A/N Massive apologies for the long delay, and thank you so much to all who have continued asking about progress. Honestly, I had run into a wall and a slight case of burn-out: while I knew how the story was going to end, this penultimate chapter was just NOT happening. However, a few weeks ago Snarkoleptic gave me a figurative kick in the pants (which she will deny vehemently, but it's true) and got me jumpstarted again. Thanks, sister! Your foray back into the world of Thedas was just the tonic I needed.
Also, for six months I was involved with my own Anders - a talented, gorgeous, damaged man who will always hold my heart. (If you'd like to hear his voice, check out Oblivion's Eye - "Eternity" on YouTube. He's also doing the drumming.) Sadly, it did not work out - heck, it imploded - but the ending of the relationship gave me much needed insight as to exactly why my Hawke would choose to stay with Anders after what happens at the Chantry. Simply put, it's because as badly as a broken heart hurts, it can mend; but the emptiness left behind when that person isn't there anymore is even worse, and it never goes away.
Anyway, here we are again - almost at the end of another adventure. I think this is why I like writing fic so much - what starts out as a simple idea for a one-shot grows and mutates into a full-fledged story with a life of its own, complete with twists, turns and unforeseen developments that travel from the characters to the muse and thence to my fingers. Now I hope you'll raise a glass with me and join in a toast to our wayward crew: "Semel insanivimus omnes!"*
Aperitif
"You must understand my position, Guard Captain," Viscount Dumar said. His voice remained calm and reasoned, but Aveline could see the dark patches of exhaustion that had become more prominent in the angular face. The Viscount had been a handsome man once, she mused. Too bad the strains of balancing his fickle power base against the machinations of Meredith and the fractious nobles of Kirkwall had aged him beyond his years. One had only to look at young Saemus to realize how vital Dumar must have been in his prime.
"Documents can be forged, and seals can be misplaced or stolen. I share your anger that such an attack happened against one of our more prominent citizens - I've taken quite a shine to young Amell myself - but currently the only issue I'm allowed to care about is the Qunari question. Meredith is all for wading in and killing them all, but even she realizes the futility of that course - and with Elthina's assistance I have convinced her to hold off, at least for the time being . But the longer they are here, the more likely it is that the disaffected portion of the populace will continue to follow my son's unfortunate enthusiasm for their ideals, whether through genuine conversion, or desperation for change. And the Chantry cannot overlook or condone such heresy for long." He shrugged wearily, and leaned forward to place his palms on his desk. "I'm truly sorry, but any accusations brought against Magistrate Vanard at this time will simply be ignored."
Aveline growled in frustration. "Your Excellency, I will not allow that bastard to flout the law. The Guard cannot be seen permitting such blatant..."
"That is quite enough, Guard Captain," Dumar snapped, cutting off her tirade. "If I clear you to go ahead with his arrest, let alone issuing a writ of execution, my own days will likely number the same as his. I hereby officially forbid Magistrate Vanard's formal arrest or execution." As he spoke, his expression grew crafty, and he winked, slowly and deliberately. "Now, if you will excuse me, Guard Captain - I have some more stacks of parchment to wade through. Good day."
"We all knew how it was likely to go," Varric said soothingly as Aveline strode back and forth in his room. "I don't envy Dumar at all. I'm surprised he hasn't chucked it all before now and just fled the country with Saemus and a retirement fund from the treasury."
Aveline shook her head. "No, at the core, he's a decent man, and he wants to do what is best for Kirkwall - or at least most of it. But even with the backing of the Guard, he has no real power, and he knows it. I can't blame him for wanting to stay alive, but still, it would have been glorious to break down Vanard's door and haul him off to the Keep in a very public manner. At least I've done my duty in reporting the matter - and my conscience is clear.
"As matters stand now, since Vanard decided to use such underhanded means to set the attack against Hawke, he's forfeited all possible recourse to lawful due process. I'm pretty sure once his son's crimes become public knowledge in Kirkwall, his adherents will begin to fall away, and soon he'll have no friends left to shelter him. It wouldn't surprise me at all if he eventually ended up with his throat cut in a dockside alley ..." She carefully avoided looking at the two other individuals present in Varric's suite.
"I still haven't been able to find the templar's bolt-hole," Aveline continued sourly, "but our prisoner was most forthcoming on the subject. Turns out Samson had been ousted from the Order some years ago on Meredith's orders, so it's almost a certainty she had no stake in the attack. Evidently, he volunteered for the job because he knew he'd be able to get lyrium at the clinic. Seems Anders has turned him away more than once - and the last time, Hawke gave him a rather pointed reminder to stay away. I guess the addiction was too much for him to fight, plus he had an axe to grind with both of them." She turned as if to go, then paused and turned back. "Any word from them?" she said, and the stern Guard Captain was replaced by a concerned friend.
Varric smiled reassurance. "Blondie says she's nearly recovered, and they're going to be moving her through the cellars and into the estate proper as soon as possible. Of course, the whole cellar door will have to be rebuilt and reinforced, but rumor will paint it as just an enlargement of storage for the clinic. Nobody needs to know that's the back entrance to Hawke's house."
Aveline nodded briskly. "That's exceptionally good to hear, Varric. I'd appreciate it if you could send word to them about what little I've been able to uncover. I'm afraid my stock in Darktown is even lower than usual right now, or I'd go myself.' She grinned abruptly, eyes glinting with rare humor.
"And you might also pass on that Hawke will have several more strong backs available for digging at the Bone Pit very soon. They'll be working off their sentences rather than hanging. Most of them complained that they'd rather die - they've heard about all the fun things happening out there recently - but execution is too clean for that lot."
"What about the one who talked?" Varric interjected shrewdly. "I wouldn't think he'd last too long in the Pit, not if his fellows knew what he'd done."
"I'm keeping Sharval on unofficial retainer," Aveline replied blandly. "He claims he wasn't responsible for any of the deaths, and I'm inclined to believe him - especially since Donnic vouched for him. Seems he was one of the Guard recruits years ago, but saw which way Jeven's command was trending, so he disappeared and took up cutpursing in Hightown instead. Not that that worked out much better for him - he still has a deeply ingrained fear of you and Bianca."
Varric looked puzzled. "About five years ago, now," Aveline supplied helpfully. "You'd just watched two young women get their hopes dashed by your brother...and then to add insult to injury, some young prat tried to lift their money."
"Well, I'll be dipped in nug shit," Varric drawled. "I do remember him now - he wasn't much more than a kid then. Too bad my warning didn't sink in a little deeper. Ah well, what's past is past. But are you sure you can trust him? He might just disappear into Darktown again, you know."
Aveline shook her head smugly. "He's smart enough to know that the Guard are the only thing standing between him and the Coterie, vengeful Darktowners, Vanard's people, Anders and Hawke - so he'll be keeping an eye out here and there, then reporting to you." She smirked at Varric's dumfounded look. "So you'd better make it clear to your contacts that he's part of your network. We're just the Guard. You're Varric Tethras - Lowtown's master spy. Nobody crosses you."
Aveline paused to let Varric recover his usual aplomb, then hit him with another startling revelation. For the first time in far too long, she realized, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. "With this failed attempt, I don't think Vanard will try anything else too soon, so Hawke will likely be just as safe in Hightown, and a sight more comfortable, too, especially with a few guards posted out front of the estate. But the clinic is a different matter. You might like to know that I'm assigning Guard Lieutenant Carida a rotating patrol through Darktown. She's known there, and respected, which is useful. And she knows her way around the Undercity, too. It's not much ..."
"It's a damned sight better than they've had before," Varric interrupted with a chuckle. "You want to be careful, Aveline. People won't be scared shitless of you anymore once word of this gets out." When she frowned at him, he stopped smiling. "Of course, I could be mistaken about that," he amended hastily.
A while later, after some intense discussion with the storyteller, Fenris and Isabela exchanged glances. He nodded, and she smiled, raising one eyebrow in emphasis. They both stood, and Fenris gave Varric a short bow. "Thank you for your hospitality, Varric. I think we have what we needed to know. For now, however, I think it would be best if we take our leave. The streets of Kirkwall are not safe at night - even for those prepared for danger."
"Especially in Hightown," Varric agreed solemnly. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some company? Bianca's been feeling rather frustrated recently. The two of us could use a little recreational outing."
"Thank you, but maybe some other night, Varric," Isabela interjected smoothly. "Your face is too well known around Hightown, even after dark. Fenris and I are more non-descript." She grinned sharply when Varric glanced rather pointedly from her cleavage to the elf's lyrium brands. "Besides, it's also well-known that Hawke is your best friend. If enough people can place you here in the Hanged Man, there will be fewer questions."
Varric raised his mug and took a reflective sip. "So quickly?" he said with a slight edge in his voice. "Do you think that's wise?"
"Delay would serve no purpose," Fenris stated coldly. "To wait would only let him strengthen his defenses. Besides, rumor has been circulating that he is planning to move to his country estate - and an operation on that scale would be too risky an undertaking."
Varric grunted in grudging agreement. "Well, good luck then." As they turned to go, the dwarf slapped one hand on the table, and hissed at them, "Wait." When they stopped, Varric's face settled into an ugly sneer. "However you do it - make sure the son of a bitch suffers," he growled. Fenris' eyes gleamed, and he flexed his fingers in their claw-tipped gauntlets while Isabela chuckled low in her throat.
"Anders, I can walk by myself, really," she said patiently, smiling up at her lover.
"I know, Hawke," the mage replied, but he didn't remove his arm from her shoulders. "I simply can't extend the barrier any further and still be sure it will hold against a concentrated attack. Carida has cleared the area and set sentries, but until we get through the cellar door and have it safely blocked behind us, I'm taking no further chances with you." He pulled her closer to him, and she put her arm around his waist with a contented sigh.
Once the door had swung shut behind them, however, Hawke grabbed Anders by the neck of his coat and pulled herself up to kiss him. Overbalanced, he staggered back against the door, thumping into it with a grunt. Instinctively, his hands cupped underneath her buttocks to support her weight at his hips as she wrapped her legs around him. Only a few muffled gasps and moans broke the silence of the cellar as they kissed, enjoying the privacy they had been denied by all the concerned well-wishers during the past day and night.
Finally, Anders broke the silence as Hawke started moving more purposefully against him. "Maker, Hawke, not ... not here," he whispered uncertainly. "Not where...," his voice trailed off.
"Not where I died?" she replied. "Not where you risked everything you are - went against everything you believe - just to save me? How else can I ever thank you properly? How else can I make amends for what you had to do?" She locked her arms around his shoulders in desperation, and the mage hugged her just as tightly.
"Be easy, love," he whispered reassuringly. "I didn't use blood magic." Hawke relaxed momentarily in his arms, then tensed again.
"You didn't ... but then how did you know where to find me in the Fade?" she asked quietly, after the merest hesitation.
He was silent for a moment, lowering his arms to set her back on the cellar floor. He'd been dreading this moment - because even though he hadn't used blood magic, hadn't he done the next closest thing? With a slight flick of thought, he summoned a wisp and stared down at the stained floor, remembering - the agony of that moment was etched on his face - and Hawke swallowed, wishing she hadn't pressed.
"You have to understand," the mage began, almost inaudibly. "I had already given up. You were dead, my powers were gone, even Justice was silent. I felt like the only option left to me was to simply sit in the dark and die, since I had failed you so completely. That's when... that was when the spirit spoke to me."
Hawke drew in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. "A spirit? Or a demon?" The doubt in her voice hurt Anders, but he covered it with a quick grin. She had every right to question, he reminded himself.
"Actually, I was convinced it was a demon, come to tempt me into blood magic at the very least, with me becoming a true abomination as an encore," he said lightly. "But there were differences - and it knew Justice - although not by that name. It didn't seem to be a friendly acquaintance, but at least it was still willing to speak with me. What it asked in return wasn't anything too damning." His voice lowered, and he stared at her, eyes vulnerable and dark in the dim light. "And what it offered was worth any risk."
She closed her eyes briefly and just leaned against him for a moment. "I'm not condemning you, my dear," she said finally. "I just fear for you - especially if Meredith ever catches you away from Darktown or before I can get warning to you to disappear. If just one templar spy were to hear what you just told me...," her fists clenched. "You're not the only one who would drown this city in blood if something were to happen," she vowed. "Meredith already has reason enough to hate my family - or more correctly, my father and his name. I'm sure it would give her no end of enjoyment to take turns hurting us and making the other watch."
"Agreed she's a cold-hearted bitch, but she's never really met you, love. Why should she hate you? Or your father?" Anders' voice was puzzled.
"Papa ... ah, the spirit ... told me about something that happened years ago. From the sounds of it, Meredith was close to Mother. Very close, actually, but I don't know if Mother returned her interest." Hawke shuddered against him. "You know what? You're right, Anders; this isn't the time, or the place. Let's get back to the estate. I want a bath, and some of Orana's soup, and to see sunlight in the morning."
Are you intending to let her know more? Especially about what the cost of your repeated meddling with her family will ultimately be?
Perhaps. At least the history and the reason of it. As for the final cost, brother, better the loss of one life than countless thousands, which will be the outcome of your meddling with the mage.
Enough! Further debate about that is ...
... pointless, I know. Farewell, brother. Now that you are almost healed, I do not think we should speak again. And stay out of the Beyond - you've disrupted it badly during your convalescence. Many of our fellows have been stirred from their torpor. Any new visitors will find their nightmares waiting for them for several weeks.
With pleasure. In turn, make sure you don't interfere with my host again.
That will present no difficulty, he has already enjoined me to do much the same. But remember, he still has a will of his own. If you deny him his choices and force your own upon him, you will lose him entirely.
Before they had even cleared the sub-cellar, Hawke's legs had given out, and she'd only kept herself from falling by grabbing the mage's arm. They sat on some empty wine crates to let her catch her breath, but after several minutes she was still alarmingly pale, so Anders scooped her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way. She protested vehemently, but the mage could tell she was deeply frightened by her weakness.
"This isn't permanent, love," he said reassuringly. "Even with healing magic, traumatic blood loss is not something you recover from all that quickly. Just a few days of bed rest, good strengthening broths and fortified wines will have you back to normal." He smiled at her, and then nuzzled against her ear. "And as your healer, I should stay with you to keep you in bed," he whispered fondly, smiling again as she shivered and finally relaxed.
"You heard the Sister, dwarf - bed rest is all she needs," a curt voice said from upstairs as they exited the library and came into the main hall.
Anders stiffened with anger, and Hawke's expression grew grim. "Wonderful," Anders muttered. "What's he doing here? I'm not in the mood to deal with any sanctimonious ranting."
Hawke scowled in agreement. "And the day was going so well..."
Carefully, the mage set her down, and motioned for Orana, who had just entered the hall from the kitchens. "Get her something to sit on, would you, please? And what's happened here?" he asked the elven woman in a quiet voice. Her eyes flickered above him to the upper landing, and she abruptly turned and fled, blurting something about "getting the mistress a chair."
"What's happened here is an injured mother worried sick, an undutiful daughter shirking her responsibilities, and some clean, un-magical help rendered," Sebastian's cultured, scornful voice answered. They turned to see him descending the stairs in his Chantry finest, trailed by a Sister with a surgeon's pouch slung over her shoulder and a harried-looking Bodhan bringing up the rear.
Anders flushed and took a step forward, but Hawke laid one hand on his arm and he subsided after a quick look at her face. She was still pale, but her cheeks had turned red, and her eyes were glittering. Instead, he cupped his hand under her elbow to support her in standing upright to confront this unwelcome visitor.
"As the rightful ruler of Starkhaven, you have absolutely no place in lecturing me about shirking responsibilities, Prince Vael," Hawke said in a cutting, icy voice. "I suggest you go back to your Chantry duties, since the ones pertaining to your bloodline seem to be so far from your mind. But thank you for your help, Sister," she gave the embarrassed looking woman a slight nod of acknowledgement, then turned her back on both of them.
Sebastian stared at her for a moment - jaw clenched, obviously seething - then glared at Anders, who was openly smirking at his discomfort. But he didn't say anything further, and when the door slammed behind them, those remaining sighed in relief and relaxed slightly.
"Now, Bodhan, what's happened to my mother?" Hawke tried to put a convincing tone of concern in her voice. More than likely, Leandra had over-indulged at another one of the extravagant Hightown parties she was constantly attending, an occurrence which was becoming all too frequent. But the dwarf's reply was unexpected.
"It was yesterday morning, mistress. Maybe an hour after you left. She was giving me the mail to go out, and the shopping list for Orana, and suddenly she grabbed at her chest and collapsed. Of course, I've seen the like before, but her Ladyship isn't very much older than I, and she's in good health otherwise, so I was quite worried, especially when she didn't wake up. Sandal and I got her up to her room and then while Orana got her settled, I went looking for you and Master Anders. But nobody could tell me where you were, and I wasn't able to find any of your associates, either." The mage and the rogue exchanged uneasy glances.
"I finally decided the only option left was the Chantry, and Sister Bernice agreed to come. But he saw us leaving and insisted on coming. I'm terribly sorry, serah. But I couldn't convince him not to..." The old dwarf's lined face was twisted with unhappiness, and Hawke patted him gently on the arm.
"I don't blame you at all, Bodhan. You did admirably well. I'm just sorry you couldn't find us. Things have been a bit ... chaotic." She wavered on her feet and clutched his shoulder. "But for now, I'll just ask you to do whatever Master Anders tells you. I've ... I need to rest a while, I think," she finished in a suddenly weak voice.
Anders picked her up again, and headed up the stairs. "I'll be back in just a moment, Bodhan," he called over his shoulder. "And I'll check on Leandra. Send Orana up to help Mistress Hawke, if you would. And have Sandal build up the fires. I want it really warm in both their rooms.
"Young man, there is no need at all for you to be here, and it goes against propriety. Please leave," Leandra said peevishly, and waved his hand away when Anders' would have checked her forehead. "I simply fainted. It happens, you know."
"I'm sorry, Leandra, but at your age, even fainting is cause for concern. Had you felt dizzy beforehand, or had any pain in your chest or upper arms?" Anders studied her face, noting with slight anxiety that there was still a slight bluish cast to her lips. "And prolonged periods of unconsciousness are also bad, if your lungs are not pulling in enough air."
She settled back against the headboard, slightly chastened. "No, nothing like that. I was fine. I just suddenly felt a sharp pain here," and she pointed at her heart, "and I couldn't breathe. Felt like I had a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. Then I woke up and that nice young man was here with a Sister. He was very kind, and reassured me that she had taken only enough blood to thin the weight of the thick air that had come up from Lowtown and the foundry district. That year we spent with Gamlen seriously hurt my lungs, I'm afraid."
The mage pursed his lips on a sharp condemnation. Bleeding and bad air? Andraste's flaming ... the Chantry probably kills more with their cack-handed foolishness than any malady. At least she's taken no lasting harm.
"Well, you do seem better, so I'll just give you another dose of poppy syrup and let you rest some more," he said quietly. He arranged the pillows so her lungs would be unconstricted as she would rest more or less upright. Once she was asleep, he ran a questing, blue-charged palm over her chest, but he could not sense any damage to the heart muscles. Puzzled, and still slightly suspicious about the coincidence of timing and symptoms, he returned to Hawke's room.
"She'll be fine. But I swear, if any Chantry charlatan ever sets foot in here again, I'll do something drastic," he said to Hawke's questioning gaze. "The Sister actually bled your mother, and Sebastian approved it." Anders made an angry spitting noise. "It's a wonder she used leeches and not a blade."
Life settled back into a more or less normal pattern in fairly short order, with a few changes that were alternately pleasant and grating. Although they were very careful to make sure Leandra had no inkling of what had actually happened to her daughter that day in Lowtown, for some reason she seemed to have mellowed considerably in her attitude towards Anders.
Of course, Hawke conceded glumly to her lover one evening, that was probably because her mother had discarded Saemus as a possible suitor for her daughter. Instead, Sebastian's name kept cropping up with alarming frequency. After all, a prince, even in exile, was a much more suitable catch than an appointed official's son. And how could any girl not be dazzled by such a prospect?
Anders earned himself some pummeled ribs for his laughing fit and was appropriately contrite for the next few days.
Nobody in Kirkwall, well almost nobody, was surprised when one of the fishing sloops returned to the docks one day about a week later with a grisly catch tangled in their nets. Aveline was summoned dockside to view the remains. The man's body, badly bloated and fish-chewed, was clad in the remains of tattered velvet finery. But the signet ring on one hand was enough for her to announce the demise of Magistrate Vanard - probably at the hands of the Coterie. Unfortunately, no witnesses came forward to either confirm or deny her conclusion.
Nobody attended the burning, either, because by that time certain allegations of crimes committed by the Magistrate's missing son had finally surfaced and were making the rounds in Hightown. However, there were noisy celebrations several nights running in the main square of the Alienage, and the Guard was conspicuous by their absence.
For a remarkable length of time, the incidence of reported violent crimes in Darktown was actually lower than that in any other part of the city, Hightown included. Most of the credit went to the guard patrols led by Carida, but there was also a ready militia of refugees and the disaffected who kept a lid on things at other times. And if the occasional Coterie member went over the inadequate railings and into the rocky gorge under the unseeing eyes of the Twins from time to time, no one saw fit to mention it.
About a fortnight later, Varric issued invitations to his suite of rooms to celebrate another successful business venture suggested by Hawke and implemented during her convalescence - the introduction of a new beverage to tantalize the palate and refresh the spirit, and available exclusively at the Hanged Man.
*We have all been mad once.