A/N: Hello, lovely readers. Thank you for your patience and for the kind words I received from some of you about my family emergency. I really do appreciate it.
Anyway, here's Chapter 6. Again, Dragon Age 2 belongs to Bioware, and so does a lot of the dialogue in this chapter.
Enjoy, and Chapter 7 will be up on Thursday as usual.
-333
Chapter Six
9:34 Dragon
Undercity – Below the Docks
Kirkwall
The last mercenary fell with a gurgling noise that would have been funny in any other context. For the moment, however, Hawke was not amused.
"So, who sent that lot?" Anders grumbled. "Anti-Qunari, anti-Viscount, or Seamus himself, not wanting to be rescued?"
"Seamus isn't the type," Hawke remarked, prising one of her daggers out of the helmet of the mercenary leader. "I don't think he's 'sending people to kill us' crazy."
As she wrenched the dagger free, Hawke felt a wet prickling sensation just above her right temple. She touched her hand to the spot and discovered that she was bleeding a fair bit.
She really, really hated being the meat shield.
Damn Aveline for not being available, Hawke thought. And damn Fenris for... not being available.
"Anders? Is this serious or can it wait?" she asked, sighing audibly.
Anders came over and gave Hawke's small injury a cursory glance.
"It can wait," he said, putting his hand next to the cut and beginning to heal it, "but it shouldn't. And it doesn't have to."
The slightly itchy feeling went away after a moment or two. Hawke could feel the impatience radiating from Sebastian on the other side of the tunnel. A worthy cause such as a rescue of the Viscount's son should not wait.
"Magic may not solve everything," Anders shot Hawke a smile, "but it can help now and then."
"Thanks, Anders," Hawke said, giving Anders the tense grimace that passed for her smile these days.
Hawke strode out in front of Anders, Sebastian, and Merrill, and the four continued their walk to the Docks. Oddly, none of Hawke's companions seemed keen on bantering today. Though all three of them disliked each other, it had never been enough to stop them from talking or arguing when Hawke begged, pleaded, or ordered the three of them to accompany her.
Maybe they're just anxious, Hawke thought. This Qunari thing has a lot of people rattled.
Hawke considered that she may have been one of the only people who was not rattled. The Qunari and the Chantry were at odds, sure, but that was usually what happened when people of different beliefs had to share a space. Eventually, the Qunari would satisfy their demand – whatever it was – and leave. Hopefully, this madness would pass soon, and Hawke would try to ensure that no one else died as a result – or, if that were impossible, that as few people died as she could help. She owed her family's memory that much.
No, the thing that worried Hawke was her bloodied and battle-stained appearance. Not that she was vain – she and the Maker both knew she wasn't classically beautiful – but she was always fairly nervous about dealing with the Arishok. Fenris had told her that the Qunari honored strength, so appearing to be a competent warrior was usually the best option, but would being stained with her own blood would make her look weak, rather than strong? Someone had been able to injure her, after all, even though it was minor.
Perhaps it was silly of her, but Hawke wished Fenris were with her to tell her whether bloodstains were going to damage her reputation with the Arishok, or, as was more likely, to tell her that she was worrying too much.
More than that, she wished she hadn't given Fenris the only handkerchief she had ever remembered to carry consistently.
Before her musings came to any conclusion, they arrived at the Qunari compound and, with a smart remark from the guard about how she was "allowed. For now," Hawke led her team to the dais where the Arishok sat.
"Hope the Arishok hasn't gotten attached to the Viscount's boy," Anders muttered as they approached.
"What do you want, human?" the Arishok asked, as if Hawke were a fly that he couldn't be bothered to swat.
Actually, that's probably fairly accurate, Hawke thought. She was more troubled by that than she would have expected.
Aloud, she said, "I'm here about the Viscount's son."
"Are you," the Arishok replied. It wasn't a question; he had clearly been expecting her.
The Arishok paused for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. If Hawke were honest, the grey giant in front of her was even more unsettling when he was quiet. Ever mindful of Fenris's warnings that she should not appear weak before the Qunari, she kept her expression impassive but respectful.
"In four years, I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we exist. But despite lies and fear, bas still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose," he stated calmly, but powerfully. "The son has made a choice. You will not deny him that."
Hawke saw the Arishok's point. Mother Petrice and her supporters had attacked the Qunari often and without real provocation. And If Seamus's conversion to the Qun were genuine, then his choice had to be respected. But even still, Seamus was the Viscount's son. He had a duty to his father, didn't he? Like his father had a duty to Kirkwall?
Maker, this is complicated, Hawke groaned to herself. Why did I ever get mixed up in this?
Still, what was done was done, and the Viscount had begged Hawke to bring Seamus back, if at all possible. She had a duty to the Viscount, even if Seamus didn't. She had to at least talk to Seamus, which meant breaking through to the Arishok.
"Converting the Viscount's son?" she finally replied, "His opposition will have a field day."
"And?" the Arishok asked, uncaring.
"The enemy of your enemy should be your friend?" Hawke raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Surely the leader of the Qunari couldn't be that bad at politics.
"I don't fear the whole of them together," the Arishok replied, beginning to sound annoyed, "and it is not my role to reject the free choice of viddathari. The son responded to his own demand of the Qun. He is neither my slave nor my prisoner."
No matter how much Hawke silently agreed with self-determination, she had to stand firm. Let the Arishok monologue as he liked; she was not leaving without having spoken to Seamus.
"He is not even here," the Arishok continued. "He went to his father. Ask the Viscount why he would send you and a letter both."
"That probably could have been mentioned earlier," Hawke remarked, steaming.
"They are meeting at the Chantry," the Arishok said, blasé. "A last, pointless appeal, I assume."
"The Viscount would involve the Chantry?" Anders asked, incredulous.
"No, but we know who would," Hawke said, her eyes narrowing, "Mother Petrice."
"A suspect in many things," the Arishok affirmed. "If she has threatened someone under my command again, there is only one response."
"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," Hawke asserted. "I – just can't think of it right now."
"Her intent is obvious, and what the Qun demands is clear. This is the last insult I will suffer," the Arishok avowed. "Resolve this, or her hiding place will be reduced to rubble."
Even as an optimist, Hawke had to admit that this was bad.
This was very, very bad.
"I will be watching, Hawke," the Arishok growled.
Hawke and her companions were clearly dismissed. She omitted her usual respectful bow, suspecting that it would just annoy the Arishok at the moment.
The four of them left the compound and began a brisk walk toward Hightown.
"Are we going to fix this now? I don't think I want to see the Qunari get angrier than they are," Merrill asked, sounding nervous.
"We are, Merrill," Hawke said. "And since we're going to the Chantry, Sebastian, I may need you to help me if things get sour. I don't want the Grand Cleric getting angry either."
"Of course, Hawke," Sebastian affirmed. "Since you're acting on behalf of the Viscount, though, it should be fine."
"Still, it never hurts to be prepared," Hawke tipped him a wink, in a desperate attempt to raise their morale. "Just in case, right?"
He was dead.
Oh blessed Maker, he was dead.
Poor Seamus.
"Serah Hawke, look what you have done!" Mother Petrice's voice echoed across the Chantry.
Hawke wasn't listening to what Petrice said next. All she knew was that her instincts had been spot on.
"Are you mad?" Hawke shouted, furious. "Your plans have fallen to outright murder?"
"Where Ser Varnell incited, I reminded in sermon and prayer," Petrice revealed. "When people learn of this attack, they will rise. Not zealots or the unknowing, but the true majority."
"You won't get the Qunari ousted," Hawke called. "You'll get a slaughter. On both sides."
"To die untested would be the real crime."
Seamus was a young, naïve, idealistic boy who had finally found something to live for, Hawke thought in a fury, and you killed him, you miserable bitch. Don't tell me that's not a blighted crime.
"Earn your reward in this life and the next," Petrice told her followers. "These heretics must die."
"Lads," Hawke said, turning to her team, "stay up here. Defend yourselves if you have to, and cover me when I call to you."
"But – by yourself?" Sebastian called as Hawke ran toward the stairs.
"They're mine," Hawke growled. "For Seamus."
She ran to position herself in front of the platform where her friends stood.
"Oi!" she called to Petrice's followers. "You don't want to die untested? Then face me!"
Three of the fanatics came rushing toward her. She kicked one in the chest and slipped behind another, stabbing him in the back. He fell with a groan.
The one she had left alone stepped forward to engage her. She stabbed him once in the chest with both daggers. He fell beside his friend.
"Looks like I'll have to pack it in!" Hawke called to her foes, "This isn't going to be a challenge!"
The one she'd kicked tried to grab her by the arms. She kicked him again. He stepped away from her, trying to remain upright with broken ribs.
Some more of the fanatics began to cluster around her. They were snarling.
Good. She'd made them angry.
She heard Sebastian's bowstring twang on the platform behind her and Anders shout "My magic will destroy you!"
Honestly, how have the Templars not caught him yet? Hawke thought as she stabbed a fanatic in the throat.
Quickly bringing her focus back to the present, it seemed that the lion's share of Petrice's followers were trying to surround Hawke, just as she had planned. She sliced and cut, side-stepped and back-stabbed – most of it non-lethal. Hawke was trying to attract attention, not kill.
Not yet.
She cut herself a path through the fanatics to the far side of the Chantry. From there, she could see what her friends were going through on the platform. There were only two enemies left for her friends to engage, and both appeared wounded.
What Hawke would have given for a bow at that moment. But, as her father had always said, you have to make do with what you have.
As her enemies surrounded her completely, Hawke pulled a miasmic flask out of her pocket and dropped it at her own feet. For a moment, the fumes had her enemies stunned.
Looking back at the platform, it seemed Merrill had killed their last foe with lightning. Perfect timing as usual.
"Lads!" Hawke called to her friends. "Give everything you've got! Center it on me!"
Sebastian fired several arrows at the men in the area where she was standing. Merrill called an electrical storm from her hands. But Anders's magic was a force of destructive beauty: a massive pillar of fire, engulfing the area around Hawke.
Her enemies were falling one by one, but Hawke was by no means safe. Sebastian was now blinded by the magic and could only fire at the area in general. One of his arrows embedded itself in her left shoulder, forcing her to drop her dagger. She scrambled forward, trying to dodge the lightning and fire as best she could. Slightly singed and panting heavily, she managed to get her head free of the magic, followed shortly by the rest of her. She fell to her knees, clutching her shoulder – which still had Sebastian's arrow in it.
"Hawke!" Anders shouted, his voice filled with terror and his hands filled with healing magic. The three of them ran forward to their friend. All three of them dropped to their knees to examine her.
"Oh, Maker, Hawke, I am so sorry –" Sebastian began, as soon as he recognized his arrow.
"'S fine," Hawke said, yanking it out with a cry.
Anders began to heal some of Hawke's injuries as they heard Petrice and the Grand Cleric come down the stairs. All four of them rose, Sebastian helping Hawke to her feet.
"Do you see, Your Grace? Traitors attacking the very core of the Chantry! They defile with every step!"
"There is death in every corner, young mother," the Grand Cleric said in a strange monotone. "It is as you predicted. All too well."
"The 'young mother' arranged all of it!" Hawke shouted, suddenly angry. Did the Grand Cleric not care that Seamus was dead? That this would mean war with the Qunari?
"Don't you spout your Qunari filth," Petrice spat. "This is a hand of the Divine."
"I have ears, Mother Petrice," the Grand Cleric said. "The Maker would have me use them."
"The Viscount's son is dead, killed here in your name," Hawke replied, not taking her eyes off the Grand Cleric.
"I'm sure my name won't like that," she said, turning to Petrice for an explanation. "Petrice?"
"Seamus Dumar was – a Qunari convert. He came here to repent and was murdered!" Petrice replied, stumbling over her words.
"Lured by you!" Hawke shouted at Petrice. "You killed him so no one would follow his free choice, right or wrong!"
"It could not be allowed. How many people would be tempted?" Petrice responded.
"As many as would want to go, I suppose," the Grand Cleric said.
"They deny the Maker!" Petrice growled.
The Grand Cleric turned to Mother Petrice, angry at last. "And you diminish him, even as you claim his side. Andraste did not volunteer for the flame."
Petrice seemed shocked at the Grand Cleric's ire. Did she think there would be no consequences to her actions? Hawke wondered.
"Serah Hawke, you act on behalf of the Viscount?" the Grand Cleric asked.
Hawke nodded.
"The young mother has erred in her judgment. A court will decide her fate," the Grand Cleric said. "The Chantry respects the law, and so must she."
The Grand Cleric began to walk away, back up the stairs to – Hawke assumed – her quarters.
"Grand Cleric?" Petrice whispered in disbelief.
She did not seem to hear the young mother and continued to walk up the stairs.
"Grand Cleric!" Petrice called, desperate for an answer that she did not receive.
There was a twang.
Then there was an arrow in Petrice's chest.
She fell to her knees, staring as though she didn't believe the arrow was there.
Twang.
There was another in Petrice's head.
She crumpled, adding one more to the bodies on the floor.
Hawke turned, ready to engage another enemy. She saw only one Qunari.
"We protect those of the Qun," he said. "We do not abandon our own."
Then he left. No one tried to stop him.
Sounding oddly unsurprised, the Grand Cleric said, "Please, send for Viscount Dumar."
The moment he saw Seamus's body, he was no longer a Viscount, a man with the power to rule a city- state. He was, simply, an old man, grieving the loss of his only son and the last of his family.
Hawke saw her mother, mourning Carver and Bethany. Her heart broke anew.
"My son," he said simply, "murdered in the heart of the Chantry by those who held a sacred trust."
His anger and pain soaked into his voice as he continued, "What hope for this city, when we fail our own so completely?"
Hawke was at a loss for what to say, so she went with the obvious.
"The Arishok is still here, Excellency. You need to be ready to stand up to him."
It was, as Fenris would have said, insufficient.
"I cannot."
Of course he couldn't. This old man was mourning a lifetime's worth of hope, and yet he had to continue moving forward for the sake of others. He began to cry the tears of a man with nothing left.
Hawke realized that she had just done to the Viscount what this city had done to her.
She felt sick to her stomach. She stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder, to offer some kind of comfort, but it was too late.
"Please, Hawke," he begged. "Leave me."
And so she did, leaving her heart behind to break along with his, and walking home to a mansion that would always seem too empty.