Written almost entirely in Japan, interestingly enough. Not sure if that made any significant change in my writing. I do know now, though, that I really want to see Bethany and Marian Hawke in yukatas. More notes at the end. Enjoy!

Her sleep was dreamless. A rare occurrence, if not unique. For once, she did not tirelessly stalk the endless wastes of the Fade, carefully avoiding other dreamers. Instead, she lay in darkness, listening to the sounds. At times, they were voices, whispering in languages she did not comprehend. Other times, she heard rushing water. Bells ringing. Eerie laughter. Her own heartbeat. Was this how non-mages dreamt? If so, she was more jealous than ever. It was … peaceful. She heard voices anyway, every other night. At least these did not approach her, tempt her with all the things she could never have. They seemed to be content to keep their distance, and let her listen.

Soon, she was making out individual voices, but by the time she was confident she had identified a single voice, it changed, split or merged with another, and she had to start all over again. Only one voice, soaring high above the others, remained consistent, that of a young woman full of cheer and joy. But she could not make out its words, either. What little she understood or thought to understand was nonsensical, like the misheard lyrics to a foreign song.

Bethany found that it did not truly matter what they were saying. They left her alone, sleeping, listening. She could have stayed here forever.

And then she awoke, and was back in the Fade. It felt different, more solid. Clearer. She could feel the flow of the Fade energies, rather than just a vague presence. A compassionate spirit shew her a vision of her sister, meaning well. When she reached out to touch her, expecting an illusion of flesh, her hand went right through the mirage and dispelled it like mist. It was … heartening, in a sense. Marian was far from her reach, and that surely was a good thing. She just had to keep reminding herself of that.

She left the spirit after that, wandered off in a different direction. Some nights, when the hours stretched and her dreams would not end, she would walk in the direction of the Black City, just to pass the hours. She would, of course, never reach it, every step seemed to take it father away from it. Such was the Fade's geography. Tonight, too, she walked and walked, passing through the realms of many greater and lesser demons. They let her pass unaccosted. She rarely had to deal with demons – those that haunted her usual dreams had choicer game to hunt, and her father's training had left her mental barriers just strong enough to not be worth the effort. But whereas the demons normally ignored her, she felt she was distinctly being watched now.

Bethany looked out for the golden woman who had led her out of the Fade, but if she was a spirit, she didn't show herself. If she strained her memory, she remembered a fight, and then a reassuring voice. The voice had been glorious, like the apparition from the Fade. In her heart she already knew that it was the same entity. She had acquired a guardian angel, it appeared.

And then she awoke, and was lying in a bed. Bethany opened her eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight from the window. Once she had adjusted to it, she found herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. A woodcarver had been hired to decorate the room, apparently, and not told when to stop. What was this place? Slowly, she got out of the bed, looked around. The room was rustic, yet sterile in the way that only a hotel room can be. She glanced out of the window. The Frostbacks. Haven. And there – she shuddered. The Breach was still in the sky. She had failed, then. At least it didn't seem to have grown much bigger, though that was a small consolation.

Bethany turned away from the window and walked across the room to check the door. It was unlocked. Clothes had been laid out on a low dresser – underwear, jeans, a plain white blouse, a jacket and a navy pea coat, all more or less in her size. Beside them, someone had put a mobile phone – not hers, but the kind with a small physical keyboard at the bottom, the kind you saw being used by politicians and CEOs. She checked the date. Maker, had she really slept for three days? After taking a quick shower in the adjoining bathroom, where stitching on the towels suggested they belonged to the Chalet de St. Margret, Haven, Bethany got dressed, pocketed the phone on the suspicion that it had been left there for her and walked out into the corridor.

Following the signage, she made her way to the reception. A young elf girl in a page's uniform was lounging behind the counter, reading. When she saw her, the girl startled, jumped to her feet and dropped her book. "My … my lady! I did not … you're awake!" She unfroze herself and bowed. Deeply. "For… forgive my inattentiveness, Lady Herald. I am … just a humble servant, and, and, I wish to ask your blessing …"

Bethany looked over her shoulder to see if there was anyone standing behind her. There wasn't. "I'm sorry," she told the elf, "you … must be mistaking me for someone else."

"There can be no mistake, my lady. You're her, you're the one who stopped the Breach from swallowing us all!" She flinched as though she had forgotten something. "Uh, the Lady Seeker asked to see you in the chantry once you were awake …"

She frowned. Hopefully, that would explain some things. What had the girl called her? Lady Herald? The young elf looked just about ready to take flight. With a murmured word of thanks, Bethany walked out of the hotel's lobby.

Haven was a small village. Before the Blight, it had been home to one of the Frostbacks' more isolated communities, stereotyped as backwards, reclusive and somewhat incestuous by their eastern neighbours (har, har). Then the Hero of Ferelden had discovered the Sacred Ashes of Blessed Andraste Herself, hidden away in the nearby ruins, and all of a sudden Haven had come out of the Blight not only with most of its population alive and intact, but also the centre of a newly-flourishing pilgrimage industry. Bethany had been told that Haven and the surrounding mountains had been named a national park to preserve its natural beauty; but even so a road and modern facilities had been erected to service the pilgrims, including hotels, restaurants, a clinic and a heliport, not to mention the inevitable array of souvenir shops.

Most of the latter had been driven away by the war, but the rest of Haven had been a bustle of activity in preparation of the Conclave. Now, the village was filled to the brim with the survivors of the catastrophe, and the soldiers and volunteers come to aid them.

And quite a few of them seemed to be staring at her.

Bethany kept her head down as she walked towards the chantry in the upper part of the village. They were staring at her, no mistake there, and murmuring amongst themselves. She knew that by now the tale of her falling out of the Fade must have made the rounds, and that quite a few people must have seen her being led from her cell to the heliport by the Seeker. Even so, that did not account for the profound silence that had fallen over the people in the streets. As she approached the chantry, the crowds grew thicker than they had any right to be, but the moment she appeared a path opened for her.

She tried to ignore them.

Nevertheless, by the time she entered the welcome shelter of the chantry, her face matched the scarlet Chantry banners decorating the building. She took a moment to recover before proceeding down the empty nave. The original Haven chantry had been a wooden building from the early Towers Age, home to some heretical sect or other, but it had been burned down by the Hero of Ferelden when she had passed through the village on her quest for the Sacred Ashes. The new chantry building was simple, modern, and rather chilly, as these rooms tend to be. If not for the candles at her feet, Bethany would have had some trouble recognising Andraste in the abstract statue behind the pulpit. Behind the statue, a narrow door led into a backroom, some kind of sacristy, most likely. Wafts of an agitated argument could be heard through it.

"… a mage! And who vouches for her? Renegades and heathens, that's who! You cannot seriously believe that woman is innocent! We know she saw Justinia the morning of the attack …" A man. Elderly, perhaps. She did not recognise the voice. Bethany fought the urge to press her ear to the door, that was not how Things Were Done.

The other was that of the Seeker. "… which does not make her guilty. It is safe to say she had something to do with what happened, her mark is proof of that. But I do not believe she is behind this anymore than you or I."

"You have read the report, Chancellor," said another woman's voice. She'd heard this one before, Bethany knew, the Orlesian redhead from the FOB. And before that … in Lothering, maybe? Could it be? "Trevelyan and his group all attest seeing the spectre of a woman in the Fade behind her. You know who people have been saying she was. Andraste Herself."

There was a snort from the man, and the sound of something heavy being slammed on a table. "I will not stay here to listen to your heresies! The Chantry will not stand for this! I hope for your sakes that you'll have come to your senses by the time I return."

The door was slammed open and a middle-aged man in the robes of a lay servant stormed out. He did not seem to notice her standing beside the door and strode past her out of the chantry. Well, she wasn't making any friends these days, was she?

Taking a deep breath, Bethany knocked on the open door and stepped into the doorway. "You, er, asked to see me?"

For a moment, the corners of the Seeker's mouth seemed to twitch upwards. "How much of that did you overhear? Nevermind, do come in."

Hesitantly, Bethany stepped into the light. A pair of Templars stood guard inside. She tried not to notice them. Most of the sacristy's furnishings had been removed, instead, a large folding table had been set up in its centre. One could scarcely see the large map of southern Thedas that had been rolled out on it under the heaps of documents, laptops, empty mugs and pizza boxes. The Seeker dismissed the Templars with a gesture. "Here, let me introduce you." She pointed at a dark-skinned woman in an elegant business costume and a gold scarf, who had laid down her clipboard to shake Bethany's hand. "This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, from Antiva. She used to be an aide to the Antivan ambassador to Orlais, before joining us."

"Please, call me Josephine. It's a pleasure to meet you," the Antivan told her with a smile that was entirely earnest, but also clearly under the control of her higher thought processes. "I've heard so much about you, Enchanter. Only good things, I assure you."

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by that charm offensive, Bethany managed only a faint smile. "Er, it's good to meet you, my lady. Josephine."

"Moving on," Seeker Pentaghast continued in a slightly strained voice, "you've already met Leliana. She …"

"… works in IT," the redhead smoothly interrupted. She was wearing a bright yellow hoodie reading A[hip, hip] Bethany didn't quite get it. "My position there involves a degree of data compilation and network security. Best to leave it at that."

"Leliana?," Bethany echoed. Her eyes widened. Of course! Maker, how long had it been? "You were a lay sister at the Lothering chantry before the Blight, weren't you? You used to tell stories to the affirmants …"

The woman's smile deepened. "I wasn't sure if you remembered. Dear Maker, it seems like forever! We'll have to catch up …" Seeker Pentaghast gave a very pointed cough. "… some other time." The wink Leliana gave her could have meant absolutely anything. Bethany distinctly felt that both Josephine and Leliana had a rather economical attitude to the truth.

"… and of course you're already familiar with Commander Cullen."

They shared a nod. Maker, it hadn't used to be that awkward, had it?

"It's, er, good to meet you all. To be honest, though, I'm not exactly sure what's going on …"

Pentaghast snorted. "Who is, these days?"

Bethany bit her lip. "I know that I failed to close to Breach. And that the Chantry thinks I killed the Most Holy. And … the receptionist at the hotel, she called me 'herald'."

The Seeker and Lady Josephine shared a glance before the latter replied. "You may not have closed the Breach, but you managed to halt its growth. That buys us time. We're not sure what exactly went wrong – Master Solas is looking into it. You may want to speak to him later on. In the meantime, I'm afraid we have more urgent problems to contend with."

"More urgent than demons falling out of the sky?"

"Quite. For starters, Leliana is getting reports of rifts opening up all over Ferelden and southern Orlais. We're counting over 600 confirmed reports, and rising. Both nations have deployed their armed forces to cordon off the rifts and protect their civilian population, but until you – that is, you personally – can go there to close them permanently, those are mere stopgap measures."

"Add to that rebel forces limiting government access to some of the hardest-hit areas, and we've a death toll in the thousands that's rising by the hour," Cullen commented. "I've drawn up a list of priority rifts. Right now, the best thing we can do is make sure the major motorways are clear. I'm told Redcliffe is almost completely cut-off from supplies, and that's before taking into account rifts inside the town itself."

Bethany closed her eyes, tried to imagine what was happening out there. Imagine a rift like those on the mountain opening up on a crowded motorway in the middle of the rush hour … even if, by some miracle, drivers managed to brake in time, the road would be completely cut off. How much food did a town like Redcliffe need every day? And for that matter, how much electricity, how much water? Maybe the government could fly in supplies, but the last time she'd been in Redcliffe, the city had been controlled by her fellow mages and the Grand Enchanter, not the government. She had to get there, soon.

"I imagine that's the bad news?"

"Pretty much. And then there's the … other news." That did not sound like 'good news'. "Almost all of the grand clerics were at the Conclave. With them and the Divine dead, the Chantry is in shambles. You've met Grand Chancellor Roderich on the way in – he's not the highest ecclesiastical authority left in Val Royeaux, and he's not even a priest. The mood in the curia is decidedly against us. They think you're a terrorist, and we heretics and schismatics for supporting you. My contacts in the Orlesian government tell me that Orlais follows the Chantry line, so we've no support from that direction. The coalition government in Denerim has yet to produce a unified statement, but I'm told the King is trying to get us his government's support. In the meantime, however, we're surrounded by enemies on all sides."

"But I didn't do anything!," Bethany protested. Even she could tell that, however, that she was on thin ground there. She didn't exactly remember much from before the explosion. Who could say what she had done – as a mage, there was always doubt. "I wouldn't even know how."

"We believe you," Leliana said. "You've more than proven your good intentions, as far as I am concerned. Still, the facts are against you. I've been keeping a lid on your identity so far – we've enough trouble as it is without anyone knowing who you are. As far as the world is concerned, you're a Mystery Woman capable of closing rifts. It'll make people suspicious, but it's better than everyone knowing you're a Hawke. They'll find out eventually, of course, but until then we'll keep it between us."

That did not sound very assuring. Bethany's throat tightened. "I'll go to Val Royeaux to stand trial, if that's what it takes. I didn't … I don't think I did anything wrong. If I can help end this madness …" She broke off.

There was an awkward silence. Then, Cullen gave a slight cough. "I wouldn't advice that. We need you here. And then there's one other thing …"

Leliana grinned, and Bethany automatically took a step away from her. "The news about you are all over the Internet. In our darkest hour, a Mystery Woman with the power to close rifts falls out of the Fade, led by a spectral woman seen behind her? That's the sort of thing legends are made out of. A lot of people are still sceptical, but there are those who have seen you close rifts and they've been very vocal. I've certainly not attempted to rein them in."

"I'm not sure what that means …"

"It means that more and more people believe you were sent by the Maker. The woman they saw behind you, people believe, was Andraste. That makes you Her Herald, and the key to our salvation."

The Herald of Andraste. Bethany wanted to protest, but could not get the words out. I'm a mage, she thought. I'm a sinner. The very idea was absurd. Andraste had been perfect in every respect: beautiful, virtuous, pious, mundane, everything she was not. Bethany was abominable, the Chant was quite clear on that. The things she had done, the thoughts she had thought, and the desires she had succumbed to all compounded the accident of her birth.

Divine Justinia had forgiven her. That had been what she'd said, hadn't it? There is no sin that the Maker does not forgive you for. She still did not understand how she could have said that. Justinia had forgiven her, yes, but Her Perfection had been kind and gracious and inspired … her forgiveness was not the Maker's, though she spoke in His name. For the Maker was a vengeful god. There could be no atonement for the things she had done, knowing they were wrong.

She could work with that.

But then there had been the voices, and the golden woman … Bethany glanced at the mark on her hand. If not for it, she realised, the Breach might still be spreading. She could see where one might get the idea from that she was some sort of saviour. The timing was impeccable.

Bethany looked up at the others. "I'm sorry," she said. "This is a lot to take in all at once."

Josephine gave her a lenient smile. "Of course, we quite understand. Luckily for you, it's not something we need to deal with immediately, though we will have to decide on an official position soon. Ish."

Nodding, Cullen added: "In the meantime, you should have yourself looked at by our healers. You've been out for days, who knows what yet lingers."

"No. She has to stay here. Hawke is as much part of this as any of us, and it would not do to exclude her from this council."

"We shouldn't strain her, Seeker. We need her at her best …"

"Uh, do I get a say in this? I'm pretty sure I'm alright …"

"Cassandra is right. We can't treat her like she's just another volunteer. She more than deserves a say in this. We can't go having secrets from each other."

"Very well, but I must insist that she see a healer presently. Now, I've been trying to set up a proper chain of command …"

"Uh, excuse me?"

Cullen paused, and all eyes turned back to Bethany. She still felt like an intruder. "I'm sure I appreciate everyone's concern, and I'd like to help … whatever you're doing, but who exactly … you know … are you?"

Josephine threw a surprised glance at Leliana. "Didn't we say? I'm sure I said something."

"I don't think you did, Josie. I think Cassandra was dealing with this."

There was a pause. Then, Seeker Pentaghast nodded and, with uncanny accuracy, removed a thin official-looking booklet from the heaps of paper on the table. Bethany glanced at the title page, it was called Provisions attaining to the Seekers of Truth (J5.4 / 384a). "Most Holy did not go into the Conclave unprepared," the Seeker said. "In the event that negotiations broke down, she sought to assure herself the Templars and mages would not tear this world apart, and she left instructions to her Hands." The Seeker gave a wry smirk. "I think it's fair to say negotiations have broken down."

Leliana stepped to Pentaghast's side. "Is that … I remember depositing the sealed original in a bank vault in Rialto last year. How did you get this copy?"

The title page was forcefully turned. Bethany recognised the sunburst seal of the Divine, and her signature at the bottom of the page. "Most Holy gave it to me the day she left for the Conclave. She made no provisions for the event of her demise, of course, but I don't care what the lawyers will say about this. As far as I am concerned, this is holy writ."

"Let me see," Josephine said, pushing her way to the front to skim the first few articles. "Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear."

Bethany's throat tightened. This did not sound good.

"This is no time for hesitation. In the name of the Maker, of Our Lady Andraste, and of Her late Perfection, Divine Justinia V, let it be known: one, that all attempts to return the Circle of Magi and the Templar Order to the fold of our Holy Mother Chantry have failed."

Cullen shook his head in disbelief. "Maker, I hope you're sure about this …"

The Seeker continued to read out the document. Her voice rose. "Two, that the Left and Right Hands of the Divine are charged with restoring the Maker's peace to His world, using any means whatsoever they deem fit, that they shall be raised above all laws of man save those pertaining to the unity of our Holy Mother Chantry, and that any who refuse them aid and succour shall be attainted and accursed in the eyes of the Maker!"

Quietly, Bethany stepped forward, past a tense Leliana, until she stood by the Seeker's side. Her heart was beating faster than before. A warming thought went through her head: this is the Maker's work. She wasn't quite sure where it came from, but she felt her back straighten nonetheless. What was it with Hawkes and making history? They always seemed to manage getting their fingers in somewhere.

"Three!," Cassandra Pentaghast thundered. "That on this day, the twenty-first of Umbralis in the forty-first year of the Dragon Age, I declare the Inquisition reborn!"

There was a lengthy pause.

Leliana said: "Fine, but do you have to shout?"

After that, the meeting dissolved in a blur. A proclamation was set up, printed out and nailed to the chantry doors. Then, each went after their own business: Josephine and Leliana sat to creating a rudimentary web presence, while Cassandra shouted at people until a notary and an accountant were found and Cullen addressed the volunteers that had assembled at Haven. That left Bethany without anything to do.

When she left the chantry, she found a small crowd had gathered outside to read the proclamation. An argument had broken out, but broke off when she stepped through the door. "What's going on in there?," a woman in the crowd asked her. "I don't like the sound of this whole 'Inquisition' business."

Bethany's throat tightened. She wasn't really sure herself what exactly was going on, and she had not had time to give much thought to its rightness. Frankly, the idea that they were doing something wrong – as opposed to impractical, dangerous and mildly terrifying – had not yet entered her mind. Of course it was right, it just … was? "I don't know much about the details," she told the crowd, "But the Inquisition – we – will be doing whatever we can to help get the world back to normal."

It was a weak answer, she knew. If she remembered her history, there had been an Inquisition before, early in the history of the Chantry. Mage hunters? As she recalled, it had been split into the Templars and the Seekers of Truth at some point – likely with good reason. It was going to be … interesting, to say the least.

"What are you going to do about that hole in the sky, then?," a man asked with some hostility. "There's demons popping up all over the country, my cousin in Denerim says she was forced from her home by some!"

Bethany flinched a little. Maker, this hadn't used to be so hard. She'd been a teacher and an MCIS investigator at the Kirkwall Circle, but three years on the run, a visit to the Fade and a night in captivity later she felt like a nervous wreck with a severe case of untreated agoraphobia. Just like her teenage years, come to think of it. "We're working on it," she said in what she hoped was a firm voice. "We've a few ideas on how to fix the Veil; until then, we're going to do our best to work together with authorities to contain the demon threat and protect the people." That had sounded pretty good, actually. At least, it seemed to satisfy the crowd enough to let her pass.

Bethany wasn't sure where to go, so she picked a direction at random and started walking. It did not take long until she found the elven apostate – Solas, was it? – seated on the veranda of a small café by an outdoors fireplace, a book in his hands and a steaming cup of tea before him. "Interesting read?," she asked as she approached him.

Without any apparent surprise, the elf gingerly placed a bookmark at his page and set the book down on the table. Bethany twisted her neck to make out the title, it appeared to be a volume on the birth of the art trade in the Antivan Exaltations. Huh, not what she'd have expected. "Quite," the elf said. "The author has some fascinating theories on patronage. I shall have to do some research of my own, some time. Please, join me. Cup of tea? You look like you need it."

"Gladly." The elf called for the waiter to bring another setting, and Bethany sat in the chair across from him. This far up in the mountains, the first snow of the year had come already, but the bright winter sun made for warmth and comfort. "I didn't really get a chance to thank you the other time. Varric said you saved my life."

"I like to think I managed to slow the growth of your mark, for a bit. A small matter, and one you already have more than repaid. I do not relish the thought of what might have happened, had you not halted the Breach's growth."

"We hardly won that fight, it's still up there." The waiter brought her tea. Bethany gave it a brief, critical look. Teabag, of course. Very Orlesian. Ah, well – still better than nothing.

"It's a first step in the right direction. You proved that your mark is key to closing the Breach, provided we can augment its power sufficiently."

Bethany frowned and sat down her teacup. She hadn't considered that. Come to think of it, shouldn't a complete tear in the Veil have practically infinite levels of thaumic radiation? It was a hole to the Fade, after all. "By how much, then?"

"It is difficult to say. The helicopter can't get close enough to the Breach for me to make a more accurate estimate. The amount of mana passing through it is, however large, finite, and so is the energy inherent within it. The tear in the Veil is tremendous, but not perfect – think of it as a membrane, which separates the Fade and our world, yet still allows osmosis. At the same time, however, the Breach grows on an infinite pool of energy, which means we have to act soon if you're to have any chance of closing it."

"So how much mana will I have to handle? Roughly."

"My best bet is somewhere around the figure of a hundred gigathaums, plus-minus fifty. That said, it is growing by the minute."

Bethany gasped. "Maker above … what on earth could have caused this? I mean, even the Vyrantium bomb only set free about 2 GT …" She trailed off, tried to conceptualise the number. Her own mana pool, without any aids, had been tested at 432 kT. As far as she knew, even the greatest mages on record had not broken the 1 MT mark. There were a thousand kilothaums in a megathaums, and a thousand megathaums again in a gigathaum. One hundred gigathaums were a hundred million kilothaums. Enough magical energy to destroy and rebuild the planet. It boggled the mind.

Solas gave a wry smile. "Now you understand the problem we face. I have advised Lady Montilyet to arrange for an immediate deal with Orzammar, but even if you were to consume this year's entire output of lyrium, you would rather fall short of the energy required. And of course it is possible that your mark is entirely unrelated to your own magic."

She sipped on her tea to steady herself. Tea was great for this sort of thing. Maybe that was the Fereldan in her. Nearly killed and taken to the Circle? Tea. Nearly killed and on the run from persecution? Tea. Nearly killed and responsible for the fate of the world? Tea, Maker damn it. The universal panacea. "There must be some other way," she eventually said. Well, of course there had to be. She had been given this mark for a reason, hadn't she? … had she? It just felt wrong for her not to be able to do anything.

"Apart from lyrium, I can think of two complementary approaches," Solas said. "One of them is getting other mages to place their mana at your disposal and enhance your focus. The other is blood magic."

Bethany almost dropped her cup. "I'm not a blood mage," she said, rather sharply. "We are not doing that." So the elf was that kind of apostate, was he? She had seen enough in Kirkwall to know that there was no excuse for blood magic. It was never worth the cost. What kind of mage would she be if she relied on the life forces of others? She wouldn't be able to face father, or mother, or Marian.

"I thought you might say that. Considering your background, I understand your apprehensions, but I still believe it is vital that we keep all options open. This crisis is greater than any one of us."

"Are you a blood mage, then?," Bethany asked with barely disguised hostility. Good mages could be tempted by the power that blood offered, but no mage who gave in to it stayed good for very long, in her experience.

The elf chuckled. "No, I'm not. There is nothing I desire that I could not achieve except by using blood magic."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's an odd answer. Everyone has desires, surely. And Maker knows that a lot of good mages turn to blood magic to get them."

With a shrug, Solas finished his tea. "I live a simple lifestyle. Barring exceptional circumstances such as these, I generally avoid the company of people, so I wander around what little wilderness you humans have not yet destroyed. I seek out the places where the past lingers – the ruins of crumbled cities, the tombs of forgotten heroes, and the battlefields of nameless wars. There, I sleep."

Bethany frowned. "I've been to places like these. When I was with the MCIS, we used to investigate demonic apparitions at archaeological dig sites all the time. Those are places where you'd find conglomerations of demons. Where the Veil has been ground so thin the air shimmers. Are you saying you deliberately seek out danger?"

"There is no danger there, save for that which mortals bring in their hearts. Spirits do not adhere to our preconceptions of benevolence, but only demons – spirits corrupted by mortal failing – wish us ill. Wisdom, Justice, Faith, Reason, Valour … some of those names I count amongst my closest friends."

Taken aback, Bethany wasn't sure how to reply. Merrill had been one thing – at least she recognised the terrible danger she placed herself in by dealing with a demon and merely overestimated her chances. This man appeared to be wholly ignorant of the guile with which even the lowest demons disguised their intentions. Anders had been friends with a spirit, and see where that had led them both. "That's, um …," she managed, before faltering. "Nice? I guess?"

Solas gave her a noncommittal smile. "Quite. Now, Enchanter, I should really get back to work. It's been a pleasure talking to you. Enjoy your tea." Without awaiting her reply, he counted out two quid for his tea, rose from his chair, gave a slight bow and strode off down the street.

Sipping her tea, she looked after him until he disappeared round a corner. The elf didn't seem like an insane madman. She was pretty sure that it'd be nothing personal when he murdered her in her sleep, and that he'd have very good reasons for it. Maker, just what had she gotten herself into this time?

But even as she thought that, she couldn't change that feeling of rightness. Despite the wounds she'd apparently sustained during the battle with the pride demon, Bethany felt better than she had for years. At times like these, she could almost understand why her sis- certain people actively sought out fights. But unlike those blood-soaked raids on Lowtown's rival gangs, she did not feel like she was doing something wrong – no, she was defending people from demons. Defending her home.

And whatever was going to happen – and in the face of better evidence, viz. Sister Leliana's grin – Bethany was completely and utterly certain that the Inquisition was going to do the Maker's work.

Just as she was about to finish her tea, her phone buzzed. It took her a moment to recognise the device she'd taken from her hotel room that morning. There was a new text message, from an unknown number. Sunshine, want to meet up? Meet me at ancient oak pub on high street – V. She smiled a little. Out of all the familiar faces that had popped up around her all of a sudden, Varric was the most welcome. She had a vague idea of where Haven's High Street was located, so she finished her tea, paid and went on her way.

Varric was waiting outside the pub, smoking. "You're looking cheerful," he told her, throwing his fag away. As a small token to the cold, he was wearing a scarf over his open shirt.

"Well, I did just meet my favourite dwarf in the world. Shall we go inside?"

At this time of day, the pub was almost empty, and the two of them selected a secluded table at the back, by a snow-covered cellar window. "I must say, Varric, I didn't expect to find you here."

"Right back at you, Sunshine. We do seem to have a knack for getting our arses into trouble, don't we?"

She laughed. "The universe just won't give us a rest."

Varric signalled the publican for a pint of lager. Bethany declined a drink. "So," said the dwarf, leaning forward. "The Herald of Andraste. Impressive title, isn't it? How's it feel?"

Shrugging, she gave an uneasy smile. "It's odd. Really odd. Like there's a different me and everyone is confusing me with her." She swallowed, remembering the way Ser Cullen had looked at her. They'd never been friends, but they'd gotten along. They'd been partners. Now? There'd been embarrassment, awkwardness, but also expectation. Just go and close six hundred rifts, and pretty pronto. No pressure. "Everyone expects so much from me. I'm not my sister. I can't …" Her voice broke. "I can't help them."

"You will. Trust me on that. You think your sister knew how much good she would do when she started the gang? How high she'd rise? And all she was trying to do was to protect your family. The way things are going, you're going to be protecting all the world. I'm not saying it'll be easy. It'll be pretty damn hard, I'd say." Varric smiled. "But I'll bet my arse that you're going to do it. Because you're just as much of a Hawke as your sister is, and you're trying harder. And hey, it's not like you've got to do everyone by yourself, now is it?"

That made her laugh. "I did miss you, Varric. Seriously, though, what are you doing here?"

"Well, you've met Cassandra? The Seeker? After what Blondie did in Kirkwall, she started to hunt us down for questioning. You know, the bunch of us. Turns out, though, that I'm the only one she could get her hands on."

Bethany bit her lip. Of course someone would have tried to round up their friends. From what she had been told – and from what she had seen afterwards – Anders had not exactly been popular amongst their friends, but they'd still all been in the same boat. Foolish, foolish. "Do you know – do you know where the others are?"

With a shrug, the dwarf leaned back. "Roughly. Let's see … I'm still in contact with Daisy. She hid out with one of the clans for a while, but apparently they've found her and offered her the chair in Elven Studies at Halamshiral. You know how she is – couldn't be happier. Aveline is still in Kirkwall, facing the fire. She's trying to keep some semblance of order, but from what I hear, she didn't come out of the Inquiry unscathed. Dumar's got her back, of course, but who knows how long until he bites the dust? I don't know where Fenris is. Might be he's gone to Tevinter to keep an eye on the mages we helped – you know how he is. Might be he's with Rivaini again, and she's with the Rivaini fleet. Calls herself an admiral now, so I imagine she's got a pretty big hat. Sebastian …"

"Wait, who's Sebastian?"

Varric snorted. "Some … how did she put it? Ah, yes. A 'moralising git who won't stop following us, I swear if he mentions Andraste again I'll shove his rifle up his arse'. Quote, unquote. I forgot that was after your time. Anyway, I think he's gone into politics now, in Starkhaven. Good on him, never liked that city anyway. As for Blondie … you know I went looking for him when he disappeared, but I never found a trace. I don't think he's dead, but I have no idea where he could have gone."

"He should have answered for his crimes," Bethany quietly said. "What he did was horrible."

"Was it, though? Sometimes I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong – blowing up the chantry, killing all those people – that was horrible, hell yes. But I get where he was coming from. When you went to the Circle – all of us agreed that we were going to help the mages in Kirkwall, even Fenris. Blondie just took it to its logical extreme. I should have seen it coming. All of us should."

"Don't say that. This whole mess was Anders' fault. No one else's, and certainly not yours. There was no way you could have known what he'd do."

"Not even Hawke?"

Bethany froze. Surely he couldn't mean …? She tried to recall the scene. After Ser Cullen had arrived in the nick of time to save her from the blood mage she had been fighting, Marian and Anders had arrived soon after, followed by Knight-Commander Stannard. At the time, she had been rather distracted … had there been some sign? "What do you mean by that?," she asked Varric in a hoarse voice. "What did my sister have to do with it?"

Defensively, Varric raised his hands. "Hey, I wouldn't know. I don't think she was in on it, not precisely – it would've worked out very differently if she had been. But … well, you know her best."

She did, didn't she? How many times had Marian railed against the Circle, and the Templars, and the whole world, on her behalf? How many mages had she smuggled out of the Gallows? Despite her best wishes, Bethany could not but suspect that Marian would have been the first to support Anders' plot. "She never said anything about that," she quietly said.

Somewhat awkwardly, Varric patted her hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. When did you last see each other? You were still together when I went off looking for Blondie."

Bethany shivered. That was another thing. "It's been a while. She left not long after. Said it'd be safer for me." Or had written as much, anyway. Waking up to find her sister gone and only a brief note left of her had been … well.

Best not to worry about that sort of thing. There was nothing to be done about it. That's what she'd tried to do: swallow her tears and move on.

With every passing day, it was becoming harder.

As she opened her mouth to make a reply and change the topic to – well, anything else, really – her phone buzzed again, persistently. "Ah … sorry," she mumbled, reaching inside her jacket. "I'll turn it off."

"You sure it's not important?"

Against her better intentions, Bethany threw a glance at the display. Leliana. With a sigh, she picked up the phone. "Hawke speaking."

"Obviously. Come to the chantry ASAP. Divine Justinia's former confessor, Mother Giselle, asked for you."

"What, you mean like …"

"By name."

She took a deep breath. This was it. Around her, assistants laid on the last hands. A make-up artist made a few final adjustments, another smoothed out a crease in her robes. To one side, some of her aides were discussing the crowd in hushed whispers. To the other, her campaign manager was hunched over a laptop. In the middle of all that stood Calpernia, as still and calm as the Ferryman, one hand resting on her mage's staff. Her eyes were fixed on the muted TV screens showing the stage outside.

Her campaign manager looked up from his laptop, glanced at the screens. Holding up three fingers, he silently voiced: One … two …

Before the three came, Calpernia had already stepped forward, and then she stood outside.

She could scarcely see the many heads of the crowd against the thunderstorm of flashlights and the glare of the spot lights. A frenetic cheer rose up as she slowly walked to the speaker's podium. The crowd called her name in ten thousand voices. She flashed a smile at them, raised a hand, waved. The gesture was rewarded by an uproar.

Calpernia let her voice sweep across the ecstatic crowd of her supporters. There was a television camera. There was another, and another, and another. Time to show her teacher what she could do.

"People of Tevinter!," she shouted into her microphone. "Hear me!" Gradually, the crowd settled down into an atmosphere of expectant devotion. "Thank you. Friends, I am here today to announce my candidacy for the office of Archon of the Tevinter Imperium …"

Some notes:

1) Leliana's hoodie is a programming joke, which I've got sumenya to thank for. It's read "hip hip array".

2) I'm probably expanding the urgency of the rifts here a bit from the game, where they never felt like a real threat. In a modern setting, they'd probably be a bit more dangerous due to how interconnected and volatile our civilisation is, and I'm still upping the number of rifts. Bethany better get to work soon, eh?

3) As I've stated before, I'm using the unit thaum with the appropriate SI prefixes to measure mana and magical energy. Assume that 1 MP in game = 1 kT here. I'm not entirely sure on the proportions of the Vyrantium bomb - Fat Man and Little Boy, the atomic bombs detonated over Nagasaki and Hiroshima, had a blast yield of 21 respectively 15 kilotons (kt). By contrast, the experimental Tsar Bomba - to this date the most destructive device constructed by man - had a theoretical maximum blast yield of 100 megatons, which is a LOT more. Thaumic weapons underwent similar developments as far as their blast yield or explosive force is concerned, but retained a fairly constant magical energy. No one likes marching into a bombed city to discover you've grown an additional toe, your mate's skin gone green and things are falling in the wrong direction. I'd like your thoughts on this.

Please review!