"Strange, I've been through here countless times and I don't remember this being here." Anders gave the iron lattice blocking his path an impatient shake. It was no larger than most doors you'd run into here, and the turn in the hallway prevented a view of where it would end up. "It leads down and roughly to the north-east. This must be it."

Varric pointed to the tracks in the dirt on the floor. "It's been used lately. Is it unlocked?" He answered his own question by pulling on the mesh. With a thin squeal, it opened just far enough for them to squeeze past. After a look at each one of his fellows, he lit a lamp and, carrying it high, led the way.

The stairway ended in a large gallery strewn with mining tools and piles of junk. An air shaft cut into the ceiling allowed enough light in for them to see their way through. "Petrice called this Varnell's Refuge," the dwarf remarked, taking a long look around. "Refuge from what? Is what I wanna know."

"Is that voices I hear?" Hawke wondered, his voice echoing from the stone walls.

Varric held up a hand. "There is a crowd up ahead. But hold on a second. Let me make sure nobody's set up a surprise for us." He crossed the room, watching for anything hidden in the piles of refuse. Finding nothing, he waved them on to the stairs leading up.

The sound of voices was stronger. They could all hear them now. A man's voice asked a question, to which many answered. "Did I just hear the word Qunari?" It was Aveline, her hand had instinctively found Fadeshear's hilt.

"Yeah, you did," Hawke replied, watching her back. "Petrice is here, somewhere."

"Wonderful!" Anders snorted from the back of the line; Varric was leading, with Aveline following, then Hawke next, just ahead of the mage. In a single file, they crossed a bridge over two mining galleries to their left. Below them, in one, was a train of three dust covered carts that hadn't moved in ages. Their wheels looked like lumps of rust. The smell of mold and sewage reminded them they were in the lowest levels of Darktown. "Nice place to hold a rally," he said, sparing a glance at the figure of a kneeling man painted on the wall.

"Hold here." Varric stopped them short of a corner. "I'll be right back."

The dwarf eased up to the corner and slipped around into a recess cut into the gallery beyond. The oil lamps hung on the walls gave just enough dim light for him to see four unarmed Qunari warriors standing against the far wall, hemmed in by a motley collection of armed locals. Some of them wore light armor, while some just wore street clothes, but they were all armed. There were blades as well as bows here. What was absent, though, was any sign of a magic user. Blondie's gonna love crashing this party, Varric thought as he turned and made his way back.

"Like any beast, remove the fangs and it is lost." The templar they knew as Ser Varnell stood between the Qunari delegate and the mob. Though he seemed to be the only Chantry representative here, the crowd was under his control. All eyes were on the templar. His hostile gestures caused a restless murmur to run through them. Seeing the new arrivals, he nodded and continued; "They are weak before the faithful of the Maker. The only certainty in their precious Qun is death before the righteous!" The punch he delivered to the delegate's midsection drew a ragged cheer.

The Qunari straightened and shot a stern look to his fellows, who remained impassive. Their indifference seemed to satisfy him. His gaze returned to the templar.

"Well, heathen, where does your faith lead you? You will not have Kirkwall!" Varnell's taunts drew more shouts from the aggravated mob. They were barely under his control now.

The Qunari delegate and his escorts didn't react to the crowd that pressed in at the templar's words. Their eyes were on the new arrivals. Hawke, Varric, Aveline, and Anders stepped up and formed a line facing them.

At a hush from the crowd, the templar looked up. "Ser Varnell!" A woman's call got their attention.

Looking past Hawke, Varnell held up his arms. "Take a knee, faithful. The Chantry blesses us." He bowed at the waist. "Revered Mother… ."

"I was wondering when she would show." Varric stepped back to get a better look.

Petrice stood before them, her hands clasped. "You claim blessing when you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly?" She looked at the crowd as if marking each one. In silence, they all watched her cross the room to stand behind Hawke and Aveline. "You have brought wrath down upon yourselves." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You do remember Serah Hawke?"

The templar crossed his arms and smiled benignly. The uneasy murmur from his followers was answer enough. He waited.

Squeezing his shoulder, she looked sideways at Hawke. "The Qunari have friends, Ser Templar." Her eyes were on Varnell now. "How will you answer their… allegations, hmm?"

His smile widened. "Most Revered Mother… the friend of our enemy… is our enemy!" He patiently waited for the shouts and curses to quiet down. "Heathens and abominations must die!" The agitated crowd pressed closer to their prisoners with a collective growl.

He could see where this was going. Hawke stepped up and raised his voice. "You want a fight, Varnell? Face someone whose weapons are not bound!"

Anders' eyes glowed. "Templars are cowards." His voice was somehow different, much lower, much slower. "They can only pick on those whose lives they already hold in their hands." His grip on the staff he held tightened. His knuckles were white.

Varric was undecided. "Hawke, you sure about this?" He took a quick look around.

Hawke wasn't watching. Petrice held his attention. Her eyes widened in surprise when the templar drew a hidden dagger and, with deliberate slowness, cut the delegate's throat. Turning before the Qunari fell, he held the blade over his head. Blood dripped from the keen edge, causing an awed sigh from the faithful. Varnell looked up at the ceiling as though he was listening. His gaze returned to the crowd. "Righteous!"

The hand on Hawke's shoulder was unsteady, then it was gone.

Looking triumphantly at Petrice's hasty exit, Varnell pointed at the delegate's escort. "Finish them!" Sweeping the bloody blade in Hawke's direction, he incited them; "The friends of the heathen! Destroy them!" When he threw the dagger at Hawke, he didn't count on Aveline being there. Seeing it glance harmlessly off of another Chantry herald gave him pause, but he now had only one way out. Drawing his own sword and shield, he muttered a warrior's prayer and waded in.

From long practice, they moved as one; Hawke and Aveline advanced in line, while Varric and Anders retreated to the far left. A powerful mind-blast spell stunned them all, giving the advantage to the ones who recovered first.

In spite of the protection of their position, the Qunari escort fell to the front rank of fanatics. Thinking of his mage, Hawke directed his attack on the templar, who was still reeling from the warden's mind assault when Aveline's pommel strike put him on the floor. Hawke was ready to take advantage of the situation, when Aveline followed through. The templar was no more.

Mindful of the fireballs and ice spells being cast, the two moved left to engage the fanatics that had killed the Qunari. One after another of the unarmored mob fell to either the Guard-Captain's blade or Hawke's deadly back-stab.

The fight was now in its last stages. It had turned into a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, with snipers stepping up, taking a shot, and then disappearing. On instinct, Hawke and Aveline moved from cover to draw fire, while Anders and Varric patiently waited for their targets.

It was over before they knew it. The four met in the middle of the room where the floor was littered with the dead; Qunari, a templar, and numerous commoners were scattered about in the unlovely repose of mortality. "Bloody, Maker-damned… templars!" His voice was now Anders. Vengeance, apparently sated, wasn't there. Did the warden recognize any of these corpses? Had he treated them in his clinic? He stood still for a moment, clutching his stave, shaking his head, and muttering to himself.

"Ah, the City Guard," Varric piped up, winking at Aveline. "Just in time."

"Not this time, Varric!" She drew her sword and ran to the stairway leading to upper Darktown. "Hawke, Anders…" They looked up at her call. " …today!"

The last group of fanatics was caught flat-footed.

The courier saluted his captain and left. "Excellency, a detail is on the way to start cleaning up. They will await your orders," she said. Aveline had escorted the viscount to lower Darktown after the last of the fanatics had been dealt with. At Hawke's suggestion, she had filled her leader in on what had happened.

Viscount Dumar nodded. "Thank you Captain. Have them start as soon as they arrive." He turned to join Hawke who was standing over the body of Varnell. In spite of being briefed, he was still shocked at what he was brought to see. "Madness, sheer madness!" He spent some time examining the fallen delegate.

"Yes, Excellency, it is nothing but insanity." Hawke was carefully watching Anders.

Dumar seemed to be looking for something. "Chantry involvement… even if they are fringe elements…" He sighed. "It could not be worse."

With a pointed look at Hawke, Anders spoke up; "The Chantry has seen the abuses the templars get away with. Why would they not think to do the same?" He was making some effort to control his words.

Dumar's eyes were on Hawke, then cut back to the warden. "I will agree with you… but only so far. I cannot allow rumors and tavern-talk to affect my decisions. Here, I see the facts. What I don't know is why." He left them to stand over the body of the delegate.

Anders was about to say something when Hawke cut him off; "Not now, my friend," reaching for a shoulder.

The warden shrugged his hand off. "Not now?" He took a step back. "When?"

He held his hands up. "Maker knows when, not me. Let's give it some time. What do you say?"

The warden's eyes flashed. "For now," he muttered, turning his back.

"You killed them… all of them?" the viscount had returned. A thought occurred to him. "Was this templar the only one?"

"No Excellency. A Revered Mother was here, but left before the fighting started," Hawke replied.

"And what part did she play in this?"

Hawke wasn't sure how much Aveline had told him. "The Mother asked us to come here. It seems Varnell was out of control, but there's more to it than that. She is… very slippery. We've dealt with her before."

The viscount was thoughtful. "I will make my inquiries. Gently. And you should be careful in your associations as well, for now, we have other problems."

The Guard had arrived and the task of cleaning up was underway. "This group, at least, is crippled. I'm not sure we got all of them. It will take awhile for them to get together again." Hawke was upbeat, glad it was over.

"Then that, at least, is something. Not that it matters now." Dumar spent some time looking over the slain Qunari. "We have the delegate but… I can't return the bodies to the Qunari in this state." He thought for a moment. "Serah Hawke, you know the Arishok. What should I do? Would incinerating them offend Qunari honor?"

"Excellency, keep in mind that the Qunari do not value remains like we do. The condition of the bodies would back up your story. Hiding this would only make it worse."

He was again rubbing his temples. "It would, wouldn't it? I am losing my sense of how to balance this nightmare." He straightened his shoulders. "I appreciate your help in this matter. As bad as this is, it could have been much worse without you. Kirkwall owes you. I owe you.

Hawke took the hand he offered.

Hawke laid down the quill and pushed the ink bottle out of the way. He reached for the tumbler of brandy and stopped before he could pick it up. Right, finish the reply to Bethany's letter with a damned hangover…

"Hey Hawke," Varric interrupted his thought. He hadn't even heard the dwarf come in. "Don't mind sharing, do you?" he wondered aloud.

Shaking his head, he pushed the brandy bottle toward his friend.

The dwarf forced a smile. "I didn't mean that." He was searching for the words. "It's been over two weeks and I hadn't heard from you." He walked to the sideboard for a clean cup. "I'll repeat myself and say how sorry I am about your mother. Was there something we could've done? I've wracked my brain and nothing comes up." He poured from the bottle and took a stiff belt, sighing as the warmth spread.

"Well, we got the bastard. It was just too damned late." Hawke was studying a letter written by his sister.

Varric topped off his friend's glass, then refilled his cup. "Sorrow shared is sorrow halved, they always say. But if you'd rather not, I'll understand." He watched his friend reading.

Hawke looked up. He was tired, beat. "Bethany wrote a letter. We managed to get word to her from one of Anders' warden contacts." He sighed. "I don't know what to tell her." He passed the letter over without further comment.

It was written in an obviously feminine hand. Whether it was marred by haste or anger, the dwarf couldn't tell;

Cale.

What in the Maker's name is going on? I have just been told by a stranger that my mother is dead. What happened? What did you do? What didn't you do? How could you

Dear Cale,
Please forgive me for the previous, but I'm sure you understand my need to express myself. I was going to tear up the first lines, but it's better for me to just say it.

I have had a chance to rest and come to grips with what has happened. It is much harder for me, I think. You see, mother blamed herself for Carver's death, yet, her question for me told another tale; Where was I when they were attacked? She never really believed that I died too. The agony that our brother endured, I felt. But Cale, there is sweetness and peace as well. The end of life is not to be feared. I know that now. I suppose that is the Grey Warden in me speaking.

At first, I was furious with you for what happened in the Deep Roads. Like the child I still was, my view of the world was limited. What you and Anders did for me was nothing short of heroic. Please accept my heartfelt gratitude and extend it to Anders as well. Be kind to him. He is a tormented soul who needs our help and understanding.

Mother was never one to believe that Carver died defending us. That he gave his life so we could live on, but he did. He told me so at the moment of his passing. My only regret is that I was powerless to stop it. The child Bethany would shoulder the blame for her brother's passing and wear it like an ill-fitting tunic. Warden Bethany accepts it for what it was; a gift of our brother's love. Now, Mother will see it as well. Don't you think?

Now, Dear Brother, I must close. We all must move on. Please, all you need tell me in reply is that Mother has been taken care of and that you can stand before the Maker for what has happened. In return, I want to make you proud of me.

Remember me to all. I miss them so. Next time I'm near Kirkwall, I will drop by, if just to show off my new look. Just kidding. Take good care, my brother.
Love Bethany.

"Little sister grows up." Varric passed the letter back. "How much do you tell her, if I may ask."

"Only that it was taken care of." Hawke folded the letter carefully. "The Memorial Garden at the Chantry has a marker with Mother and Carver's names. I'll take her there the next time she's here. "

The dwarf raised his cup. "Maker watch over them."

"Rest in peace." Hawke raised his.

The reply to his sister's letter was sealed and ready for the circuitous trip to her. Anders had connections with the wardens at Vigil's Keep in Ferelden, and it would eventually find its way. It should be in her hands within a month or so.

Sitting back with his glass of Antivan brandy, he had time to reflect. Things were at low ebb now, in spite of the Qunari menace and the enmity between the circle and the templars. With them, he knew no news was good news. It had been too quiet for too long, though. He knew it would just be a matter of time and the odds were even which would break first.

He'd just picked up his pen and gathered a sheet of paper to write a note when his houseman cleared his throat and stopped at the top of the stairs. "Beg your pardon Messere. A message to you from the Chantry was placed in my hand just this moment. I knew you'd want to see it right away." He laid it on the table at Hawke's elbow. He managed a smile. "If I may say, I'm glad to see that Master Varric has cheered you up some." With that, he winked and returned to his work in the kitchen.

He was cheered some, but it was only partly from his friend's visit. A letter from the Chantry was long overdue. He hadn't heard from Elthina in a while and was about to write a short note in the vague style they used now as a matter of course.

With a pang of disappointment, he recognized the Viscount of Kirkwall's signature when he opened the letter.

Serah Cale Hawke,
Please come speak to me–and only to me–
in my keep. It is a matter of the utmost
privacy and urgency, and I can trust it to no-
one else.
Viscount Dumar.

So much for no news, Hawke thought as he pocketed the note and grabbed his weapons.

A/N Once again, thanks ~Vice.