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It seemed that the Maker was as reluctant for Lucas to enter his home as Lucas was—before he had the chance to turn the doorknob, a page in the uniform of the Viscount's personal guard came running up to him.
"Serah Hawke! The Viscount needs to see you. Right now."
Lucas squinted at the boy, wondering if he was still drunk and this was some kind of hallucination. "Do you know what time it is?"
The page gulped. "Yes, Serah. So does the Viscount."
"Then it's important." Lucas sighed. Of course it was; when wasn't it? Still, he hadn't wanted to go home anyway. "All right, let's go."
He followed the page through the darkened streets of Hightown. It was possible, of course, that this was some type of trap, but really, who would need to go through anything this elaborate? And it wasn't out of character for the Viscount to panic and have him come running, even in the depths of night. He wished Fenris hadn't gone home, though. The elf's stalwart presence at his side would have been nice right about now.
Inside the keep, he hurried up to the Viscount's office, finding the man pacing back and forth and muttering to himself. "Serah Hawke," he said in relief as Lucas entered the room. He frowned—apparently Lucas's debauch this evening still showed. He wouldn't be surprised if he smelled like a distillery to someone who hadn't spent hours in the Hanged Man. "Are you ... all right?"
"You mean, am I sober enough to handle whatever it is you've called me in here for? I'll manage."
"I ... was sorry to hear about your mother. I knew Leandra when we were all much younger; she was a lovely girl. And no one deserved ... that."
"No. No one did," Lucas said shortly, not wanting to travel any further down that particular conversational path. "What can I do for you?"
"It's—it's my son, Saemus. He—" The Viscount held up a crumpled piece of paper. "He left me this note. He's gone to the Qunari, converted to the Qun."
"Well, that was only a matter of time," Lucas said. The boy's ideals had been leading him down this path for years; surely the Viscount had been aware of the possibility. But then, he supposed that being aware of a possibility and being prepared for a reality weren't necessarily the same thing.
The Viscount winced at his flat tone. "Yes, I suppose ... it has been tending in that direction for some time." He took a deep breath. "Please, Serah Hawke, convince Saemus to come home."
"Me? I've barely spoken to him."
"Perhaps so ... but you are one of the few who can enter the compound—and the only one the Arishok will allow to finish a sentence in his presence, much less listen to. Also ... I believe your example has inspired the boy."
There was an accusation there, and one that stung Lucas. "The only contact I've had with the Arishok has been at your request," he snapped. "Perhaps if you'd done your own dirty work where the Qunari were concerned, Saemus would have been inspired by your example."
Lucas could tell that the Viscount was on the verge of ordering him out of the darkened office before he appeared to remember that there was no one else he could ask to perform this task for him. "Knowing what I know now, perhaps I should have. But those decisions are in the past. In the present ..."
"He's of age. I have no legal right to drag him out of there."
The Viscount shook his head. "That doesn't matter. If he remains there—either I lose my son, or my opponents begin to claim that my office is in the hands of the Qunari. Everything I do will come under suspicion."
Lucas wasn't aware of any opponents to the Viscount, except those who were tired of him doing precisely nothing. And no matter how loudly people muttered, no one else wanted the job. "And if the Arishok isn't disposed to let Saemus leave?"
The Viscount rubbed his forehead. "I only hope you can convince him. Please, Serah Hawke. You are my last chance to bring my son back to his senses."
"I will do my best," Lucas said, turning on his heel and leaving the office. He didn't think there was any further chance of bringing Saemus back to his senses ... but he would see what could be done. Having just lost his mother, he was more kindly disposed than usual to a father trying to salvage his relationship with his son, no matter what the Viscount's true motivations might be.
He imagined most of the others would still be at the Hanged Man, and in stages of inebriation that would make them poor choices to take to see the Arishok, so he detoured only far enough to get Fenris out of his mansion, and the two of them went down to the docks together. Fortunately, on Fenris inebriation took the form of making him more taciturn and, oddly, more well-spoken.
The Qunari at the gate let him pass. Even at this hour of the night, most of the Qunari seemed to be up, gathered around their fires and looking menacing, and the Arishok sat on his stool at the top of the steps as though he had been waiting for them. Of Saemus there was no sign.
"Serah Hawke."
"I'm here about the Viscount's son."
"Are you?" The Arishok sounded skeptical. "In four years, I have made no threat, and yet the populace lines up to hate us simply because we exist. But despite lies and fear, bas still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose."
Lucas looked around; other than Qunari warriors, he saw a few elves. There was no evidence that the Arishok had been overrun with eager bas ... unless they kept the converts hidden.
The Arishok continued, "The son has made a choice. You will not deny him that."
"Possibly not," Lucas agreed. "He is an adult, able to make his own decisions. To have snuck off in the middle of the night without facing his father, however? Surely the Qun demands a more honest, forthright decision than that."
"It is not my role to reject the free choice of viddathari, or to ask how the break with their past was made. The son responded to his own demand of the Qun. He is neither my slave nor my prisoner." Annoyance passed over the Arishok's features, a surprisingly open expression from one usually so guarded. "He is not even here."
"What?"
"He went to his father. Ask the Viscount why he would send you and a letter both."
Lucas would have liked to have asked the Viscount, had the man possessed the balls to come here himself. He would also have liked to have strangled the Viscount. "That's something he probably could have mentioned," he said, sighing. "Did the letter say where they were meeting?"
"At the Chantry. A last, pointless appeal by your toothless religion, I suppose."
The Chantry? Lucas and Fenris exchanged a glance. "The Viscount wouldn't have chosen the Chantry. But I think I know who would."
"Petrice," Fenris spat, as if the name tasted unpleasant in his mouth.
"Yes."
The Arishok nodded slowly. "A suspect in many things. If she has threatened someone under my command again, there is only one response."
"I've had about enough of Petrice," Lucas agreed. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he would have cheerfully let the Arishok handle this, had it been up to him. He sighed again. "I'll go to the Chantry and deal with her."
"I will be watching, Hawke," the Arishok said. "The demand of the Qun is clear."
So was their dismissal.
Outside the compound, Fenris turned to Lucas. "This will not end well."
"No."
"Perhaps you should let it be the Viscount's and the Arishok's problem."
"Who are you, Isabela?" Lucas snapped.
Fenris's mouth quirked up at the corner. "It was merely a suggestion."
Lucas sighed. "Yes, and one I wish I could take you up on. But ... if I don't deal with this, no one will."
There was no denying the truth of that statement, so Fenris didn't bother. "Would you like to collect any more back-up?"
"No. Let them drink. We can handle Petrice. Sebastian may be back in the Chantry by the time we get there; that would be convenient. Unless he decides to agree with her, but he's always seemed smarter than that."
"I would imagine he is."
They arrived in front of the Chantry just as the bright moon ducked behind a cloud. Lucas tried not to see any symbolism in that.
Inside, the Chantry was silent and deserted. Lucas had never been here so deep into the night before; he wondered if it was always this quiet. Did Andraste take a nap in the quiet hours of the night, or was Her love and Her blessing open at all hours? He'd always thought the second.
Saemus knelt in front of the great statue in the center of the Chantry, his head slumped to the side. At a casual glance, he looked as though he might be praying, or possibly sleeping, but the unnatural stillness of his body told Lucas a darker tale.
"Venhedis," Fenris said quietly next to him, having come to the same conclusion.
Lucas felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes. Ridiculous—he had barely known Saemus and had despised the boy as an idealistic zealot. "They didn't have to kill him," he said, his voice breaking. For a moment, he saw his mother's face on Saemus's body, and the tears spilled, hot and stinging.
"Tears, Serah Hawke? For what you have done?" Petrice's cold voice came from the shadows. "Pouncing upon the Viscount's son, a repentant convert, in the Chantry itself—a crime with no excuse."
"It's your crime," Lucas snapped. "No one will believe I did this."
"Really? Maddened by the killing of your mother, you ran amok, shouting zealous filth. Yes." Petrice nodded. "Your Qunari masters will finally answer."
"I have no Qunari masters. Every single time I have approached the Qunari, it has been at the Viscount's request. Perhaps if he had gone himself, Saemus would have learned to respect his father and his father's office," Lucas said softly, almost to himself. He looked at Petrice. "All this will do is make people hate you—and fear the Chantry."
Petrice snorted. "I have kept the fear of the Qunari fresh in every sermon, every prayer. The people will know who to believe, who to follow. When people hear of this attack against an innocent penitent, they will rise."
"And in so doing they will be slaughtered," Fenris said. "No one here knows what it is to face a Qunari attack, not truly. This city is utterly unprepared for what they can and will unleash."
She didn't bother to look in Fenris's direction. A smug smile was crossing her face as she held Lucas's gaze. "You will answer, Serah Hawke."
Behind him, Lucas heard an intake of breath, and he turned to see the Grand Cleric standing there. She nodded, her eyes sad. "There is death in every corner, young Mother. It is as you predicted. All too well."
Petrice's face practically glowed with triumph, but as the Grand Cleric's eyes met Lucas's, he understood that she knew what had occurred here. A great wave of weariness swept him—if she had known what Petrice was capable of, why had she not acted? Why was it left for him, again, to sweep up the mess the powerful created through their indolence and their inability to take the responsibility that was theirs to wield?
"Petrice." The Grand Cleric approached her subordinate. "What has happened here?"
"Saemus Dumar was a Qunari convert. He came here to repent and was murdered."
"He came here to make peace with his father; lured here by you!" Lucas said. "You killed him so no one would follow his free choice, right or wrong."
"It could not be allowed. How many might have been tempted by his example?"
"Is that what Andraste teaches? Kill them if they attempt to think for themselves, if they're wrong or lost or scared or misguided? That's not what my Chant of Light says!"
"Peace," the Grand Cleric said firmly, stepping in between them. "As many would have been tempted as would want to go, I suppose. We cannot hold our people by fear; we must keep them with us because they want to be here, because they understand the truth through us." She turned to Lucas. "You are friends with the Captain of the Guard, yes?" At his nod, she continued, "The young Mother has erred in her judgment. A court will decide her fate. The Chantry respects the law, and so must she."
Petrice looked up, her mouth open to protest, and then she flew backward, a Qunari arrow embedded in her chest. Lucas turned in time to see the Qunari in the doorway raise his bow, take careful aim, and shoot Petrice again, this time between the eyes. He stood there for a moment, then he nodded briefly at Lucas and was gone.
The Grand Cleric hadn't moved a muscle. She stood now, looking down at Petrice's body at her feet. "Send for Viscount Dumar," she said softly.
Lucas didn't need to; Fenris was already out the door and on his way to the Viscount's keep.
In the time it took for the Viscount to arrive, Lucas and the Grand Cleric cleaned up Saemus and laid him out on a pyre, so that the Viscount didn't have to see the way Petrice had posed him, and they moved Petrice's body out of the way. They didn't speak beyond what was necessary to accomplish those tasks. Lucas was surprised the Grand Cleric was willing to get her hands dirty, but she didn't seem to want anyone else to see what had occurred in the Chantry that night. When the Viscount arrived, after a few brief words of explanation, the Grand Cleric left.
Lucas couldn't help but be disappointed. This was the woman they were all looking to for spiritual guidance? To mediate the increasingly strident arguments between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter? What was she doing, waiting for the Maker to come down from on high and resolve all of Kirkwall's problems personally? Lucas considered himself as faithful as most people, but if they were going to be waiting for the Maker's intervention, they'd be waiting a long time.
He left the Viscount alone with Saemus. It crossed Lucas's mind that if the Viscount had ever shown Saemus in life the tenderness he was displaying toward his son now that death had parted them, perhaps things might have been different for all of them. But then, who was Lucas to talk? Had he spent more time with his mother, shown her more tenderness and care, she, too, might still be alive.
The dawn was breaking as he left the Chantry, Hightown beginning to awaken around him, most of them still blissfully unaware of everything that had changed overnight, and he envied them their peace.
Weary to the bone, he let himself into his house without a thought for the fact that it was the first time he'd entered since his mother died, and, pausing only to remove the sharpest pieces of his armor, he collapsed face first onto the bed and fell into a deep but troubled sleep almost immediately.