The next morning found a rather hungover Hawke standing in the entrance to the Gallows. She had no weapons, no companions, no armor. Just clothes, and her heart in her throat. It was supposed to be a gesture of peace and goodwill, she thought to herself as she began ascending the stairs that led to the Templar Hall. But she couldn't deny that being so close to the Circle, alone and practically defenseless among the heart of templar power in southern Thedas, made her skin crawl.
Asking directions from a nearby templar recruit led her exactly where she had hoped: Knight-Commander Meredith's office. Hawke hesitated, arm raised to knock, reconsidering this whole idea. All the negatives played out in her mind, all the possible horrible consequences, but after a moment she steeled herself and rapped her knuckles on the wood in what she hoped was a polite but firm manner. A slightly muffled 'enter' came forth, and she pushed the door open.
Meredith's office was as Spartan as Hawke had imagined. A bookshelf and a low table were pushed up against a far wall, no personal decorations or mementos to speak of. A large desk dominated the center of the room, with a single chair behind it in which the Knight-Commander herself sat.
The blonde woman barely looked up from the report she was reading. "Yes, what is it?" she asked brusquely.
"My name is Hawke, and I have a proposition I believe you'd be interested in," Hawke said with a lot more bravado than she felt. Meredith looked up and pinned her with her stare.
"The name 'Hawke' has shown up on my reports more times than I care to count," she said thoughtfully. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the five years since you arrived."
"I've worked hard for a secure life for my family."
The templar laid down the report. "I read about what happened to your mother last week. You have my sympathies. I know all too well the loss that magic can inflict on innocent families."
Hawke acknowledged this with a somber nod. "Thank you. Actually, that's why I'm here," she said, stepping closer. Meredith watched her carefully. "I'm sure you're aware that the maleficar involved, Quentin, escaped."
"Yes, an unfortunate thing," the blonde sighed. "I have had my men searching high and low for him yet he evades our grasp still. No doubt with the help of blood magic, I am sure."
Hawke leaned forward, eyes glinting in the light shining through the window. "Knight-Commander, I'd like to request to be made a part of the official investigation."
Meredith raised one blonde, perfect eyebrow. "This is a templar matter, serah. Civilians are welcome to report any activity that they believe to be the work of apostates or blood mages, but the actual investigation is not open to civilians. As it is," she continued, raising a hand to forestall Hawke's protests, "we are not looking for Quentin specifically anymore. By this point, he could be well outside of city limits and outside of my jurisdiction. Stay out of it."
"You're going to just let himgo?" Hawke demanded hotly.
"I cannot afford to concentrate the entirety of my men's attention upon one maleficar, no matter how dangerous he may be, when there are countless other apostates and blood mages within the city and indeed, even within this Circle, that must be monitored and brought to justice." The two women's eyes met, blue to blue. "I advise that you remember that."
Hawke felt her temper bubble up dangerously close to the surface, hot enough to make her ignore the templar's warning. "I want Quentin dead,now!" she shouted, slamming her fists down on Meredith's desk. The papers on the surface fluttered at the impact, and with a smallwhooshthe edges caught fire. Meredith slapped her hand down on them, extinguishing the small lick of flame, and pinned Hawke down with the scariest stare of which she had ever had the misfortune to be on the receiving end. Realizing her mistake too late, Hawke jerked her hands back and stared in horror at the smoking, singed papers under the templar's gauntleted hand. shit shit.
"I believe," Meredith said after a long, horrible silence, "that I have been more than patient with you. More than forgiving. It took me a long time – too long, if I am frank – to discover your little secret. I decided to let it slide, just this once, because I knew of the tragic history of the Amell family, and I knew that you were trying to provide your family with a safe home." She circled around the desk, approaching Hawke almost casually. Hawke stood still rooted to the spot, horrified. "Despite your acquaintance with a known pirate, I let you be. Even when it became apparent that you are friends with not one, buttwoother apostates, still I did nothing."
Hawke finally staggered back, feeling the cold press of the stone wall behind her back. Meredith stepped ever closer, her terrible ice cold eyes boring into Hawke's. "I ought to have dragged you into the Circle and made you tranquil the day I realized what you are, but against my better judgement I decided to give you leniency. And after all this, you have the utter audacity to come intomyoffice, inmyGallows, and threaten me?" The two women were nearly nose to nose now. Meredith's voice had grown very quiet, but each word sent cold chills down Hawke's spine. The apostate swallowed.
"Please," she croaked. "I'll do whatever you want. I'll become a Circle mage, anything. Just let me help find the man who murdered my mother. You can do whatever you want to me afterwards."
Meredith stared at her. The two women were nearly the same height, but the power difference here was laughable. After a long, pregnant pause, the templar gave a very thin smile.
"Very well," she hissed. "You can help."
Hawke blinked once in shock. "What, really?"
Meredith finally stepped away, allowing Hawke room to breathe. "You've given me an idea," she said, rifling once more through the reports on her desk. She pulled out an empty piece of paper from the pile and began scribbling on it. "You're going to assist me in apprehending this maleficar after all."
"I thought it was a templar investigation?"
The Knight-Commander paused her writing and pinned Hawke with an irritated glare. "Do you wish to help or not?"
"Sorry."
"As I was saying, you're going to assist in the investigation," Meredith continued. "Not only is Quentin a wanted maleficar, he is a mass murderer. He needs to be brought to justice, for justice's sake as well as the safety of Kirkwall and her citizens. We are going to set a trap, and as I'm sure you know, every well-set trap needs bait." The templar stared her down again, more appraisingly this time.
"Bait?" Hawke repeated. "You want me to be bait?"
"You will pretend to be Tranquil to lull the maleficar into a sense of false security. I will be public in putting you in charge of all the materials on necromancy in the city; Quentin will be undoubtedly be drawn in to either protect the materials, or to gain revenge upon you for foiling his plans, or both." Meredith finished writing her letter and folded it, sealing it with a wax seal.
Hawke stared at her in horror. "I have to pretend to be Tranquil?" she said in dismay. The Knight-Commander let out a frustrated sigh and turned to stare at her.
"I can make you Tranquil for real, if you prefer," Meredith said through gritted teeth.
"Pretending is fine," Hawke said hastily. "I don't have to get a real forehead brand, though, do I?"
The templar waved the sealed letter at her. "That's what this is for. Take it to Orsino and he will ensure everything is set in order."
Hawke took the letter and weighed it in her hand. "Thank you, Knight-Commander," she said after a moment. "I'm sincerely grateful for the help."
"One last thing," Meredith said brusquely, sitting once more in her chair behind her desk, "This operation is secret. That means nobody, not even yourfriends, may know that you are not really Tranquil. They must all believe it and act their parts if we are to succeed."
"What if they figure it out on their own?" Hawke asked cautiously. Meredith smiled thinly again.
"Then you become Tranquil for real," she replied. "If that is not incentive enough, I can always bring in your pirate friend, or your two apostate friends, or that elf squatting in that Hightown mansion, and let you explain to them why it's your fault they will be either made Tranquil or executed. It is completely up to you. Are we clear?"
Hawke pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to either shout again or to vomit. "Explicitly," she ground out. With a tense nod, she backed out of the room, shutting the heavy oaken door behind her.