Author's note: Thanks to clafount for beta-reading, and to everyone who's read and reviewed BoP!
The Chantry's private courtyard was small, usually reserved for sisters of the cloth in meditation or prayer, though Anders knew that this wasn't the first time that the central plaza had been covered by a funeral pyre. The wood was aged, dry oak, and when it caught, it would burn hot and strong , for a good long time. Until there was nothing left of Leandra Amell but sacred ashes...until the good woman had been reduced to the same cinders as Andraste .
The renegade mage stood in a shadowed corner, partly out of caution, though mostly out of impotent embarrassment. A day and a night previously, he had stood over Leandra's patchwork corpse as the last strands of life fled her, unable to stave off the inevitable. Carver had pleaded with him, while Bethany had begged silently, with her eyes. But there was nothing he could do; Leandra had been killed hours before they found her, in truth, kept in a semblance of life by blood magic and the desperate designs of a madman. As soon as the vile mage had been dispatched, Leandra's last tether had been severed. She hadn't been his only victim, either...the disgusting excuse for a mage had evidently been trying to reconstruct the love of his life, using pieces of women who bore her resemblance. Leandra had had the misfortune of sharing the dead woman's face almost exactly. It made Anders burn inside to know that magic had been the tool used to bring about so much destruction. Yet Leandra had faced her doom with courage and grace, thinking only of her children.
Anders was pulled from his thoughts by a familiar tickle in the back of his mind, that subtle whisper of affinity in his blood that told him another Grey Warden was near. The sensation was strong, but singular, and soon enough the Chantry's doors opened to admit the procession. Anders caught sight of Bethany lending her shoulder to the coffin. Carver supported the other side, while Gamlen and Sebastian took up the rear. The mabari, Barcus, shuffled along in Bethany's shadow. A few of Leandra's childhood friends followed close behind as the Hawkes and the unsworn Chantry brother carried Leandra's body to the piled wood, and once the coffin was firmly position at the heart of the pyre, Sebastian took up a position of prominence before it. Carver stood at his right side, while Bethany settled at his left; Gamlen and Barcus stood guard at the flanks.
He waited for the guests to arrange themselves into an orderly crowd, which included Gamlen and Merrill, Varric and Isabela, Bodahn and Sandal. The Rivaini pirate seemed positively overdressed in a gown that almost certainly belonged to Bethany. Anders even caught sight of Fenris not far beyond the steward and his son, skulking in an opposing corner from the renegade mage himself. Aveline's absence was conspicuous, but not entirely unwelcome; from what Anders understood, the Hawke twins had exchanged unkind words with the guard-captain only the previous day . "Dear friends," Sebastian Vael spoke up in his melodious timbre, breaking into Anders' thoughts and demanding his attention along with everyone else's. "We are gathered here this morning to pay tribute to a fine woman...a woman of noble bearing, whose loving kindness encompassed any and all who had the good fortune to know her."
Sebastian had to pause, for a high-pitched wail came from the crowd; a glance confirmed that Merrill was breaking down into tears, leaning heavily on Isabela, who took her to sit on a nearby stone bench . Carver tensed from his position beside Sebastian, clearly torn between comforting Merrill and standing stoically in front of his mother's unlit bonfire. The Chantry brother placed a steadying hand on the warrior's shoulder, and so Carver remained. After the elf's sobs had subsided to whimpers, Sebastian took another breath. "Leandra Amell was a great and good woman," he went on. "Born here in Kirkwall to a family in high standing, she shirked her fortune for love, and once she returned to this fair city, her devotion to her family shone through every moment of her life. I have been given the tremendous honour of commending her soul to the Maker's side. Before I do so, however, it is my privilege to invite Leandra's family to speak on her behalf." The unsworn brother took a subtle step backward, gesturing to Gamlen.
The man looked tired, and more than a little hung-over, but he did not shrink back from his duty. He was dressed in his very best clothes, though his hair was greasy, unwashed, and his cheeks held a two-day shadow of grey. Gamlen shuffled forward, taking in the crowd, which included noblemen and women of his own generation along with the rogues' gallery of the Hawkes' friends. "I...ahhh," he began, taking a hard swallow. "Leandra was my...my s-sister," the sallow man managed. "And everyone here knows we had our differences. Twenty years is a hell of a long time to go without a letter or a visit." Gamlen shrugged, almost irritably. "But...that wasn't her fault," he went on. "That woman was the most headstrong creature on the Maker's earth, and she always was." He managed a smile, and his comment drew a few nervous, breathy chuckles from the older members of the audience .
"When she was seven years old," Gamlen pressed, over the chuckles and the uncomfortable stares, "Leandra rescued a litter of kittens from the steps of Lowtown. Now, if any of you remember our father, you'll know that he hated cats. But Leandra was in love at once, with all five of the little flea-bags." He closed his eyes for the space of a breath. "Father thought she was too young to take care of them, and so he made a deal...if she could care for them all, she would get to keep them. But if even one went astray, or she spoke one word of complaint, she would lose the lot." The sole surviving Amell rasped another laugh. "Ten years she kept those damned cats, at least...and when she met her Fereldan, they went along with her." He shook his head. "That was Leandra; when she got an idea, she saw it through, no matter what happened. When she came back to me, her head never once hung in defeat, even though she'd lost her husband and her firstborn. She never once complained over the years we spent together in Lowtown, even though I...I never…" A single tear worked its way down the man's cheek, and he had to take another breath before he could continue. "I laughed at her, when she wanted to get the old estate back, you know? But she fought, and one day, she moved back into that dusty old mansion...and afterward, though I didn't deserve it, my sister gave me her time and attention, her prayers, and her love. She...didn't deserve to die ."
The old man shuffled backward, accepting Sebastian's consoling murmur with fairly good grace. Carver shared a long glance with his sister, his eyes wet with unshed tears, and he shook his head. Evidently the warrior refused to move from his place next to the pyre. With an incline of her head, the Hawke sister filled the space vacated by their uncle, her own face a mask. From his sideways angle, Anders caught sight of the girl's trembling hands, which she hid at the small of her back. Like her brother, Bethany wore fine black clothes that gave no hint of her martial occupation; unlike Carver, however, Bethany hadn't even come to her own mother's funeral unarmed...before her arms had settled behind her, Anders noted the distinctive shape of a dagger's hilt concealed by the long sleeve of the Warden's dress.
Gathering her courage, Bethany projected her voice, keeping it remarkably even. "I never imagined I would be here," she began, drawing herself up. "I know that she's...gone, but it still doesn't seem real to me. My mother was so full of life, such a big part of mine, that I'm not certain I can ever understand the hole that she has left inside me." The Warden's honey-coloured eyes scanned those gathered in her mother's memory, locking with Anders' for a flash; the renegade mage fought down the urge to flinch away, his guilt tempting him to read an accusation where there was only grief. The woman's gaze fell elsewhere after a heartbeat, a wry grimace touching her lips. "On the very day my mother was killed, I fought to save Saemus Dumar. As some of you already know, I could not." She took a slow breath. "In truth, I did not wish to." Anders leaned forward, intrigued by the subtext in Bethany's words, which had wrought a few gasps from some of the gathered nobles . "I resisted the viscount's request," Bethany went on. "Just as I did not relish the duty he gave me to treat with the Arishok, a few weeks ago. But I relented, both times, and I worked to protect this city to my best ability."
She looked over her shoulder, right at the white coffin nestled amongst the oaken logs, and then gathered herself again. "I tried and failed to protect Lowtown, and then again to save the viscount's son, because of my mother. Because she lived in this city, because she'd grown up here, because she loved these streets and these walls and all of the wonderful memories she'd made here as a child." Bethany's lips curled into a frown. "I thought that I could protect her, make her safe...and I will always ask myself if I could have done things differently, or if I could've done more to keep her with us." Her tone barely registered the emotion that Anders knew she must be feeling, but he supposed that years of hiding from templars had taught the girl how to hide her feelings. Though he supposed that it could just as well be the darkspawn that she fought on a regular basis, at that.
"But my mother is gone," Bethany reiterated, speaking over the sniffles that came from behind her and from a few people in the audience. "She has joined my father and my sibling, and she's left me an orphan. All of my struggle and sacrifice for this city seem for naught in the shadow of her absence ."
Another subtle whisper tugged at the edge of Anders' awareness, and he saw Bethany's eyes flick upward in the same instant that his own eyes were drawn to the Chantry's roof. There, two shapes emerged behind the stone lip. Anders dipped his head in greeting, and though he could not see a return gesture, he was certain that Nathaniel's keen eyes had taken note of him. All at once, the renegade mage wished for nothing so much as to rejoin his brothers and sisters. His life had never seemed to mean so much as when he stood with Nathaniel, Oghren, Sigrun, Athadra, and Justice. In that heartbeat he imagined himself walking away from his clinic in Darktown, shaking off the task he'd taken up. But the vengeful spirit that he'd once called a friend would never forgive him, much like he would never forgive himself . Anders' doubts were put to rest when Bethany's speech resumed, the pause brief enough to go unnoticed by the congregated mourners.
"Yet that is a lie," the Warden said, "for I have a lifetime's worth of memories of my mother, years of joy and safety. I shall never forget the lessons that I learned from her," Bethany vowed. "Not from rote, nor from dictation, but rather from her example. Every day of my childhood gave me another chance to learn from her mercy, her sense of duty, and her ceaseless kindness." It was then that those pale lips tipped into a smile. "The house of Amell was once noble in this city, and though I was born in a hut in the Hinterlands of Ferelden, my mother embodied every noble virtue in each task she undertook. I learnt letters and manners alongside seeding and shearing, knitting and spinning." She inclined her head, studying the courtyard's flagstones. "Anything I do, anything I am, I owe to my mother. I take comfort in knowing that, despite those last hours, most of these past years were the happiest in her life, filled with light and joy. If anyone deserves Andraste's grace and the Maker's favour, it is Leandra Amell...and I pray that my mother finds p-peace." Her voice broke at last, but Bethany did not cry out, instead retreating back to her place at Sebastian's left. Her mabari punctuated the eulogy with a doleful howl, showing that he, too, missed the Amell matriarch.
The unsworn brother had a whispered exchange with Carver, likely to make sure that the warrior had no words of his own to share. When Carver failed to move, Sebastian spoke up. "Are there any amongst those gathered who wish to share their memories of the Lady Amell?"
Silence answered the man for the space of a breath, before an older woman with steel-grey hair not unlike Leandra's own stepped into the position of prominence. She announced herself as Cecille Reinhart, one of Leandra's childhood and latter-day friends, and spoke of the games that the two girls would play together, the gossips they shared and half-baked plans they forged as adolescents. And then, surprisingly, the Reinhart woman told the crowd of Malcolm Hawke, and of how deeply and completely Leandra had fallen in love with him. Rather wisely, Anders noted, the noblewoman made no mention of Malcolm's magic ; though Leandra's marriage to an apostate would surely have been the source of much gossip in its own right, it seemed that no one wished to bring the subject up at the woman's funeral. Cecille ended by expressing her happiness at being reunited with Leandra, and relaying the devotion that Leandra showed for her family. Bethany and Carver thanked the woman for her words, and she retook her place amongst the mourners.
A few more people rose afterward, bolstered by Cecille Reinhart's example, each representing one of the great noble houses of Kirkwall. The last to speak was Guillaume de Launcet, who called himself a comte, and who'd been promised Leandra's hand in marriage. Anders sensed a shimmer of disapproval from the crowd, but none countermanded the comte's presence. Yet the man avoided scandal, hardly mentioning the broken betrothal, preferring to repeat the earlier platitudes that by now were starting to seem trite, even to Anders' patient ears. When the Comte de Launcet finally retired from the head of the crowd, Sebastian's query for any other contribution met with a more lasting silence. By then the sun hung heavy in the sky, halfway to the horizon, and Anders' shadow was was growing thicker by the minute.
"Very well," Sebastian allowed, when it was truly clear that everyone had spoken their peace. "Now if you would, join me in prayer." Anders complied automatically, and so he did not see who might have resisted the call, though he could guess well enough that Isabela and Merrill's heads would be among those unbowed. "Maker, you have heard of the deep wound that this city has suffered so recently. We do not question Your wisdom in taking Your daughter from this world, but we shall always hold her in our memories. From ashes You made her, and to ashes You shall receive her. We here gathered ask that Leandra Amell find a place at Your side, so that she may bask in the unending glory of Your holy bride, Andraste. So mote it be."
The last was echoed aloud by all of the faithful, including Anders. He felt the undercurrent of power in the ritual, nearly as sensuous as the brush of mana, and he hoped with all of his being that the words meant more than simple comfort. As the renegade mage's eyes opened, he caught sight of Bethany, Carver, Gamlen, and Sebastian as they each took up an unlit torch. At Sebastian's signal, another small procession came from the Chantry. This time, the marchers were three Chantry sisters in sunburst robes. They carefully carried a great brazier, filled with glowing charcoal, each step taking them closer to the piled oaks. When the brazier sat still on the plaza's flagstones, the priests retreated back into the Chantry.
One by one, Leandra's four sentries came to each side of the smouldering box. They lowered their cloth-tipped staves into the brazier, and each caught flame brilliantly. Hefting their torches aloft, Sebastian, Gamlen, and the Hawkes arranged themselves in a square about the pyre. After a moment's hesitation, the torch-bearers set to work, sowing flame into the waiting wood wherever their arms could reach. Their diligence paid off, for what began as isolated burns soon joined into a ring of fire. Within a handful of minutes the pyre had become a true bonfire, burning from top to bottom; spices lacing the oaken logs covered any stench of burning flesh, but soon enough the plaza grew uncomfortably hot for many of those in the courtyard.
Gamlen was the first to retreat from the flames' heat, followed not long after by Carver. The boy sought his refuge with Merrill at long last, and the elf sat between him and Isabela. In the dancing light of the fire, Anders fancied that he could see an uncharacteristic wetness in the Rivaini's eyes that should have surprised him. But he knew that Bethany saw something in the pirate, and so he tried not to dwell on Isabela's capacity for grieving anything other than her lost ship . Instead the renegade mage turned his attention back to the Warden, who'd not moved a step from her position, even as the pyre roared an arm's length away. She was fortified by her dog, who sat stalwart at her legs; if he whimpered at all, Anders could not hear it over the crackling of the bonfire. Even Sebastian couldn't stand being so close to the flames, though he'd only taken a few steps backward.
The fire burned steadily into the evening, and still Bethany did not move, even as twilight gave way to darkness and the pyre became impossible for others to look directly upon. Eventually even the dearest of Leandra's friends left, and just before full darkness fell, Carver and Varric escorted Merrill back to the estate, accompanied by Bodahn and Sandal. Anders could still sense Nathaniel and Faenathiel on the nearby rooftop, but they made no move to close in, and so the courtyard was filled only by Bethany, her hound, Sebastian, Isabela, and Anders himself. The renegade mage did not doubt that Bethany would remain until her mother's pyre was nothing but charred cinders. Anders watched as Isabela rose from the bench and stalked over to Sebastian; they shared words too soft for the mage to hear, but after a brief exchange, the unsworn brother made his own exit from the courtyard.
Only then did Anders emerge from his roost, drawing closer to the grieving girl just as Isabela did the same. Concern over Merrill tugged at him-it was a matter of weeks, now, if not days, and the shock of recent events could shorten her time further still. The renegade mage would give over to that concern soon enough, but he would not abandon Bethany quite yet.
"You look lost, pretty boy," the Rivaini drawled, just as Anders thought to speak. "Got somewhere you need to be?"
He could not begrudge the undercurrent of hostility in Isabela's tone...Anders even welcomed it, if it meant that Isabela cared for Leandra's daughter half as much as he did . "Right here," he answered gently, "until Bethany sees fit to send me away."
Isabela marshalled a retort, but it was her turn to get cut off. "He can stay," Bethany allowed, her voice much more raw than it had been earlier in the day. "For another hour or so." She was still turned toward the fire, so Anders couldn't tell, but he could guess that her cheeks were only dry by virtue of the heat of the flames.
The pirate had no words to contradict the pronouncement, while Anders had no more to offer. He would not try to console the younger woman, and neither would he demean her with his gratitude. Instead, the renegade mage took a post a quarter-circle's turn from the two women, and he let his eyes ache in the bonfire's light. After half an hour or so, Anders thought he noticed Isabela shift closer to Bethany, perhaps even drawing the younger woman into a stiff sideways embrace...though he couldn't be certain, blinded as he was by the fire. When his allotted time had come and gone, the renegade mage quit the courtyard without having to be reminded.
It took several minutes for the spots to fade from his eyes, at least enough to walk out of the Chantry, but Anders counted himself lucky that no one accosted him along the way. He worried that the templars would use the mad mage's disgusting actions against any and all who wielded magic, and that thought was nearly enough to dispel his own self-loathing...for, although the murderer's impulses had not come from magic, magic had given the man a much greater capacity for evil . Doubtless Knight-Commander Meredith would see the heinous crimes as justification for her increasingly-harsh measures against the mages in her care, unmindful of the fact that Leandra had died in spite of those measures. By the time Anders had checked on Merrill, such thoughts had him more convinced than ever in the justice of his course, and of the untenability of the status quo. Many more innocent people would have to be put to flame before the status of mages in Thedas could be settled for once and all, but Anders had always known the price of justice, and he was becoming more willing to pay it by the day .