Notes: Song inspiration is adapted slightly from "Poor Man's Crusade" by Demons and Wizards.


Chapter 46: Slaughter in the Name of Andraste


Caitlyn gazed across the rectangular table from the head seat. After the news of the Knight-Vigilant's dismissal to the Templar Hospice, plus another piece of news from abroad the next day, she had decided that another meeting was necessary.

"Is it absolutely confirmed that Hercinia has allied with Starkhaven and Tantervale?" Mistress Selby said, discomfited. "I know that they did not send a letter of congratulations to Your Grace..."

"Varric has told me that the word from the Merchants' Guild is that Starkhaven ships—which can be safely inferred to include Tantervale ships that restock in Starkhaven—are getting preferential treatment in Hercinia and taxes waived on goods they buy to resupply. Given the embargo I put on all trade from them—which this alleviates—and the lack of a letter from Hercinia... yes, I think they are allied. Economically, at least."

Several groans filled the room at this. "Should you talk with the Fereldan nobles who rule Highever about a blockade of the Waking Sea for Starkhaven and Tantervale ships?" Selby asked.

"A blockade is an act of war," Caitlyn said firmly. "That's the very thing that doomed Perrin Threnhold. I am not ready to take that plunge."

"Any chance of getting an alliance with a city along the Minanter?" Selby asked.

"Maybe. Wycome in particular is a very 'free' Marcher city, so their lord might be sympathetic to us. Still, at this point, I don't see that it would be of much use if the goal is only to hurt Starkhaven and Tantervale trade. They know they will get excellent prices and, most likely, protection, if they go to Hercinia, so they'll be supplied to make it there. They wouldn't have to stop in Wycome at all... or Bastion. Militarily, it's a great idea to ally with a city at the mouth of the river—but that's just it; I think it would only be useful for wartime. And we'd have to defend them if it came to that, because Starkhaven would try to take Wycome to get river passage back."

The woman scowled at the table, unhappy with the answer, but not disputing it.

"The other news about the Knight-Vigilant... well, I would ask the Grand Cleric if she thinks this is an opportunity to get rid of Meredith Stannard, given that he was the one to reinstate her the last time."

Petrice shook her head, also glowering. "I wish it were, but unfortunately, the Lady Seeker agreed with him about Meredith, and the Seekers do claim authority over Templar affairs if they so choose. The Divine would still have to overrule the Seeker, since, whatever Her Perfection's reasons might have been, she did not dismiss Nicoline or the Seeker who accompanied Trentwatch here."

Anders suppressed a snarl of discontentment. Caitlyn was disappointed, but she supposed that this was unfortunately a logical conclusion for the priest to make. "And having two dismissals overturned would obviously diminish people's perceptions of your authority," she said. "Very well. We'll have to continue trying to work around Meredith. At least we have a Divine-sanctioned means of doing so now, with this order for Kirkwall that the First Enchanter must have a vote in anything to do with the Circle, the Templars, or the apostate mages of the city."


After the meeting, Merrill touched Caitlyn's sleeve gingerly. She had been entirely silent, as was usual for her unless the subject of elves came up or she was specifically asked for her opinion, and apparently she had something to tell Caitlyn that she had not wanted to say in front of everyone else. Anders stood nearby, within hearing range but not so close that it would appear that he was trying to usurp Caitlyn's position. She appreciated that in him, having become sensitive to men who held themselves above women—even women in authority—and behaved accordingly. Anders never did, and she always tried to treat him with consideration and respect in return. After her early struggles in 9:31 and 9:32, that had finally become reflexive following a few years of life together.

She cleared her thoughts quickly and turned to Merrill. The young elf looked very upset and concerned, and she began to talk before Caitlyn had even asked her what was the matter. "Varric and I visited my house in the alienage," she said, "to take the rest of my things out. The eluvian was smashed!" she burst out, anger in her words now. "I know that it was already cracked, but they smashed it to powdered glass and beat the frame into a twisted... thing. The Knight-Commander's Templars must have gone inside and destroyed it once they saw that it was magic!"

Caitlyn did not know what to say. On one hand, she was actually glad that this object was now destroyed beyond repair and could no longer be a temptation for Merrill—but at the same time, Meredith's thugs had had no right to do it. Even if one took the traditionalist point of view that the authority of Templars included apprehending all apostate mages, it did not include wantonly destroying magical property that people owned. And, further—

"It was a cultural treasure of the Elvhen!" Merrill continued furiously. "Even if my old clan did not appreciate it, that does not change this fact! And now it is gone, because of destructive shemlen who hate magic."

Caitlyn had never seen her friend this angry before. "I am very sorry," she managed. "I know what it meant to you. Do you want me to ask the Templar I trust to see if he can find out who did it?" She was not sure that indulging a possible revenge wish was the best idea, but she didn't know what else Merrill wanted from her.

Merrill finally deflated, tears forming in her large eyes, which she promptly wiped away. "I... no," she said, her voice suddenly husky. "I just... wanted to tell you about it. Varric is a good person, but... he is not a mage, and he doesn't feel the same way about dwarven culture that I do about my heritage. You and Anders are not Elvhen, but you are mages, and you have had things taken from you by Templars..."

She is telling me as a friend, not as a subject or an advisor, Caitlyn realized. She pulled Merrill into a hug. "I'm so sorry that they did it," she said. "If you do decide there is anything you want me to try to do, let me know."

Anders had stood aside, since Merrill had mentioned him but not turned to him. Finally, after several moments, he voiced his thoughts. "I understand that you're upset about the artifact," he said, "and it's typical of that kind of Templar to want to stamp out everything to do with magic, because you're right, they do hate it. But I'm also very concerned about why they were there at all. Are they still looking for you?"

Caitlyn released Merrill and faced her, her expression now serious. "Are you still living in the Hanged Man?" she asked. Merrill nodded, and Caitlyn quickly considered the choices before them. "Well... I guess that is probably the best choice, except for the coin it costs."

"Varric pays. It is very kind of him."

"Yes, it is," Caitlyn agreed. "I was thinking, though, that you could live in the Keep—or, probably, my mother's house—if you wanted to, but that might be too obvious. Anders is probably right. Meredith had her eye on me for years, and she did not give up trying to arrest me until Petrice declared that she couldn't. She doesn't give up quickly when it comes to bothering mages. I haven't thought about your situation lately, and I'm sorry for that..."

"You have had much to think about," Merrill said, "between the Templars who were executed and everything that followed."

"Yes, but you're my friend, and you're hiding from Meredith. I should have thought more about this. I'm glad that Varric has stepped in, but he shouldn't have had to. If you want to hide in the Keep, in the family quarters..."

"I am supposed to represent elves in the Small Council," Merrill said stoutly. "It is difficult enough to do that when I do not live in the alienage, but at least I can visit without too much difficulty. That would be much harder if I lived in the Keep. Perhaps I would be safer, but what would be the point otherwise? To hide inside walls, rarely stepping outside, with no task, goal, or duty? I don't want that."

Caitlyn was humbled by Merrill's words. "You have a point," she agreed. "Just—be careful."


Over the next couple of weeks, life in Kirkwall returned to something like it had been before Anders had put the rapist Templars to death. The clinics in the Chantry and outer Keep were bustling, much to Anders' pleasure, and he spent much of his day in the one at the Keep with Mal eagerly watching. He wished that his son could practice healing too, but they still had to hide that.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn decided, spurred by the conversation with Merrill, not to let another problem slip by her until it was too late and something bad had happened. She made almost daily inquiries of Varric about the status of the anti-dragon ballistae, the "deepstalkers," until he finally had an affirmative answer for her.

"That's great news!" she exclaimed. "Let's cart them out to the mine and do this!"

"Are you sure you should be there?" he asked. "We're talking about a High Dragon, and you are the ruler of Kirkwall."

"He's right," Anders added. "This is dangerous."

She considered that. "There are places to hide. I wouldn't need to cast spells, after all. The bolts are already runed with ice, aren't they?"

"They are. You just want to see the dragon, don't you?"

She suppressed a smirk. "I am a part-owner of the mine, so it's important for me to see threats to my crew..."

"You want to see a High Dragon."

"I want to see the dragon too!" exclaimed Mal, who had been listening at the door.

Anders and Caitlyn whirled around in surprise. "Absolutely not," Anders said at once.

"Mother gets to go," he objected.

"That's because nobody can tell your mother 'no' about things like this," he said, giving Caitlyn a dark look. "We can tell you 'no.'"


Although Caitlyn had assured herself that she did not need to cast spells, she still brought her strongest frost staff with her. Just in case, she thought. She gazed at Varric and his crew, then shot Hubert—who was scowling in derision and skepticism—a contemptuous sneer. Just you wait, she thought. She already had a certain legal document written up, just waiting for her signature and the date—and if the High Dragon appeared today, she would finish the job and he would no longer be a co-owner.

Anders gave her a tight, hard hug before they left for the mine. He was still not happy with her for doing this, but he was not going to argue about it. She hugged him back. "It'll be fine," she told him quietly. "The point of these weapons is that we don't even have to be near the dragon to use them. They have more range than spells, in fact."

He sighed. "I'm concerned about potentially provoking it to land. We had to fight a High Dragon while pursuing the Mother. It took four Grey Wardens to take it out, one of whom was a Fade spirit in a body that couldn't be killed because it was already dead. Promise me that you won't risk yourself needlessly."

"I promise."

The team set out for the mine, arriving at the site quickly. Caitlyn greeted the foreman. "We have the ballistae—the deepstalkers," she said. "The dwarven crew know how to use them and they're going to do that today, but once this dragon is chased off... or killed, if it comes to that... I want you to choose, or hire, some people who would be good at it, because I bought these and I want the workers to continue to guard the mine with them in the future."

He nodded. "Understood, Your Grace. With your permission, I'll call a break so that they can all watch how it's done."

"Permission granted."

As the dwarves arranged the ballistae around the rim of the mine, concealed in rocks and branches, the miners emerged to the surface chattering in interest. They quickly hid themselves in a cave, which they seemed to believe would be safe from the dragon, and began to wait for it to make its appearance. Caitlyn held her staff tightly and sat next to Varric. On the other side of Varric sat Hubert, who could not help but make his opinion known.

"Having second thoughts, I guess, and that's why you told them to use those contraptions to guard the mine, so it won't feel like a complete waste of money. If it's just another little dragon like you took care of three, four years ago, you're going to look mightily sheepish."

"Ah yes, another dragon that I 'took care of' because you didn't believe your employees and didn't care about their safety. Along with other beasts and undead. You do know that you are speaking to the ruler of Kirkwall. Think about that."

His eyes popped, and he was about to say more—when a thunderous roar shook the enclave where they were hiding. A vast shadow darkened the empty expanse before them.

"There it is!" shouted one of the dwarves nearby. "Give it a volley!"

It was unquestionably a High Dragon, and a huge one. On the other side of Varric, Hubert was gaping in horror, shock, and humiliation. Fear and awe warred for primacy within Caitlyn as the creature came into view, flying across the mine entrance. The ballista bolts, even with ice magic applied to their sharp tips, looked like splinters compared to the size of the dragon.

They were also missing. The dragon was flying fast, and the dwarves did not want to waste bolts—which meant that they had fewer chances to hit it. It circled the mine twice before finally identifying one of the places where a deepstalker was hidden. It landed in the middle and inhaled, the fire gland within it glowing orange as it readied the flame burst. Caitlyn hoped that the dwarf who was manning that ballista would get to safety—

From the opposite side of the rim, an iced bolt struck the dragon on its left wing—not at the joint attaching it to the dragon's body, but it nonetheless tore a hole through the middle of the wing. That would affect its flight. The dragon roared in pain, the fire gland dimming as it turned and changed its target.

As soon as it did, a bolt struck its right foreleg from a different angle. It roared in anger and pain again, stamping its feet, making the ground shake. A third bolt tore a hole in its other wing. The dragon raised its neck to roar, and flapped its wings as if to take off—when it noticed the miners who were huddled inside their cave. Its predatory gaze fixed upon them.

In that moment, Caitlyn did not think about the promise she had made to Anders or even the fact that she was in charge of a city. She leaped to her feet, staff in hand, a powerful frost spell already forming, even as Varric exclaimed her surname in dismay.

Standing on the sloping ledge in the middle of a circle of boulders, Caitlyn slammed her staff tip on the ground and cast the most powerful cold spell she could. The dragon froze, encased in white.

"Hawke! Are you mad? Get back up here!" shouted Varric, gaping in appalled disapproval.

While the dragon was frozen, the dwarves shot several ballista bolts at it. One of them finally hit the main wing joint. It tore through dragon flesh just as the frost spell wore off, making the dragon shriek in pain.

It apparently realized that it was surrounded, and that if it stayed here, it would die. With an angry roar, it attempted to flap its wings. Despite the injuries it sported, it was such an immensely large dragon that its wings were still not utterly useless, so it was able to gain some altitude. Though its flight was lopsided and low, it left, craning its neck back at last and sending a torrent of flame as a parting "gift."

Caitlyn had scrambled back to the enclave where Varric and Hubert were, and the jet of flame would have hit the exact spot where she had stood to cast the ice spell on the dragon, she realized, her heart thumping. Hubert, she noted, had actually passed out.

"Maker's fucking breath!" exclaimed Varric as she collapsed beside him. "I'm saying this as your friend, Hawke. What were you thinking?"

She tried to catch her breath. "I was thinking that those miners were all about to die."

"Shit!" he cursed again to blow off steam. "Look, Hawke, I get that, but you are, frankly, too important to die like that."

"I'm not accustomed to thinking that way," she said.

"Well, you need to get accustomed!" he exclaimed. "What about Anders and your boy? Think about them, at least!"

"I was confident of my ability to freeze the dragon," she argued. "I wouldn't have done that if I had doubts. This is my most powerful winter staff and I knew I could freeze the dragon in place so that I could escape before it could move again."

Varric shook his head in disgruntlement. "I'm not going to tell Anders," he said, "because that's not my place. But you should. The story will get around. Too many people saw it. Better that he hear it from you." He scowled at Hubert, who was still passed out on the ground. "I kind of want to leave this trash here."

"We can't... but don't worry. I have something special planned for him."


Hubert's shout of outrage echoed through the walls of the outer Keep. "You can't do this!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, but I can," Caitlyn said, a cold smile on her face. "I have documented a pattern of disregard for the miners, resulting, in previous years, in deaths and severe injuries they incurred from creatures that you would not invest in removing. By Kirkwall law, this meets the criteria for criminal negligence. In fact, given that there were deaths in years past, I could have you thrown in jail..." She trailed off pointedly, the smile on her face becoming rather menacing. "But fortunately, no one died today against the High Dragon, so I'm choosing to be merciful and relieve you of your 'burden.' The ownership share that was formerly yours will be distributed among the other shareholders..." She feigned surprise; she was thoroughly enjoying this and could not conceal it. "Oh. That'll be me. You are dismissed, serah."

Hubert sputtered. "I knew I shouldn't have hired any of you Fereldans!" he exclaimed. "You've stolen my mine out from under me! You're all a bunch of conniving, manipulative, bandit dog lords, especially a bloody apostate mage!"

"Get out of the Keep before I rethink what I said about jail." And do I want the chance, you crude lout, to make somebody pay for how we were treated.

Hubert snarled but did not disobey. He stormed furiously from the office, leaving Caitlyn with Anders, Varric, and Aveline standing nearby.

She rose from her seat. "Well," she said, "that's done."

Anders looked impatient and ready to talk to her alone. "Could we..."

Sighing, she led them out of the office. "Yes, I suppose we had better."


"Caitlyn, why?" he burst out when they were alone in the family sitting room with Mal. "You promised me that you wouldn't risk yourself."

"I promised that I wouldn't risk myself needlessly. The dragon was about to incinerate the entire mine crew. You would have done the same, Anders."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yes," he said, "you're right. But I'm not the Viscount of Kirkwall! If anything happened to you, Meredith would take over the city!" He gazed pointedly at Mal, then back at her. "And we would be alone!"

She felt a pang. "I know," she said, trying to soothe him, "and that's why I was prepared. I brought an excellent staff and cast the most powerful spell I could. I didn't take the dragon lightly and didn't jump out to get into single combat with it. I cast something that would freeze it, so I could get out of the way while the dwarven crew took care of it. I wasn't reckless. At least," she amended, "it was as safe as facing a High Dragon could be."

He sank on the divan next to her and covered his face with his hands. "I understand," he managed, "but Maker, when I think of how it might have gone wrong..."

She placed an arm around his back. "It didn't, though. I can't ask you not to worry about me, but please trust me. Trust that I know my strengths."

He lifted his head. "All right," he croaked.

Mal finally spoke up. "How big was the dragon?" he asked, awed.

She managed a smile for him. "It was as big as a house," she said. "A nice house. It was so big that the dwarves struck it with a dozen bolts and it could still fly away!"

"Is it coming back?"

"I don't think so. It was looking for a place to lay eggs and raise its young, and it won't pick a spot that it thinks is unsafe."

"I wanted to see it," he groused.

Anders chuckled brokenly. "Oh, not you too! You got it from her."

"Oh really? I think he got it from both of us." When he looked to argue, she smiled knowingly. "You have risked yourself plenty of times. Not to fight dragons, but for other things. He got it from both of us."

He gazed down, looking sheepish. "I guess you're right."


Caitlyn heard the next day that Hubert had left Kirkwall, reportedly returning to his homeland of Orlais, cursing "thieving dog lords" and apostates even as he packed up. For a moment she worried that she had made another enemy who would swear revenge, but she dismissed that. He deserved what he got, she thought, and even if I enjoyed using my power that way—which I did—it was still the right thing to do.

With the mine situation settled, she considered her next moves against Meredith and her foreign adversaries. The healing clinics are going well, she thought. The next thing I need to do is to change policies in this Circle about the separation of siblings, of parents and children. That should be easy and uncontroversial. Even very conservative people who think mages should live in Circles their whole lives cannot justify why families should be torn apart.

She sent runners to the Gallows and the Chantry to convene a meeting to vote on the change in policy, which would specifically entail the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander writing to any other Circle that hosted the close relative of a mage in Kirkwall's Circle to order the transfer of those relatives into Kirkwall. When the other three members of this group arrived at the Keep, she took note of the deep scowl on Meredith's face—and also the fact that Orsino still was not consistently making eye contact with her.

When she explained what she wanted to do and held the impromptu vote, she expected Petrice's yea vote and Meredith's nay—but then the First Enchanter, with regret and shame filling his face, also voted nay.

"What?" she sputtered. "Why?"

Meredith smirked. "The vote is over, and you lost."

"As Viscountess of Kirkwall, I am ordering the First Enchanter to explain his reasoning," she said, ice in her words as she replied to the Templar.

Orsino looked up glumly. "It seems cruel, especially since you were raised in a family of apostates, but... there are reasons for it. People will do terrible, evil things for... love."

"Exactly," Meredith crowed. "Having strong emotional connections is a source of temptation. Not all mages are like you, Hawke, tempted by power, but any who have a close family member or lover would be vulnerable to putting that person ahead of what is right. Demons know this."

Caitlyn chose to ignore Meredith's personal barb and to address her argument instead. "Having 'strong emotional connections' is what enables most of us to care about someone other than ourselves," she countered. "Having nobody that we care about destroys the ability to empathize with others and determine what is right. That is probably why some Circle mages turn bad—they become obsessed with the possibilities of magical experiments without considering the impact on people, because they don't know how to."

Orsino gazed forward at these words, looking past her, determinedly not meeting her eye to eye.

Meredith looked gleeful, however. She turned to Petrice. "The Viscountess declares that those without family or lovers cannot empathize or see what is right," she said. "Do you agree with that, Grand Cleric, as one who took a vow of celibacy to serve the Maker?"

Caitlyn cut in immediately, furious that Meredith would twist her words like this. "Few are called to the priesthood," she said, "and they choose to take those vows. Even if their families send them to the Chantry, they ultimately choose to take that vow instead of being lay sisters. Most people cannot keep such a vow, and Circle mages certainly don't choose it."

"The Viscountess is correct," said Petrice. "Few are called to this life, and the Maker intends the great multitude to experience His grace through the love of family, spouses, and close friends." Meredith's face soured.

"So," Caitlyn said with false sweetness, "do you care to reconsider your vote, in light of this information, First Enchanter?"

He sighed unhappily. "I can't. You don't know what I have seen."

Meredith smirked. "I believe that settles it, then."

Caitlyn slammed her hand down on the tabletop and stood up, followed by the other three. "I order you to explain what you have 'seen,' First Enchanter."

"You don't have the authority," said Meredith. "That belongs to me."

"Did you order him to vote with you?" she demanded.

Meredith moved her hand to the sheath of her blade, but she did not draw it. Caitlyn readied her staff. "Do not draw that sword here," she warned. "Whether you like it or not, I am the Viscountess of Kirkwall, and drawing your blade in my presence is an act of treason. And you know very well that I will seek justice against traitors, unlike my predecessor."

Meredith moved her hand and glared back at Caitlyn. "Come, Orsino," she commanded. "Let us return to the Gallows."

When they left, she turned to Petrice.

"She has," the priest said at once. "I am willing to guarantee it."

Caitlyn drew her breath and let it out at once. "Yes, she must have," she agreed, "but why would he do it? Would she really threaten his life if he didn't, knowing that it was Divine Justinia's own command for him to take part and that she would easily guess what had happened if Orsino died after voting against Meredith?"

"I cannot explain why he would agree to it. Perhaps there is more to it than that. I regret that this vote didn't go as planned... because in comparison with the rest of the changes you and your husband seek to make, this would have been an easy one."

"An easy one, and one that Anders and I really wanted," she lamented. "Tearing families apart is an atrocity! This is what motivated us from the start."


"She has something on him," Anders concluded once Caitlyn had told him of the vote.

"She must," she said bitterly. "She must be blackmailing and threatening him with something... but what?"

"It can't be that he helped apostates or anything like that," he said. "If he did, that is. It must be something that would personally offend you."

"That makes sense, but I cannot imagine what that could be. I've never had any dealings with him. The only time I have even worked with him was during the Qunari attack, and he helped us!"

"He's not young. Maybe he did something against your father years ago. I can't think of what else it might be," he said, shaking his head.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I have no idea, and that troubles me. If she has successfully blackmailed him into voting with her all the time, nothing is going to get changed now. The Divine could not have anticipated this. I wonder if maybe I should hope that we are wrong, and that he really did agree with her about the topic today."

Anders scowled. "Then he's unlikely to support anything more radical."

"I know."


Whatever might have been Orsino's reason for voting against the reform, it emboldened Meredith—and her supporters, who somehow learned of the vote and chortled and gloated about it in the streets. The very next day, when Aveline announced the completion of training for several Harrowed mages to support the City Guard, Meredith made an announcement herself from the steps of the Gallows.

"This is a sad day for Kirkwall," she said. "Mages are now going to be in the City Guard, enforcing the law against Kirkwall civilians without Templar supervision. As skilled and loyal as our fine guards are, they simply do not have the special abilities to control unruly blood mages who can even use their powers to manipulate minds and sow deception. I am not accusing any of the specific mages chosen of being blood mages, but if there are any who wormed their way in through their unholy craft, this could happen. A single blood mage could corrupt the entire City Guard and all the mages who now support it! Think of the terrible risk. Although I am aware that the new Grand Cleric believes differently, I think she is mistaken. The Chant of Light forbids magic ruling over man, and mages enforcing the law is 'ruling.'" With an angry, yet satisfied, glower on her face, she turned aside and retreated into the Gallows.

In the assembled crowd, numerous people yelled in outrage and raised fists, knives, and pitchforks. Mettin—no longer Ser Mettin—glowered like Meredith had. One female voice called out, "If they're violating the Maker's law, we don't have to obey them! The Maker's law is greater than human rules!"

A male voice agreed loudly with her, adding, "And that means that the apostates in the Keep are also violating the Maker's law!"

Varric, who was lurking well-concealed in a shadowed area near the merchants, scowled and turned aside before going to the Keep.


"Let her talk," Caitlyn seethed. "Let her rile up her mob. If they dare do anything, they will now run afoul of mages. Every one of those mages was investigated, but that doesn't stop her from insinuating that they might be blood mages out to take over the City Guard. Just let one of that ignorant mob say that to their faces, though! I would dearly love for some of those people to be apprehended by mages."

Anders smiled to himself. "So you understand how I felt."

"Oh, I understood from the beginning," she agreed. "That doesn't mean it was politically wise for you to do what you did. But this is different. These mages are allowed to act as guards, and to use magic against criminals only if it is absolutely necessary to arrest them or stop an ongoing crime."

"Which means they probably will not be the ones to apprehend common miscreants like that," Anders pointed out.

"That's true," she admitted. "Still. Meredith is unleashing something that she cannot control, and she isn't going to like what that will mean!"


Meredith's supporters continued to spread their ugly, seditious talk on the streets, both by standing in the Lowtown marketplace and Hanged Man to hold forth, and by conversing among themselves. It continued even after a special team of experienced guards and the Arcane Guard—as the mages were called—cleaned out a gang of slavers headed by an actual blood mage, an operation that probably would have cost numerous lives if the mages had not been present to counter magic with magic. Most of the people of Kirkwall appreciated the efforts of the Arcane Guard in rooting out crime, and the healing clinics in the Keep and the Chantry were growing more popular by the day, but perversely, this fact only seemed to make the opposition grow more and more vehement.

Then, suddenly, the rhetoric took a turn for the worse.

The former Templar, Mettin, was unabashedly a leader of the anti-mage mob now, unconstrained by any obligation of presenting a fig leaf of propriety and restraint in his remarks. He could claim, as could Meredith, that they were not communicating with each other at all, and nobody could prove otherwise.

"Kirkwall has fallen into darkness!" he proclaimed loudly. "This so-called Grand Cleric is too young, too recently made a priest, and her association with the mages in the Keep taints her appointment. She was the priest who wed them and legitimized their bastard child, and she must have known what Hawke was at the time! By conspiring with an apostate, she reveals herself to be a heretic and a false priest!"

His supporters, who had gathered to listen, shouted.

"Now they have let mage 'Healers' operate in the Keep and the Chantry!" he exclaimed. "Even the Knight-Commander, holy as she is, is prevented from speaking the truth about this. My friends, do you know what mage healing truly is?"

"Defying the will of the Maker!" shouted a woman. "He alone decides matters of sickness and health, life and death!"

Mettin smiled. "It is true, sister," he said, "but there is more than that! Mage Healers keep patients alive by forcing demons of the Fade into their bodies to keep them from failing!"

The crowd erupted in fury and terror at this lie. In the midst of the tumult, a lone voice, a young man, spoke up uneasily. "I don't think that's right," he said. "My mum went to the Chantry and got healed of a burn, and I didn't see no demons! Just blue magic light."

"Ah, but the demons only enter those who are at death's door," Mettin said. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and the smell of lyrium surrounded him, though no one in the crowd could identify it. "Was it a Spirit Healer who treated your mum, boy?"

"I... don't know."

Mettin addressed the crowd again. "Spirit Healers make deals with demons. And do you know what else? The mage Anders, the one who used unholy powers to kill Templars not too many weeks ago, is one! Always has been, even when he lurked in Darktown at the behest of the Grey Wardens. I call him 'Lord Abomination'!"

This set the crowd raving, frothy with anger and fear.

"Mages in the City Guard, mages forcing demons into the bodies of innocent people, a heretic Grand Cleric, an apostate Viscountess, and an abomination consort!" he shouted, raising his fist to the sky. "Who among us will stand up for the Maker?"

The crowd roared in response. In the back, one man, the same one who had stood at the Gallows and declared that Caitlyn's family in the Keep violated the Maker's law, said, quietly and resolutely, "I will."


"I want him arrested," Caitlyn announced once she learned of this rally from Aveline, who had had guards in Lowtown who overheard it. "That crosses a line. Enough is enough."

"I will see to it at once," Aveline said briskly. "I agree that this kind of talk goes too far." She gave Caitlyn a nod of acknowledgment and left with Donnic Hendyr to dispatch some guards to find Mettin and bring him in.

Anders had been quiet throughout the discussion. Finally he spoke, looking deeply troubled. "He knows too much. How in the Void does he know?"

Caitlyn sat down beside him and placed an arm on his shoulders. "I wouldn't assume that he knows. He was spouting lies about healing and Spirit Healing. If he believes what he is saying—which he probably does—then he would assume that it applied to you."

"He singled me out to call 'abomination.' I can't think that's coincidental."

"Anders—"

He gazed fearfully at her. "Caitlyn, love, I understand what you said, and it does make sense. But... I have a bad feeling about it. I don't know how he knows, but somehow, he knows."

"Well... I can't argue against a bad feeling," she said, "but if you really think that, then consider who, exactly, has seen Justice in control—and is still alive to tell the tale. Would any of those people have been in a position to pass that on to Mettin?"

Anders considered. Caitlyn, Mal... though he doesn't know what he saw... Carver, our friends... the young girl Ella... Hendyr and Thrask, during that same fight... He thought harder. It was possible that any number of people might have seen brief crackles of light pass over his body at some point, but the number of people who had seen the spirit in full control was very small. Of the people he had just thought of, the only one he could even consider at all was Thrask, because he was a Templar, and yet he did not believe that. Thrask had warned them about Mettin years ago; he was not a friend of Mettin's.

Suddenly another memory swam to the surface of his thoughts. "And yet the 'Tranquil Solution' was hardly the holocaust you imagined," sneered Prince Sebastian. Before Anders had socked him in the face, Vengeance had briefly taken over, and Sebastian had noticed it. "Fuck," he swore, clutching his forehead.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. He looked up at her miserably and confessed it. "When I hit Sebastian in the face... it was Vengeance who did it."

Her eyes widened in shock. "I didn't realize that."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have told you. I didn't even think of the repercussions of it. I was so furious—and I guess I wasn't in my right mind for much of that. Caitlyn, I am so, so sorry—it makes sense now—"

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly against her. "You do not know that Sebastian communicates with Mettin at all," she said, "and even if he does, you don't know that he would tell Mettin that specific detail or that either of them would work out what it meant."

He breathed heavily, trying to see it as she did, trying to convince himself that he was being too paranoid.

"In all likelihood, Mettin just said it today because he knows that you are a Spirit Healer and believes his own lies about them. Invoking your name, making you the face of this for that ignorant mob, has more power than talking about some Spirit Healer from the Circle that nobody has heard of."

Maker, I hope you're right, he thought as he hugged her in return.


Aveline and Donnic trudged back into the Keep late that night, very displeased, interrupting the family's storytime with Mal.

"I'm so sorry," Aveline said, looking it as Baldwin and Pounce rose to their feet at the entrance of armored people into the family sitting room. "We were unable to find Mettin. He seems to have gone to ground, and nobody knows where."

Caitlyn groaned, rising from her chair, placing the storybook in Anders' arms to continue reading to Mal. The Viscountess must talk with the Captain of the Guard, she thought grouchily, even at the expense of precious family time.

They closed the door and talked quietly outside. "Lowtown itself is ill at ease," Aveline reported in a low voice. "I've called a curfew, because it unsettles me. Nobody even seems to know what became of the people gathered in that crowd to listen to Mettin. My suspicion, and Donnic agrees, is that they are all camped out together somewhere, probably Darktown. I don't like it."

Caitlyn closed her eyes, feeling a chill shoot down her spine at her friend's vague unease. "Did it seem to you that anyone was hiding something when they said they didn't know where any of these people were?"

"Not really, no. Most people seem to quietly disagree with him and support you—support the clinics, at least, even if they do have misgivings about mages in the Guard. Meredith has not condemned the healing clinics, after all, and for people like that, her voice carries weight because she is also an authority figure and they still think of her as a hero of Kirkwall. This group that listens to Mettin seems to be in a kind of self-segregation from the rest of the people."

"What do you advise?" Caitlyn asked frankly.

"I? I advise you to ask the Grand Cleric to order—yes, order—Meredith to make a statement denouncing this talk. If the Knight-Commander herself says that Mettin is wrong, that will surely shut up a lot of it."

Caitlyn considered that before nodding. "I'll do that. Thank you so much for everything, Aveline. Don't give up trying to find these people."


Late the next day, the Grand Cleric stood by the Knight-Commander, smiling grimly, as the Templar tacked a notice to the Chanter's Board. An identical notice already graced the wall of the Gallows outside the Circle and Templar quarters, and a third one was posted outside the Keep.

.

Most mage Healers do not call on aid from Fade spirits to support their healing spells. Only Spirit Healers such as the "Lord Consort" of Kirkwall rely on aid from spirits to increase the power of their spells. Further, magic healing does not involve turning patients into abominations. The Circle of Kirkwall and the Knight-Commander hope that this explanation clarifies concerns that civilians may feel about mage healing.

.

"That's not good enough," Anders exclaimed when he saw it. "That won't convince anyone that Mettin was lying about Spirit Healers, and since he specifically named me and so did she, I think it's clear that they are still in cahoots!"

"We already knew that they were still in cahoots," Caitlyn pointed out, "but we couldn't prove it—and we still can't. She could say that you are the most prominent example of a Spirit Healer and that she was responding to Mettin's talk about you by name. Until Aveline can find and arrest Mettin himself for questioning, we can't prove that they are communicating." He glowered, but she placed a hand gently on his shoulder to calm him. "I know, love. It frustrates me too. But this is what we have to do. Once we can get something shocking enough against Meredith, Divine Justinia will have the pretext for upholding Petrice's dismissal of her—or ordering it at last herself—and even the Lady Seeker won't be able to defend Meredith."

"I really hope it isn't too late by that time," he said, "and that you are right. These people are fanatics. They believe what they want to believe, whether the facts support them or not. Sebastian refuses to believe the evidence of a note in Elthina's handwriting. Do you truly think that the Lady Seeker, or that snake of a Seeker who accompanied Trentwatch here, will believe what Mettin says during questioning? They'll probably accuse you of torturing him into a false confession."

She grimaced, not having thought of that.

"I wouldn't even count on people believing that healing is benign, even with this note," he said dourly. "Aveline's guards reported that Mettin had claimed Meredith was 'prevented from speaking the truth,' and people did see Petrice standing beside her, forcing her to post those notices."

Caitlyn glanced at him in concern. His mood was extremely dark, and it bothered her when he was acting this way. She took his arm and squeezed it. "Then you'll need to show the people with your own deeds that healing is good and benign," she said. "Some people will never be convinced, but if we can keep the majority on our side, that should be enough."

"A good example," he agreed. He finally managed a smile. "What can I say? You've been right about that every time you suggested it. I shouldn't doubt you."

"No, you shouldn't," she said teasingly, pleased that he sounded happier.

He linked his arm around hers and entered the family quarters of the Keep.


The next morning.

The day dawned bright, with a vividly blue sky above Kirkwall. Even Lowtown, which was often blanketed with dust, got to enjoy the beautiful weather. It was the kind of day for people to want to see to business, and for the ill to feel that they could seek healing without their condition worsening by exposure to the elements, so the clinics were full that morning.

The blue sky did not reach Darktown. There, in a hideout formerly used by a criminal operation—a gang of hardened thugs led by a lethal assassin named Brekker, who had been brought to justice by Caitlyn herself a couple of years ago, ironically—a door opened, and a single figure ascended a staircase with a pack strapped to his back.

Anders had spent the morning thinking about Caitlyn's words. He wanted desperately to believe that she was right, and that eventually something would happen to break the stalemate. Despite the likes of Mettin and his mob, despite the foreign interference and encouragement from Starkhaven and Tantervale, even despite the covert rebellion in the Chantry, Meredith Stannard was the source of their problems in Kirkwall. If she could be removed, they would at least be free to make reforms to the Circle and remove the person that he was sure was the nexus for communications both from abroad and from the anti-mage locals in Kirkwall. We got rid of Elthina, he thought as he supervised the Healers with Mal happily in tow. It isn't perfect, of course, but if she were still here, Caitlyn certainly would not be Viscountess, and things would be so much worse. We got rid of her, and we can get rid of Meredith. Caitlyn is right. We just need to catch her in something utterly indefensible like we did Elthina.

The young mage Ella, who had almost been victimized by Alrik, passed quickly by Anders, keeping her head down as she attended to a new patient.

"Father," Mal spoke up with a nod to the door, "that one looks like she needs help."

Anders turned to the door, where a very elderly woman was hobbling inside with the aid of a walking stick. Instantly, he went to the door to assist her.

"Such a nice young man," she said in a scratchy voice as he helped her to an empty seat. "I don't believe what that fool said about you, you know."

Anders managed a smile. "I am glad to hear it," he said. "Healers want to help people, and those of us who are Spirit Healers only work with good spirits, like spirits of compassion or faith... or justice. The First Children of the Maker. Never demons."

"Demons don't heal anybody," the woman agreed. She pointed to her knees. "Now, my lord, if you could take a look at these old legs..."

As Mal watched in interest, Anders—feeling his heart swell—began to cast diagnostic spells to determine what the woman needed done.

The man exited Darktown, adjusting his pack carefully as he blinked in the bright sunlight. It was crucial for it to remain balanced. If its contents jostled, it would be disastrous.

Caitlyn had little to do that morning, so she decided to spend time with her family—and they were in the clinic. And why shouldn't I be there? she thought happily as she descended the steps to the outer Keep. I am a mage too. She rounded the corner that led to the large room set aside for the patients and opened the door.

"Mother!" exclaimed Mal in surprise. Several patients looked up as well and tried to bow, as did the Healers.

"No, don't do that!" Caitlyn said immediately. "You are unwell or busy! Don't stop for me! I'm just here to watch... and to be with my family."

"Of course, Your Grace," said a mage hurriedly. "We only wanted to show our respect for you. It's because of you that..."

She smiled. "I understand, and thank you. And I'd rather you did that by continuing to heal these people." She crossed the clinic to stand beside Anders and Mal, examining the bustle of activity. "Busy day, it seems."

"That's all right," said Anders as he finished casting a healing spell on the elderly woman's arthritic knees. "Everyone here had a reason for coming."

The man changed his stride to appear as though he had difficulty walking. He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a small vial of liquefied rashvine. Grimacing, he swallowed it and immediately burst into a coughing fit as he passed into Hightown. The Keep was closer than the Chantry. The man burned with anger at the thought of it. The Keep of Kirkwall, occupied by the apostate and abomination and their bastard spawn, whose very existence was forbidden by the Maker, as mages should not breed. But he had sworn to stand up for the Maker, and this was the day of reckoning. He was not a Templar, knew no Templars except for the one who spoke in Lowtown, and had never had any contact with magic, but he believed in the righteousness of his cause.

He climbed the steps of the Keep, still hobbling and coughing. The guards instantly admitted him, determining at once that he was a patient for the clinic. No one spared a second glance for his pack.

"Oh, Maker's breath!" exclaimed the guard at the entrance to the clinic at the entrance of the coughing man. "Yes, of course, come in—it's busy right now, but somebody will get to you soon."

Still coughing, he stepped inside and took off his pack, holding it in his hands, scanning the room. The Healers were busy indeed, blasting people with magic. His gaze narrowed at the sight of the murderous abomination as he meddled with an old lady, his child watching in fascination. Probably a mage too, he thought.

Then his gaze was captured by a flash of bright orange-red and extremely fine silk. The usurper Viscountess herself, he thought in shock and delight. There was no doubt of it; she was even carrying her staff with her. His decision was instantly made, and, taking careful aim, he threw his pack in the direction of Caitlyn.

She and Anders saw it and understood the instant that he threw the object into the air. In the space of half a second, they were screaming "Duck!" and grabbing Mal to cover him.

The pack hit the ground and exploded in a flash of blinding light, heat, acrid chemicals, and dangerously sharp shrapnel from the broken glass that had held the volatile chemicals separately until they were violently mixed.

Windows blew out from the power of the explosion. Shrieks filled the air, blood droplets sprayed the floor and the walls, and, as the smoke cleared, the screams of terror gave way to shouts of pain and agony.

Caitlyn had managed to shield Mal from everything except the smoke and the loud bang, and she herself had incurred only mild wounds from shrapnel and chemical burns, none of them on her head or face. The smoke was clearing, though, and as she stumbled to sit upright, she realized with horror that most of the people in the clinic were not so lucky.

The elderly woman whom Anders had been treating was knocked flat on the floor, one of her recently healed legs clearly broken. Several of the Healers were trying to mop up their own bleeding arms, legs, and faces, unable to heal anyone until they stopped their own blood from spurting out. One of the patients was sobbing and covering half of his face, a pool of blood on the floor before him as he screamed for his eye. The apprentice Ella was prone on the ground, screaming in agony, blood pouring from her legs—which were both blown off at the knee. She would die in less than a minute if it wasn't stopped.

Anders staggered to his feet, leaning on his mage's staff for a moment. His hands were bloodied, and his face was filled with such fury as Caitlyn had never seen, even when he had fought Templars. He scanned the clinic quickly, taking in the carnage, then slammed the bottom of his staff on the floor. A blast of blue healing magic as bright as the bomber's explosion filled the clinic, waves of magic rippling across the floor all the way to the walls. Caitlyn felt the healing waves rush over her and suture her minor wounds. She pulled Mal close, gazing at Anders in awe. Time seemed almost frozen for her.

Anders shared a momentary glance of desperation with her as his strength flagged. He coughed and leaned on the staff for another fraction of a second, and then Justice took him over. The spirit filling him, he stood upright—and cast the same unbelievably powerful healing spell once more.

The second blast of magic sealed most of the victims' wounds, stopping the bleeding even if it did not fully heal the skin itself. The only exceptions were the patient who had, it turned out, lost one eye, and Ella—and the attacker, who had been blasted in the gut with a shard of glass from his own homemade chemical bomb.

Justice relinquished control again, retreating, but only for a moment. In the next, Anders was standing upright, the light of Justice blazing from his eyes again, as he cast the spell a third time. With this, the bleeding on the remaining two victims slowed to a mere trickle. The man would never see from two eyes again, and Ella would never walk again, but they would not die this day either.

Anders hobbled to his knees, finally overcome, as Justice fled and did not return this time. He heaved his breath and clutched his staff as if his life depended on it, even as Caitlyn and Mal tried to reach him.

The assassin, however, was fully recovered—and furious. He snarled at the wreckage of his bomb and drew a dagger from his belt. "Abomination!" he roared at Anders, flinging the dagger through the air.

Anders gazed back helplessly, completely and utterly spent, seeing what was coming but unable to stop it. Caitlyn and Mal let out cries of horror and outrage as the dagger sank into Anders' left shoulder. He gasped, then tumbled to the ground.

Caitlyn halted in her tracks and whirled on the man, hate filling every ounce of her body. Even as Aveline and a group of guards reached the clinic to apprehend the malefactor, she opened her arms wide, slammed her staff tip hard on the ground, and blasted him with a force spell that crushed his arms with a sickening crunch and sent him flying into the wall, knocked out cold.

As Aveline's people took the assassin away, Caitlyn and Mal finally fell to their knees before Anders. "Please," she whispered, feeling the side of his neck, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Please—"

To her infinite relief, a pulse thumped in a regular beat. She took a shaky breath as Mal sobbed into her shoulder and cast the one healing spell she knew. It seemed horribly feeble right now, but it was enough. Anders opened his eyes, choked out a gasping sob of his own, and weakly enveloped his family in a hug with his unhurt arm.


Notes: I'm sure you all know exactly what Meredith has on Orsino that would personally offend Hawke, of course.

I'm not going to warn for violence unless it is what I'd consider explicit (a scene at the end of Chapter 10) or involves potentially upsetting details (such as what happened in Chapter 42).