Rajmael of Clan Lavellan

by Powerslammer

Rajmael is an elf possessed of great pride and an incredible power. Born with a powerful name and a greater destiny, he has lived his whole life by the the Vir Tanadhal. And now he must use his ancient knowledge to stand against forces that threaten his world and everything he loves. Watch as he stands as a Dalish Elf, a Herald and as The Inquisitor. Please, please review.

42. The Untold Chapters: Part IV

The Untold Chapters: Part IV

Aedan scowled at the Chantry's northern window like it had offended him. He watched the sun slowly pass through the sky as slow and as painful as a prolonged execution. The scowl on his face was nothing compared to the cauldron of dark feelings boiling inside him. Rage, aggression, anticipation, but most of all...shame. There was no greater wound that an enemy could inflict on a warrior than shame. Aedan came to this city-state at the behest of his king to bring their wayward countrymen who had been stuck in this city back home. This was usually a task suited to Arl Teagan, but he had his hands full with Orlais, and Alistair wanted Aedan to accomplish this because he knew Aedan would act as a protector for their people, to keep them from harm and bring them home safely. In that task, Aedan had failed miserably, a mark of shame for any military officer.

The Free Marchers were notorious for their xenophobic attitudes and disdain for outsiders, but Aedan didn't anticipate them to be capable of such violence. It was why King Alistair sent Aedan to bring their people home to begin with. But instead of actually protecting them, dozens of innocent people were maimed and murdered under his watch, and there was nothing he could have done to stop it. He came here to help his people, but couldn't even do that. Their blood was still on his armor. And as if to rub salt in his still fresh wounds, Aedan receives word that Petra, a mage under his command, and a student of his good friend Wynne, was take by this city's Templars. That was the breaking point for Aedan. His blood screamed for retribution, to visit the same agony on the bastards who committed these crimes against his people with his bare hands, make the enemies of his people beg for the mercy they didn't show their victims. But he couldn't, not yet.

Aedan owed a tremendous debt to the Hawke family, and gave his word not to interfere with his investigation, but neither could he just wait while Petra remained unsafe. So he gave an ultimatum, a more generous offer he had never given. If Hawke couldn't track down Petra, or prove to him that the Templars were responsible for her kidnapping, he was going to go to the Gallows and rip tear down every stone to find her. The time limit was up at sunset tomorrow. And while he was waiting, all he could do was hope that Petra would remain unharmed, while he stewed in his own rage, lamenting his disgrace.

"Well, well, well! As I live and breathe, it Is you, Lord Cousland." A familiar and jovial voice laughed behind Aedan.

Aedan turned around and was genuinely surprised to see one of the familiar faces that traveled with him almost throughout the entire Blight. Seeing such an old and familiar face brought a sense of joy to Aedan that momentarily stifled his anger.

"Bodahn? Ha-ha, Bodahn! It is you!" Aedan laughed, shaking the old dwarven merchant's hand heartily. He had not expected see such a friendly face in this city.

"Enchantment!" Sandal clapped happily, joyous to see his former benefactor.

"So, this is where you've been all these years?" Aedan asked, patting Sandal on the head.

"Oh, yes. Not long after we left Ferelden, the Champion, Maker bless him, saved Sandal's life. I owed him a great debt, and my boy and I have been in his service ever since." Bodhan explained proudly. "Isn't that right, Sandal?"

"Enchantment." Sandal confirmed happily.

"Is that so? Tell me, what kind of man is the Champion of Kirkwall." Aedan inquired curiously. He wanted to know more about the protector of this city.

"Oh, well, he's a fine man, to be sure. The finest in the city, to tell the truth." Bodahn bragged on his master's behalf. "I don't think this city would still be standing if it weren't for him."

"Yes, I heard the stories, but rumors are almost always ten percent truth and ninety percent bullcrap. Is the Champion really such a hero to this city?"

"A greater hero in Kirkwall has never existed." Bodahn answered proudly. "In a lot of ways, he's a lot like you, Ser Aedan."Aedan's eyebrow quirked curiously at Bodahn's proud statement. He very much doubted he and the Champion could have much in common. "He's the sort of man who can't stand to see an injustice, and will go out of his way to help people, even if he has nothing to gain. And he's done everything in his power to maintain the safety of his home, this city. Yet, no matter how dire things get, or whoever is standing against him, the Champion never compromises his honor. I'd say the two of you have a lot in common."

Aedan was somewhat surprised by the comparisons Bodahn made between him and Ser Hawke. Indeed, there were similarities between them in their actions and the apparent values they held. The things they had done for their respective homelands could not but questioned, but nonetheless, they were still completely different people. Hawke is a defender of his home, while Aedan was a weapon for his country. Still, Aedan could do nothing but respect a kindred spirit, and would hold to his promise. For Leandra's sake, he could do nothing less, for it was quite possible that without the Hawke family, Aedan would never have been able to save his country.

"And you serve him willingly, Bodahn?"

"Willingly, faithfully and proudly." Bodahn smiled broadly. "One of the proudest things I've ever done in me life."

"Enchantment!" Sandal clapped in agreement with his father.

Aedan couldn't help but smile at the dwarven father and son. Very few people understood the honor and fulfilment that could be found in service. Most either were either incapable of understanding this, or they couldn't find a cause or a person worth serving. It would seem that Bodahn and Sandal found another worthy of their loyalty, which Aedan knew was no small thing. Perhaps they did more in common than he thought.

"Well, Ser Aedan, it's been grand to see you again, but now it's time for us to be headin' back. It's Sandal's suppertime. Come along, my boy." Bodahn shook Aedan's hand once more before departing with his son.

"Enchantment." Sandal said happily, waving Aedan goodbye as he walked with his father.

Most people thought wisdom could only be found by those who spend their whole lives studying books and scrolls, like scholars or Chantry members, and thought that because they were educated it made them wise. Wisdom came from those who lived life, wholly, bravely, and without regret. And as far as Aedan was concerned, Bodahn was one of the wisest people he knew. If Bodahn knew the true worth and ability of the Champion, and not just what the minstrels sing, then maybe Garret Hawke could solve this conspiracy against their people. But Aedan was still a man of his word, and the Champion had until sunset tomorrow, or heads were going to roll, as he promised.

~XoXoXo~

Hawke and his company arrived at one of Hightown's luxuries mansions, this one was more opulent than most, obviously the home of someone very powerful in this city. There were guards posted outside the door and up on the balcony, all of them heavily armed and armored. This was a good sign. It meant the man Hawke was looking for was inside.

"Hawke, are you alright? What are we doing here?" Aveline asked concerned. Hawke was visibly disturbed and angered when Sabrina told him that name.

"You remember that elven girl Lia?" Hakwe asked.

"Yes, of course. She's not someone I could easily forget." Aveline answered. She remembered that young lady very well. "Lia recently joined the Guard, with you as her inspiration. We rescued her from that serial killer who was preying on elven children, and then you killed him. What was his name? Kelder?"

"That's right. And do you remember who sent us after Kelder in the fist place?"

Aveline's eyes went as wide a dinner plates. Suddenly she realized how the puzzle pieces fit together, and wondered how she could have been so blind. "Son of a bitch!"

Hawke nodded his head in agreement, his face almost as grim as Fenris'. "That's right; Magistrate Vanard, Kelder Vanard's father."

Suddenly so much made sense. If there was ever a reason for any man to bear anyone a grudge, it was a father against his son's killer. Magistrate Vanard hired Hawke to retrieve a criminal who had hidden in a monster infested cave, but failed to mention that the criminal was an insane serial killer of elven children, and that the killer was his own son. Upon learning the truth, Hawke executed Kelder in those caves, knowing that his political father would never carry out to true justice, and to avenge all the lives and families Kelder destroyed thanks to his father's negligence.

"After Kelder was killed and revealed as a serial killer, the scandal ruined his father's political career and he was practically exiled into forced retirement." Aveline recalled.

"That's it? No charges for criminal negligence or being held responsible for letting his insane son kill innocent people?" Anders asked outraged.

Aveline shared Anders' disdain. "The Viscount's Office didn't want to seem more incompetent than it already did, and I was not yet in a position to demand a more severe punishment. After that, he just faded from public eye."

"Well, it seems now he's had ample opportunity to plot his revenge." Fenris added.

"Talk about past actions coming back to bite you in the ass." Varric sighed. "So, how you wanna handle this, Hawke?"

Hawke looked at the guarded manor and took note of the well armed mercenaries guarding it for a moment, accessing his options. "Hmm. You know, I think I'll just go knock on the door."

~XoXoXo~

The heavy stone doors of the manor flung open with a loud crash while the two mercenaries who were supposed to be guarding the entryway were thrown through it and landed inside the manor. Hawke and his company strolled in like they owned the place, with their weapons drawn.

"Andraste's tits!" One of the mercenaries cursed, he and his compatriots moved in to surround the intruders.

There was a quite a significant number of them, all well armed and armored. This might make for some decent exercise.

"What is the meaning of this?!" A familiar, arrogant voice demanded. Hawke looked up to the balcony of the second floor and saw the object of anger, former Magistrate Vanard. The disgraced politician was certainly surprised by this intrusion but he tried to maintain his composure. "Champion? How dare you?! And the Guard-Captain, too? What gives you the right to just barge into my house!? What do you want?"

Hawke answered the question by pointing right back at Vanard with his sword. "We're here for you."

"What gives you the right to finance terrorists to attack unarmed civilians?!" Aveline demanded.

"Tch. Terrorists? Me? I have no idea what you're talking about." Vanard scoffed.

"There's no point in denying it, old man. We have evidence and witnesses that tie you to a mutual friend. Former Guard-Captain Jeven." Hawke revealed, half-bluffing. "And a disgraced social pariah like you won't have the luxury of political bootlicks to save you from the consequences this time."

Vanard scowled furiously, "What are you louts waiting for? Do what I pay you to, and kill them!"

The mercenary captain signaled his men to attack. "Right, let's get this done."

"Wait..." Hawke implored the mercenary captain. "Why don't you take a moment to think and ask yourself if this is really a smart career move you're about to make Do you know what he's done?"

"He's paid us to guard whatever he tells us to guard, and kill whoever he tells us to kill. That is all we need to know." The mercenary captain responded.

"That gold he paid you will be a very small comfort when you're lying dead on the floor in your own blood or being hanged by your entrails on a flagship back to Ferelden, because that's exactly what's going to happen to all of you, if you don't stand down." Hawke warned seriously.

The mercenary captain and his men paused for a moment. All of them had heard how the Champion singlehandedly slaughtered his way through an entire army of Qunari before killing the Arishok with his bare hands. Would he really visit such a fate on them?

"You...you'd really do such a thing, Champion?" The captain asked, obviously nervous.

"Me? No, I don't have the stomach for such violence. But Aedan Cousland? Now that's another matter entirely." The whole building went as quiet and as cold as a tomb in winter when Hawke mentioned that name, as if everyone in this building was afraid of even hearing it. "Your employer paid the men who attacked the Hero of Ferelden's rally, killing and injuring many of our people. What do you think he's going to do to Vanard? What do you think he'll do to you if you help him?"

"Don't listen to this filthy Fereldan! Do as I tell you, and kill them!" Vanard ordered.

The mercenary captain looked up to his employer then back at Hawke, conflicted over what mattered more to him and his men: their reputation or their lives. "You know what? Screw this. If you or the Hero of Ferelden want him, you can have him. He's not paying us enough to put up with this kind of bullshit."

The mercenaries wisely sheathed their weapons and proceeded to make their way out of the manor, despite Vanard's cursing at them.

"You miserable cowards! Come back here! Don't you turn your backs on me, I paid you a bloody fortune!" Vanard spat at them.

"There's not enough gold in Thedas to make us fight off both the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden for a prick like you." The captain shouted back. "You made your own bed, now you can sleep in it."

Varric couldn't help but laugh as he watched all these armed tough guys walked out on their employer. Hawke's mastery of the spoken word was almost as good as his. "Hot damn, Hawke! Using the Hero of Ferelden as a death threat really works wonders. I'll have to remember that."

Vanard gritted his teeth as furious veins pulsed on his head, glowering at the miserable wretches in his house. "Grr! I won't submit to the likes of you! You will never get me to...!"

"Isabella."

"Ugh, thank you." Isabella sighed and threw one of her daggers at Vanard, embedding it deeply in his thigh. None of them really wanted to hear his angry rant.

Vanard collapsed to the ground, hollering in pain and vainly tried to pull the dagger out of his leg, which only caused him further agony. Wasting no time, Aveline grabbed Vanard by his neck and threw him into a chair, but left the dagger stuck in his thigh. Hawke grabbed a chair of his own and sat in front of him, ready to question him.

"Here's how it's going to go, Vanard: you tell me exactly what I want to know, every minute detail, and I promise this will not be any more unpleasant than it needs to be." Hawke dictated sternly. "If you do not cooperate, things will get very ugly for you."

Vanard response to Hawke's negotiating was to spit hatefully on his chestplate. "Flames take you, and the rest of the Fereldan vermin like you! You'll get nothing out of me, do you hear! I will tell you nothing!"

Hawke's face grew dark and grim and an angry fire began to flicker in his eyes. Wasting no more time and words, he grabbed the dagger Isabella left in Vanard's leg and twisted it, very, very hard. An agonized scream trapped itself in Vanard's throat and searing tears burned his eyes while Hawke grinded the blade through the muscle and bone of his leg.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. I'm being pressed for time here, so I want answers, and I want them now!" Hawke demanded furiously, twisting the knife back and forth with every word. "I want names and locations. Where are you holding the other Fereldan refugees? How were you able to turn them into living explosives? Who's Renault? Is he the one you're working for?"

"Him? But I thought he was the one planning all this?" Sebastian asked.

"His money helped finance this, but I think you and I both know that a neophyte like him don't have the knowhow to plan an attack like this, isn't that right, Vanard?"

"It would take someone who actually knows military tactics and the psychology of warfare to plan an attack like this, which is something our dear former magistrate knows nothing of." Hawke reasoned. "But you had direct contact with the one who planned it all, someone who knew to seek you out, and knew that you would give your assistance and wouldn't think twice about financing terrorists, because it suited your agenda."

"I...I have every right to despise you! To take revenge!" Vanard gritted painfully through his teeth. "You murdered my son!"

The back of Hawke's mailed hand smacked the arrogant prick across the face, busting out several of his teeth. "Don't act like you're or your son were victims you selfish shit! How many innocent children did you let your son murder because you were too stupid and proud to get him help?! He had the excuse of being insane, you're a murderer by choice! Now, tell me what I want to know, or you're going to suffer far more than Kelder did."

Vanard laughed vainly through his bloody mouth, spitting his teeth out, mocking Hawke. "You honestly think I'd tell you anything or betray Renault? There's nothing you can do! She will punish all your kind..."

"She? She, who?" Hawke demanded, his curiosity piqued.

Vanard realized his mistake, letting his own words slip. "I have nothing more to say to you! Do you what you will, I won't tell you anything."

"Fine." Hawke socked Vanard in the face, breaking his nose and the rest of his front teeth. "I'm done with you, anyway. We'll just hand you over to Aedan Cousland, I'm sure he can get the answers out of you."

"Trust me, the Hero will take what he wants from this bastard, then give him exactly what he deserves." Anders scoffed in disgust.

Fenris and Aveline grabbed Vanard by his arms and yanked him out of the seat. He began screaming in horrible pain, like someone started burning him with a branding iron.

"Oh, grow a pair, human!" Fenris cursed disdainfully. "There's no point in crying now, otherwise you should have talked."

"We barely even touched you, you little girl." Aveline commented.

Vanard fell to his knees, then on to his back, writhing in agony, his screaming intensifying. He was clawing at his chest like something was crawling inside him. "Eeeigh! This isn't what she promised!"

Anders rushed over to Vanard to see what was wrong with him. A man his age, under this much stress, a heart-attack wasn't unusual. But this didn't seem like a heart-attack or even a stroke, this was something else entirely. The apostate mage ripped Vanard's shirt and revealed the cause of his pain. A massive growth beneath the skin of his chest, the size of a fist with sickly green veins surrounding it, and pulsating like a second heart. And it was getting bigger.

"Sweet Maker!" Aveline gasped in horror.

"Holy shit!" Varric screamed.

"He's a bomb!" Anders yelled.

"Fenhedis'lasa!" Merrill cried out.

Without thinking, or wasting any word, Hawke plunged the curved sickle end of his sword into the unstable tumor growing in Vanard's chest, sticking it straight through his heart, killing both him and the explosive growth in his torso. Everyone held their breath and didn't feel safe to breath again until after the grotesque mass stopped pulsing, and shrunk back into nothing inside Vanard's dead body.

"Andraste's flaming knickers, I think I'm going to be sick." Isabella groaned, a sickly look on her face like she was going to puke.

"Think I'll join you, Rivaini." Varric said, his face looking a little green.

"Just what the fuck was that?" Aveline asked. She wasn't a woman easily disturbed, but what just transpired obviously shocked her.

"I'd say it was the same thing they did to Sean. The same kind of magic they used to turn him into a living bomb." Anders surmised. "Good thinking on how to stop it, Hawke. Entropic magic feeds on the life force of its victims, and by killing the host, you neutralized the bomb."

"Actually, that was a gamble." Hawke admitted. "Either killing him would stop the bomb, or I would have just set it off. It was a fifty/fifty chance."

"They did this to one of their own allies? What kind of evil are we chasing after?" Sebastian asked aghast.

"The kind that don't want any witnesses or loose ends." Hawke answered, observing the now inert black mass in Vanard's chest and the agonized, bug-eyed expression gripping his dead face. "This was an insurance policy, to make sure he didn't say anything, and to destroy any evidence that might be here."

"Yeah? Well, I'd say it worked." Varric, his face back to its normal color. "Now we've lost our only lead to these assholes."

"Hm. Maybe not." Hawke disagreed. "The blast that was supposed to happen was meant to kill Vanard and all of us, but I think it was also meant to destroy any evidence Vanard might have had, to stop anyone else from picking up the trail."

"Oh! So you think that whoever's really behind all this is getting scared, that we're on the right trail." Varric realized, that roguish grin on his face.

"Exactly. Everyone, look around for anything that might give any clue as to what Vanard's been up to." Hawke instructed. "He was a politician, and they are creatures of habit. He's got have a journal, a ledger, maybe even corresponding letters. There has to be something here."

Everyone did as Hawke instructed and began tearing through Vanard's office, his library, even his bedroom, looking for anything that could give them a clue about his accomplices. So far, the weren't finding anything.

"Aha! Over here, Hawke." Isabella called, signaling him to come over to her. There was a portrait of a younger Vanard in his office, obviously made back when he was a magistrate. Isabella took it down and revealed a safe behind it. "Why is it crooked politicians, shady businessmen and wealthy crime lords always hide their dirty deeds behind elaborate self-portraits?"

"Heh. Bartrand had one of those, several actually." Varric chuckled. "Apparently, they're considered a status symbol by those on the opposite side of the law."

"And Vanard didn't even have the professional courtesy to even make it a challenge." Isabella said as she disappointedly and deftly turned the tumblers in the safe and popped it open. She reached inside and handed the contents to Hawke with a wink and a smile. "Here you are, Hawke."

Hawke flipped through the papers, quickly glancing over each of them and dissecting their importance. "Some of these are bank account numbers, fund requisitions. Looks like Vanard had been embezzling money from the city's coffers before he was removed from office."

"Bastard." Aveline cursed. "He let's his murderous son walk free while stealing from the city he's supposed to serve? Maybe it would have been better if we killed them both years ago."

"Well, his corruption may be the key to stopping this conspiracy. Some silver lining there." Hawke commented, still looking through the papers. "Here, look at this; a journal. Might be just what we're looking for."

Hawke's eyes intently scrolled over every word, taking in everything that Vanard had written in his private journal. This went on for about five minutes, until Hawke finally found what he was looking for in this book. It seemed he found something. "According to his journal, Vanard remained bitter and resentful, thinking that he and his son were the victims of 'Fereldan stupidity and interference', that it was my fault that he fell in disgrace."

"How can he think such a thing? All those poor children..." Merrill asked, unable to understand something so gruesome.

"Typical human noble." Fenris hissed under his breath.

"The guilty always place the blame on others." Sebastian stated.

"What else does it say, Hawke?" Anders asked.

Hawke held his thumb between the pages to not lose his place and read from the journal's entries. "Er, let's see. According to this, about a year ago, a tall, hooded figure approached him at his house. Despite being on in his years, he possessed a powerful presence, like every word he spoke was a command that demanded respect. Judging from his accent, he was from the empire. He had a gruesome scar on his face as if someone or something tried to tear that side of face of his skull. He introduced himself as someone who hated the Fereldan filth as much as I do, and offered me a chance to get revenge on the one who ruined my life, and to take justice for his son."

"Think this could be that Renault guy we've been hearing about?" Varric questioned. "He seems to fit the description from what we've been learning about our mystery commander."

"We still don't know anything significant about this man." Aveline reminded.

Hawke scoffed and glared at the journal angrily. "Hmph. This journal doesn't get into a whole lot of specifics, mostly just some selfish rants about how Vanard was finally going to get justice for what happened to him. However, there's a passage here...'After moving the necessary funds, we handed the captured assets over to the Antivan pirate.' I thought it was odd that we were paying the slaver to merely hold the prisoners, but Renault assured me that our mysterious leader had specific designs for these people. Castillon would make sure they were kept safe until it was time for their purpose to be fulfilled."

A sudden wave of outrage and desire for blood swept through Hawke and his companions at the mention of that name.

"Castillon?! I should have known that Antivan bastard would have been tied to all this." Isabella hissed.

"I knew it was a mistake to let that slaving piece of trash live, Hawke." Fenris criticized through his teeth. He should have followed his instincts and killed that slaver when he had the chance.

"Letting such people go free is never a wise decision. How many people did we help hurt by letting him go?" Aveline asked, feeling guilt and anger for not bringing Castillon in, all so Isabella could have her damned ship.

"Well, now we've got a chance to correct that mistake." Hawke stated as fact, staring at the page in his hand. "There's a map here, the location of where the exchange went down. If we hurry, Castillon might still be there, along with all the refugees they kidnapped."

"I know this location! It's a cave out on the Wounded Coast." Isabella declared. "It's a favorite spot for smugglers when they want to hide their loot, a perfect place for hiding slaves."

"Mythal, if we get there in time, maybe we can save them before they do this to them." Merrill said hopefully, looking at Vanard's body with fright.

"We have no time to waste, let's get there now." Fenris said grimly yet eager to spill more slaver blood.

Soon, on the Wounded Coast...

The Wounded Coast had aptly earned it's name from back when the Tevinter Imperium ruled its shores. Sheer cliffs, powerful currents, jagged rocks, many many were sailors have met their ends to these dangers, where the waters become their grave and the crabs their only companions. However, not all dangers along this coast were found merely from the geography of this region. Pirates, smugglers and slavers infested this region like rats in a sewer. There were many caves and hiding places to lay low in and stash their ill-gotten goods. Aveline had done her best to smoke this places out, but there were still many here. Thanks to Vanard's map and Isabella's knowledge of both Castillon and the region, Hawke and his company were able to track down the cavern hat the Antivan slaver was using to hold the Fereldan refugees Vanard and his conspirators had kidnapped.

They made their way to the base's entrance marked on the map. It looked like a small mineshaft, or a crevice amongst the rocks, perfectly hidden from the naked eyes. They probably wouldn't have noticed the entrance at all if it hadn't been for the armed guards standing around it, wearing what must have been Antivan leather armor, judging from the distinct smell. There were only three of them standing guard, so Hawke and the others wasted no time and dispatched them without so much as a word or sound.

One by one, they squeezed into the narrow crevice and followed its path underground. Varric grumbled to himself that he hoped that this path wouldn't somehow lead into the Deep Roads. Fortunately for the residential storyteller, it did not lead to the Deep Roads, where darkspawn and nugs roam. Instead, it led to a vast cavern carved within one of the cliffs of the Wounded Coast and hidden by the jagged rocks. This cave was so big it actually had a port inside it, except it had no ship tied to it. Strange.

"Aww, now there's a sad sight to behold." Isabella sighed with disappointment. "A lovely, well hidden port, where you could stash any kind of loot, and no ship here to enjoy it. It's like seeing a cobra with no venom."

"You don't think your deep fascination with ships isn't a little unhealthy, Rivaini?" Varric pointed out.

"I'm a pirate, Varric. Being obsessed with ships is in the job description." Isabella rebutted. "Besides, don't you think your obsession with your crossbow is unhealthy?"

"Only to other people, never to me." Varric chuckled.

"Instead of admiring inanimate objects, maybe you two want to focus on the task at hand." Aveline reprimanded.

Everyone hid behind the large rocks in the cavern and clung to the shadows, so as to not alert the slavers. There were at least fifty men standing guard, and there, on the other side of the cavern was a large holding area, where many of the missing refugees were being held. They were all shoved into cells smaller than a dog kennel to keep them from making any kind attempt to escape.

"Please, ser. I have two daughters who need me!" A woman begged in her cell.

"Shut up, woman! You'll not be going anywhere or seeing anyone soon." One of the Antivan jailors barked.

"For the love of Andraste, at least let the children go!" Another prisoner begged behind bars. "Have mercy, they don't deserve this."

"I'm afraid this isn't about deserve. In this business, it never is. It's all just business, and you just happened to be the wrong people at the wrong time." A familiar, lilting Antivan accent answered. It was Castillon himself, coming in by a small paddle boat to the port. While he maintained his businessman composure, some of his men didn't look very happy.

"Men, whatever could be the matter? You have the same face my mother had whenever she was about to scold me." Castillon inquired, noticing the displeased looks his men had.

"Captain Castillon, ser, we do not mean to seem discouraging," One of the slaver's answered the employer. "but the loss of the ship to that Rivaini pirate wench, it is a crippling blow to our operations."

A confident chuckle erupted from Castillon's throat and waved off his underling's concerns. "A minor setback, and a necessary sacrifice to keep our activities secret from the authorities of this city."

"Maybe so, but I still standby my earlier suggestion and say we should sell this people quickly and acquire a new ship." The lieutenant insisted.

"And make off with another's merchandise? Tsk, tsk, tsk. An Antivan gentleman never goes back on his word." Castillon chided. "With the money these people are paying us, and what they will pay when the job is done, we'll be able to a buy a whole fleet of ships. Besides, you heard about the attack done in Lowtown this morning, yes? I do not think these are people we want to cheat. When they've come to collect their merchandise and pay us, we will sail back to Antiva City and resume our business as usual."

Hawke had seen and heard enough from the pieces of human filth. He could not allow these dirtbags to succeed in their mission, and had to save these people. First they needed a plan. If it was the Hero handling this, he'd probably just charge all these slavers down and skin them alive with his bare hands, but unfortunately, the Hero was not here. The ten of them could easily wipe out all fifty of these slaving scum, but it was always better to attack with a good plan.

Merrill, Sebastian and Varric would sneak up the nearby outcropping to give them cover fire, while Isabella would sneak in through the shadows and dirk as many of them as she could from behind. Anders, Fenris and Aveline would go with Hawke to take this bastards head on. And the best part was...they had the element of surprise on their side.

Everyone silently got into position, waiting for Hawke's signal to begin the onslaught. This was almost too perfect a situation. Castillon and his men were too busy thinking about the money Venard paid them or whining about losing their ship to even be aware of their presence. Everything was perfect, until...

"Achoo!" Hawke sneezed loudly, giving their presence away to the slavers.

"We've been discovered, kill the intruders!" Castillon ordered viciously.

The pirates came upon Hawke and his comrades like a swarm of rats on rancid food. As skilled as they all were, they were still only ten against fifty, too much to ask of anyone. The pirates found Isabella in the shadows, ganged up on Fenris and Aveline. They took down Anders and Merrill before they could conjure any effective spells and cut down Sebastian's bow. Hawke fought like a caged tiger, but soon the numbers just overwhelmed him.

Castillon knocked Hawke's keyblade out of his hand, and Hawke fell to his knees. The pirates rounded up the Champion's companions and threw them at Castillon's feet. The infamous slaver kicked Hawke in the ribs, chuckling sinisterly and wondering what kind of price he could get for selling the likes of the Champion and his eclectic entourage.

"W-what...koff...what do we do know?" Hawke wheezed weakly, desperately looking for a miracle. And then he saw it. His miracle in the form of a handsome dwarf with a sexy crossbow.

"Get down!" The heroic dwarf shouted to his fallen comrades. He cocked back his mighty crossbow and unleashed hell on the slavers.

The pirates scrambled like scared rats, desperately, vainly trying to avoid the fireballs spewing from Varric's awesome crossbow. Too late did the pirates realize their folly.

"Oh, no! We were such fools to think we could challenge the mighty Varric Tethras!" Castillon wailed lamentingly while his men were dying around him. "We should beg for mercy!"

Varric glared down at the slaving piece of filth, pointed Bianca right at him, and said, "I got your mercy, right here!"

The mighty dwarf shot a grenade at the slaver captain and blew him to a million bits in a ball of fire. And just like that, Hawke and his companions were saved by their beloved dwarf friend.

"Oh, thank the creators for you, Varric." Merrill praised highly.

"You're the manliest dwarf in all the Free Marches. Hell, in all of Thedas!" Isabella sighed.

Hawke was never happier to see anyone in his whole life. "What we would do without you, Varric?"

~XoXoXo~

"Now, now, Hawke, it's all in a days work for your friendly neighborhood storyteller." Varric lauded. This was without a doubt his favorite part of the untold story.

Varric was beaming with pride over what he said he did for the Champion. Never before had anyone done anything so heroic for Hawke. Everyone else, however, was neither impressed nor fooled by the yarn Varric had just got done telling.

"What?" Varric asked casually, finally noticing his audiences displeasure.

"I realize that ninety percent of the stuff coming out of your mouth is bullshit, but that's a step too far, even for you." Rajmael said, utterly unconvinced and unimpressed.

"Really, Varric?" Cassandra deeply disappointed. This was the first time Varric overplayed his role in his own story. "You couldn't fool me the last time you told a false fairytale like this, and you're certainly not fooling anyone now."

"Oh, come on, Seeker. You're completely underestimating my ability to relay the details of an otherwise unknown tale." Varric defended. "I have to embellish a few minor details to make the story that much more interesting."

"You mean to say that the Champion carved through the best of the antaam before killing the Arishok one-on-one, but couldn't handle only fifty slavers? Come on, Varric, we're not as stupid as we look!" Iron Bull criticized.

"You forget, Varric, I was in Kirkwall for as long as the Champion was, and witnessed what he could do firsthand." Cullen reminded, thoroughly unamused

"Even Sera couldn't fall for something as poorly made up as that." Vivienne chided.

"Go eat it, Madame Sissy-Britches!" Sera shot back.

"It was a compliment, Sera, dear. I merely meant to say that you're not as idiotic as you look." Vivienne clarified with her signature faux sincerity.

Sera just blew the enchanter a two-fingered salute and a raspberry.

"Come now, Varric. If you're going to inflate your own ego, at least do a better job of it." Dorian insisted.

"If I wanted to listen to impossible bullshit, I'd go down to the pub and get soused with all the other drunks." Blackwall stated.

"He knows the true story, he just doesn't want to say because he thinks his words can make a better story. He wants to be the hero of the tale." Cole said with his usual cryptic insight being right on the money.

"Oh, jeez, Kid. You didn't need to say that out loud!" Varric groaned.

"Aw, come on, Varric!" Rajmael pleaded anxiously. "We want to hear the story, not some far-fetched embellishment to inflate your already big ego."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to keep my audience riveted by telling unexpected details." Varric huffed.

"Please, don't leave us in suspense, Master Varric. Tell us what happened!" Josephine practically begged.

"You all know what happened! It's obvious what happened. It was the Champion for crying out loud, and he had Aveline and Fenris with him!" Varric emphasized. "Hawke and everybody rolled in there, sprung an ambush, butchered every sorry pirate bastard in there, and it was over in less than five minutes. Like nobody saw that coming. Least what I said was surprising."

"Well, then tell us what happened after that." Cassandra insisted. "And please, make it the truth this time, for once?"

"I'll humbly oblige, Seeker." Varric conceded. "Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. It was over in minutes..."

~XoXoXo~

It was over in mere minutes. Many of these brigands foolishly held to the belief that just because they had a sword and hailed from Antivan meant they were as skilled as Antivan crows. They were not. Couldn't even hold a candle, a matchstick to the Crows. These pirates were skilled raiders and pillagers of defenseless peasants and refugees, but against the most highly trained warriors, rogues and mages in all of Kirkwall, these guys weren't even a warm up to them. Some tried to surrender, but Fenris and Hawke showed them no quarter. Their bodies and severed limbs now littered the floor of the cavern, while the streams of their blood ran into the water. They left the only one who mattered alive, Castillon.

Fenris shoved the slaver captain to his knees in front of Hawke and kept his sword pressed against his neck. The beaten down Antivan criminal looked up at the Champion of Kirkwall, the Guard-Captain, and the former elven slave, and it was painfully obvious they were all royally pissed off. Now there was only one option left to Castillon: try to bargain his way out of this.

"Well, Champion, if you wanted to make another arrangement with, you could have set up an appointment so we could avoid all this...unpleasantness." Castillon said calmly.

Hawke planted his mailed fist square into Castillon's scheming face, crushing his nose and splitting his upper and lower lip. "Shut your mouth and listen!"

Castillon spat the blood out of his mouth and tried to maintain his businessman composure. "Champion, I assure you, this violence is not..." Hawke punched him again, this time knocking a tooth out.

"I said shut up!" Hawke yelled viciously. While Castillon groaned in pain and nursed the spot on his jaw where his missing molar used to be, Hawke tossed the key to the holding cells to Isabella. The pirate queen released the slaves while Anders helped them find the exit. Castillon watched with outrage and heartbreak as his livelihood went running out the backdoor.

"No, don't...!" Castillon tried to protest, but Fenris pressed his sword harders against his neck. Castillin finally gave up, enraged and in defeat. Hrr! What do you want?!"

"Answers." Hawke said, angrily observing the tiny cages this man was holding his countrymen in. "These people, you were holding them for some certain sick individuals who were planning on turning them into walking bombs. I want to know everything you know about them, and I do mean right now."

Castillon smiled slyly, that weasel's nose of his smelled an opportunity. "Ah, so you need me for something? Well, perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement after all."

Hawke's patience finally ran out. "Fenris, would you please?"

"Gladly." Fenris responded with genuine enthusiasm. The elf's lyrium tattoos lit up like white fire on his skin and he plunged his hand into Castillon's chest like a ghost through a wall.

Castillon groaned in agony, his body being violated by the elf's incorporeal hand sifting through his insides. The pain was like having a burning hot iron slithering inside him.

"You feel that, Castillon?" Hawke asked, leaning over the slaver dangerously. "That's my friend's hand grabbing your heart. All he has to do is squeeze it, and your heart pops like a grape. Or maybe he's reach down into your gut and pull your stomach out so we can see what you had for breakfast. Or, and this is the smart decision, you can tell us what you know, and the pain stops. Well? What's it going to be?"

Castillon desperately looked up at Isabella, hoping to catch a fragment of mercy from her. "Isabella, please? For old times' sake?"

"Hmm, nope, sorry, Castillon." Isabella waved off casually. "I'm with Hawke on this. Besides, I'm still pretty pissed about you having that bounty on me for all those years."

"Alright! For Andraste's sake, alright! I'll tell you what you want to know!" Castillon screamed, reaching his breaking point. Hawke nodded to Fenris, and the elf withdrew his hand. Castillon gasped for air like he had been underwater, relived that was over.

"Now, who hired you to hold these people here?" Hawke questioned.

"The...man's name is Renault." Castillon panted. "He came to me nearly half a year ago. Said he knew of me through an acquaintance of his employer. Paid me fifteen-hundred sovereigns just for taking the job. When it came time to start the job, I met with the three men who were running the operation."

"Vanard, who paid you the money. Jeven who was doing the ground work. And this Renault who was overseeing the operation." Hawke surmised.

"Yes. Renault had Jeven post false adds all around Lowtown and Darktown about well paying jobs to the Ferelden refugees, to have them lured to us." Castillon confirmed.

"You sick bastard." Isabella hissed loathingly. "That was the same scheme you used on those Fereldans trying to escape the Blight." She knew that scheme all too well. It was why Castillon had a bounty on her.

"In this enterprise, you use whatever bait works." Castillon said defensively, earning a hateful glare from everyone present.

Isabella sniffed her nose at Castillon "That's not all you know, and don't bother to deny it. I know you too well. You never go into business with someone else without knowing that you're the one who will come out on top. Why are you so afraid to back out of this deal?"

Castillon cringed like he swallowed bitter medicine and cursed Isabella under his breath. "Because it quickly became apparent that these people wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, or tolerate failure. With the amount of money they had, they could easily hire the Antivan Crows to snuff me if they wanted. I don't really know who hired me. They, if it is a 'they', contacted me through intermediaries."

"Vanard, Jeven and this Renault." Aveline concluded.

"Yes."

"How do you know that it's not this Renault who is the actual leader of this operation?" Fenris asked.

"Because Renault made it clear that he, and therefore I, was working for someone. He also made it abundantly clear that this mystery person would not tolerate any mistakes, which was why she hired me to begin with. I am a professional after all." Castillon explained. "The way Renault spoke of this person, it was almost as if he revered them, like they were the greatest thing since Andraste."

"So, whoever this person is, they're probably the most hardcore fanatic of this group, to command the loyalty of someone like this Renault." Aveline theorized.

Hawke looked down at Castillon, a grave seriousness in his eyes that said he wasn't messing around. "One more question, and you'd better tell me the truth. Did your men take the mage who was accompanying the Hero of Ferelden?"

Castillon paused a moment and considered his answer carefully. "Yes, we did."

Castillon's answer earned him a quick and stinging backhand to the face from Hawke. "You stupid, greedy, soulless piece of shit! Why?!"

"Argh! Why do you think!?" Castillon spat back. "We were ordered to! Renault told us to bring the mage to him. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a hold of fresh mage flesh outside the Imperium? The man even provided Templar uniforms for my men to use to make bringing her much easier."

"What do they intend to do with her?"

"I don't know! I just sell the product, I'm not responsible for what the buyers do with it once they've made their purchase." Castillon scoffed.

"Product?" Anders repeated, outraged. "That's a living person, you bastard!"

Hawke looked at the Antivan slaver with such contempt and disgust that he didn't even think this person was an even worthy of being called a human being. "You really are an evil son of a bitch, aren't you? You destroy people's lives just line your pocket, and you don't give a don't think twice about it. The Maker must have been out of his mind when He allowed someone like you to be born."

Castillon said nothing. Just glared back at the Champion with equal contempt.

"Where did you take Petra, the mage you kidnapped?" Hawke finally demanded.

"If I tell you, will you let me live?" Castillon tried to bargain.

"I had no intention of ever killing you, Castillon." Hawke's answer surprised, even outraged all his companion.

Castillon breathed a sigh of relief, and readily answered Hawke's question. "There is an old outpost, just outside the city. It was used during the Fourth Blight, but no one goes there anymore. We were instructed to bring the mage there. Renault was waiting for us when we arrived."

"I know that place. It would be the perfect place for bandits or terrorists to hide." Aveline spoke out.

This was exactly the information Hawke needed. Now they finally had something to work with. "We have a location. With any luck, Renault and Petra will still be there."

"They've had her for hours now. They might have moved already." Sebastian pointed out.

"Then we have no time to lose."

"Wait-wait. What about me?" Castillon selfishly asked. "I did answer your questions after all."

"Throw him one of these cells." Hawke ordered. "See how he likes being caged like an animal."

"Wait, you said you'd let me go!" Castillon protested as Fenris happily obliged Hawke.

"No, I said I had no intention of killing you, I never implied I was going to let you go." Hawke clarified damningly. "After all the pain and suffering you've cause, I wouldn't dream of it. When this is done, I've got something else in mind for you."

Fenris tied up and gagged Castillon like a holiday bird, and then threw him on of the cells, locking it behing him. Castillon cursed and screamed with the gag in his mouth, tried to shout every profanity he knew at the Champion, but was ignored. All he could do now was ponder on what the Champion had planned for him.

Later, On The Outskirts of Kirkwall

They arrived at the location Castillon told them about. This was the biggest lead they had now, hopefully they could find answers, maybe even Petra here. The outpost they were heading to was an old fortress constructed during the Fourth Blight in an attempt to hold back the darkspawn horde that were swarming the Free Marches. Now it was a creaking, rundown ruin with shattered walls and a caved in roof. It was no longer worthy of being called a fortress, but it was still serving a purpose.

"Anyone know anything about this ruin?" Anders asked deeply concerned. "There's something wrong with this place. I can sense faint traces of the Blight in it."

"I think I know why. This fort was built during the Exalted Age, just when the Fourth Blight had begun, in an attempt to hold the darkspawn back." Aveline explained. "It failed, and was overrun by the darkspawn horde. Even after Garahel drove the darkspawn out of the Free Marches, no ruler of Kirkwall ever thought to rebuild it, for fear that darkspawn still dwell in its walls."

"Hmph. I don't sense any darkspawn, only the lingering scent of their presence." Anders stated, his Grey Warden abilities still acute. "I doubt anyone could so much as contract the Blight, let alone run into a Hurlock."

"That makes it the perfect place for a group of terrorists to hide." Hawke concluded. He looked up at the sky, where the two moons were now hanging high. It was about midnight now, and he was still on a time limit. "Time's running out, we need to move now. When we get inside, be ready for anything. Remember, Petra is the goal here. We need to bring her to the Hero, otherwise he's going to go on a fender in Kirkwall."

"Should one of us go and tell the Hero about what we've discovered?" Merrill asked.

"No, too risky." Hawke answered. "We don't know how many people are in there, or where their holding Petra. And Petra's chances of survival are higher if we get to her now."

Everyone got into formation and followed Hawke's lead. As they made their way into the fortress through a ruined wall, it became apparent that this place was as dead as it looked. No sentries, guards, not even a presentable trap to prevent them from walking freely through the ruin. Couldn't keep a stray cow out of this place. Something didn't seem right.

"Help...me..." The voice of a woman whimpered weakly in the darkness.

"You hear that?" Fenris asked, his pointed ears twitching.

"Sounds like someone's in trouble." Aveline observed.

"We need to follow that voice, they might be hurt." Sebastian implored, hastily running ahead.

"Wait!" Hawke called. "We can't just rush ahead it might be a trap."

But it was too late. Sebastian had already run ahead towards the voice.

"Help me...please..." The voice called desperately.

Everyone raced after Sebastian who was running toward the voice. As a devout Andrastian, he could not ignore a plea for help, no matter the danger to himself.

"Please, save me..." The voice called, louder, clearer, and more despairingly.

They came to a clearing in the middle of the ruin, and there they found the source of the voice calling them for help. A young woman strapped to a chair, her head hanging low, and it difficult to tell if she was alive or not.

"That's her! Petra!" Anders shouted. "She looks injured, we need to help her."

"Anders, wait! Something's not right." Hawke shouted to his friend.

"Well, we can't just leave her there." Sebastian stated, moving to join Anders in helping the bound hostage.

Against Hawke's better judgment, he motioned everyone to follow and fan out. Something didn't seem right. Petra, the very person they were looking for, was left out for them, right in the open, like a well wrapped present. This was the perfect opportunity for a trap. But there was nothing and no one. If this was an ambush, it would have been sprung now. If there was a trap, it would have gotten them now. What was going on here?

Anders carefully approached the bound mage. As a fellow mage and a healer, he was morally obligated to make sure she was alright. And the fact that she is a comrade of Aedan's, like he once was, made him all the more determined to help her. Her head was hanging low, and it looked like she was bleeding. Had she been tortured? Was she dead already? Anders carefully moved to inspect Petra's head for any injuries. The instant he got close, her head snapped up and her eyes shot open. Her mouth was gagged and her eyes filled with horror.

"Mmph-hmph!" Petra yelled behind her gag. She was unable to call for help, and too late did they realize that it was a trap.

The ground they stood on came alive with bright green light that encompassed the whole surrounding area. It was some kind of powerful glyph, and before any of them could react, it's magic activated. The glyph leeched the energy out of them. Hawke became so weary he could barely stand, let alone hold his sword. The more he tried to resist, the more the glyph seemed to drain from him. Hawke fell to his knees, powerless as he watched his comrades fall to the ground. He prayed to the Maker that they were merely unconscious and not dead. The last thing Hawke's distorted vision saw before being completely taken in darkness was an ominous figure standing over him, glaring with hateful eyes.

"Welcome, Champion." The ominous figure said damningly, just as Hawke fell into unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, Back in Kirkwall...

Aedan was still at the Kirkwall Chantry. Ever since he gave his ultimatum, he hadn't so much as budged from his spot, except for when Bodahn and Sandal came to talk with him. It was late at night now, and the Hero of Ferelden was still there, with that grim look on his face. He didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even look like he was breathing. All he did was stare up at the window watching the sky change like an emotionless statue.

It was now late at night, and there had still been now word from the Champion about his task to find those responsible for the kidnaping of the Hero's subordinate. Elthina was getting worried. The Hero of Ferelden made it abundantly clear that he had every intention of getting his mage back, even if it meant killing those who were not responsible. It was well known that the Hero was a violent but also honorable, and that he could be reasoned with. However, it was also known that he was no friend of the Chantry, that became apparent when they first met. But as the Grand-Cleric, Elthina knew it was her responsibility to reach out to him, make him understand the error of his judgment.

"Good evening, Lord Cousland." Elthina greeted once more, as politely as she could.

The Fereldan General merely glanced at the Chantry priest, deeply disinterested, and went back to looking up at the sky.

Elthina maintained her patience, but was unwilling to give up before she started. "I understand that you're angry, Lord Cousland. You came here on a mission of peace, and instead saw many of your countrymen senselessly slaughtered. You have a right to be outraged. But do you honestly believe that what you intend to do will resolve anything?"

"Bring the Knight-Commander here, and have her give me an explanation." Aedan demanded. "Have her explain to me why my two squires witnessed Templars making off with Petra just before she went missing. If her explanation is satisfactory, I will not need to stay this course."

Elthina sighed disappointedly. "I've already told you, Lord Cousland, after your initial meeting, Meredith refuses to treat with you."

"Then you, Grand-Cleric, had better order her to treat with me!" Aedan growled.

"As I said before, I have no authority over the Templars. They are our protectors, not our servants." Elthina tried to explain.

"Then we have nothing to talk about." Aedan dismissed, deeply annoyed. "If you're here to try some pitiful attempt to appeal to my better nature and convince me to not fulfill my promise, don't bother. You're wasting your time."

"It is my duty to at least make the attempt." Elthina tried to reason. "Taking your anger out on this city does you nor your people any credit. Will you truly bring more pain where pain already exists?"

"I don't need explain myself. Least of all to the likes of you." The Hero finally spoke. His words were quiet, yet they somehow echoed throughout the Chantry.

The words the Hero spoke actually stung Elthina a little. "Excuse me? And what do you mean by 'someone like me'?"

"An ostentatious pretender, like every other self-important rodent who wears Chantry robes, who has done nothing for this city you claim to serve." Aedan growled in his throat. "You do nothing for this city, even while Templars and mages feud and the people are suffering. From where I stand, you are one of the enemies of this city."

Elthina wasn't sure how to respond to this statement. That might have been the most sincere thing she had ever heard Aedan Cousland say, but it was perhaps also the most insulting. In all her years, Elthina had never met a single soul with as much hatred for the Chantry as this man.

"The Chantry isn't nearly as domineering or totalitarian as you make it out to be, Lord Cousland." Elthina defended adamantly. "I'm sure, deep down, even you must realize that."

"Ha! What a joke!" Aedan laughed mockingly. "Tell that to the elves living in squalor and poverty down in your city's Alienage. See if they agree with your view on the Chantry. Now, why don't you go get some sleep and save your prayers for people who are really going to need it. They way things are going right now, it looks like you're going to have a lot of them when I get to work tomorrow."

Back With Hawke...

Hawke's mind was swimming in blackness, trying vainly to find substance in a sea of blankness. His subconscious was content to simply remain in this comforting state of lethargy, with nothing on his mind except his pleasant memories. His thoughts drifted to his family, all the times they shared and how much he missed them. His mother's kind, caring nature. The spats and competitions he and Carver used to get into over everything, and how they would laugh when it was over. How he missed having Bethany around the house, and how much she seemed to brighten the room when she walked in. Hawke remembered his father and how dearly he missed him. His father was a wise, worldly man, always ready to teach his children everything he knew, whether it was magic, martial arts, or even how to be decent people. Hawke owed everything he was to his father, and thought he was the greatest teacher in the world. Everything he did was to live up to his memory. What would he have done here?

That's when he realized it: what his father would have done. Malcolm Hawke wouldn't just lay there like a bear in hibernation while everything he worked to build was being threatened. His father would have done everything in his power, use everything he knew to stop these bastards, just like when he sealed Corypheus. As Malcolm's son, Hawke could do no less. He summoned every ounce of his willpower, gathered his thoughts into a single goal: wake the fuck up.

Hawke's eyes finally shot open. He was still feeling the aftereffects of whatever spell that glyph cast on him. His head felt heavy, like it was full of lead, and as cold as an ice cube, while his body felt weak and sluggish. Hawke noticed he was tied to a chair, and even worse, he was stripped of his armor and weapons. And he wasn't alone. He saw that all his companions were bound in the same. Tied up to chairs, disarmed and left defenseless.

Hawke tried to ponder the situation. Whoever sprung that trap on them had ample opportunity to kill them, yet they didn't take it. Meant whoever this was, wanted them alive. That meant whoever this was probably wanted to torture them or do something just as vile. Another thing Hawke realized, and gave him cause for more distress, was that he didn't know what time it was. How long were they out of it? Hours? Days?! Had the Hero of Ferelden already fulfilled his promise while they were all adrift in dreamland? There was no time to waste, they had to get out now.

"Everyone, wake up!" Hawke shouted, loud enough for them to hear him but hopefully so he wouldn't gather any attention. One by one, all them began to wake, groggy but otherwise unharmed.

"Ohhgh! What happened?" Anders groaned.

"I feel like I was just trampled by a herd of bronto." Fenris winced.

"Reminds of that time I got slipped a roofie at the Hanged Man and woke up in the Market Area, completely naked." Varric recalled, feeling terribly hungover.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel fine." Isabella chirped.

"Of course you do." Aveline groaned sickly. "Waking up in a strange place, tied up and hung over, is probably normal for you, isn't it?"

"No! Not normal." Isabella admitted defensively. "More like, every now and then, like a special occasion. You know, like your love life."

"Shut up, whore." Aveline huffed through her hangover.

"Anders, Merrill? Can either of you cast a spell that can help us out here?" Varric asked.

"No, I'm afraid not." Anders replied. "It looks like these Dog-Lord Hunters are better equipped than we realized. They got our hands bound in special shackles that the Templars use to neutralize magic. And here I thought only the Templars had access to these bonds."

"Vhenan, do you know what's going on?" Merrill asked.

"Well, what happened was we fell into a trap, and it was a sadly obvious one. One we might have avoided if you two hadn't run ahead like a couple of idiots!" Hawke yelled at Sebastian and Anders, who both shifted shamefully in their chairs.

"I'm sorry. I did try to warn you, but there was nothing I could do." said a voice. It was Petra, still bound but otherwise unharmed.

"Petra? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Petra assured. "A little worse for wear, but other than that..."

"Petra, what happened to you?" Anders asked concernedly.

"Oh, I was so stupid." Petra lamented. "Some Templars approached me, saying that there were people who needed my help, and like an idiot I believed them. Next thing I know, I'm drugged and woke up in this horrid place."

"Do you have any idea what's going on here?"

"I...I know that these are the people behind the attack on Lowtown, I heard them bragging about it, and how they were going to make you and the Hero pay." Petra answered.

"Do you know who's leading them?"

"I don't know for certain. The man who laid the trap for you, I heard the others call him Renault. I think he's Orlesian, judging from his accent. And there's someone else here, someone even Renault listens to. A woman, and a mage, I think. She was the one who laid out that glyph trap you walked on. She was the one calling for help to lure you one it."

"Are there anymore hostages or refugees being held here?"

"No, I don't think so." Petra responded. "Not all that long ago, the guards and everyone else was raving about how they lost all the, ahem, Fereldan garbage they were going to use for their attacks. That's when this woman said that they were going to lay a trap for you."

"Petra, listen to me." Hawke beseeched. "Your commander thinks the Templars are the ones who kidnapped you, and he's promised to raze the Gallows to the ground unless we delivered you to him by sundown today. Will he follow through with that promise?"

The young mage was actually surprised by that bit of news. "Huh. The Hero of Ferelden would actually go through all that trouble just for me? I'm actually kind of flattered. But yes, if he's given his word to do something, he will follow through with that promise. And there won't be much anyone can do anything about it except get out of his way or get stepped on."

"Well, this day just keeps getting better and better." Hawke groaned. "Everyone, listen. Whoever running this show, they want us alive. Otherwise they would have had every chance they needed to kill us."

"But why would they do that?" Sebastian inquired.

"Maybe they want to make us suffer and torture us to death." Fenris growled in his throat. "You saw how much these bastards hate Hawke, and I doubt they like us any better."

"You could say that." Answered an ominous voice. It was the same one Hawke heard before being knocked out. The cell door creaked open and in walked a man of imposing stature and grim of face. He was easily half a foot taller than Hawke and had shoulders like an ox and arms that could shame a blacksmith. It was obvious that this man's life was physically demanding. It was also obvious to Hawke that this man was some sort of warrior, judging from his posture and the way he carried himself. But he wasn't a common soldier, he stood and had the look of authority, and had an air of arrogance that was akin to a nobleman. He wore an old fashioned but well made gambeson, that looked like the heraldry that was once strapped to it was ripped off. Strapped to his hip was an Orlesian styled cavalry sabre, judging from the ornate designs on the guard. It looked it had seen years of use but was well maintained.

But this mystery man was getting on in his years, this man was easily around the same age as Hawke's father. His reddish hair was greying and receding and had deep stress lines on his face. But most distinctively was the horrible scar that marred the right side of his face. It was oddly shaped; a row of deep gashes and divots that formed into an oblong crescent shape on his face. And then there were those eyes. They deep brown, but dead and hollow, like looking at the eyes of a dead man. It was just as Sabrina described. Hawke knew who this man was.

The man looked at them with a smug sense of contempt for each of them. He looked at the Champion like a big game hunter would look after bagging the king of the forest.

"Who...who are you?" Aveline demanded of their captor.

"I know who he is." Hawke answered with animosity. There was a hatred on his face like none of them had ever seen before. "I can't believe I never realized it before now. Renault de Courcillon of the Order of the Chevaliers, and captain of 7th Cavalry Brigade of King Meghren." Hawke spoke every word of that sentence as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

With his identity revealed, Renault saw no need to keep up pretenses, and gave the Champion a bow full of false courtesy. "I see my reputation precedes me. I'm almost flattered."

"How do you know who this man is, Hawke?" Anders inquired.

"Yes, tell them how you know who I am." Renault implored eagerly.

Hawke glared at the smug Orlesian with a hatred no one knew he possessed. "Everyone in eastern Ferelden knows who you are! How you led your men to raze whole villages, butchered whole families who were even suspected of aiding the rebellion. How you let your men to rape women as a reward! Loghain should have butchered you like he did all the other Chevaliers at the Battle of White River!"

"What manner of human are you?" Sebastian asked, deeply appalled.

"I'm the kind of human that makes empires grow strong." Renault responded stoically.

"If this man is such a vile war criminal, why hasn't anyone done anything about him?" Fenris asked.

"Because, like all the Orlesian invaders, Renault ran with his tail between his legs when King Maric and Loghain drove them out of the country. That didn't stop him and his men from burning every house and farm on their way out of Ferelden." Hawke explained with deep hate and anger in his voice. "As if you hadn't already ruined enough lives."

"What better way to train a land of dog-lords than by treating them like dogs?" Renault sneered. "And when we left, I decided to make sure your people would always remember who their betters are."

Hawke smiled sardonically back at the Orlesian war criminal, surprising Renault. "And what do you have to show for it, old man? The way I hear it, your brutality and indecency made you a pariah in the Orlesian Court, even Gaspad de Chalons wanted nothing to do with you. And when Empress Celene took the throne, she all but banished you, and confiscated all your wealth to pay back the war costs you incurred. There's still wanted posters of you in every settlement, and the bounty Loghain put on your head is still up for grabs. Everything you did, all the lives you destroyed, and you got nothing to show for it except a rusty old sword and an ugly facial scar." Hawke laughed mockingly.

"Hey, how'd he get that scar on his face, Hawke?" Varric asked glibly.

"Ha! Story is when he was fleeing Ferelden and stopped to burn another village, a loyal mabari pulled him off his horse and tried to bite his face off!" Hawke laughed. "His men tried to help him, but that mabari killed them while he fled. A reminder of what it mean to piss off us dog-lords."

Renault took exception Hawke's laughter and struck the Champion across the face with his large fist. "Silence, Fereldan filth! Everything I did in your putrid country was for the glory of the Empire, and with the blessings of the Chantry itself!"

"The Chantry would never condone actions so vile and abhorrent!" Sebastian denied.

Renault turned his attention to the naïve choirboy, laughing at his ignorance. "Ha! You seem to forget your history, little prince. It wasn't the first time the Chantry blessed the Orlesian army to conquer a kingdom and people for the glory of the empire. Just like when we destroyed the heathen kingdom of the Dales." Renault's words earned an glare from Merrill, who was now wishing she wasn't bond so she could through a rock fist at his face. "The Blessed Age was named after the twin princes born to Emperor Etienne, one of whom was Emperor Reville. His very birth heralded the Blessed Age, and his conquest of Ferelden was sanctified by the Divine. Our war was a holy quest!"

Your kind needed a firm hand to teach you respect. And instead of being rewarded for my loyal service, that weakling Celene chose to give into the groaning of the Fereldan usurper, and strip me of everything I did for her dynasty. I lost everything because of your wretched, despicable race!"

The Champion hocked in his throat and spat hatefully in Renault's eye. "Fuck you, and fuck your empire! From where I'm sitting, you deserved worse, you Chevalier piece of shit!"

Enraged, Renault drew his sword and pressed to Hawke's neck. He wanted to just slit his insolent throat so badly, but refrained. "No. Killing you here won't be as satisfying. I want you to watch as everything you care about burn."

"Yeah, you're pretty tough when threatening people who are unarmed and tied up, ain't ya?" Varric mocked. "Tell me, 'cause I gotta know, how much of a fight did those refugees put up? Like to see how big you are when you're not hiding behind fanatics and hostages!"

Renault looked over to the dwarf contemptuously, but unfazed by his words. "You'll all get what you deserve, soon enough. For now, our leader has something special planned for you. I have been dreaming of this moment for over forty years. When she came to me, she promised me the vengeance that was denied me. Now I will finally have it."

"She? Who's she?" Hawke demanded.

"It matters little to you, now. You won't live long enough to ever even know her name." Renault answered. He looked over to the door and whistled loudly. About a dozen of his underlings came in through the door, all of them armed with those dwarven steel weapons. They unbound Hawke and the others from their chairs and forcibly led them out of the cell. And for extra measure, they placed their swords against Petra, to make sure no one did anything stupid.

Renault led them out of the cell and through the ruined fort. Hawke was shocked to see just how many of these Dog-Lord Slayers there actually was. There weren't a few, or dozens, but easily over a hundred fanatics holding this fort. Hawke had always known there was a great deal of intolerance in the Free Marches, but he didn't think they were this insane. Down in the courtyard, Hawke could see them training how to use their newly acquired swords, their movement were exactly like Garth did when Hawke fought him.

Renault led them to the upper floors to a ruined balcony, and to Hawke's horror, he saw that the sun was beginning to hang low in the sky. They had been out cold for almost a whole day, and Aedan's deadline was approaching.

Renault sensed Hawke's distress, and smiled at it. "Yes, you know what's going to happen, don't you? Soon, your wretched Hero's deadline will be up, and he'll set your city ablaze trying to find his mage. Our leader predicted this would happen, and wanted you to be here, and watch the smoke rise as your city burns."

The Dog-Lord Slayers chained Hawke and his companions to the wall, forcing them to look forward at the city. Sebastian whispered a prayer under his breath, while Aveline and Fenris resisted the chains. Renault snapped his fingers and his men pressed their swords to Petra's back; that gave them incentive not to resist.

At a nearby table was all their gear, arms and armor, and the dog-lord hunters were pawing through it, seeing what they wanted for themselves. Varric almost had an aneurysm at the sight of them touching Bianca with such disrespect.

"Hey! Get your stinkin', greasy mitts off my Bianca, you nug-humping bastards!" Varric yelled viciously. "Hurt her, and swear you'll regret it!"

One of the Hunters laughed like it was joke and backhanded Varric in the face. "Ooh, I'm so scared of the beardless dwarven runt. Andraste, save me!"

Varric spat the blood from his split lip and looked back up at the duster who struck him. "Oh, I hope you enjoyed that, 'cause I want you to remember this moment."

"I'll think about it every time I go to take a shit." The Hunter laughed.

Renault looked over to the city, eagerly anticipating its impending destruction. Picturing how beautiful the flames and smoke will look against the evening sky. His vindication was so close he could practically taste it. "You know, I never could understand why these Marchers could ever consider you a champion of anything, let alone allow you nobleman's status. In Orlais, an ill-bred bastard son of an apostate and a disgraced noblewoman could never even inherit a name, let alone a title. But here, there are no civilized standards."

"You really want to bring my mother and father into this?" Hawke said threateningly.

"He got to become the Champion by actually earning his title, by strength of will and deed alone." Aveline spoke out, equally defended. "Unlike in Orlais, where they give titles out to every dandy with the right name and never worked a day in their life."

"Ha! The word of a motherless daughter of a disgraced Chevalier is less than meaningless. That your father had to flee to Ferelden of all places only screams of his disgrace." Renault insulted. Aveline was ready to punch this pretentious ponce into a stain on the floor.

"You talk a big game, but I'll guarantee Lady Biceps here has got more balls than you do, you Orlesian scum-sucker!" Isabella spat.

"I'm more than reasonably sure that a pirate whore like you has probably sucked more Orlesian scum than all the bottom feeders in Val Royeaux." Renault balked back. Now both captains really wanted to kill this man. Renault couldn't stifle his smug laughter at the sight of the Champion bound in chains, helpless to watch his city's impending destruction. "You have no idea how much I will enjoy this. I want you to watch as everything you've built, everything you've worked so hard to protect burns and dies. Just like what happened to me. And the best part is, it will be done by the Hands of your own damned Hero."

Hawke snorted at Renault in disgust. "You're laughing now, but I'd like to see how brave you are and actually face the Hero of Ferelden, like a man, instead of hiding behind underling to do your dirty work. Then again, what can you expect from a disgraced Chevalier? You should stick to your strength and pick fights with farmers and peasant with pitchforks. More of a fair fight."

"Silence, turnip!" Renault growled, socking Hawke in the face with his massive fist.

Hawke snapped his head back, and smiled back at the towering Orlesian, like his punch was nothing. "And you hit like a girl."

Renault's face started turning red and that scar on his face began cringing in anger. He wanted to see this dog-lord filth suffer, not tolerate his insolence. It was time to make this Fereldn turnip understand who was the true master here.

"You want to know the only thing I've found is lower than a Fereldan turnip? A damned knife-ear. Especially those heathen knife-ears who hide in the woods living like the savages. Least the rabbits in the city have a purpose, in serving their masters." Renault leered over at Merrill with vile delight in his eyes. "Men, why don't you have the Champion's bed-warmer 'serve' a purpose. I think the Champion deserves a sideshow before the main event, don't you."

Renault's men chuckled evilly, eager to carry out their commander's order. Merill gasped in terror at what they intended, vainly trying to fight from her anti-magic bonds. An unbridled rage erupted inside Hawke as he watched these motherless bastards dare lay their hands on his woman.

"You sons of bitches, don't you dare touch her!" Isabella snarled viciously.

"I'm gonna shoot your balls off and use them to decorate the Hanged Man!" Varric threatened.

"You wanna touch a tattooed elf, try touching me, and see what happens!" Fenrish yelled.

"There won't be a hole in all of Thedas that you bastards will be able to hide you from me!" Aveline screamed.

"RENAULT!" Hawke roared at the top of his lungs, catching everyone's attention.

Renault raised his hand, signaling his men to stop, and looked over to the Champion with that smug look on his face, so sure that the Champion was going to beg for his heathen lover.

"You are all going to die, right fucking now." Hawke seethed murderously. "And there isn't a damned thing you can do about it."

Renault and all his men couldn't help but start laughing like the Champion's threat was a sick joke.

"And how do you imagine that is going to happen, Champion?" Renault mocked. "You have nothing! You are unarmed, surrounded and bound. The only thing you can do now is beg for mercy. Do it now, and I might consider just killing your precious knife-ear instead of letting my men have her."

"That's where you're wrong, you diseased-ridden piece of Orlesian slime." Hawke growled. "One: I killed the Arishok and all the best soldiers the Antaam had to offer, you and your men are nothing compared to that. Two: I've been held by better bonds just fooling around in bed with Isabella." Hawke slipped his hands free of the chains that were holding him like they were nothing. The Hunters, instantly threatened by the now freed and incredibly pissed off Champion. "And three, most importantly: We have Justice on our side. Right, Anders?"

A surge of power erupted in the apostate mage. Strange veins of mana surged across his skin and his eyes burned with an otherworldly light. Justice was awake, and he was angry.

"RAAHHH! Murders! Butchers! Defilers! You will feel Justice's burn!" The displaced Spirit roared. Renault ducked out of the way as Justice unleashed a powerful shockwave at the Hunters, sending them hurdling to the ground below. Then Justice, controlling Anders' body, jumped down to the courtyard where the rest of the terrorists were, and began unleashing his wrath on them. There wasn't much these brigands could do except run and scream, right before they died.

While Justice was laying waste to the bastards down there, the rest of them moved to take care of the bastards up here. And there was not an ounce of mercy in any of them.

Isabella slipped out of her chains as easily as she would a nightshirt and pulled out the knife she kept hidden in her boot. "Aw, look how easy that was." She mocked before jamming her knife right between one of the Hunters' eyes. She nabbed the keys off him and quickly rushed to unlock Sebastian.

Aveline didn't bother waiting for Isabella to get to her. These whoresons threatened her friend and killed innocent people, and no amount of restraints were gonna stop her from mercilessly beating them to death. Aveline tore the chains that were holding her right off the wall, using it as a flail to keep the bastards off of Isabella. She flung the chain around one man's neck and yanked, snapping his vertebrae like dried twig.

Isabella undid Sebastian's lock in heartbeat. The wayward prince quickly dove for his bow and quiver, quickly shooting down the sentries on the nearby towers. His arrows flew true and he shot them down like quail. There was no prayer to be give to these men, no salvation or forgiveness that he could give. It was up to the Maker to judge them now.

In the heat of the shitstorm that was spiraling around them, Varric undid his shackles while no was looking and made his way over to the table where they had their gear. His hands eagerly snatched up Bianca. He kissed his beloved crossbow and held her tenderly to him, silently promising never to let someone touch her that was again. Then he saw the sorry nug-humper who dared to put his hands on Bianca in such a disrespectful manner.

"Hey, asshole! Remember that moment?" Varric called out. He pointed Bianca right at the guy, and aimed low. Very low. Now the Hanged Man had so new decorations.

Fenris' lyrium tattoos blazed like wildfire and he snapped the shackles on his chains right off. The former elven slave didn't even bother going for his sword. He just started killing these walking piles of filth with his bare hands. Fenris growled like a wild animal as he tore into the Hunters' bodies with his bare hands. His lyrium tattoos made it so easy to tear into them, like ripping apart rage dolls. They screamed in fear and agony as his hands plunged into their bodies. They cried out for mercy, and gave them none.

"Cowards! Failures!" Renault denounced, watching the men he trained scramble in fear and butchered by the very people they were trained to kill. "Stand your ground and fight."

One of the men heard Renault's words, but at the sight of his fellows being butchered by their prisoners, his heart faltered. He pulled his sword and did the only thing he could think of: take the knife-eared bitch hostage. He pressed his sword to the elf's neck, trying to keep his hand steady. "All of you, drop your weapons and surrender! I swear to fucking Andraste, I will cut this bitch's throat!"

Merrill angrily scowled at the man threatening her. For the first time in a long time, the shy elf was genuinely angry, and she wasn't nearly as helpless as the shems thought she was. And Isabella also taught her how to slip out of bonds in bed.

"There's one more thing Hawke, failed to mention, shem." The angry Dalish elf seethed, slipping out of her bonds. "I'm a bloodmage."

Merill grabbed the Hunter's blade with her bare hands, intentionally cutting herself on it, and drew on the power of her own blood. A dark red aura swirled around the petite elf, and when the Hunter realized that she was actually a maleficar, he dropped his sword and tried to run. Merrill disappeared into the ground and effortlessly moved through the stone floor like a fish through water and reappeared right in front of the Hunter that assaulted her, cutting him off from the exist.

"P-please, I-I'm sorry! I..." The Slayer vainly pleaded for his life. But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Before he could take another breath, Merill unleashed a powerful Spirit Bolt, fueled by the power of her blood magic. Within a heartbeat, the coward standing before her was reduced to a charred skeleton that disintegrated into ash.

"No! This wasn't supposed to happen!" Renault cursed. He couldn't believe. Months of planning and training, all down the tubes in a manner of minutes.

"Oh, but it is happening, Renault." Hawke said condemningly, picking up his sword. He looked at the old Chevalier like he wasn't even a threat, but some kind of clown. "You're mistake was thinking that we were easy prey, like the farmers and peasants you victimized for so many years. And I've made a living off of killing bastards like you, who think they're some kind of alpha predators because they prey on the weak and defenseless. And you want to know what the funny thing is? You're not the worst thing I've ever faced. You don't even make the top ten. You're just another notch on my belt."

Renault's facial scar cringed grotesquely into his face as he scowled hatefully at the Champion, an angry vein pulsing in his forehead. He finally unsheathed his sabre, ready to kill the object of his hatred himself. "It doesn't matter. You're too late. Even if you do kill me, we still win. This failure will destroy everything you have, you Fereldan son of a whore."

That was the last insult Hawke would take from this vile excuse for a human. No one insults his mother. "You know, I've killed a lot of people over the years, but it was terrible necessity, and not once did I ever enjoy it. But you? Killing you is a service I will be happy to perform." Hawke drew his keyblade and held his shield ready, and never even bothered donning his armor.

While Justice was tearing apart the Hunters that were down below while the rest of Hawke's companions dealt with the reinforcements that were coming in. Hawke and Renault squared off, holding their weapons ready, and their stances firm.

Renault held his sabre in a high guard, with the edge facing outwards. This stance was optimal for getting the maximum cutting power from its strike. Such blows were capable of cutting a man's torso in half. Hawke held the phalanx stance with his shield held in front of him and his sword resting on top of it, pointing straight at the the enemy. This stance was the bread and butter of all infantry foot soldiers. Hawke flashed Renault a mocking grin and discarded his own shield, for he wasn't going to need protection against an opponent like this.

Renault struck first, his sword stricking downwards, trying to cleave the Champion's head in half. Hawke blocked Renard's strike, and used the hook end of his blade to knock Renard's sword away from him.

Renard recovered, holding his stance firm. For twenty years, Renard made his living cutting down rebellious dog-;ords like this whelp here. This fight would be no different. Today, he would finally have vindication for aall the years of shame he had suffered because of these Fereldan mongrels. Renault attacked the Champion with full force, seeking to hack the pretentious turnip down to size. Hawke deftly evaded and blocked every swing of Renault's sword. Compared to a Carta Assassin, the enmey was barely even moving.

The fight went on like this for a short while. Renault swining and stabbing with his sword, trying to kill the Champion in one move, while Hawke dodged and parried every strike like he could predict his opponent's movments. Renault couldn't fathom why this was so difficult. He had slaughtered hundred of Fereldans during the Orlesian Occupation. Why was this once giving him so much trouble?

Hawke deflected another assault; compared to everything he had fought in the years he had spent in Kirkwall, Renault wasn't even amongst the best. He didn't possess the strength or tenacity that ogres and dragons posses. Compared to the Carta asssassins Hawke had killed, Renault wasn't even moving. And Renault certainly could not compare to the discipline and fortitude of even the lowest ranking qunari soldier, let alone hold a candle to the Arishok.

Renault's reputation was one based off of butchery, not warfare. He was too used to killing unarmed peasants and farmers with his underlings to back him up. He rarely fought against other trained warriors, let alone anyone of Hawke's caliber. Hawke was in his prime, fighting various powerful enemies by the score, every day. Rogue Templars, bloodmages, demons, darkspawn, dragons, Carta and couterie gangsters. Every kind of threat from every walk of life that plagued this city, and Hawke has slain all of them to reach the point where he was now. Whereas Renault was an over-the-hill war criminal, his glory days far behind him, and no accomplishments exceot his own crimes. This was no duel, it was an execution.

Hawke finally went on the offensive, decding to end this little fight and get it over with. The Champion struck overhead, Renault blocked it, but Hawke yanked Renault's weapon down with the sickle end of his sword, leaving Renault open. Hawke slammed his fist into Renault's face, breaking his nose and blurring his vision,

Renault stumbled backwards, his nose broken and bleeding, trying to fight back the tears and keep his eyes on his target. He. could not lose now, he simply could not. Decades of scartching a living in this miserable part of the world as a common sellsword, forbidden to even set foot in the empire he served or return to the colony they conquered. All those years of pain, disgrace and defeat was their fault. He would not be denied his only chance for vengeance against their wretched race for everything they did to him.

The Champion didn't wait for another attack, but took the initiative this time. He swung his sword at Renault's neck, aiming to cut his head off. Renault flawlessly parried the strke, and stabbed at Hawke's chest. Hawke barely sidestepped fast enough in time to dodge the tip of the Orlesian saber, and swung around in a wide arc to once again try and take Renault's head. Renault merely stepped back, and the sword didn't even graze his head.

"Hah! You missed, you rutting mongrel!" Renault gloated, finally feeling like he was getting a step over his opponent.

"Did I?" Hawke smiled back smugly.

Renault's forehead began to sting terribly and blood began to flow down onto his face and into his eyes. Hawke actually managed to nick him, and his cut was so fast and clean that it didn't open until a few moments after it had been inflicted. Head wounds were the worst to sustain in battle, because they would bleed profusely and were difficult to close. Cuts to the forehead were especially crippling, because the blood would always fall into the eyes, blinding the warrior, as Renault was now experiencing.

Blinded with his own blood in his eyes, Renault stepped back, keeping his sword up, trying to apply enough pressure to stop the wound on his forehead from bleeding. He could only keep one eye open, and all he could see was that damned dog-lord smiling at him like Renault de Courcillon was some kind of a clown. He could not stand this anymore. He had to kill the Champion, right now.

Renault bellowed furiosly, pouring all his energy and hatred into his attacks. Swinging and stabbing wildly. All he needed was one cut, one good cut to finish the bastard son of an apostate off, and everything he had suffered would have been worth it. Hawke grabbed a hold of Renault's sword hand in his own, stopping his wild assult. He quickly reached the sickle end of his sword behind Renault's left leg, and sliced through his hamstrings.

The disgraced Chevalier cried out in pain, falling to his knee, his leg no longer able to support him. He had fallen down on bended knee to a Fereldan, a greater shame he could not imagine. Blinded and crippled, Renault snarled viciously, furiously swinging his saber in the vain hope he might cut the wretched Fereldan turnip. Hawke quickly kicked Renault's other leg out from underneath him, making him fall flat on his face, then stomped on his sword hand, breaking his fingers with a loud crunch, before kicking his sword away.

Hawke placed his sword up against Renaul't neck, forcing him back up to his knees. The Orlesian exile cursed hatefully under his breath, but would not give the Champion the satisfaction of seeing him beg.

"Not bad for a bastard son of an apostate and a disgraced noblewoman, huh?" Hawke asked, lauding over the defeated war criminal before him.

"Just shut up and finish it, you stinking Fereldan turnip!" Renault spat his last words hatefully.

Hawke lowered the scythed tip of his sword down to Renault's abdomen, pierced his stomach, and yanked so hard, half Renault's intestines were pulled out of his body. Renault screamed in agony, wrapping his arms around his stomach in the hopes of keeping his guts inside his body.

"That was for Merrill." Hawke growled vengefully. He would never forgive anyone who would ever raise their hands to harm Merrill and her honor so heinously. Hawke reared his sword back, readying the coup de gras on this racist pig. "And this...is for Ferelden!"

Hawke swung his keyblade with all his might. The scythed end of his sword curved wonderfully around Renault's head and sliced his skull in half effortlessly. The upper half of his ugly scarred head was sent flying off the balcony while the lower half erupted into a geyser of blood. This murderer was finally dead, and it was about damned time. Hawke never enjoyed killing, but this was something he would remember fondly for the rest of his life.

~XoXoXo~

With Renault dead on the ground, Hawke took a moment to spit on the Orlesian war criminal's bisected head for all the harm he caused, and for daring to assault Merrill. Hawke turned his attention to the remaining Hunters his companions were fighting. When they noticed their commander was dead, his head split in half like a melon, and finally realizing they had no chance, most ran while some threw down their weapons and surrendered, proving once again that terrorists and extremists were always cowards. Some, however, continued to fight, holding on to some vain hope they could still win. The really stupid ones.

"We need to fall back!" One of the remaining Slayers shouted, breaking off the fight. "We need to get our leader out of here!"

"Stop them. We need information." Hawke called out. Merrill used her magic to control the vines of ivy sticking to the forts walls and caught the fleeing cowards like fish in a net. Hawke approached them, his sword still drawn and wet with Renault's blood, ready to get the answers he needed "Your leader, where is she?!"

"Fuck you, Fereldan!" One of them spat.

"Fenris?" Hawke requested. The Tevinter elf got the message, and gladly obliged. He plunged his hand into the disrespectful one's body and crushed his heart inside his chest. Hawke wasn't messing around any more. There was no time for niceties or diplomacy. Time was running out, and the Hero would go on a rampage soon. He had to get these remaining wastes of space to talk now. "That's not the answer I want to hear. If you tell me what I want to know right now, I promise that you'll live. But if you don't tell me, I'm gonna have Fenris here remove your internal organs one by one. And I'll have him start with your testicles."

That bit of incentive instantly got him a reaction. One of them started bawling and was eager to talk. "Alright, alright, I'll talk! Just get your elf away from me!"

Hawke motioned for Fenris to step away and approached the whimpering Hunter. "Where is she?"

The Slayer hesitated for a moment, then quickly realized he was more afraid of the Champion and his homicidal friends than he was of their leader right now. "She...she's here, in the fortress." He pointed up to the tower on the other side of the courtyard, the tallest remaining one in the building. "She's waiting over there. Renault said she wanted the best view in the castle to watch the city burn."

Hawke looked over to that tower, relieved to know she was nearby, and eager to finally meet her.

"Will...will you let me go?" The Hunter asked.

"Maker, no! I won't let you go." Hawke scoffed. "All I said was I wouldn't kill you. Though you probably will hang from the gallows by the end of the week."

"I don't think I'm going to wait even that long, Hawke." Aveline stated angrily.

"Yes! Finish them now! Punish them for the evil they have committed!" Shouted an angry, ethereal voice. Justice strode through the doorway wielding Andres' staff with electricity crackling around it, his eyes burning with magic. He came to carry out his reason for existence.

Hawke placed himself between Justice and his would-be victims, refusing to let him pass. "That's enough, Justice! There is no need to kill them if they are no threat."

"They are guilty! Murderers and villains, all! They must be punished!" Justice shouted.

"And they will be, but not like this!" Hawke shouted back, refusing to step aside for the displaced Fade Spirit. "Their crimes were committed against us, so will be the ones to judge them, mete out their punishment. Your part in this is done, Spirit. Bring back Anders."

Justice stood there, seething angrily at the Hunters, who were pissing in their pants at the sight of what could only be described as an Abomination, just like the Chantry says about mages. Justice closed his eyes, and released control of Anders' physical form. Anders fell to his knees gasping for air, and rubbed his head like he had a terrible migraine. He looked back up at Hawke, bewildered and hoping nothing bad happened. "Did...did I kill anyone?"

"Only the ones who were threat."

"And Merrill? Is she alright?" Anders asked, hoping for a good answer.

"I'm fine, Anders. Thank you." Merrill answered.

Anders breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time ever, Justice took over with no ill results.

"Petra? Are you well enough to move?" Hawke asked.

"I'm ready to get out of this Maker forsaken ruin. Maybe even get a little payback." Petra assured.

That was all the motivation Hawke needed. "Then come on. It's time to end this."

~XoXoXo~

Hawke quickly gathered his gear and raced to that damned tower where this damned mystery leader of the Hunters. They met with some resistance, the more hardcore fanatics of this group, probably acting as bodyguards. He dispatched them with ease, cutting them down with his sword and bashing them with his shield. Hawke had come to far and was too close to be stopped now.

Hawke reached the top floor of the tower and smashed through the door, his sword held in his fist and ready for anything. But what he found there was nothing he thought to expect. Not in the least. He expected to find a terrible threat or a cackling menace, ready to fight to the death, or mock Hawke for his inferiority. Like one of those villains from Varric's books. After everything he had witnessed the Hunters have done, what they were willing to do, he thought this leader of theirs would be a menacing figure, some kind of horrid hag or a witch.

Instead, what he found there in that tower was a woman around his age, maybe a little younger. She sat at a small table next to the window, sipping a glass of wine, looking down at the courtyard with a terrible look of disappointment on her face, but was otherwise unaffected by the turn of events. She wore a beautifully embroided yellow dress, something you might find a noblewoman wearing, and was adorned with jewelry of precious stones and metals. And she was lovely to look at, too. A fair complexion on her heart shaped face, red lips, brown eyes and her mahogany hair was tied in tail with jewelry in it.

There was something seemed oddly familiar about her. The way she looked, how she was made up. Her features, they were...Fereldan?

The mysterious woman glanced over to the Champion as if he were an unwelcomed guest, and she wasn't too keen on giving him a warm welcome. "So, you're here, Champion. I take it Renault is dead?"

"Well, unless you can survive without half your head, I would assume so." Hawke replied, still holding his sword up.

"Too bad. He was rather useful, more so than most of the sorry reprobates I cobbled together." The woman said, casually pouring herself another glass of wine.

"Useful?" Aveline repeated, unable to believe this woman's tone. "The man gave his life for you!"

"That is the reason why soldiers, servants and Chevaliers exist. To die for their masters, with no regard or reward for themselves." The woman waved off nonchalantly. "That he died serving his purpose is no concern to me. It was better than what he was doing for the past few decades."

Hawke couldn't understand. He just tore this whole operation of her down to ruins, killed her best operative. Had ample opportunity to kill her if he wished. How could she just sit there and sip wine like she didn't have a care in the world? "Who are you?"

"Ah, yes, I suppose you must be curious, your mind burning with those little questions you just have to know the answers to." She remarked, blithely tasting her wine. "Well, since you made it this far, I suppose I might as well tell you. Let's start with introductions. My name is Lady Charlotte Esmerelle."

That name rang a bell somewhere in the recesses of Hawke's mind. "Esmerelle? As in...Bann Esmerelle? The ruler of Amaranthine City?"

"Yes, she was my mother. Notice how I said 'was', as in the past tense." Charlotte clarified, taking another sip of her wine.

Hawke's eyes went as wide as carriage wheels and his stomach churned at this revelation. He just couldn't believe it. "I don't believe it. You...you're a Fereldan?"

Charlotte's face cringed as if her wine had turned into vinegar in her mouth when Hawke asked that question. "Pft. If you're referring to the country I happened to be born in, then yes. I am, sadly, a Fereldan."

None of them had ever felt so disgusted or confounded in their whole lives. This wretched woman was the architect of so much pain, and was willing to subjugate others, who had already lost so much, to even more agony. And worst of all, she was willingly doing it to her own countrymen.

"Hmm. I can tell by those stupid looks on your faces that you're all confused." Charlotte said harshly. "I suppose you want to know why?"

"After everything you've done, we demand to know why, you evil bitch!" Aveline shouted, infuriated and doing her best to hold back her twitching sword hand.

"How could you do this to your own people?!" Merrill asked appalled. She couldn't fathom how someone could do something so horrid, especially to their own kind.

"Even the Merchant's Guild's got more compassion than you do, and they'd sell their own mothers out for a lyrium vein!" Varric cursed.

"Why waste time with words? Let's just kill this bitch and be done with it!" Fenris suggested viciously, ready to chop this shem in half in a heartbeat.

"Wait." Hawke urged his increasingly hostile comrades. He wanted to cut this bitch down just as badly as they did, but first he wanted answers. He noticed the staff resting against the wall right behind Charlotte. It was shaped like a blooming rose with a massive white gem in its petals. He also recognized its materials: red steel wrapped in wyvern skin, probably with a lyrium core inside. That's when he realized another massive piece of the puzzle that had alluded him all this time. "You're the mage, aren't you? The one that turned Sean and Vanard into living bombs, and was going to do the same thing to the people Castillon was holding prisoner."

"Most impressive. You're rather sharp for an ill-bred farmboy and son of an apostate. Your reputation as a detective is well earned." Charlotte complimented sarcastically. "Yes. I'm the mage you're looking for, and I was the one behind the attack on the gathering in Lowtown. I must admit, I was rather disappointed with the result. I was hoping it would kill even more, and intended to intensify my spell's magnitude with the refugees, but your actions made that impossible. Oh, well. Makes little difference."

Little difference? Murdering and maiming all those people in Lowtown was of little difference? Wanting to turn more innocent people, women and children alike, into living weapons? Was life so meaningless to the wretched hag?

Hawke sat down on the opposite side of Charlotte's table, resting his sword right in front of her, and ready to chop off her pretty head if she moved wrong. "Alright, now I really want to know. All this death, this pain and misery you've caused. Why?"

Charlotte couldn't help but chuckle at the Champion simple question. Simple yet so demanding. "If you're looking for a complicated reasoning, one where you find something twisted horribly wrong in my psyche, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. This is about revenge. Plain and simple."

"Revenge?" Hawke repeated in disbelief. "Against who? Me?"

"You? Hah! Don't flatter yourself, Champion. No, my vengeance is with the so-called Hero of Ferelden, who else?" Charlotte answered, animosity for that man clear.

"What could Aedan Cousland have possibly done to you that could justify all the pain you've caused?"

"He destroyed my family." The terrorist mage answered hatefully. "Everything that befell us was his fault. My mother, Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine, a wealthy and powerful woman, sent me to Orlais when my magic manifested to learn in private, instead of being sent to the Circle in dog-smelling, backwater Ferelden. I particularly excelled in the School of Entropy."

"So that's how you were able to use the Walking Bomb spell to such a potent degree." Anders concluded.

"Tch. A noble and a mage that thinks she can get away with anything just because she was born into power. It seems the South has more in common with the Imperium than most realize." Fenris hissed.

"My mother was a master of politics. She knew which way the wind was blowing when the Blight began, and gave Arl Howe our family's support when the Civil War started." Charlotte continued, relaxing in her seat and sipping more of her wine. "Arl Howe generously rewarded my mother for her support, and my family was elevated to heights we never even dreamed of. But all of that changed when that wretched Cousland boy showed up and placed that wayward bastard Alistair on the throne." She cringed and seethed hatefully at the mere mention of those names. "He killed Arl Howe, cannibalized him, if the rumors are to be believed. Then everything my family gained was destroyed."

Aveline grunted in disgust at the woman's tale. "If even half of what I've heard about Arl Howe is true, then your family deserved what happened to you!"

"Then I suppose you're father deserved whatever happened to him when he fled Orlais like a coward when his patron died." Charlotte rebutted calmly. "After all, you here so many rumors about Chevaliers, most of them very true."

"Cut the shit, woman." Hawke interjected. "What does any of this have to do with the Hero?"

"My mother did what any loyal subject does for their benefactor, and sought to avenge Howe. Unfortunately, Cousland found out about it, and killed her." Charlotte finally answered, pouring herself another glass. "Made it look like a suicide, that she hanged herself in her bedroom. It fooled everyone else, but she sent a letter to Val Chevin telling me the truth should anything happen to her. And after that, I swore to avenge me dear mother."

"So you gathered allies, and laid out plans to do this." Hawke stated.

"Yes. As you can imagine, a plot like this takes time, but vengeance is a fruit sweetest when it's ripe." Charlotte confirmed. "Waiting for the right time was the hardest, but I finally found my opportunity about half a year ago when I heard that King Alistair was going to attempt to bring his wayward subjects home, and that the illustrious Hero would carry it out. After that, I had everything I would need to avenge my mother."

"So you sought out cohorts to help you carry out this plan of yours. People you knew who would have an axe to grind." Hawke could finally see the dots connecting.

"Yes. Finding people with a grudge, especially against you, was the easy part." Charlotte acknowledged. "I sought out Renault, who was selling his services out as a mercenary, and convinced him to train what was left of the Dog-Lord Slayers so that he could get his vengeance on the country that robbed him of his status. I found Jeven, who was so desperate to get back the respect he lost as Guard-Captain, and had him recruit and lead the Slayers publically. And Vanard, he wanted to watch you suffer for killing his son, so he financed the Slayers with everything they needed. I gave them a cause. Something to hate, and then they were all willing to lay their lives down for me. All their grudges, their vengeance, merely tools to carry out mine."

"You hired Castillon to hold the refugees Jeven captured so you could turn them into living land mines."

"Well, I needed to find fuel for the fire somewhere, and since those people weren't doing anything useful, I decided to give their pathetic lives a little more meaning." Charlotte laughed cruelly.

"Yeah? Well it looks to me like you're the one who wasted your life." Hawke condemned. "All the resources you wasted, the people you used, all for nothing. All the fanatics you hid behind are dead, along with the men you used to operate them. Your vengeance is finished."

Charlotte cackled hysterically, almost spilling her wine. That was the most emotion they had seen from her. "Oh, poor Champion. Such a brilliant man, yet you think so small. You really think that leading a small-minded group of fanatics, capturing a bunch of refugees and turning them into human explosives was my final goal? My revenge? Hardly. Didn't I tell you? My vengeance is against Cousland, not you or this city. Kirkwall and everyone in it are just...collateral damage for grander scheme."

"What are talking about?" Hawke asked, gravely concerned. What else could she be plotting?

"I knew no one could possibly defeat him in battle. So how do you make the most patriotic warrior in Ferelden suffer? By destroying the country he loves." Charlotte's eyes flashed evilly as a wicked grin spread across her pretty face. "Cousland poured his heart and soul into restoring Amaranthine when he led the Arling. Defended the city and it from the darkspawn, even as they laid waste to his own keep. He's even made the city the trading hub of Northern Ferelden. An accomplishment any lord would be proud of. Imagine how much it would crush him to see all that hard work go up in smoke?"

"Cut to the chase, woman. What are you talking about!?" Hawke demanded.

"Why do you think I had Cousland's little mage kidnapped? To give him cause to raze this city to the ground!" Charlotte finally answered. "I'm well aware of the man's touching devotion to his country and his people, and I knew that having one of his underlings kidnapped after witnessing such a brutal attack on his own people would be the straw to break his back. And when he lays waste to this city, my vengeance will come to fruition."

"How is declaring war with Kirkwall going to punish the Hero?! You're insane!" Aveline denounced.

"Economics. Amaranthine is the newest and most prosperous trading city in Ferelden, bringing the country much needed wealth to help them recover from the Blight." Charlotte explained maliciously. "How badly do you think their economy will plummet when Aedan destroys another, much needed, trading city? All the other countries will sever their trading contracts with Amaranthine, and the Free Marches will start backing Ferelden's enemies to make him pay for what he's done. Ferelden will be in such financial ruin, it will never recover. The Hero of Ferelden will have to watch as his own countrymen starve to death in squalor, and the best part is, it will be all his fault."

That's when it all came rushing into Hawke's mind like a title wave. The terrorist attacks, the kidnapping, the Slayers, all of it was one big smokescreen Charlotte used to distract them from the obvious. They had all been suckered by this woman, and feel right into her trap. Ferelden had been struggling to recover from the Blight and Civil war, and it relied heavily on Amaranthine to bring in trade and revenue to support their healing economy. If Aedan went through with his threat, he could set the entire Free Marches against Ferelden; they might even support Orlais in its efforts to regain their lost colony. How could they all have been so stupid?

Hawke wasn't ready to give in. He had come too far and done too much for this city just to watch it go up in smoke because of this insane hag's warped need for vengeance. "It's not going to come to that, you twisted bitch. We've got Petra safe and sound, and you're going to answer to the Hero yourself."

"Ha! Did you really think I would risk everything in a fight with you, Champion? Did you really think I would allow myself to be taken and judged by my mother's killer?" Charlotte laughed, finishing the last of her wine. "You see, while you and I have been chatting, I've been drinking wine laced with nightshade. I'll be dead very soon, but alive just long enough to watch your city burn. Ha, ha, ha!"

Hawke finally had enough of this woman's mouth, and smacked her right out of her seat and threw her bottle of poison out the window. "Anders, can you neutralize the poison?"

"I'm not sure. She's ingested a lot of it, and it's sure to be in her bloodstream by now." The mage healer answered.

"Why are you even bothering to try saving this bitch after everything she's done?" Aveline asked incredulously.

"Is it not our duty as Andrastians to save others, even our enemies?" Sebastian piously suggested.

"Drinking a glass of poison like an Orlesian sycophant, that's too easy for this harridan." Hawke answered. "She's going to answer for what's she's done, even if I have to find a necromancer and bring her back from the dead to do it."

"Hawke, there's not much I can do, even if we were at my clinic." Anders informed grimly. "After ingesting that much nightshade, I'm surprised she's not dead already."

"I can do it." Merrill spoke out, surprising everyone. "I can remove the poison from her blood, but I can't do it alone."

"What do you need from us, Merrill?"

"No! No, I will not let you subject me to that bastard!" Charlotte protested. She tried to reach for her staff, but the poison was already affecting her. Then Isabella kicked her in the face and knocked her out.

"Why don't you make like the cheap prostitute you are, and just lay there and take it." Isabella hissed at Charlotte. "Anyway, what were you saying, Kitten?"

Merrill took a deep breath, trying to pick up her confidence. She had never done anything like this before, but wasn't going to let her lover down. "I need you to open her veins..."

"Whoa, now. How's killing her going to stop her from dying, Daisy?" Varric asked.

"I'm going to use my magic to purge the poison from her blood. Anders, I need you to use your healing magic to keep the process from killing her, and reintroduce her blood back into her body." Merrill explained.

"Blood magic? Hasn't magic caused enough trouble here already?!" Fenris said outraged. "Just let her die, Hawke. No point in wasting time when she deserves it."

"No." Hawke refuted sternly. "Merely killing someone is not always enough. True justice is found when the guilty face their punishment. Merill, do what you have to, while I do what I have to."

Merrill nodded and summoned all her confidence to do this. She grabbed the knife she kept in her pouch and gently cut open the knocked out terrorist's wrists. The Dalish mage used her bloodmagic to suspend Charlotte's blood in the air, capturing it a macabre ball of red that glowed brightly, and purified the poison from it. While Merrill did that, Anders placed his hands over Charlotte's chest, summoning a gentle white corona of healing magic that kept her from dying from blood loss until Merrill streamed it back into her veins.

This was going to be a long process, and Hawke didn't have time to wait. The sun was just about gone from the sky. The deadline was up.

~XoXoXo~

Aedan watch as the last slivers of sunlight receded over the horizon. His deadline was met, and the Champion wasn't even here to try and stop him. Perhaps something had happened. Perhaps the Champion was in danger, and these fanatics were delaying him. It didn't matter. The Sergeant could take care of himself, but Petra was still in danger. All else aside, Aedan was a man of his word.

"Neither the Champion nor Petra are here. The deadline is over. It is time." Aedan declared with finality. He picked up his axe and strode to the door, only for Grand-Cleric Elthina to stand in his way with a determined yet beseeching look on her face.

"Lord Cousland, please, I beg you!" Elthina spoke ardently. "You do not need to do this. Hasn't enough blood been spilt?"

"So long as there are those who would threaten my people, no. Not nearly enough blood has been spilt." Aedan snorted.

"Death only leads to more death, you're only making the cycle of violence continue." Elthina tried to reason.

"Since you've wasted most of your life in the Chantry, you've probably never lived a day in the real world, so let me give you the news flash: that's the world we live in. It's violent and cruel." Aedan rebuked vehemently. "However, since you seem so determined to stop me, I'll give you a choice." Aedan pulled out the hunting knife he had strapped to his belt and offered it to Elthina. "Take my knife and draw my blood. If you do, I'll honor your resolve and do nothing. Or you can get out of my way, and prayer to your hollow Maker."

Elthina looked at the Hero and the knife he held horribly aghast. How could he think to give he such a choice?

"I'm giving you the opportunity to save lives, Grand Cleric. You should take it, and stop me. This is what I have to live with every day. Making choices that determine whether people live or die, and how much blood I'm willing to shed for my people." Aedan urged, that vicious look in his eyes was akin to a hungry wolf's. He rarely ever gave anyone a choice like this, yet Elthina was hesitating. "Are you going to take it? No? Then get the fuck out of my way."

Elthina finally gave in. She couldn't do it. She swore a holy vow to never shed the blood of another person, even those who may deserve punishment. Such actions were the duty of the Maker. She would never shed the blood of another person, no matter the cost. Elthina finally moved aside, and didn't bother looking the Hero in the eye.

Aedan scoffed in disgust, sheathed his knife and began his walk out of the Chantry. "That's why you are a failure to this city, Elthina. You lack even the conviction to save lives. Try explaining that to your god."

With that final word, Aedan left Elthina stunned and afraid for what he was about to do. The Hero smiled sinisterly as he marched out of the Chantry, axe in hand; it had been a long time desire of his to lay waste to the pretentious Templars, and now he could finally make that dream come true. By dawn, there wouldn't be a stone left standing in the Gallows.

~XoXoXo~

The sky had become dark, day had turned into night, and Aedan's time limit was now officially dead. Hawke couldn't stop now, not after he had done so much to prevent this. He had to stop any more violence from happening. While his comrades deal with the vestiges of the Slayers, and saving Charlotte's ungrateful life, Hawke had to get Petra to Aedan, if he was going to stop his onslaught.

"Petra, we need to move, now!" Hawke said ardently. "I'd rather not see Charlotte's insanity pay off."

"I saw a stable down near the courtyard. We can use that to reach the city." Petra informed.

Charlotte eyes fluttered open and laughed weakly at Hawke's efforts. "Y-you're too late, Champion. You'll save no one. I won!"

Charlotte's laughter was cut short when Aveline fist slammed down into her face, knocking her back out, giving Aveline a deep sense of satisfaction. "Oh, that felt good."

"Go, Hawke. We'll handle thing from here." Varric hurried.

Hawke took his friends advice, grabbed Petra by the hand and raced down to the courtyard, looking for the damned stables. By the time they got there, most of the horses had been taken by the Slayers who managed to flee Justice's wrath. There was one horse left, but it was about to be taken by one of the remaining terrorists. Hawke grabbed the man by his leg and yanked him off the horse. Petra kicked him in the face as hard as she could, payback for kidnapping her in the first place.

This mare was old, past her prime, didn't even have a saddle. It was more suited carrying carriages than people, and Hawke wasn't even sure it could charge halfway to the city, let alone carry two people there, but it was all they had. Petra held on tight while Hawke got the horse running. They raced out of the ruins, as fast as this rundown old nag could carry them. Unfortunately, there were still some Slayers littered about who wanted the Champion dead.

"Kill him! Bring him down!" One of the Slayers ordered furiously.

Hawke slashed at the Slayers who tried to stop their escape, severing their heads and limbs at full charge with his keyblade. Hawke saw archers ahead, aiming to shoot them down, and riding on a old horse like this, they were easy targets. "Petra! If you know any offensive spells, now's the time to use them!"

"Got it!" The young mage confirmed. She channeled her magic and extended her arms out. Her hands became ablaze and she shot multiple fireballs at the archers that were targeting them.

They managed to get away from the Slayers, but they were still too far from the city and not moving fast enough. Desperate time call for desperate measures.

"Petra, you know fire spells, right?"

"Yes, of course I do." Petra answered.

"Well, I need you to light this horse's ass on fire!"

"What?!" Petra asked, totally shocked.

"Light this nag's ass on fire! It's only way to make it run fast enough!"

Petra hesitated for a moment. As a healer, she hated causing pain to other living creatures. But they were in a hurry. "Sorry about this, horsey."

The horse in fear and pain with the fire on its flanks, and it's natural instinct to run even faster kicked in. Hawke and Petra had to hold on even tighter not to get bucked off its back. At this rate they'd be in this city soon.

~XoXoXo~

The citizens of Kirkwall screamed in fear and confusion, and got the hell out of the way at the sight of the Champion riding a horse that was on fire and quickly got out of his way while raced through the city to Hightown. By the time they arrived at the Chantry, the horse's heart finally gave out and collapsed and died. Petra was kind enough to at least douse the flames off its smoldering carcass. With a prayer on Hawke's lips, the two of them ran up the stairs to the Chantry, hoping they weren't too late.

Elthina heard the doors of the Chantry crash open, and to her relief, it was the Champion, with the young lady he was tasked with finding. It was like an answer to her prayers. "Champion? Thank the Maker!"

"General Cousland!" Hawke shouted, hoping to the Maker he wasn't too late. He saw the Grand Cleric there, and no one else. "Damn it! Am I too late?!"

"Petra?! You're here. You're safe!" Shouted a familiar voice. It was Amythene, Aedan's elven squire. Along with Bevin, Teagan's young brother-in-law. Petra ran up to her two comrades and hugged them both, so happy to be able to see them again.

"Petra, we saw the Templars take you. What happened?" Bevin asked earnestly.

"There's no time to explain. We need to see the Commander, before he makes a horrible mistake." Petra stressed.

"I'm sorry, but Lord Cousland has already left for the Gallows. If he's not there now, he soon will be." Elthina informed sorrowfully.

Hawke couldn't believe this. "You just let him go? Why didn't you try to stop him?"

"I...the price of stopping him was more than I was willing to pay." Elthina confessed, breathing a sigh of shame.

Hawke looked outside the door at the sky, and aside from the dead carcass of a burned horse at the steps of the Chantry, everything seemed normal. For the moment. "The city's not on fire, yet. I might still be able to catch him."

"We'll go with you." Petra volunteered. "He's doing this for my sake. When he sees me safe, I know he'll listen to reason."

"Then we need to get going now. Before the Hero turns the Gallows into a mass grave."

~XoXoXo~

The night was quiet and the summer air was warm. The mages had all been confined in their quarters for the night, as was protocol now. Ever since Meredith took to becoming the fulltime guardian of Kirkwall, she had taken extra measures to try and stop the rampant abuse of magic that plagued this city. After the brutal death of the Champion's mother, it became apparent extra measures were needed. The Gallows was as still and as quiet as a frozen lake, and some might say it was twice as cold.

Cullen was the officer in charge for the night watch this evening. He was still upset about the attack that happened at that rally yesterday and how so many of his fellow Fereldans were killed and injured. He was truly hoping the Champion and the Guard-Captain would be successful in their hunt for the criminals behind this tragedy. However, no matter his own feelings, Cullen still had a duty to perform. Knight-Commander Meredith gave their sacred duty everything she had, Cullen could do no less.

So far, the night was quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary, but Cullen knew that vigilance was their most important weapon. Then he noticed something that was quite out of the ordinary. The Templar who were supposed to be guarding the ferry port, they were running away from their post. Judging from the looks on their faces, you'd think there were darkspawn after them.

"Knight-Captain Cullen! Close the gate!" One of the guards shouted, his face bloodied and one of his eyes swollen shut.

The two of them made it into the Gallows' courtyard and desperately tried to close the two massive metal doors behind them, to keep whatever was chasing them out.

"What in Andraste's holy name is going on here?!" Cullen demanded, angry and embarrassed to see his fellow Templars scared and crying like frightened children.

"Ser, pleas! We need to shut the gate! He's insane!" One of the guards pleaded desperately, pushing the door with all his might.

Cullen grunted in disgust, but motioned for his men to close the gates. He learned a long time ago that it was always better to be safe than sorry. Once the two massive metal doors slammed shut and their deadbolts fell firmly into their locks, Cullen turned his attention to the two crying Templars.

"Alright, the gate is closed and securely locked, now would you mind telling me what's going on?" Cullen demanded.

"Knight-Captain, he's insane! Completely insane!" One of the men sobbed.

"Who is insane? Damn it all, man. Tell me!" Cullen wanted answers, and wanted them now.

"It...it's a demon, guised as a man!" The other Templar finally screamed.

A loud crash erupted from the sealed gate. Like something had slammed against it. Something big. It pounded again, and again, making the door groan horribly as it was hit. The two Templars who so desperately thought that door would save them instantly pissed in their robes at the realization that there was no escape, for any of them.

"Oh, sweet bleeding Maker! He's here!" One of the cowards wailed.

Cullen and the other Templars watched in horror as the pounding became faster, harder, leaving massive dents in the three foot thick steel doors. What the hell was out there? The Knight-Captain wasn't about to back down in cower in the very heart of the Templars' very seat. Whatever this was, demon, monster or otherwise, he and his men would stand against it, and defeat it.

"Men, form ranks! Stand ready!" Cullen ordered, drawing his sword.

The Templars moved around the door to make battle formations, but it was too late. Whatever it was on the other side smashed the massive gates off their hinges, sending them flying into the courtyard. Every Templar there ducked to the floor to avoid being hit by the massive doors that flew past them. The two cowardly Templars curled into the fetal position and started praying at the sight of their tormentor.

Cullen couldn't believe his eyes. Aedan Cousland just knocked down their front gate with his bare hands. Strapped to the Hero's back was that gruesome axe of his. His eyes were burning red with rage and was surrounded by what could only be described as a demonic aura that made him seem more beast than man. And he looked incredibly pissed off.

"Lord Cousland?" Cullen addressed, completely shocked. Before he could get another word out, several of Cullen's fellow Templars foolishly attacked the Fereldan warlord. "No, stop! Do not engage!"

But it was too late. Aedan didn't even bother using his axe on the three Templar fools who were stupid enough to attack him on their own. Aedan used his Reaver ability of Frightening Appearance and donned the look of a horned demon, scarring the first Templar cower to her knees in a screaming wreck. The second Templar charged Aedan down, swinging his sword madly. Aedan dodged the blade and backhanded him so hard, the Templar was sent flying. Aedan ran up to the third Templar that dared to attack him, grabbed him by the neck, and threw him like a ragdoll into the crowd of other Templars, making them all crash like a set of bowling pins.

Cullen knew all too well that any attempt to fight the Hero was futile and suicidal. He appraoched the rampaging General with his sword sheathed, hoping to reason with him as a fellow Fereldan. "Lord Cousland! Please, there is no need to, hrkh!"

Aedan did not heed the Templars words. The time for talking was over. Aedan grabbed Cullen by the neck and slammed him flat on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Before Cullen even had time to catch his breath, Aedan stomped his foot on the Templar's chest, fracturing his breastplate and several ribs. Cullen almost blacked out from the pain. Aedan genlty glided the dge of his axe blade along Cullen's face, before raising it above his head, ready to fulfill his purpose. "You die first!"

Every Templar in the courtyard watched in horror as Aedan's axe descended down on Cullen, aiming to cleave his skull in half. In his final split seconds of life, Cullen readied to great the Maker.

A thunderous clang echoed throughout the Gallows and the very air was filled with a powerful stillness. The Templars were shocked into silence by what they had just witnessed. The Champion, at the last second, dove between Cullen and the Aedan, and stopped the Hero's deathblow with his keyblade. It took all of Garret's strength and will to stop the axe swing from killing Cullen.

"Aedan, enough of this madness!" Hawke demanded, holding back the strength of Aedan's axe.

Aedan was now more pissed off than ever at the Sergeant's interference. He roared in utter rager, rearing back his axe and swung it with such force and speed it would give normal man whiplash. Hawke was barely able to block the strike in time with his shield, but was sent hurdling back several yards, almost unable to stay on his feet. The last time Hawke was struck like that, he was fighting an ogre. Just how strong was the Hero?

"Commander, please stop! You're making a horrible mistake!" Pleaded a familiar voice.

"Petra?" Aedan red eyes returned to their normal blue and the demonic aura surrounding him finally died at the sight of his comrade, safe and unharmed with Amythene and Bevin beside her. "Petra, are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thanks to the Champion, here." Petra assured.

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Aedan finally calming down. Garret had no idea who would win in a fight between him and the Hero, and truth be told, he never wanted to find out. He looked around and saw the devastation Aedan had just cause, and that it was a genuine miracle that no one was dead. "Lord Cousland, you and I need to talk. Maybe we should go somewhere else?"

Aedan looked around the Gallow's courtyard and saw all the people he had hurt, scarred, and otherwise damaged for life. He was rather satisfied with what he had accomplished in ten minutes. "Well, I'm done here now. Lead the way, Sergeant."

"No one is going anywhere!" An authoritative and angry voice shouted viciously. Knight-Commander Meredith strode out of the Gallows to see what was going on, and was extrememly livid to see that the so-called Hero of Ferelden was behind all this damage. "You! You dare attack the Templars?! This is an assault against everything that is held sacred in Thedas!"

"Not so sacred to me." Aedan scoffed. "Since you wouldn't even meet with me to explain just what the fuck is going on with your Templars in this city, it seemed this was the best way for me to get your attention."

"I am under no obligation to you!" Meredith spat vehemently. "You think you can get away with this sacrilege?! I"ll have you in chains and hanged for this outrage!"

"No, Meredith, you will not." A soft, gentle voice bade. Grand Cleric Elthina made her way through the ruined doors of the Gallows, every Templar there showed her deference and respect. "Hasn't there been enough pain and suffering in the last couple of days?"

"Your Grace, this...this savage is the one responsible for all this pain." Meredith argued. "Am I to just let him walk away after what he has done?"

"Only if you're smart, and value your life." Aedan commented rudely.

Elthina gave the Hero an unappreciated look, but turned her attention back to the Knight-Commander. "Meredith, no one has died, and there is no more need for pain or vengeance. Is it not the will of the Maker that we forgive those who trespass against us? Look to your men, Meredith. Help them, and do not let this matter degenerate any more than it already has."

Meredith grunted a breath of indignant outrage, but ultimately caved in to the Grand Cleric's words. "Yes, Your Grace." Meredith turned on her heel and rigidly walked away, he anger apparent in her every step.

"It looks like the Champion did your job for you, Strannard." Aedan called out to the angry Knight-Commander. "Maybe you should take after his example, then you might actually by an effective leader."

Meredith froze in her steps, her anger about to explode, but didn't look back. She would not give this heinous blasphemer the satisfaction of seeing her reaction.

"I believe you should go now, Lord Cousland." Elthina said sternly. She looked over to the Champion, and gave him a thankful nod. "Thank you, Champion. What you did here stopped a terrible situation from getting worse, and prevented what would have been a terrible tragedy. I hope that you will be able to resolve this matter."

"I already have, Your Grace." Hawke assured. It was time to resolve this matter once and for all.

~XoXoXo~

Varric took a moment to pause his story and took a nice, long drink of cold ale from his mug. While he was enjoying drink, everyone else was staring at Cullen in utter shock and disbelief, much to the Commander's chagrin.

"Cullen, the Hero of Ferelden almost killed you?" Cassandra asked, almost unable to believe this story.

"Consider yourself luck. Most people who have Aedan's axe swung at their face never live to tell about it." Leliana spoke from personal experience on the matter.

"Trust me, it's one of the things I'm thankful for every time I pray." Cullen responded.

"What was it like? Seeing the Hero of Ferelden in action?" Josephine asked earnestly.

"Well, Ambassador, seeing as he was out to kill me and all the Templars surrounding him, I guess you could say it was utterly terrifying." Cullen answered, shuddering at the memory of it.

"You had nightmares for a week. The sight of the Hero's red eyes burning a hole straight into your very being, and his axe descending down on your face." Cole whispered in quiet, creepy manner. "You wonder if he's going to eat you after he kills you, then you wake up screaming for your sister Mia."

Cullen groaned and buried his hands in embarrassment; Cole just revealed one of his closely guarded secrets to everyone he works with. "Thank you, Cole."

"Now, now, Commander, no need to be ashamed." Dorian consoled in that glib tone of his that made it hard to know if he was being sarcastic or not. "Being afraid of murderous, cannibalistic Fereldan warlords is a perfectly natural thing. Why, just hearing the stories about this man is going to give me nightmares."

"Damn, can you imagine what would happen if the Hero and the Champion actually did go at it?" Iron Bull laughed. "I would pay serious money to see that!"

"I'd actually put my money on the Champion." Blackwall stated as if they were actually betting. "The Hero might have inhuman abilities, but the Champion has superior equipment, and he knows how to use them. In my experience, that's almost always the deciding factory."

"You're dreaming, man. I'd put every coin I got on the Hero." Iron Bull contended. "Last I heard, the Champion didn't stop a whole Blight all on his own. Hey, Leliana, you met both these guys, who would you bet on?"

"Oh, I would never take odds on something like that. If the Maker is kind, something like that will never happen. Think of all the collateral damage." Leliana rationalized.

"Despite what she intended, you must credit Charlotte's ingenuity." Vivienne complimented professionally. "She was able to flawlessly predict the Hero's attitude, and turn his strengths into a weapon against him. And her knowledge and use of the political and economic ramifications was flawless, as well. If she had chosen to stay in Orlais, she would have been a formidable player in the Game."

"Pft! Of course you would think what she did was all fine and dandy." Sera scoffed in disgust. "Doesn't matter that she got a whole lot of people hurt, as long as she did a good job of it."

"I won't deny what the woman did was deplorable, but her ingenuity and strategy was impeccable. Any wise or intelligent player would respect such an opponent." Vivienne clarified haughtily.

Sera just blew Vivienne another raspberry and two-fingered salute.

"Yeah, so? Come on, Varric. What happened next?" Rajmael asked earnestly.

Varric gulped down what was left of his ale and let out a deep, satisfying sigh. "Well, what do you expect? It's a story with the Champion and the Hero in it. There's some really happy bits, and then, there's the stuff of nightmares."

~XoXoXo~

Aedan and his subordinates followed Hawke out of the Gallows and went over to the Guardsman's Barracks in the Viscount's Keep. Aedan wanted answers, and now Hawke finally had some to give. Hawke explained to Aedan everything he had learned over the paste thirty-two hours. Rescuing their people from Castillon, his duel with Renault, and the elaborate machinations of Charlotte Esmerelle, daughter of Bann Esmerelle, and how she plotted the ruination of their homeland.

"Hmph. Well, I have to admit, that was one hell of a plan. I have to give her credit, her plan was so elaborate, yet so simple." Aedan confessed, rather impressed, but nonetheless was still disgusted by this woman.

Hawke heard the doors open and was gladdened to his comrades finally arriving, with a certain prisoner in tow. "Well, well. Speak of the she-devil, and she shall appear."

Aveline shoved Charlotte into the building, wearing the same bonds she used on Merrill and Anders. To avoid listening to anymore of her bullshit, they had Charlotte firmly gagged. It would seem the boot was another other foot now.

"Ma vhenan!" Merrill said happily. She was so overjoyed to see Hawke unharmed, she ran into his arms and held him close. "I'm so glad you're alright."

"We should celebrate this moment." Isabella suggested. "Later. In private, behind closed doors. Hmm, and with leashes."

"Oh, please, shut up, whore." Aveline groaned.

Aedan glared at the bound apostate and terrorist the same way he would look at a lamb to slaughter. All this pain and misery caused by a single woman. There was a lot of malice behind that pretty face. "So. This is Bann Esmerelle's little spawn. A conniving, backstabbing bitch, just like her mother. Well, now she can share her mother's fate."

Charlotte glared at the object of her hatred with such intensity that if looks could kill, Aedan would dying a horrible death. She cursed and raged behind her gag, struggled against he bonds in the hopes being able to unleash a spell on him, or at least gouge his eyes out. Aveline knocked Charlotte out again, just to be safe, and probably because it was fun, then had her hauled into the Guards' most secure cell.

"What do you intend to do with her, General?" Aveline asked curiously.

"I will take her back to Ferelden, where she will be tried for her crimes against our people, then summarily hanged." Aedan answered casually. "Then her body will decorate the gates of Amaranthine while the birds feast on her flesh until only her bones remain."

"You won't even give her the decency of proper pyre?" Sebastian asked appalled.

"After the sick shit she has done, everything she would have done? Trust me, this is mercy were her fate left in my hands. Sadly, punishments for the crimes of treason and terrorism are up to the king and his court to mete out." Aedan answered with a hint of regret in his voice. "In the end, I think there's a valuable lesson to be learned from all this."

"Try to think before you act, especially when you're about to commit a slaughter that could lead to an international incident?" Aveline pointed out.

"No. Next time I deal with traitors to my country, I should just kill their whole family." Aedan said, deathly serious. His answer further disturbing Hawke's companions. The only one who didn't seemed put off by his attitude was Anders, but he was used to this guy already. Aedan turned his attention back to Hawke, with a look of gratitude on his face that was foreign to everyone else. "You did a great service for our people, Sergeant. I shall see to it that King Alistair knows what you did for our people, and that you are paid the bounty for Renault's head. If you ever wish to return to Ferelden, you will have friends there. You do our people proud, Sergeant."

Hawke was deeply humbled by the Hero's words. To be praised by his country's greatest living legend was no small thing, even if he was almost killed by him. But there was one last issue to resolve. "General, there's one last thing you should know. Everyone who was involved in this plot was motivated by revenge. Even if it was some sort of twisted logic, or an excuse they used to blame someone else, they still had reasons they could justify. Except one. One of Charlotte's conspirators aided in her lunacy solely for the money she gave him."

A flame of red burned in Aedan's eyes at this information. "Really? And who was that?"

"Someone we both loath, and someone who has been on your shit-list for nearly a decade." Hawke answered.

~XoXoXo~

Hawke brought the Hero of Ferelden to the hidden port where the Ferelden refugees had been so recently kept prisoner. Where Castillon was now being kept prisoner. Hawke unlocked the cell and threw the tied up and gagged Antivan criminal at Aedan's feet.

"Who is this?" Aedan inquired.

"This was the slaving scum that was holding our people prisoner." Hawke informed, ready to let the Hero do what he does best. "During the Blight, he tricked and kidnapped many Fereldans who wanted to flee the Blight, and was going to sell them into slavery up north. Most of them were from the Denerim Alienage, the people Isabella freed."

Aedan's eyes gleamed like a demons and glared down at the Antivan filth in front of him, realizing the severity of the man's crimes. And here he thought he wasn't going to enjoy himself in Kirkwall. "Bevin. Set up a chair for our Antivan friend. Amythene, bring me a funnel. And Petra? Start a fire, and hang an empty pot over it."

Hawke stepped away and stood with his comrades, ready to see the actions that make the Hero so infamous. It was no surprise that some of Hawke's comrades had second thoughts about doing this.

"Hawke, are you sure this is what should be done?" Aveline asked apprehensively. As Guard-Captain, she was uncertain whether or not they should just let this happen, even if the bastard did deserve it."

"Twice now, Castillon has trespassed against our countrymen, Aveline. To him, the lives he helped ruin were nothing more than numbers in his profit margins." Hawke answered with disgust for the man. If he is to be punished for the crimes against our people, it should be done by the hands of our country's fiercest protector."

"But you know what Lord Cousland is going to do to him." Sebastian protested. "If we allow this to happen, how are we any better than Castillon."

"Don't be naïve, Sebastian." Fenris spoke out fiercely. "That man sews misery all for money. Do you think he considers the lives he destroys? He looks at peasants and sees commodities to be sold, like cattle. Parasites like him infest the Imperium, the world is better off without them."

"What do you think Rivaini? I mean, you actually know the guy." Varric inquired curiously. "I mean, sure he had a bounty on your head, and wanted to kill you, but isn't there some pirate code that says to aid your fellow criminals?"

"I think it's better him than me." Isabella answered blithely, not really caring what was about to happen. "One of the hard truths about being a pirate is you have to be ready to face up to the people you piss off if you get caught. Castillon pissed off the wrong people and he got caught. Pirate code says he deserves it."

Both his squires did as their commander ordered. Within moments, Castillon was sitting upright in a chair, while Amythene got a fire going with an empty pot resting over it. "Now, you two take Petra back to the ship, and make sure she gets plenty of rest. I don't want any of you to see this."

"No. I'm not going anywhere." Amethyne refused staunchly. Aedan quirked an eyebrow at his young squire, never expecting insubordination from her. "Commander, I'm from the Denerim Alienage, too. There were people I knew who were sold into slavery. I want to see the justice that was denied them."

"I'm your squire, Commander. Part of that job is knowing the dark, dirty facts of this profession. I'm not going to walk away simply because things get ugly." Bevin said loyally, standing at Amythene's side.

"And what about you, Petra?" Aedan asked.

"This man was willing to stand by and let innocent people be turned into living explosives, not to mention he had his men kidnap me." Petra spoke out. "I may not approve of the violence, but like Bevin said, I'm not going to just walk away when things get ugly."

Aedan nodded to his three comrades, gladdened to have their loyalty, then turned his attention back to the Antivan piece of shit before him. He knelt down low, and removed the gag from his mouth, observing his broken nose and missing teeth. "Hmph. It would seem the Champion already softened you up for me. Don't worry, I can still get my kicks out of you. Do you know who I am?"

"I...I don't b-believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance yet, serrah." Castillon whispered, his voice coarse from his parched throat.

"Tell me, slaver, how much is a Fereldan slave worth?" Aedan asked maliciously.

Castillon swallowed hard, trying to get enough moisture in his mouth to talk. "W-well...f-for a healthy specimen, the premium rate is a hundred sovereigns a head."

"A hundred sovereigns? Not a bad price." Aedan admitted. He turned around and approached the burning hot fire behind him and dropped a hundred sovereigns from his own purse into the scorching hot, empty pot.

Hawke's companions couldn't understand what was going on. Why was the Hero of Ferelden talking shop with the Antivan slaver?

Castillon thought he smelled an opportunity to get out of her with his life. "P-please, serrah. I...am a mere businessman. Surely we can conduct ourselves like civility, and talk business?"

Aedan's eye twitched angrily at what the miserable Antivan's words. "You know, you sound just like another sniveling puke I once met met. A mutual acquaintance that I'm sure you know. A Tevinter named Caladrius, last seen during the Blight in the Denerim Alienage. Sound familiar?"

Castillon's eyes went wide with terror, realizing who was he was talking to. Every slaver's worst nightmare. "N-no, please! Lord Cousland, I...!"

"Shut up!" Aedan shouted viciously, silencing the now terrified slaver. "You stole my countrymen from their homes to sell them to the Imperium like they were cattle. Now, you dared to trespass against my people for a second time. To you, robbing people of their lives is just a part of your job. And something tell s me that you like your job, and that disturbs me. And I don't like being disturbed."

"Please, Lord Coursland, I beg your...gakh!" Castillon gasped in pain and fear, the taste of metal and his own blood filling his mouth.

Aedan jammed his hunting knife into Castillon's already busted mouth. Not far enough to kill him, but more than enough to make him stop talking. "I told you to shut up. You're going to want to move your mouth as little as possible right now, otherwise you're going to hurt yourself even more."

Castillon's face burned, he groaned and gurgled in horrible agony, but he dared not scream lest he add to the damage. Aedan, ever so slowly, sliced through the sides of Castillon's face, cutting his cheeks open. Blood spurted from Castillon's mouth and the new gashes on the side of his face. He cried but could not scream. He no longer even dared to beg for his life.

Aedan wiped the Antivan blood off his knife and sheathed it back in his belt. He sighed in satisfaction of the bloody mess he made out of the slaver's face. "If you have a prayer, Castillon, now's the time to say it." Castillon only whimpered in agony, refusing to open his mouth. "Suit yourself."

Aedan placed his hands on Castillon's upper and lower jaw, and in one swift movement, snapped Castillon's jawbone downward, breaking it like it was a twig and ripping his face wade open.

Castillon screamed an ungodly wail of horrible suffering, his tongue wagging out of his mouth like a dogs, jaw hanging from his head by the skin of his neck, and his face ripped nearly in half. He wasn't dead, not nearly, though he was probably wishing he was. Everyone turned their eyes away from the grotesque in horror and disgust at the display of cruelty they were witnessing. Even Aedan's squires had a hard time watching. They had all heard the stories of Aedan's cruelty, but never imagined they were that true. Sebastian whispered a prayer under his breath, while Isabella rushed outside to go puke. Hawke, however, did not look away. He condemned Castillon to suffer the death he deserved, and was obligated to watch it happen, no matter how much it turned his stomach.

Aedan breathed in deep and sighed in contentment. As if the sound of Castillon screaming was pleasant music, and the smell of his blood was an intoxicating aroma. As a Reaver, Aedan fed off the pain and suffering he inflicted. Now it was time to finish the job.

Aedan grabbed the funnel Amethyne so graciously brought him and shoved it down Castillon's grossly widened mouth and halfway down his throat. The savage Reaver looked down at the pot of gold he left over the fire, and saw that it was now a lovely pot of molten hot liquid metal. Just perfect. Aedan grabbed the burning pot and held it over Castillon's head, as he screamed in terror.

"Here's your hundred sovereign's slaver. Now choke on it!" Aedan cursed and poured the pot's molten hot contents down Castillon's throat. Castillon's shrieking last breath died in his throat as the gold he loved so much rushed down his gullet, burning his innards like paper. The liquid hot gold went straight through his body, and burned down through the chair, leaving a molten hot puddle as Castillon had literally shit gold. Castillon's body fell to the floor with a loud thud, and his golden last meal poured out of his body.

"Oh, Andraste's flaming ass, I'll never be able to look at gold the same way ever again." Varric groaned, trying to keep his lunch down.

Aedan walked up to the Champion with a look of utter gratitude on his face. "Thank you, Sergeant. I needed that. It was very...cathartic." Aedan and his comrades made their way out of the hidden cavern, their job here done. "Please see me before I leave, Sergeant. I would like to have a word with you."

Later that week...

By the end of the week, everything had been resolved. Many of the Fereldans who attended Aedan's rally survived the initial attack, those who were injured were now healing. Those that died would still be taken back across the Amaranthine Ocean, they at least deserved to be laid to rest in their native soil. Meredith and her Templars did well to stay as far away from the Hero and his associates for the duration of their mission, mostly at the Grand-Cleric's behest. Everything was now proceeding as it was supposed to.

As Hawke made his way to the docks where his displaced countrymen were now boarding their ships to return home, he was met with renewed admiration and respect. Everyone had heard how he tracked down the slavers that were kidnapping their people and destroyed the terrorists who were out to wipe out his people with a strange plague that made them into walking bombs. Then how he and the Hero marched on the Gallows to tell the Templars that they would allow no harm to their people. It would seem Varric wasted no time embellishing this latest adventure of theirs.

"Sergeant, over here!" Aedan called to the Champion from his flagship. Hawke made his way over to the Hero, and saluted him with respect, as befits a warrior of his status. "I'm glad you came, Sergeant. I wanted to give you a couple things before I departed. For everything that you did, I would be remised if I didn't reward your efforts."

"I appreciate the sentiment, General, but it's unnecessary." Hawke insisted.

"Yes, it is. And I won't hear otherwise, Sergeant." Aedan balked. "If weren't for you, I would have played Charlotte's game, and she would have won. I am not the kind of man who leaves debts unpaid." Aedan reached into his satchel and pulled out a strange amulet dangling from a leather cord. The face of the amulet was in the shape of a beautiful skyclad woman surrounded with birds around her. The amulet seemed like it was carved from ancient bone and set in dark smooth stone. There was an ancient aura of magic that almost seemed to hum with power.

"What is this?" Hawke asked, holding the amulet in his hands, feeling it hum strongly. "It's magic, but not like anything I've see made by Circle Mages."

"You have a keen eye, Sergeant. That's because it was made by an apostate, if we're to use the Chantry's terms. An Avvar shaman to be exact, with who I am very close. Her name is Siobahn." Aedan explained. "She gave this to me when she and her people returned to the mountains after the Blight. It's called the Heart of the Lady, the Avvar's goddess of death. If you should ever find yourself in battle and are on the verge of dying from your wounds, this amulet will revive you, restore your life, but only once. There is no other amulet like this in all of Thedas."

Hawke couldn't believe the magnitude of this gift the Hero was just giving him. Not only did it posses a power that many warriors and monarch would kill for, but it also held great sentimental value to the Hero. Such a gift was not easily earned, nor was it to be rejected. This was a great honor Hawke could only accept with grace. "Thank you, General. I am honored by this act, though I pray I shall never need it."

"You're a magnificent warrior, Sergeant, though it never hurts to have a backup plan." Aedan affirmed. "And for my last gift: a piece of advice, or a warning depending on how you wish to take it."

Hawke was deeply interested in what Aedan had to say. Though, there was something foreboding about his words. "What do you have to tell me?"

"The greatest threat to this city, it's not Meredith, nor is it the crazy mages that seem to pop up in this city." Aedan spoke darkly, with deep insight. "No. The greatest threat to your city is Grand-Cleric Elthina."

Aedan's advice caught Hawke off guard. There was no way that could be true. "The Grand-Cleric? You can't be serious!"

"I'm dead serious, Sergeant." Aedan confirmed grimly. "That old biddy refused to bring Meredith and her Templars to meet with me, even when I threatened to destroy the Gallows to find Petra. I gave her ample opportunity to stop me, but she didn't take it. Even as we speak, she refuses to take any action, pick a side in this conflict between mages and Templars that is threatening to tear your city apart. I've seen firsthand what happens when well-meaning, weak-willed, indecisive leaders can do, and it's always worse than the true enemy. If they aren't willing to stop the enemy, they are enabling the enemy."

Aedan words echoed in Hawke's mind. True, Elthina had yet to choose who to stand with, the mages or the Templars, and continue to urge patience when others demanded action. But could her indecisiveness and piety really be such a threat to this city? Hawke never saw what the Blight and the Civil War did to Ferelden, but Aedan did. There may have been truth to his words. Garret would need to deeply consider what he said.

"Thank for everything you have done, Sergeant. And good luck in all the battles ahead." Aedan bid. He boarded his ship, weighed anchor, and sailed back down south with the rest of his countrymen back home.

Hawke stood on the docks and watched as the ships sailed away. He wondered if it would not have been better if he had sailed back to Ferelden with them. After all, he had been promised a lordship and rank by the Hero of Ferelden, and there was no doubt that every lord and his neighbor would probably want Hawke at court. But Hawke ultimately pushed the thought out of his mind. Ferelden would always be his homeland, and he would always love it, but Kirkwall was home now. It was were his mother was from, where his parents found love with each other, where Hawke found not one but two loves of his life. Everything he had accomplished was because he was in Kirkwall. And he would never abandon this city, his city, so long as it was in danger. He was the Champion of Kirkwall, and would continue on as it protector.

~XoXoXo~

"And that's it. There isn't anymore. That's the end of my untold chapters." Varric finally concluded.

Josephine, Leliana and even Cassandra gave Varric a round of applause for telling them this story.

"Oh, that was magnificent, Master Varric." Josephine complimented sincerely.

"I wish you had told this story earlier." Cassandra admitted.

"Well, Seeker, you weren't exactly being pleasant company at the time. And besides, a story like this deserves a bigger audience." Varric responded.

"But how come you never mentioned anything from this story Cullen?" Leliana asked curiously.

"Well, considering everything that happened after that, the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry, the Mage-Templar War, the destruction of the Conclave, it seemed rather irrelevant to the events that were actually going on." Cullen answered.

"There's just one thing I'm curious about, Varric." Dorian stated. "How come no one ever heard this tale before? I mean, we've all heard of the Champion's other exploits, but nothing of this. Why is that?"

"Considering that ninety percent of what comes out of Varric's mouth is bullshit, I doubt anyone outside Kirkwall would have believed it, anyway." Cassandra asserted.

"Actually what you should consider is that everyone in the Free Marches was still on edge about the whole mage situation." Varric clarified. "The only ones affected by these events were the Fereldan refugees, and no one gave a crap about them. If it had nothing to do with the mages, it didn't exist."

"Well, I for one rather enjoyed your story, Varric." Rajmael said graciously. "Hearing the tales of the Champions exploits is always a fun pastime, and the fact that the Hero of Ferelden was in it really made it better. Now, I think I'll retire for the night. We still have our duties to perform in the morning."

"Yes, we must still prepare for Leliana's coronation, and choose the right colored gown for the reception." Josephine pointed out.

"Oh, Josie, please! Just leave it be for a day." Leliana pleaded.

"Yeah, you're right, Inquisitor." Varric agreed. "Who knows? Might get some more material for your story tomorrow. That's the best part if being a storyteller: always finding new material for your next story."

Author's Note:

And here you guys go, the last chapter of this Original Arc of mine.

Sorry it took me so long to get this posted. Had a lot to write, and this being the holiday season, I was pretty effing busy this month.

I hope you enjoyed this arc and that it makes up for the fact I never wrote a DA2 fanfic.

Stick around and keep an eye out. Up next is the Trespasser Arc, and since this is me, there's going to be more than a few doozies involved.

And in case it needs to be said: I do not own anything. This story is completely fictional.

Please review.