They expected the meltdown. The tension had been too much, for too long, and it was only natural that something, somewhere, would eventually break.
Blood was going to spill and soil the city's streets. It was a fact: they all knew it, they all saw it coming, but that- an explosion that lit the sky, smoke that swallowed the city whole, the Chantry and all inside it blown apart… No.
They were prepared for blood, but not for that.
No one could have ever been prepared for that.
One man's- one mage's- actions were enough to ensure nothing would ever be the same again.
With one spectacle of light and power, he ruined everything Hawke had tried so hard to salvage.
The Chantry was no more. The Grand Cleric was dead.
Everything swirled into chaos; hands gripping swords and lips chanting spells, faster than the mind could comprehend the mess. It was overwhelming- loud and explosive and absolutely terrifying. There was fear and anger, hot and primal. When the blood finally started raining down, it poured.
And so the city wept, bled, and drowned in red.
…
…
…
Varric knew something was wrong since the moment Anders showed his face to confront both Meredith and Orsino that day. The mage had been missing for a little over a week, as if Hawke did not have enough to worry about without that.
"The time has come to act. There can be no half-measures." The healer declared in a ragged voice, and there was something unsettling in his tired eyes. Something wild.
"There can be no peace."
Something was wrong- something was very wrong with the finality in the apostate's voice.
"Anders, what have you done?"
Oh, he had done plenty.
"To remove the possibility of ignoring this any longer, I removed the possibility of peace."
Varric wasn't even sure who had spoken that- Anders, or the corrupted spirit riding his body. Not that it mattered.
Because of what they both did, Kirkwall would become the first battlefield of many. Anders had known that, had understood the inevitability, and had deemed it necessary.
As a response to their fear, the man had ensured it became a reality. Their horrible- frighteningly real- reality.
The dwarf wished he had smacked the blonde with a bottle over his head at least once in their years together, wished he had not turned a blind eye to worrying thoughts and obsessive talk of revolution, wished he didn't trust the man to be sensible and smart about it, simply because they were friends for so many years- Maker, he had thought he had taste in people-, but he quietly resigned himself to hunting the fool down with Hawke should he even consider doing anything else to 'help'.
Not that he was likely to live long enough to see the dawn, all things considered.
Anders, the most hated man in the known world- he probably thought that was punishment enough for blowing up the freaking Chantry and the Grand Cleric with it.
…
…
…
Sebastian was there when it happened as well.
By sheer luck or divine will, he was spared death.
He survived to watch it all burn down, instead.
Sebastian didn't hear himself scream- didn't even recognise his voice as he collapsed, as the world collapsed around them.
For the first few seconds, he couldn't even comprehend what he was seeing.
Grand Cleric Elthina, dead?
How could something like that happen? Why? She was- she was the Maker's most faithful, she was-
Dead.
She was dead, and he had done nothing to prevent it. If she had listened when he first cautioned her about the dangers of the city-
"Why didn't she listen to me?" No, that couldn't be his voice, could it? It sounded broken, frantic. If he hadn't been out with Hawke himself-
He hardened his face and chanted a prayer for the woman who had once saved his soul.
If only he had managed to save her.
If only…
If he had turned in Anders from the moment he had met him, none of it would have happened.
Why hadn't he? He had seen how dangerous and unstable the mage was, he should have done it without a moment's hesitation.
He could have saved her. He could have.
He didn't.
She was dead, and Sebastian could only vaguely care that the Knight-Commander was making his friend choose between the Mages and the Templars.
He could only vaguely recognise what Meredith planned to do, and what it would mean if Hawke sided with her.
"-invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed- immediately."
Orsino pleaded even as Meredith demanded blood.
It was madness. It was wrong. In the midst of it all, all Sebastian could think of was bashing Anders' skull into the ground and seeing the life slowly leave his eyes.
"Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster-" He spat the word, "-who did this is right here?"
The Circle could not pay for the monster's mistakes. He would not let Bethany be killed for this. The abomination would not take her away, too. Sebastian would die before he would let that happen, but Anders would die first. "I swear to you, I will kill him." A promise he was eager and capable of keeping.
Anders heard him, but he didn't respond. He stared straight at Hawke, gaze empty and moist. "It cannot be stopped now. You have to choose." The apostate spoke, clinging to that one truth.
There was no trace of Hawke's easy confidence or smiles when he looked at a man he once trusted.
It couldn't have been. It remained to be seen if they would ever return.
Perhaps this was, indeed, the last straw even for the mighty Champion of Kirkwall himself.
…
…
…
Everything was a disaster- worse than anything he had ever imagined, and he had imagined this ending in so many different ways, each one worse than the other.
Still, he would have given anything for that one scenario where things worked out for the best. That one scenario where Meredith made peace and he could leave Kirkwall; when he became free to roam the seas with one particularly cunning Rivaini woman and got to see his sister dressed in laces and pearls, like she once told him she wanted when she was six. Getting her out would have been possible, if only the Templars had eased up on the mages and the mages stopped killing people.
What they got instead was bloody horrible. He really couldn't see how things could get any worse, though it was inevitable they somehow would over the course of the day.
Isabela's thoughts were probably along the same lines as well, judging by her exasperated expression.
It was too bad everything had to spiral so wildly out of control. Everything he'd done in Kirkwall to maintain some kind of order and peace was gone, and it was likely he would lose what little else he had left to protect –his sister, his home, his life so far- as a result.
"No! This wasn't their fault! You cannot possibly want to slaughter innocent people, can you?" It was Merrill and her panicked voice woke him from his daze.
"You have to choose!" Another voice joined in, prompting him to listen. Anders- a man he'd thought he knew, but who he'd clearly lost long ago to a madness he had been blind to. Had he been, though? Had he simply ignored the signs?
It quickly ceased to matter.
Indeed, he could no longer stall for time.
He looked at those around him, he looked at Aveline's stiff posture and at Fenris' frown. Sebastian's eyes gleamed dark with bloodlust and Merrill looked ready to cry.
Varric was solemn, an air that didn't suit him at all. The dwarf could probably tell what was going through Hawke's head better than the he himself could. Isabela, too.
She was worried underneath her anger, but tried to hide it- he could tell by the way she chewed on her bottom lip.
He thought of his sister in the Circle, of his mother, dead by the hands of a blood-mage.
Finally, he stared into Anders' impossibly sad eyes one last time, gripped by a calm so unnatural it hurt to look at, and then looked away.
With a heavy heart, he finally turned to face the music- to face Orsino and Meredith, knowing he might have to kill one of them that day.
"It's not going to be easy…" He prepared for the outcry he knew would come- no matter how he finished his sentence, "…but we'll protect you, Orsino."
And it was done.
…
…
…
Both Meredith and Orsino marched to gather their forces- as young, frightened mages and fresh-faced recruits still dizzy from their first taste of lyrium, wanted anything less than being told to get ready for war.
The part of Sebastian that was not overtaken by fury remembered to feel relieved with Hawke's choice. Many in the Circle were yet children, Tranquil, or teachers of magic in theory rather than practice, and they did not deserve to die for a deed they had nothing to do with. They could not stand and let innocents die so. He could not fault that reasoning.
He could imagine Bethany, bloodied and cornered, her magic useless against the Templar soldiers, and it was enough to get him to relinquish some of his anger.
He was indeed relieved he was not forced to aid into turning such a picture into reality.
What he could easily fault, though, was the time it took Hawke to make up his mind about the traitor responsible for the death of so many.
Even the knowledge that the two of them were old, close friends did nothing to ease his anger. Every minute Hawke hesitated made Sebastian want to scream.
He actually might have, he might have said many things he did not mean, but he was too far gone to care.
The Chantry was destroyed.
The Grand Cleric was dead.
It had been Anders who did it.
The Abomination needed to die, it was that simple.
He hadn't known the man, not really; perhaps that was why he found it so easy to hate him. Loathing, a feeling he'd once foolishly told himself he would no longer surrender to, fell over his eyes and heart like a thick veil, suffocated his lungs like dense smoke and pumped his heart with dark intent.
It was in a brief moment of lucidity that he realized how little need there was for magic for a man to be possessed.
Bethany had told him once, showing wisdom beyond her age: "We all have our demons."
He hadn't seen it then, but it seemed so obvious in that moment.
One didn't have to be a mage to fall prey to demons. The only requirement was to be human.
It was a sobering thought, but he refused to turn from his set path.
"The time to act is now."- indeed. They could not afford to spare one second more.
Sebastian looked at Hawke, they shared a pained glance, and the archer knew that his friend knew this as well.
For the first time in recent memory, Hawke looked away from his target and flicked as his knife pierced flesh.
Sorry it took so long to update, life got in the way! That aside, we're approaching the end game and I'm curious if I managed to capture the mood appropriately, so don't hesitate to share your thoughts!
