Thank you, reviewers. Your support keeps me (doggedly) pursuing this piece. Sorry for the space between updates; I'm working on too many projects, on-site and off.
In this chapter: Things get complicated.
warnings: party banter, grouchy Hawke, some death and violence and new foes! Also politics. Mild language and sensuality. Dualla and Aiden make commentary.
After Leliana leaves, Hawke finishes up her letters to Varric and heads downstairs to gather a group and head to the Cathedral. There's really no good choice, but Brogan immediately begs off and Maraas stands out too much. So does Fenris, but she'd rather have him at her back than attempt to drag a former Magister onto holy ground-she's not entirely sure Gayle won't burst into flames. Dualla's not an option; the elf woman introduces herself with good humor and then proceeds to listen to the proceedings with an intensity that reveals how valuable such information is.
"Don't bloody sell this information, Dualla," Hawke hisses across the table, narrowing her eyes. "I'm serious."
The elf woman smirks and tosses a few locks of dark red hair over her shoulder. "It's already been sold, and is being sold, and shall be sold for the next several nights," she shrugs, her Orlesian accent drawing out vowels and rolling over consonants. "It is the way of things in Val Royeaux. You must find a safer meeting place if you mean to keep your affairs private."
It dawns on Hawke that, upon scanning the room, the bustle of patrons includes several people around them with their heads cocked near the conversation. "Any suggestions?" she asks dryly, raising her eyebrows.
Dualla grins. "I thought you'd never ask." She shifts in her chair and leans forward with her elbows on the table. "Meet me tonight, outside of the Alienage. Bring a mage and some muscle." Her eyes flick to Maraas and her grin sharpens a trifle. "The bastard who knocked me out will do nicely." She pats the table twice and stands up then, glancing around the group. For a moment her smirk drifts between Hawke and Fenris, who sits close enough that their shoulders and arms touch from time to time as they talk. "I will see you then. For now, I have business to attend to."
Aiden opens his mouth as if to say something and then thinks better of it, snapping his jaw shut with a click when Hawke glares at him. Finally he leans over to Brogan on his right and mutters, "All these bloody prickly women."
"I heard that," Hawke, Cassandra, Gayle and even Dualla snap in unison, scowling at him from every side of the table as well as the door.
Thankfully, the mage remains fairly quiet as they make their way toward the Cathedral. Up close, it is even more splendid, with slender crystal windows that run into high pointed arches like massive arrow-slits that glitter with intricate silver patterns in the design of the panes. The white walls seem to be some spectacular matte marble with traces of gold dusting along it, and brilliant silver plaques beneath each window illustrate the story of Andraste in painstakingly realistic detail. A massive statue of the Bride of the Maker stands in the courtyard, made of white marble, gold, and silver. The price of such a statue could probably fix the misery in the Alienage for decades to come. Behind the statue rise the elegant double doors, carved of mahogany wood and inlaid with silver veins that had woven spiraling patterns similar to Fenris' tattoos.
Cassandra bows her head a moment before they enter, not speaking. Then she looks at Hawke and nods. "Both Elise and Danielle are here," she says. "To whom do you wish to speak first?"
Hawke considers this as they enter the Cathedral, but her thoughts are disrupted by the sight. The tall, thin windows fill the place with light and shadow that play off the diagonally-arranged pews in the front area. A massive altar laden with flickering candles lies to the rear, and flowers of every color fill the spaces between the candles, which are positioned before a smaller version of the courtyard statue behind the altar. Large hallways lead off past the altar to either side, and the high, arching ceiling has balconies above the lower set of windows, filled with red-robed Chanters.
Thick, dark red carpet leads down the aisle to the altar and off the side corridors, and Cassandra indicates that she should move down the aisle, toward the altar. A few people are scattered around the pews, but for the most part they are Sisters or Brothers and do not stir in their prayers. Hawke feels like an intruder as she walks down the blood-colored carpet.
"Danielle," she decides, and Cassandra gestures to the right.
The ceiling is lower here, and they pass by smaller chapels and rooms full of candles and praying people before stopping at a closed door. At their knock, a muffled voice calls, "Come in," and they enter a spacious lounge with large windows in the same shape as the ones in the main Cathedral, albeit less intricately paned. On the indoor walls there are several spectacular paintings of Andraste and of the city. Red couches sit against the walls and a second, smaller chamber shows a cluttered desk with a few comfortable chairs. A round woman with blue eyes and graying brown hair smiles at them.
"Champion," says the woman, rising and moving around her desk to shake Hawke's hand. "I am Danielle du'Maurier, as I am sure you have been informed." She smiles kindly. "I must congratulate you on your work in Kirkwall. I am sure you did not mean it to come to war, and there is still a chance that we might be able to prevent such a ghastly thing from sweeping Thedas." She clasps Hawke's hand in soft, pudgy hands that lack callouses. "I would see that the mages remain free, of course, and with you as my ally I believe we may yet achieve that goal."
Gentle and kindly as she appears, she grips Hawke's hand a trifle too hard and too long. She glimpses Fenris as his eyes narrow and notices Cassandra's straight-backed posture as the Seeker's eyes follow the exchange. "Pleased to meet you," she says after a moment, withdrawing her hand. She watches the soft face and the glittering, bright eyes. "But I should make it clear that I am no one's ally until I have assessed them for myself." Her voice grows cold, but Danielle does not flinch.
Instead, the sweet mask falls away and the woman moves back around her desk. "Very well, Champion," she says, her tone one of business rather than matronly comfort. "I believe we have common ideals. I would see the mages remain free, that the Templars are removed and the Seekers instead relegated to protecting mages and dealing with mage-related crimes. I think you'll agree that the Templars are beyond saving, as out of control as they've become." Her eyes narrow a trifle. "You saw what Meredith became when she was exposed to that lyrium idol. Its influence even affected Orsino and drove him to blood magic, as insane as it was." She rifles through a series of papers and comes across one that she passes to Hawke. "This is a report from a squad of Seekers moving through Fereldan. It seems that a shipment of lyrium mixed with dragon's blood was stolen from Orzamar and distributed from Denerim to the Free Marches."
Hawke scans the report and her eyes widen as she sees the squad casualties. She passes the paper back to du'Maurier. "What does this mixture do?" she asks warily. A sick sense of foreboding clenches her guts and she hears Aiden shift uncomfortably behind her.
"This blood-lyrium has given the Templars even greater power, but at a greater price. Their souls are traded for such power. They feast upon death, any death, with greed and twisted pleasure," Danielle answers, her voice quiet and serious. "Those men driven mad by lyrium addiction hunger for this new blood-lyrium and will stop at nothing to get it. And once it falls into their possession... they become half-men. Soulless and deprived of anything but a need for blood."
"That's horrible. How did that even happen?" Aiden chokes behind her.
The warriors frown. So does Hawke, her mouth compressing in a line. "This is the fault of the Chantry, you know," she says coolly. "If you had not addicted them to lyrium in the first place, the Templars would not have become such a mad plague upon the land."
Du'Maurier's face tightens a bit. "I certainly did not support such a practice," she huffs, her Orlesian accent thickening in irritation. Then her voice softens and becomes almost conciliatory as she urges, "I mean only to put the Seekers temporarily to use to rid us of the Templars, and to help train a new Templar order. One that can serve as protectors first and police force second, only if necessary and after proper investigation alongside the City Guards. Templars that do not use lyrium or rely upon it to enhance their skills." Her voice grows quiet and serious, bright eyes narrowing a trifle. "I understand that power can be dangerous in the wrong hands, Champion. These Templars prove it as much as blood mages. I would see that mages live normal lives, educating themselves and learning to use their power as the Maker intended, to serve mankind. How can magic serve when it is locked away or stamped out?" She spreads her hands as if uttering a prayer, the gesture graceful and powerful.
"A pleasant ideal, but is it wise to leave mages to their own devices?" Fenris asks in a dark tone. "Already they flee to Tevinter."
"Not all of them," Aiden grumbles sourly.
"I will think on what you've said," Hawke answers, nodding curtly. Benevolent as Danielle appears, there is more to her than meets the eye.
She and the others leave, and Cassandra leads them across the main area of the Cathedral to the other wing, this time stopping at a nearer door. The office is smaller, without all of the comforts of Danielle's. A woman with short, steely hair and sharp gray eyes looks at them across a tidy desk that sits in front of a shelves of ordered books. Rather than Chantry robes, she wears Seeker armor and a large warhammer leans against the desk in arm's reach. Her chairs are serviceable but not ornate or plush, and her walls lack any form of artwork. Only the windows serve to decorate the room.
"Champion," says the hard-faced woman, rising to greet her and offering a firm handshake without holding onto her. Though she moves around the desk to shake hands, she stays close to the hammer, never letting it get out of reach. "I am surprised you came." She does not make any pretense at sweetness and for all that she's heard of the woman's harsh attitudes, Hawke finds herself admiring the honesty.
"I thought I would at least hear you out," she answers, standing straight. "I have heard some disturbing news about the Templars."
Elise nods grimly. "Some alchemists and rogue mages worked together with Carta to form the blood-lyrium. We are attempting to track down the thieves even now," she answers. She does not move behind the desk but remains standing in front of it with a straight-backed posture similar to Cassandra's. "I ask that you keep this information quiet, Champion, because it could spark a wave of protest, fear, and sympathy for the mages among the citizens. It is dangerous enough without citizens harboring dangerous apostates or colluding with blood mages."
Hawke tries not to scowl at Elise as the other woman speaks to her about the dangers of mages. Cassandra still stands with a straight back, her face a mask without expression, and she can see Fenris nodding out of the corner of her eye. They'll be having a talk about this later. As in, he can bunk with Brogan and Aiden for a night. "I think that people have the right to know, so they can protect themselves," she answers. "What if these blood-crazed Templars come through Val Royeaux? There will be slaughter and you will lose sympathies in even greater numbers for your deception."
"I recognize the risks. But there would be panic if it were public information. As it stands, the Chevaliers have been notified and the Seekers are hunting down these monstrous men before they can do too much harm." Elise pauses and her sharp eyes narrow faintly as she studies Hawke. "You clearly know my stance. I believe that the Circles should be reinstated and the Templars should be more thoroughly policed by the Seekers. We must all be more vigilant in the face of such troubling times. I do not expect your assistance in obtaining the position of the Divine, but I intend to hold that title in either case. I would see that you will not stand openly against me, however. I do not ask your support, just that you consider the danger of Danielle's plans to disband the Templars and leave mages to reign free."
"She said she intended to rebuild a Templar order that was free of lyrium. That the Seekers would train them," Hawke says, frowning. It did sound rather like a concession, instead of part of Danielle's original plan.
"Not in the least," Elise answers. "I intend to rebuild the order that way. To teach the Templars vigilance and justice, rather than blind hatred. I am not unreasonable. But mages must be educated and their power contained. Even if they could be trusted not to become abominations or go mad with power, people will never fully accept them. Mages are different from the rest of us, different from you and me. The average person fears them and despises them." She pauses and then adds, "Perhaps that is the Chantry's fault. Still, it will take a long time to reverse such a prejudice, and the Circle is as much for their protection from civilians as it is to protect citizens from mages."
If only Hawke could detect that bind hatred for mages, that burgeoning insanity that she saw roiling in Meredith as time went on. But instead she sees in this woman's eyes battle-sharpened wit and experience and the accompanying wisdom. Leliana suggested appealing to her compassion and so she does. "What if the Chantry took a more active role in reeducating people? Then the Circle could be for holding dangerous mages, while others were able to learn and live and be free."
A gray eyebrow arches in response and Elise studies her for a long moment. "Perhaps there is something to your idea, Champion, but absolute freedom creates a desire for power. Didn't you climb through the ranks from refugee to nobility to Champion of Kirkwall in the span of a few years?" she points out. "Mages who desire greater power turn to dangerous means. They must be contained, but perhaps the Circles could be established for different purposes. Fereldan, for example, might be well-suited for the adventurous souls who are not yet truly dangerous, as it is difficult to escape across Lake Calanhad. Kirkwall would serve as an excellent prison. And Val Royeaux, of course, would be for educating youngsters and for the scholarly among the mages."
Hawke narrows her eyes. "That's not what I meant," she grumbles, folding her arms.
Elise shrugs. "In the end, Champion, your choice is between the lesser of two evils. I do not deny that it disappoints me, even hurts me to be unable to allow mages their freedom. But the cost of that freedom is too high, as we have well seen. I would see order restored and past mistakes rectified." She glances at the others, who have remained silent until now. "Consider carefully what you decide to do, Champion. Your choices could save or doom us all."
"Don't I know it," Hawke mutters, prompting snorts from Aiden and Fenris.
"But that is not why I sought you out, Champion," says Elise, moving around her desk and pulling a folder from a drawer without hesitation. She opens the folder and glances at the topmost page. "There is a group of apostates hiding outside of the city, on the north side of Lake Celestine. Our Seekers have reported a group of blood-Templars are moving up from across the Dales. The Seekers do not know if they will arrive in time to stop the Templars, and predict terrible casualties even if they do."
"You want me to help them capture apostates?" Hawke asks flatly. She raises her eyebrows. "I don't lock mages up."
"If you do not go to the Seekers' aid, those mages will surely die at Templar hands," Elise snaps the folder shut, her eyes narrowing. "Choose carefully, Champion. You will be well-compensated for your efforts."
Sighing, Hawke leaves. Off to the bloody lake, then, she thinks, trying not to sigh. Of course she can't take everyone, so the question remains who to bring and who to leave behind? She glances at Cassandra. The woman must be eager to help, but she'll be of more use here, where she knows people and can resume her duties. Dualla, too, should remain with her underworld connections. It's probably best to keep Gayle close, so she can keep an eye on her. Fenris will want to come, but she feels that he can do more good back in Orlais, much as she hates to part ways with him.
"Let's get back to the inn," she sighs, rubbing her forehead. "I suppose we'll have to pack up and get ready for tomorrow." She'll tell Fenris in private that he isn't coming, because it will inevitably cause a shouting match.
Cassandra turns to face her. "I am going to report to my post," she says, "And speak with my captain. Will you require me to join you?"
Hawke shakes her head. "You'll do more good here, Cassandra," she answers. "Get back in the swing of things and keep an ear out for what's going on." Her eyes shift to Aiden. "You're staying behind, too. Don't cause trouble." The elf mage scowls but does not protest.
Fenris eyes her as Cassandra heads off. "And me? Do you intend to leave me behind as well?" he asks, his voice growing a bit harsh with the demand. There's no escaping it, she realizes, staring into her lover's eyes.
But as she opens her mouth, a boy rushes over to them. "Champion!" he cries, halting in front of her and panting for breath from his run. "Champion, a lady gave me this letter to give to you." He shoves a piece of parchment into her hand and stares at her for a long moment. Then Fenris scowls and the boy darts off, disappearing into the crowd and leaving Hawke to read the message.
Champion:
There are many secrets brewing in this city, and many treacheries abound. A conspiracy is being put together against you and dangerous forces seek to prevent you from acquiring any power or notice her in Orlais. There are those who seek your downfall, but there are others who support you and wish to offer you aid. Meet me in one week's time in front of the Cathedral.
The letter has no signature or marking of who wrote it, but the parchment is fine enough to suggest nobility. Hawke crumples the letter and tosses it to Aiden. "Burn this," she says, and turns to walk back to the Inn to prepare for the journey. The elves raise their brows and she notices that Fenris goes to hover over the mage's shoulder while they both read the words. Then, in a puff of black flame, the parchment disintegrates and the ashes blow away down the street.
"Not a wise choice, using magic on the steps of the Cathedral like that," Fenris comments. Hawke strides toward the inn ahead of them, vowing not to get embroiled in their debate.
She can hear Aiden's shrug. "You heard them. The Templars are a greater threat than the mages at this point in time," he answers.
"And do you truly believe that shall remain the case? Once the Templars have been wiped out, the mages will have nothing left to keep them in check, no one they fear to keep them from turning to dangerous magic," Fenris argues. "Already many flee to Tevinter to learn the secrets of blood magic and Magisters."
"Maybe the crazy Templars drove them there," Aiden quips. Hawke resists a strong urge to smack herself in the forehead as he continues, "Maybe if there were a few more enlightened mages in Tevinter, it wouldn't be such an awful place. Have you considered that the new mages might actually make the Magisters start to reconsider their behavior?"
Fenris snorts. "You know nothing about the Magisters if you speak of them like that."
"Gayle was a Magister. She fled Tevinter rather than use blood magic to control others," Aiden responds, his voice rising. Hawke steals a backward glance at his red cheeks to ensure that he isn't doing anything too obvious, like sparkling or oozing smoky spirit energy. "I'm not saying that she isn't a racist, slave-owning bitch, but she's not evil. No more than any other woman, anyway," he mutters almost as an afterthought. Hawke restrains a chuckle at the comment.
"You know nothing of the Magisters, as I said," Fenris ends the conversation with those words, walking ahead to catch up to Hawke.
They round the corner and the Prancing Pony comes into view, with the hideous, brightly-painted sign of a frilly horse rearing on its hind legs hanging over the door. Hawke sighs as she steps inside, wishing any place in the city didn't have such a stupid name, and notes that Dualla has joined Gayle and Maraas in helping Brogan's massive losing streak. As they approach, she can hear their conversation through the midday din of patrons.
"You are very talented indeed to lose so consistently, Dwarf," purrs Dualla as she eyes Brogan across the table.
He grunts in answer and narrows his eyes at her. "You must have me confused with someone else, Bard," he says, faking a good-natured grin. But both Maraas and Gayle are too intelligent to be fooled now that it's been pointed out, and both intent gazes fix on the exchange.
The elf snorts. "You flatter me to call me a bard. But that Qunari who beat me around the head yesterday is genuinely bad and you manage to lose even to him," she replies, jerking her chin at Maraas, who appears unperturbed at her assessment. "And the mage isn't much better. I'm guessing they don't play cards in Tevinter or Par Vollen, but I know that they play cards in Orzammar."
"We use cards in Tevinter," Gayle protests, her fanned cards dipping toward the table with their faces up.
"For what, rituals?" Dualla counters, nodding at the visible hand of cards. Snatching her cards close to her chest again, the blonde Magister shuts her mouth and scowls. The auburn-haired elf smirks and settles back in her chair, glancing up as Hawke and the other elves join their group. Her attention fixes once more on Brogan and her smirk grows into a slow, predatory grin. "It takes a true master to cheat toward losing. Or a man with nothing to live for." She spreads her perfect hand on the table between them and says, in a low voice, "So which are you, Dwarf?"
Brogan mutters something about needing more ale and shuffles toward the bar despite the nearby waitress. Dualla catches Hawke's eye and lifts one shoulder in a faint, dainty half-shrug as she gathers the cards to shuffle and deal a new round. Before she can sit, however, Fenris grabs her elbow and hauls her off to their bedroom. She overhears the elf woman's cheeky voice saying to the mages, "Well you certainly weren't kidding about the handsome elf roughing her around at night." Hawke resolves to make her pay for that. All three of them, actually. But, as the strong fingers gripping her arm can attest, now is not the time.
"You're not taking me along?" Fenris demands, slamming the door behind them. His green eyes have a furious gleam to them. "I will not see you run off to face these mad blood-Templars on your own."
"I need you to stay here," she snaps. She takes a breath and steadies her voice to a more reasonable tone. "I need you to keep an eye out on the others. Because I don't trust anyone else to keep things moving here, and because I don't trust anyone else to tell me everything that happens while I'm gone." Hawke gives him what she hopes is a pleading look. "I can't risk everything falling to hell because I'm not around."
"Who are you bringing? The Qunari deserter?" he yells, swinging a hand to knock the ceramic water pitcher from the small dresser. Hawke refuses to back away and he seizes her shoulders. "I swore to you I would never leave you again and now you plan to leave me behind?"
"It's only a bloody week!" she shouts, her tenuous composure crumbling.
He glares at her and his breath seethes across her face. "I don't like this, Hawke," he growls. "The situation here is too messy for us to be apart. Already the schemes and politics rival Kirkwall's worst and we have been in this city for all of two days." Fenris shifts his grip to something that is at once tender and desperate, pleading and stronger without the violence his lithe form usually contains. "You should take me along."
"You don't have to like it," Hawke answers, her short patience expended. "You just have to live with it." Her eyes remain steady on his and she tries to keep her glower fierce and flinty as his scowl returns. But when he hauls her in and starts kissing her with a combination of frustration, urgency, and likely some determination to change her mind, her previous resolve to make him sleep elsewhere crumbles. They stagger toward the bed in a fumbled pile of armor and clothing.
Hawke walks alongside Dualla as the elf leads them through the winding streets, past ornate inns and shops and houses, and into the poorest districts. They finally arrive at an old house with chipped yellow paint and fading embrium murals on the walls. A small sign with a picture of a bouquet of embrium and harlot's blush proclaimed it 'Sylvie's Bouquet Shoppe.' Not as bad a name as the Prancing Pony. But the windows look dark, boarded up, and the door hangs somewhat askew. Dualla pushes in and after glancing back at Fenris and Aiden, Hawke follows.
Inside, Sylvie's is filled with a vast and colorful array of flowers and tiny, whimsical trinkets. A girl in front nods at Dualla as the elven archer leads them through a moth-eaten velvet curtain in the back of the shop. This room has a musty smell, dimly lit by candles. The shelves are filled with tomes of magic and history, with potions and herbs and ritual supplies. Fenris glowers and hunches a bit, but Aiden grins and gazes around, the happiest she's ever seen him. Like a child in a sweetshop. An elderly woman sits at a desk in the far corner, poring over a book by candlelight and mixing together herbs and ingredients for potions. She glances up from her work to beam at them and nod to Dualla, her hands never ceasing their deft motion as they chop herbs and mix liquids with powders.
Now Dualla leads them to a small shrine that consists of candles and flowers before a statue of Andraste. She takes a candle and moves behind the shrine, motioning for them to follow.
"Isn't it blasphemous to steal things from Andraste?" Aiden murmurs. No one answers him as they follow Dualla.
There's a trapdoor behind the shrine. The auburn-haired elf crouches over it, her fingers finding some hidden catch to make it lift up. She descends first, holding the candle, and Hawke sees in the light behind her a long series of narrow stairs. Aiden follows behind her and Fenris brings up the rear. The mage mutters something and a strange dark purple light rises above them. At the bottom of the stairs there's a tunnel and Dualla leads them along it, disarming a series of traps along the way. In spite of the many traps, no one comes up to challenge them. It makes her uneasy, and she can see by the tense set of the other woman's shoulders and the muttered Orlesian swearwords that Dualla is even more perturbed.
Then they hear a distant thunder, like an explosion. On the left side of the tunnel's branch rise shouts and the clanging of battle. Dualla sprints down that tunnel without waiting for the others. Cursing, Hawke rushes after her. The tunnel veers and it's only the trailing of the elf's cape around corners that prevents Hawke and the others from losing her. They burst into a room full of crates and barrels and desks, many overturned, hacked to pieces or in flames. A combination of elven and dwarven bodies litter the floor and a single elf man attempts to fight off a large cluster of Carta thugs. Dualla is already picking them off, firing arrow after arrow in rapid succession, but the man is losing blood from dozens of stab wounds and he staggers, barely conscious.
Hawke dives in just as Fenris does, and sizzling dark bolts of magic hiss through the air from Aiden. He slams several foes to the ground, slicing through vulnerable backs as Hawke flips over the entire group and lands on the other side, each dagger finding purchase in a separate neck and twisting. One dwarf turns toward her and her foot lashes out. In seconds the remaining Carta thugs are retreating through a back passage. Fenris sprints after them. Shouts echo from the dark and end in abrupt noises of slicing flesh and thuds.
The elf man drops to his knees as Dualla sprints over to cradle his head and shoulders. Looking at them, they have the same tan and the same auburn hair, their elven features more similar than hers are to Aiden's, or Fenris'. Hawke realizes as the Rash of Val Royeaux strokes the mans hair and weeps over his face that they are siblings, perhaps even twins.
"What were they doing here?" Hawke asks, crouching at his other side.
Dualla's brother blinks and coughs, blood oozing from his mouth. "They were looking for some kind of special lyrium. They claimed it had been stolen by a dwarf they tracked to the city," he moans. His hand grips Dualla's, blood slick fingers slipping around hers.
Hawke's heart sinks. Brogan. "Do you have blood lyrium?" she asks.
"No, we don't," snaps Dualla. "We don't trade with Templars. They are too unpredictable and of late, too dangerous."
Her brother coughs and gags a bit. "I'm so sorry, Dualla. We didn't expect them," he whispers, his voice fading.
"No," she cries. She shakes him a bit, tears streaming down her face now. "Gaius, no!" Desperate, furious eyes turn to Aiden. "Heal him, mage," she snarls, but he's shaking his head helplessly. Dualla grips her brother closer to her chest, now covered in his blood. "Heal him," she screams, her voice cracking painfully.
"I can't," whispers Aiden, looking down. Fenris also looks away from the raw grief.
Gaius coughs and murmurs something to Dualla. "I'll still look out for you," he whispers, and then his eyes close and with a final shudder, he goes still. She clings to the front of his shirt for a long moment and then stands up and lunges to punch Aiden. Hawke and Fenris, too startled by her sudden movement, are unable to stop the first blow that cracks across his face, but the lyrium-laced warrior seizes Dualla's arms before she can attack him any further.
It takes several minutes to calm her down. Hawke realizes this was the hideout she meant for their gang to use for meetings, or at least one of the rooms in this underground warren. Another elf, one of Dualla's higher-ranking thieves, introduces himself as Lucien and shows them through several rooms as the dead are dealt with and Dualla led to her quarters with a mug of brandy. Aiden and Fenris return to the Inn to explain the situation and Hawke remains to assess the security of the place.
"There was a blast about the time the Carta attacked and several of us hurried over. However the tunnels are complicated and the storeroom is isolated from the rest of the rooms," Lucien explains. He is serious and has mousy brown hair and keen blue eyes. He reminds her a bit of a criminal version of Seneschal Bran, walking with his hands behind his back and pausing to gesture at various places like dining areas and sleeping quarters. "The Warren is very secure. The Carta clearly had to tunnel in from elsewhere and used the explosion to kill most of the guards. It is fortunate that our men are fast... or perhaps not." There is a tone of regret as he glances at the fallen bodies in the storeroom.
"Do you have anywhere that people could meet and discuss business without being overheard?" Hawke asks.
He leads her through several tunnels to a room with a table and several chairs. "This is the meeting room. It is the most secure place, with charms of silence and wards on the walls to prevent any spies from hearing what goes on within," Lucien announces. Hawke notes that several runes and arcane symbols are carved into the stone, glowing faintly with long-term magic. "There is no safer place in all of Val Royeaux," he adds confidently.
"How far do these Warrens extend?" Hawke wonders, peering at the walls and then turning back to her guide.
"From the Alienage to the center of the city," Lucien replies. "There are only entrances at Sylvie's and the Alienage, however. We cannot risk having too many, or the curious may discover us by mistake." His reasoning is sound. Hawke nods in agreement. "Dualla lives here for the most part, but she makes frequent visits to the Alienage. She is always where she must be. Except tonight." His voice sounds soft and weary.
"Thank you for the tour, Lucien," she says. "I believe it's time for me to return to my companions."
She leaves the elves to tend to Dualla, feeling awkward because she doesn't know the other woman well enough to talk her through her grief. To her relief, when she gets outside of Sylvie's, Fenris and Aiden are waiting there with Cassandra. The four of them weave back through the streets, and it turns out to be a damn good thing that her companions joined her, because there might well be more thugs here than in Kirkwall. In a moment of morbid humor, Hawke muses that Assassins, Bards, and Coterie make up the ABC's of crime in Val Royeaux. By the time they reach the Prancing Pony, Aiden is weaving and leaning against her, weak from all of the healing he's done.
Hawke, however, is still furious and in need of answers. She storms inside and up to the table where Brogan is playing cards with Gayle and Maraas, still determined to lose. Her hands smack the wood and coins jump in the center of the table. All three heads turn to stare at her.
"Brogan, we need to talk. Now," she says, growling the last word.
The dwarf turns a look on her of helpless resignation and, with slumped shoulders, follows her upstairs. She slams the door of her room behind her and faces him with crossed arms and a baleful glare. Brogan spreads his hands in a gesture of defeat and hangs his head. When his bright blue eyes meet hers, his bearded face has an expression of nausea and pain that reminds her all too well of Anders' expression as chunks of flaming Chantry rained down.
"What have you done?" she hisses, her heart pounding in terror. Hawke already knows the answer; she can see it in his eyes. As if she really needed a whole boatload of new, troublesome companions to add to all of the problems whirling around. A whole new set of Isabela-and-Relics, Anders-and-Chantries, and Merrill-and-Mirrors.
"You know about the blood-lyrium," he sighs, sinking his face into his hands. But he rubs them down and over his beard in a gesture of anxiety. "And you might as well know that I'm the one who let it get out. It was actually a commission from a group of mages, but I had the connections in Orzammar and when I heard about it, I had to investigate. The alchemist had a few botched recipes, but when I checked them out, the lyrium was still usable." Brogan pauses and shakes his head. "All to make a bit of coin."
"So you stole corrupted lyrium to sell to your Templar clients?" she demands, pacing around the tight space of the room and coming up face-to-face with him. "What kind of fool are you?"
"I was a sodding greedy bastard," Brogan admits, blue eyes shifting away from her face with traces of horror. "They used it right there, in front of me, and as soon as I saw it, I knew it was a mistake. I knew wherever the line was, I had just jumped way past it. I was lucky to get out of there alive. They were more like walking dead than real men, and it was like every time they drew blood it made them stronger, and every wound they suffered made them angrier and more dangerous. They... ate the dead."
Hawke feels a rush of nausea to match his and almost pities him. Almost. "But they can be killed?" she asks, thinking of her journey to Lake Celestine.
He nods. "It's not easy, I'll tell you that much." Brogan snorts and shakes his head. "Decapitation is a sure thing. Magic has almost no effect on them- they seem to absorb spirit energy and get stronger. Fire works, though. And if you can damage them enough that they can't keep coming at you."
"Maker," she mutters, turning away from him and pacing toward the door, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looks over her shoulder. "Does lightning work on them?" she asks, as an afterthought.
Brogan shrugs. "The mage got killed pretty quick. I didn't see any lightning spells, but I can say that they shrugged off frost," he replies. "I'm going with you tomorrow. I'll tell you everything I know along the way." He sighs again and looks withered and smaller than a stocky dwarf ought to. "I didn't even take that much from the alchemist. Only a crate's worth. There were hundreds of crates."
She ponders his earlier words for a moment and asks, "Why would mages order something like that? What were they planning to do with it?"
"Some ancient ritual to control dragons, I think. They didn't give a whole lot of details, but that was the gist of it. Either way, it needed to be perfect. They kept rejecting the alchemist's attempts," he says, shaking his head mournfully. "So there was a huge stockpile of rejected blood-lyrium."
Making a mental note to assign Aiden the task of researching such spells, Hawke nods brusquely. The pieces are starting to fit more and more with every word he utters. "And you traded the location for your life," she says harshly. "You unleashed this plague single-handedly." Perhaps she shouldn't yell at him, seeing as how he seems determined to punish himself, but she can't help it. After all of the betrayals her friends have heaped on her, this one rocks her like the Chantry or the Relic. Brogan has empowered the Templars, given them something that turns them into even more horrific creatures, into creatures more like beasts than men. As if they need help on that count, she thinks sourly.
The dwarf hangs his head again, all the answer she needs. "I saw the way they killed the others," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. "It wasn't fast."
Her gorge rises and she nods, trying not to look ill. "Go get some rest, Brogan," she says. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day." As he leaves, Fenris slips inside and she knows her lover heard everything. She wonders in some corner of her mind how many of her companions and how many of the patrons joined in on the eavesdropping, but feels unmotivated to say anything.
"I still do not want you to go without me," Fenris growls as he enters the room. He shoves her toward the bed, lifting the water basin from the dresser and setting it on the windowsill. Prowling closer, the warrior elf brushes a hand over her cheek and tilts her face back for a kiss. When he pulls back he stares at her seriously. "But I will not argue the point in so many words." His voice lowers in pitch and grows husky and he leans in for another kiss. Hawke wraps her arms around his shoulders, grateful for the distraction from her current set of problems.
Hooray for conspiracies and even crazier Templars! We haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet, like dragon-controlling mages and Tevinter and, of course, our beloved horned friends from Par Vollen.