Isabela went with Hawke, but very quickly found herself regretting the decision. "Babysitting" turned out to mean that the Viscount's son, Saemus, had run off again to the Qunari—this time to convert to their religion permanently. When Hawke announced that they would speak to the Arishok on the Viscount's behalf, she had needed to do some quick thinking to avoid finding herself at the angry oxman's feet.
As it was, she was not entirely sure Hawke had bought her charade, but he hadn't forced her into the compound, and they'd been busy enough since that he'd not the time to berate her if he thought she'd lied.
"Do you see, Your Grace?!"
Isabela looked up from the rabble around her, eyes locking on the sharp-faced Mother who was accompanying the Grand Cleric down the Chantry's opulent staircase.
"Traitors attacking the very core of the Chantry! They defile it with every step!"
Isabela glanced at the blades in her hands—still red with the blood of peasants she hadn't wanted to kill. Anders, Fenris and Hawke were similarly disposed, surrounded by the corpses of untrained rioters, who had all but thrown themselves on their swords.
Their search for the Viscount's son had led them to the sanctuary's door, but the boy had been dead when they'd arrived! The rest of the bodies were extremists that had been waiting in the wings. They'd probably been the ones who'd murdered Saemus in the first place!
Venom rose in Isabela's throat at the injustice of the Mother's accusation. She began to snap back a response, but Hawke held his hand up to silence her, his gaze trained on Grand Cleric Elthina's face.
"There is death in every corner, young Mother," the wizened apostle murmured. The Grand Cleric was a soft-spoken woman, but there was a power in her that Isabela noticed the moment the old woman's eyes passed over her own.
The pirate had never held much love for the Andrastian Church, but this Cleric seemed to be something different than what she had come to expect.
"It is as you predicted," the Grand Cleric continued, turning to the priestess beside her. "All too well."
As the women neared the base of the stairwell, Hawke took a bold step forward. The younger of the two flinched away.
"This scene is not as it seems, Elthina," Hawke said. His tone was clear and he spoke directly to the Grand Cleric herself, as if he were certain that she would hear out his explanation. Were she in a better mood, Isabela might have been tempted to grin. It was just like Hawke to refrain from using titles—even when addressing the highest ranking church official in the Free Marshes.
The corrupt Mother beside the Grand Cleric noticed the lapse as well, and handled it with considerably less humor. Her face twisted in disgust.
"Don't you spout your Qunari filth!" the woman spat at Hawke. "You are addressing the Hand of the Divine!"
Isabela wished she could just kill the bitch and have it done.
"I have ears, Mother Petrice," the Grand Cleric said however, firmly cutting off the woman's outcry. "The Maker would have me use them."
The woman named Petrice scowled and lowered her gaze. Her boney fingers knotted themselves in her skirts, as if she wished to strangle something.
The Grand Cleric ignored her sulking, and turned her attention back to their group. Her clear eyes searched Hawke's face. "You are the young Master Hawke, are you not?" she said, after a moment. "I have not seen you amongst our congregation, but I have heard of your heroics from Sebastian… and Leandra."
Hawke's jaw clenched at the mention of his mother's name, and the elderly woman seemed to notice, her expression softening. "Word has reached me of her passing. Gamlen lit a candle here for her this very morning. He would not speak of what occurred, but his sorrow was evident… It is true then, that she has gone to her place at the Maker's side?"
"She has rejoined her family," Hawke responded. His voice sounded hollow and curt.
"Perhaps…" Elthina murmured, "But she has left one beloved member behind. You should know, dear child, that when she could will herself to speak, her words were all for you."
Isabela's chest constricted at this sentiment, and she watched Hawke's face, wondering how he would react. He said nothing, but fidgeted on his feet, obviously uncomfortable. She fought against the urge to touch him.
"I am saddened that Kirkwall has fallen into such a pitiable state that a son is not allowed even a full day to mourn his parent's passing before he is called back into the streets," the Grand Cleric sighed. "What has dragged you from your grief, my child? Why do you stand before the alter of Andraste wielding a bloody spear?"
Hawke cleared his throat, his gaze not leaving hers. "Viscount Dumar's son is dead," he told her. "Murdered here in your name."
"…I'm sure my name won't like that," Elthina said. Her voice had grown cool. "What say you to this, Petrice?"
The young Mother blanched. "Saemus Dumar was a Qunari convert," she sputtered. "He came here to repent, and was murdered!"
"By you," Isabela hissed, ignoring Hawke's warning glare.
Petrice reeled at the accusation. "People are leaving us to join them!" she wailed, grabbing at the Grand Cleric's sleeve. "They deny the Maker!"
"And you diminish him," Elthina responded, brushing the woman's hands from her arm. "Even as you claim his side. Andraste did not volunteer for the flame."
Petrice stumbled back as if she'd been slapped.
"Serah Hawke," Elthina continued, "I am aggrieved for your loss, and sincerely apologetic that these affairs have taken your attention away from that which is truly important. Young Mother Petrice has erred irreparably in her judgment. A court shall have to determine her fate."
She turned to go back up the stairs without another word.
"Grand Cleric?" Petrice wailed after her back.
But Elthina did not turn around. Not even has Hawke raised the bladed end of his staff to the side of the other woman's neck.
"How do you plea?" he muttered.
The Mother started to scream, but the slick whistle of steel cut off the sound. Hawke wiped clean the darkened blade as the new corpse fell.
"…Aveline would have wanted her alive," Anders said, moving to stand beside the other mage.
"I wanted her dead," Hawke told him, reaffixing his staff to his shoulder. "And the Arishok would have taken her head long before she saw a trial."
"By their laws," Fenris said, agreeing with Hawke, "Saemus' conversion was complete. Even if it was only briefly, he was a true follower of the Qun. The Qunari will see Petrice's actions as another murder of one of their own."
"So…" Isabela mumbled, "what does that mean for Kirkwall?"
"War," the lyrium-scarred elf said, his expression hard.
Anders frowned. "You think it's inevitable?"
"It is," Fenris said. "Petrice is dead now, but that won't be enough to sate the Arishok's desire to avenge his fallen. Not anymore. He only just forgave the slaughtered patrol."
Isabela scowled, and her narrowed eyes dropped to the ground. This was bad. She needed to be long gone before the fighting started. Blast that useless Wall-eyed Sam. He had promised her information ages ago!
"What's more," Fenris was saying, unaware of her distraction, "Viscount Dumar is no lead-boned leader. When he finds out his son has been slain, he'll be ruined—unable to hold the anti-Qunari factions in check. When the Arishok moves, the extremists will revolt in earnest."
"And if that happens?" Anders asked.
"This city will burn," Hawke growled.
Anders' expression darkened, and he lifted his hands. "Are we content to just let that play out? Is there truly nothing we can do to stop it?"
"Not while the Qunari remain in the city," Fenris shrugged.
The blond mage raced his fingers through his hair. "I don't understand. They hate it here. Why won't the just leave?"
"Because of what they seek," Fenris explained. "The Tome of Koslun is their most holy text. They will never leave this city while they believe it still remains."
"What sort of idiot thief would steal a book like that?" Anders grumbled.
Isabela felt anger and shame burble in her stomach, and fought against the urge to look back at the floor. Defending the theft would raise suspicion, and she had to avoid that more than anything—especially since Hawke was present.
She could feel the man's stare on her anyway, and she refocused on Fenris and Anders' discussion so that she wouldn't accidentally look at him.
The elf unknowingly defended the matter in her stead. "The book would be worth an amazing amount of gold to the Tevinter Imperium..."
Anders scoffed. "Only if the culprit could make it past the Qunari embargo to actually reach Tevinter,"
"There is that," Fenris admitted, resting a finger beneath his chin as he thought. "So long as they have not, there is some hope that peace may yet be restored."
"You mean if we were to recover the Tome?" Anders asked, eyeing him.
"We should not waste any more effort on this," Hawke interrupted, turning towards the Chantry door.
"Why?" Anders demanded. The other man stopped.
"Because even if the book is in Kirkwall," Hawke drawled, "we have no way to find it."
"You wouldn't even try?"
The man said nothing and Anders seemed to interpret that as an opening. "Hawke," he pressed. "If we do nothing, people will die,"
"They may all die anyway," Hawke retorted. "And that will not be on my conscience."
"How can you say that?" Anders snapped.
"Because he isn't human," Fenris snarled, equally annoyed. "He doesn't care."
Hawke met their angry stares with his own golden fire. "It is not my job to solve a problem I didn't cause. If the person actually responsible for this mess feels no remorse for what their greed has led to, then they are far more a monster than I."
The other two men chased him after that, still shouting their complaints—but Isabela remained frozen to the spot, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Hawke's eye had flashed to her face right before he'd said those words.
Somehow… he knew.