Sometimes, Hawke was forced to admit as he turned wearily to the next building, there were advantages to having templars dogging your patrol routes; like today. The river gate market patrols had sent a runner to the barracks that afternoon requesting extra backup. At a time when the flow of goods into the city should have been starting to ease after the day's rush the area had had been too busy and too tense. It had sounded like another brewing protest over the gate delays; the influx of people and items was being kept on a tighter leash as the talk of war made everything more uneasy and more supply chains got 'redirected' towards the army's needs. Protests were best dispersed before they became riots, it also sounded like a fine way to avoid the paperwork that seemed to grow on his desk overnight like some strange rectangular, incredibly bland mushroom. Hawke had grabbed several of the standby patrols and headed out; they'd been about three streets away when the screaming started.
-o-o-
What they'd found was a riot; made almost entirely of people under the influence of…something, but blood magic had a certain look when you knew what to look for. Why they hadn't met a massacre on the move he didn't know, maybe it hadn't taken completely but he didn't like their odds as the guards had formed up beside him, so very few. Back beyond the crowd he thought he could see the river gate closed, no way of knowing the fate of the guards stationed there. As the mob's focus began to shift from property damage and a few self-inflicted casualties, he'd been frantically scanning for something, anything to give a hint of where the mage(s) responsible might be. And to give them better options than killing civilians before being messily overwhelmed or running for their lives and letting people take their chances.
-o-o-
Suddenly, over from the docks had come a glorious blue haze washing across the crowd, somebody upstairs had heard their prayers and the templars had actually been around to step in; meaning the final toll was mostly wounded rather than dead. They'd sent for healers, and scrambled all reinforcements to try and manage the chaos of keeping the river gate closed, everyone else out and the survivors corralled in a warehouse on the templars' insistence in case whatever it was hadn't worn off completely. In between with the templars' (sort of) help there was the job of clearing the surrounding buildings of whatever might still be around. At least for once the Order could pick the task up of figuring out all the details of what had happened; they had three dead mages but apparently this had the feeling of prepared ritual, the work of more than three. Hawke wasn't keen on unknowns.
-o-o-
The first two floors of the building had been clear but the back of Hawke's neck had shivered in warning when he'd glanced upwards to the final floor.
"Let's find out where our supposed templar help has gotten to" Hawke commented as they headed for the stairs "They can show off that nice 'dispel magic' trick again before we sweep that top floor." Perrin the experienced hand of the two nodded, Amurlyn looked slightly disappointed; she was just out of training and Hawke usually would have had her partnered with another guard downstairs learning the essential skill of 'management through superior lung capacity' except that she was good with a crossbow. Very good; some customised if 'temperamental' setup that gave a near ideal blend of speed and power. Any threat that could be removed at long range with minimal fuss came into the preferred category in Hawke's book.
-o-o-
They re-entered the first room just as a blast of force rocked the stairwell, followed by the all too familiar red spirals spreading outwards hungrily across the room towards them, to the sounds of screams down the stairs.
"Nugshit. So much for backup." Hawke muttered, warily eyeing the deadly tendrils now blocking their exit route. And the only way to help the poor bastards caught in it was to deal with the source.
"New plan Captain?" from Perrin, one eye on the cloud and the other on Amurlyn's now less disappointed and more pale face; there was never a 'good' first encounter with blood magic. Hawke flicked a glance up the flight of stairs ending at a closed trapdoor immediately to their left.
"We get them before they get us. Perrin with me, Amur stay behind us until we know what's up there, and wait for a clear shot- you know what you're doing." She blinked too rapidly several times but straightened at the order in his voice, meeting his eyes.
"Yes Captain." Hawke shrugged his shield loose on his arm as they took the stairs two at a time.
-o-o-
Sometimes the 'slung shield as a decoy' trick bought you some time or told you how many enemies you might be facing. In this case as Hawke flung himself after it onto the third floor it also caught the lightening, arcing it to anyone else nearby. He had an instant to guess the rough origin direction, rolling to put as much distance between himself and the others before it-
Hit; sending him to the floor writhing, hearing the cries of the others through the crackling in his ears and the blue-white flares across his vision. As it faded Hawke pulled himself to his feet, narrowly avoiding the crack of a hex, then a second. Only one mage visible, crouched amongst debris at the room's far end, beside a glyph traced large on the floor symbolising Maker knew what, that had to have involved a lot of blood. Out of the corner of his eye as he retrieved his shield he saw Amurlyn crouched through the trapdoor, her first bolt hummed out, drawing a short laugh from the figure as it shattered against the flicker of a shield. Hawke stepped across swinging his shield out and up to deflect the return volley of rock away from the guard, then staggered as a second bolt smashed under the shield followed by a stab of pain from at least one rib; even Anders backed up by Justice hadn't been able to cast that quickly. Hawke closed on the mage, waiting for an opening as the latter raised his hand again, when a voice rang out below and the markings on the floor blazed blue then guttered to ash. At the same moment he felt the last sensation he would have expected; a thin trickle of healing magic across his side. Maker's arse who-?
-o-o-
Not likely the enemy in front of him who staggered, snarling, as the glyph died. His shield flared again as he dropped his arm, the sleeve dark and wet almost to the shoulder and red mist coiled once again at his feet. Hawke hastily stepped back out of range, as a muffled cry came from the room's far end; echoed an instant later from the mage as two bolts sprouted from his throat and eye, cutting through the shield's moment of weakness. "Well shot" Hawke called over his shoulder, skirting around the fading red ripples and the body to cautiously shove aside the piles of junk. Behind them a young man in worn ragged robes sat with hands laid flat on his knees, twin ribbons of blood trailing from his nose and mouth from having been the lucky target of that last casting. Hawke wondered if all healers were completely crazy as he warily eyed the mage in front of him. The enemy mage who probably could have taken out both him and Amurlyn and they'd never have seen it coming; and who'd just healed him. Not completely, and nothing close to Anders' work, but still.
-o-o-
"Captain? Are you alright?" Amurlyn rounded the crates her questions cut off as she spotted the figure on the floor.
"Wait." Hawke held up a hand as her crossbow came up.
"Captain he's a blood mage! They would've- "
"Where's Perrin, is he still alive?" Hawke's voice hardened; the answer would decide the mage's fate, who waited, seemingly accepting of whatever decision came; Hawke didn't relax his guard.
"I think so, but he got hit hard when that lightening hit, knocked out; I pulled him clear of…that spell on the stairs, but I didn't want to leave you to face whatever was up here- "
"You did well guardsman" Hawke slung his weapons to haul the mage to his feet, one arm wrenched high enough up his back to draw a pained yelp.
"You" Hawke growled, heading for the stairs "can repeat that earlier little trick. Don't even think about trying anything else."
"No more mana" came the gasped response.
"Since it's the only thing keeping you alive right now, I suggest you dig a little deeper."
-o-o-
Hawke had more than half expected to need to make good on his threat, for the healing to have been a feint. The voice of caution in his head screamed at him for risking Perrin's, possibly all of their lives on a hunch; except that this was the first remotely sane mage he'd met since the rebellion began. Despite the knife at his throat the mage managed enough healing to bring Perrin round groaning, and looking more than a little the worse for wear. Given how overworked the healers below were, he'd take it. The audience of three shocked and staring templars he could have done without. Hawke felt a slight twinge of guilt as he brought the hilt of his dagger across the back of the mage's skull, but an unconscious prisoner was one less thing to worry about when the storm finally broke from those watching.
"Amurlyn, you and Perrin are off duty, see Sergeant Iain and then get yourselves back to barracks; tell him I'm going to need a horse to get this one back."
"You won't need to deal with the malificar Captain; the Order will take him into custody." A templar finally spoke up; half of the pair who looked young enough that this might have been their first mission since taking their vows. And probably the two who'd been caught in the trap on the stairs; the fact that the Order could plentifully supply health potions for its members to carry on them the main reason they were both standing, if looking ragged around the edges.
-o-o-
Hawke continued securing the mage's hands.
"Seems to me you've got enough to deal with downstairs checking citizens for possession and figuring out what in the name of the Black City just happened here. I suggest you take a look at the markings on the floor upstairs. We'll send you a report when we're done with him."
"You have no authority over malificar and no ability to hold them; it is the Order's right and duty to-"
"If he was a malificar we'd all be dead. Right now he's just someone of interest in the Guard's investigation here." Hawke stood up, hearing the ice creak under his feet, the guards at his back probably unhappy but staying silent. He knew there wasn't a case to make, even to himself really, beyond a desire to hear what the mage had to say first hand rather than via a report from those unlikely to be impartial. /So he doesn't remind you at all of anyone else then?/
-o-o-
The templar made to speak again but the older knight (Hester? Hawke thought he'd heard her name mentioned as the templar reinforcements had started to arrive in the aftermath) cut in with a thin smile.
"Very well Captain, if that's how you want to play it. We'll finish matters here and let the proper channels decide on custody of the mage."
Meaning letting someone higher up the chain of command come done on him like a ton of bricks. Well maybe he'd still have time before that happened.
"Fine by me." Hawke slung the unconscious mage over one shoulder and headed for the stairs.
"Captain…why are you sticking your neck out for a blood mage?" This from Perrin, quietly enough not to be overheard and in tones suggesting he was only reluctantly taking on the job of suggesting that a superior might be doing something 'unwise'.
"When people who should be trying to kill me don't, I'll give them five minutes to explain why. Since he helped you out as well he might even get another five. Or three; two at least. Don't worry, we won't be laying out the best bedroom; and the templars will still have him soon enough. Maybe next time they'll send us backup who've actually seen a blood mage, not just read about them in books."
-o-o-
"Captain Hale." Hawke reined up at the sound of hooves and the voice he recognised. Most of the way back to the barracks and he'd almost been starting to think that this complete lack of plan might actually have flown; no such luck.
"Knight-Commander."
Knight-Commander Braegan regarded the figure slung over the front of Hawke's saddle dispassionately; Hawke suspected there was little that filled those eggshell green eyes with much warmth.
"Your efforts in gaining us a prisoner will be invaluable in learning the plans of these malificarum, and perhaps others. This was clearly no opportunistic attack yet it escaped the notice of both our commands; with war against Kirkwall coming no doubt we will see more." Of course the attack would have brought Braegan down to investigate personally, and to learn of the 'intervention'.
"Agreed; we're also both lucky not to have higher losses. Your men could have used Ser Hester's help a little sooner, cleaning out cornered mages isn't a job for two rookies."
Braegan frowned "If any of us falter even for a moment, we are all as you say, 'rookies' before malificarum. As your men would have discovered without our assistance in responding to that mob. This arguing however gains us nothing; by the Maker's mercy we are all here and we all have our roles to play. And that of the Guard does not involve the holding or interrogation of mages."
"Might ensure that those of us who'll end up tracking down and cleaning out every newly-found bolthole and escape route get the relevant information first hand." For a change.
-o-o-
"What is this mage to you, Captain?" The first hint of warning in the question.
"Beyond being a live source of information? As the one mage in the last hundred who hasn't tried to kill me on sight, he might not be completely unredeemable; though a live mage can always be remedied. Healers don't grow on trees though, in case Hester didn't mention that."
"You will not get the information from him that the Order will. That is our role." The Knight-Commander's voice held the ironclad certainty of a true believer; the question of methods irrelevant. How many differences between here and what Meredith had become? And would anyone question it if the answer became none.
"And had you seen as we have the price of trusting too far, one in a thousand would seem generous. This discussion is in any case pointless. You will give the mage to the Order, either now or on the order of his Grace; and I do not advise being the one to require his involvement in a matter already determined by both divine and secular law. Once the truth is known the mage will have the same justice any of us can expect in the Maker's eyes."
Hawke knew he was out of arguments; could hear time running out on the one opportunity to lose this with dignity.
/The Champion would have kept the mage and said screw them all./
/Usually when you said that people died. Is it worth it over a mage you don't even know and could well be wrong about?/
"Then I expect I'll see you in his Grace's office at his and your convenience. Until then the prisoner stays in the custody of the Guard. A novel taste of having rights under law."
Braegan's eyes were pale in anger "Do not overestimate your worth to Starkhaven, Hale. The intentions of this mage will not be the only truths under question after this."
"Maybe, but not under your judgement." Hawke turned and rode for the barracks, as the ice cracked and groaned.
-o-o-
Crazy stands or no, Hawke wouldn't usually have risked holding a mage at the barracks if not for a number of concoctions come up with over the years, useful for keeping sources of trouble 'subdued'. The mage would be miserable when they wore off, but it seemed preferable to the company of templars. It was round about the time that he'd started to come round that a runner had arrived from the palace requiring the immediate presence of the Captain of the Guard in his Grace's office. Braegan must have managed to jump the queue somehow; even the delaying tactics of bureaucracy and meetings had let them down today. Hawke hadn't elaborated details to the guards detailed to watch the prisoner, except for Perrin who'd volunteered, insisting he was good for duty. Hawke sincerely hoped he wasn't about to repay that loyalty with disaster.
-o-o-
The Knight-Commander was already waiting as Hawke entered the small antechamber to Sebastian's private office, where matters more important or difficult were dealt with outside of regular hours or the open court sessions. Being the cause of one of those problems did not tend to make one popular. He and Braegan settled for pointedly ignoring one another from opposite sides of the room, while Sebastian's private guards did their best to avoid the storm brewing in the enclosed space. With his uncanny sense of timing (Hawke was sure he listened through the walls) the prince's steward Maclin emerged from his office, viewing the room with his perpetual suspicion for anyone likely to be the cause of headaches, late nights or additional paperwork (while demanding a ridiculous amount of the last item himself). On cue the office door opened, revealing the prince shaking hands with Kirkwall's current ambassador to Starkhaven, a noble Hawke had only met once or twice- Arinshaw? A striking young woman slipped out ahead of them, nodding to Maclin in a businesslike fashion, a lapdesk and bundled papers in one hand. Her features said elven although hair bound up revealed ears lacking the delicate points, half elven? A memory tugged at the back of Hawke's mind. Her eyes glanced casually around the room, met his; widened in shock. The desk fell from her hand, scattering papers "Haw…ke…" the word trailed into the roaring silence.
-o-o-
Through the mess of stares in their direction Hawke's eyes met Sebastian's, saw the look in them flicker through confusion to dawning realisation and fury. Whatever the look in his own eyes the voice in Hawke's head shouted only one thing: /Run./
Silence shredded as steel slid from sheathes. The guards moved firstly to ensure the prince's safety, shoving the group inside the offices, slamming doors, Hawke used the instant to put his back to the door he'd so recently entered through, yanking the key from his pocket, searching frantically behind him for the lock. He didn't dare turn and look for it, knowing the Knight-Commander's response would be to protect by eliminating the threat. His fingers brushed the lock as his blade met Braegan's; out of time. Hawke pressed forward on an attack, whipping his hand around to flick the key at the templar's face then broke for the corridor to the outer palace. Lousy odds he'd make it but better than none- the wall to his left exploded into flame and shrapnel sending hot pain across the side of his face. As he flinched away glass shattered at his feet, acrid fumes choking the air around him, setting him swaying on his feet. Through streaming eyes the blur that was the far end of the corridor was blocked by more figures closing in, he turned unsteadily at the sound of coughing behind him to meet some fool's blade; feeling a vicious satisfaction through the mounting dizziness as his counterstroke hit home.
-o-o-
"Take him alive!" They wouldn't take him for free. Snarling hoarsely through the burn in his lungs as they surrounded him, gasping and cursing themselves; someone's sword scoured a line across his back as his cut sent another to one knee, a sword hilt across the back of his head whiting out his vision for a moment.
Eventually, hands trussed behind his back they dumped him at the feet of a figure standing back from the area of flammable redecoration, another arrow (regular not fire, this time) nocked loosely against a bow held in one hand. /Still keeping up the tricks from the Kirkwall days then, Sebastian?/
"Never liked the carpet anyway" Hawke rasped, as the prince's boot collided neatly with his chin, cutting through the headache to send him into blackness.
A/N: That took waay longer to finish than I'd hoped. Now that the doomy doom has hit the tale will be continued directly in another story that also fills a second kmeme promt (and I will not be trying to fill two prompts with one story again!). "Darkness in the Maker's Light" will be a dark!fic, definitely M-rated. 'Cause Sebastian's not feeling pissed or betrayed or anything. Honest. Check the list or my profile; enjoy.