Fool's Errand

by R2s Muse

Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just borrowing!


Chapter Summary: Cullen and Hawke and friends race against time to salvage what's left of the peace talks.


Chapter 29: Return to Fort Drakon

Fort Drakon
Denerim
Ferelden

When they arrived at Fort Drakon, Cullen's eyes were drawn not to the massive tower rising up toward the clouds, but to the more sobering sight of column upon column of templars in formation on the landing before the fort. During their escape from the Chantry, they had encountered resistance, but not enough to explain all the templars Cullen and Solona had seen on the march to Denerim. Now he understood why, because they were here. Cullen did a quick count and deduced that, given the size of the company outside, there were a number of units missing.

He shared his conclusions with Hawke, Leliana and Solona as they hid behind the arched entry into the courtyard before the gatehouse. "The rest must be inside already," he said.

Hawke nodded. "There were already a number of templars heading in when I was taken away. Likely more now. All armed, of course, and in possession of all the confiscated weapons."

"Including the mages' staves," Solona added. "They're going to need those in order to have any chance."

"If there are any mages left," Leliana said.

"We need to find a way past the templars and into the tower," Cullen said with a worried frown. He looked at Hawke. "If they see you, we're done."

Hawke turned to Solona. "You have infiltrated Fort Drakon before. How did you do it last time?"

Solona laughed and shared a look with Leliana. "The first time, I was escorted in. To a cell. Leliana had to trick her way in to rescue me."

Leliana smiled ruefully at the reminder. "And I'm afraid my acting skills are a trifle rusty these days."

"The second time," Solona said, her smile slipping away, "we fought our way in, through the darkspawn that had overrun it. There is no easy way."

A grim silence fell over the group, only to be broken a moment later when a few isolated shouts sounded through the templar ranks. Cullen peered around the archway to see the templar formation square up in anticipation of something coming up the path from the city below. The captain and his lieutenants stepped forward as the reason finally came into view.

Captain Deacon topped the rise with a full regiment of the palace guard marching at his back. He stopped in front of the templar captain, and from this distance, Cullen could only hear the anger in their raised voices. At the same time, a seemingly endless stream of gold-plated guards filed onto the landing before the fort and around the edge of the courtyard. Cullen found himself automatically frowning in disapproval when a ripple of movement ran through the templar lines from concerned feet fidgeting out of formation. Once upon a time, he would have had harsh words for those soldiers. Today, he was grateful they all seemed distracted by the showdown between Deacon and their captain.

"This is our chance," said Hawke, already on the move around the edge of the courtyard, her blades held ready.

Cullen and the others followed, slipping through the shadows of the statuary and ornate arches around the courtyard until they were close enough to make a break for the series of ramps leading up to the entrance. They heard the sounds of a scuffle as they drew near, and once they cleared the final archway, witnessed Varric and Fenris dragging the inert bodies of two templar guards into the shadows behind a pillar.

"Hawke!" Merrill said, grinning and waving like she had encountered them in the market and not infiltrating an imposing fort.

"Merrill!" Hawke rushed over. "What are you doing here?"

"We came to ask you that same question," Merrill replied. "We've been so worried since Deacon returned to the palace without you."

"Deacon sent you?" Hawke asked.

"Yeah," Varric said as he joined them. "Deacon was pretty convinced something was wrong when you told him to leave the fort. But you still wouldn't believe what it took to convince him to disobey your direct order and march back here." He chuckled, shaking his head.

Hawke squeezed Varric's shoulder, and looked at each of her friends in turn. "Thank you," she said simply, but Cullen could hear the catch in her voice.

"Don't thank us until you hear what we had to promise him," Varric replied, his voice sounding more gruff than usual.

"It seems you have been busy, Hawke," Fenris said. His elven eyes gleamed brightly in the partial darkness as he looked curiously at Cullen and the others. "What happened?"

Cullen clamped his mouth shut on any answer he might give to that question. In all the chaos, there had been no opportunity to explain his return to Hawke, and she had not asked. All the contrite excuses he had practiced in his head felt even less adequate now that he had directly played into the Lord Seeker's hands and put everything—everyone—in jeopardy. Whatever happened now, whatever Hawke might say, Anders had been right all along, and that was a burden that Cullen would have to bear.

"The short version," Hawke said in a brisk tone, "is that the Lord Seeker intends to wipe out the mage underground and tried to get us all out of the way. We escaped and now need to get to the chapel before he can succeed. We may already be too late." She waved a hand at each of Leliana and Solona. "Sister Nightingale, whom you know. Solona Amell."

Merrill's eyes widened at the introduction, while Varric merely looked thoughtful and Fenris grunted.

"Do you know if Alistair is still within?" Solona asked.

"He hasn't come back to the palace," Varric said. "That was the one thing that finally convinced Deacon to come here and provide us with some backup."

"I wonder if the Lord Seeker is brave enough to harm the King of Ferelden," Leliana mused, pursing her lips.

"No man is brave enough for that," Solona said in a flat voice, yanking open the door and passing into the gatehouse.

Cullen paused before following, glancing uneasily back out at the soldiers in the courtyard. All attention remained focused on the confrontation with Deacon, which was heated but not yet violent. The presence of the palace guard at least made it less likely that a whole templar company would flank them. Or block their escape, were they actually to make it out alive.

ooXXoo

The interior of the fort was deathly quiet. Far too quiet for Hawke's taste. Only a handful of knights guarded the one set of interior doors that led deeper into the keep, suggesting the rest must be in the levels above. Their band crept forward quietly through the large stone hall and successfully avoided any telltale echoes that might alert the soldiers.

When they were close enough, Hawke abandoned stealth and rushed toward them. The templar started in surprise. "Champion!" one of them exclaimed. "Y-you're not supposed to be here."

Hawke lunged forward and the man who had spoken froze as she held her sword to his throat. "I can't very well abandon my post, now. Where is the Lord Seeker?"

The templar went silent and the other three men hovered in indecision, while her friends moved up to circle the templars. Hawke moved her sword closer until a line of red welled up on the man's neck. "Where is he?" she demanded through gritted teeth.

"A-above. He's above, in the chapel on the roof with the others," the templar said, swallowing and causing another red line on his neck as he shifted against Hawke's rocksteady blade.

"How many templars are up there?" she asked.

"Enough," the man replied.

Hawke looked at Cullen and nodded sharply. Then, in unison, she used the pommel of her sword to knock out the man she had threatened, while Cullen did the same for the man closest to him. Fenris and Leliana followed with the remaining two.

"Hawke, where did you stow the weapons? We need to gather the mages' staves if we can," said Solona.

"Through here." Hawke led her to the alcove where Deacon had been storing everything he had collected.

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief when she found her own matched blades, each long as her forearm and slightly curved, and slid them home into the sheaths on her back.

Beside her Solona had selected one of the mages' staves and gave it an experimental spin in her hand. "This will do," Solona murmured before grabbing as many other staves as she could reasonably hold. The others followed suit, with Hawke taking a moment to find Anders's staff and sling it and another across her back.

Hawke returned to the main hall and smiled to see that Cullen was strapping on a breastplate he must have taken from one of the unconscious templars. She walked up behind him and wordlessly started to tighten one of the buckles at his shoulder. He glanced sidelong at her, his expression guarded.

She stepped back. "It suits you," she said.

He answered with a tight smile that must have pulled uncomfortably at the split in his upper lip, which started to bleed again. Without thinking, she reached out to look at it more closely. "Does it hurt?"

He stilled as she held his face and watched her warily. "A little."

"You should get someone to heal it before it leaves a scar." She accidentally looked him in the eye and was caught, her pulse pounding in her ears as they gazed at each other. The moment ended when one of the templars at their feet groaned.

The templar was quickly silenced by an elbow strike from Solona, who was rifling around in the kit on the man's belt. Feeling curious eyes on her, Solona glanced up at Hawke and Cullen. "Some of these templars traveled a distance to Denerim," she said, moving on to the next templar's kit. "Which means they must have brought with them . . . Aha!" she said triumphantly, holding up her prize.

In her hand, two small vials of lyrium glowed softly, casting the sudden pallor in Cullen's face a sickly blue. He stiffened and his hand trembled as Hawke took it in hers. Solona did not seem to notice and instead stowed the vials away in the pouch at her waist before moving onto the next templar.

Hawke took Cullen's shoulder and turned him toward her and away from the lyrium. "Cullen?"

He swallowed and nodded jerkily. "I'm all right." She squeezed his hand before letting go.

"We should—" Hawke said just as a loud boom reverberated through the building and the walls shook slightly.

"Creators! What is happening up there?" Merrill said.

"We need to move!" Solona said, jumping to her feet and advancing into the tower. Everyone else followed, concern quickening their steps.

ooXXoo

They did not encounter any more soldiers as they moved through each level of the tower, supporting their assumption that everyone was concentrated on the chapel on the roof. The eerie silence was finally broken by a distant murmur that eventually turned into the clash of arms and the crackle of magic. The sounds were faint but growing as they ascended toward the roof. Every time there was a particularly loud crash or shout, Solona would speed up a little, practically crawling out of her skin in her need to reach Alistair.

Next to the burning flame of Solona's obvious attachment to Alistair, Hawke's flicker of jealousy on seeing her with Cullen faded to pettiness. It was too easy to indulge in envy of the remarkable woman who had once defeated a fallen god as easily as she commanded the affections of both the King of Ferelden and Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. But whatever Cullen might still feel for the hero, it was clear where Solona's broken heart still lay. Belatedly, Hawke wondered at her own cold heart that she was not nearly as upset about Anders.

A loud shout just above them in the stairwell interrupted the mawkish turn of Hawke's thoughts, and they had arrived at the top.

The stair broadened and brightened with the mid-day sun. It was hard to believe, after everything that had happened, that it was still so early in the day. Reflected glints of sunlight from templar armor temporarily blinded Hawke as she emerged onto the roof of the tower, panting a bit from the climb.

In one glance, she deduced the recent turn of events. The fighting already had spilled out from the small, picturesque chapel built to commemorate the end of the Fifth Blight. A serene stained glass portrayal of Solona in warden blue elegantly thrust a sword upwards into the heart of a stylized representation of the Archdemon, while a chaotic civil war raged in an open plaza before it. Exhausted mages and their few remaining men at arms dodged behind ornate planters and statues while fending off well-armed templars encased in metal in an alarmingly one-sided battle.

Hawke was surprised they had lasted this long, but in the middle of the blue-tiled plaza was a giant, circular scorch mark with rows upon rows of fallen knights centered on the blast point. The explosion they had heard below must have been one mage's last ditch attempt to take as many templars with her as she could. Or he could. There was not enough left of the mage to be able to tell. The blast must have evened the odds for a time, but the templars were gaining ground again.

There was no sign of the King or anyone on the negotiating teams from either side, suggesting that perhaps they were still inside the chapel. "Help the mages!" she called to her friends. "I'm going to find the Lord Seeker!"

At the same time, Solona stepped forward, eyes darkening as she muttered arcane spells to herself and raised her hands. One of the borrowed staves in her hands sparked and then a swirling maelstrom coalesced in the air above the templars.

"Care to dance?" she muttered, laughing wildly into the wind that swept through her hair. Dark clouds formed and lightning arced between them before hurtling to ground in a discordant waltz of death among the scattering templars. Two of the soldiers immediately fell to the ground smoking and twitching as lightning strikes scorched through their metal armor.

The rest of the templars scrambled to escape the storm, but Fenris was waiting for them with Varric and Leliana at his back, picking off the unwary from a distance. Merrill skirted the storm as best she could with her arms loaded with several additional staves and sprinted toward a small group of mages huddling behind a nearby half-wall.

While her friends worked to turn the tide of the battle, Hawke ran toward the Warden's chapel and sensed Cullen on her heels. She ducked inside the doorway beneath the giant window depicting Solona and into an empty foyer. Hawke quietly picked her way across rainbow-splashed flagstones, her shadow interrupting the riot of color streaming from the stained glass.

She listened, sifting through the cacophony from outside to finally pick up a strident yell that could only be Fiona. Hawke sped up, slipping through a short hallway and into the main chapel, where she crouched down behind a massive triptych featuring the breach of the Golden City. She glanced backwards at Cullen, who stayed hidden behind the entryway. He gave her a sharp nod and she crept forward into the long chapel.

To accommodate the peace talks, Alistair's people had removed the first few rows of pews and replaced them with a long table where the negotiation would take place. Hawke had spent hours hearing about the meticulous place settings and diplomatic seating arrangements around that table that were now in a shambles. The table had been tipped over along with most of the chairs, and she could just see a figure laying prone behind the table in a growing pool of blood. A tall statue of Andraste against one wall had been destroyed and now sat in a number of crumbling pieces behind a line of blood-splashed templars who stood at attention, eyes focused on the showdown at the front of the chapel.

Marchand paced before the raised dais at the front of the room, which was backed by a priceless altarpiece that had depicted Solona's battle with the Archdemon and now had a long diagonal slash through the canvas. At the foot of the altarpiece, the mage leaders were on their knees. Fiona and Rhys watched Marchand in murderous silence. An ashen-faced Evangeline was sitting with a hand pressed to her arm, staunching a rather significant flow of blood that leaked out between her fingers.

Hawke let out an almost audible sigh of relief when she finally caught sight of Anders. Smudged with blood, but otherwise alive, he was also on his knees a distance from the others with a grimy blindfold tied over his eyes. Blue runes glowed on the manacles restraining his hands while a loose cage of templars stood watch over him.

Somewhat surprisingly, Germaine and Trentwatch stood together with Alistair and Teagan beside the mage leaders. Alistair glowered with his one eye that was not swollen and blackened, and Teagan stood just a step in front of the King as if he could protect him from Marchand. The Lord Seeker, in turn, seemed to be lecturing them.

Hawke strained her ears to hear. "—many times have you urged the Order to focus on the mage threat, and not just the Terrorist of Kirkwall?" Marchand was saying. "Here, I deliver them both, and you quail at what must be done!"

"But not in this way," Germaine responded grimly. "This has no honor. Attacking unarmed men, under the white banner, is shameful. I will not be a party to it."

Marchand shook his head. "I should have expected such hypocrisy from you, Germaine. Once again, it is left to me to do what you will not. You might as well have remained Justinia's guard dog along with Ser Beatrice. But, rest assured, justice will be done."

"This is not justice. There has been no due process. No trial."

Marchand snorted. "There is no need for a trial. We all heard them during the proceedings. They freely acknowledge their acts of terrorism throughout several countries. Countries with representatives here." He waved a hand at the ambassadors who cowered in a corner behind Alistair.

"There will be severe consequences if you proceed in this, Marchand," Alistair said, his nostrils flaring in anger. "You have no right—"

"I have the only right! The Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth have jurisdiction over the mage threat by divine right. And I answer to the Maker alone. Not to the Chantry. Certainly not to the dog king of Ferelden and his lackies."

A gasp came from the huddle of ambassadors at Marchand's insults, but Hawke could not identify the source.

"Enough stalling. If you will not help, then you will watch," Marchand said, jerking his hand at the nearest three templars, who started toward Fiona, Rhys and Evangeline. "For acts of terrorism and sedition against the kingdoms of Thedas and in the name of the Maker and his bride, Holy Andraste, Fiona, Rhys, and Evangeline, I sentence you to immediate death." He then turned toward Anders with a chilling smile. "The Terrorist of Kirkwall, however, will be coming with us for his . . . rehabilitation."

"I demand a stop to this at once," Alistair said in a ringing voice, stepping around Teagan. "You cannot unilaterally—"

"Such strident barking," Marchand interrupted, chuckling. He motioned at the advancing soldiers. "Proceed."

Hawke drew her blades and got ready to move in. The first templar neared Fiona, who glared up at the man defiantly. But then, Germaine stepped in front of her, blocking the man's way.

"I will not allow this," Germaine said without heat to the approaching templar.

The soldier hesitated and then glanced over at the Lord Seeker for direction. Marchand's expression burned with malice as he and Germaine locked gazes. The moment stretched as neither man flinched nor stood down. Finally, Marchand said, "So be it."

He turned to the templar and with eyes glittering, said, "Finish him."

The templar's eyes widened behind his helmet and he looked back at Germaine, who held his head high. The templar hesitated again, but Marchand hissed, "Finish him!"

Just as Hawke realized it really was going to happen, the templar instantly struck Germaine through the heart. A killing blow. "No!" Hawke shouted, jumping to her feet and sprinting toward the fallen knight.

Marchand spun around in surprise. "Hawke! Stop her!" he snarled at his men.

Behind him, Fiona took advantage of the distraction and conjured a small inferno between her hands that she shot at her templar executioner, throwing him backwards. She then scrambled to her feet along with Rhys and Evangeline, while the other templars also jumped to action after a stunned moment. Snatches of various incantations tumbled throughout the chapel as the mage-templar battle lines were drawn, but before anyone could finish, the templars were all bowled to the ground by an invisible burst of force from behind them. Cullen then ran in before they could recover from his holy smite and engaged the templar closest to him who was still struggling to her feet.

Hawke stepped up on top of the nearest pew and skipped across the top of those remaining between her and the dais. She skirted the toppled negotiation table and came up behind the templars who were bearing down on the mages. Fiona was pale and her powers were close to exhaustion as the wall of fire she had tried to conjure flickered to nothing. Rhys was kneeling next to Evangeline and his healing magic glowed green around the hands he pressed to her arm. As three templars closed in on the mages, Alistair and Ser Trentwatch, the last standing Knight Divine, stepped into their path, bracing themselves despite their lack of weapons. But then Hawke had reached them, handily hamstringing one of the templars that had been foolish enough to ignore his flank. The other two templars spun around just in time to avoid the same fate.

They each came at Hawke with determination, testing her with shallow thrusts of their swords and deflecting many of her return strikes with their shields. Then suddenly one of them gasped in pain and dropped to his knees, and behind him, a now-armed Alistair kicked the newly downed templar's sword over to Trentwatch. The remaining templar stepped back nervously as the odds shifted out of his favor, allowing Hawke to make quick work of him.

"Nice of you to join us, Hawke," Alistair said, his smile pulling at his swollen black eye.

"I wouldn't have missed it!" She grinned and then took one of the mage staves from her shoulder and slid it across the floor toward Fiona and Rhys, who nodded their thanks. Rhys scooped it up and, with the staff to focus his connection to the Fade, he could now fire precise bolts of pure energy at any nearby assailant, knocking down the few templars who had drawn close.

At the back of the room, Hawke could see that Cullen was more than holding his own against the low-ranked templars he faced. So she ran to find Anders, only to stop dead in her tracks.

The Lord Seeker was waiting for her, and in his hand, the broadsword she had witnessed him relinquish to Deacon. Without apparent effort, Marchand held the giant sword to the neck of Anders, who remained blindfolded and bound on his knees. "You can stop right there, Champion."

Hawke was breathing heavily, but complied. "Let him go."

"You think you can escape the consequences of your choices, Champion?" Marchand sneered. "By choosing to thwart me, you have chosen for everyone here to die. Starting with the Terrorist of Kirkwall. Unless you end this charade of a rebellion now."

She took a cautious step forward, but Marchand twitched his blade closer to drawing blood. "That's close enough," he said.

In a show of good faith, she slid her blades into their sheaths on her back and slowly slipped Anders's staff off her shoulder and onto the floor. "You don't have to do this," Hawke said, showing him her empty hands.

He chuckled. "Oh, but I do. Don't you see? No matter what happens here today, Anders will pay for what happened in Kirkwall. Have no doubt about that. The only question is how. Comply with my demands, and you may delay his punishment. And make it quick. Not painless, certainly, but not . . . lingering as I had planned."

"Under the neutrality of the peace talks, Anders is protected—"

"There is no protection from what he has done! Here or anywhere in the Maker's sight. Like the magisters of old, Anders has brought sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world with his foul act of terrorism in the Maker's own house. Only with his death will my dear Elthina's soul rest easy at the Maker's hand. Only then will the faithful of Kirkwall be able to make peace with the violation Anders wrought upon our city."

"He is making amends. We all are. Please. It doesn't have to happen like this."

Marchand gave her a pitying look. "And yet it does. Another choice, Hawke. Will he die now? In agony and while you watch? You've spent so many years, experienced so much pain, protecting this man. After all you've suffered and sacrificed, can you give in at last? For this?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "For these mages and their pointless cause? A cause which you admit is no longer even your own? Or will you stand down, and save him one last time."

"Let him go," she said, inching forward again.

"No, it is you who should let him go, Hawke." He shook his head. "It's pathetic how you let your personal attachments control your life."

"Damn you," Hawke said from between gritted teeth. "Always the coward's way, letting others do your dirty work, twisting and manipulating people from a distance. Fight your own battles for once, Marchand!"

The Seeker's narrowed his eyes in anger and moved his sword against Anders's neck. Unable to see, Anders drew a surprised intake of breath and had to rear his head back as the blade drew a small dribble of his blood. Hawke took a panicked step forward and Marchand smiled, knowing he still had the upper hand. "Choose!"

"Hawke, don't do it," Anders said quickly. "I'm dead anyway. Let it be tonight. You can still make things right. For both of us."

Marchand gripped a handful of Anders's hair and held him steady against the edge of his sword. "Shut up!" he snarled at Anders, before turning hate-filled eyes back to Hawke. "Your answer, Champion! Choose his time to die!"

Hawke slowed her breathing, trying to focus and give herself more time to think. The din of battle fell away and all she could hear was her own intake of breath and her heart inexorably counting out the passage of seconds. Anders's head was tilted at an awkward angle, and though his eyes were still covered, they were turned heavenward like so many Chantry paintings of its martyrs, their eyes trained on their divine reward.

Hawke took one more long, stuttered breath, wishing she could see his eyes, hoping she could see some truth there of what she should do. Would Anders finally find peace in the ultimate penance of martyrdom? Would he go to the Maker's right hand, or was more judgment in store? Or would he just be so much worm fodder, with no one to care about his noble causes and terrible deeds?

She looked to her left and noticed that Cullen had joined them. He had lost his shield and he was splashed with blood, but none of it seemed to be his given the ease with which he stood, watching her solemnly. He did not say anything, but finally he smiled, and she knew that whatever she decided, he supported her. As he always did.

Don't lose faith, Grace.

She took another deep, ragged breath, but this time the sound in the room returned to normal. The clang of arms played a counterpoint to explosions of magic echoing both within and without the chapel. She turned back to Marchand and in a clear voice, gave him her answer.

"No."


A/N: Our climax ramps up! The rest of the story will go up this weekend, with the next chapter on Saturday: Chapter 30: The Choice is Made. Thanks for reading! xoxo