Darktown

The craggy, shadowed alleys of Darktown were in chaos. Bodies lay strewn everywhere: humans, dwarves, elves, and qunari all huddled together in a final orgy of gore and death. The sand beneath Merrill's feet churned and squelched, thick with blood. The rough stone walls were spattered here and there with sprays of red and battle-damaged weapons lay abandoned in the streets, strewn over the corpses of their former owners or resting forgotten where they had been thrown in terrified retreat. A few brave Darktown residents were beginning to emerge from their barricaded homes, mostly to investigate or loot the dead. The vast majority, thank the Creators, didn't spare a second glance to a single man and elf hurrying through the carnage with their laden stretcher. Merrill hoped they continued to find greater interest in the dead than the quickly-dying.

Another small blessing was the distinct lack of Templars. The knights rarely descended this far into the city's underbelly, and their absence would certainly make matters easier. The last thing Hawke needed was to be discovered here, so close to salvation.

Merrill glanced down at Marian, still bundled up in the stretcher. She had begun coughing up blood again and her chin and neck were stained a deep reddish-black. She was far too pale and her breath was coming up from deep in her chest as a harsh, wheezing rattle. She wouldn't last much longer.

"How much farther?" she asked, her voice breathless and fearful. Her heart was hammering in her chest, both from worry and the exertion of hauling Hawke so quickly through the dark streets. She had never been that physically strong to begin with, and the exertion of keeping up with Anders — a well-built human almost twice her size — was quickly draining her stamina.

"Not far." Ahead of her, the healer hoisted his end of the stretcher more securely into his grasp. "The Darktown entrance to the tower is just ahead."

On the stretcher, Marian twitched and coughed up another spurt of blood. It dribbled down her cheek, along the divot of the scar on her face. It broke Merrill's heart to see her friend and lover in such a condition and part of her wanted to stop and clean Hawke's face so she could sleep easier. But it was plain to see that the woman was fading fast. If they didn't reach the Templars soon…

Anders suddenly raised his voice and called out, "You there! Is that Patreus?"

A young boy, no older than ten, looked up from where he was pawing over the hulking gray corpse of a fallen Qunari that lay face-down in a puddle of dark, dried blood. The boy's pockets were bulging from stolen loot, and his eyes were wild with fear at the sudden calling of his name. He obviously expected a Templar or a Guardsman to come storming toward him out of the shadows, but visibly relaxed when he saw it was only Anders.

"Oi 'ere, Anders!" the boy called with a happy, gap-toothed smile, his voice clouded with a thick accent. "Whit ye got thar?"

Anders slowed next to the boy, panting hard. Merrill's own breath was coming in painful bursts in her chest, and her thin arms ached from the weight of her burden. She made a conscious effort to calm her racing heart while Anders talked with the boy.

The child, Patreus, hopped up next to the stretcher and peered over the edge with a curious stare. When he saw Marian's bloodied form churning on the bundle, his face pulled down in a knowing frown far too grim for a child of his age.

"Ah," he said. "Got by 'em Qunari, eh?"

"We're taking her to the Circle Tower," Anders huffed. "She needs a talented healer."

Patreus scrunched up his face at the man. "Have ye tint yer mind? Gonnae go to th' Templars with 'er?"

"We have no choice," Anders said. "I tried my best, but she'll die without help."

The boy chewed the inside of his cheek, obviously disturbed by the revelation, then sniffed and said, "Well, whot do I have tae do wit it? Ain't no scruff o' mine."

"We need someone to tell the Templars we're coming," Anders said, his patient tone shot through with just a little too much tension to be believed. "If we just barge in unannounced, they're more likely to capture or kill us on sight. You'll travel faster than we can. Will you do this for us?"

The boy scratched his head, running calloused fingers through stubble-shorn hair marked with lice bites. Then he sniffed again and muttered, "Aye. Might. But nae for free."

Anders scowled at the boy, but gestured with his chin to a pocket on his robes. "You can take a silver for yourself. But only if you run as fast as you can."

The boy's face lit up and he darted in like a striking eagle, hand digging into Anders' pocket. After only a blink he'd procured not just a silver coin, but Anders' entire purse. Clutched tight in his little fist, he took off into the alley with a cry of, "On yer time, Master Anders!"

"Hey!" the mage shouted after him, face reddening with fury. "You little—"

He looked like he wanted to chase after the child, but Merrill called him back before he could.

"Later, Anders," she insisted. Marian was groaning and beginning to thrash on the stretcher. "We need to move."

"Right." Anders looked a little sheepish and hoisted the stretcher once more. "We're not far now."

Marian coughed again, deep in her chest, and bloody bubbles swelled from her lips. Merrill grimaced as she took up the weight of the wounded woman again. "You keep saying that. You'd better be right this time."

They set off at a brisk pace, quickly regaining their earlier speed. More looters were appearing behind every new corner, and more and more of them were armed. Fights were already breaking out over the most decorated corpses and more than one gang was kicking in doors to plunder the homes within. Shouts, curses, and the occasional scream could be heard throughout the subterranean slums. Merrill wondered how long it would take for attention to shift to the two unarmed travelers hurrying through the mayhem, all but helpless and ripe for the picking.

As they lugged their burden along, Merrill panted out, "Do you think the child will keep his word?"

"Patreus is a gutter rat," Anders said with a scowl, "but he's surprisingly reliable. I treated him when he stepped barefoot on a rusted nail a month ago. He can only run so quickly because of me and he knows it. He'll do what I asked."

"I hope you're right," Merrill said, looking once more down at Marian's bloodstained form, "for her sake."

Then she set her jaw and ran on.

Marian sprinted through the streets as fast as her feet could carry her, flying down side-alleys and leaping over obstacles like a woman possessed. She could still hear the clamor of battle in the distance, could see the flashes of light along the rooftops as fireballs and bolts of lightning arced high into the air. Soon the entire town would know of the mages hidden in their midst, and she had to be sure she and — Maker willing — Brooke were long gone when that happened.

She skidded around a corner, spraying a film of muddy water as she went, then yanked herself into motion again and barreled past a pair of fat city watchmen, passively observing the light show that had erupted on the outskirts of town. As she passed, one of the men glanced in her direction and shouted, "Oi! What's goin' on?"

Ignoring them would only breed suspicion, so Marian slowed and turned, walking backwards to put more distance between them and their hefty pikes. She shrugged and tried to put on an innocent expression.

"I don't know," she said. "Some Templar business. I didn't want to get too close."

As she said it, a huge tendril of lightning exploded up into the heavens, accompanied by a thunderclap that seemed to shake the ground. All three onlookers flinched at the sight and sound. It was like armageddon had descended upon South Reach, and she heard screams of surprise and terror ring through the streets as the magical discharge roared across the heavens.

After a long, tense moment the horizon dulled back to its normal dark blue, now lit with the flickering illumination of the fires crawling across rooftops as the blaze engulfing the Hawke cottage spread to adjoining houses.

When the eruption faded, the fat man glanced at his companion and muttered, "Maker's blood. Think it's an apostate?"

The other guard shrugged and rested his spear against his shoulder to rub at his ringing ears. "Dunno. Hard to believe one of their kind would bed down in South Reach."

"Think we should… y'know, investigate?"

A quick shake of the head in response. "You heard the girl: it's Templar business. Leave 'em to clean up their own mess for a change."

Marian didn't need to stick around and hear more. She spun and sprinted off again, through the market square crowded with other curious onlookers. Thankfully, most didn't seem to be paying attention to her and a few of the more cautious village residents were also making a beeline in the opposite direction, all too eager to put distance between themselves and whatever was painting the skies with fire. She had no trouble blending in, slowing her pace to both catch her breath and draw less attention to her retreat. She made sure to keep her face turned down, to cast her scar into shadow lest someone recognize her.

Not far now, she thought, feeling her heart thudding uncomfortably in her throat. Brooke's home is just a little further.

There were more Templars in this direction, though they all seemed to be heading toward the source of the commotion, weapons in hand. Most barely spared her a second glance, too busy pulling their rounded helmets over their heads and emblazoned shields into their hands. Not just precautions; these knights were gearing up for war. They shoved past villagers and shouted for everyone to return to their homes, pushing some more stubborn individuals out of their way and in the opposite direction of the maelstrom. Marian did her best to steer clear, keeping to the outskirts of the fleeing civilians and taking care not to cross paths with any overattentive knights. She knew better than most how sharp their eyes were, even shadowed as they were beneath those ominous angular helmets.

She worried at the sheer number of warriors racing to throw themselves against her father. There had to be almost fifty just in this part of the city, and all were converging on him. Malcolm was a powerful mage, it could not be denied, but Marian had never seen the limits of his abilities tested in such a way. Could he survive the onslaught of so many knights and the Seeker out for his blood?

She thought back to her childhood in the forests, when a massive bear had wandered past their cottage one day. It seemed as large as a mountain, bristling with matted fur and muscle as it nosed about in search of a meal. Mother had insisted Malcolm kill it, but the Hawke's patriarch had simply cast a misdirection hex and sent it lumbering away into the treeline, none the wiser.

Malcolm was powerful, but he was no true warrior. He preferred stealth over slaughter, and it had been years since he'd been forced to use his magic offensively. In fact, the last time was…

That day, she realized with a cold, sinking sensation in her gut. The day the Templar found me in the woods. The day I got my scars.

He was fighting the same way again today, battling against Templar invaders to keep his family safe from their righteous retribution. Did the same fury boil his blood as it had that day, so long ago? Would he be every bit the vengeful god he had appeared then, towering over her as she had lain bleeding and afraid at his feet? Or were those days of action beyond him now, weakened as he was be age and ever-present illness?

She quickly forced such worries from her mind. Her father would be fine. He had to be fine. He hadn't survived this long on the run without crossing paths with Templars before.

He can handle himself, she forced herself to think. What matters now is finding Brooke and getting out of this town with Mother and the twins before it's too late.

She almost collapsed from equal parts relief and exhaustion when she rounded a corner and the Moorlay cottage came into view. She didn't see anyone outside, but one of the windows burned with the flickering light of a blazing hearth. Someone was home, and if it wasn't Brooke then it was someone who could send Marian in the right direction.

She vaulted over the fence that bordered the small property and leaped up the front steps to the door, pounding on it hard with her fist in three quick raps. Bang, bang, bang. When there was no immediate answer, she beat the door again and called, "Brooke? Brooke, are you there?"

Her mind was suddenly filled with images of Seeker Lok. The bastard seemed to be everywhere at once and had managed to make it to South Reach before either of them had returned home. What if he'd been waiting for Brooke upon her return home just as he'd been waiting for Marian?

But then she heard rushed footsteps on the other side of the door and it swung open to reveal Brooke herself, looking worried and confused. Marian almost collapsed into her arms from relief.

"Marian?" the young woman asked. "What's going on—"

Marian hushed her with a quick kiss, then brushed past her into the house. "Close the door. It's not safe out there."

Brooke's confusion visibly grew, but she did as she was asked. "I heard noises outside, and Templars have been running past for a good ten minutes. What the hell is happening?"

Marian quickly rushed into the small kitchen and glanced out the window. Bright flares of red were still lighting up the sky in the distance, and more civilians were now running past in the opposite direction. The spreading fire from the Hawke cottage could now be seen even from this distance, and the billowing column of smoke rising into the air had obscured the sky, turning the setting sun a sick, bloody scarlet.

Word was clearly spreading that a magical battle was raging through the streets, and panic was clearly working its way through the populace. Marian knew she didn't have much time left before escape became next to impossible, either from Templars locking down the village or simply the masses of locals trying to escape.

We need to leave, she thought. Now.

She took a quick moment to catch her breath, hunched low over the kitchen table, before she turned back to Brooke. The woman was standing with arms folded worriedly across her chest, staring at Marian with concern written across every feature.

"Sorry," Marian breathed. "I'm sorry. Seeker Lok came back and…"

She didn't know where to begin. How much should she tell Brooke? Did she even have time to tell her everything? If Malcolm was outed as an apostate, it was only a matter of time before the Templars came looking for his missing family members too. And Brooke was known to be friends with the Hawkes. If they decided to come here…

"Marian," Brooke moved forward and took Marian's hands in her own. "Talk to me."

Hawke took a deep breath and chose her words carefully before beginning. "When we left camp this morning, that man Lok followed us. He's insane, Brooke. There's houses on fire, Templars fighting in the streets… He's turning the city into a battlefield."

"What? Why?"

She shrugged helplessly, praying it was convincing. "I-I don't know! But he has the Templars on his side. They're fighting someone out there, but—"

Brooke moved past her to stare out the window as well, watching the rooftops flare with magical light. "The Templars? But they'd only get involved if there are apostates on the loose!"

She quickly grabbed a carving knife from the table and clutched it close. "If the Templars are on the warpath, the looters and rioters won't be far behind. I've seen it happen before."

She turned and looked to Marian with fear in her eyes. "Have you seen these apostates? Are they dangerous?"

"We can't know for sure," Marian lied, "but the fact is this city isn't safe any more. My father wants us to leave now, before anyone is hurt. And I want you to come with me."

Brooke froze, eyes wide. "But… but what about my family? They can come too, right?"

"Of course," Marian assured her. "Where are they?"

"I-I don't know," Brooke fretted. "Mother took Bolton to the markets and father is out building a new farmhouse on the edge of town. Marian, what if they're out there? What if they're in danger?"

"We can find them. But first we need to get to safety ourselves before this mess reaches us."

"I don't…" Brooke paced back and forth, clutching the knife to her chest with all the desperation of a woman clinging to a life preserving chunk of driftwood. "I don't know… the Templars know what's best for us, right? They'd probably want us to stay in our homes so they can sort this out!"

"The Templars only care about containing the situation," Marian said with a sour tone. "They won't care if we slip out while their attention is focused elsewhere."

"But—"

"Brooke," Marian took a step closer, but another bolt of lightning lit up the sky outside and the ensuing explosive boom made the other woman jump as if Marian had advanced with a fist raised to strike. She halted with her hands raised in surrender, both listening as fearful screams echoed through the streets outside in the ringing quiet left by the explosion's echo.

"Brooke," Marian said slowly, "I know you're scared. I am too. But we need to get out of here before Seeker Lok finds us here. He knows where we live. He knows where to look."

The other woman shook her head again and turned back to the window. She stared outside, watching the chaos unfold just beyond her window. Over her shoulder, Marian began to pace worriedly, eyes never leaving her lover.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I knew Lok was trouble. I should have gotten us away sooner, should have—"

"Wait."

Marian stopped, a chill running down her spine at the quiet command in Brooke's voice. "What?"

"You said Lok followed us back." Brooke turned back to Marian. "Followed us home. Why would he do that?"

Marian's heart was pounding uncomfortably in her chest now. "I-I don't know."

"But Lok told us he's a Seeker," Brooke continued. Her face was pulled into a deep frown. "And Seekers only hunt renegade mages. So why would he be interested in us? I'm just a layabout, and you…"

Marian took a hesitant step closer. "Brooke, we don't have time for this."

"Unless…" Brooke's brown eyes slowly met Marian's silver ones. Hawke could see the hurt blooming there, the twisted look of pain and disbelief and betrayal that could only be caused by dawning realization of a long-held lie.

Marian's charade was well and truly over.

"Unless," Brooke hissed, "he's here for you."

On the far outskirts of the village, along the borders of the forest that hugged the river's edge, a pair of green eyes watched from the darkness as fire consumed South Reach. They raked over the pillar of smoke that poured into the sky, darted to and fro as magical discharge raced off into the air. She could taste the smoke on the wind, even this far from the flames and the chaos. She could hear the screams, the thunderous discharge of magic, and the clash of steel on steel as the fighting continued.

Saidavel knew Malcolm was a tempest, a destructive hurricane of magic aimed out at any who threatened his family. She had sensed it long ago, during their brief meeting during the Hawkes' emergence from exile. She knew he would fight with the fury of a lion to protect his wife and children from harm, and oceans of blood would surely be shed before the aging mage was brought to heel. The night was still young, and many more would be dead before this mess was through.

And then, her senses finally found what she had been looking for.

Saidavel took a deep, mournful breath as she felt the eldest Hawke's anguish roll over her. Even from this distance, she could sense years of the the young woman's fear and worry solidify, harden, and then shatter in a single devastating moment.

The truth was out. At long last.

"Ir abelas, little dragon," she murmured. "Here, her path diverges from yours."

Over her shoulder, a second set of eyes peered out from the darkness, and a gravely voice said, "You should have told her long ago and spared her the pain she is about to endure."

"The heart must bear its suffering," Saidavel murmured, watching the town as it was consumed in flame and death. "And this pain carries a lesson she must learn."

A smug chuckle from the darkness behind her. "We shall see."

"Brooke—"

Brook took a step back as Marian took one closer, her hand drifting up to cover her mouth as tears sprang into her eyes. "Oh, Marian. Tell me it's not true. Tell me you had nothing to do with this."

"Brooke, I—"

"Tell me Lok isn't coming here for you. Tell me you're not… not…"

Marian bit her lip, feeling tears springing to her one good eye. She blinked them back and stammered, "Brooke, we don't have time—"

"We have time for this," the young woman said with more than a little iron in her voice. "Tell me the truth, Marian."

Hawke screwed her eyes shut, hands clenched into fists. It was several endless moments before she spilled out the words that had been pent up in her heart ever since she met the girl from Starkhaven.

"I wanted to tell you," she said, "so many times, for so long."

A strangled gasp escaped Brooke's throat, and her hand once again covered her mouth, as if to catch the sob that was trying to fight its way out of her.

"I only wanted to keep you safe!" Marian insisted. "I didn't want to… to scare you away because of who I am. Of what I am."

Brooke's voice was quiet and shaking as she whispered, "What are you, Marian?"

Hawke closed her eyes again, as if bracing for a blow to fall. She half expected Brooke to hit her; she deserved that and quite a bit more. "I… I'm sorry."

The other woman's voice quivered with a tortured mixture of pain, betrayal, and rage. "I want to hear you say it."

"I'm… I'm a mage," Marian said. "An apostate. So is my father. So is my sister."

"You lied to me," Brooke said. "All this time, ever since we met. You've been lying about everything!"

"I didn't want to!" Marian cried. "You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. Every time I kissed you, looked in your eyes, smiled and laughed with you. Every time I thought, this is it: I'll tell her now. But—"

"But you didn't."

Again, Hawke winced as if struck. "I didn't."

"Because you didn't trust me?"

"No!" Marian said. "No, because… because I was afraid!"

"Afraid of me."

"No! No, Brooke I love you! I want to spend the rest of my life with you!"

"You expect me to believe that," Brooke's voice was shaking with barely-controlled tears, "when you've been lying to me for how long?"

"The only thing I want," Marian insisted, "is for you to be safe."

Brooke scoffed. "For all I know, you just want me as a hostage so you can bargain your way out of Lok's clutches!"

"Brooke, you have to believe me—"

"I do, do I?" The girl's voice was louder now, and growing harsher with each word. "Why, Marian? Because we're so close? Because you love me so much? Because I love… because…"

She broke down then, pressing her fist to her mouth while clutching the knife against her stomach. Marian watched her, helpless in the face of her shattered web of deception. She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do to convince her lover that whatever lies she'd told in the past, the words coming from her mouth now were nothing but truth.

"Brooke," she said, "come with me. It doesn't matter what I've done to you or where we go from here. Lok will hurt you, if only to get to me."

"And I suppose that's one more lie, is it?" Brooke spat. "That I'd be safe with you, with a Seeker hunting for me?"

Marian stopped, let her hands fall to her sides. Her silver tongue, so readily available with some snide remark or sarcastic quip in the past, was now failing her at every turn. She knew all Brooke's feelings of rage and betrayal were more than justified. The bond between them was twisted and torn, if not broken completely, and no amount of honeyed words or declarations of love would fix that. Not here and now, with Templars closing in and South Reach burning around them.

"Tell me what to say," she said helplessly. "Tell me what to do. Tell me and I'll do it."

Brooke stared at her as Hawke continued, "I don't want to lose you. You're the most important person in my life, and if this… if this is the end… I don't want to imagine what comes next."

There was silence for a long time, invaded by the muffled sounds of battle and screams from outside. Brooke stared at Hawke while Hawke stared at the ground. It seemed like the silence would last forever, that no more words could be said between the two. Then—

"Kiss me."

Marian frowned and looked up. "What?"

Brooke raised her chin, eyes flashing with that inner fire Hawke so loved. "Kiss me. I'll be able to tell if you're lying. Prove you're telling the truth and I'll go with you."

Marian hesitated, dumbfounded by this second chance she'd been given. Her heart had leaped into her throat and her head spun at the possibilities of the statement. Maybe it wasn't the end. Maybe it wasn't too late to salvage something from this mess of her making.

She didn't need long to decide. Without a second thought, she rushed forward and threw herself into Brooke's arms, pouring every ounce of love and devotion into the kiss that she could muster. She would show this girl how much she cared. She would show her and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no one in this world that mattered more, no one who commanded her heart but—

She stopped and pulled away, a frown crossing her features. She watched as the fire in Brooke's beautiful eyes froze over into ice. A sneer passed across Brooke's lips as Marian's, still flooded with the taste of her lover, parted in a groan. In confusion and disbelief, Marian looked down between them.

Brooke's knife was sunk hilt-deep into her stomach.

She felt no pain, not through the hazy cloud of shock and confusion. Just a strange, disconnected poking sensation in her gut. She looked back up at Brooke, features twisted with disbelief, as she felt heat spreading from the wound as blood soaked through her jerkin.

"Brooke—" she gasped.

"Apostate," the other woman spat, her quiet voice quivering with suppressed rage. And that one word carried more malice and venom than Marian had heard from any other mouth. Her heart, already strained by the chaos of the night, broke.

The Starkhaven girl yanked the knife free, and only then did the pain come; it flooded Marian's body, spreading out from the wound like tendrils of poison in her veins. She doubled up, clutching her hands to her bleeding stomach with an agonized groan. Patters of red painted the ground beneath her feet, dripping down from her clutched fingers.

Brooke backed away with bloody knife still clutched in her hand. Then, as if only then remembering her plan, she whirled and threw open the window and screamed, "Help! Apostate! There's an apostate here!"

The words had the desired effect; outside, Marian could see two armored Templars halt and turn toward the house, swords drawn.

Marian groaned out, "Brooke—"

Brooke whirled on her with the knife again. "Stay away from me, apostate. I should have turned you in the moment I met you."

Indescribable hurt blossomed in Marian's gaze and she reached out a bloodied hand. "Brooke, why—"

"Stay away!" Brooke darted away from her touch, putting the kitchen table between them. "Stay away or I'll stab you again, I swear by Andraste."

Marian staggered back, still confused. But Brooke, hunched over the table like some snarling animal, breathlessly said, "The Templars will be here soon. If you want to live, you need to leave."

"Brooke—"

"Go!" the girl screamed. "And don't come back!"

Marian was about to say more when the door slammed open and the first of the approaching Templars threw himself inside with a shout, sword drawn.

Marian reacted instinctively, raising one bloody arm to project a magical shield that deflected the incoming blow. With the other, she lit a melon-sized fireball and threw it outward to hit the Templar full in the chest. The man staggered back with a shout of pain and collapsed to the floor, a large hole seared clean through his chest.

The second Templar jumped over his fallen comrade, shield up and sword poised to strike. With a groan of pained effort, Marian made a yanking motion with her arm and ripped the shield from her attacker's grasp before reversing the move and sending the heavy hunk of metal crashing into the man's chest, sending him off balance. She hit him with a fireball too, taking off his head at the shoulders with a blast of fire that left his body twitching before it hit the ground.

Her strength fled, and she collapsed to her knees. Blood soaked her clothes and streamed to the ground in sticky rivulets. Marian's head was spinning from a heady mess of betrayal, grief, and pain, and only a titanic force of will allowed her to struggle back to her feet with an agonized groan.

She turned to find Brooke off her feet as well, curled up against the wall with eyes as wide as dinner plates. She still clutched at her knife, held outward like a sword against her attacker — against Marian.

It only took a single look at Brooke's face. A single look at the terror in her beautiful eyes that had once bloomed with righteous fire. At the way she trembled as Hawke loomed over her. At the way her every motion, her every breath, seemed to accuse Marian of the very thoughts that were racing through her own mind.

Liar. Apostate. Murderer. Monster.

It was all over. Marian realized with a cold, empty sensation in her punctured gut that whatever had been between her and Brooke, no matter how strong, was gone now. If she stayed here, all she would find was more pain and loss — if the Templars didn't find her first.

"I'm…" Her voice cracked, but she still felt compelled to say one last, "I'm sorry."

Brooke didn't answer. Marian almost didn't want her to. Let this be the end, she thought with cold clarity. Get it over with quickly. There are still people out there who need you. Mother and the twins. Papa.

There's nothing left for you here.

She turned and limped out of Brooke's cottage without another word or longing look back, knowing as her eyes darted over the fire on the horizon that her life was now truly burning all around her.

Merrill knew their luck had to run out sooner rather than later. She had known it wouldn't be long before the denizens of Darktown, bored of the looting and the bloodshed, would cast their gaze upon the vulnerable duo carrying their wounded friend through unfriendly streets. What she hadn't expected was how little time they truly had.

She and Anders turned a sharp corner, both gasping for breath as they labored on. Marian let out a low groan, but was otherwise silent and still. It was at once a blessing and a curse: it was easier to carry her without her thrashing about, but it also meant their time was growing short. She wouldn't last much longer.

The attack came before either had time to react. Someone barreled out of a nearby hovel and took Anders around the waist, carrying them both to the ground. Merrill was yanked off-balance when the Mage was forced away from his end of the stretcher and she staggered before a meaty, stinking fist caught her in the jaw and sent her sprawling as well.

"What'choo got there?" a thick, watery voice rumbled. Through streaming eyes, Merrill saw a hulking man, smeared with dirt and blood, looming above her. He cracked his knuckles with a black-toothed leer. "What'choo got that's got'cha runnin' so fast?"

Merrill tried to speak, to plead for the man and his companion, who was currently locked in a fistfight with Anders, to let them pass. But a heavy boot hit her square in the face before she could manage a single word and she sprawled on her back with a cry of pain.

"Got yerselves a nice haul o' loot?" the man snarled as his meaty fist wrapped tight around her throat. "Somefin' you're tryin' ta hide from the rest'v us?"

With a grunt, he hoisted Merrill up to face him. Her feet kicked empty air as she choked and struggled against his iron grip.

"Nah," the other man said. He'd pinned Anders to the ground with a knee across the man's throat. "Just some bleedin' bitch."

"What?"

"Look! She's bleedin' all over the place."

The idea of the men pawing over Hawke in search of some trinket ignited a fire in Merrill's belly. Her face twisted with rage, even as she fought for breath caught in her captor's meaty fist. The air heated around her fingers, clutching at the man's dirty forearm, and began to crackle with energy.

"Wait… 'er face is all scratched up. Weren't there some lady the Templars were looking for? Some apostate or somefin'?"

The man holding Merrill rubbed at his chin, a thoughtful look coming into his watery eyes. "Aye. Knight-Lieutenant Lorenz said he'd pay good coin to see her. Dead or alive."

The man pinning Anders drew a short knife from the back of his belt. "Better safe 'n sorry, I say. We might be able to swing somefin' from all this after all."

That ended the debate; Merrill dug deep and summoned every ounce of mana she could muster, letting it flow around her like a gentle whirlwind of building energy. The man holding her didn't notice the sudden breeze, too distracted by the promise of a payday he would never see. But Anders saw her and frantically reached out a hand. A knee was still pinned against his throat, but he managed to choke out, "Mer-rill… don't… too open!"

She didn't listen. She didn't care. Hawke was in danger, and Merrill would be damned if she fought this hard to save her only to let these brutes steal her now. She felt mana coursing through her system as the man holding her captive gestured to Hawke's form and barked, "Well don' jus' stand there! Off her, then check 'er pockets. She may have some qunari goodies hidden on her."

Merrill sucked in a breath, letting the magical energy within her swell to breaking point. Everything around her went suddenly quiet, as if all the air had been stolen from the alleyway.

When it burst, the magicka didn't explode so much as snap. There was a burst of light, so bright it hurt even her eyes. The two men shouted in surprise, Merrill's captor dropping her as his hands reflexively flew up to shield his eyes.

Merrill dropped to the ground, hands digging into the dirt as the magic continued its course through her. The ground began to shake, rumbling like an earthquake and sending little pebbles sailing into the air where they floated serenely in the magical maelstrom she was building all around her.

Before the two brutes could recover, she ripped both hands up with a shout of effort. The ground bucked beneath their feet as great pillars of stone tore up from the ground, sending the two sailing into the air with terrified shouts. She regained her balance, drew up her mana, and thrust both hands out toward the two.

Two massive boulders, each the size of a man in their own right, sailed from the ground and rocketed toward the two, crashing into them before exploding with terrible ferocity. The men were sent careening into nearby buildings, where they bounced off like limp rag dolls before crashing to the ground.

Merrill looked to Anders, breath coming in harsh gasps from the exertion. "On your feet, Anders. Others will be drawn by the noise. We have to move quickly."

Anders rubbed at his throat as he struggled back to his feet. "That was stupid. If the locals weren't paying attention to us before—"

"I don't care," she snapped, stepping closer and hoisting up her end of the stretcher once more. "We're close to the Tower now. We can make it if we run. One last push."

Anders grunted as he hefted his side of the burden and muttered, "If you say so."

Behind her, the two men were beginning to rise to their feet. Unfortunate; Merrill hadn't intended to kill them, but she'd hoped her attack had knocked them out at the very least. They groaned as they rose, holding sprained ankles and twisted shoulders, but raised their voices to shout out, "Oi! Everyone get out here! We got us some apostates on the run!"

Merrill swore quietly in Dalish, while Anders cursed far louder and more fluently in words all could hear and understand. Together, the two mages took off at a near-run, heading in the direction of the Circle Tower, and the ironic promise of safety it offered.

"We'll have to use magic to ward them off," Anders said as other locals began to investigate the shouting and the noise. Several were armed. Many more were staring at the odd procession with suspicious eyes. "Think you can do that?"

"Just don't get us lost," Merrill said. "I'll keep us safe."

A worm of uncertainty crawled through her gut at the words, but she knew when it came to Marian she would do whatever was necessary. She would fight and she would kill to keep her lover safe, just as she knew Marian would do for her if their roles were reversed.

Marian did her part against the Arishok, she thought with a determined frown. Now it's my turn to be the hero.

Author's Note: Broken record time. I apologize for the HUGE delay in updating this story. Those who follow my DeviantArt page are probably up to speed, but for those who don't here's a quick rundown: my mom was diagnosed with kidney cancer (she got better), my boss set me up for 11-hour shifts, 11 days a "week" before allowing me a one day weekend (that's a little better now, but not by much), and I've been working triple-overtime to save up enough money to get a new car and move to a different town. With all that on one's plate, writing becomes almost impossible.

That said, things are starting to stabilize and I'm back to writing every day. Thanks for bearing with me through this shitty period, and here's hoping things get better in the near future. This particular tale has almost reached its conclusion, and there should be only a chapter or two bfeore all is wrapped up once and for all. Until then, I hope you enjoy and please favorite and review if you do. It truly helps!