Varric, Donnic, and Madame Elthina all answer Viscount Chagny's summons to have tea at his estate. The invitation a ploy to lure them together for a discussion, safe from the ears of the theater's walls. Free from the reach of the enemy.
Each guest is greeted and led to the garden in due course. Where Fenris waits, pacing, with a distant look in his eye. And, when he sees them, his gaze grows fierce and he wastes not a moment in explaining to them the reason for their attendance. Determined to convince them to commit to action regarding the 'Phantom.'
"This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend," he drawls under the noonday sun.
"We are listening."
Varric encourages him to continue, a hand toying with a rose in full bloom at the gate.
"We shall play his game."
Elthina and Donnic shake their heads in disbelief.
"Perform his work, but remember, we hold the adavantage," Fenris assures them, "If Hawke sings he is certain to be there."
"We make certain he has no escape," Varric catches on with a light to his eyes.
"We make certain Kirkwall guards are present," Donnic adds.
"We make certain they are armed."
Fenris mutters this as he recalls the attack at the cemetary, knowing full well their opponent will not give up without a fight.
All three turn to Elthina who sways at the edge of their group, her hand to her heart. Her eyes wide with the realization of what his plan entails. Of what it could mean.
"Madame," Fenris begins, resting a hand to her shoulder as he approaches, "Everyone is in danger as long as he remains in the opera house. And I do mean everyone. Think of the risk to your daughter. And I happen to know you care for Marianna a great deal."
Her eyes fall to the ground, her face weary and her soul afraid as she reflects on these concepts as she has many times. But, yet, could never be persuaded to turn her back on the poor boy. Still, what once was just a lonely child looking for a friend to share his world with, a little one who killed once in his defense, is now only a killer who thinks nothing of disposing anyone who gets in his way. A monster not a man now.
"You tried your best, you gave him all you could. But, he has fallen from grace. We must all be committed if this is to succeed."
Fenris releases his hold, but his eyes do not part from hers. His heart silently pleading with her. She resigns to his wishes.
"Yes, Messere, I understand. I will do my best to help you capture him. I would not have Merrill be placed in such peril. Nor Hawke," she says with a nod.
"The curtain falls. His reign will end!" Chimes Donnic with high hopes.
Rehearsals begin the following week, every detail made to match the script.
Scenes are painted, props constructed. The costumes sewn with utmost care and quality. There is no effort spared or second that is wasted in preparing for the performance of a lifetime.
They make definite that their work on his writings can be heard through the whole theatre. So that Anders will know of their compliance. So that the bait is set for the trap that is soon to come. And, no incident befalls them, not a peek nor whisper of the ghost is found. Everything progresses with perfection to the night of their enactment. The whole city coming to watch.
In the final hour before it all begins, Fenris searches the the halls of the opera house for his beloved friend. He finds her in a place Merrill tells him to go. A little room high above, her refuge with the stain glass angel. She kneels praying for her father and fighting back her nerves. Her face pale with worry and stomach sick with fears.
He kneels beside her, with her, leaning close. His hand overlapping hers in a slow and deliberate gesture to reaffirm his support. To offer her any small amount of comfort she can take from the simple action, wishing he could give her more. But having nothing else he can do to calm her spirit.
"What I once used to dream," Hawke murmurs, "I now dread."
He pulls up the right sleeve of his white linen tunic, baring his wrist which boasts her red scarf tied securely there.
"You said so yourself. He is nothing more than a man. And, while he lives, he will haunt us until we are dead. We cannot have our freedom until he is gone."
She nods in her bow to the candle bra and her father's portrait. Understanding in full what is at stake, and hating every aspect of what awaits her. She loathes the end they have come to, still reluctant to so betray the man who inspired her to sing. Yet, unwilling to surrender the future she has chosen for a fate of being caged with a man twisted by possession. A man who is dangerous and may never be sated, even if she chooses him. What could she do then? People would still fall to his wrath, to death.
"I know I can't refuse. And, yet, I wish I could."
He clasps her hand and brings it to brush her banner that he wears with honor.
"Every hope and every prayer rests on you now. But... I will be here. With you through every moment, watching. I will come for you if anything goes wrong. I swear it."
He promises in solemn reverence, the ribbon he tied to himself in such a vow long before now. It is here that he shares with her his contract made in secret as a means to console and empower her.
"Please, be careful."
She brings her eyes to warm him, their amber locking in a tryst with his green.
"There is not much of a future to be had, if you are not with me. There is little reason to fight if you're not there when it is over."
He embraces her with a smile, "I will be."
Far beneath their shadows, Anders is in preparation for his part in this story he has written. Tying back his hair and smoothing the feathers of his coat. His mask of choice, a disguise of fine black leather that will keep his eyes hidden safely under, invisible to the crowd. Their gold swim in blue, but are not utterly drowning in the hollowed color. His mind strictly hoping his Vengeance will not be called forth, even though he knows what lies in wait for him.
He is aware of the guards and their plot to destroy him, knows it was coming all along. It was only a matter of time before he returned the favor. But, Anders himself, hopes that his counter measures will simply force everyone away and not result in further tragedy.
Anders has no intention of killing innocent people. He has never wanted to kill. But the spirit within him has twisted into a darkness he cannot escape. A blackened wraith forged by injustice made by the Templars who show no mercy. And now it hunts, it maims, it leaves bodies behind in its wake. Dispatching all who get in their way and driving him, slowly, to madness. It should never have become this way. But, it cannot be reversed now, Anders' control over himself is waning. And that gives his demon full reign.
He believes in one concept above all others. He has faith that, if he can only make Marianna accept him, her light will burn away the shadows poisoning his heart. Her kindness is a miracle found rarely in the people of the world. She has aided him before, even unknowingly, to get a hold of himself. She has soothed the tide of anger with her echoes of his calls. And, in her eyes, his loneliness is banished, his hurts relieved. He has only ever wanted to live and she has become the focus of that life for which he is reaching. A symbol of his ideal future. One that vastly mimics that which she plans to have with the Viscount.
He cannot give her all of the same things Chagny can offer her. But, he still has much to give none the less. If only she could see the wonders he would gift to her without reserve. He is certain she would find his feelings sufficient and delight in the beauty he sees. Theirs would not be a wasted life.
Music erupts through the air, his cue. He stows away through the passages, the time has come.
Fenris finds himself sitting rigid in a box as the music begins, the Captain of the guard at his side. A woman of fiery red hair and bold strength known as Aveline. A close friend of Donnic, there are rumors of a budding romance between them. She is more than ready to set her guardsmen against the 'Phantom' at a moment's notice. Her eyes keen for trouble, and her leadership respected by all. Her dedication is welcomed, but hardly reassuring to his wildest fears. His ideas imagining the worst despite his forced bravery. The one thing he fears most looming at his back and chaining him into stillness.
The notes drop and rise, writhing in a tantrum of unholy fantasy. The veil of the curtain parts away, revealing the cast as they move together in a ritualistic flow. The stage bedecked in flames, red and demonic, leaping high and flaring to life despite being only brushstrokes to cloth and paper. They cry out in condemned chorus, a melody of the Void. Their eyes glinting like sparks, but behind those lights are uncertainties and terror. The acts they have practiced for disturbing and, to them, depraved. It resonates within their voices.
"Here the sire may serve the dam. Here the master takes his meat. Here the sacraficial lamb utters one despairing bleat."
They center around Isabela who's skin is singed with anticipation. Past ready to be rid of this shadow cast over her. Holding her back from her passions and her life.
"Poor young maiden," she chimes in rhythm, "For the thrill of your tongue of stolen sweets. You will have to pay the bill, tangled in the winding sheets."
Her curves shift in a daunting flaunt, her exuberance personifying lust.
"Serve the meal and serve the maid," call the others, "Serve the master so that, when tables, plans, and maids are laid, Don Juan triumphs. Once again!"
They point away in their last screams of melody to a pair of men behind. Dancers prancing forward to twirl and dash in motion to the action. Moving with a passion to tempt the the men before them, tributes to sex permeating the theme of the opera. A demoralization of their usual class and refinement in their arts. Their breasts barely cradled in the chest of their gowns. A pitiful use of such beauty.
"Passarino, faithful friend," bellows Castillon to the other actor, "Once again repeat the plan."
His companion answers him singing, "Your guest believes I am you. I, the master. You, the man. When you met you wore my cloak. She could not have seen your face. She believes she dines with me, in her master's borrowed palace. Furtively we'll scoff and quaff, stealing what, in truth, is mine."
They move away to the very back of the stage.
"When it's late and modesty starts to mellow with the wine. You come home, I use your voice. Slam the the door like crack of doom. I shall say, 'come hide with me.' Where or where? 'Of course, my room!"
"Poor thing hasn't got a chance," muses Castillon, "Here's my hat, my cloak, and sword. Conquest is assured. If I do not forget myself and laugh."
He places on a mask, fashioned in the same leather, unwittingly, that his replacement will be wearing.
"Hahahaha!"
They disappear, Castillon leaving the stage entirely. Only to be overtaken by a dark form, his resistence shattering Anders' original hopes. Bringing his fiend to the surface and resulting in the man's doom.
Marianna saunters into view, her dress barely more appropriate, the fabric at her shoulders straining not to fall. She is a lovely sight, stirring a tingle in Fenris' skin. Although, he deeply wishes he were not sharing the sight with an entire audience. Her dignity on display for the 'Phantom's' sport.
"No thoughts within her head," her song darts from her tongue, "but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart, but but dreams of love!"
She spares a glance his way, her gaze careful.
In enters a man in cloak, stalking forward with ease.
"Master?"
The other actor left behind by Castillon questions the man that has entered their act.
"Passarino," utters the man.
The voice is wrong, the revelation starting a fire in Fenris' blood. They have been graced with the presence of their quary. But, he is not yet in place to spring the trap, and no one else seems aware of the difference. He must be patient for the right moment, or the elusive pretender will be off again. Slipping through the cracks and hunting Hawke still. He bides his time and holds his peace for the chance to truly stop him.
"Go away for the trap is set," he rumbles, "and waits for its prey."
The support actor walks away, his part finished.
Anders casts his eyes to his 'maiden', watching her tend to the thorns on a rose ahead of him as she listens for her signal.
"You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge," he serenades gently, "In pursuit of a wish which until now has been silent."
Hawke looks back, eyes low, knowing who she faces.
"Silent," he prompts her, a sign to keep her tongue.
"I have brought you. That our passions may fuse and merge! In your mind you've already succumbed to me. Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me!"
He approaches her, steady and cautious. She turns away, playing into his charade as she must.
"Now you are here with me. No second thoughts. You've decided."
The melody changes, sultry but dangerous. A homage to a predator seeking. She stands to respond to his lure, leaving the rose, dropped, behind her.
"Past the point of no return. No backward glances. Our games of make believe are at an end."
Elthina moves to a better vantage point backstage, worried for the safety of her charge. Taking place next to Merrill. Watching the spectacle unfold with
savage glory.
"Past all thought of if or when," he breaches her aura, coming close to her side "No use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend!"
He paces circles around her, as though poised to devour her at the bat of an eyelash.
"What raging fire shall flood the soul?"
He pounces, slipping behind her, a hand to her throat and arm about her waist. She swoons into the grip, her skin glossed with unintended heat but also scare. The sleeves of her draping fallen.
"What rich desire unlocks it's hold?"
Fenris can scarce watch, but his eyes remained locked. His teeth clamped in jealousy and rage. Anders' hands are unworthy he raves within, his temper unsettled by his rival touching what is his.
"What sweet seduction lies before us?"
The rhythm continues on, careless of his displeasure. Anders being content to let the man see, let Chagny seethe over the inability to stop his bid to woo her.
"Past the point of no return."
He turns her round, keeping her eyes from Fenris, forcing her focus to him as he takes her hand.
"The final threshold. What warm unspoken secrets will we learn?"
She hesitates, knowing the moment is nearly upon her, upon them, to sound the alarm. She pulls free, gently, stepping back.
"Beyond the point of no return..."
She lifts her voice in reply, the sound sharp at first. Her heart wild and furious in her bosom.
"You have brought me. To that moment when words run dry. To that moment when speech disappears into silence."
She gives the notes, her voice smooth again by the end. Her eyes reaching up to tell her lover she is making way for the finality of their plan. A reprieve for a mere breath for Fenris to witness, and he subtly gestures to Aveline who backs away out of view. A sign for both Varric and Donnic who take notice.
"Silence," she repeats, and her irises plummet, "I have come here. Hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent."
Fenris has heard her rehearse this many times, but the sting of the false submission still gets to him. Her acting entirely believable, even to his gaze. She has focused on her pursuer, and is smiling in feigned confidence. Her portrayal lively and spiced with depth.
"Now I am here with you. No second thoughts. I've decided."
The change in harmony comes again.
"Past the point of no return. No going back now. Our passion play has now, at last, begun."
They walk together from the edge of the stage, eyes beaming.
"Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question. How long should we two wait before we're one? When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?"
Fenris rises as they meet center stage. His rage nearly unbearable, his hurt an unfortunate side effect. They join in a duet, Anders holding her, feeling her. And she is accepting his touch, letting his hands trace her body with eyes shut and form trembling. The sacraficial lamb, indeed.
"Past the point of no return. The final threshold! The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no return..."
The guards are closing in, Fenris hopes they will take the plunge soon. And save him and Marianna both from more of this torture.
"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime," Anders lulls in her ear softly, "Lead me, save me from my solitude."
His embrace has become more tender, loving. His hands in more comforting places.
"Say you want me with you, Here beside you," he moves her to face him, "Anywhere you go, let me go too."
In his irises is only Anders, the spirit pacified for but a moment. Only the boy remains clinging to her with desperation. And Fenris thinks, as she stands there with him cradling her, his song charming her with affection, that she has been swayed. And she will not set the trap in motion, but let herself be taken away. Stolen by her sympathetic mercies to a place that will take him too long to follow. And her fate will be sealed in this instant.
"Marianna, love me. That's all I ask of you..."
She strokes a hand to his cheek, tears welling and dripping down her beautiful face. But, her fingers pry from him his mask, springing the the plots made into action. The guards coming rushing for them, Aveline in the lead. Coming to her rescue, too late to do any good. He has been ready for this, his being all taken with the spectre in his bones. An all too familiar flash in his eyes.
The guards, both managers, Elthina, Merrill, and Fenris all gasp as he violently throws Marianna over his shoulder. Keeping his would be captors at bay with a ring of ice spikes that sprout from the stage at his command. He leaps through a trap door located mid stage, kept hidden by the faux fire pit used for the play. Upon landing far below, he burns apart a rope with a flare of magic, set there for his own devices. It starts a chain reaction that brings the theater's grand chandelier tumbling down on the audience, still bewildered in their seats. The people flee in terror, most make it away in time. But, the mighty collision starts a fire that spreads with haste.
Fenris is already on the move, on the hunt. It does not end here, he will not let it. He will not allow Hawke to be made an example of, to be subject to Anders' wrath.
"No! I will not allow it!"
He roars it as though it will grant him greater speed.
In the chaos people are trampled, screaming. Sebastian aids the band in escaping, making sure no one is left to suffer. Merrill and Elthina guide the cast away from the stage, and Isabela trips over Castillon in her flight. He has been strangled into a corpse, and she mourns him as she runs, unable to stop and grieve properly for the danger at her back. Guards have turned their attentions to evacuation, but struggle to direct the mass upheaval. Donnic grabs as many fallen patrons as he can, getting them back to their feet. And Varric rushes to open all exits and let the turmoil spill safely out onto the streets. All are depictions of a world that is apocalyptic, ending.
Fenris catches up with Madame Elthina, catching her as she darts away, the actors, actresses, dancers, and stage hands ahead.
"Where did he take her!"
He does not mean to be rough, but circumstance leaves him cold and desperate.
"Come with me, Messere," she answers with surprising patience, "I will take you to him."
He follows close on her heels, taking to her lead without question.
"Remember," she shouts as they go, "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"
"I will go with you!"
Merrill appears behind them, her cry demanding.
"No, Merrill, no," Elthina gasps, halting to push her back, "You must stay here! Do as I say! No!"
Merril stops, staying where her mother tells her. But, only long enough for them to run out of sight before she takes off for the dressing room.
Hawke is not an easy hostage to drag away, she fights with no reservations. Calling up magic to cast her will against his. To no avail, he sets a spell of sleep over her before she can let loose her only means of defense. Once limp, she is easily hauled away to the vaults of the undertheatre, her calls now silent so she will not be easy to track by those that chase them.
However, the Viscount is not led by her voice, his path marked by a knowing lady who has known Anders' route through the labyrinths for many years. His ears do listen, wishing to know she still breathes but more attentive to Elthina's guidance. He will never make it if he keeps to his panic, never minding the advice so charitably given to him. So he gathers his courage and traces the way step by step. Gaining on the 'Phantom.'
When they get close, her footfalls cease, her expression apologetic. He turns to her, alerted by her pause.
"This is as far as I dare go," she sighs with a frown.
He gives her a nod of understanding, "Thank you."
He presses on, accepting that he faces the rest alone. And praying as he goes that this is not already a tragedy awaiting discovery. Waiting on him to find the end of everything that he's ever known and wanted. A memory lacing his thoughts to give him some peace of mind before he confronts his foe.
Little footprints left, pitted, in beach sand. A tiny hand in his. A beacon that steps before him, showing him the way. With a lullaby passed between them to abolish his anxiety. She had spent so long dreaming of the angels her father spoke of, she never realized she wore her own halo which kept her hair gold. Never noticed how she was a guardian and savior.
She is waking. Marianna opens her eyes to stare with bitterness at her warden to this prison he's brought her into. She braces herself up against the wall to stand, defiant, before Anders. Who is, once more, beating back the duality of his mind into the recesses of his skull.
"Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood? Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?"
Her voice has turned harsh at last, her amber irises nearly vindictive. Her patience and pity for him has all but run out, brought to ruin by his deeds.
Fenris, at last, arrives at the grate that keeps him from entering the lair of his rival. Donning dirt and covered in scrapes, but present. Instantly relighting Anders' eyes with turquoise and indigo, swirling in terrible glee. Just as was intended by the 'Phantom', his last victim has come.
"I think, my dear, we have a guest."
He opens the way, inviting his contender inside. And sealing him within as soon as he clears the gate. A smirk to his face when Fenris turns to find himself now caught with no way out again. Anders wraps an arm around Hawke, pinning her to his side.
"Let me go," she scoffs and squirms in his grip.
"Free her," growls Fenris, feeling for his sword.
It is not with him, he had forgotten it in his haste. And he knows this is a great misfortune, a fatal mistake. He can only hope the Maker is on his side and sends blessings. That, somehow, there might be a way to get through this.
Anders laughs, "Messere, I bid you welcome. Did you think that I would harm her? Why would I make her pay for the sins which are yours!"
He tosses his magic in a wave, like before slamming, Fenris to the grate behind him, stunning the Viscount. Shoving Marianna to the floor, he grabs a rope with precision and has Fenris bound to the bars in a blur. Wrapping a noose at his neck and threading it through his barbaric door. Hawke has recovered by that point, summoning her magic in response. But, a palm filled with lightning aimed to shock the life from her lover stills her. His spell would meet its mark long before she could even cast hers. Her inexperience with using magic as a weapon painfully clear.
"Order your fine horses now," he mocks, "Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now! Except, perhaps, Marianna..."
He peers at her over his shoulder, his hand never wavering or aim skewing.
"Start a new life with me. Buy his freedom with your love... Refuse me, and you send your lover to his death. This is the choice. This is the point of no return!"
She looks to Fenris with a face that has turned dreary, the warmth fading in her pain. A light drowning in misery, soon to be snuffed out if this cannot be resolved. That chill left in its absence is laid upon Anders.
"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate, grow cold and turn to tears of hate. You take and take, never do you give. You ask for pity, understanding, but give none!"
And Fenris does take pity, for Hawke who chooses despair no matter what decision she makes. His plan had been a good one, but he underestimated his adversary, and she is the one to truly suffer the consequences.
"I failed you, Marianna. Forgive me."
She shakes her head, gaze returning to his.
"No. It was me. Turning to a fallen idol and false friend."
In disgust for her insult, Anders pulls the rope tight in a show of power, closing his lungs to air. Incentive for his unfaithful bride to be. He would have his way, no matter which way he had to use to get it.
"So do you end your days with me? Or so you send him to his grave?"
Fenris scoffs through his choking, "Why make her lie to to you to save me?"
Hawke's weeping is hardly sound, her sobs the very same in agony as the ones that used to ring from Anders' once.
"Who deserves this?"
But Anders will not hear it, he cannot hear it. Buried so deep under everything. Lost.
"His life is now the prize which you must earn!"
The coil around Fenris is tightened further still.
"You deceived me..."
Whatever rant she had to unleash is let go. Her will fracturing apart, a touch away from shattering altogether.
"Make your choice," he snarls.
Fenris is slacking, his awareness faltering. Ebbing away from him like blood from an open wound. His state pathetic and subject to yet more torment as the line is pulled with tiny tugs. Constricting even more at his throat.
Marianna can bear no more. She looks to Fenris and nearly collapses to her knees. Her resignation deemed better, her surrender more satisfactory than watching him either suffocate to death or be ended with a bolt of unfathomable power. At least, this way, they both shall live. And peace will be restored to the people who have been wronged in this conflict. No more loss, no more loved ones put in the ground never to come home.
"Let him go," she offers Anders her eyes and, in earnest, draws close saying, "I will stay. You will not be alone."
She puts all that is left of her into the kiss that follows. Gives it all up for the good of the world. It is better this way, and she finds that, faint as it may be, she still pities Anders. She knows he is there somewhere, that he will always be fighting. And, maybe, with someone here to encourage and reach out to him, he may improve. Grow stronger and remain in control. He does not deserve these horrors anymore than any of them. He is not the spirit she embraces now, she knows.
Anders is called awake, the haze lifting. For the first time in a span of years the reality around him is clear. A burden missing from his spine. In the connection she has made with him he has found a new emotion that settles the tempest within, calming the hurricane always twisting. And reminding him of who he used to be. Before the ghost who took over. A healer, just like her, who prided himself with nurturing the sickly and bolstering the weak. And now, it is he who weeps, broken under all that he has done while not himself. He had become the very thing he despises. An opressor.
He drops the rope, the spell. Let's them fall from his blood soaked hands and stumbles away from her. Gasping for breath as though it were he who had been strangled.
"Forget me," he heaves in his remorse, "Leave me alone. Go now, don't let them find you!"
Hawke flies to Fenris, unbinding his throat and helping to hold him up as he catches his wind. Breaking the ties at his arms with a spark of fire magic and setting him free again. He rushes to hold her as soon as he can properly stand. Ever grateful for this one embrace, something he feared he would never have again.
the sounds of guards and pillagers can be heard filing through the tunnels. Coming to stop all the murders, to bring a swift end of justice. Surity that no one else falls here after.
Anders has slipped to the bed of velvet, enjoying the tune of his music box one last time. His smile bright in spite of his sadness, feeling more himself than ever. Hoping it will last. Everything is gone now, the glory of the theatre, his window to the world, and his only companion. Dear and very much cherished, even she never really knew who he was. And now, never will. But, in such endings, maybe there are also new beginnings. He may never know.
He finds himself glancing up as an aura brushes his, his golden eyes finding Hawke there. Silently watching, her kindness and mercy fresh and new. Restored by his intervention to stay his hand and let her live. Truly live.
"Marianna, I love you."
His actions have spoken louder, and she believes it. She brings to him a gift, which she lays with care in his palm, curling his fingers closed around it. It is her locket, a treasure she recieved from her father. A symbol of unending love. With a squeeze, she releases him, turning to leave. But, with a soft smile, and he knows he will not be forgotten. There will always be some small space or so in her heart just for him, even if she does not view him as a lover. Her heart was taken before their time together, but that one portion was saved. Just for him.
Anders trails after her, watching her and Fenris leave together. It is the right thing to do, and he circles round and goes to a mirror when he cannot see them in the distance. An eluvian, one of many throughout this maze. He passes through it, stepping into the unknown that is now his future.
In the wake of his departure, Merrill and the guards finally arrive. The mob straight behind. They search to find nothing, save a music box discarded on the floor among odd novelties. No Phantom, or man, or anyone. Merrill bends down to pick up the melody box, taking it with her as she continues on.