Damned right you will. Maker be damned you will. If you want to start a fight you fucking finish it. Seething, near snarling as Sebastian left in a trail of threats, Hawke wished she had any talent with a bow so she could take him out as he beat a hasty retreat.

"Thank you for my life, I'll try not to make such a mess of it this time."
How did he always manage this? Sounding like a child, like his life was a trinket, Anders rocked gently on the crate, and her anger lessened. She'd always known he was capable, that he was powerful, but her heart ached whenever she saw him like this. And for him to be like this in public, with the others, with Fenris looking on. It was stupid. He'd just destroyed the chantry, the whole bloody chantry and probably half of Hightown and she was still relieved that the 'potion' hadn't been to kill himself; that despite it all he was alive. For that her stomach rolled with fire, churning frustration, rage and relief into a swelling mass of... something. Something which needed to find a target and fast.
"This isn't the time Anders, get up, we've got work to do."

She'd always regret dragging Aveline and Varric into this mess. Still, she was grateful they came, and it was a blessed relief to agree with Merrill on something for once. After all, she needed numbers and she needed people she could trust. It helped if they trusted her too; that way she had to be right. You can't be wrong if you're leading. You just make the decisions and they are the correct ones, because they're yours.

"I should have trusted you..." Anders' words flickered around her, father and lover both, two men she wanted to trust, who wanted to trust her "...I'd rather be on the run with you than safe with anyone else." He looked so damn proud and earnest, everything that gave her faith that he had known what he was doing, that there was a reason beyond the obvious for what he'd done. She stretched her mind back to those stacks of parchment trying to recall if she'd read anything that hinted at this, at his plans, which she'd just been too blind to see, unable to make the connections that he had.
"Then we will be fugitives together." After we've slaughtered our way out of here is what she'd meant to add, after we've doubled, tripled, maker knows, the death count. Was this too soon to call it war? It felt like war. The body count suddenly didn't matter in the face of the victory they needed. What was a legion of dead templars, waves of mages sacrificed in the front line, when they had a goal larger than their own survival?
"...May the Maker bring us victory or everything else is meaningless." A curt nod was all she could reply, the sound of armoured marching began to echo into the chamber.

Pushed to their limits the mages had used whatever they had to hand, and she was surprised to find that this time she approved. When they were fighting on her side she'd forgive anything that brought them victory. Although slaying the fleshy mess that had been the First Enchanter took more time than she would've liked; she'd still choose a single target over a swarm of templars every time.

They needed to push through to the courtyard to engage the bulk of the templar force, so opening the door cautiously to be greeted by a corridor full of dead templars was, she'd later admit, a welcome surprise. Eyes skimming over the damage, no obvious signs of death, she turned to face Sandal; "How did you get here? Where's Bodhan?"
"One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part and the skies will open wide. When he rises everyone will see." The creased whisper was new, so was the eery stillness. Hawke blinked and risked a glance at Anders, hoping it might make sense to someone else, that perhaps Anders had seen the boy talk like this before. All she got in return was a slightly startled stare and a slackened jaw. So she latched on to the one thing she could understand; her storage box from the estate. Kicking the lid open she took in the sparse contents; the stolen Grey Warden uniform, her journal, and a satchel full of potions and poisons.
"Help then." She motioned to Anders, who was still staring at Sandal apprehensively; something in her bark set in him motion as he took the clinking satchel and strapped it to his back. She stuffed the uniform and book into her own pack. If they made their out of this, and they just might, they'd be carrying a lot more than this. May as well get used to the extra weight now.

Making their way through the empty corridors slowly, thoroughly, they reached the deserted inner courtyard, or at least it had been deserted. Fenris entered at the far end with a small troop of templars. A quick glance confirmed he still had that bloody scarf tied around his wrist and she steeled herself for the fight which had been long overdue.
"Look at them, backed into a corner they show their true colours, why you're defending them I'll never know. This is an old story that always ends the same way." He never did understand, never cared to try. Things hadn't been the same since their night together, but years of fighting together, of running together, had taught them to anticipate each others moves. The battle field had been the only place they'd found any harmony, Fenris' slow heavy movements supporting her flitting strikes and desperate lunges. Now the dance had been turned in on itself, looking for gaps in his defence to attack rather than guard, "I'm not letting you kill us Fenris."
The giant axe carved slow arcs through the air, just the weight of it enough to crush her, never mind the blade edge. She kept out of his reach, only racing in to steal shallow slices from his skin, her blades dripping with blood and poison.
"I'd be disappointed if you did." He grunted as his movements slowed, the axe coming to rest on the ground before him. She drew her dagger across his throat, ending him and the threat he posed. As he folded to the ground, she took her knife to the scarf and removed it finally.

Meredith she could cope with. Crazy she could cope with. Statues climbing down the walls... not so much. It was like fighting those rock monsters in the Deep Roads, but at least they'd had veins of energy holding them together. How did you kill something which oughtn't be alive? She'd settle for 'hit it until it dies'.

Instinct. It had gotten her this far, it would carry them through. She had to believe that. The Witch of the Wilds had told her she'd have to leap, but she hadn't said that the choice would be so obvious to barely be a decision. As the sword burning with red lyrium plunged into the ground and Meredith became that... thing, they backed away. Heavy breaths coming from them all. Aveline's cracked shield the most telling of the damage they'd endured.
Hawke's face was already swelling from the fight, but whatever that lump was she wanted to be far away from it, and she wanted him far away from the fresh batch of templars pouring into the gallows square. She batted away Anders attempt at healing as she watched the Knight Captain's face, the fear as he realised, and then confirmed, that the molten lump was Meredith. It should have signalled triumph, the way Cullen had backed off should have been a victory. Instead they were trapped on the Gallows with nothing but templars and the sea.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading this - I've really appreciated all your reviews and messages. And I am currently working on something post-game with them.

But, this is the end of Held Together!

Elle x