Next chapter we're back on track for the Act 2 "vanilla" important events in the game. I am in my third and last year and taking my Honours exams and have worked all year hard for it so this story has been very much neglected, but never disappeared from my thoughts or plans.

Pulling them inside, Hawke hit the back of her head on the floor and her front against Fenris' skull. If the situation were any jollier, he would have sneaked in a mean comment about how this was the only time she ever managed to make a good sandwich.

Fenris felt the double blow reverberate through her forehead. It took him two seconds to realize what happened. Electrified with panic, he pulled himself up.

"Hawke," said a voice. "Come on, Hawke," the voice said softly. It was safe to assume his message was inaudible to her on account of being mildly unconscious. He caught her face in his hands and looked fixedly at her. "Open your eyes."

He was getting rather dizzy. He started slapping her softly.

"Open your eye—" Boomph.

This would've been more successful had he not fallen back unconscious too, repeating the same motivational speech at a table with a pair of bespectacled elephants and vigorously slapping the tea out of his cup.

Hawke awoke eventually, mostly from the stench. One part lavender, three parts pigeon shit. There was also a scandalous smell of burnt coal.

Fenris awoke too, mostly from all the shoving.

"What ghastly creature died in your hair, Fenris?" she cried. She shoved his face away from her and in doing so, noticed the dark error she had had her hands in. She scowled and put her fingers back in his hair. "What is this?"

He couldn't see his hair and he was recovering from a slight blow to the head just seconds ago, so the film strip of his past few decisions was a little foggy.

"What is what?" he asked, unperturbed.

Hawke stared at him and scowled. "Away with you, Demon. I shall not be fooled."

"I am no demon." He rose up on his feet, instinctively offended. Then suddenly the film strip came like a rollercoaster in his memory.

Oh… kay.

"Isn't that exactly what a demon would say?" She rose up. "Apparently we have ourselves a demon here who is colourblind and schizophrenic."

"I can explain that," he said stupidly.

"I bet," she said with disbelief, whipping out a dagger.

Smart girl. He couldn't blame her for reaching that conclusion. It was definitely ten times more plausible for him to be a colourblind schizophrenic demon than "I went round lying to important people by telling insignificant truths to find out if you were on trial for murder or … something an', an' I made good friends with Branny but he didn't tell me much an' so I infiltrated the Viscount's Office to look for clues, but I had to conceal my identity so all this had been possible because, funny story, there was this cauldron of liquid soot in the kitchen, you see—"

She launched to him and he sidestepped the slash to his throat.

Not to mention having to explain how he got on that pike…

The dagger was now thrust in the wall next to his eye. Bits of lime plaster snowed upon his head.

Oh… kay.

"Ask me something only I would know," he said.

She stared at him. He stared back.

"Fine," she said. "If you were a demon, I am fairly certain you wouldn't be a well-travelled one."

"Don't have to be well-travelled to know Tevene," Fenris said lordly. "Are you wearing make-up?"

"You won't fool me with the condescending attitude. Tell me, if I were of the Qun and terribly, terribly upset and wanted to cuss at people without them being aware of it, like say, 'Templar shits only get boners for cows', what would I sound like?"

A deep clong echoed from inside Fenris' head. He cleared his throat.

"Basvaraad vashedan defransdim astaarit nehraa qalaba," he articulated calmy.

"That's way too long. Which of that was 'shit'?"

"Vashedan."

"Vashedan," she said violently. "That will do." Fenris frowned in disbelief. "Now can you please explain what in the flying fudge you were doing out there under the influence of nothing other than your own free will?

Fenris sighed. "It's been a long day," he said, looking displeased. He gave her arm a soft shove away from his head.

The dagger came out. More lime plaster snowed on top of him.

"You're here to stop me," Hawke said.

"Stop you? I came here to save you."

"Are you sure you didn't come here to learn irony?" she said, eyeing the window.

"I consider it a fortunate twist so you don't have to repay me," Fenris said calmly and grabbed her arm tight. "Let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said as she was being pulled. "I'm here to defend someone."

"Yes, your mother, we'll pick her up tonight from prison, I'll slip something in Aveline's drink if I have to."

"What?" she squeed, pulling her arm away.

"Just a stupifier, nothing lethal," Fenris said explanatorily.

"My mother is not on trial," she said. "I am not on trial."

A pang of relief came into Fenris' lungs, though he wouldn't show it.

"Considerable evidence has led me and Varric to believe so," he said.

Hawke scowled at him. "I knew it." She paused and sat down. "I should've told you, but you tell me when there was a right time to mention this," she said, hands open in the air. "I figured the streets would be raging with the news soon enough."

"What is happening?" Fenris said angrily.

Hawke sighed. "Remember Feynriel?"

"How can I not?" he said, with underlying disgust in his tone.

"There's no need for that," she said with a tone akin to scolding. "Somehow, the Templars found out about him. He's missing, ran away, hopped in a boat with a stranger that gave him candy, fell in love, got eaten by a demon, sod knows."

Fenris scowled. "And we care why?" he snapped at her, staring into her eyes as if she were Feynriel.

"I was getting to that. Point is, his mother got detained, her boss and herself have been more than just roughed up by the Templars, and they want to punish her some more until they find him, if they find him. I believe they didn't waste time with pleasantries because she's a poor elf from the Nobody Cares part of town and so nobody will miss her. I consider this vashedan," she said with a sneer, "and since the Viscount has been pestering me for pure donations of my time towards the shit he can't handle within his very own responsibilities, I told him to wise up."

"You told the Viscount to wise up?" Fenris said flatly.

"Indeed. Believe that he did not waste time. He had everyone present in an hour. Preliminary hearing was held, and they rushed up the trial now in hopes of sorting out the mess quickly without the public finding out."

"Except the public present in the Keep consists of probably all of Kirkwall from what I've seen."

"Oh?" Hawke said. He noticed she tried not to smile. "Good."

"You speak as though you have no knowledge of this city's history not more than a decade ago."

He meant, of course, Viscount Perrin Threnhod who was killed by Meredith after he sent mercenaries to kill the former Knight-Commander. It was the first time Templars were ordered to intervene in political matters on behalf of Orlais. Nobody ever spoke about it. The circumstances were so obscured by everything, that mentioning it was like mentioning blood magic. Yet all the Viscount did, before killing Knight-Commander Guilayne, was to block Orlesian trade ships and demand high taxes in order to pass. The Templars were ordered to take control of Kirkwall, the story the Divine got involved in this, was, again, something that if mentioned was the equivalent of heresy.

Hawke scowled at him. "I am well aware," she said.

Fenris did not blink for a long time. He took a step towards her. "You are getting involved in something considerably dangerous."

"I've done my homework."

His body had moved closer without him noticing. His eyes were burdened and fearful right above her, his hair casting a shadow over her face. "I can't let you do this."

"I'm property now?" Hawke said calmly.

Fenris' breath was so tense it could shatter walls. His hand however betrayed him, running it on her cheek."I insist that you don't do this," he corrected himself.

"Your concern is evident," she said in distancing language. "I will tell you all about it, later. At the tavern, over drinks."

"There might not be any dri-". He stopped. Even his previously foolish loving hand was angry. "Woman," he said curtly, staring, as if she were mad. She looked bewildered. Fenris was never a man of many words when sober, but he had surely never been lost for them.

Hawke caught his eyes in hers. "Trust me," she said.

Never trust a mage. With their own life, in this case. He was about to shove his fist in the wall. Instead, he relaxed, if only a pretense. He had to, because his boiling veins had to face the subsequent shot of ice. "You do know who the magistrate is, right?" he said, a dark edge to his tone.

"Oh, I know." She gazed blankly. "He didn't waste any time either."

Fenris gave her a mean look, like he wasn't impressed with her decisions.

"I fully understand what I am doing and I do not need a stern scolding."

"The length that you go to for a—"

"An elf? A lowtowner, like I used to be? A nobody?" She looked at him flatly. "I'd do it for anyone, from slave to noble." Fenris cringed.

"I do not need defending," he said.

"Of course not," she said coldly, looked away.

Fenris sighed. "I did not mean… Actually, I do." He straightened up his posture. "You are the sum of your decisions, no matter if they are poor decisions."

"Get ou—"

"What can I do?"

Fenris' head was blotting out the massive sunlight like a halo around him. She was staring.

"Whatever you like, just please don't kill anyone."

Courtroom - Inside, 1 PM

It was not quiet in the courtroom. Varric had lurked so much that it started to make people aware of him, so he decided to take a seat and pretend he was interested. He did that once a month at the Merchant's Guild and he wasn't going to stop there.

About twenty minutes in, he felt like his brain was going to explode.

"What is your date of birth, sir?" the prosecutor asked.

"May 5th," the defendant said.

"What year?"

"Every year."

Soon after, Fenris was making his way towards Varric. He couldn't be more relieved.

"I can see why lawyers die at 45," Varric said grumpily.

"Their hearts at that point only pump fat?" Fenris said.

"Never mind." Varric put his face in his hands and spoke through them: "Just listen."

"Sir, may I remind you that grunts and snortings are not proper responses in this court. I respectfully ask that you keep your answers oral. Now, where did you serve?"

"What now?"

"Your answers, sir. They must be oral. Where did you serve?"

"Oral."

"No, sir. How old are you?"

"Oral."

"Holy shit," Fenris said in a low voice.

"Eeeeyup," Varric muttered through his hands.

"On June 26th, at noon, in the tavern known as the Hanged Man, did you pick the plaintiff up by the ears?"

"No."

"What were you doing with the plaintiff's ears then?" the lawyer asked trickfully.

"Picking them up in the air."

"Where was the plaintiff at this time?"

"Attached to the ears, sir."

"When did they become unattached from the plaintiff?"

"Shortly after."

"Lucky bastard," Fenris said, sinking in his seat.

What felt like fifty years later…

"All rise—" a man said while the council of magistrates came in from both sides of the courtroom.

There was a special kind of feeling when you heard that phrase for perhaps the twenty-seventh time that day. It was the grey metallic feeling that one way or another judges have heard all the good excuses in the world. As soon as Knight-Commander Meredith came in and took the left-hand table, Varric felt like he was on trial. His stomach twirled.
The room instantly filled up witha lot of people in Andrastian robes, Templar regalia and Free Marches nobility clothing… a lot. Hawke was last to take her place. Her hair was tied up neatly, she wore hard-fabric white shirt and dark velvet elbow-high gloves, pants and boots, much like a modest military noble.

People stared. The air in the room was evident: they were all expecting a bloodbath, although their loyalties were unclear. Despite Dumar's cowardice, Free Marchers had never lost their core values, the key-word being free. Everyone knew their rights and were prepared to start a fight over it. Of course, shouting and screaming in someone's faces over rights was only beneficial when you were doing it on the winning camp, and this was what the outcome of the trial indirectly served as—a cheat sheet for future allegiances.

Knight-Commander Meredith's opening statement was brief, but rock-solid. Roughly summarised, it went something like this: "We saved the whole world from evil, yadda yadda, glorious history, you'd all be blood mage soup if it weren't for us, we've also been here first, we don't answer to you, bitch."

Hawke's statement went a little differently than her friends expected. She rose stoically, and addressed the people instead:

"I am here because I accuse the Templar Order of ill-doing beyond reason and respect for the living. I want to urge the city-state of Kirkwall and all her people to put their foot down as is their right under the very Constitution that separates Chantry from state. Punishments of any kind are of little interest to me, however. The Order is very much necessary, and unlike its present government, it has been trying to accomplish its duty to the best of its ability." There was a definite cringe on the opposition's face. "A duty that will never change. Investigating, preventing, protecting and catching magical threats to the people is a mission beyond borders, of that there is no doubt. However, often one omits to think about the non-magical, ordinary man that faces a Templar. For that citizen, it comes under the City Guard's jurisdiction to collect and protect towards judgement of that individual by a qualified representative of the nation, of its people." She paused. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am not here to debate magic and mages with the Knight-Commander, although the dark list of faults that would encompass that area of Templar action could comfortably circle the planet twice. Feynriel is the alleged threat of magical nature the Templars have a right to put their hands on, not his mother. I am also not here to debate the criminal nature of this woman's actions. Did she withhold important information that could have endangered us all? Yes. Did she harbour an apostate, that is her son, by her own choice? She did. Must she face some sort of consequences for her actions? Indeed. I am here exactly for that reason. The Order gravely mistreated this woman out of reasons I cannot even imagine are human and they were going to get away with it on account of her socio-economic status. My fellow citizens know all too well how entirely capable and well-equipped our judicial system is. Therefore, I will prove my solution to be what is right by exposing how entirely incapable and ill-equipped the Order is, here in Kirkwall, as a whole."

She was going straight for character assassination. If she destroyed them in front of "the people" before magister Vanard or Meredith could even start screwing her narrative up, no amount of court rulings could stop the people from causing a huge riot. If the Templars won, but Hawke convinced the public she was right, they would have started to bring up all their complaints with Dumar's government, starting from the horned tall men in the Docks that were catching roots in the concrete. If Hawke won, the Templars would lose all credibility and, presumably, the word would spread as high as to the Divine herself, who would be forced to investigate and intervene with a reform, or, more realistically, do damage control.

"How is she going to do that without basically spilling away every secret and illegal thing she is or does?" Varric whispered to Fenris.

"She has a plan," a voice came from behind. It was Aveline. She didn't look pleased at all. "That doesn't mean it's a good one."

"She will be fine," Leandra said, who sat next to her.

"How could you be okay with this?" Varric asked, genuinely distressed now.

"She will be fine." She stared at him with a mix of powerful trust and a sharp air of motherly contempt.

"Knight-Captain Cullen, please rise," Hawke said without further ado. "Would you kindly take the stand, thank you very much?"

It seemed as though the man was not prepared for this turn of events and couldn't protest to politeness. He rose, sat in the booth, taking his oath. The man was a cucumber. Meredith seemed unperturbed, although her nails were pressing against the table.

"You are second in command, yes?" she said nicely.

"That is correct," Cullen said with an awkward smile.

She looked turned to the second page from the stack she was holding.

"And one of the responsibilities within your post is to take care of most of the administration, yes? Have a great say in recruitment and such?"

"Yes, I establish the necessary recruitment criteria, update them if necessary, watch over the formation program and participate in advanced training. Those would be some of my primary responsibilities in that area."

"You're well-versed in the history, methods, regulations and so on, then?"

"Of course. I'm quite a numberphile, really."

"Well that makes our question even easier. How many non-mage citizens have the Order specifically had involvement with in an investigation other than general witness questioning?"

"When? In all of time?" Cullen asked, outraged.

"The most recent cases that come to mind then."

There was a long pause. "Two."

"Including this one?"

"Y-yes."

"In the last…?"

There was another medium to long pause. "Fourty years."

"May I ask how old are you?"

"30."

"How many veteran Templars are there still in the Order past 50?"

"Well, there are three now," he said and then blinked hard.

"Now?"

Cullen scratched his elbow. "Deaths, of course, reassignments, other special circumstances happen, you know how it works. We are an order beyond borders, as you said."

"What other special circumstances?"

Meredith clearly grimaced in contempt. Cullen remained stern. "As any other institution, we've had people who chose different paths in life."

"You mean, they left the Order?"

"Well, yes."

"How many left in the last, say, 15 years?"

"I'd say about ten. Nine? I can't possibly say without direct reference."

"How many of those ten or nine have left since the Stannard administration?

Cullen stared and pressed his lips. "Eight."

The room stood silent. Varric's snort echoed.

"Objection," Meredith said calmly. "What is the relevance of this? The Keep alone has had more personnel fluctuation than there are shades of blue."

"Ah, but here is the relevance," Hawke said, smiling abruptly. "Knight-Captain Cullen, how many in the present Order have activated in pursuing a non-mage citizen harbouring a potential threat or, for that matter, trained for such occasions beyond reading the surprisingly few articles about it in the Code?"

One corner of Cullen's mouth reached to the edge of his face. "As far as I know, none."

"None," Hawke repeated curtly, turning towards the people.

Voices, whispers and outraged tones warped the previous dead silence of the courtroom.

"Silence!" magistrate Vanard issued. "The court will remain civil." It didn't stop the bickering one bit.

Fenris could only keep his eyes investigatively on Meredith. She only smiled in contempt, unfaltered. It was like a nightmare. He'd seen what always became of respected but protesting people who couldn't keep their mouth shut. Surely, no magisterium or establishment (for Meredith was the establishment) would let someone scream defiance and besmirch its name without having an agenda. The protester was merely a puppet given a sandbox to play in for a little while, dig in the superficial layers, make a little mess. Nothing more than organized chaos. Then all of sudden, he would disappear, as if nobody had even heard of him before, as if he was swallowed by quicksand.

"So, in other words, is there a probability, not a mere possibility, a probability, that the method of pursuing, arresting and questioning of Arianni Sabrae, and of L'evallas Sellin, her superior, in the process, was … libertarian at best, in terms of formality?"

Varric snorted again.

"I cannot say."

Hawke issued a very dominant tone. "If you cannot say, Knight-Captain, then how can the people of Kirkwall be trusting of the Templar Order, the one who's blood and sweat fertilized these lands for thousands of years with the alleged role of "Guardian and Warden"?"

Hawke stared into his eyes. Cullen's expression suggested the need to escape, as if he was not the adequate person to throw all these accusations at. Which was, in a way, very much correct, but perhaps Hawke sought to make use of exactly that, Fenris thought.

Before he could answer, Meredith stood up. "I object to that ridiculous question. I shall remind you, Lady Amell, that we are not bound to state government, nor answer to anyone except the Divine," she said.

Cullen seemed relieved and then tense up again for a whole different reason.

Hawke turned towards Meredith. "Of course, Knight-Commander. You and all members of the Order do not answer to us, quite evidently, but the ground on which you operate is ours and under these decaying circumstances, it could very well be put to a better use."

"I beg your pardon?" Meredith said with a forceful tone, slamming her hands to rest on top of the table. "The Gallows belong to the Chantry, and the Order."

"The Gallows belonged to the slaves of Kirkwall, Knight-Commander," Hawke said calmly.

"Which are all long gone," Meredith said.

"There was no Inquisition or dictatorial regime of any sort that took over the premises of the Gallows during Divine Justinia I's reign. The Gallows belonged to the slaves, and they gave it to the Templars in exchange for safeguarding against magic and magisters. There is a duplicate of that very paper hanging, perhaps forgotten, in the grand hall of the Circle. I suggest you give your first read this afternoon!" Hawke said flippantly.

The voices rioted.

And now everything was clear to Fenris. The "woman on trial" was too literal, yet correct, only that it was not Hawke, nor Arianni, but none other than Knight-Commander Meredith. Hawke was going to have a worse fate than Knight-Commander Guilayne once and Perrin Threnhold twice because of this.

"There is no need even for a testimony from the two elven citizens, at least that we presently know of, completely ill-handled by the very same hands that promised protection. It is painted on the bruises and scars on their faces and bodies!" Hawke said gravely, pointing at them.

"SILENCE!"

Nobles and lowtowners alike stood up, a complete chaos of symphonies, defiantly shouting, either towards the magistrates, to the Knight-Commander, or between each other.

Meredith stood, petrified, murderous, silent.

Fenris and Varric had to make their way out of the crowd as people were screaming over them to each other.

Hawke turned back towards Cullen with a relaxed smile and lazily raised her voice in the hubbub: "No further questions!"