A/N: Part 4 of 4. This takes place after all of the major quests are concluded in DA2's third act, but just before the events of The Last Straw. It also takes place chronologically after A Line in the Sand, and is based around one of Fenris and Sebastian's Act 3 banters, as well as Anders' last Act 3 conversation. There are also references to "Meadowlark," by Stephen Schwartz. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed Atlas!
Atlas
By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)
9:37 Dragon
There would be blood. It was now only a question of whose, or how, or when.
Natale Hawke lay in bed one morning and watched the rising sun slowly filter through the curtains, grateful now for the little things in life. The smell of Orana's signature cinnamon buns wafting up the stairs. The luxury of soft cotton sheets against her bare skin. The slow, deep breathing of the man fast asleep beside her.
He was quiet for the moment, but every night for the past week, he'd been plagued with nightmares, each worse than the last. He said it was the taint in his blood, but she knew better. She was a better liar than Anders.
She looked down at his sharp profile, let her fingers idly twirl at his hair. And wondered if she should tell him what she knew.
Drakestone and sela petrae. Natale Hawke was no fool, and a gifted mage herself. No potion could hope to separate Anders from Justice, and she wasn't sure that even Anders wanted that any more. She had a piece of the knowledge that he'd tried to hide for her sake. Now she had to decide what to do with it.
The calls for her to become Viscount had stopped, replaced by silent fear. The conspiracies against Meredith either openly waged war against her, or disbanded and fled for their lives. Natale had lost track of how many templars she'd bribed in the last three years, how many terrified mages had fled for safer harbors through the cellars of her estate.
For three years, she'd held back the storm; open revolt would only favor the templars. But the war rumbled under her feet, the thing that could not be stopped.
She kept turning it over and over in her mind. The templars, the mages, the Chantry, and the people of Kirkwall caught in the middle. But no matter how she tried, she could not come up with a solution that didn't end in blood. The Divine had made up her mind to call an Exalted March. Meredith sent to Val Royeaux for the Right of Annulment weeks ago. It was all she could do these days to get one or two mages past the templars' ever-tightening noose, and even that was beginning to tax her abilities.
The nobles were paralyzed. The guard, too few to contend with the templars' fresh abuses. Her range of options grew narrower every day. Natale's eyes fell on her armor, carefully cleaned by Bodahn last night after she came back from Darktown's sewers.
She was Champion of Kirkwall. But before that, she was an apostate.
She couldn't choose to not be.
Anders stirred slightly in bed beside her. He murmured her name and tossed an arm over her shoulders. She allowed herself to lie there, her thumb stroking the back of his hand, when she heard Orana's voice from downstairs. The back door to the estate opened the floor below, and someone else walked inside. Natale slipped out of bed and dressed quickly, just before Orana made her way up the stairs and rapped softly on the door.
"Mistress?" she whispered. Natale had to smile. If she had been asleep, there was no way such a little voice could wake her.
"Yes, I'm up," she said, hastily tying her hair back as she opened the door.
"Fenris is downstairs," she said quickly. "I told him not to disturb you, but he's-" She cut off, wringing her thin hands with worry. Natale sighed and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, giving her a preoccupied but reassuring smile as she swept past Orana and down the stairs.
"Are you bullying my maid?" she asked, more sharply than she'd intended when she saw Fenris pacing in circles in front of the fireplace in the library. He rolled his eyes at her and continued to pace. He looked agitated, more agitated than she'd seen him since they killed Denarius and met Varania.
"I don't even know where to begin," he said. He briefly stopped wearing a hole into her floor and shook his head. "You're not an easy woman to befriend, Hawke. Especially not now."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She leaned against the staircase banister, watching him intently.
"I'm not sure I should be doing this...but you have to know. Maybe you can-I don't know what you would do, but it has to be better than nothing."
"Maker's breath, Fenris," said Natale with exasperation. "Spit it out already."
Fenris's eyes fell on the bottle of wine sitting on her desk across the room from the fireplace. He picked it up, uncorked it, and took a long swig. Natale felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth in spite of herself. Her fellow wine afficianado never did do anything in moderation.
"Sebastian."
Before she could respond or even really process what he'd said, he began pacing even faster and started fiddling with the bottle of wine, looking anywhere but at her, as though he was afraid he'd lose his nerve at any moment. But Fenris was never afraid of speaking his mind to her. It was part of why they always argued...and part of why he'd become such a trusted friend of hers over the years. She fought down the combination of dread and regret at his mention of Sebastian's name. She didn't want to relive their last conversation. Instead, she pulled up a chair for him and gestured for him to sit.
Fenris shook his head impatiently. "I don't need you to make me feel better, Hawke. This isn't about me. I need you to fix whatever's going on."
"Like that's any different from usual," she replied wearily. He stopped his agitated pacing and finally met her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know it hasn't been easy for you." Neither of them mentioned Anders' name. Fenris didn't have to. He could see it every day he was around them. He took a deep breath and started from the beginning.
"He dropped by this morning on the way to the Chantry, like he usually does. He looked...agitated. I asked him what was wrong, and he said he'd been thinking about Anders. And the templars."
Only a great effort of will kept a flood of urgent and angry questions at bay. Natale briefly closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She knew Fenris and Sebastian were close. She could see what it was costing him to tell her this.
"He asked me why the templars hadn't done anything about him yet, and I told him to take it up with you if he cared so much." Fenris gave a bitter laugh. "He was serious, Hawke, about turning him over to the templars if things continue to get worse with the mages." The elf rubbed his temples and started pacing again. "I don't like that abomination any more than he does. You're an apostate-I don't know why I'm even bothering to tell you."
"I do," said Natale quietly. Somewhere beyond her steadily growing fury at Sebastian, she found affection, real affection, for Fenris. "You once told me that you'd kill anyone who tries to use any of my friends against me." She smiled slightly and got to her feet. "I appreciate it. And don't worry, I'll go resolve things with Sebastian."
If anything, her words only deepened his frown. He caught her by the shoulder as she turned to head out of the library and back upstairs to her bedroom. "Hawke, don't do anything rash," he said. "I know you're a mage too, but don't let this get out of hand."
Natale gently brushed his hand away and felt the weight of all her years of life rest on her shoulders. "Fenris, I have held back the hurricane brewing in Kirkwall for as long as I can," she said with the ghost of a smile. "But now, I no longer have the strength or desire to try." And with that, she left a dumbstruck Fenris in the library and headed back up to her room. Anders still slept, and she got dressed quickly before leaving written instructions for Orana to ensure Anders had breakfast, then letting herself out the back door, a fresh weight of guilt added to the start of her day.
She tarried a little in the Hightown market; they were running low on that sweet stilten cheese Orana loved to cook with, and Sandal needed fresh reagents for his enchanting. She smiled a little at the thought of the young dwarf's ecstatic smile every time she brought him new and interesting enchanting materials. He and Bodahn would be leaving Kirkwall within the year for Orlais. It was almost impossible to imagine the estate without the occasional runaway enchantment. She left a few extra orders with Worthy; might as well give Sandal some more fun before he and his father fled to safer climes.
They weren't the only ones. Every day, she heard more and more murmured musings in the street of leaving Kirkwall. For Orlais, for Starkhaven, for Hercinia, even for recently Blight-ravaged Ferelden. Part of her wanted to go with them. But she knew she couldn't just take her friends and run.
Running meant giving up. It meant letting the templars win.
She finally stopped dallying when she had a basket full of oddly shaped packages, all neatly wrapped in brown paper. She made her way to the bronze doors of the Chantry. Her little detour had cooled some of her initial flare of fury, but she felt it rising again when she heard the bells tolling for worship. She closed her eyes and balled her hands into fists. She wasn't here to fight. Just to give Sebastian a friendly warning against doing anything stupid, then she'd be on her way. She entered quietly, just before the Chantry sisters gathered to sing the morning verses of the Chant of Light. Natale slipped into the crowd, and immediately picked out Sebastian, among the Chantry brothers aiding in the ceremony of the Chant. Natale hastily hid her face in her cloak and waited, the Chant of Light echoing off the high ceilings and walls, ringing all around her.
She took it all in. The great golden statue of Andraste above them all, catching the morning sun. The gathered citizens, rich and poor alike, listening to the Maker's words. The chorus of the sisters, the looks of peace on the faces around her, the kindly voice of the Grand Cleric interspersed with the verses of the Chant.
Aveline was right; it was beautiful.
She found herself wondering if she could bear to stay her hand...and watch it all burn.
The thought of such a responsibility falling to her was almost too much to bear, and she turned to leave. But just before she did, she caught the final lines of Elthina's sermon. "Gentle people of Kirkwall, the Chantry is of peace. Always. Sometimes, in the face of great adversity, it is bravest to wait and trust in the Maker's grace."
Natale stopped dead in her tracks, and suddenly, she saw everything that had happened in the Chantry interspersed among the completely ordinary scene of sisters offering their blessings to the faithful. The templars tightening the noose. Karl's blood on Anders' hands. Sister Petrice's gloating face. Seamus Dumar's body in his father's arms. She saw a boy standing, holding his mother's hand, in the very spot where the qunari had taken their revenge, nobles in the balcony where Karl breathed his last as a free mage.
The weight slowly lifted from her shoulders, peace taking its place as a slight smile touched her eyes. The Chantry sister walked past her; she did not recognize Natale immediately. The sister raised her hand, offering her blessing, and for the first time in her life, Natale Hawke, who had always fought for everything in a world that hated and feared her kind, accepted it.
She caught Sebastian's eye by accident as she filed out of the Chantry with all the rest. He turned pale and immediately made his way over to her just in front of the doors, pulled her aside out of the crowd. "Hawke," he said warily. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I didn't really expect to be here," she said with a smile.
He didn't answer for a while; he didn't know what to say. It seemed like every time they talked now, it ended up being about the mages, and every time, they argued terribly. "Hawke," he began slowly, "I-"
She held up a hand, cutting him off. "Don't," she said. "What will come will come. And we all will do what we must."
"I'm...glad the service gave you some peace, Hawke," he said, sounding very surprised indeed at her words, though his eyes were still watchful.
"I suppose it did." Natale gestured to the basket on her arm. "I should be going, Sebastian."
Maker be with you, she thought as she left the Chantry for what she was sure would be the last time. You'll need it.
The irony of the situation did not escape her as she made her way back to the estate. It was even funny, in a strange way. Who knew that Elthina, that indecisive and useless old Grand Cleric, could teach her something? The qunari were right; there really was wisdom to be found everywhere, even the most unexpected of places.
It wasn't about her. It wasn't about Anders, or even about Meredith or Orsino or Kirkwall. Selfish, really, and narrow-minded to presume such a thing.
It was about every Karl in Thedas, stripped of feeling and color and wonder simply for the crime of wanting to be free. Every Seamus slain for standing in the way of zealots. Every Bethany on the run since childhood, every Merrill protecting her clan from the predations of the templars. What was coming was years, centuries coming. She couldn't stop it now if she tried. And if nothing else, Elthina had taught her that inaction was still an action, still a choice.
And so she made her choice, and felt the last three years lift from her heart.
She practically floated through the back door of the estate, humming cheerfully to herself. "Sandal?" she called once she was inside, setting down her shopping with relief on the stairs.
He nearly made a beeline for her. He could always tell when she had something for him; perhaps it was something like the opposite of the dwarven resistance to magic, a kind of lyrium sense. "Enchantment?" he asked, looking up at her with wide, shining eyes. Natale smiled and ruffled his hair. She had always liked getting gifts for people, and probably no one appreciated the little things as much as Sandal. She pulled two packages out of the basket and carried them over to his little workstation, strewn as always with bits of stone and half-full jars of lyrium dust. The paper came off of the first to reveal a slice of pecan pie she'd picked up for him in the market. The second contained enchanting reagents.
"Oooh," said Sandal, reaching for both. Natale laughed and carefully put down the reagents, handing him the pie slice.
"Don't go getting those mixed up, ok?" she said. She left Sandal happily munching on the pie and put away the rest of the shopping before she headed back upstairs. It was now well into the morning, but Anders was sometimes so exhausted he'd sleep in past noon. She tiptoed up to the bedroom in case he was still asleep.
To her surprise, she found him up and dressed with a piece of paper in hand, gesticulating to the fireplace. He started when she entered, then relaxed when she just shook her head and smiled indulgently.
"Practicing another recitation of your manifesto?" she said, reaching for the paper on instinct. To her surprise, he pulled it away, looking sheepish.
"No," he said quietly, looking down at his feet. "It was actually...something I wanted to say to you."
"Why in the name of Andraste's most baggy Y fronts would you need to rehearse anything to me?" she said, laughing as she sat down on the bed and kicked off her boots. He didn't return the smile. Instead, he sat down beside her and touched her cheek lightly, tentatively, as though he was afraid he would break her. He traced her high, narrow cheekbones, the curve of her lips as her smile faded slightly.
"I wanted to tell you now," he said softly. "I love you. Just remember-whatever happens, I wanted you to know that."
"And that took rehearsing in front of the lute by the fireplace because...?" Anders closed his eyes and she felt his hand tremble against her cheek.
"Maker's breath, Natale. Don't make this harder, please." He opened his eyes, and she saw that this time, they glistened with unshed tears. She wrapped her arms around him and felt him shaking, his arms almost painfully tight around her shoulders.
"I love you," he whispered. "I wish that meant I would never hurt you." He loosened his arms, large brown eyes searching her face. "You are the most important thing in my life. But some things are more important than my life. Than either of us. I'm sorry."
She took his hands in hers and squeezed, her eyes suddenly keen and fierce. "This is war," she said. "I never had any illusions about it being easy."
This time, a real smile lit up his face. "I knew you would understand. I remember the first time I met you," he said fondly, his fingers idly playing with her hair. "I didn't know what to make of you at first. But your pride, your refusal to bend or yield...it drew me in like a beacon. I love that about you."
"Keep talking," said Natale, placing a kiss on his neck. "I know you can do better than that."
That got a chuckle out of Anders, but he quickly sobered up again. Both hands came up to cup her face, and he leaned forward to kiss her. Such a gentle kiss, and so chaste. Nothing but the soft touch of his lips on hers, his warm embrace enveloping her. He pulled back a few inches, his hands still resting on her cheeks.
"You are the one bright light in my life," he said, and his voice caught mid-sentence. He stopped, swallowed hard.
"Never blame yourself for what will happen."
The look on his face and the tears in his voice tested her resolve more than any sermon, any plea. She wanted to tell him what she knew. Wanted to beg him to let her help. But she couldn't. She knew Anders too well.
If she said anything, did anything to indicate what she knew, he'd panic and abort his plan to save her from being implicated. She couldn't let him do that, couldn't allow him to place the love of one person above the chance to change a world. So she kept silent and held him close, rubbing his back to soothe him, feeling suppressed sobs shaking his shoulders. It wasn't a lie, not really, but now she knew how he'd felt when he lied to her about the potion and Justice.
"When Bethany and I were little girls, we had a favorite story," she murmured as she stroked his hair. She didn't even know why she was telling Anders any of this, but he quieted somewhat while she recounted the tale of the blind meadowlark, the old king, and the sun god who stole her heart.
"What happened to her?" asked Anders, looking up at her. "The meadowlark."
Natale sighed. "She died, Anders."
He made a noise halfway between a sob and a chuckle. "Not the kind of story I would've told to children."
"The best stories aren't always the happy ones. Doesn't mean they don't mean something; you've been friends with Varric long enough to know that." She laid down on the bed, a wave of exhaustion suddenly overtaking her. Anders nudged her to get her to scoot over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, running his hands up and down her back. She curled up against him like a contented cat, letting her mind momentarily let go of its burdens and troubles.
She must've drifted off to sleep, because when she opened her eyes again, she was lying under the sheets with one arm around Anders, who was sitting up reading Varric's latest installment of his guard serial. He looked much improved for the nap, a lot calmer. He smiled down at her and tousled her hair.
"Aveline came by an hour ago," he said. "I told Orana to let you sleep. You looked like you needed it, love." His eyes lingered on her face.
"Thanks," she said as she stretched and sat up. She glanced at the window-she'd slept through the better part of the afternoon. "Though I'd better go see what she wants. Did she say?"
"Do you really think the captain of the guard would tell me?"
Natale sighed and rubbed at her temples. The growing tensions between the people closest to her had been a constant headache over the past three years. And though she never said as much to Anders, much of the fault for it was his. The list of people he didn't antagonize constantly grew shorter every day. "Never mind," she said shortly. "I'll handle it." She slid out of bed and quickly dressed herself, pulling on her heavy armored robes as an added precaution. Too many people wanted her dead these days for her not to take precautions.
Something in her voice must have tipped Anders off, because he got out of bed and followed her to the bedroom door. "You don't have to do everything in this blighted city," he said, looking at her with his large brown eyes. "I'm sure the guards can handle whatever's happening."
She couldn't resist a chuckle. Anders was many things, but subtle was not one of them. "Aveline wouldn't come looking for me if she thought they could," she said. "And besides, everything Meredith doesn't wreck ends up on my plate or hers anyway."
He didn't laugh. He usually didn't these days. "You really think Meredith doesn't have the guard under her thumb?"
Natale narrowed her cool grey eyes. "If Aveline wanted me in the Gallows, I would've been there before I even met you," she said. She didn't sound angry, but there was a definite note of finality in her voice. He didn't answer. Instead, he simply watched her with those worried eyes as she left the estate, pausing only to pick up her staff where it leaned in the entrance hall.
The Viscount's Keep rivaled the Gallows for her least favorite place in Kirkwall these days. There were nearly as many blighted templars here as there were in the old prison fortress, stationed at every door, sometimes supplanting the guards. She opened the door to the guard barracks, weaving in and out of the crowd of guards checking for the evening's patrol schedule. She leaned against the wall to Aveline's office, figuring she'd wait until the hubbub subsided, but the moment Aveline spotted her, she waved her into the captain's office, leaving the rest of the guard in Donnic's capable hands.
"It's about bloody time," said Aveline as soon as the door was closed behind them.
"Nice to see you too," replied Natale. Aveline gave her a strained grin, then reached for a patrol report sitting on her desk and handed it to Natale.
It didn't take long for Natale to get the gist of the problem. The presence of the words "maleficarum" and "inspiration" and "Champion" in the same sentence was cause enough. She put the report back down on Aveline's desk and rubbed her temples. "And what exactly am I supposed to do about this?"
"Don't you even care about what gets done in your name? I would if it were me!"
"And what would you do, Aveline? Go around asking every mage in the city to overlook the presence of an apostate Champion who thumbs her nose at the Knight-Commander?" said Natale with a sardonic grin.
Aveline sighed and sat back down behind her desk. "It'd be a start. It turns up more and more in my reports; these mages cause trouble, and invoke your name while they're at it," she said. She paused, then continued. "Please tell me you aren't actively encouraging this."
"No," said Natale. She could at least answer that question truthfully. "But my stance on the current situation is Kirkwall's worst-kept secret. I could pretend, just for you, if you like."
That got a laugh out of Aveline. "I know you better than that." She filed the report away in a desk drawer and shook her head. "Sorry for bothering you with this, but it...worried me." She drew a breath to say more, then quickly snapped her mouth shut.
Natale raised her eyebrows and reached for a bottle of brandy on the shelf behind Aveline, pouring each of them a glass. "If I've been a bad girl, you can tell me," she said.
"Bribing me with my own spirits? Classy." But Aveline took a sip nonetheless and leaned back in her chair, thinking.
"It's not you," she finally said, looking down into her glass. "It's more the position I find myself in. You saved Kirkwall, but I'm the one who's supposed to protect its citizens. And I can't even do that now without the templars looking over my shoulder and blood magic coming out of every dark alley." She took another large sip. "I'm starting to understand how Viscount Dumar felt."
Natale didn't answer. She couldn't. She suspected Aveline knew about some of her...shadier activities in her attempts to get as many mages as she could out of Kirkwall, but it was too dangerous to say anything, even here in Aveline's office, surrounded by her guards. Aveline drained the last of her brandy and came to stand beside Natale, looking out at the sunset over Hightown's walls.
"Aveline, I'm-" Natale started to say, but she was interrupted by a frantic knock on the guard captain's door. It flew open, and to both women's immense surprise, Varric and Isabela flew in, with none other than Tobrius, her father's old friend, in tow. Before either of them could react, Varric closed the door behind them and locked it securely. One look at the dwarf's face, and Natale felt her throat constrict.
"Champion, you have to come to the Gallows," said Tobrius urgently. "The First Enchanter got into a terrible argument with the Knight-Commander. He stormed off to bring it before the Grand Cleric, but the Knight-Commander gave chase." The older mage wrung his hands, twisting his fingers painfully. "I...I fear there will be blood."
Natale nodded to Tobrius, but turned her attention to Varric and Isabela. "Then what in the Maker's name are you doing here?"
"He came to me, figured I'd know where you were. I was busy getting my ass kicked at Wicked Grace." Varric jerked his thumb toward Isabela, who was watching everything going on with a mixture of irritation and growing alarm. Natale closed her eyes briefly, hoping Isabela would not run out on her this time.
She looked from Aveline's stony face to Tobrius, now ashen with stress and fright. Unbidden, the witch's words rose in her mind, and everything around her seemed to momentarily slow and halt.
Do not be afraid to leap. For it is only when you fall that you learn if you can fly.
"Take me to them. Now."
She didn't hear Tobrius' relieved thanks or Aveline, Varric, and Isabela's promises to come with her if things got ugly. She barely noticed the whispers among the guards and templars both when they all stormed out of the Keep, making for the Gallows at top speed. They were practically sprinting through Lowtown when she spotted the empty streets, the barred windows as civilians scattered. Templar and mage stood on opposite sides of Lowtown's central square, heedless of Natale, for the moment.
She stopped to catch her breath, then approached Meredith and Orsino, slamming the end of her staff into the stone. The earth itself trembled beneath their feet, and the eyes of Kirkwall turned to her.
"This needs to stop," she said quietly.
And it would. One way...or another.
