Notes: When I said Caitlyn was somewhat like Daenerys Targaryen, good and bad, a few chapters back, she won't burn Kirkwall to the ground. That I promise. But the inner power struggle is definitely there, and it's not going to get any easier for her. The question I hope to explore in this story is whether what she and Anders do—not just one thing, but everything they will do—is truly necessary and justified, and if there's ever a time when you have to "break the rules" of traditional politics.
This is the point at which this story turns very sharply AU in terms of plot, and in a big way, not just around the fringes.
Song: "Uprising" by Muse.
Chapter 40: Rise Up and Take the Power Back
"Well," Caitlyn said, boarding the carriage with her mother, Mal, and Anders, "that was an experience. It was nice to see Leliana again, however briefly. I hope you feel better about Divine Justinia now, Anders."
He nodded. They had managed to snag a brief conversation with Leliana, who was at the Montfort hunting party for some reason related to her duties as the Left Hand of the Divine, and sincerity had been present in the former bard's eyes as she reassured them that Justinia was on their side. Leliana had not been able to stay long, but Caitlyn and Anders were glad to have seen her—and she was very happy to have seen Mal again, after so many years.
"He has grown so much!" she exclaimed, admiring the little mage. "He looks so much like both of you!"
Mal looked up at her thoughtfully. "I have met you before," he said. "Before Kirkwall. You knew my Aunt Bethany, didn't you?"
That nearly brought everyone present to tears. To Caitlyn, these memories were still clear, if mercifully no longer raw, but occasionally she forgot that her son's memories of that trauma—and even, a year later, of meeting his father for the first time—were hazy due to his age when these things had happened. She wished that he remembered Bethany better, but in a way, she supposed she was grateful that he would not suffer from the pain as much as she did.
"Yes," Leliana assured Mal. "I knew her." She smiled sadly. "I am so glad that you remember her."
Caitlyn forced her thoughts to return to the present. "And the duke had a pet wyvern! I still can't believe it."
Anders threw an arm around her waist and smiled. "I'm still reliving the moment that an Orlesian duke greeted me by name, respectfully. And imagining the looks on the faces of Irving and Greagoir."
"Get used to it, love," she said with a wry grin. "You're about to be in a position where heads of state across Thedas treat you with respect, as the consort to a fellow head of state."
"It does seem that you have your support sewn up," Leandra agreed. "The donation pool for Kirkwall was impressive, and everyone will know who obtained it. The de Launcets and Ser Marlein will make sure of that."
"I will make sure of that," Caitlyn said emphatically. "I'm not going to be shy about my accomplishments."
Anders glanced back at the box that contained the stuffed alpha wyvern carcass that she had successfully hunted, the first kill of the hunt. That too had made an impression on the nobles, even though he had not wanted her to leave the safety of the fountains and outdoor feast to go on the hunt.
"I'm also going to make sure that the coin goes to those who need it, not to the rich. I am doing this for mages, yes... that was the genesis of the ambition... but I also want to fix things that are wrong in Kirkwall generally."
"You will meet with resistance," he said quietly.
"I know how to deal with resistance." Her gaze hardened. "I've 'met with resistance' for three years."
Anders drew back and looked askance at her. That is dark, he thought. Violence should be what we do if we have no other choice!
She realized what he was thinking and said hurriedly, "I didn't mean that the way it came out! I haven't only done battle against people to get my way, you know. I can do politics too. Violent justice will be necessary sometimes, unfortunately, but only as a last resort."
He smiled again, reassured. "Yes, it's necessary sometimes. I hope it's not necessary very often." The smile faded. "But so long as we are dealing with Meredith and her ilk, it probably will be. I still want to know who conspired with Elthina to betray Dumar in the thwarted Qunari plot, and who made Karl Tranquil." The smile left his face entirely. "Oh yes, there will be times when it's necessary," he muttered in an undertone that only she could hear.
"Anything for our family and the cause," she replied, her voice equally low.
Several days later.
The carriage rolled up to the gates of Kirkwall, and the occupants instantly realized that something was wrong as they dismounted and stepped out to have a look. Although it was the middle of the day, the streets of Hightown were almost deserted, and guards were stationed at almost every corner, glaring at anyone who ventured out.
"I don't like this," Caitlyn murmured. She took Mal's hand and glanced uneasily at Anders and her mother.
"We didn't receive any messages at the chateau," he pointed out. "Whatever it is, it can't be that urgent."
She did not have to wait long to find out, because as soon as Leandra and Mal were inside the house, Varric, Aveline, and—to their great surprise—Merrill walked up to assist with their belongings. Their faces were grim.
"This is it?" Varric said, taking out the stuffed wyvern. "You wanted to keep this, Hawke? I'm surprised."
Caitlyn shrugged. "It seemed offensive to tell the Duke I didn't really care to bring it home as a trophy. He was a pompous buffoon, just as I expected, but I saw no reason to deliberately cause offense. I'll donate it to the Keep."
"That's not really a donation... or it soon won't be," he said with a grin. "All right." They finished unloading the Hawkes' few chests. "You need to know some things first."
"I've gathered that something has happened," she said.
"It's not one specific thing, exactly. Ever since the Qunari have been gone, people... well, it might have been the new Circle reforms, or just the new Grand Cleric's presence itself, but the streets aren't safe anymore."
"When have the streets ever been safe?" she chuckled.
"No, this is different from the usual gang shit," he said. "There have been fights breaking out everywhere. Fights about religion."
Caitlyn glanced down the strangely empty Hightown street, then back to her circle of friends and family. "People supporting us against people supporting Meredith, I take it?" Beside her, Anders drew his breath sharply in ire.
Varric nodded. "Each calling the other heretical and wicked. It's no longer safe for Daisy here to be in the alienage. While she was having a drink with us at the Hanged Man, three Templars, including that one named Alrik that Thrask told you about, visited her house, hoping to arrest her."
"Maker's flaming breath!" she exclaimed, pulling Merrill into a tight hug and quickly releasing her. "I know you could have defended yourself, but it was still lucky that you didn't have to!"
"I am staying at the Hanged Man now," she said. "Varric helped move most of my things... not the eluvian... but I am not sure if I want to... after Feynriel and the demon, and what happened during the Qunari attack..." She trailed off.
Caitlyn understood what she was trying to say, and once again she felt a surge of guilt at having accidentally injured Merrill so badly with blood magic. She closed her eyes briefly and sighed. If what comes of it is that we both give it up, maybe I'll feel better about the "accident" someday, she thought.
She felt bad about something else as well. "You were going to be a 'Keeper' for the alienage," she said sadly.
"The Templars take Keepers away from the alienage elves, don't they?"
That was too true and bitter for comment. Varric quickly broke the awkwardness. "They're acting lawlessly, Hawke," he said, "defying Petrice in every way that they still can. I've heard that just in this past week, since she ordered the reforms, the ones who are close to Meredith have been exceptionally brutal in their arrests of apostates and have even been cruel with children."
Anders tensed, clenching his staff. For a moment, a flash of blue light gleamed behind his eyes. Caitlyn noticed this and took his hand with hers, rubbing his palm to try to calm him. He gave her a grateful look.
"The bigger problem," Aveline put in, "is the present lack of a Viscount or Viscountess. It has led to a power struggle between the Knight-Commander and the Grand Cleric, and these people who fight in the streets, in my opinion, are being egged on—by both of them."
Caitlyn glowered. "We have plans to hold a moot less than a week from now. There will be a Viscountess after that."
"You're very confident," Aveline said, eyes wide. "I'm telling you, Hawke, there is opposition now. Meredith isn't quite as stupid as you and Anders want to believe she is."
"Excuse me," Anders interjected hotly, objecting.
Aveline gazed narrowly at him. "She's a fanatic, but she's not stupid. They are not the same, Anders. You of all people ought to know that—"
"Aveline," Caitlyn said in warning, placing a hand on Anders' shoulder as he snarled in anger, "you're taking out your irritation on him. Cut it out. We have been away. We haven't caused what's happening here."
Aveline paused, then heaved a sigh. "You're right. I'm sorry. What I mean to say is, Meredith is aware of what your next move is going to be, and she has stirred up her supporters and given harsh orders to her favorite Templars as a last-ditch attempt to stop it."
Caitlyn thought for a moment. "Are any of these supporters nobles? Whether we like it or not, they're the only ones whose opinions count at a moot," she added cynically.
Aveline raised her eyebrows at that. "I have not heard of any, no. For whatever reason, a surprisingly high number of Kirkwall nobles have mages in their families and support your ideas."
"That's of a piece with what I have observed. It's just ignorant rabble, then, stuck on the idea of Meredith Stannard as Kirkwall's great hero who saved them from the greed and malice of Threnhold. Well, if it's a hero they want, there are new ones in town now who saved them from being killed or forced to convert to the Qun." She gazed around at her friends, making sure they all understood that she meant to include them as heroes.
"She has continued to say that you and Petrice—and you as well, Anders, I might as well tell you—provoked the Qunari to attack. Since the Knight-Vigilant backed her, she apparently feels empowered to say it without fear of consequence. Her supporters believe it, and as you know better than any of us, Hawke, a lot of these 'nobles' are weak and cowardly. If they thought that they would meet with popular revolt if they made you Viscountess, they might not do it, regardless of what they believe."
"I see," Caitlyn said. She supposed she was not entirely surprised by that, but it was still frustrating. "Nevertheless, this seems like a situation for the law, rather than for political countermoves." She glanced down the street at the guards stationed at each corner. "I guess you beat me to it."
Aveline finally cracked a smile.
Later that day, she wanted to go out and see things for herself, as well as checking on the situation of Lowtown after the cleanup from the Qunari attack had begun. It was best to be seen by the people of Kirkwall, too, she decided, urging her entire family to come with her.
"It looks like the Guard is keeping order successfully in Hightown," she said as they left the posh neighborhood to a respectful salute from the guards by the gates.
"I doubt most of the trouble was occurring in Hightown," Anders pointed out.
As they approached the streets of Lowtown, it became immediately clear that he was correct. Before they even reached the marketplace, they heard a loud, extremely self-righteous male voice making inflammatory statements in the open air—like Petrice did not long ago, Caitlyn thought uncomfortably. But the substance of what was being said this time was very different.
"Mages among us, insinuated into the City Guard—this is a heresy and an attack on the public safety! The Guard is chartered and armed to protect us from criminals, as are the Circles to protect us from mages! To place mages with the Guard is like placing gang leaders among them!"
Anders sucked in his breath sharply at that and glanced at Mal in regret that he would hear this. "That man is wrong," he said quietly to his son. "He is a wicked fool. Don't let his words bother you, Mal."
"Well, I heard that battlemages broke into the Keep to fight through the Qunari," retorted someone. "And we all know what the Champion did. The Good Priest, our Grand Cleric, agrees, and she speaks for the faithful!"
Caitlyn was glad that she had defenders still in the general population, but she could not help but note that they still were calling Petrice "the Good Priest." It appeared that their first loyalties were to her, rather than to Caitlyn. Well, she tried to reassure herself, most of the poor—the native poor, at least—have long looked to the Kirkwall Chantry for all their guidance and stability in life. And Elthina was distant and isolated, so of course they are loyal to a Grand Cleric who they think understands and speaks to them.
"The 'Good Priest,'" scoffed the man. "She doesn't speak for the faithful! The Grand Clerics of Tantervale and Starkhaven, who have been priests much longer, disagree! 'The strong power of the Templar Order in Kirkwall has kept it safe for years,'" he began to read in that arrogant tone. "'If the people knew how many maleficarum and abominations the Templars of Knight-Commander Meredith have slain, what vile magical rites were interrupted in the dead of night, it would freeze the blood in their veins! Woe unto those who forget the debt they owe to the holy soldiers of the Maker.'" He cleared his throat just as Caitlyn and her family came into the clearing, but he did not notice them.
"That doesn't mean every mage is bad! I just bet the Champion and others like her could do that too! And how would the Grand Clerics of Tantervale and Starkhaven know what goes on in Kirkwall?"
"Former Grand Cleric Elthina, falsely accused and unjustly deposed, has shared her knowledge! And as for your Champion—"
Another voice entered the argument, one belonging to a young woman with curly auburn hair. "Fear of magic tore my family apart and reduced it to abject poverty until recently!" she exclaimed. "Don't you say another word!"
The man, who was wearing Templar armor and whose face looked vaguely familiar to Caitlyn, scoffed derisively. "Some relative of yours was a mage, and it made your family sad for them to be taken to a place where they can't hurt normal people, so they stopped trying to do an honest day's work? Is that what you mean? For all you know, magic would have killed every last one of you if the Templars had not come!"
Anders was about to stride forward himself and attack the man, but Caitlyn stayed his hand before he did. This was not yet violent—
In half a second, before the Templar could even think to move, the auburn-haired woman had drawn a shortbow from her back and nocked an arrow, which she pointed directly at his crotch. "I warn you," she snarled through clenched teeth, "one more word, and you'll lose your manhood—such as it is."
Several of the gathered people tittered at this.
The Templar sputtered in outrage. "You dare threaten me?"
"I dare. You have no authority over me. In this place, you're just another zealot raving in the streets!"
"I am Ser Mettin of the Templar Order, a friend of the Knight-Commander, and I do have authority over mage-sympathizing heretics—"
The bowstring snapped, and the arrow thudded at the man's feet, a deliberate warning shot. He jumped and stumbled as the woman nocked another one immediately.
Caitlyn decided that the time had finally come to intervene. Making sure everyone gathered nearby could see her long red hair and mage's staff, and thereby identify who she was, she strode forward, anger in her face. "No," she said to Ser Mettin—I knew I recognized him, she thought in grim satisfaction that this was indeed one of Meredith's two remaining pet zealots. "You do not. And if you try to claim otherwise and act on that, I think I might decide to let the Grand Cleric know."
"You," Mettin seethed as the crowd whispered and chattered excitedly at the fact that Champion Hawke had paid them a visit. Several of them eyed her family in interest and admiration too.
"I know from personal experience what it is to have a family torn apart because of fear of magic," she said, speaking more for the young woman and the gathered crowd than Mettin. "My husband, Warden-Enchanter Anders, whom you see here, was taken and kept from meeting our son until he was three years old. Anders is a Healer, but he didn't get to help me through most of the pregnancy, deliver his own child, or see him as a baby."
There were muttered statements of disapproval in the crowd at this. "A Healer and a blasted good one," someone said in an undertone. "Saved me from the flu a couple of years ago!"
"Obviously, I am a mage myself, as you all know... but 'mage sympathizers' do seem to develop once they meet an innocent mage, or their child or sibling, someone they know and love, shows magic! If you can't understand that, that's a deficiency you have, 'Ser' Mettin."
"Sounds right to me," muttered someone in the crowd.
Mettin glowered again, aware that he had lost his audience and lost any vocal supporters in this particular crowd, before storming away from the marketplace.
The young archer picked up the arrow she had shot to the cobblestones and inspected its barb. Satisfied with the sharpness, she sheathed it in her quiver along with the second one she had taken out and replaced her shortbow on her back. She gazed in consideration at Caitlyn and her family. Finally, once the interest of the rest of the crowd had subsided, she approached them.
"Thank you for that," she said. "I wouldn't have minded shooting him where it would hurt, but I'm sure it would have caused yet another public brawl..."
"You might have been arrested!" Leandra exclaimed. "He doesn't have that authority, but the City Guard does!"
"I'm good at evading people when I need to," she said with a shrug, "but that would have put a crimp in my plans, to be sure." She smiled at them, as if harboring some secret knowledge that they would like.
"Do I know you?" Caitlyn said, frowning in thought.
The young woman smiled again. "No, Champion. But I hope you will in time, all of you." She gave them a rather dramatic and ironic, but quick, bow. "Charade Amell. I'm your cousin."
Leandra let out a cry of disbelief and joy. Mal also burst into a smile at the prospect of new family. Caitlyn's immediate instinct was to disbelieve—it seemed too good to be true that she could have more family after all, especially that her supposed cousin would appear so soon after Caitlyn rose to city-wide prominence—but as Charade continued to talk, that skepticism quickly faded.
"I am in town to look up my father, Gamlen Amell," Charade explained as they all got out of the marketplace and sought privacy in a shady alley.
"I had no idea he had a daughter," Caitlyn said.
"Neither does he, unless my mother wrote to him before she died. But I can prove what I say." She gazed from Caitlyn to Anders and then to Mal, sadness in her face. "I heard what you said to that Templar. It's horrible, and I wish that you hadn't suffered that... but... at least you did get to be a family after all." She sighed. "My mother left him due to... his conduct, apparently. And an obsession of his that he was pursuing to his ruin. She said she never told him that she was expecting me... and she's gone now."
"But you are not," Leandra said in compassionate tones. "You are here, and my brother does indeed live here. You still have the chance to know him—to get to know all of us."
"You know our names, I presume, except maybe his," Caitlyn said, her hand on Mal's shoulder. "He is Malcolm Anders Hawke—named for my father, and of course, for his own. He goes by Mal and will be seven in Wintermarch."
The boy extended a hand courteously to her, which she shook with a smile.
"My younger brother, Carver, is a Grey Warden serving in Ferelden right now," Caitlyn said. A sad sigh escaped her. "And I had a little sister too, Carver's twin. Bethany. She was also a mage." She felt Anders' arm wrap around her waist in support and forced herself to talk about it to Charade. "She died in the Blight."
"I'm sorry," Charade said in low tones. "I wish I could have met her and your father."
"Mother paints. She made portraits of the whole family, when we were all here," she said. "You could see them sometime."
"I would like that." Charade shuffled through her pack, producing a sheaf of papers. "My mother's name was Mara Hartling..."
"Mara?" Leandra said, her face lighting up. "The maid? I remember her. She gave you Gamlen's surname!"
"They were married in secret," Charade replied, her tone a little sharper at Leandra's apparent assumption that that had not been the case. She pulled out a specific document. "So much for my grandfather for sending you out of the house, Aunt Leandra. Neither of their children had the hoity-toity political arranged marriage that they wanted. You and my father both married for love... even if it didn't work out for my parents." She smiled crookedly at Caitlyn. "And the new family tradition continues."
"That it does," Anders said smugly, tightening his grip on her waist.
"This is their certificate of marriage. And the certificate of my naming, though the Chantry will have its own copies..." She withdrew a box from her pack. "And some valuables my mother left to me. Some of them, she said that Father gave to her."
"Let's all go to his house," Leandra said. "We're not far. I should warn you about Gamlen's disposition, though..."
Charade was not visibly put off by her father's grouchy personality, nor the state of disorder or smell of stale alcohol in the house where he lived. Her mother had apparently told her what to expect, and after all, for all of his faults, he was still her father and did accept her when she revealed who she was and gave him the cache of papers and ornaments that her mother had left her. At that point, his face softened and his voice actually grew husky. Caitlyn was stunned; he had never come close to an emotional moment.
"I cared for your mother," he told Charade as he examined an embroidered handkerchief that had been hers. "I let her down... I failed her... but I always cared for her." He sighed. "I wish I could have seen her one last time... but it's my own fault."
Charade took that in, nodding silently. "She understood. She told me your name and where to find you. I don't think she would have done that if she hadn't wanted me to meet you."
Gamlen hung his head miserably, then looked up at her again, deep pain in his lined eyes. "I didn't know she was carrying you or I would have done anything to convince her to stay nearby, so that I could know you. Even if she didn't want to be with me. As it was, when she left, it made me angry and I tried, over the years, to forget." He gazed around the decrepit cabin. "Tried to drown myself in my own vices to forget her. Thought I had. But you never do. You never forget the people you really love, whatever you do to destroy yourself while trying. You just end up destroying yourself and everything good around you. I destroyed my chance to see you as a child, to have a family with the woman I loved." He gazed at Charade. "Maker, you look so much like her."
Caitlyn drew back silently, her eyes widening by the moment with each word he said. She had never thought she had anything in common with her uncle other than blood, but this—this description of the behavior he had engaged in to attempt to forget his lost wife—was horrifyingly reminiscent of the morass of rage and unjustified grudges against Anders that she had held for so long, and which had almost destroyed their renewed relationship, and the family they now had, before they could form too.
Anders observed her movements and realized, in a second, what she was feeling. With no one else watching, he extended a hand to her. She gratefully took it, allowing him to pull her gently back to his side and Mal's.
Gamlen looked up unhappily. "So I guess what I'm saying is, you have the right to know what your old man has truly been all these years, rather than believing a happy myth, but I don't know if you can forgive me for my failure. I understand if you can't. You still have found the rest of your family, even if your father is a sorry disappointment."
Charade stared fiercely at him. "I'm glad to have found the rest of my family," she said, "but none of them are my father. You are. Nothing you just told me is unforgivable. Do you think I didn't know what to expect? I was looking for a man who my mother has always acknowledged she left. I didn't have any happy myths in my head. I just wanted to find you."
Gamlen looked at her in disbelieving, breaking happiness. "Then..."
"I won't say these things don't matter," she said, "because of course they do, but they don't change the fact that I want to get to know you. I want you in my life. You just said that trying to forget people you care about can destroy you. Don't urge me to do it myself, because I won't!"
Gamlen finally managed a laugh as the smile, so strange to Caitlyn's eyes, bloomed on his face.
Leandra invited both of them to dinner at the Hawke house that night and did not take no for an answer. It was an opportunity for Charade and Gamlen to relax and get to know each other, and for Charade to become acquainted with the rest of her surviving family—sans her cousin Carver—and the political situation in Kirkwall in which they had become intimately involved.
"I heard about the deposed Grand Cleric and the Qunari attack," Charade said, "and how you had been named as Champion. I was actually afraid that it would make you disinclined to believe I was telling the truth, that I surfaced as your cousin so soon after that."
"I can't say it didn't cross my mind," Caitlyn admitted, "but only for a moment, before you brought out the papers and items."
"And now you're about to become... something else."
"I hope so," she said quietly. "There have already been some small changes here, as you well know from your 'experience' in Lowtown, but I want to do a lot more. What you said to that Templar about how fear of magic had torn your family apart... it's truer than you knew then. I assume you were talking about how my mother was sent away for marrying an apostate."
Charade nodded. "Mother also told me about how Father's cousin had a mage son taken from her, but from what else she told me, having worked in the Amell estate for years, our grandparents' conduct to your mother seemed like the beginning of the fall."
"It was only the beginning of a lot of things," she said bitterly. "Other than my brother Carver, you truly are in the company of the last remaining members of the family. I said what happened to my branch of the family because I fell in love with a runaway mage... but even that wasn't the worst." She took a deep breath; her mother only knew that Caitlyn's second cousin had died in the Fereldan Circle, and she would tell Charade the horrible details later. It was still a miserable thing to think about. "Our second cousin, who was sent to the Fereldan Circle, died there just before the Blight."
Charade sighed, gazing at her empty plate. "I wish that surprised me."
Caitlyn gazed intensely at Mal, who was seated next to her and was taking this news in soberly. "Anders and I agreed that we will not let our child live in fear of being taken from us when we are perfectly capable of training him, nor will we sit back while this is done to other magical families."
A steely smile of agreement filled Charade's face. Despite Gamlen's insistence that she resembled his late wife, Caitlyn thought there was some resemblance to Bethany as well, and her mother—the female Amell features of a soft oval face and very voluptuous body, of which Caitlyn herself had inherited few. Before her pregnancy had given her lasting curves around her hips, she had looked like a Hawke even more. But Charade definitely had some Amell characteristics, and at this moment, this look of determination on her face was exactly the one that Bethany had sometimes borne. It was sad, but at the same time, it made her glad in a somber way to see that look again.
"I'm going to invite them to live here," Leandra said that evening. "They should not have to live in that decrepit, dirty house when we have so much. And if you do become Viscountess, Caitlyn, it would be a disgrace for your close relations to live like that. They should be here."
Caitlyn saw her point and did not disagree with it. In addition, Charade was more than competent as an archer, and she would feel better about her mother choosing to live here—rather than moving to the Keep—if she had someone in the household who could defend her effectively. Still, there was one thing.
"I think that's a lovely idea," she said guardedly, "but please, don't give him unfettered access to the fortune or let him spend on credit in the family name. He burned through it all once."
"He said he was going to shape up and do better for Charade's sake," Leandra protested mildly. Indeed, Gamlen had announced his resolution at the end of dinner.
"And I hope that he can stick to it," Caitlyn said, "but the truth is that we don't yet know that he can... without help, at least. Don't let him have the temptation of immense coin again. Give him a personal allowance, to spend as he sees fit, but make sure he knows he will not be able to spend any more than that amount, at the moment or in the future. I think Charade will support you."
"I do too," Leandra agreed. "I like her. She seems very sensible and wise in the ways of the world, but it doesn't seem to have embittered her."
That was a very apt way of describing her cousin, Caitlyn thought. "I agree, and I like her too. She is certainly less bitter than I was a few years ago—and she didn't get to see her parents reconcile." She rose from her chair and gave her mother an encouraging smile. "I'm glad that you won't be here by yourself. You could have moved to the Keep, but I understand why you wanted to live here. I'm glad they will be with you."
The day of the Moot of High Nobles.
Caitlyn was anxious. It was to be expected, as this was the day that would decide her success or failure, but she knew it was imperative to try to subdue her own anxiety before the moot began. It was to be held in the outer Keep in one of the rooms that had been cleaned up and had not been so badly damaged by the Qunari that it had to be stripped bare.
Caitlyn had already resolved on a few things. She did not want to make assumptions and count herself Viscountess before she actually was, but she had not heard even a whisper of a rival candidate being backed by anyone. The debate today would likely be about whether to turn Kirkwall's governance over to a mage, married to another mage, who had the blood of mages on both sides of her family. She was mostly prepared for that, and she tried to calm herself by thinking of that fact.
Then the fun part begins, she thought darkly. Maybe that is what I am truly nervous about—not the fear that I'll fail today, but that I will succeed.
Still, whatever came later, it was likely that this would unfold as she hoped, and in preparation for that, she had made some plans for the Keep. Caitlyn had chosen her private quarters, and they were going to have all of their readily portable possessions, to make the place as homelike as possible. One thing that the Keep's steward would have to get used to was the fact that her spouse would not have a separate bedroom. She and Anders didn't care a bit that it was usual for heads of state. They had chosen each other for love and had not slept apart for any extended period of time since they had gotten back together three years ago. Frequent intimacy, even just cuddling, was good for their relationship, and they had no intention of cutting back due to some absurd custom probably intended to keep spouses in loveless arranged marriages from utterly hating each other.
Also, Anders had planned to consult with Petrice and arrange for healing to be available in the outer Keep as well as the Chantry, since it seemed—to his mild, nostalgic regret—that he would not be performing services in the Darktown clinic much longer. He planned to supervise the Circle Healers. And they had found a vast stone hall, apparently unused for ages and pockmarked with spell damage from when Kirkwall was Emerius, for Mal to practice.
However, before any of this could begin to happen, she had to convince the moot today and achieve her goal.
Caitlyn had taken care of her appearance, but she had never been especially vain or overly interested in fashion. It had been irrelevant for a farm girl in Lothering and a Lowtown vigilante, but even after moving to Hightown, old habits had died hard, and she had deemed it sufficient to wear clothes made of rich cloth. But for today, she knew that her personal appearance would matter.
For a mage, especially a longtime apostate, she knew it was a fine line to walk between appearing strong yet not triggering anyone's fear of magisters. She had ordered a gown made in dramatic colors—red and black, with gold and silver trim—but it was made in the usual Marcher noblewomen's fashion, with no hints of Tevinter style, not even feathers, much as she wished she could wear them to match with Anders. She had been unsure at first about wearing red, with her vividly reddish-orange hair, but it turned out that her hair was so vivid in shade that there was no clash. Instead, her appearance was evocative of simmering fire—fitting, she thought. Her bare-shoulder underdress was ruby-red silk, and a high-necked sleeveless overdress made of shiny black silk with dark red marbled streaks in the cloth covered it. Thin, delicate patterns in gold, red, and silver adorned the hem of the long skirt, and the Amell family heraldry was embroidered on the bodice in blood red.
It was a stunning, darkly powerful-looking gown, one that she hoped was not too much for a power-seeking mage to wear, but she knew that now was not the time for meekness. She had been a noble for only three years, she had come from Ferelden, her father was not nobly born, it was well-known that she'd given birth to Mal before marrying his father, and she knew that every one of these people would think of these things. She had to exude strength.
There was one other matter for her appearance, a joyful task for Anders that morning.
"I know that you can style my hair," Caitlyn said to him, "and now is your chance to make it really, really count."
He was delighted. For his own appearance, he had merely worn a nicer coat in dark grey with dark grey feathers, with hints of red here and there to match her, and Mal was dressed in breeches and doublet to completely disguise the fact that he was a mage. There was not too much for the males to do. But he did love doing her hair; he always had, even in the early days in Lothering, and today he could devise something more elaborate than he ever had.
"I almost hate doing this," he murmured as he braided segments of her hair and coiled them into a fancy updo. "It should flow down your back, because you are free. But I know what these people will expect."
"It can flow down my back for you and Mal," she said with a smile. "And the rest of my family and friends."
Anders attached her braids in place with a black band. Loose tendrils did trail down the nape of her neck, prompting both of them to smile.
"You look so pretty, Mother," Mal chimed in admiringly.
She turned around, beaming, her eyes watery. "Thank you, darling."
Anders finished the hairdo and leaned down to peck her on the cheek. "He's right, though. You do, and you're ready now."
"Physically," she said, her tone wry.
He chuckled and gave her a tender hug. "We're here for you. We always will be."
From across the room, Leandra looked up. "That's exactly right," she said. Tears were in her eyes too as she crossed across the room to give her daughter a hug as well. "If only your father and siblings were here... I'm so proud of you, and I'm sure he would be, and Bethany too... and maybe they are watching..."
She returned her mother's hug, trying not to choke up.
"If all goes well today, I think I am going to go to Ferelden soon to negotiate an alliance," Caitlyn said, trying to return to business and not get lost in emotion right now. "I'll try to bring Carver back with me to meet Charade, if Warden-Commander Cousland will let him go."
"I would love to see him again soon," Leandra said effusively. "I just hope he isn't too terribly jealous..."
"Oh, he will be," Anders remarked, "but at this point, it's kind of justified!"
A gasp of mildly affronted laughter burst from her at that, but she knew that he had accomplished his goal of finally relaxing her.
Varric had a voice and vote in the noble moots, as the representative of House Tethras of the Merchants' Guild. It was a new development since Bartrand's death, and he swore that he wouldn't have used it until now anyway—but he arrived at the Hawke house that morning to go with them, to support his friend. She was glad of the additional company. Her mother was a worrier, Anders was very sweet and supportive but was manifestly nervous too, and Mal was not quite seven. Varric's confident, jocular levity calmed her nerves better than anything had that morning.
"If you can actually make those useless toffs do anything for the good of the city—after voting for you—then I'll make sure you get free drinks anywhere in town for the rest of your life," he said. "And autographed, discounted copies of Hard in Hightown, of course."
"Just discounted?" she teased. "Not free?"
He smirked and shrugged. "A man's got to make a living, Hawke."
"What sort of discount?"
"What do you say to ten percent? That's generous."
At that, she had summoned a ball of magic in her hand playfully, not intending in the least to use it on him. He chuckled back at her as the group left the house.
Caitlyn had donned a concealing cloak over her gown, to make the dramatic reveal before the titled folk more impressive—and to protect the dress during the walk. As it turned out, this was a wise decision. As they neared the Keep, the now-familiar sound of loud, angry protesting voices emerged.
"Good lady!" begged one to a well-dressed woman who was ascending the steps. "Remember—" He began to read from a broadside. "In the words of the Grand Clerics of Tantervale and Starkhaven, and the exiled Grand Cleric Elthina, 'we must ensure that the true faith is defended.' Don't let us down—"
The noblewoman passed by the man without comment. Caitlyn could not see her face even to identify her, let alone measure how she felt about this.
"The Apostate Hawke will send the Templars out of our city!" exclaimed another, rather excitable man. "She will turn us over to maleficarum!"
"I really hope the nobles aren't listening to this," Caitlyn muttered as they approached. "This would be a great time for their arrogance and disdain for the common people to manifest." And why are they protesting there unopposed? she thought. Why hasn't Petrice sent some Templars loyal to her to disperse these miscreants? I helped her. I risked my life to support Varnell in Darktown with the Qunari assassin squad... the one that failed, she amended bitterly. She could do more than this. Does she think her debt is paid now that she has declared me free of the Circle and instituted some meager reforms?
As she had expected, the din increased markedly as Caitlyn and her group came into view. Several protesters pointed and exclaimed in derision and fear at the sight of the group, with the two adult mages who were openly carrying their staves.
"The apostate! Block her! Don't let her enter!"
They wouldn't! Caitlyn thought in shock and sudden fury. But they would, and they did. A knot of wild-eyed protesters converged to form a line across one of the steps, linking arms and glaring at the group defiantly.
Anders sucked in his breath hard. Leandra gazed worriedly at her daughter, and Mal looked afraid.
"Get out of the way," Caitlyn demanded in a low voice to the one who appeared to be the leader. "You are unlawfully blocking our entrance."
"You are unlawfully walking around," the man sneered back. "I don't care what they decide. No apostate will ever be my Viscountess."
Something inside Caitlyn snapped. She did not hesitate; in the next second, she drew her staff hand back, casting the one force magic spell that she had learned since beginning her study of that school—but that was enough. The gravitic warp broke the line that the protesters had formed, jerking their elbows apart violently. Several of them cried out in pain; she found that she did not much care if they had dislocations or muscle sprains as a result, as she stormed through the group, her family and Varric following behind.
Once they were admitted to the Keep, but before they began to mingle with the others, Leandra looked at Caitlyn worriedly. Even Varric seemed surprised at what she had done. Anders, however, manifestly approved.
"Mother, that confrontation was inevitably going to become violent," Caitlyn said quietly. "They did not have the right to block us. It would have been worse for someone who wasn't a mage, someone who had to use traditional weapons."
Leandra sighed, but she could not argue the point.
Anders took her aside just before the moot began for a quick, private talk. "This is going to get worse after they vote for you," he said. "What have you thought about doing to deal with it?"
She hardened her gaze as she stared past him. "People like that cannot be satisfied. They won't be placated with anything other than complete surrender to their demands, which I won't do, obviously. No leader can please everyone, and as far as they are concerned, to the Void with them," she said coldly. "I'm more resolved than ever on this. And if they, or others like them, try anything else that is against the law, then they will meet the law."
He drew back slightly, gaping at her in admiration and awe. "You've changed lately," he remarked. "You used to want to offer compromises and try to persuade as many as you could... I remember the first time you met Fenris in particular..."
"Some will not be persuaded. Fenris changed his views—at least of this family—and he's not here anyway, and I have no idea if we'll ever see him or Isabela again. Those zealots outside are a different matter. What did magic ever do to them? Magic harmed Fenris; what's their excuse? Magic saved their city quite recently, but instead, they believe Meredith's lies about that, no doubt! To the Void with them, as I said. They think I should be in the Circle, or even worse. I might as well go all the way in the opposite direction and take the high seat." She smiled wryly at them. "I'm not a full revolutionary. I still want to do this properly. That's why I am taking the high seat and why I am working with Divine Justinia through Leliana."
He smiled back and gave her a quick forehead peck. "I hope it works. Oh... it's time," he said as the loitering nobles began to enter the chamber.
Seneschal Bran of the Keep was presiding as the master of ceremonies for the meet. He had no vote, but he would keep order and move the proceedings along as a purportedly neutral party representing Kirkwall itself.
"Lords and ladies, knights of Kirkwall, esteemed merchant princes of the dwarven people—we are gathered today to select a new Viscount or Viscountess to rule this city following the tragic murder of Viscount Marlowe Dumar and the betrayal of his son, Saemus, who converted to the Qun and departed with those who attacked this city, thereby renouncing his claim."
The crowd booed at this.
"In moots with this stated purpose, it is traditional to settle the great business of the high seat before any other business, and for those nobles who are sponsoring a candidate for Viscount or Viscountess to speak first, according to the precedence of their titles. Comte Guillaume de Launcet, as the sponsor with the highest title, the City recognizes you."
Caitlyn and her supporters had decided on this. Although Ser Marlein Selbrech and Mistress Selby were the most enthusiastic about her, Ser Marlein was lower in precedence than many here, as a landed knight, and Mistress Selby actually had no vote at all, merely being a rich woman.
The bearded, somewhat corpulent nobleman ascended and began to speak. "Nobles and good folk," he rumbled, "I come here today first to express my gratitude for the valor and heroism of all who fought to defend this city against the Qunari, including several present here today."
The group dutifully applauded. Caitlyn noted scornfully that she could count on one hand the number who had fought. Most of them had cowered before the Arishok as he held up the severed head of Viscount Dumar and ranted at them.
"I would like to offer special recognition to one in particular, Lady Caitlyn Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, for her single-handed defeat of the Arishok of the Qunari and blessing by our new Grand Cleric following that duel. And it is she whom I sponsor and nominate to be our next Viscountess—the blood of the noble Amell family, the granddaughter of the man we perhaps should have had as our Viscount, the late Aristide Amell."
Caitlyn did not have much use for her Grandfather Amell, who had sent his daughter out of the house to an unknown fate, denying her the chance to say goodbye to her mother, and never contacted her again, rather than countenance her marriage to an apostate mage or attempt to protect her, her husband, and her unborn child. Caitlyn's memories of her own father's determination to protect Anders—even though it cost him his life in the end—contrasted sharply with this, and as she reflected on who exactly was speaking, she could not but acknowledge that the man who was actually scorned by her mother's elopement had been far more forgiving and reasonable than her grandfather. She did not think her grandfather would have been a better Viscount than Dumar. Still, she knew that the Amell name still carried weight here, and she was capitalizing on that fact herself.
"Champion Hawke has proven herself time and again, putting the well-being and interests of Kirkwall first, risking herself to help the city. Since returning to the cradle of her noble blood, she has become a leader, crime-fighter, and, with our new Grand Cleric, a prophet of sorts who foresaw the Qunari threat early. In addition, she has a healthy son and heir, and a loyal spouse who has done his part for the city as well after being assigned as a Grey Warden by the Hero of the Fifth Blight, the noble Elissa Cousland of Ferelden—with whom he served and helped defeat an ancient evil."
Caitlyn and Anders had given the man a brief overview of what had happened in Amaranthine, including Anders' part in slaying the Architect. It would not hurt, and could only help.
"Finally, although she is a mage, as you all know, she has been blessed by our Grand Cleric Petrice and rewarded for proving herself beyond doubt. As the father of a mage myself, I do not question the decree of one who speaks with the approval of Divine Justinia, the mortal voice of the Maker and His Prophet Andraste. Our Champion, Lady Caitlyn Hawke, I propose for our next Viscountess."
Comte de Launcet finished speaking and returned to the crowd to stand by his wife and daughters as the group broke into applause and incoherent discussion. As the noise grew louder, Seneschal Bran returned to the podium and thumped the gavel for order.
"No other member of this moot submitted a nomination for Viscount or Viscountess in advance of the moot," Seneschal Bran announced. "We shall therefore debate the nomination that Comte de Launcet has entered and vote on it, and any who have an alternate candidate to nominate at this late hour may do so only if Lady Caitlyn Hawke should fail to garner a majority of yeas."
A gray-haired noblewoman who was rather shabbily dressed spoke to the seneschal, demanding the podium. "Lady Agnes Vorse de Soliere addresses the moot," he announced.
The woman stormed up to the podium, unconcerned about the poor quality of her clothing. Although Caitlyn preternaturally sensed that she was an opponent, she could not help but respect the woman for her proud indifference to what these people thought.
"Nobles of Kirkwall," Lady Agnes said, "I come before you not to condemn your Champion or question that the Grand Cleric did right. But I do urge you not to act rashly, let your emotions rule you, and choose a mage, one who has lived her entire life as an apostate and has had a child with another mage, as your next leader. The noble comte has a son who is a mage, and by all accounts is a faithful, obedient disciple of the Circle. But I had a mage in my family too, and sadly, his story was not so benign."
The crowd was transfixed, whether in suspicion or interest, at her words.
"My son, Heborah de Soliere, was a mage too—but he turned to evil, and this cost him his life. He became a maleficar, and used blood magic in his apostasy. Under Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, the Templars gave him a merciful death. I can but hope that he had his atonement with the Maker at the last and does not walk the Void even now."
Anders muttered derisively under his breath. Caitlyn did not catch exactly what he said word-for-word, but she did catch the gist of it: utter disdain for a mother who would speculate that her own son was rejected by the Maker and prowled the Void in death because of the type of magic he had allegedly performed. For her part, she felt conflicted. She felt that Lady Agnes was sincere, and that her objection was not personal against Caitlyn, but that she was one of those people who had been conditioned to distrust all magic because of one bad experience with it. And yet, at the same time... I was a maleficar too until very recently. I hope I don't become so again, she thought. And if anyone here except Anders and Varric knew that, even Petrice could not bail me out of trouble for it. And Merrill, a dear friend, nearly paid the ultimate price for my use of blood magic. I almost allowed a rage demon into my mind. Are those who fear maleficarum wrong? I'm not convinced that they are.
She tried to calm her turbulent thoughts. She had vowed to herself and Anders never to use blood magic again, to use force magic instead when she needed something strong and destructive, and she was determined to keep that vow, especially if she succeeded at her goal and gained great power.
"Many, likely most, mages are good—and I've no doubt that the Champion is among them," said Lady Agnes. "But it is a sad truth that if they ever have a moment of weakness as we all sometimes do, the consequences are terrible. Thus, magic is to serve, not to rule."
As Lady Agnes descended from the podium, the moot erupted in debate and discord. I need to speak in my defense now, she realized. As the chaos swirled around her, she approached Seneschal Bran.
"I would speak for myself now," she told him.
The seneschal nodded and began to bang his gavel again, calling for order. The room quieted at his command, and Caitlyn took the podium.
She took a deep breath and addressed the assembled nobles, aware that the direction of her life, Anders' life, Mal's life, and possibly even the future of their cause depended on what she said.
"Nobles and good folk of Kirkwall," she said, "I acknowledge the worries of Lady Agnes, but there are good and evil people, strong and weak people, in any class and category. It is true that mages have great capacity to magnify our potential for good or evil, but that is not unique to us. We are all born with different potential, and magic is only one dimension of that. Some have more power to do harm—or good—and some have less. Among the Qunari, mages are leashed and collared; they have no power, and their people are ruled by bureaucrats and warlords. If I were a great swordswoman and defeated the Arishok with my skill at arms, would you be 'ruled by the sword'?"
The crowd murmured among themselves, many heads nodding in understanding of her argument.
"No!" she answered rhetorically. "Of course you would not—and no more will you be 'ruled by magic' if you choose me as your Viscountess. In Kirkwall, in keeping with the heritage of freedom and self-rule that Marcher cities have, we are ruled by the law. As your Viscountess, I will adhere to the law in all my decisions." She paused for effect, taking in the many smiles in the crowd. "As a swordsman will use his best weapon to defend his people, so will I—and magic is my best weapon. It is a weapon I have had since birth, usable to me since I was a child. I am a mage, as you all saw the night that I defeated the Arishok and sent the Qunari back to Par Vollen!"
Cheers erupted, and Caitlyn paused again to allow them to subside.
"I may, if the need arises again as it did that dark night, defend Kirkwall by magic. But I will never rule by magic, any more than I would rule by the sword or any other show of force and tyranny. I am no Tevinter magister, friends. My magic will not rule you—but it will serve you, as it served you the night the Arishok fell. It has served Kirkwall for years. I have defeated many criminal leaders with my magic, and when flu struck Darktown and the traitor Elthina and the Knight-Commander refused to help, my husband's magic and mine stopped the outbreak. My magic will continue to serve you even if you choose another ruler, because we respect the law and free way of life in Kirkwall."
She stepped back from the podium at that, watching the crowd's reaction closely. Although Lady Agnes and those who sympathized with her were still dissatisfied, there was a clear majority in support, applauding her words. Trying to suppress a smile—and a renewed surge of fear for what she was certain was about to happen—she returned to the front of the crowd and yielded the platform to Seneschal Bran again.
"Are there any others who would address the moot about Lady Caitlyn Hawke's nomination?" he bellowed.
No one spoke up to do that. Instead a voice called out, "Vote! Vote for the Champion!"
The cry of "Vote! Vote! Vote!" was taken up rapidly. Seneschal Bran called for order again and announced the vote.
Caitlyn stood back; as a nominee herself, she did not have a vote, but her mother did as the representative of the Amell family, and Varric did. Tears formed in her eyes as they called out their "aye" for her—and as the vote progressed, it became apparent to her that she had a clear majority. There were a couple of "nay" votes, and some abstentions, but she was keeping a mental count, and the seneschal was keeping an official marked tally on the podium.
She knew what the outcome was before he gaveled the end of the vote. Her breath caught in her chest. "The yeas carry the vote. Lords, ladies, knights, and merchant princes of Kirkwall, I present to you your Viscountess-Elect, Caitlyn Hawke."
Mal joined the cheers and hugged his mother around the waist. Anders pulled her close, enveloping both of them in a hug, as the cheers and claps filled her ears.