, bile rising up in her throat. This person certainly had an unhealthy obsession, not just with Leandra, but with other women in general. "Sick bastard!" she burst out, making others in the vicinity jump. "I need to find my mother, now."
Without preamble, she slid her greatsword off her back, charging down rickety wooden stairs and ignoring the shouts and protests behind her. Whatever person or thing had brought harm to her mother would pay. Sure enough, as Hawke stumbled down the last step, she saw someone with their back to her.
"Leandra was so sure you would come," they – a man – said in a dry, reedy voice.
"Where is my mother?" snarled Hawke as her companions finally caught up to her.
"Do you know what the strongest force in the world is?" asked Quentin, turning around and ignoring the question. "Love. I pieced her from memory. I have done the impossible… I have touched the face of the Maker."
Hawke suddenly became aware of the figure sat on a chair, its back to her, wearing a white wedding dress and veil. The figure's head lolled to one side like a doll's, and clumsily got to its feet…
Leandra turned to face her daughter – though it didn't seem like Leandra. Her eyes were empty, like glass orbs, and an unskilled hand had sewn her head to another's part, her delicate skin punctured with multiple holes and held together only by string or twine. She lumbered forward and Hawke looked on, numb from shock. Dead corpses were being reanimated around her, but she couldn't move, didn't want to move. Could she have prevented this? Someone was shouting at her to move, to fight, to do something, and it wasn't until Fenris swung her round and shook her.
"Hawke, you need to move!" he yelled, vexed and afraid. These words seemed to get through to her. Lifting her huge weapon, she hacked and hit at countless animated dead and desire demons, until Quentin finally lowered his magical defense. Not thinking twice, Hawke charged forward, eyes blazing, and slashed her greatsword in a wide arc, the dangerously sharp metal slicing his abdomen effortlessly. His eyes still reflected mad desire as his innards spilled onto the floor and he fell to his knees, unmistakably dead. Hawke panted, feeling viciously victorious, until she caught Leandra stumbling out of the corner of her eye.
"Mother!" She rushed forward, catching Leandra just as she fell.
Even after her terrible ordeal, she still managed to smile. "I knew you would come."
"There's nothing I can do," said Anders gently, "his magic was the only thing keeping her alive."
Hawke refused to believe these words. There had to be something. "Don't move, Mother, I'll get you out of here."
"Shh, darling. You've done so well. That awful man would've kept me here as his prisoner, but I'm free now." Leandra looked up at her eldest daughter, the latter's eyes filling with despairing tears. "I'll see Carver again, and your father, but you'll be here alone."
"I – I should've watched over you more carefully," murmured Hawke, her voice cracking with supressed emotion.
"My little girl has become so strong," croaked Leandra, her voice becoming weaker with every word. "I love you, you've always made me so proud…"
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head to reveal the whites and her head lolled back, the stitches around her once-flawless neck straining with the weight. Hawke continued to hold her, tears filling her eyes until her vision became blurry, still refusing to cry. Her mother, the one person who had always been there for her – gone, at the hands of some mage. Suddenly her hatred for mages clawed at her insides, her views now matching those of Fenris's. But then she thought of poor, innocent Bethany, locked up in the Circle purely because of her gift, her curse. She had done nothing wrong; yet charlatans like Quentin were allowed to walk free, spreading their evil magic like a plague. This unfairness left a bitter taste in her mouth. What was she to do now? She had no mother now. This was every child's nightmare, to be left alone, to be abandoned, their parents cruelly stolen from them.
"We should go," whispered Isabela, resting a hand on Hawke's shoulder. She did not move from her touch.
Merrill bent down and steadily closed Leandra's eyes. "She could be sleeping."
Raw emotion pulled at her again. Here were people who truly cared for her. Nodding, Hawke stood, Leandra still in her arms. She was frail and light in death. Hawke vowed to bury her mother properly, a private affair for those who could remember her in her youth, her smile when she was still alive, as well as the other poor women who had unwillingly taken part in this travesty of an experiment.
With Leandra buried under a plum tree in the estate garden and Gamlen told of the events, Hawke finally requested to be alone. She rather imagined some protests met this, but she didn't care. Only when she was alone in her room, did Hawke crumble to floor and allow tears of grief and despair flow.