Author's Note: Well, with the conclusion of this chapter, we're now sprinting into Act 3! I argued back and forth with myself about whether I wanted to include this chapter or not. But in the end, I felt it was necessary to give a better look into Hawke's and Serena's mindsets regarding the qunari situation. Plus, it provides a nice transition into the next chapter, which will be posted this Friday or Saturday, as scheduled. Thank you all for reading! Enjoy!

HAWKE

To say Kirkwall's descended into a deep pile of halla shit would be like saying that darkspawn are the ugliest creatures I've ever seen scurry across land: obvious and a tad trivialized.

Isabela's run off with perhaps our only chance of sending off the qunari on peaceful terms, the Arishok's ordered an attack on the city, and now, after fighting our way back up to Hightown through elven sympathizers, carta, and Maker knows who else, the qunari have forced all the nobles inside the keep, where Fenris believes they're being forced to convert or die in favor of the Qun.

And here I thought it was going to be just another typical Tuesday. My mistake.

I groan and glance around our current battle scene.

Serena's just joined our group, after ensuring Mother and the others fled into the mansion's secret underground passageway. Together, alongside Fenris, Varric, Aveline, and myself, she strikes at various qunari stationed throughout the main Hightown courtyard, in front of the Keep. The last few qunari attacking our group falls to a combination blow dealt by Aveline and Fenris.

Panting and covered in a thick layer of blood and sweat, I hurry to help up a fallen mage, lying panting on the ground by the stairs. "Many thanks, my friend," the grey-haired elf whispers as he gazes up at me with weary, green eyes.

"Looks like you fared better than the other mages." I jut my chin out in the direction of the group in question. About six of them lie clustered together on the far side of the courtyard, sprawled out in puddles of their own blood. Motionless. Probably dead.

His eyes widen. "The others? Surely they cannot all be…" He trails off and rushes over to his colleagues. Muttering under his breath, he kneels to heal one of them: a dark-haired woman adorned in an elaborate blue robe. She sits up upon regaining consciousness, and my heart both sinks and soars the moment I recognize it's Bethany.

So, she's safe… At least that's one bit of good news I hadn't expected to hear yet.

"What were you thinking, child?" the Elven mage scolds her with a hand on her shoulder. "I told you to let them take me."

"We had to do something!" Bethany snaps. "We couldn't just—"

She cuts off her words upon noticing me.

"Well, would you look at that. It's a Hawke family reunion," I tease as we all gather around her. "Good to see you're doing well, sis."

Her brow knits together in evident confusion and annoyance. "Garrett? So, you are here. Took your time, didn't you?"

"Yes, well, I sort of had to work my way back up from the docks. That's a lot of stairs."

"Try being a dwarf," Varric grumbles, and I hear Serena laugh.

A group of templars, led by Knight-Commander Meredith, runs up and interrupts our joyous conversation. "First enchanter Orsino. You survive," she addresses the elf in a flat, dry manner.

Orsino glares at her. "Your relief overwhelms me, Knight-Commander." He all but spits out the title, the venom behind the remark undeniable.

Meredith frowns. "There is no time for talk." She glances around at the lot of us. "We must strike back, before it's too late."

"And who will lead us into this battle? You?" Orsino quips.

"I will fight to defend this city, as I have always done," she says.

Orsino rolls his eyes. "To control it, you mean! I won't have our lives tossed to the flames to feed your vanity."

I groan and rub my aching forehead.

I've had just about enough of this . . .

"Now is not the time for pointless bickering," I snap. "We need to work together, not kill each other while we figure out who leads!"

The two stop, at long last, and Orsino lowers his head. "Then perhaps you should be leading us." He sighs in resigned defeat.

"What? He isn't even of this city!" Meredith yells.

"Neither am I," Orsino persists. "Yet, I don't hear you complaining about us both fighting to defend our home."

Meredith huffs. She glares at me like I'm one of her blighted blood mages she feels so passionately about. "Very well, then," she concedes in a reluctant tone. "But whatever your plan, be quick about it."

"Why am I not surprised?" Bethany grouses loud enough for me to hear.

Serena snickers beside her, looking more amused by the unexpected occurrence than Titan with a new bone.

At least someone's enjoying this.

Despite any ill-conceived notions, I didn't ask to take leadership. Nor do I want it. But someone has to use sense. Maker knows, these two together can't do it. Not together anyways.

"Tell us, then: what is our course of action?" Orsino pivots toward me.

I pause to consider.

We need to be cautious. Cunning. That much is certain. Being outnumbered against such formidable foes will make our approach difficult enough. Add in the hostages, and the fact that this will be Serena's first major fight since recovering, we're facing a significant disadvantage from all fronts. A half-assed plan with no information will get us nowhere. Meaning, there's only one place for us to start…

"Let's find out what the Qunari are planning, but not risk our necks in the process," I suggest, a scheme already forming in the back of my mind.

"An excellent choice," Meredith agrees. "Let's move quickly."

And somehow, despite being asked to lead, our group finds ourselves following Meredith and her templars up the steps to the Keep.

But rather than feeling slighted by the breach in conduct, all I experience is a faint churning in my stomach. A warning, calling out to me, that everything may be about to change. And possibly not for the better.

SERENA

Hawke and the Arishok circle around each other at the lower half of the throne room. They charge at each other between bloody flurries—slicing, punching, kicking, feinting, blocking, whatever's convenient. Andraste's tits, the Arishok even headbutts him!

It's terrifying.

Even for a qunari, the Arishok's massive. More so than Sten. The horns only accentuate his already intimidating stature.

But more than that, he's all muscle and grit, primed by years of unknown battle experience, and a blood lust aching for the kill.

He's been waiting for a moment like this for years, ever since I arrived in Kirkwall. And Hawke gifted it to him on a silver platter, dismissing any of our wishes for what he felt was right.

I clench my fists beside me to suppress the urge to jump forward to intercept the match. Demands of the Qun and Hawke's orders be damned. They're both acting like bloody fools. And my heart can't take it.

I've never felt so worried or anxious in my life. Even confronting the archdemon felt less nerve-wracking than this, but that might've just been the adrenaline concealing it.

The others all stand still beside me, watching, just as helpless as I am—Isabela included.

Fenris puts one hand on my shoulder and squeezes, probably sensing my growing apprehension as well. I glance up at him to find his gaze fixed forward, focused only on Hawke, his jaw shut tight with an unusual rigidness.

Hawke charges forward at the Arishok again, blood dripping from his busted lip. They both swing their swords down at each other, clashing once, twice, their grunts echoing off the Keep's walls.

And then, Hawke breaks through the Arishok's block, landing a deep, sweeping blow across the qunari's chest. The Arishok stumbles and collapses against the stairs. "One day we shall return," he rasps, pointing up at Hawke.

Grasping at the seeping wound, the Arishok's eyes roll back into his head. He falls limp with a noticeable shudder. The qunari standing near his body nods to their waiting comrades, and without another word, the qunari take their leave, strutting out the door like nothing happened.

Hawke sheathes his weapon and turns to face us.

He limps down the stairs a bloody mess—hacked-away armor and all. Meredith and Orisno sprint into the room near the conclusion of his descent, a few convenient minutes late to the lively party. "Is it over?" Meredith asks, stopping in front of Hawke, while the two leaders view the fallen Arishok.

"It's over," he whispers, clutching his injured side.

"The city has been saved!" one of the nobles abruptly yells, and the room erupts into cheers and applause.

Our entire group lets out a long, deep breath.

Thank the gods . . .

The nerves within me uncoil.

Meredith scowls at Hawke and sheathes her sword. "Well done. it appears Kirkwall has a new champion," she declares, and everyone around them smiles. Everyone except her, the fakeness of her own 'appreciative' bow rivaling a snide magister.

Hawke's footing wavers as he staggers over to us.

Aveline and I both jump forward, catching him, and loop his long arms around our shoulders. He stares down at me with a wide, boyish grin, as if apologizing for the blunder or perhaps his earlier, imprudent recklessness. Maybe both.

Then, scolding him under our breaths, the lot of us cart Kirkwall's new, foolhardy hero out of the Keep. And as much as I would like to call him such to his face, I can't.

After all, I rushed headlong at an archdemon myself.