A/N: I've always found it hard to reconcile Cassandra's seeming conviction at the start of DA2 that Hawke is the villain with the fact she was apparently hoping to recruit them or the Warden to lead the Inquisition; I hope what I've arrived at does the job! Chapter title is from Radiohead's 'Electioneering,' though I don't think any lyrics actually made it into the text this time, I guess I'm reverting back to my usual boring habits lol. Hopefully more to come soon!
Chapter One:
And Somewhere We Will Meet
Kirkwall.
It had hardly been her favorite city even before the mage uprising. She did not expect the intervening years to have done it any favors.
The Gallows had begun to rise out of the sea on the horizon. Cassandra watched the line of the fortress, restlessly gripping the railing. The captain of their chartered ship had assured her that they would arrive by mid-afternoon, provided the wind held. She was glad of it; the confinement of sea travel did not agree with her. Regretfully the urgency of her mission precluded allowing herself the extra time which would have been required to undertake the journey from Val Royeaux by horse.
"Seeker Pentaghast, good morning," one of her companions politely greeted her, holding out a mug of weak tea in offering. She waved it off, knowing how unpleasant the ship's brew was. "It appears we will be arriving soon."
"Yes. Within a few hours, I'm told."
Four Seekers of Truth accompanied her, an extravagant number by some measures, but then as Leliana was so fond of reminding her, image was everything. And Divine Justinia wished to make plain that she still commanded authority. The people of Kirkwall would see that. Cassandra wished, however, that she could have the same certainty of their loyalty. What she wouldn't give to have young Daniel by her side! But of his whereabouts she'd had no word since Lord-Seeker Lambert broke from the Nevarran Accord. As it was, none of those with her were people she knew. All she had told them was that they sought the Champion of Kirkwall; the full nature of their search remained a closely-guarded secret.
"May I ask, do we sail for the Gallows or the city proper?"
"The Gallows. The Templars there have remained loyal to the Divine and I have written to the Knight-Captain requesting accommodation for the duration of our visit. He may have useful information for our search, as well."
The Seeker, Violette, released a quiet sigh. "I was in Kirkwall three years ago, following the collapse of the Circle."
"Oh?"
"Anselm and I both. I believe he has been dispatched there a few times over the years. Remarkable, the stink that emanates out from the armpit of Thedas, yet somehow no one can ever locate the source of the smell."
Cassandra snorted. "I have read the summary of past investigations in the city of course, but I would be gratified to hear your findings directly. I take it you may have thoughts which were left out of the official records."
"The scope of our work was limited," Violette replied with a shrug. "The Lord-Seeker wished to know if Templar actions over the years were justified. Considering the recorded instances of blood magic in and out of the Circle, one couldn't very well say they were not. But the Knight-Commander…there's more to know there, I'm certain of it."
"It's the Champion we must concern ourselves with now."
"As you say." Violette bowed her head and excused herself, leaving Cassandra to her thoughts.
The Knight-Captain and a retinue of Templars were there to greet them when their ship docked. Cassandra liked the look of him, solemn and with an honest air, but vowed not to be swayed by first impressions. He saluted as she descended the gangplank, enquiring, "You are Seeker Pentaghast?"
"I am. You received my letter, I take it."
"Yes." A wry smile dragged at one corner of his mouth, though she could see nothing amusing about her statement. "If you'll allow, I can show you and your companions to your quarters. Ser Gillian will oversee the transfer of your things."
"That will be fine. Thank you for your hospitality." She signaled to Violette and the others, and they fell into formation behind her. The Knight-Captain's gaze lingered over her and Anselm; he inclined his head in recognition and they wordlessly nodded back. There always was a certain distance between Seekers and Templars. She hoped that would not get in the way of her mission here.
The Gallows had been built to be an oppressive place, and it seemed to Cassandra all the more so for its eerie emptiness now. The Circle fallen, no mages remained to watch over and the garrison was a mere chapter now, running on a skeleton crew inside a stronghold far too large for their numbers.
As the Knight-Captain led them through the forecourt, Cassandra broke away in order to examine the dull red formation across the yard. She had read the reports and knew this to be all that remained of the former Knight-Commander Meredith. The ghastly countenance was no worse than that of the other statues which stood guard over the place, but somehow, undeniably, it evoked a sense of uneasiness the others did not. She had the sense that looking on it for too long would make a person queasy. Seeing it in person, she could understand the fearfulness which laced reports of the new substance, this red lyrium. Reports which had it that it was an expedition organized by the Champion which brought the stuff to Kirkwall.
"I try to avoid it," said the Knight-Captain's voice behind her. When she looked back at him he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, an uneasy frown creasing his face.
"I do not blame you," she replied.
Sounding resigned, he added, "I am of course willing to discuss the circumstances further, if you wish, after you have settled in."
A not-so-subtle hint for her to get a move on? But respectfully given. Setting the bounds of his authority whilst recognizing her own - fair enough, she decided and inclined her head toward him. "Lead on."
They saw Cassandra's companions to a pair of small double rooms situated across the hall from each other, where she left them with instructions to take an hour to refresh themselves. The Knight-Captain then led her further down the corridor. It was not lost on her where she was being taken when they reached the end of the hall and Rutherford withdrew a key to unlock the door there. She looked at him in frank surprise. "You do not need to place me here, Knight-Captain. I have no wish to displace anyone with my stay; I require no luxuries."
"That's as well, since we've very few luxuries to offer," he replied, opening the door to the Knight-Commander's quarters and stepping aside to let her enter. "However, you will require someplace to do your work undisturbed and I can assure you the quarters were not chosen out of mere deference."
Certainly the rooms were more than suitable, Cassandra saw as she walked around them, with an elegant sitting area and round table ideal for taking meals or working, and a comfortably-appointed bedroom beyond.
"You never thought to make these rooms your own?" she asked curiously.
The Knight-Captain shook his head. "My own sleeping quarters are across the corridor. I'm quite comfortable there. No, the fact is, no one else will touch these rooms."
Cassandra gave him a sharp glance, wondering if she was meant to find insult in that, but there was no trace of it in his manner. Nodding to herself, she withdrew a small package and tossed it face up onto the table. "You are familiar with this book?"
Rutherford looked at it and pulled a face. "The Tale of the Champion. Yes, I'm familiar with it."
"The Templars do not come out of it well," she observed.
"No."
"No fewer than three named apostates freely conducting themselves around the city."
"Yes. The book delights in portraying the Order as ignorant to events taking place under its nose, and incompetent to do anything about them in any case." The Knight-Captain scowled blackly and released a heavy breath through his nose. Cassandra circled, observing him closely.
"Where is the Champion of Kirkwall now, do you suppose?"
"Hawke?" Rutherford looked up at her, startled. "I - I really couldn't say."
"Guess," Cassandra suggested. Firmly.
The Knight-Captain didn't shrink from her, she was pleased to see, subtly squaring himself to her instead. "In Ferelden, mayhaps. With the rebel mages."
It was not so - that had been Leliana's first theory also, and her agents had investigated and refuted it months ago. Something of this must have shown on her face, for the Knight-Captain added with only a slight hesitation, "Your letter said nothing of Hawke. I take it…there is more to your visit than I was led to believe?"
"Her Holiness feels Hawke's presence may be of use in brokering peace," Cassandra acknowledged. "It is not something we felt was prudent to put in writing. I trust you will forgive the small deception."
The Knight-Captain inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Truthfully…it's something of a relief, in fact. The Seeker presence here three years ago was…trying, to say the least. The Templars' failings - my failings - I do not deny they are…significant. But I would much prefer to be your ally than your adversary, Seeker Pentaghast."
"I am glad to hear it," Cassandra replied, relaxing her stance and sinking down into one of the chairs. "I am not here in judgment. Not of the Templars, nor of you. Divine Justinia respects the work you have done to restore order to Kirkwall these last three years. Whatever the wrongs you have done, you have devised your own atonement, it would appear."
The Knight-Captain drew in a sharp breath. When he turned to look at her there was a new, albeit cautious, warmth to his expression. "I had not thought of it quite that way before." Then he looked away again. "I was the one to let Hawke go. I do not know where she went, but you will not find her in the city, I'm certain of that much."
"I did not expect to be that lucky," Cassandra noted dryly. "Still, Kirkwall is the best lead that we have." She tapped the cover of the book lying on the table. "Outside the city walls, this is one of the only sources of information about the Champion's life. And it concludes years before the Kirkwall Rebellion. The accounts the Seekers collected of that time vary wildly in their claims. There is no clear picture of what truly happened, only…fragments. Our best chance of piecing them together and discovering Hawke's plans lie here."
Rutherford snorted a laugh and rubbed a weary hand across his face. "Did Hawke ever have a plan? Things always just seemed to happen around that woman."
"You were well acquainted with the Champion, then?"
"Er, no. No. Enough to recognize her; we were on speaking terms. She was making a name for herself even before she was named Champion and it was not unknown for her business to bring her to the Gallows from time to time. I daresay she found it rather amusing."
Cassandra frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
The Knight-Captain began to look distinctly uncomfortable. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in her seat to stare him down. "Forgive me," he murmured, "I should not have spoken out of turn."
"You did not. I am asking."
Reaching to rub a hand across the back of his neck, the Knight-Captain haltingly began to explain: "I have learned over the years, rather to my chagrin, that even the Templar Order is not wholly immune to matters of politics." Cassandra snorted and Rutherford ruefully met her eye. "Quite. Even before she became Champion, Hawke was, er, something of a special case. It's not that she was unknown to us as an apostate, but she was…protected. My very first year in Kirkwall, before I became Knight-Captain, before I'd even met Hawke, I'd heard tell of her and wanted to bring her in. As soon as Meredith got wind of it, she put a halt to my plan."
"Meredith did?"
"Yes. I believe it served Meredith's purpose to have a convenient apostate scapegoat, should one be required, but there was a…financial element to it as well."
"Bribery?"
"Yes."
"By whom?"
"I cannot say for certain, but at a guess… I doubt I'd need look further than the author of this book." Rutherford tapped the cover in demonstration. "Varric Tethras is resident in the city should you wish to question him about Hawke's whereabouts, but he is a notorious liar. I would suggest you start your search with the Captain of the City Guard, Aveline Hendyr. She's the only other of Hawke's companions I know remaining in Kirkwall, and certainly the most likely of any of them to be of assistance."
Cassandra had indeed planned on paying a visit to the Guard Captain as soon as it was feasible, and was pleased to have her thoughts seconded by an outside source. Perhaps the Knight-Captain would be an acceptable fit for their plans… "This Varric Tethras," she said with some concern, "he is a liar, you say?"
Rutherford nodded. "He's…not a bad man, from what I gather, but not one to heel to figures of authority."
"Hmm." They would see about that. "His Tale of the Champion - is it accurate, then?"
Rutherford spread his hands. "To an extent, certainly. But I was not witness to many of the adventures recounted in the book, so I cannot attest to the whole. Certainly I would say the Templars were neither so ignorant nor so bumbling as they were made to seem, although I am not sure a fuller accounting would have cast the Order in any better a light."
Cassandra grunted. "Is the physical description of Hawke accurate, at least?"
"I don't recall the particulars of the book's description, but I'm sure a true likeness could be produced for your reference."
"I thank you. That would be useful." She rose to her feet. "This has been most enlightening, Knight-Captain. I must now collect my companions - we will do as you suggest and see what the Guard Captain can tell us in the first instance. And you and I will speak again."
The Knight-Captain straightened and saluted her as she walked past.
"What are your thoughts on Knight-Captain Cullen?" Cassandra asked as their group of five made their way down the steps of the Viscount's Keep. According to the Guard Captain's directions it was not far to their destination, only a short walk through the wide avenues of Hightown. A fresh breeze blew, carrying the scent of jasmine and heralding evening. Cassandra breathed deep; it was a pleasant change from the overpowering smell of the tannery that had followed them through the depths of Lowtown from the docks.
"I think he's been leading the Kirkwall chapter of Templars for three years, yet hasn't managed to earn a promotion to Knight-Commander," Violette spoke up, her carefully neutral tone belying the scorn implicit in the words. Anselm made a noise of agreement.
"His men appear to respect him," Karina replied more positively. "And Kirkwall has managed a return to stability while the rest of Thedas slides into chaos. That must speak in part to his abilities."
"Evans?" Cassandra prompted.
"Reserving judgment for the moment, Seeker Pentaghast. However able a leader he might be in a crisis, he seems to have lacked the foresight to prevent it."
"Hm," Cassandra grunted in acknowledgment. Pausing in the square they had just entered, she pointed. "I believe that is our destination."
From where they stood, it looked much like the other residences: stone and crawling ivy, attractive paving stones leading to the ornate entry. A casual observer would not think it abandoned. Inside was another matter: the key was stiff in the lock when Cassandra tried to turn it, and the smell of disuse wafted out as soon as she opened the door. Dust muffled their footsteps as they progressed through the anteroom into the main hall. Remarkable that no one had broken into the manse in the last three years - but then, the Captain of the Guard had an interest in this place, the Champion of Kirkwall's own estate.
"Search everywhere," Cassandra commanded. Violette and Anselm disappeared upstairs. Karina headed for what appeared to be the servants' quarters, while Evans progressed forward, into the kitchen.
Cassandra turned left, and found herself in what appeared to be a library, dust sheets draping the shelves and furniture. She flung the nearest one away, revealing a tasteful writing desk beneath, its surface swept clean. The drawers stuck, the joints swollen with disuse and Kirkwall's humid air, but when she succeeded in yanking them open the papers inside appeared intact. She riffled through them, eventually coming across a slim pamphlet titled simply, On the Rights and Suffering of Mages: A Manifesto. Frowning, she began to read.
Magic is made to serve man, not rule over him. The refrain of every Chantry Mother for an Age and more. But this is blind, and blinds us in turn.
Andraste suffered at the hands of magisters. Thus, she feared the influence of magic. But if the Maker blamed magic for the magisters' actions in the Black City, why would He still gift us with it? The oppression of mages stems from the fears of men, not the will of the Maker.
Cassandra's frown deepened. Blasphemy, and it only grew worse as she read further. She searched the pages for an author's name, but there was none. Unsurprising, for who would dare publish such thinking without the cover of anonymity to shield them?
Hawke was a known apostate. Could it be she herself was the author? At the very least, to have such a thing in her home, it would appear she had sympathies with such subversive thinking. The Champion of Kirkwall might be more dangerous than Cassandra had credited her for. Accounts of the tragedy at the Kirkwall Chantry placed her at the scene - some had even said she was the one behind the explosion. Leliana, who had twice met the Champion, had always viewed these reports with some skepticism - but it all fit.
And if that was the case, Cassandra would in no way be able to endorse Hawke to lead their Inquisition, not even as a mere figurehead. They needed someone who would be able to command the respect of both mage and Templar if they were to end this conflict, someone who would be able to move beyond the discovery that Tranquility could be ended and leave anger behind. Suddenly finding the truth of the Champion as a person gained urgency even over discovering her whereabouts.
"Cassandra."
She whirled at the whispered sound of her name, gasping. "Leliana!"
"Did I startle you?" The Left Hand's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I didn't mean to."
Cassandra glared. "We both know that you did. What are you doing here? Did you locate the Warden?"
Leliana's eyes darkened. "No. It appears she left Weisshaupt some months ago. I was able to confirm some sightings of her in the Anderfels, but I believe she may have gone west, beyond my ability to follow."
Cassandra slumped with the news. Their foremost hope was out of reach. They were left with Hawke, or - she was still not prepared to think about the alternative. Bad enough, hearing Divine Justinia's parting words echo in her head: Do take care, Cassandra. Bad enough we've misplaced the Hero of Ferelden - if the Champion of Kirkwall proves rotten, in a pinch the Hero of Orlais may have to do.
Leliana was circling the room, her nimble footsteps silent on the tiles. Completing her circuit, she stopped short by Cassandra's side, lightly touching her wrist and pointing back out into the hall. "Isn't that the Amell family crest?"
Realizing her fist had unconsciously clenched Cassandra forced it to relax and moved to see what Leliana was pointing at. Her knowledge of heraldry was not very complete (her uncle Vestalus would be most disappointed were he there to see). She shrugged. "It may be… You think the Champion of Kirkwall may have some link to the Warden?"
"I don't know…but it's worth investigating. My ship sails for Antiva on tomorrow's tide, unless I can delay them. I'll see what I can found out about this in the meantime and try to contact you again before I leave."
"Antiva - you think your friend will agree to the position, then?"
"I'm sure she will. Her help would be invaluable solely to the Conclave, at any event. Leaving the organization to the College of Clerics is bound to cause difficulties." They shared a grimace. Cassandra was sure neither of them was sorry to be away from the internal bickering and bureaucracy which would no doubt still be plaguing the tortuous preparations for the Conclave, now mere weeks away. "Have you recruited a Commander for us yet?"
Cassandra shook her head. "I wish to know more of the situation here first."
"Do not dally too long. Whoever it ends up being will have an unenviable job. They will need as much time as we can give them to prepare."
"I'm aware."
Leliana nodded. "I'd best away. I'll find you again tomorrow. Take care, Cassandra."
As the Left Hand stole back out of the house and melted into the gathering night, Cassandra turned her attention back to the shelves lining the Champion's study. Her mouth twisted in an ironic smile as she spotted The Tale of the Champion by one Varric Tethras on one of the lower shelves. She pulled it out and read the personalized inscription on the inside cover:
Hey Hawke - delivered as promised. Relax, it's only the good bits. You can thank me with a pint down at the Hanged Man. -V
Her eyebrow shot up. Only the good bits? Clearly there would be plenty to be gained from extracting a fuller accounting of the tale of Champion from this Varric Tethras. They would have to see about tracking him down the next day. Guard Captain Aveline, for all her helpfulness in providing them entry to the Hawke estate, had had little else to add to what they already knew, and when she had claimed ignorance of the Champion's current whereabouts Cassandra had believed her.
Speaking of the Guard Captain… Cassandra brushed her hand over another Varric Tethras tome, her eye caught by the distinctive likeness on the cover of the woman she had just come from questioning. Swords and Shields. Curious, she flipped open the cover and began to read.
A page was all it took. Her eyes flowed over the words and she knew she had stumbled across exactly the book she had always wanted to read and never found, not even knowing her desire. The writing itself was - well, it was pulp, embarrassing really, but sketched on the page in a few simple paragraphs was a woman Cassandra recognized. Here was someone who would live out the dreams she was too afraid to even voice, knowing them foolish. Here was a fantasy where it was not so foolish, where a woman like her might allow the sensible to be swept aside by passion. Where she might safely yield.
She had to snap the covers closed before she became too engrossed.
She glanced behind her - the house was still quiet; she was still alone. With only a brief hesitation, she slipped the book into her satchel. No one here would miss it. And it was written by the same author as The Tale of the Champion. Reading it could provide her with some valuable insight, if not to the Champion herself, then to the man she would soon be questioning.
Evidence, she told herself.