All That Remains
They'd barely made it halfway across the dirty room before at least a dozen shades popped up out of nowhere accompanied by a giant glowing rage demon. They were dispatched quickly enough, though; years of fighting together had left Hawke, Varric, Fenris,
and Anders a deadly efficient team.
Hawke wiped sweat off her brow and glanced around. Her eyes widened when they fell on the prone form of a woman, lying with her back to them. Hawke rushed over. "Mother!" she said urgently, grabbing the woman's shoulder and rolling her over. But it wasn't
her mother. Alessa's dead eyes stared up at her blankly; Gascard DuPuis had been right about her being a target of the Kirkwall killer after all. And if Alessa was here and dead, Hawke shuddered to even imagine what might have become of her mother.
Not for the first time, Hawke found herself praying to whomever might be listening that they were massively mistaken about all this.
"I'm sorry, Alessa," Hawke said softly to the dead woman.
Anders laid his hand on her shoulder, giving her a supportive nod. "Come on," he said.
They continued, dread growing with every step. Even Varric had gone silent, his face drawn and tense. Seeing Alessa's body had shaken them all, and solidified the fear of Leanda being in even more trouble.
Hawke paused as she spotted something shiny in the dirt. She knelt and picked it up. "I know this locket," she said, feeling like her heart was sinking down to the vicinity of her ankles. "It belongs to Mother."
That was it, then. Her motherwashere. She squared her shoulders, and entered the next room, staff ready.
They descended a set of stairs, coming into a large chamber. Papers were scattered over the whole floor, books stacked haphazardly on chairs and tables as well as a few bookcases. A bed and wardrobe were shoved off to one side of the room.
"Does he…live here?" Hawke wondered aloud. She stepped carefully over the pages, skimming her eyes over the contents. Their subjects left her blood chilled; the books and papers were all on blood magic, human anatomy, necromancy, and different medical
procedures. Her eyes fell on a letter addressed to someone named Quentin. The kidnapper?
"Hawke, you might want to see this," Fenris called from behind her.
He was standing next to a large shrine of sorts, complete with candles and fine cloths. And in the middle of it, painted with loving detail, was a portrait of a woman who looked like she could be Leandra's twin. Hawke drew closer, her emotions roiling.
All of this was beginning to draw up a picture in her mind, and Hawke wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see the finished product.
"A shrine dedicated to a wife? A sister?" Anders guessed.
"This man is either very devoted or very insane," Fenris added.
"I need to find her,now," Hawke barked. She turned and strode away purposefully, clenching her fists to hide their trembling.
The group crept deeper into the foundry. Hawke's ears nearly itched from how hard she was listening for any sound that would give away their quarry's position. They turned one more corner, and finally a faint voice grabbed their attention. Fenris' eyes
caught Hawke's for a brief moment before they all broke into a sprint.
Hawke turned a corner and skidded to a stop as the room opened up before them. A fire crackled in a makeshift hearth, shedding eerie light on a rough table strewn with more paper and sinister-looking tools. The ground was splattered with blood and in
a corner of the room was a large lumpy pile with a sheet draped over it. A single pale, bloody hand stuck out from under the sheet, leaving little to the imagination about the rest of the hidden contents.
An older man in robes stood behind a chair in the middle of the room, staring at them with vague surprise from where his pacing had been uninterrupted. His graying hair hung limply, and his pale eyes were red-rimmed and seemed almost dead.
"I was wondering when you'd show up," he said in a curiously high and reedy voice. "Leandra was so sure you'd come for her."
Hawke's eyes darted around the room, but her mother was nowhere to be found. "Where is she?" she demanded.
Quentin's brows drew together at her tone, and his lips pressed together in frustration and disappointment. "You'll never understand my purpose," he said scornfully. He stepped out from behind the chair, pacing again. "Your mother was chosen because she
was special, and now she is part of something…greater." The last word left his mouth with something close to reverence, but it chilled Hawke's blood more than anything she'd seen so far.
"Spare me your demented rambling," she barked out. Panic was beginning to bubble under the surface, and she knew she would break soon. "Where is she!?"
Quentin gave a very faint smile. "She'shere. She's waiting for you. I have done the impossible. I have touched the face of the Maker andlived." He turned away from her, seemingly oblivious to her frenzy. His hands rested on the back
of the chair, which faced away from them. Only now did Hawke notice someone was sitting in the chair, their head covered by a dingy white veil. "Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is?" the man mused before turning to face Hawke again,
then moved behind the chair to face the person sitting there. "Love. I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers. And at last, her face. Oh, this beautiful face," he sighed, his voice trembling with emotion.
He reached down and took the person's hands and helped them up to reveal they wore an old white wedding dress, their movements jerky and awkward. Hawke watched with growing horror. "I've searched far and wide to find you, beloved, and no force on
this earth will part us." The figure finally turned to face the group, and Hawke was met with her own mother's ghastly pale face and clouded eyes stitched onto a patchwork body.
The shock was as if a massive weight had slammed into her chest; she couldn't make herself draw breath, and she couldn't drag her eyes away from the horror that had been her mother. A half second later, a bright flash and a bang accompanied a real weight
slamming into her chest. She flew back several feet, slamming into someone behind her and knocking them both down onto the dirty ground. She gasped for air as the person under her shoved her off. Anders' face swam into her vision before he helped
her upright, shouting encouragement over the din of Fenris and Varric fighting the demons Quentin had just summoned. The two mages stepped into the fray, wearing down the blood mage's defenses.
One by one the shades were picked off, and even a desire demon defeated, before the maleficar's barrier finally broke. One of Varric's bolts slammed into his shoulder and he cried out in pain, reaching out towards Leandra. Hawke stepped forward and slammed
the heavy end of her staff against the side of his head, staggering him and sending out a spray of blood. He stood, half of his face limp and the other half enraged, blood streaming down his head and down his chest. Quentin drew his hands together,
dark energy pooling between them, then thrust it at them all. A deafening blast burst forth, knocking them all backwards. Lights flashed behind Hawke's closed eyes and her eardrums throbbed, but after a moment she drew herself up painfully and looked
around. Her staff had been thrown clear, and she spotted Fenris, Anders, and Varric all sprawled out looking equally as dazed as she was, but all alive.
Quentin was gone.
Leandra lay crumpled on the ground beside the chair, which had been knocked over in the fight. Hawke stumbled over to her and fell to her knees beside her mother, who somehow was still breathing. She pulled Leandra's head into her lap, and her mother
stared up at her with her fogged over eyes.
"Mother," Hawke panted. Her voice sounded muted and distorted to her own ears. Leandra's blueish lips curved in the faintest of smiles.
"Daughter," she whispered. Hawke's hands fluttered frantically over her mother's ruined body. Think, she had tothink, surely there was some spell she knew, some unconscious magic even, that she could weave. Anything.
"Anders?" Hawke choked out.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, kneeling in front of her. "There's nothing I can do. It doesn't look like evenhismagic was enough to keep her alive."
"I knew you would come," Leandra whispered.
"Don't move, mother," Hawke commanded, fighting the tears she knew were coming. "We'll find a way to…"
"Shhh, don't fret darling," her mother murmured. "That man would've kept me trapped in here. But now…I'm free. I get to see Bethany again, and your father." For the first time since this whole ordeal, Hawke saw worry creep into her mother's eyes. "But
you'll be here alone."
"I've failed you, mother," Hawke mumbled tearfully. "I should've come sooner, I should've been faster."
"Shhhh," Leandra hushed again. "You know that's not true. My little girl has become so strong." She raised one trembling, starkly pale hand to Hawke's cheek. Her skin was dry and so, so cold. Hawke held her hand close as hot tears finally spilled over
down her cheeks. "I love you," her mother whispered. "You've always made me so proud."
Leandra's eyes flickered shut, and her hand fell limply from Hawke's shaking hand. Hawke sat frozen, staring at her mother's still face, the ghost of her last smile still touching the corners of her lips and the creases around her eyes. Hawke's face twisted
as a howl of despair wrenched itself from the depths of her soul, and she sobbed as if the entire world had been torn cruelly away from her. And in a way, it had.