The elf's madness gave her strength, but it was at a cost to her dexterity. Anders' potent mind-blast didn't seem to affect her either. Though the fight raged on about them, the elf and Hawke didn't notice. They were locked into a desperate fight. The blade she wielded was almost as long as she was tall, yet her control was near perfect. She never had to recover from a swing like most of her larger brothers-in-arms; The blade's arc continued around with only a touch of power from her to keep it moving.
Her style's predictability was her undoing. After timing her swings, all Hawke had to do was step inside her reach and sweep her feet out from under. When he kicked her weapon away, he expected her to yield. Instead, she pulled a dagger from hiding and reversed her grip, driving it into her midsection with a hiss of pain. Looking him dead in the eyes, she drew the dagger across, then up and down, then lay down to die with a sad smile that would haunt him until it was his time.
Someone bumped him, breaking his paralysis. The sight of feathered pauldrons caught his attention. "Sorry Hawke." It was Anders directing arcane bolts at an archer across the square. "You all right? You look out of it. Not hurt, are you?"
"No, I'm fine. Let's finish it." He ran to Aveline, who was right in the middle of the melee, surrounded by three mercenary assassins. His back-stab put one down, just as the last two fell to the Guard-Captain's riposte and a bolt from Varric's sweetheart.
The fight was over. There was now another mess for the guard to clean up here. Aveline and Varric stood over the elf's body. "Did she do that to herself?" The guardswoman was somber.
"Yeah, I think so." The dwarf turned away and appeared to be looking for something on the ground. "At least that's what it looks like," he called over his shoulder.
She found Hawke standing at the rail surrounding the lift shaft that led to a lower level of Darktown. Looking down into the darkness, his slouch made him look defeated. "She was insane, Cale." Aveline put a hand on his shoulder. "There wasn't a thing you… we could do… we did what we had to do."
"Right." He walked away from her, toward the stairway that would take them down to the waterfront. "What's done is done." He didn't look back.
She sighed. "The Arishok was right… and wrong. He'll need to be told about this." She hurried to catch up.
In spite of the mess that needed to be cleaned up, the guard at the gate looked relieved; the disaster was over. "Survivors are starting to show. It wasn't as bad as it could've been. Thanks to you, Messere Hawke," he said, moving to open the gate.
Seeing his confusion when Hawke pushed on through the gate without comment, Aveline shook her head. "It's all right Maecon. He knows we're grateful. We'll be at the Qunari compound and then we'll return to the barracks, if anyone asks. Carry on, son. You did well here."
He beamed at her praise. "Thank you, Captain. I will." He held the gate for her.
They descended the long stairs that led to Kirkwall's Docks District and turned left at the bottom. The gate to the compound was barred with an armed Qunari warrior standing guard. "All are forbidden. Except you–for now," he told them after lifting the bar and allowing them to push the gate open for themselves.
He watched as the four approached the stairs leading up to his terrace. Aveline, Varric, and Faust accompanied Hawke. They'd lost Anders somewhere along the way. He waited for his visitors to get to the bottom step. "So, I was wrong about our thief," the Arishok said, dispensing with any formalities.
Hawke paused just long enough to keep from being rude. "It appears so," he intoned.
The Qunari leader sat back and inclined his head, putting his warriors at ease. "They say we were careless with our trap, that this is our fault. But even without the saar-qamek, there would have been deaths." He paused to survey his domain. "The elf was determined to lay the blame at our feet. While I admire conviction with a focus, I don't understand your kind's commitment to weakness."
"The elf has failed. She is no longer a threat. Why aren't you more concerned with her supporters?" Hawke's reply was almost a monotone.
"Our enemies strike from shadow because they cannot stand before us." He looked up at his gate guard's entrance. "This is not a revelation." His eyes followed the changing of the guard at the front gate. "And it does not matter. I am not here to fight. I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot begin to understand."
"Ah, that ol' Qunari mystique," Varric mumbled. Aveline shushed him.
"Still, you've been here a long time." Hawke reached down and patted his restless dog.
The Arishok slowly stood. All eyes were now on him. "I am stuck here," he said simply.
Hawke was thoughtful. "That's not the understanding of city leaders and their… supporters."
Aveline saw it coming. She kneeled and reached around the dog's neck to calm him.
"Let them rot." The Arishok advanced to the top step. "Filth stole from us. Not now. Not the saar-qamek. Years ago. A simple act of greed has bound me. We are all denied Par Vollen until I have recovered what was lost under my command!"
His troops watched impassively. Evidently, they'd heard this before. "That is why this elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk from this pustule of a city!" Turning away, he walked slowly to his seat. "Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun." Without warning, he turned and rushed back to the top step. "And you should be grateful," he roared.
Aveline had her hands full at that moment. Faust wouldn't keep still. With the dwarf's help, they managed to restrain him.
The Qunari leader returned to his seat. "Thank you, human, for your service," he said in a calm voice that belied his remaining fury. "Leave."
Viscount Marlowe Dumar cleared his office and ushered Hawke and the Guard-Captain in as soon as they arrived, much to the grumbling of not a few of Kirkwall's nobles. The viscount left it up to his seneschal, Bran, to smooth any ruffled feathers. The Qunari Menace, as he called it, was his top priority. He wanted Bran to make sure the nobles understood this.
It took but a few minutes to fill him in on what had happened in Lowtown and how the Qunari had reacted to it. "Years of nice, quiet anxiety… gone. Along with a whole street," the viscount lamented when they'd finished.
Aveline held Hawke's gaze with her eyes. He knew how she felt about the viscount's history of appeasement. "The Qunari appear to be blameless in this," Hawke noted. If you discount they were the ones who had the formula for the gas and they let it be stolen. That was a thought he kept to himself.
"Right. Aside from the Qunari just being here, a mad elf, pushed by zealots, likely hidden in the very groups I have to appease, has managed to kill Maker knows how many of our citizens in one afternoon." He paced behind his desk. "The Maker has a grand sense of humor."
"He has a way of testing our faith, Excellency," Aveline's tone admonished him.
He looked up from his desk. "Quite. And the Arishok–I suspected he had no plans to leave. If only we knew what he was looking for. I didn't know it was just as annoying for him. And who is playing us against each other? There seems to be more questions than answers."
"Maybe time will tell," his Guard-Captain offered.
The viscount's hands were massaging his temples. "And it's about to get worse, much worse I'm afraid. A shame, there were overtures of civility. Your influence, no doubt."
"I don't like the sound of that, Excellency."
"You and me both, Messere Hawke." He paused to collect his thoughts. "A Qunari delegate and his entourage paid me a visit. It was civil, tentative. Hopeful." He looked up, frowning. "Not now, Bran… give us a moment please."
His seneschal excused himself and left.
He sighed. "Where was I? Yes… the delegation left my chambers with their usual precision, but were not reported by the outer guard." He threw up his hands in frustration. "They are missing almost literally from my doorstep. And what, do you imagine, will be their Arishok's reaction?"
Aveline spoke up, "Excellency, for the sake of our Kirkwall, we need to get out in front of this and fast."
He offered them a wan smile. "Guard-Captain, I could use your enthusiasm. I feel I have been trying to turn a stampede for some time, now. Someone is pushing very hard." He thought for a moment. "Speak with Seneschal Bran. Then you will see why I cannot trust anyone else with this. Thank you for your efforts so far. I'll be here when you return," he said, dismissing them.
Bran was standing at the balcony rail, watching the nobles entering and leaving the keep's entry hall. He looked up at Hawke's approach. "Messere Hawke, Guard-Captain Vallen, and…" He looked down at the dwarf standing with them.
"Varric Tethras, esquire, at your service," the dwarf supplied.
"…and Messere Tethras. How may I help you?" His eyes stayed on Varric.
"You have information about the missing Qunari?" Hawke raised his voice.
"I am to help you, yes. Viscount Dumar would appreciate discretion in this matter," he said stiffly. "I would prefer you," he glared at Hawke, then at Varric, "were not involved at all, but that is neither here nor there."
Hawke moved closer. "The Arishok is growing violent. He might be looking for an excuse to end the viscount's fragile peace."
Bran stood his ground. "I suspect that if this Arishok wanted to take over, he simply would." Getting no reply from Hawke, he continued; "For all we fear that heretical Qun of his, its demands have done more to keep him in check than any of our efforts."
"And?" Hawke could see Bran wasn't finished.
He shrugged. "Besides, would the Qunari stoop to trickery? There is no precedent, but there is unfortunate evidence of influence from our side." His eyes were on Aveline.
"I'm sure you have suspicions about what happened." Hawke wasn't sure where this was going.
"My concerns are well founded." His frown was for the Guard-Captain. "This could not have escaped the notice of the City Guard, unless they were involved."
So the gauntlet's thrown. Hawke's mind raced. "Aveline, what do you think?" He stepped aside.
She stepped up. Her indignation was hard for her to hide. "My guard. Have any failed to report?" She pressed closer.
He refused to budge. "Your guard. There were several. You should start with one of them." He looked at each one of them in turn. "Although, where would you find a swordsman so eager to sell his honor and duty, I'm sure I don't know."
Both Varric and Aveline came up with the answer; "The Hanged Man!"
Hawke agreed. "It's got to be. Where else?"
Bran's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Right. Then you know what to look for. I can't imagine this has occurred without someone's notice. There's always a weak link." When they'd turned to leave, he bid them; "Please keep this quiet. The viscount is under enough scrutiny as it is."
"Mum's the word, then. We'll be back." Varric was the last to leave.
Varric had a hand on the door latch. This time of evening, the Hanged Man would be a busy place. "We're looking for a dirty guard, right? That probably means a drunk with more coin in his pocket than brains in his head. Follow me."
It didn't take long. He was at the bar, as loud as a drunk could be. "A round for the house," he called out. "The coin is all mine, boys. And the Maker's waiting for me, no matter what I do." Cheers and cat-calls greeted his sally.
Hawke waited for the rush to subside and pushed in beside their mark. Aveline identified him as one of her guards. Orwald was his name. "Thanks." Hawke lifted his glass to him and drank. "A lot of coin for this place, eh?"
"Damned right, pal. Tonight I'm paid and blessed. And all I had to do was turn my head and look the other way." The bar-keep refilled his glass, which he raised. "To all my friends," he bellowed.
Aveline and Varric stepped up behind the drunk, pushing him and causing him to spill his drink. "Hey, step back. I know important people. We're going to show this city what to do with heathen ox-men." The crowd, sensing a fight, moved away from the bar. It got deathly quiet. The drunk could do nothing but look around in confusion.
"Guard-Captain, would you like to have a word with your man?" Hawke invited.
Orwald looked around until he spotted Aveline. "Guard-Captain?"
She towered over him. "Who?"
He tried to focus on her. "What?"
She grabbed a fist full of his shirt and pulled him close. They were almost nose-to-nose. "Who!" she repeated. Her green eyes bored into his.
"Who what? I don't-" he started to blubber.
She shook him until his teeth chattered. "Who bought you! Who bought the honor of a proud guard of Kirkwall and made him a drunken Mabari bitch!" She shook him again, tearing his shirt.
"I don't… I don't know. He was a templar! I swear! He… he had the seal of the Grand Cleric and everything!" Orwald looked up, then dropped his eyes from hers. "It's true."
She let him go. "The penalty for abandoning your post is ten days on the wall. I expect you to report in the morning. Don't make me come looking for you. Got it?"
"Right, Captain." He managed to stumble to the door without falling.
"Well Hawke. There's your answer–a templar." She looked at her hands. "Let me get to Varric's room. I want to wash these."
"Right this way, Guard-Captain." The dwarf led the way.
Aveline closed the Chantry's massive entry door and turned on Hawke. "So, you're taking the Captain of the Guard to accuse the Grand High Cleric of Kirkwall of funding zealots?"
The dwarf grinned. "You only know the half of it-"
"Varric!" Hawke interrupted him.
"Hawke, what in the Maker's name is going on? What am I walking into?" She stood with arms folded, waiting for an answer.
He held out his empty hands. "It's just a careful chat about the missing Qunari," he said, glaring at Bartrand's brother.
She wasn't convinced. "Some days Hawke…"
The only one present in the Chantry's central hall was a sister wearing the robes of the newly ordinated. She looked up and smiled at Hawke. "Maker's Blessing, Serah, how may I help you?"
He wondered if Elthina would see him. Her last letter stating that she shouldn't was still in his shirt pocket. "The Grand Cleric. Please tell her… tell her it concerns the Qunari."
She lit the last candle and pinched out the taper she carried. "Who shall I say-?"
"Serah Hawke. That is all Sister Agnes. I will take it from here."
"Yes Mother. Maker's Blessings, Serah." She left in a hurry.
"Sister Petrice… or is it Grand Cleric yet?" Hawke wondered, not passing up the chance to needle her.
"Mother Petrice. Time has changed us both." She looked around. No-one was within hearing. "Grand Cleric Elthina cannot grant an audience to just anyone. What do you want?"
At first, Hawke wondered about coming in the front door like this. He could always try to see Elthina by using the back door, but Petrice was an unknown. What was her role? He'd try this first. "A templar may have misjudged an order and abused the Grand Cleric's authority," he stated, watching her reaction closely.
She was as aloof as ever. "I assure you, the templars would never embarrass the Chantry, at the risk of the Knight-Commander's wrath."
"We've been asking around. It seems men were hired for the righteous task of kidnapping a Qunari delegate. The word templar came up in the conversation."
Petrice raised her chin and met his gaze. She waited.
Taking a chance to break the impasse, he said, "A pause that says you know, but does Her Grace?"
She looked away. "The Grand Cleric trusts her stewards to enact the wishes of the Maker." Her expression remained impassive.
He wagged a finger at her. "So, you've been at it again? Sounds like you've been very bad this time. This will shock Her Grace, no doubt." His smile mocked her. He exchanged looks with Varric.
She sighed. "So stubborn… all right, Serah Hawke, if you won't abandon this, let me offer you something. The templar you seek is a radical who has grown… unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor."
"And he is what to you?"
"He is my former bodyguard, Ser Varnell. Assume what you wish, but I offer him to you as… reconciliation." She, once again, looked around. "Varnell's refuge is in Darktown. It's in a gated gallery to the north-east. Meet me at this location. I invite you, Serah Hawke. Come see what unrest the Qunari have inspired. I fear Varnell may have started something we will regret. Perhaps he is not beyond our control yet. Maybe you can do something." She mounted the stairs to her quarters without looking back.
A/N Thanks to Wyl for taking time to help with this chapter. C.