A faint wind blew through Hightown as the Templar banners flapped over the heads of myriads members of this once venerable order. Knights sitting on their stirring mounts shoulder to shoulder created an impenetrable corridor between the Hawke estate and a lush carriage sent by Meredith that was supposed to safely escort the new Viscount to the Gallows where he was supposed to attend to an execution. Though many might have appeared to believe in Meredith's pure intentions and almost maternal concerns about the young Viscount's well-being, she most certainly didn't fool Samael with this sham for he was sure that Meredith was merely looking out for her investment and she wouldn't risk someone's attempt to jump out of the crowds of cheering Kirkwallers and cut her pet's throat in an unguarded moment right before she enthroned her dummy into the Viscount's Keep.

Cullen standing by the carriage was alike to statues adorning the Gallows; motionless, grim and his face gained an unhealthy ashen tinge. One of his fresh recruits was loitering short way off holding the bridle of Cullen's mount and his eyes watched in suspicion the waving crowds behind the living wall his brethren sustained.

„Captain, Sir, the Viscount was supposed to come out nearly a half an hour ago. We cannot dally," the hot-headed recruit finally seemed unable to remain silent as he approached his superior and voiced his concerns.

„It will take as long as needed," Cullen crushed his reply between set jaws, when it was clear the recruit wouldn't leave him be. Only now he realized how tense he really was. After all, they were about to execute a man he had considered an honorable asset to the Templar order for many years, however there were times when he saw Alrik's actions as extreme to say the least. „As I know Hawke, he's plotting some grandiose entrée no doubt to please the crowds," Cullen mirthlessly laughed at his own assumption. „Either that, or he's long gone by now."

„Sir...?" the recruit peeped and his eyes widened in horror of such an idea. As many, many people of Kirkwall, even this young man put all his faith into a new strong leader who was about to ascend to the Viscount's throne, clean the city and establish peace and order once more.

„Don't worry, Presley," Cullen patted lad's shoulder when he realized the young Templar recruit took his words mortally seriously. „I'm sure he's going to show up and save the day. As always," he added a much quieter bitter remark. „But I'll take a look in there anyway," he uttered after a moment of hesitation, strode right through the corridor and disappeared within the Hawke estate. The heads in polished Templar helmets ghostly moved as they watched their leader passing by them, only to go back to their stiff eyes-front pose.

Cullen didn't get far though as the bowels of the mansion were shrouded into cadaveric silence, the heavy velvet curtains were meticulously drawn together and all candelabras and fireplaces were cold and dead. Was it possible? Was Cullen's sardonic remark unknowingly describing what had happened? Was Hawke gone? Why else would his mansion appear to be so deserted? Where were all the servants, the Kossith warriors who had been notoriously seen around the Hawke estate? Where was that nosy dwarf of a butler and his son with magical fingers?

„Hawke?" Cullen shuddered at the sound of his own voice as it was overpowered by pulsing silence and died away in it. Taking the broad staircase by three steps at a time, Cullen dashed upstairs and razed the door to Hawke's bedroom. A loud sigh of relief escaped his lips once his eyes still not yet fully adapted to dark made out a silhouette sitting on the bed that looked as if no one had slept in it a while.

Since there was no reply to Cullen's cautious demand to part the curtains and let inside a few beams of autumn sun, so the Knight Captain could actually see who was it sitting motionlessly on the bed and ignoring him, Cullen simply went ahead and slowly pulled the mossy green velvet apart.

„Thought I finally snapped and ran away, did you?" The words; so quiet, so full of unspeakable pain, were hoarse and barely audible.

„Hawke—" Cullen dared making a few steps toward the younger man.

„See, I couldn't do that. One simply does not break through the iron bars if Meredith was the one putting the unfortunate individual behind them."

„Samael, I—" Cullen's hand carefully touched Hawke's shoulder, but the Champion shrugged it off of him in disdain of such a simple gesture of human kindness and empathy. Only now Cullen realized what was it Hawke was apparently hypnotizing just before Knight-Captain's arrival – a stuffed figurine wearing an official apparel Hawke was supposed to wear to the coronation. Why there were four more identical apparels hanging around them Cullen did not know, nor did he care, as he ascribed it to Hawke's general excentricity or to Meredith's cautiousness to have more of them, should Hawke decided to take his vengeance on the innocent fabric and rip it to shreds. „The carriage is waiting for you," Cullen, seemingly calm, remarked. „We all do."

„I've ordered Bodahn to saddle up Occela. Take that silly carriage yourself if you will." Hawke rubbed his swollen eyelids and raked fingers through his black long hair which were apparently the only improvements he intended to perform before the dreadful event. „Any objections?" he flared up and looked up into Cullen's unhappy face.

„Master, whenever you're ready. The mount is saddled, Miss Merrill is being accompanied to Sundermount by three Kossiths though she seemed uncomfortable with this arrangement and I've taken care of those last crates in the basement and ordered them to be shipped straight to the—" Bodahn faltered and he would have rather bit off his tongue than saying anything else once he realized they were not alone.

„Serah Feddic," Cullen bowed to the old dwarf and frowned at the implications of what he had heard. The Keeper apparently kept visiting the city as she pleased, and what crates could the old butler mean?

„Knight-Captain," Bodahn coldly reciprocated Cullen's greetings and turned back to his Master immediately. „Master, how comes you haven't changed yet to the attire I've laid out for you?" he kept rambling while he rather vigorously started unbuckling Hawke's notoriously known black leather outfit. „Would you mind stepping outside, Captain? My Master will be out in a minute," Bodahn shot a telling look over his shoulder at the Templar who had been tentatively gawking at the two men.

„Not at all, Master Dwarf. I'll wait outside, Hawke." Cullen understood the silent assurement from the dwarf and he seemed even relieved that Bodahn had obviously things firmly in his grasp. At least someone did, he thought to himself, as he glanced one last time at the apathetic Viscount-to-be.

„You can do this, but you need to believe in yourself now more than ever," Bodahn broke the silence once his Master was properly attired and the katana hung in an adorned scabbard by his left hip. Seeing his Master pained and trapped in an unbelievable situation was terrifying indeed, but Bodahn had a gift to see hope where many would have given up and accepted the darkness of their fate. „The things are proceeding exactly as you outlined. I'll finish up once everybody is in the Gallows observing that brutish event your people find entertaining. That should draw the attention off your men carrying the last crates away. That's something to be grateful for, Master. Don't lose hope now. The greatest darkness occurs right before dawn."

„Hope," Hawke snorted at the word and strolled in front of a mirror on talons. It belonged to his mother once, and the more he looked at his reflection and his elegant clothing, the more the lines of his face hardened into a hateful glare. „Hope has abandoned this place a long time ago," he uttered and headed for the stables. Occela was indeed prepared, even dolled up, as his usual subtle saddlery was replaced with ceremonial set and the stallion looked as magnificent as ever as he was restlessly scuttling around the private garden. Hawke did not summon him as he was simply content with watching the creature for a while, happy in its ignorance and interested in nothing but running, breathing and eating. Once Occela noticed he was not alone anymore, he measuredly walked to his Master, jolting his head in excitement of what would come next.

„I wish I'd have your fervour right now, my friend," Samael murmured and his gloved hands wandered over the silverish warm skin of Occela's body. „All right, let's do this," he kept muttering merely to himself as he swung up into the saddle and made himself comfortable while Occela was dancing beneath him in raptures. „Don't you dare throw me down in front of all those people, you hear me?" he admonished the horse once more and this time a light smile curled up his lips when he saw the sheer thrill Ocella was in. Hopefully the stallion had heard him and he would behave, although you could never know with that wilful beast.

With one last reassuring nod, Bodahn and Sandal pulled the heavy gateway leading to a street wide open and Hawke sitting solemnly on Occela was suddenly exposed to many eyes; far too many eyes. Occela seemed startled at first, but his Master's firm grip and several soothing sounds calmed him down again. The waves of cheers coming from behind the Templars' back seemed muted to Hawke's ears. Elthina's presence was like a direct slap to his face once Samael felt the intense gaze of her deep wise eyes on him, reminding him they were about to execute a more or less innocent man to protect his little dirty secrets, feed his own vanity and need for revenge.

More intuitively than by his Master's order, Occela started regally walking down the corridor and he seemed to be having a rollicking good time with all that attention he no doubt deemed justified. Hawke on the other hand felt vulnerable and ill at ease. Where was a dark safe corner when an assassin needed one, damn it? When was Hawke halfway within the corridor, his eyes met with Meredith's who awaited him at the end of it, clearly irritated by her pet's disobedience to mount a horse rather than take a carriage with her. Hawke slowly drew up the reins until Occela halted. Meredith was now near to furious when she realized Hawke's sneer broadened into open gleeful mockery. With all the resolve Samael could have mustered, he broke the eye contact and straightened up in the saddle, so he could oversee the masses of people crowding behind the living wall of Templars and chanting glory upon his head and this city.

"Move," Hawke growled a command at the nearest silent guardians lining along the way. This sudden turn of events stirred some commotion by the carriage, but it seemed Meredith decided to maintain decorum after all and pretend as if she hadn't been just grievously offended. "I said – move," Hawke repeated the command much louder than he had intended this time and his demand indeed left the Templars puzzled as they started fidgeting and seeking guidance from their leaders, but none of them was in sight. The once impenetrable embankment of human flesh and veridium armor broke and Hawke rode right through it and disappeared in the cheering crowd right in front of Meredith's shocked face.

Countless risen hands touching him in reverent awe, murmured blessings to him and his children, little boys groping at his katana resting in a scabbard – these were the impressions Samael gathered on his way to the Gallows during this conspicuously beautiful autumn day. He rode toward the execution of one of his sworn enemies, yet he felt as if it was his own.

oOo

The drums thundered and each sound pierced Hawke right through and left a fresh scar on him. The execution itself hadn't started yet and he felt already drained of all energy. Moreover, the worst of it was yet to come.

People were chattering in suspense among themselves and that odd thrill of watching someone to pay for his alleged crimes reflected in their feral eyes. Many of them were relentlessly watching the gate that the condemned was supposed to walk through. "Here they come! Make space! Here they are!" the lone voices resounded above the Gallows yard until they all merged into endless crescendo of insults, mockery and laughter. All aimed at Alrik who had lost nearly everything just as Hawke predicted and swore on the banks of Bone Pit lakes. Now it was the time to take away from Alrik the last thing he had left – his life. Paralyzed, Samael was overlooking the preparations from his seat of honor where he was closely watched by Aveline, Sebastian and Varric. He was unable to perceive their concerned glances and raised eyebrows they were exchanging behind his back, nor did he reply to any of their questions. All he knew at the moment; the only thing he was positive about, was that it could have been easily him being dragged through the mud, being screamed at and being humiliated until the last piece of his pride was taken away from him.

"Enjoying the show, Champion?" Meredith's voice in his ear sent shivers throughout his whole body. He jerked, as if awakened after a nightmare, and brushed his forehead with a sweaty palm. "Is it being carried out to you expectations?" she continued tormenting him. "Is one of my most trusted and reliable men looking filthy and degraded enough to your eyes?" she hissed and Hawke realized he was not the only one suffering here.

"Pardon him then, if you will." It took up all his remaining strength to look at the woman who had yet to discover she was just a walking corpse thanks to the same rascal who orchestrated this execution. "Turn the crowds against you," he shrugged as if he couldn't care less. "Take away from them that last little piece of certainty that there still is some law enforcement in this city."

"Don't you speak of law, Champion," she spouted at him loud enough for several nobles to glance their way in alarm. "You should be the first one I hang on the nearest tree then!"

"Go ahead," he prudently studied her infuriated face for a while, noticing a nervous tick she had developed, her widened eyes with a feverish glow within them and trembling hands. Then he turned his head back to the wooden structure with the noose gently waving in the fresh salty breeze coming straight from the sea. Next thing he knew was that Meredith was no longer breathing down his neck as she clawed her way through the nobles; to be anywhere but near to that insufferable person who was spinning out of her control along with the whole city that was supposed to be hers and hers only.

Hawke's heart skipped a beat in the next second for they brought the prisoner right in front of him. Claiming that Alrik looked terribly would be an amusing understatement. Soiled rags instead of clothing, dirt and filth ingrained into his skin, his once manicured white goatee beard grew into a mass of repulsive hair of uncertain color, but the most dreadful sight were his eyes. Those eyes; once bright blue intelligent windows into Alrik's crafty head, now reminded Hawke of cloudy wells of utter despair that would not take mercy on anyone and anything Alrik had the power to drag down along with him.

"Oh, mighty Champion," Alrik mimicked a sardonic obeisance and grimaced as if he was hurting. "Or is it Viscount already?" he pretended fright only to start cackling a moment later. "You know, time is an unfathomable phenomenon when one is locked in a pit," he attempted to saunter toward the Champion as if he was brought here for a polite discussion, but two pairs of cogent Templar gloved hands grasped him by his shoulders and pushed him onto his knees to which Hawke almost objected and masked his unease with waving his hand toward Cullen who was entitled to recite the accusations and confirm the punishment that included the rope and a pair of twitching legs in the air.

"Otto Alrik," Cullen stepped forward and looked down in pity at what was left of his former brother-at-arms. "You've been found guilty of lyrium smuggling, abuse of the Circle mages, bending the rules of Templar order to your personal gain, theft and treason to the people of Kirkwall. Admit to your crimes now and you may yet stand by the Maker's side, for He is forgiving and merciful." Samael noticed well that Cullen had been reading the words from his vellum mechanically and his voice was colorless.

"I taught you everything you know today, Cullen," was Alrik's hushed pleading reply to the charges. "I uplifted you within the Templar ranks. Is this how you're going to repay me?"

"The condemned refuses to confess. May his soul be forgiven one day in the Beyond." Cullen recited as if he hadn't heard the pleas that had the power to move even the statues around them; let alone a soft-hearted young Templar. "Do you have anything to say?" he asked again with that expressionless face, but Hawke saw right through it this time. Cullen was waging a similar battle inside of him just as Hawke was. Their eyes may have met once or twice, but they both knew that this was not right. This was now how it was supposed to end for Alrik.

"Actually, I have plenty to say," Alrik granted the Champion a toothy grin when he glimpsed a flash of sheer fear within Hawke's eyes. "Kirkwall, hear me!" he turned his back at the Champion and spread his arms sideways. "Your city is being unknowingly taken away from you! You are running thin of leaders truly looking out for you and your interests! You are surrounded by backstabbers, imposters and criminals!" Spouting out these accusations, Alrik's voice gained an unusual intensity for a man who'd been starved, tormented and condemned to die in front of those whom he once protected. Theatrically spinning around, the prisoner stuck a blaming finger right into Hawke's face to leave no doubt about whom he was speaking of. Hawke's face was now completely bloodless, his lower lip trembling in helplessness, his eyes widened in horror. How could he face the man he had framed? How could he let alone look into his eyes, now, at the time of ultimate reckoning?

„Hear my confession, Kirkwall. Yes, I've sinned. I've sinned in a way that I dared standing in this man's way! I alone am now able to see through the mask he's been wearing for years to fool you all and I'm going to tear this mask down right here, right now, for the sake of us all to see what's hiding underneath it!" Alrik's fanatic voice was now resounding all around and some of his men started closing in on him to obviously pledge their rennounced allegiance to him again. Once they'd do that, there was no way Hawke could possibly ever get rid of Alrik and this whole plot would backfire right into his face.

Samael had made many mistakes in his life. For far too many times he had done something he didn't think through first and sometimes it led him to dark places where he had to face the consequences of his imprudent actions. But not this time. This time he had to either hope in the Maker's attempt to smite the man who was about to publicly ruin him, or he had to smite him himself.

Not having the time to think; not even able to with the blood frantically pulsing within his head, Hawke slowly rose from his seat of honor to his full height, approaching from behind the man who had Samael's life in one hand, and in the other one his own. The katana reflected the sun beams and blinded the nearest gapers while Samael took off Alrik's head with a single sure stroke. The head bounced off, rolling.

An inappropriate long silence followed; the most profound and telling silence disturbed only when Alrik's headless corpse collapsed to its knees and toppled over while the dark blood kept gushing out of it, painting an indecent picturesque pattern on the white cobblestones.

"Say… something…." Aveline's lips mimicked the words as she was apparently the only one with some sense left. "Hawke… say something… damn it!" she sizzled right above a whisper, but her eyes were transfixed by the dreadful scene just as everyone else's.

"This is how Kirkwall punishes its traitors!" Hawke extended his arm toward the fallen enemy and he let out an inhuman war cry that was not heard in Free Marches for decades.

Then something unthinkable happened. From all possible outcomes, all imaginable reactions to this murder in broad daylight, the crowds burst out howling and they moved forward like a single man with a single intent. The Guardsmen Aveline attempted to shield Hawke with were swept along and Kirkwallers ripped the man she loved as a brother away from her in no time.

"Haaawke!" she shrieked in panic and started elbowing her way through the roaring masses. He granted her nothing but a resigned glance and an almost imperceptible assent of acceptation of the inevitable.

"Wait! Aveline, wait!" Varric's hands grasped her by her waist right before she started reaching for her sword and it is necessary to say it took all Varric's stalwart figure to stop the Guards-Captain from throwing herself into the worst turmoil with a punishing blade in her hand. "Look!" he dragged her up the stairs again, so they would gain better view of what'd been happening.

"But…" Aveline's mouth opened in disbelief. "They are…" she gestured toward the tunnel Hawke had left behind him and his captors and which was quickly being filled by people again.

"Yes," Varric confirmed the observation and vigorously rubbed his chin, "it seems they are celebrating him."

And so they did and the crowd rejoiced for a man who stood by them that day. Only few voiced their doubts about what had really happened and even less paid any attention to what Alrik had said right before he died. It was a good day for Kirkwall and Hawke started realizing it just now when the people were carrying him on their shoulders toward the Viscount's Keep.

His people.

oOo

Aveline Vallen married Donnic Hendyr in 9:37 Dragon; the very same day as was Hawke carried to the Viscount's Keep on the shoulders of singing Kirkwall.

"I still can't believe you refused to walk me to the altar, Hawke," were Aveline's first words when she managed to carve her way through the myriad of congratulators and reach the Champion, who retired to a side Chantry aisle along with his three silent Kossith guardians.

"I still can't believe you refused to wear a white dress, Guards-Captain," he retorted and Samael's dreary face lit up a bit once he was able to see his friend's face showing nothing but pure happiness and strong hope in good times coming her way.

"Well…" Aveline blushed and masked her disconcert about an allusion about her deceased first husband with a cough.

"But virgin bride you are not, I suppose," Hawke kept nagging her and laughed a quiet, desperate laugh while his hand slowly crept to a pocket, where it briefly squeezed something in a fist. But Aveline didn't seek out her friend just to hear yet another congratulation to her wedding.

"Hawke, I'm really sorry it turned out this way. I'm sure it must have been hard to watch the ceremony and—"

"Aveline, please don't," he dismissed her clumsy attempt to show her sympathies.

"I did invite Merrill to the wedding ceremony and I wanted you to know that I hold no grudge toward her. If I could only say the same about her though—"

"Which part of don't have you failed to understand?!" Samael immediately flared up, only to smother the fire within his eyes a second later. Fortunately for him, Tethras trotted without ceremony straight to them, extolling himself over and over again since it was up to him to drag the Guards-Captain down the aisle and hold her by the altar just in case she changed her mind about seeing through this whole marriage affair.

"Was I an astounding bridesman, or was I the legendary one?" his both arms swept the air in an elegant bow and only the enormousness of the dwarf's ego prevented him from realizing how serious discussion he had disrupted with his bragging. Hawke for once was grateful of being liberated from the inquisition and his fingers slowly let go of the black ring burning a hole in his pocket. It was only when Aveline seemed to be done admonishing the dwarf about being insensitive to Hawke's pain; she realized, that the man in question conveniently disappeared in the crowds in the meantime as if he no longer could listen to how little time he had left before Merrill would walk out on him for good.

"Now you've done it," she glared at Varric who just snorted in reply and gestured with his hand just how big the halo above his head was. "Anyway, have you gotten the same message as I have?" she lowered her voice and briefly showed a small black elaborately folded envelope before she slipped it back into her ceremonial armor.

"I did indeed," the dwarf mirrored the Guards-Captain and lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. To prove his words, the very same black envelope appeared in his hand before it vanished in folds of his fancy attire. "What does he plan on this time, I wonder…" his voice trailed off as Tethras started musing about what these Champion's mysterious envelopes could possibly mean. "And the sinister plot even thickens," Varric almost rubbed his hands once he spotted Anders and Fenris approaching them; each from one side and both with the same envelope in their hands.

"I guess we have to bear with him for now and attend to that reception at Hawke estate," Aveline sighed and nodded her greetings to both newcomers. "Hopefully to celebrate my marriage…" she added a nervous remark when no one appeared to have any observation to this odd invitation.

"Messeres, can you please excuse my lovely wife for now?" Donnic finally managed to get rid of all Guardsmen patting his back and giving him bear hugs and here he stood in front of his blushing bride; tall, clad in polished steel and impatient to finally have his woman only for himself.

"By all means," Varric gallantly handed over Aveline's hand to the restless groom, "I'll make sure the guests outside of Chantry are properly ready to greet you and that they indeed left a spacious corridor between the door and the carriage."

"Can't we just, you know, walk back to Hawke's place?" Aveline droned an ill-tempered question.

"Appearances, my dear Captain," Varric responded with a broad grin and already on his way out. "Everything is about appearances these days," he called out to them one more time before he left the Chantry.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Donnic brought Aveline's hand to his lips and that enchanted look on his face told them that he had probably no idea what had been going on around him.

"See you at the reception," Aveline granted both Anders and Fenris a warm smile before she pushed heavy Chantry door wide open to greet her new life with ovations.

"Good night," Donnic's misplaced addition to her invitation revealed what stage of the marital consummation he would rather skip to right now instead of the opulent reception at hand.

"Well, are you coming?" Anders shyly asked the brooding elf from Tevinter, attempting to give him a friendly face for once. Suddenly they realized they were among the last ones in the Chantry and the situation got awkward right away.

"Isn't this place the one where your ninny boyfriend was made Tranquil?" Fenris ultimately killed the friendly tone with his heartless observation. "Apparently yes," he sneered to himself once Anders' face gained all shades of ashen, his eyes flickered with blue flames and he rather stormed out of the Chantry, so the tall walls of the Maker's house would not gain a new carmine color splashed here and there.

"Hmpf," Fenris continued in his soliloquy and his eyes roved around the beautifully decorated nave in disinterest. "I do hate weddings."