HAWKE

The chantry's exterior courtyard stands all but abandoned by the time Bethany, Varric, and I reach Kirkwall. Its solitary occupant this dark hour: a petite, female elf, who's leaning against the wall with her giant scythe, at the bottom of the chantry staircase.

Serena looks up at us upon our approach. "Well, it took you lot long enough." She flashes us a kind yet teasing smile. "I was wondering if you were ever going to show. Any longer and I might've given up!"

"And disappoint you, Twinkle Toes? Never." Varric puts a dramatic hand to his heart.

Serena snickers and stands up straight, her scythe's spotless, curved blade glistening like a crescent moon in the dim starlight.

She must've had enough time to clean it before we arrived. No surprise there. We did take the scenic route back, much at Bethany's behest. It's not like I can refuse the request, knowing Gamlen, Mother, and a city full of templars await. And Maker knows, I'm not too keen either.

"How glad I am to hear that." Serena grins at Varric. "But I hardly believe we all came here just to chat or to appease my hopeful expectations, isn't that right?"

"What exactly are you doing here?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Then I realize how rude I must've sounded and put a hand up to stop her from replying.

"Not that I mind seeing you," I insist. "It's just . . . I mean . . . we thought you'd already left?"

Maker, why does my tongue always stumble around this woman?

Serena shifts her weight onto her other foot. "I felt it only logical I accompany you to meet with this associate of yours. I did interfere with your mission. And this way, if he asks, I can offer a more detailed explanation, if need demands it."

"That's very thoughtful of you." My being warms at the consideration, feeling touched. "However, I would hate to take away any more of your precious time."

Serena laughs. "Hawke, if you knew how much precious time I actually have, your ears might fall off from shock. So, please. Allow me to do this much."

I stare at her, still somewhat perplexed by her answer.

"Well, alright. As you wish," I concede.

Without so much as waiting for another bated breath, Serena turns around and starts walking up the chantry steps.

The rest of us quickly follow suit.

Inside the building, Serena waits for me to take the lead, her earlier commanding presence diminishing to that of a submissive follower.

Sebastian Vael's lounging a few feet into the foyer's candlelit hall, his head hung low, appearing deep in thought. His mind far elsewhere, somewhere long out of reach. An agonized look I recognize, relate to, for it's full of palpable anger, frustration, and grief. Not much different from Carver's, after Father's death. Or Mother's, after Carver's.

Just the thought of the look on Mother twists my stomach into a pile of knots. I step closer to Sebastian and clear my throat, refusing to let the emotion grip me. "So, will anyone smite me if I tell you we killed the men who wronged your family?" I ask, trying to keep the tone lighter.

The Brother jolts and spins toward me, his white armor appearing unnaturally glossy in the dim torchlight. His eyes widen as he examines the four of us. "Excuse me, who are—" His sentence cuts off as sweeping realization crosses his face. "My post to the chanter's board? Did her grace let that stay? I thought for sure no one even read . . . but you say you've killed them?"

He exhales loudly, noticeable relief now replacing earlier confusion.

"You have my eternal gratitude, serrah." He directs his thankful gaze at me. "It is comforting to think my parents might now rest easily in their graves."

"Yes, well, I'm not the only one deserving of your thanks. I had some aid." I wave to the others behind me.

Sebastian smiles and glances over them. "Of course. You all have my thanks. Your help is much appreciated."

"Oh no! I only played a small part in this story." Varric shakes his hands out in front of him. "The one you should be thanking here is Twinkle Toes." He points at her with his thumb. "She's the one who wiped out most of their men. Alone, I might add."

Serena merely bows her head and avoids making eye contact with the blue-eyed prince. "It was nothing," she whispers, far more reserved and timid than usual. Her burning confidence and outspokenness seemingly faded away. Returned inside a shell.

"No, what you have done is worth more than you could know," Sebastian persists, unrelenting. "I am forever in your debt."

Serena's eyebrows crease together with guarded interest, her inner walls slowly rising back up. Much like the first night we met and she cut off any of my further questions. "Who are you exactly?" she asks with an inquisitive tilt of her head, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

Sebastian stands up tall, as if on cue. "I am Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven," his voice rings out loud with booming pride. But soon subsides—his shoulders quickly slumping as evident despair and grief overtakes his gaze. "Her grace may prefer I introduce myself as a Brother in the chantry," he continues, "but I could not stay after what happened to my family."

"Why didn't your family's enemies hunt you down as well?" I ask, the question having bothered me ever since we first took the job.

"It's not that they didn't," he says. "They just hadn't been able to reach me yet. That's why I took the offensive. Thanks to you, those Flint Company assassins are no longer a danger." He pauses and lowers his head, his fists clenching by his sides. "I am the last of my line. Unless I survive, my family will have no justice."

"Surely you must have a guess as to who sent these mercenaries now?" Varric poses.

Sebastian shakes his head. "My family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations. We have enemies, but none who would identify themselves openly."

He crosses his arms, a contemplative look now overtaking him.

"A distant cousin of mine is claiming rulership now," he continues. "But he's . . . a bit simple. He can be no more than a pawn in this plot. My parents were also always prudent in how they handled their nobles. They did not allow rivalries and resentments to flourish. The attack must've come from outside. And so, that's why I've come to Kirkwall, our largest trading partner. With any luck, I hoped to find support for my claim, and perhaps a clue as to who is behind this foul deed."

Serena sighs. She rests the blunt end of her scythe on the chantry floor. An act that feels a bit . . . sacrilegious, knowing it was covered in human blood, mere hours ago. "Well, your parents probably don't care much at this point, but I hope you sleep a bit easier at least, knowing at least their assassins are dead," she says.

Sebastian smiles. "Yes, I hope I will. Thank you." He pulls out a coin purse from his armor and passes it to me with an appreciative nod. "Consider this an advance. When I have secured my lands again, you will all be paid royally. But for now, if you'll excuse me, I must meet with the viscount and petition him for aid to a fellow city."

With that, Sebastian takes his leave. He departs through the chantry's front doors in a rush, leaving the four of us standing there, alone in the hall, with the golden statue of the Maker looking down at us over our shoulders.

The sentiment would've seemed peaceful, if I didn't catch a glimpse of Bethany and Serena stiffening the moment a pair of templars exited a nearby room. Templars who just so happened to be discussing their most recent maleficar hunt, and how they must remain vigilant to dispatch more.