"No drinking," Hawke said under her breath as Orana finished with her gown and hair. "Thank you, dear. Maker, what was I thinking?"

"It was your idea to go," Anders said, standing by the doorway in his formal attire. He moved as the young elf smiled and went down the stairs, watching Hawke check herself in the mirror.

"I can scarce breath," she murmured, pressing her breasts, which were tightly held in the dress. "I had to be fashionable."

"And that aside, you look beautiful," Anders said, chuckling as he stepped up behind her, hands on her waist. "Not that you aren't always."

"Nice recovery," Hawke grinned, putting her hand over his. She turned around. "Still up for this."

Anders closed his eyes, drawing a breath through his nose before he said, "Perhaps we should go before I change my mind. This is absolutely insane."

"So it fits in perfectly," Hawke replied, taking the arm he offered. "Glad you agree."

It was evening and there was a cool breeze from the sea as they ascended the steps to the Viscount's Keep. Hawke stopped them at the top, waving away the guards that came to inspect them. She recognized one of them and muttered under her breath.

"These bloody shoes," she sucked in a breath, walking slowly with Anders again. "Makes me think most women are more masochistic than even I am."

Somehow, Hawke carried herself with a modicum of decency through most of the evening. She drifted amidst the nobles, accepting their accolades with a tactful word and smile, staying only long enough for them to admire but short enough they couldn't begin to ask questions about the dashing man on her arm. As the night waned, they made it into an atrium, whose wide windows overlooked the dark, terraced city below.

"Good thing I left my weapons at home," Hawke lightly said, maintaining her politic smile. "These people are ridiculous."

"They seem so out of touch with everything," Anders quietly sighed, tucking a stray hair back over her ear. "You're better than them."

"Oh, I know," Hawke chuckled, flexing a hand as she maintained her posture. The slender room was quiet, though the minstrels from the hall could be still heard.

"Serah Hawke."

Hawke turned and her smile grew more natural as she inclined her head, "Saemus. I hadn't expected to see you here."

"Nor I you," he replied, joining them amidst the flowery vines that crawled the wall. "In a gown, no less. My father's doing in both our cases, I imagine."

"He does usually get what he wants," Hawke chuckled.

"Yes," Saemus' expression faded and he looked down. Shaking away the melancholy, he almost grinned. "And you serah, I recognize as well."

"Perhaps not the best thing to mention," Anders cleared his throat, keeping a hand on the small of Hawke's back.

"Indeed," he nodded, and they all looked out the window. "I'm glad to see you though. I hope your voice of reason can have a place here in the keep. I know my father has you involved in many... unsavoury tasks."

"I try to do what I can to keep everyone from killing themselves in the end," Hawke murmured. "But they are often so very keen."

"It is a pity," Saemus shook his head. "The qunari are not our enemies. They fill a role." He exhaled, expression heavy before he reached for Hawke's hand, "I am glad to see you, Serah Hawke. You have been a friend to my family, and to me. Please help my father understand."

"I will do what I can?" Hawke said, and Saemus nodded before disappearing from the ball. She tilted her head, watching him go before she said, "Did I miss something?"

"You and me both," Anders replied, stifling shifting in his formal attire. "Perhaps we have stayed long enough?"

"Yes," Hawke's expression warmed to him. "We shall visit the viscount and take our leave of this stuffy air."

Hawke stood amidst the nobles as Saemus' body was taken to the pyre, given to the viscount without any restraint. He had died by the Qun - the body was but a vessel, a husk that no longer held the being within. Another who lay dead because of her inaction - because she stayed her hand. She looked to where Aveline stood with her honour guard, rigidly saluting as Viscount Dumar followed the cart that bore his son.

Around them, the chantry courtyard was dormant and faded into wintery hues, though hints of green clung here and there. Hawke's breath was visible in the air as she fell into line behind him - it marked her rank in the city. Some days it seemed odd to be where she was, second in power only to him. And to Meredith, as many often said. They walked the long road to the stone pyre at the far end. The viscount slowed until she was beside him.

"Thank you for coming, Hawke," Dumar's voice was raw, his features aged and his eyes reddened by the loss.

"I have learned well the pain of loss, messere," she replied, her eyes down as the congregation of nobles followed them.

"That you have," he sighed, head hanging heavy. "The world is a troubled place, and I think most are half-mad."

"Only half?" she replied.

"An old man can hope," Dumar's voice strained. "Where did I go wrong?"

"Let none of this fall on you, milord." Hawke replied, nodding as she followed his gaze to Saemus' enshrouded body. "It was the work of intolerance and religious zeal. He chose a path that others did not want him to follow. He was a good person - that is what I will remember. An intelligent, dedicated young man."

"Does that make it any easier?"

"No," Hawke replied, hands clasped behind her. The nobles behind them shivered in their heavy woollen coats, but she walked tall, easily bearing the stiff wind. "To good people, loss is never easy."

"Thank you for your kind words," Dumar said, stopping beside her as the brothers from the chantry moved Saemus' body. Sebastian was in her periphery, his face stricken as the Grand Cleric moved away from him. "I will need you at my side in the coming months."

"You have but ask," Hawke replied, dropping her chin. "Kirkwall is my home. I will do anything I can to protect it."

"The real question is - can we protect her from herself?"

"We can certainly try," Hawke said, taking his arm as he weakened. The fires were lighting.

"My boy," he crumpled into his hands, standing in her hidden support. "You did not deserve this. No one deserves this." He began to weep, and Hawke stood resolute, eyes dry.

There was tension in the words under people's breath around her, and she scarce listened as Grand Cleric Elthina stood to speak. Hawke knelt as was expected of her, the lip service empty as her thoughts strayed elsewhere, the words of another prominent in her mind.

We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.