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Hawke drew near the gathering on the coast, feeling tension grow within her as she searched the group and could not find Bethany.
Then two mages stepped apart, and Hawke saw her sister, lying on the ground, immobile. She reached instinctively for Varric's shoulder, grasping it to hold herself up as the world swam before her eyes. Was she too late? Had they killed her sister?
"You bastards," she heard Varric say, in a voice so choked it might have been coming from her own aching throat.
Ser Thrask stepped in front of her, sighing wearily. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn't come here."
"You took her sister!" Aveline exclaimed. "What kind of half-wit does that and doesn't expect the Champion to come after them?"
He went on as though Aveline hadn't spoken, shaking his head slowly. "I can't understand why you side with Meredith now. You showed me we can stand up to her."
"That is my sister." Hawke pointed at the crumpled figure on the ground. "I stand for her. A mage. Who you killed." Her eyes were filled with tears, her voice shaky. She was moments from drawing her sword and murdering the whole lot of them where they stood.
"What?" He frowned. "She's not dead. Only in stasis. We wanted to ensure you would leave us alone."
"Blood magic," Fenris spat. "It always ends in blood magic."
"Please, Champion. I have nothing but respect for you. We just want to see Meredith gone," Thrask pleaded.
Hawke took a deep breath, trying to think straight. Bethany was alive. That was what mattered. That, and keeping her that way. "Your cause is just," she said to Thrask. "But I take issue with your methods."
"I should have known you would recognize the threat Meredith poses. I am sorry for any distress we caused you or your friends." Thrask was smiling now, as if he assumed all would be forgiven and forgotten." He turned toward the rest of the assembled mages and Templars. "Let the hostage go."
"No! Never!" A shrill female voice in the back of the crowd spoke up, and a mage pushed her way through until she stood in front of Hawke, her eyes glowing in triumph. "He wanted you to leave us alone. I wanted to draw you here! I owe you blood, Champion of Kirkwall. The girl dies—then so do you."
"Grace." Hawke sighed. She really should have killed this insane mage years ago, along with her lover, instead of sending her to the Gallows.
"Stand down, Grace," Thrask said sharply, but Hawke understood the situation now enough to see that his authority had faded in the face of Grace's zealotry. The mages and Templars were lined up behind her, not him. Thrask didn't see it, however. He kept on, as if they were going to follow his words. "We will not kill an innocent to achieve our ends. It gains us nothing to become Meredith."
"Meredith." Grace laughed loudly. "What do I care for Meredith? I am here for the Champion."
Hawke took a step toward her. "If you've hurt my sister, you will die. I can promise you that."
"I would rather die a hundred times than endure one more hour in the Circle! I have been counting the days to get my revenge." She turned to another mage, a young man Hawke recognized as having been part of Grace's original group from Starkhaven. "Alain, kill the hostage."
"Don't move a muscle, Alain."
Alain wrung his hands, looking from Hawke to Grace, unable to decide which of them to obey. "I … don't know, Grace …" he said at last.
"Stop this!" Thrask put himself between the two mages. "No one has to die here. We are all on the same side."
Poor Thrask, Varric thought. So idealistic, so blind to what people really felt. He had tried to do a good thing here, but failed to see that it had been perverted by one woman's need for vengeance.
Grace stepped up to him, her eyes alight with fervor. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong," she whispered. "So wrong."
"Restrain yourself!"
As a Templar, Thrask had to feel the power building within Grace. Varric was no Templar, but he could feel it, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck. The other mages and Templars had been slowly shifting away from the two in the center, sensing what was about to come.
"Forget the hostage! Kill the Champion!" Grace screamed. And without a second's hesitation, she thrust her staff into Thrask's unprotected neck, using the spray of blood that covered her face to turn herself into an abomination.
Hawke didn't even need to issue an order—all her people were at the ready, hands on their weapons, and they charged the moment Grace moved.
Many of the mages and a few of the Templars threw themselves on the ground with their hands up, evening the field significantly. Varric didn't move; he knew Hawke would engaged the abomination herself, and he covered Hawke. Whatever happened today, Hawke was walking away from it, if he had to kill every mage and Templar here with his bare hands.
Grace put up a tough fight, but she was always going to lose. Hawke's people had taken care of all those of her followers who stood behind her, and now the abomination was completely outnumbered. Even her unnatural strength and size couldn't hold up against Hawke's trained fighters.
At last it was done. Hawke's gaze fell on Alain, who was cowering on the sand. "Release my sister."
He stood up, shaking. "I … it's blood magic. I have to … Don't kill me!"
"Just do it." Varric had rarely heard her voice so icy.
He cut his palm and did some kind of incantation, and Bethany stirred on the sand, opening her eyes. "Sister!" she cried when her eyes found Hawke's frightened face. She held her arms out, and Hawke held her close, neither of them concerned about the blood spattering Hawke's armor.
