"Serah Hawke!"

At the shout, Hawke looked up from the lemons she was inspecting. The young Templar Trevor was barrelling through the marketplace with utter disregard for what, or who, might lie in his way. He tripped over someone's string bag full of mangoes, nearly ran over a small girl studying a display of candies, and came very close to getting his ear cut off by a butcher with a meat cleaver. Hawke exchanged a glance with Varric, putting the lemons back.

"You know, you run through here on market day, someone's going to tie a banner on you and use you as an advertisement," Varric said to the young Templar as he reached them.

Hawke took Trevor firmly by the arm, pulling him out of the busy marketplace toward a slightly quieter corner where they could talk. "You have news?" she asked him.

He nodded, still breathless. "They have her in the Gallows. The ritual is planned for tomorrow night. Serah Terrien himself plans to be there to watch."

"Is that allowed?"

"If you pay the Knight-Commander enough money, it is," Trevor whispered. "They go way back."

"Sodding nobles," Varric muttered.

"She's locked up. I can't get near her—I'm too junior," Trevor said.

Hawke took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. How to get a young woman out of the Gallows? "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To see a friend."

"Hawke, are you sure about this?" Varric asked. "Blondie's not exactly … himself these days. Either of his selves."

"I know, but he's our best bet."

Outside the door to the clinic, Trevor balked. "With all due respect, Serah … Can we trust him? He's a bit … well …"

"A bit?" Varric asked. "Talk about your understatements."

"I know he is." Hawke sighed.

"The Mage underground is broken, Serah," Trevor said, his voice barely audible. "Knight-Commander Meredith has cracked down, Anders himself—what he did to Ser Alrik several years back …"

"Let's at least go talk to him." The few alternatives to Anders's help that Hawke could think of were risky at best.

Anders was bent over a desk in his office, scribbling madly. He looked up when they came in. His eyes were sunken into his head, glittering feverishly, and his face was thin and worn.

"Maker, Hawke," Varric whispered. "When do you think he eats? Or does Justice disapprove of that, too?"

"Hawke, Varric," Anders said, getting up. "To what do I owe this—" He stopped speaking when he caught sight of the Templar, his face turning as white as flour. "Why did you bring him here?" Hawke could see the tendons standing out in his neck and the flare of blue deep in his eyes as Justice stirred within him.

"Anders, we need your help," she said, moving toward him quickly and stressing her use of his name. "A young woman is about to be made Tranquil on the whim of a rich and powerful man."

The emotion that had agitated him seemed to drain from his body. His shoulders slumped. "I can't help you. Don't you remember? I nearly killed that mage. Justice was—I couldn't control him."

"I know, but Anders, that was three years ago!"

He looked at her sadly, shaking his head. "I can't risk it. The danger is too great."

Hawke bit back the angry words that wanted to be said, searching for a convincing argument, but before she could grasp one, a bundle of rags in the corner unfolded itself. The old woman who had healed Trevor long ago, and who was often to be found loitering outside Terrien's, advanced, glaring up at Anders, who jumped back, startled, his eyes wide and wild. Clearly he hadn't known she was there. Hawke remembered the scene this same woman had made so many years ago, when she had called forth Justice in the middle of the market.

Anders shrank back from the old woman. "Don't touch me!"

But she grasped his wrist anyway, her dark eyes staring up into his. Anders appeared unable to look away, and Hawke could see the blue light beginning to glow in him as Justice fought to the surface. "I have told you before, woman, I am not here for you," Anders said in Justice's voice.

"I have been waiting, but that time is past. You are Justice," she said. "You cannot let this happen!"

"There are greater things afoot than your troubles. I cannot be distracted from my great purpose by—"

"Injustice?" The old woman seemed to grow taller, her eyes glowing green. "What has happened to you?"

Justice seemed to falter under her intense look. "You would not understand."

"I understand that you are a perversion of yourself. A terrible crime is about to be perpetrated, and you will help!" The voice was no longer cracked and high-pitched, but smooth-toned and commanding.

"Anguish." Justice took a step back.

"Yes. And I demand Justice."

The electric blue glow flashed angrily, but at last Justice sighed. "I will help. But this is the last time I will suffer interference with my purpose." His head turned, his eyes finding Hawke's, and she shivered.

The little old woman shrank down, staggering a bit as she moved toward Trevor. The young Templar, his eyes wide with fear, stepped aside so the old woman wouldn't touch him as she passed. She cackled at him and he jumped, staring at the door even after it had closed behind her.

Hawke turned to Anders, who had regained supremacy in his body and was leaning over his desk, his face ashen-grey. Without lifting his head, he said, "Is she in the Tower?"

"Yes."

"Tonight, I assume." His voice was hoarse and scratchy and he was sweating as though he'd run a long way.

"Yes. Anders, are you sure you can do this? Maybe you should … rest. Eat something."

His brown eyes were dull, the light gone from them. "Of course. Rest, eat. Meet me at the tunnel entrance at ten. You remember the one?"

Not at all reassured by his words, she nodded. "Yes." Turning to Trevor, whose mouth was still agape, she grabbed him by the arm. "Let's go." Varric stayed for a moment, but Anders waved the dwarf impatiently away, and he caught up with them halfway through the clinic.

"W-what was that?" Trevor asked once they were back out in Darktown. "The glowing colors, the voices … Are they abominations?"

"'There is more to mages than is dreamt of in the Chantry's philosophy,'" Varric quoted. "Genitivi, I think."

"The Chantry wants to see the existence of mages as black and white, and it isn't." Hawke met Trevor's eyes. "Don't worry, we're going to get her out. But we'll need more than just Anders to do it."

"Who do you think, Hawke?"

"Aveline can't risk this kind of trouble; we can't take Merrill inside the Gallows. Anders is bad enough. Sebastian would be outraged all over the Chantry and we'd all be in trouble with Meredith. Isabela seems like the best bet."

"What about the elf?" Varric asked in surprise.

Evelyn shook her head. "Not that different from Merrill. Get him inside the Gallows, all those Templars, all that lyrium … it makes me nervous."

"He won't be happy to be left behind."

She sighed. "No."

"It'll be hard work making it up to him later." Varric grinned.

"None of your business."

"It's all in the book, you know."

"Varric, if I ever see so much as one page of that book …"

"You'll be bowled over by the amazing sensitivity and depth of the writing?"

She tried to hold her frown, but the impudent grin on the dwarf's face was contagious, and she laughed.

Later that night, the three of them and Isabela met at the Darktown entrance to the tunnel to the Gallows. Anders was waiting for them, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as though he were cold.

"Blondie, are you sure you're up for this?" Varric asked.

"I don't have a choice, do I? Justice made an agreement; it's up to me to follow through on it."

"You need anything? Water, food, Antivan brandy?" Varric patted his coat. "Got it all right here."

"No, I'm good. Thank you, Varric." Anders's face softened as he looked down at the dwarf.

"Let's go, then," Hawke said. She wanted to get in and out before Anders collapsed, and from the pallor of his skin, that might not take long.

He led the way through the tunnels, the torchlight flickering off the dark stone walls. Trevor was silent behind them, Isabela a mere shadow bringing up the rear. They stopped at the heavy door that led into the Gallows cellars.

"We're certain we want to do this?" Anders asked.

"We have to!" Trevor pushed to the front, shoving at the door, which squealed across the brick floor.

"Idiot!" Anders hissed. "We lift, then push."

"Sorry." Trevor looked around guiltily.

"You need to calm down or you're going to get us all killed," Isabela said, coming up behind the Templar. "Either you trust us to know what we're doing, or you stay behind and wait."

"No!" All four of them glared at him, and Trevor took a deep breath, speaking more calmly. "No, I trust you."

Anders lifted the door, pushing it silently the rest of the way open, and gestured for the others to follow him as he led them through the maze of cellars to a rickety set of stairs. He caught Trevor by the collar. "First floor, ritual chamber?"

The Templar nodded.

Anders started up the steps. Varric followed him, then Hawke, Trevor, and Isabela at the rear.

At the top of the steps there was another door. Anders stepped aside to let Varric's nimble fingers work on the lock. The door swung open and Varric cautiously stepped through.

A sword whistled above the dwarf's head, embedding itself in the wood of the doorframe. "Got you!" Hawke heard the clanking of Templar armor and then Knight-Captain Cullen's surprised voice. "Serah Varric? What are you doing here?"

Anders lifted his arms toward his staff instantly. Hawke caught his elbow as it went up. "No. Very bad idea. Let me." She pushed past him, ducking under the blade that was stuck in the door. "Knight-Captain."

"Serah Hawke. I expected you, when I saw your companion here. What brings you to the depths of the Gallows in such a clandestine fashion?" He frowned at her suspiciously. "I admit, I expected you to attempt to free your sister years ago. I had thought you had given up and accepted that this is where she belongs by now."

"I have." Evelyn felt a pang of guilt; it had never occurred to her that someone might think she was here for Bethany. Sometimes she forgot her sister was here. "This is … something else."

"What else?" Cullen peered into the darkness of the stairwell. "Who else is here with you?"

Trevor came forward into the light. "I am, Knight-Captain."

"Trevor? What possible purpose could you have—"

"With all due respect, could we have this conversation without your backup squadron?" Hawke motioned with her head toward the shadows moving on the wall farther down the hallway.

Cullen's eyes met hers, studying her intently. He nodded. "Clear out! False alarm," he said, raising his voice to be heard by the waiting men. There were rustles and clanks as they moved away. "Now, Serah Hawke, what are you doing here?"

Hawke took a deep breath, deciding to trust him. Cullen was nothing if not upright and honest, and she felt instinctively that he would be appalled by the miscarriage of justice being perpetrated. "Are you aware that preparations are being made to apply the Rite of Tranquillity to a young woman?"

"Yes. She's an apostate—hidden all this time in the very house of Serah Terrien."

"No! She is no apostate!" Trevor flew at his commander, his eyes wide with panic. "You mustn't believe them."

Cullen looked at the young Templar in confusion. "Of course she is. The Knight-Commander says so."

"She is not." Hawke met Cullen's eyes. "The girl is no mage."

"You must be mistaken. You barely know the girl; Serah Terrien lives with her."

"Cullen, I grew up in a family of apostates. I have little trouble recognizing the signs."

"You would say that in any case, since you are clearly attempting to break this apostate out of the Gallows."

"My sister has been here for almost eight years, and I have never once attempted to break her out. Do you think I would take the trouble to lie about some apostate I barely know? Use your head, Cullen!"

He stared at her, his confusion written all over his face, and she waited while he considered her arguments. "Why would the Knight-Commander lie?"

Hawke could feel Trevor fidgeting, and she could almost sense Anders's patience waning. "Maybe she isn't lying, maybe she just believes what Terrien told her. Terrien has been trying to get the girl to marry him for years, and she refuses. He believes that making her Tranquil is a shortcut to forcing her to be docile."

Cullen recoiled in horror. "Do you know what that can do to a person? There's a book … Rites and Rituals of the Chantry. It describes what happened when a man who wasn't a mage was made Tranquil once. He … His connection to the Fade was cut. Essentially, he could never dream again. No dreams, no restful sleep. It broke him. He went on a rampage, murdered half a town full of people before he was caught, and he laughed about it."

"So you see what they're trying to do. Will you help us rescue the girl?"

For a moment, Cullen wavered. But the uprightness and honor Hawke had counted on came through. "Yes. I'll help you."

He led the way, deep into the heart of the Gallows. To Hawke's great relief, neither Anders nor Isabela appeared. She had hoped Anders would have the good sense to remain hidden from the Knight-Captain, and she trusted that Isabela was remaining concealed but following in the shadows.

There was a small suite of rooms at the end of a long hallway. The door at the very end was practically glowing with all the wards and enchantments that had been placed on it. Hawke assumed that must be the ritual chamber. The door on the left was slightly ajar, and Hawke could hear the clink of glasses and a low conversation between several men. She nearly froze in place, nudging Varric, who shook his head. He, too, had recognized one of the voices as that of ex-Guard Captain Jeven. Of course, Terrien's lieutenant would be here, guarding Terrien's property, Hawke thought. On the bright side, she supposed, she might get to kill Jeven, which would certainly be satisfying.

A single Templar stood outside the last door, his head swaying slightly as though he was half-asleep inside the big metal helmet.

"Snap to!" Cullen said. "Is that any way to approach your duties?"

"N-no, serah, sorry, ser!"

"Take a walk. Ten rounds."

"Yes, serah!"

Hawke was under no illusions that it would be this easy. She was relieved to see that Varric wasn't either. He took a couple of steps backward to position himself better in case the hallway suddenly filled with Templars. Not that she was sure how they would manage that—she could hardly come into the Gallows and start taking out Templars, not even with the Knight-Captain's help.

With the Templar out of sight, Cullen cast a cleanse on the area, releasing any magical locks, and reached for the doorknob. As soon as his metal-gauntleted fingers touched it, sparks flew up from the contact. Cullen crumpled to the floor. Hawke called his name, bending down to check his pulse.

"Out cold," she said.

"Well, shit." Varric stepped forward, inspecting the doorknob.

The door on the other side of the hall swung open, and Jeven stepped out. "Serah Hawke! Can't say I'm surprised that it's you—you've always stuck your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"Jeven," Hawke said evenly, stepping quickly in front of Varric to shield the dwarf's activities as he worked to disable the trap on the doorknob. "Still being paid to do other people's dirty work, I see."

"You and your friend caused me a lot of problems," Jeven said, stepping forward. She could see a trio of armed men in the room behind him. The four of them they could manage, but only if they could keep the noise down and avoid attracting more Templars. "But look what you've done to the Knight-Captain. Tsk, tsk. Can't have dangerous subversives like you running around."

Hawke heard a faint click from behind her, clearing her throat to cover it. Before she could respond to Jeven, Trevor pushed himself in front of her. "You'll never harm her!"

"Boy, give up. It's over for you."

"Never. Not even if … you've already done it."

Was it possible it was already done? Hawke felt a sudden fear that they were too late. But if they were, wouldn't the girl already be back at Terrien's? Either way, it was time to get moving. They couldn't stand here talking all night. Tensing her muscles, she shoved Trevor aside and planted a booted foot square in the middle of Jeven's crotch. Even with a codpiece, the force of the blow staggered him back, moaning and clutching himself. The other men in the room came forward, but the door acted as a bottleneck.

"Hurry up with that door, Varric," she said. The guard took a swing at her with his sword. She caught his arm midswing, bending his elbow backward until the sword fell from his fingers. Hawke grabbed the man by the back of the helmet, shoving his face into the doorframe. He fell without another sound.

"Aha!" The door swung open under Varric's hands.

Hawke pushed Trevor at the open door. "Get in there and get her. I don't care what condition she's in. I've got this."

Varric moved aside as the Templar ran into the room, calling out "Susannah!"

The other two men were in the hallway now. Hawke ducked a sword thrust. Next to her, Varric kicked in the swordsman's knee. When he crumpled to the ground, the dwarf gently stepped on his unprotected throat until the mercenary stopped squirming. The fourth man, sword poised above his head, glanced over at his fallen companion, but before he could act a wicked dagger flashed out of the darkness, tumbling end over end until it sank into his unprotected armpit. He staggered sideways, moaning, and the dagger was followed by a long, brown leg that kicked him in the back. He gasped for air, falling to his knees. Isabela switched legs, landing a vicious kick to the back of his head, and he fell prone on the carpet.

"Thanks," Hawke said.

"Anything for you."

Cullen was groaning now, struggling to sit up, and Hawke helped him get to his feet. "I'll be all right," he said. "Do you have her?"

Trevor staggered out with Susannah in his arms. "I think they drugged her."

"Hurry, then," Hawke said. "We need to move quickly." Trevor went on ahead with Varric. "Thank you, Cullen."

"This is all very … surprising. I will have to look into it. Now, go, before you are caught here. We will talk at another time."

They were almost to the tunnel entrance when Hawke heard shouts from behind her. She was flooded with relief to see Anders waiting there; she'd been half-convinced he would have left rather than risk being caught in the Gallows. "Go!" he said. "I'll cover you." He raised his hands and a blue shield appeared across the hallway behind Hawke. Varric had already disappeared into the tunnel door; Trevor tucked Susannah more firmly against him and ducked inside as well. He'd be moving slowly down the rickety steps with his burden.

She followed him as soon as the steps were clear. Behind her, Isabela poured something from a small vial onto the door's lock. "They won't enjoy that," she said quietly, chuckling to herself. She followed Hawke, and then Anders dropped his shield and stepped through the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him.

The trip back to Darktown was tense, all of them expecting to have Templars waiting for them when they got out. But the tunnel entrance was clear, and only the usual denizens of Darktown were there.

"Where can we go?" Trevor asked, turning worried eyes to Hawke.

"Best place for both of you is the clinic, where Anders can keep an eye on her."

Anders turned, mouth open to voice a protest, but he closed it again, staring at someone over Hawke's shoulder. She turned to see the old woman, her face soft and her eyes wet, looking hungrily at Susannah. Anders's shoulders slumped. "I appear to have no choice. But it's temporary," he said to Trevor.

"Of course. Thank you, serah!"

"I'll go with them," Varric said. "Keep an eye on Blondie."

"Thanks, Varric."

Isabela threw her arm over Hawke's shoulder as they walked out of Darktown. "Never a dull night with you around, sweet thing. Hm, speaking of …"

"Whatever intimate detail you want to ask about, the answer is 'none of your business'."

The pirate laughed. "No asking. I have a present for you."

"For me?"

"Something to liven up your evening."

"I … can hardly wait." Knowing Isabela, it could be anything from a skimpy pirate costume to a monkey. And the Rivaini's chuckle at Hawke's hesitance didn't improve her trepidation. She accompanied her friend to the Hanged Man, loitering in the doorway of Isabela's room while the pirate tossed things around, digging in the bottom of her trunk and turning her duffle bag inside out.

"Ah! Here it is." She emerged from under her bed with a leather-bound folio manuscript in her hand. "For you. Wrote it myself."

"Thanks." Hawke opened it up, flipping through the pages. "'She wouldn't rest until she had ridden him like the prize stallion he was. Grasping his knob of delight …' Isabela!"

"What?" The pirate blinked innocently at her.

Evelyn shook her head. It was no use trying to reform the woman—once a pirate, always a pirate. "It's a lovely gesture."

"I bet your personal stud will think so, too. Do let me know what his reaction is, will you? I could write a whole new story about it."

"You and Varric and your stories. Can't you think of anything better to do with your free time than write smutty stories?"

"What could be better than that? Other than living the smutty stories, that is."

"You are impossible." Evelyn turned away. "I'm going home."

"Lucky girl," Isabela called. "Have fun!"

Despite Isabela's suggestion, Hawke had no intention of letting Fenris see the folio. She'd hide it in the midst of a shelf full of Chantry sermons when she got home, she promised herself.

She let herself into her bedroom, surprised to see Fenris already there, stretched out comfortably on her bed, reading a book. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you. How did your expedition go?"

"As you see, I made it out in one piece."

His eyes took on a wicked glint. "It is difficult to be certain of that while you're still wearing your armor. Perhaps you should take it off."

"Good idea." Distracted by him and by the warmth already building inside her body, she forgot about hiding Isabela's folio, leaving it carelessly at the foot of the bed. She twisted around to reach the buckles on her breastplate. Behind her, she heard Fenris moving on the bed and smiled, waiting for his dexterous fingers to help her with the buckles. Instead, she heard the flap of pages.

"What is this?"

"No, don't read that!"

But it was too late. "'The ship bucked in the waves like a prize filly under a stallion. Onboard, Captain Evelina Ravyn was waiting for her first mate, known only as The Wolf, to arrive in her cabin.' What manner of book is this? If it is for a reading lesson, I will note that I surpassed this level of writing long ago."

"It's Isabela's. She gave it to me. As a gift."

"Did she? Hm." He flipped a few more pages. "'The Wolf stripped off his shirt, revealing tattoos that defined his manly muscles. Captain Ravyn could feel the juices of desire already moistening her nether cleft.' Her 'nether cleft'?"

Hawke could feel herself flushing. She dropped her breastplate on a chair and sat down to remove her boots. "Isabela likes to get creative?" She reached for the hem of her undershirt, the thin, sweaty fabric surprisingly erotic as it glided over her skin.

"Apparently so." He sat back against the pillows, flipping a few more pages. "'The Wolf thrust deep into her channel, his hunk of throbbing man-meat burning a path between her legs.'"

The heat in the room was rising. Evelyn realized, to her consternation, that she was cupping her breasts, the nipples hard already.

"Mmm," Fenris said with appreciation. "It appears someone finds Isabela's writing surprisingly … inspirational. Do continue."

Evelyn cleared her throat. "Only if you do." With some embarrassment, she motioned toward the folio. "And only if you never tell Isabela about this."

"Agreed." He opened the folio again, and his delicious voice rolled over her in deep waves. "'Captain Ravyn lifted her bounteous breasts for The Wolf's hungry mouth to consume …'"

She unhooked her breastband, massaging her breasts, pinching and tugging at the nipples to relieve the ache there, before slipping off her pants and smallclothes, leaving herself naked before him.

"You are astonishingly beautiful." Fenris's eyes were glued to her body. "Shall I continue? Do you desire more?"

"Yes. Please." One hand continued to squeeze her breast, the other moving down between her legs, gathering the moisture on her fingertips and rubbing the sensitive nub.

"Very well." It was a hoarse whisper as he continued. "'Gathering her raven tresses in his fist, The Wolf thrust and thrust and, uh, thrust again.'" Fenris's free hand was inside his leggings now, and he glanced from Evelyn's body spread before him to the book and back. "'His … manhood swelled to … mmm … fill the flower of her … ah … womanhood with his nectar' … Evelyn!"

Evelyn had slipped her fingers inside herself, rubbing with her thumb, her hips moving against her hand. She was close, she was so close. Pressing hard with her thumb, pushing her fingers deep inside as her hips rose off the chair, she cried out his name. She sank back into the chair, gasping for breath.

Fenris was groaning on the bed, his hand moving faster on himself. "Ah!" He stiffened, his leggings darkening with a wet stain. After a moment, he opened his eyes, smiling at her across the room. "Remind me to thank Isabela."

"I thought we agreed we were never going to mention this to Isabela."

Fenris chuckled, reaching for a towel to clean himself off. "Keeping her in suspense as to our reaction to her gift? You clearly have still not forgiven her for her actions during the Qunari attack." He held his arms out. "Come here, me anim."

She crawled across the bed, lying down next to him with her head on his shoulder.

"You saved the girl."

"Yes. She's at the clinic, being cared for. They had drugged her, but hadn't performed the ceremony yet."

"You left her with that abomination?"

"Trevor's there with her. I doubt he'll take his eyes off her until she's awake. And Varric went along, to keep an eye on Anders." She considered sharing her concerns about Anders, but Fenris's lack of sympathy for the mage made that conversation worse than useless. "Why are you so concerned?"

"She may be … connected to someone I know." His arm tightened around her. "Does it not tire you, doing so much on behalf of others? You do it time and again, put yourself in harm's way for people you barely know, and yet you are always willing to do so again."

Warm and comfortable here with him, she considered giving a light-hearted answer, but his voice was serious. "It does get tiring. Sometimes … I don't always want to be the one out in front, with all the attention focused on me, the one who stands to lose the most if I fail. But who else is there? I am in the best position to fight, and so I do."

He spoke slowly, as though the thought was a new one. "Will you always want to be out in front, as you put it? Or do you envision a day in which you can put down that burden, when you let someone else take up the standard?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

She sat up, draping her arms over her knees. "On Meredith, I suppose, on what happens in Kirkwall, on whether I get injured." Evelyn turned her head, smiling at Fenris. "On you."

"Why on me?"

"If you asked me to stop being the 'Champion of Kirkwall', to run away with you somewhere … else …" She shrugged.

"You would?"

"Wouldn't you, if the tables were turned?"

He sat up, kissing her shoulder. "Gladly."

"Are you? Asking that."

"No. Unless you wish me to do so."

Evelyn laughed. "Not yet. But I'll tell you when."