Chapter 3: The Night Walked Down the Sky

As left hand of the Divine, Leliana was welcome in Justinia's private chapel whenever she felt the need to withdraw from the world. The large cathedral was beautiful, but it awed too much, overshadowed your personal concerns and while that offered also a kind of peace, it helped little to sort your thought when the storms of the world had thrown them in turmoil.

It was here that Leliana found herself in those odd hours between night and morning, having tried to find sleep in her hideout and than wandering the streets, looking for distraction — or a way out. Pointless exercises, all of them, when the way to solace had always been right there.

The chapel was empty and silent, bathed in soft golden light from countless candles. Only two rows of pews were set before a marble statue of Andraste who would look down on the faithful with wakeful, but gentle eyes, serene, but understanding. This Andraste understood something of the ways of the world, or perhaps that had only been the artist behind her image.

Leliana loved this statue, even if it made her feel a little guilty sometimes, for assuming a kinship between her as a lowly bard and the great prophet before her.

Tonight, however, the calm would not come. As she kneeled in the pew, the thoughts in her mind would not still. They skittered like insects, half-finished before she could grasp at them, fleeting and disconcerting. In vain, she waited for her mind to settle, for the peace to come. If only she could even name the source of her anxiety. There was Kameron, of course, always a source of insecurity. And there was Hawke, more unknowable than even the Warden. This was not the problem, or at least not all of it. There was no immediate danger from either of them, after all, nothing that would force her to fear and then act on that fear.

She was so lost in the maze of her own mind, she missed the quiet hiss of the door as it opened and closed, failed to hear the whisper of silk as it brushed over the marbled floor. Only when someone joined her in the pew did Leliana lift her head.

Justinia was a strange woman, not unlike the image of Andraste in her own chapel. Kind and honest, but aware of the intricacies of the world in which her voice had weight and her decisions would affect the lives of millions of people. The Divine's face was serious, more so in the last few months, but the lines there were marks of smiles and laughter. Sometimes Leliana feared to see it change as the years went by, but Justinia had an inner light and a strength which hardships had so far failed to erode.

"What troubles you?" Justinia asked gently.

Leliana had to look away then, not quite ashamed, but lost and indecisive. Kameron's words echoed in her mind. If you have to chose…

She must have been silent for longer than she had thought, because Justinia spoke again. She said, "I see. I will not press you, you know that."

"I…" Leliana began and she didn't know herself how the sentence would have continued.

"No," Justinia interrupted. "I mean it. If there is something I do not need to know, then I do not need to know. It is that simple."

"What if I'm not sure?" Leliana asked.

Justinia smiled a little. "Then you will wrestle with your conscience for a little while and, in the end, you will make the right decision."

The Divine got to her feet smoothly. "Perhaps sleeping would help, Leliana. Your troubles, I'm sure, will still be there when you wake up, but you'll be far better equipped to deal with them."

Hawke made all the difference. The moment he stepped into the dirty, stinking, tiny room, nothing seemed quite as unbearable anymore. Merrill's bloodmagic and Isabela's shallowness, even Kameron Amell's irritating smugness, none of it mattered.

Even now, Hawke's very presence calmed Anders' fraying nerves and angry thoughts. For a few precious moments, as long as Hawke was there, he could allow himself to hope for peace and quiet and a life, any life beyond this. He had clung to that belief for all the years since Hawke had walked into his clinic, almost from the very first time he had ever seen him. Sometimes, Anders could barely believe that Hawke had not made that difference in the end. For all his promise, for all his strength and stubbornness, the tide had washed Hawke away as it had all of them.

Hawke had straddled the bench by the table, legs folded along the sides to accommodate their length on the smaller elvish furniture. On the other end of the bench, Kameron sat equally relaxed, as if he owned the place. They were facing each other in an odd stillness, the profile of their faces outlined in front of the grimy-dark wall behind them. An image of compare-and-contrast, different and yet startlingly similar. It was a strange thought, to realise that the diamondine ruthlessness of Kameron Amell might be made of the same components as Hawke's fierce cleverness.

Isabela had muttered something about not minding if she came between them but the mood had failed to lighten. Both Isabela and Merrill had taken flanking positions again, Isabela on the bed with Anders, Merrill sitting precariously balanced on the footboard. Between them, they were probably capable to stop him, even if Justice took over completely and decided everyone in the room deserved to be slaughtered. Anders didn't feel like that might happen, not while Hawke was there, but he couldn't fault them for not taking any chances, especially after his lapse with Kameron earlier.

Wuffles was also there, halfway between guarding Anders and guarding the others from Anders. The dog was quiet and barely moved at all, watching the room with attention, but knowing he shouldn't disturb.

Tea had been stewing over the cooking fire, but it had been forgotten. The fire had burned down to chunks of still glowing coal and ashes and the had cooled to a dark, bitter liquid. The night was beginning to feel old and emptied out; the very air was both uncomfortably cold and stale.

Fenris' absence was gaping in the room, even though he would hardly have made any of this any easier. With Fenris, another piece of them had fallen away, another pebble shifting down the mountainside, tearing loose what it might.

"It's important to understand how demonic possession works," Kameron was saying in a voice suited to a Tower classroom and a host of eager students. "When a mage is possessed, their mind is overwhelmed by the demon until there is nothing left of the mage. That's when the transformation happens and we are left with an abomination. However, some demons don't burn out the mage's mind as quickly. Hunger and Rage have no restraint, they take and consume. Desire or Sloth demons, on the other hand, enter into something closer to a symbiotic bond with the mage."

"What about Pride?" Anders challenged. Merrill shuffled, stung by the barb even if it hadn't been aimed at her. She glanced away from them for a moment, staring at the floor — or more likely at an entirely different time and place.

Kameron gave him a thin smile. "Because you think that's mine?"

"Seems a good match," Anders said.

"I don't like dealing with demons," Kameron said. "Their arrogance and condescendence towards mortals is not something I'm willing to take. Besides, there is nothing they can offer me that I don't already have."

"Thinking that just makes you more likely to fall."

Kameron returned his look evenly and just as calmly said, "So what is your solution? Should I volunteer for Tranquility?"

Anders jolted in his seat, didn't know if he would have sprung from his cross-legged position on the bed or not, even with Isabela's arm shooting forward and catching him on the chest. Annoyed, Anders pushed her away.

"That's not what I was saying!" Anders snapped. He flexed his shoulders and forced himself to press his back into the wall, using the solidity of the wooden boards to anchor him.

"No, it wasn't," Kameron agreed. "I know that."

Hawke cleared his throat quite pointedly and pulled everybody's attention back to him. Kameron brought his head back to face him and the painting of their faces realigned itself into the nature of a tale which Varric would have been proud to tell. The Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall faced each other…

"Just so I get this straight," Hawke began. "Anders and Justice are all mixed up, but they still have their own personalities and that's why it possible to separate them?"

"In layman's terms, yes."

Hawke nodded slowly in mockery of contemplation. "Something tells me if it were quite as easy as that, we wouldn't have the whole Templar versus mage thing to deal with. If you could separate a demon from a mage without hassle…"

"Justice is not a demon," Anders interjected.

Hawke arched an eyebrow and merely said, "He's been behaving like one. Maybe the Dalish have it right and there really isn't much of a difference."

"Spirits and demons are each aspects of existence, different in their vocation, but not their nature," Kameron agreed.

Merrill pulled herself from her revery with visible effort. She looked up and stared at Kameron from her wide eyes and nodded. "That's it exactly. Everyone has a different personality, creatures of the Beyond are just less flexible about it than we are."

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" Anders asked. "It must help you sleep at night…"

Very softly, Hawke said, "Anders."

Anders let his mouth snap closed with a sound that echoed in the room. Hawke had barely looked at him since coming in, said nothing beyond commonplace greeting. Anders had always known he would lose Hawke one way or the other, but it still stung.

Sudden silence hovered between them before the noise from outside seemed to seep in sluggishly, as if even that was too tired. It was never truly quiet in the alienage, too many people forced into too little space.

"Either way," Kameron said. "Your case is not as special as you think. Trust me when I say that it makes a difference that you entered willingly into a bond with Justice and that neither of you had any ill intentions at the time. The Fade is a malleable place and so are its inhabitants."

"You were about to tell us about the fly in the ointment," Hawke prompted.

"It's going to take considerable power. But if Merrill is able to help me with Blood Magic we should be able to get by without any virgin sacrifices," he said dryly. "I've brought some lyrium with me, so as not to overstrain both our lifeforces."

A slow chuckle crawled up Hawke's throat, a sound so caustic it barely registered at first and then made even Kameron's attention fall on him with sudden, sobered vigilance. Hawke merely shook his head. He said, "I was asking about the drawbacks. I don't doubt your skill, or Merrill's. Magic isn't my field of expertise, but I'm pretty good at bullshit. What is going to happen to Anders?"

Kameron regarded Hawke for a long moment, reassessing him, judging him once again, but there was no obvious indication of whatever conclusion he reached. "Possession is a tricky thing," he said.

Hawke narrowed his eyes. "A Dalish keeper told me that even if a mage can be freed from a demon, that soul would remain damaged and would draw other demons like a wounded animal draws predators."

"Wounds can heal," Kameron said. "It takes time."

He paused, considering, then added, "I'll admit that I don't have a great deal of experience about any of this. No one does. The usual 'cure' for possession tends to be decapitation. Whatever I'm offering, surely that's better?"

"Not if it makes me tranquil," Anders pointed out. He leaned forward, pulled by his own intensity. "I'd rather be dead than tranquil. I'd rather…"

Unexpectedly, he felt himself choking on his own words, fear and guilt wrapping around his throat and squeezing. He felt Isabela's hand on his arm and didn't know if she meant to hold him back or offer some kind of support.

"Pay for your crimes?" Kameron finished. "What would you say if I told that there are no crimes here?"

"I killed innocents!" Anders yelled, voice toppling. Isabela's grip on his arm tightened briefly, but when he didn't seem to be flaring blue she let him go. Anders propelled himself to his feet. The small room brought him up short, because merely standing brought him almost into the centre and he found himself unexpectedly looking down on both Kameron and Hawke.

Smoothly, Kameron first tilted his head back to meet his gaze, than levered himself to his feet smoothly. Standing, he was taller than Anders and his controlled fervour made him tower.

"Let me give you a vision of the future," Kameron said quietly. "In a thousand from now, they will built temples to you and they will praise you as a new prophet. Andraste who freed the slaves and Anders who freed the mages. Do you think such things are not bought with blood? Of warriors and dreamers and cynics, but most of all, blood of innocents."

Anders had known, of course. He had spent long months with Kameron in Amaranthine, but perhaps then he had not seen if for what it was, had taken the man at face-value and judged him by his success rather than his values.

"You are insane," Anders said and it came out barely audible. "You are a fanatic."

Kameron tightened one corner of his mouth into the unpleasant imitation of a smile. "Well, yes. That makes two of us, doesn't it?"

Anders hadn't noticed when Hawke had got up, only suddenly he was there, by his side, between him and Kameron.

"You are making me be the voice of reason," Hawke noted. "Funny how that works. This is getting us nowhere. I couldn't care less for what happens in a thousand years. What happens in the next days, on the other hand, now, that's the catch."

Kameron only shrugged, perhaps realising that it had been too early in the game to reveal this much of himself. The Warden made a show of relaxing his stance, drawing back subtly from them, but Hawke didn't let him go.

"Again, what will this do to Anders?" Hawke asked. "A simple answer, please, I'm a simple man."

"There are no simple answers," Kameron said. "Only lies would be simple."

Hawke had no time to answer, because someone banged on the door so loudly, Anders was momentarily convinced the wood would splinter. Isabela, already about to jump in, bounced to her feet, but then stood as still as everyone else.

Another bang came, this time accompanied by their landlord's voice. "Hey there! Fair warning! The Templars are making a sweep of the alienage!"

Hawke whirled around, rushed to the door and tore it open. "What?"

The landlord shrunk back from him, then scowled. "The Templars are making a sweep," h repeated. "They do that every so often. The alienage looks unmanageable, but do you think you are the only shady sorts hiding out around here? Lots of apostates make the same mistake you did."

Hawke blinked, once, then leaned his shoulder into the doorway, saying, "Apostates. You don't say."

The landlord didn't seem impressed. "Not my problem, either way. Templars trash the place and you live, I'll come collect. Or you take your chances and run. Take your pick." He shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He threw a short, disinterested look inside, but if the assorted humans inside his apartment surprised him, he didn't show it. He shrugged again and then was off. Hawke took a step outside after him.

Their apartment was on the third floor with at least two more floors stacked up above them. All buildings along the already narrow street had been built like this, usually with old wood and cheap clay. The upper floors were leaning in towards each other above the street, nearly touching in some places. Poles had been wedged against the wall the here and there to keep a wall from toppling over and tearing down a neighbouring house.

A narrow balcony allowed access to the upper floors, thin and threadbare it groaned dangerously under Hawke's weight. Other elves had scrambled to the doors of their houses or where they lingered on their own, dodgy balconies, anxious about the Templars, but resigned to their fate.

Hawke came back inside and closed the door.

"Fuck," Isabela observed, but Hawke cut her short with a sharp gesture.

"No time for weeping," he said and clapped his hands. "Let's get going, children."

Packing took only a few minutes. On the long trek to Val Royeaux they had already shed all unnecessary baggage one by one. All that was left now were a few spare pieces of clothing and enough weapons to arm a small unit warriors. Even most trinkets and keepsakes were gone, left behind Kirkwall or sold or lost as time went on.

While Anders helped Isabela and Merrill get their things, Hawke only pulled on his coat and returned to the door. He pushed it open a little so he could keep an eye on the street. It had filled with elves in the meantime, though the hopes that they might be rebelling was quickly squashed. They weren't resisting, they were simply trying not to get in the way and be crushed underfoot.

A low chink of chainmail announced Kameron. He moved to stand by the other side of the door, shoulders pressed into the wall and arms crossed over his chest.

"Merrill and I should stay," he said.

Some outside firelight caught in Hawke's eyes and made them glitter. "So the Templars won't find a recently abandoned flat and wonder why that might be so."

"Exactly."

Hawke pushed the door a little further and took a step into the doorway, leaned his shoulder against it. "They won't care that you are a Warden, if they even believe you."

"What choice will they have?"

"Templars in the Divine's city? I wouldn't try using mind-control on them. If it fails, they'll just kill you."

Kameron laughed a little. "Let them try."

"I would," Hawke said mildly. "But you are dragging Merrill into it. And while I haven't made up my mind yet whether I'll let you mess with Anders' head, I know we don't have too many options on that front. Meaning, I need you alive."

"I can keep Merrill safe," Kameron said with more gentleness than he had seem capable of. "And it has to be her, she is the only elf."

"Ready when you are," Isabela said as she joined them. She had a neatly tied bundle in hand and a bag over her shoulder, Wuffles was padding along close to her side. Behind her, Anders pulled down the cowl of his own coat, less because it would hide his face and more because it would stop Justice from seeing too much of the intolerable conditions of alienage life.

Hawke caught and held Kameron's gaze for a long moment, then nodded ever so slightly before turning to face his friends.

"Here is the plan," he said with frosty cheerfulness. "Isabela and I will find some rathole for Anders to squeeze out of the alienage. We'll go to ground at Ophélie's house." He fixed his gaze on Merrill. "I'm sorry, you'll need to stay and cover us. The Templars can't find this place empty and become suspicious."

Lately, the serious expression that settled on Merrill's face had become all too familiar. Her mouth was set in a grim line, nodding. "Good idea," she said.

"I'll back you," Kameron added.

"Do you have a plan?" Merrill asked.

Kameron nodded, but made no attempt to explain anything. He shifted out of the way and Hawke gave the door a kick.

Kameron said, "If, for some reason, Ophélie's house is too dangerous, you can go to my room in L'Auberge de la Coraline. Isabela can get you there."

"All set, then," Hawke agreed. He looked down on Wuffles. "You stay here, do what Kameron says until he gets you back to me. Got that?" The dog barked an affirmative, then looked at Kameron expectantly.

Hawke gave Merrill a quick squeeze on her arm, a half-gesture that seemed oddly awkward, caught between expressing his worry and hiding it.

"It'll be fine," Merrill said. "What's one more elf to them?"

Hawke made no answer, but there was no time. They had already dallied too long. Torches were beginning to cast their light around the tight corner up the street.

"Once more into the fray," Hawke said.

It had been weeks since Anders had been outside for more than a few minutes. Only now, hurrying through the narrow streets with Hawke in front and Isabela behind him, did it occur to him that he had — essentially — been held prisoner in that apartment. Moreover, he had accepted it without even arguing. Was he really that much changed? Being locked up, being caught and held, had always been the things most abhorrent for him. Even while living with Hawke in Kirkwall, he had barely been able to a bear a closed door anywhere in the house.

Yet, he had not thought about how caged he had been, even for a moment. Prisons were nothing to a Spirit, of course and the fear of them equally inscrutable, except when faced with the inherent injustice of chaining another being like an animal. The thought dogged him, more than the Templars they were fleeing from, unable to lay it to rest once he had roused it.

The street seemed to grow darker and narrower the longer they hurried along it. Crates and barrels were piled on the walls on either side, storage the insides of houses had no room for. Debris and grime made the ground under his feet treacherous and he stumbled more than once, though neither Hawke nor Isabela seemed to have the same problems.

They had to squeeze past elves as they went. Some of them were heading away from the Templars, too, notably anxious and suspicious of the humans who had appeared in their middle. Most were simply about their business, trying to get home or find food or, in not so rare cases, keep the tiny patch of space in front of their doors clean. No one seemed to be sleeping in the alienage, but Anders suspected it might be due to simple necessity, life in the alienage had to happen in shifts.

If you want to call it life, Anders thought. He had to think of what Kameron had said, about Andraste freeing the slaves and freeing the elves, too, when they joined her in her war against the Imperium. Look what it gained them, Anders wanted to say, because it was precisely the opposite of what Kameron had been saying. The elves certainly were not free by any stretch of the imagination, worse even, they seemed to have accepted their fate in much the same way many Circle Mages had bowed to the Chantry and embraced their slavery.

Hawke stopped and Anders almost ran into him, close enough to catch the remnant scent of some expensive Orlesian perfume. Anders tried taking a hasty step back; there were things he tried not to think about. He succeeded in tripping on Isabela, who didn't complain, only caught him with the steely grip of her fingers and manoeuvred him back around.

Hawke pressed his back to the edge of the house and peered around the corner.

"Yes, that's what I thought," he observed when he turned back to them.

Isabela pushed Anders down on a dusty grate and went to join Hawke. She hummed thoughtfully to herself.

"What is it, dammit?" Anders asked.

"If I was a Templar on a raid," Hawke began. "And I had to search the alienage, what would I do?"

"Place ten of my men in front of the gate," Isabela replied. "Because the damn alienage has only one exit."

Anders slumped a little where he sat. Even a moment's thought would have made this obvious and no doubt Hawke had always known they would run into this problem. Anders let his head fall back, felt it as he hit the wall. He saw a slice of sky above them, dark but with stars and moon hidden behind high clouds.

"Hawke," he said. "Why not just hand me over?"

"Right," Hawke almost hissed and Anders sensed rather than heard him move. Suddenly Hawke was right in front of him, planting both hands on the wall on either side of his head. Hawke bent down until they were face to face. "Do you want this discussion now? Because your sense of timing certainly hasn't improved since Kirkwall."

Anders stared back at Hawke, feeling cool anger rising along his spine and driving away the weariness. "It's not going to end," Anders said. "They will never stop hunting you and that means you can never stop running and never stop killing and… doing everything you do just to protect me."

"No no no," Hawke chided with artificial lightness. "I said not now."

Hawke was entirely too close and riding on the anger came love and need and hunger; Anders pushed the back of his head into the wall with all his might just to gain a modicum of distance. "I…" Anders whispered. "I think I'm going to kiss you." It sounded like a surrender.

He had expected Hawke to draw back. Something had been broken between them and Anders had precious few illusions, there was nothing left to mend.

But Hawke, being Hawke, merely plastered a wolfish grin on his face. "Really not the time," he said and held himself still above Anders for just a moment longer than was comfortable. Then he twisted away, shaking whatever emotions and memories he had so carelessly evoked.

"Where do we stand, Isabela?"

Isabela had had the good sense to scout ahead while Anders and Hawke had themselves distracted. She had rounded the corner and scaled the side of the house to a ramshackle porch roof, where she crouched in the shadows.

"Finished already?" she asked. "My body was all ready to watch the angry sex."

"Yes, and it would have been even better if the Templars joined in," Hawke returned to the corner, leaning his shoulder on the wall and peering down the street to the guarded gate. "And when they are all exhausted we take their clothes and run."

"Sounds like a party with a plan," Isabela chuckled.

"Maybe next time. Armour always chafes." Hawke craned his head around. "Anders? Some magics tricks that'd help us?"

With some difficulty, Anders pulled himself from his seat and stepped forward to stand by Hawke's side. Of course, Hawke was right. This was hardly the moment for this discussion, but at the same time, it had been overdue for so long now, Anders wondered if they would ever have it, if there was ever going to be a good time for it. Hawke had done his best to avoid it like the plague since Kirkwall and Anders, for the most part, had been content to let him do it, but the gaping wound was still bleeding. At some point, they would have to deal with it.

"Ten Templars?" Anders thought aloud. "Templars are resistant to magic and I'm not too well-versed in Entropic spells."

"No sweet dreams for the poor guys, then?" Hawke asked.

"Maybe three," Anders offered. "But only for a handful of minutes and if they have no time to defend themselves."

"There will be more on the other side of the gate," Isabela added. She slipped forward and sat with his legs dangling down the side of the roof. "Better to take those down first, at least they won't have any reinforcements coming."

"Good point," Hawke agreed. "Everybody else is locked in with us."

"I can't see those on the other side," Anders said slowly. "I don't know…"

Hawke inspected the surrounding buildings and while most of them were tell, they weren't higher than the wall surrounding the alienage.

"We'll just need to be fast," he finally said and looked at Anders. "I want you to stick to the background, Isabela and I can handle it. We'll kill the Templars and open the gate. With any luck, they won't have figured out what's happening, it gives you a moment to knock them out."

Grimly, Anders nodded.

Isabela stood up, easily balanced despite the uncertain footing. The porch roof ran all along this side of the building, bringing her within striking distance of the group of Templars, offering an edge of surprise.

"As was once so famously remarked on a similarly unsavoury occasion," Hawke said lowly. "Time to dance."

It shouldn't be so easy, Anders decided. Killing shouldn't be a dance, it was gruesome and terrible, spreading so much misery everywhere. What bitter bread they had chosen to eat and what a horrible thing to enjoy. Forced to keep hiding rather than actively join, Anders had no choice but to helplessly watch as Isabela leaped onto the midst of the Templars. She sank both her daggers into the Templar's shoulders, through the thin seam between helmet and armour, used the slumping man to dull her fall and lever her weapons free before any of the others had time to understand what was going on.

After that, the Templars were fast to react. The sound of scraping steel echoed in the small, open square in front of the gate, too loud in Anders' ears for some reason, as if he felt it rather than heard when the death-bringing blades were exposed.

Still crouched over her first victim, Isabela kicked out and caught an approaching Templar in the armoured groin. She didn't hurt him, but he stumbled several steps back as the weight of his armour threatened to overbalance him. She used the moment to twist herself to her feet, sheath one of her daggers and twirl the other in her hand. Slipping after the Templar, past the length of his sword and well inside his guard, Isabela gripped the Templar's arm and yanked it up, ramming her dagger through the flexible leather under the Templar's arm, through his armpit and into his heart.

Hawke was both taller and heavier than Isabela, but he had shown time and again that he could match her for speed and agility. Isabela had drawn the attention of the Templars just long enough to allow him to come at them from the other side. The two Templars who happened to have their back toward him were the first to fall. Hawke delivered a hard kick to the back of the knee, making the Templar stagger and throw her arms out in instinct. In going down, Hawke reached around and pulled her head back, helmet and all to expose her throat and slit it. Hawke let the dying Templar slip from his grip and lever himself to the side, putting his entire weight behind the lung that drove Finesse's gleaming edge through the visor and into the Templar's opened eyes.

Another Templar had thrown himself around to face the new threat and by then, there had been time to realise they were under attack. This one exhibited some caution, turning his head this way and that — compensating for the restricted vision afforded by the helmet — to make sure he still had comrades standing behind him before he swung his longsword in a powerful downward arch.

Anders felt himself twitch in protective instinct. It was hardly the first time he had seen a fight and although he knew how it ended, he couldn't stop the horrid fantasy playing behind his eyes. He saw it every time it happened, he saw how that sword would cut through Hawke's shoulder and sever skin and bone and sinew and leaving a wide, bleeding chasm behind. He saw the slow-burning realisation on Hawke's face as baffled surprise transformed into a pain so unspeakable it drew the last, laboured breath of Hawke's life into an eternity of torture.

Power cracked between his fingers. The Templars stood so close, those in the back ranks who hadn't sorted themselves out and joined the fight yet. A chain lightning would incapacitate them, would buy Hawke another moment…

… a moment Hawke didn't need. Hawke caught the attacking blade on his daggers, crossed in front of his face and taking the full weight of the Templar easily. An odd tilt of his head told Anders that Hawke was grinning in that casual, battle-thrilled way of his. Hawke twisted his hands and the Templar's longsword was jarred out of his hands.

For all his moralising, for all the unrealised ideals that ran so rampant inside Anders mind, it was a dance. It could have been a carefully choreographed performance rehearsed for the audience of one, of Anders alone in the murky, dying darkness of the overcrowded alienage of Val Royeaux. Hawke and Isabela played off each other, flew like ghosts through the Templar's ranks as they fed each other opponents and blocked strokes meant for the other's exposed sides or whatever tiny gaps in their defence their fast swirl left open.

It was over within a few short minutes and not a call of warning had been uttered. None of the Templars had had time to shout for help, or bring some more distant comrades to their aid. There was guilt over the destruction — because Anders was to blame for all the death's Hawke or any of the others had inflicted since the Chantry had fallen in the blaze. But Anders could never stop himself from marvelling at the excellence of the display.

One of the Templars had died slumped in front of the narrow door set in the larger gate. Isabela heaved him out of the way as Anders hurried to rejoin them.

"Let's hope there isn't more of them," Hawke observed, wiping his daggers on the skirt of a Templar. He glanced up at Anders. "Ready?"

Clenching his teeth, Anders returned his gaze. "Ready."

The door could only be bolted from the other side, but luckily, no such measure had been taken and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Anders edged to the side, to get a better look outside. He didn't need to see everything, but he had had to have an idea of the layout, something for his mind to work with.

Lucky for once, there were only two Templars posted outside and they hadn't been alerted, leaving them open to the insinuating power of the sleep spell, slumping into heaps where they stood.

"What you know," Hawke remarked, gently slinking past them. "Looks like providence is with us."

"Was about time," Isabela muttered.

"It won't last," Anders added, more to himself. There was no reason for them to deserve anything else, not while they kept their fates tied to him.

The noise of the alienage had its own beat and rhythm. In the silence left in Hawke's wake, Merrill stood still and only listened to the subtle change in it as the Templars left their mark. In a way, she had expected the elves to protest more and the Templars to be harsher and noisier. It seemed almost like a polite midnight incursion, it wasn't threatening in the way she had come to think of the Templars at all. Perhaps that part of her feelings was getting worn-out, after spending so many years hiding in Kirkwall; anything left of it, surely it would have burned away — or been left behind — on their mad flight across the country?

She didn't like how Kameron Amell was looking her over. There was an edge of disdain in his gaze, something cold and calculating. Men who were so overconfident about their ability to deal with demons, they were the most dangerous of them all. She had paid attention before, she knew Hawke had not decided if he should trust this man and what reasons would be good ones to do so. Because they were family? Because they might share an enemy? Because Kameron thought of Anders as a friend? Or, worse, a coming prophet?

Suddenly, Kameron looked away from her and at the mabari. "He called his dog Wuffles."

The dog pricked his ears forward attentively at the mention of his name.

"It's from a story," Merrill explained freely. She didn't know what he was thinking at all. She added, "His father used to read it to him when he was a child."

Kameron looked back at her and gave her a faint smile with surprising warmth. It made him resemble Hawke even more. "Don't worry," he said. "Just follow my lead."

"What are you planning?" she asked. She found herself lacing her fingers uncertainly. They had sold their staffs after leaving Kirkwall. They were far too conspicuous and marked them as mages too easily, especially in the hostile climate after Anders' act of defiance. Still, every-time she was heading towards a fight, the absence of the staff left her feeling anxious. She never quite knew where to put her hands.

"Nothing spectacular," Kameron said with a shrug. "Don't draw on your magic unless you absolutely have to. Templars are trained to sense it, but they shouldn't be able to tell if we are both mages or if it's just me."

She frowned. "Do you think there will be a fight?"

"Hopefully not," he said and sounded almost sad about it.

Wuffles gave slight whine and stood up.

"Seems they are getting close," Kameron observed. "Why don't you sit down? Non-threatening and relaxed." He paused for a moment. "I mean both of you."

At least he was lumping her in together with a mabari not just any dog, Merrill thought with uncharacteristic misgiving. He either didn't like her or at least didn't think her particularly capable. He had taken her on out of convenience, because he didn't want to antagonise Hawke, but the warmth he had shown her wasn't even skin-deep.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, knowing it was stiff posture. She lacked Isabela's grace, that uncanny ability to uncoil like a serpent form even the most casual pose. If she settled back on the bed, she would need a few additional seconds to be back in a fight and regardless of what Kameron thought, she could hold her own well enough.

The Warden leaned with his hip on the table, arms crossed over his chest. The coat he hadn't taken off was falling to partially cover the sword, although any trained eye would spot its presence immediately.

Voices could be heard from the apartment next door, some scratching, as if furniture was moved and something thumped on the wall. More voices, followed by a brief moment of silence.

Merrill startled despite herself at the curt knock on their own door when it came, despite knowing it would come, or possibly because of it; waiting for it had wound her too tight. She hesitated for a moment, before she remembered and said, "I…!"

She came no further than that, because the door was pushed open all the way to allow two Templars to crowd into the room. One was tall and bulky, his face mostly hidden by his helmet. The other was a smallish middle-aged man with his helmet under his arm. He began talking even before he had fully entered.

"I apologise for the intrusion, but you are required by the Divine's Law to allow us to search your home for illegal mages." He had faltered somewhat toward the end of his sentence, when he had processed Kameron's presence. He stared at the Warden and drew his thick brows into a suspicious frown.

"Seigneur," he said sternly. "I'm sure you are aware that it is forbidden for humans to be in the alienage at night."

Kameron gave him a charming smile, though the way it bared his teeth lessened the effect somewhat. "It's fine. I'm a guest."

The Templar's frown deepened and his companion tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword.

"You misunderstand me," the Templar insisted. "You will have to come with us." He turned his gaze to scrutinise Merrill. "Are you all right?"

This, more than anything, took her by surprise. Concern for elves was rare and coming from a Templar even more so. Merrill was well aware that there were enough humans who would go to the alienage instead of a legitimate brothel, where they would have to abide by the rules of the house instead of doing as they pleased to someone who had no protectors left.

"Thank you for your concern," she said with clumsy formality, buying time while her thoughts raced. She swallowed dry and added, "He is a Grey Warden. He is looking for recruits."

This caused the Templar's brows to draw even further together and the corners of his mouth tightened. He stared intently at Kameron as if this would allow him to ascertain the truth of him. "Humans are not allowed here," he said again. "Warden or no."

Kameron was still for a long moment, than he straightened away from the table and let his arms fall by his side. Leather cracked when the other Templar pulled an inch of his sword free. His commander snapped his hand up and the man sheathed the sword again.

"I meant no harm," Kameron said innocently. "We Wardens have always gone where we pleased. It served us all well in the past." He shrugged nonchalantly, "But for the sake of public order, I'll be on my way."

He caught Wuffles' eye and said, "Come."

Merrill caught the minuscule hesitation, the slight unwillingness of any mabari to follow a stranger's commands, but Wuffles knew his role and walked to Kameron's side obediently. The larger Templar moved a fraction when the large dog was suddenly so much closer.

Neither Templar made any attempt to get out of the way.

"We'll escort you to the gate," the Templar decided. Only then did he step aside and his companion followed suit, opening a narrow way for Kameron to the door.

Merrill spotted at least one more Templar outside, carrying a torch, which she had thankfully not tried taking inside. It was the most common fear in the alienage, if a fire began at any place, it would take the whole quarter down with it and no one would be able to stop it.

Kameron gave a quick nod in Merrill's direction and strode to the door without any hint of discomfort, Wuffles followed dutifully behind.

The Templar, too, tipped his head towards Merrill before he left. Either he considered her harmless or he had been so distracted by a Grey Warden he had dismissed her from his attention entirely.

She waited only a few moments after they had left to scramble to her feet and return to the door. She cracked it open a little and peered outside. There had been five Templars in total, two with torches and another one with bow over his shoulder who joined the others in the street below.

Merrill could see other groups of five, marked by the light of their torches, as they went from house to house. She had hoped she could follow Hawke immediately after the Templars were gone, but by the way this looked, she would be better served in keeping her head down until the air had cleared.

The Templars marched him to the gate in silence. They had surrounded him as well as the narrow streets allowed, but so far their behaviour was cautiously polite. But that changed the moment they entered the square in front of the gate to find the ten lifeless bodies of Templars strewn on the dirty cobblestones.

The leading Templar stopped on his tracks and turned around.

"Restrain him!"

Kameron made no attempt to stop the Templars who came at him from both sides to grip his arms. A third went to retrieve his sword.

"I had nothing to do with this," Kameron pointed out calmly.

"On the other hand," the Templar said. "There are too many coincidences for my liking."

What Kameron did not know was that behind him, the fifth Templar had closed his eyes and began to concentrate. It was pure instinct, faced with so many slain comrades and having learned that enemies of this magnitude were always mages. Templar magic, Kameron liked to think, because it never felt quite as different to normal magic as the Chantry would have liked.

The cleansing power of the Templar spell flooded the square and it staggered Kameron, made his knees buckle and forced him to lean into one of the Templars for a split second. He had been careful not to advertise his own power, but because of this, it was further from his grasp than normal.

"And a mage, too!" the Templar noted, sounding rather less surprised. He looked past Kameron. "Bind him."

Kameron pulled himself straight and shook his head to free himself from the dulling remnant of the Templar's spell. "I'm far beyond your jurisdiction," he said with a low, impatient snarl coming into his voice. A little behind him, Wuffles bared his teeth threateningly.

The Templar took a step forward while his man jerked Kameron's arms back and bound him with practiced efficiency.

"You probably are," the Templar agreed. "But I can't let you walk. Tell your dog to be good or we put him down."

Kameron closed his eyes for a moment, letting the power flood back. The Templar binding him pulled on his hands and he felt the Tevinter claw ring come loose.

Kameron opened his eyes again and turned his head so he could see as the Templar lifted the ring up above his shoulder for his commander to see.

"That's…" the Templar began.

"Be grateful," Kameron whispered. "From here on until the day you die; very, very grateful that I am willing to be nice tonight."

References/Translations:

"the night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand" — Frederick L. Knowles

"seigneur" — (french) sort of somewhat like 'mister', also in the sense of 'my lord'. Used here as the Orlesian variant of DA's 'serah' since this term seems to belong solely to the Free Marches.

Note on the Wardens and Blood Magic: There is quite the discrepancy between DAO and DA2 on the matter of blood magic. It might be because we only get to meet very few Wardens in DAO and their stances might not be representative of the order as a whole, or there might be some slight retconning going on to make the escalatation of the mage/templar thing more believable. For a variety of reasons, I very much prefer DAO's somewhat more relaxed treatment of the issue and especially Kameron's opinion on the whole mess is going to reflect that.