"Ahh...love this ale, isn't it good? They imported it from Nevarra, I think. Kind of expensive for this place, but when a certain benefactor expressed an interest...well, procurements are made." Varric chuckled, though found the sound somewhat strained.

The Hanged Man had been spared the great fire following the Qunari attack, only some of the roof having been singed, yet it still seemed damaged by it. It was as full of people as it usually was, but there was less traffic, less people left, less people entered. Those who stayed sat in their seat for hours, dully staring into their glasses, their orders for more to drink, to forget their sorrows, being muttered in the silence rather than shouted through cheers and the buzz of a happy crowd.

It stank of depression.

Varric didn't much like that.

Nor did he like how his company was about as cheerful as a pair of morticians at work.

Opposite and to his left Aveline sat, still in her armour. Normally, Varric would have ascribed that to her usual workaholic habits, but this time it truly looked like she'd simply forgotten she was wearing it. Her auburn her was frizzy enough to make Varric wonder if some apostate had zapped her with a lightning-bolt and the dirt on her face couldn't quite conceal how pale she looked, or the dark blotches under her eyes. Her eyes, usually so sharp and ready, now had a dull look about them, their gaze fixed on her dented gauntlet on the table as she constantly flexed the bare and bruised hand holding a near-empty glass.

Opposite and to his right, Isabela looked nearly as bad. It wasn't anything as overt as with Aveline, her hair was in order, her skin clean...yet under the pleasant façade, the injuries were easily spotted. There were the eyes as dull as Aveline's, equal parts exhaustion and wounded. There was the blotch of blood staining the side of her tunic, no doubt from her work with Anders, that she didn't seem to register. There was the way she now and again twitched, eyes looking up and around, sometimes in fear, sometimes in guilt. Fear of Castillon, I'm sure, and guilt of all you've done.

Good.

Varric caught himself glaring at the woman and suppressed it, knowing it would do no good to distress Aveline even more, she had been the one insisting Isabela would come, after all. Can't believe you've gotten friendly with her now. Why? Varric couldn't forgive Isabela, everything had been her fault, and worse yet, she'd betrayed her friends several times while trying to escape responsibility...and even nearly killed him in her selfish need to save her own skin.

Those were hard things to forgive, and Varric had been genuinely hurt by the treachery, especially when he above all others had placed so much trust in her and tried to help her so much...

Aveline had muttered something about 'repenting' and 'truly punished' on the issue, but Varric had a hard time forgiving for such small things. Aveline might have warmed up to Isabela since the pirate's surrender to judgement, but Varric himself wasn't impressed. When will she turn next? Can't trust her.

Still, Varric wouldn't have minded if the pirate had been more cheerful, if nothing else to make Aveline a little more attentive and receptive to cheer, or maybe even inspired some happiness among the rest of the patrons of the tavern. Not that she would have been likely to be successful, Varric had tried himself, but with no luck. People were just too tired and worried for the present and future to bring themselves to be amused by his anecdotes and tales.

Sighing, rubbing his temples, the dwarf leant back, relenting. "Okay, speak up, what's the problem? Lay it on me."

"What isn't a problem?" Aveline grunted, not looking up from staring at her gauntlet as she took a sip from her glass. "You've taken a look outside, I trust?"

"Of course, I've talked to people, seen them, I know that-"

"You don't know, not like I..." Aveline sighed, bare hand moving up to brush through her hair, her eyes still on the dented gauntlet on the table. "...with all due respect, Varric, you don't know half of it."

Taking a deep breath, Varric leant forward, forcing a gentle smile as he clasped one hand over the other on the table. "Then tell me, I'm here to listen, after all." Aveline finally looked up at that, giving him a surprised look that made him offer a smirk. "I need more stories to tell, after all."

"Nothing fun about this one, I'm afraid." Aveline grunted in annoyance, though without the usual heat she had when she felt Varric was being disrespectful. "Half of Lowtown has been burnt to the ground, a quarter more is damaged enough to be considered uninhabitable...some people fight over what's left, some now sleep on the streets, others run into Darktown where they'll either become prey to criminals or become criminals themselves."

"The clinic is full of former Lowtowners." Isabela muttered with a tired nod of agreement. "The gangs there like to mug the families coming down for everything they got, then stab one of the parents as a way of keeping them frightened."

Ignoring the pirate, Varric offered Aveline a sympathetic grimace. "That can't be easy to control."

"Control? We're just trying to keep the rest from burning down at this point." Aveline sighed, shaking her head. "Most of the warehouses of the city burnt down in the fire, warehouses containing most of the food...and though the last harvest is coming in from the countryside, the city still relies on some trade for food, and merchants are currently wary of approaching the city, what with the rampant crime, the lack of accommodations and templars shaking them down the moment they cross the gate." The guard-captain's other – still in its gauntlet – hand clenched into a fist at her own words."So now we have riots, riots containing a lot of people, people desperate for food."

Varric frowned. "Don't most cities have stored supplies in case of a siege or a crisis like this...?"

Isabela snorted, though it was a tired sound. "So people keep saying in the clinic, they're getting pretty angry with the nobles about it..."

"Not their fault, though one could wish they'd spend less time rebuilding their palaces and more doing something useful." Aveline grimaced. "As for those stores...they are in the Viscount's Keep and...well as Meredith put it, 'the templars must keep up their strength in this time of crisis'."

Varric caught himself whistling. "Wow...charity of the Chantry is overrated, I guess?"

"What Chantry?" Aveline grimaced. "The old Grand Cleric died in her bed, the one about to be chosen died with a Qunari arrow in her chest, the rest are a bickering pack of hens all recoiling in fright whenever Meredith so much as looks at them."

"At least she's getting results..." Isabela grunted and shrugged. "...well, the ones that matter to her. Anders is bloody livid about all the apostates her templars have caught while fine-combing the city." A tired smile. "Weird day when he's caught wishing for the Divine to intervene..."

"Weird indeed." Aveline agreed, slumping in her chair as she took another sip from her glass. "Not that I wish it too by now...what's she waiting for?"

"The Divine's hold on the Templars is a fragile thing, especially here in the Free Marches with all the smuggling...and King Behlen back in Orzammar hasn't helped with his liberal trading with Lyrium." Varric shrugged. "Plus, there are many apostates here, maybe the Divine sees Meredith's actions as just in that light?"

"Maker, preserve us..." Isabela groaned, hands holding her head, staring down at the table. "...it's going to get worse, isn't it?"

No thanks to you. Isabela seemed to hear his thought, shooting Varric a guilty look as she shirked away. Ignoring her though, she wasn't worth the words, Varric turned to Aveline. "What about the nobility? Or Garrett?"

Aveline shrugged, a dejected look on her face. "The nobles...?" A shake of her head. "Money's tight, the problems are piling up and the Templars are essentially blocking all attempts at fixing things by crippling the administration...what can they do?"

"Heyyyy!"

Merrill appeared so suddenly and with such a grin, that her slamming her palms onto the table made the entire tavern jump in surprise, unprepared for the wave of positivity radiating from the elf.

"I'm getting married!"

The table exploded into a cheer. A chuckle, then some cheering, spreading across the tavern as the customers enjoyed the way Merrill suddenly turned red at the realisation at how loud she'd been.

Even as he cheered, Varric mentally shook his head.

So soon? After a few months? And I still have a bad feeling about those two...

Still, watching the elf's infectious smile was...liberating.

Maybe I'm just imagining things.

8

8

8

Garrett felt tired.

He was still recovering from his wounds, Anders' healing had alleviated most of it, but he still felt drawn out and thin, like too little butter on too much bread. Anders had suggested he'd rest to let his body catch up with its natural healing, but who had time for such things? Instead, Garrett took a sip of wine to ease the pain as he straightened, then handed the glass to a bowing Fenn. "Are they ready?"

"They are, Serah, they are waiting for you." The elf muttered, head still bowed as he took a step back. "Should I announce you, Serah?"

Garrett considered it, then shook his head. "No, I'll do it myself." He glanced to the left, the mirror in the hallway he stood in large enough to catch his profile. White shirt spotless and light, black trousers and boots in military style, red cloak simple yet elegant and impossible to miss. Maybe a bit too much of a Ferelden look? He looked to his eyes, a hard and intelligent brown gaze looked back at him, showing no hint of the exhaustion beneath. But a Viscount, yes. "Open the door."

Ignoring Fenn and Orana as the two elves silently opened the door, Garrett marched out, gaze fixed ahead, heart hammering in a steady rhythm as he felt the moment approach.

As the door silently closed behind him, Garrett found himself in the main hall of his estate, at the top of the stairs leading down to the main floor. Further away, the doorway leading outside was blocked by a grim-looking Bastile in full armour. Garrett was risking a lot by calling the current meeting and none would leave until he'd had his say.

Beneath him, the heads of the houses of the nobility of Kirkwall stood assembled, together numerous enough to form a sea of people in what Garrett usually thought a large floor. When I'm Viscount, I'll hold all meetings in the Keep, they have enough space there. Reaching the top of the stairs leading down, Garrett leant down on the balustrade with his hands, taking a deep breath even as he saw a few of the people noticing him, the rest busy gossiping about the strange meeting, faces painted with concern. "My friends."

Garrett's voice, from the platform atop the stairs, carried easily across the room, turning the muttering talks into whispers as dozens upon dozens of faces turned to look up at him. An image of Carver in the throne room smirking down at him flashed before Garrett's eyes, and he smiled down at the crowd. This is more like it. He let the moment linger, let them watch, let them wait.

"Welcome."

Across the room, people exchanged looks and whispered to one another, unsure what to do. One though, Charles Reinhart, bowed his head, playing along. "Serah Hawke, it's always a pleasure to be invited to your home. What, may I ask, is the occasion?"

"To discuss the matters of this city." As expected, Garrett's reply triggered a wave of worried glances and whispers, yet he ignored them as he swiftly continued. "We might not have a Viscount, or a noble council, but this is still our city, is it not?"

"Doesn't feel like it!" Someone snorted, triggering a wave of chuckles.

Smiling to the words, Garrett turned and took a step down the stairs, letting his cloak rustle behind for all to see and remember the reason for it. "Indeed, it doesn't, friend." He shook his head, smile faltering. "Not by far."

In the room, everyone followed his every movement, seemingly dreading his next words.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

"Champion, with all due respect..." A young man started, then hesitated, seemingly expecting Garrett to interrupt, but the man simple waved at him to go on, making him clear his throat and look around himself for support. "...I think I speak for all of us when I say that confrontation with Meredith would be...unwise."

"It would." Garrett nodded, watching many others do the same as he took another step down the stairs. "If by confrontation you mean us drawing our blades and hurling ourselves at her and her templars." He smiled as many looked at him, in shock at the idea of it, or perhaps at the idea of him wanting something else. "But there are other ways of handling this, of course."

Silence.

Then Charles Reinhart cleared his throat, playing his part without hesitation. "And what would these ways entail, Serah Hawke?"

Garrett stopped his descent, offering Charles a warm smile. "We undermine her arguments, we make her see reason." He turned his gaze to the others, watching them for weakness or hesitation. "She has proclaimed us all unfit to rule, dangerous and potentially corrupt! By that reasoning, and that alone, she keeps us from governing this city." And me from the throne. "I suggest we prove ourselves more than fit to rule, show her and everyone else how wrong she truly is." He smiled. "We pressure her by our actions and words, not by might and swords, to relinquish her illegal – and believe me, it is illegal – hold on the city."

Surprisingly, the first to reply to his idea was Guillaume De Launcet, the handsome noble all dazzling smiles. "That sounds like a capital idea!" The man looked about himself, shaking his head at the doubtful looks he was receiving. "Come now, brothers and sisters, listen to our saviour and Champion here. This templar witch has taken away everything we nobles do, she's letting our once beautiful city fall into disrepair and I don't know about you...but I'm heartily sick of her templars marching into houses and across streets, invading everyone's privacy and laying their hands on us like we're criminals." The man shook his head. "It's disrespectful."

Nodding his head at the unexpected support, Garrett took up the word. "Indeed it is, brother." Eugh, I'll call him that for political reasons, but I hope it doesn't give him ideas about Leandra...judging by the look on his face, he is though...damn. "Everyone is a potential criminal according to her, it doesn't matter if they deal with mages or not, or how..." He noticed some exchanging of looks at that, doubtful glances cast at him. "...to her, it doesn't matter, we're all guilty of something, even if she has to make a real stretch to find it." The doubtful looks turned nervous, the exchanged looks worried. Indeed, be afraid...

"So...you want us to try and do something about this?" A woman swallowed, shaking her head. "I...even if your plan works...she might...I don't want her to come for me or my children."

A mutter of agreement crossed the hall, but Garrett silenced it with a wave and a curt tone. "Let me put it this way, my friends. Either we do nothing, and watch as our city descends into chaos..." He noticed a few grimaces, and spelled it out. "We'll watch the trash grow in heaps in the streets, watch food-riots grow and grow...we'll watch people leave the city, we'll watch our markets become empty...we'll watch all we have slowly be ground to dust." A few shuffled back and forth at that, making Garrett nod, knowing all had already felt the sting of lost profits as the city crumpled around them. "Or we do something."

"And that is...?" A man, small even for a dwarf, warily asked, though with something akin to hope in his eyes.

Garrett straightened to his full height, chest out, eyes clear. "Make me your Viscount."

A murmur of fright passed through the crowd.

Someone shouted a protest with no real words in it.

Another was more coherent. "Meredith would have our balls for that!"

"I said make me your Viscount!" Garrett barked back, making everyone stop and look at him in confusion. "Meredith has, effectively, blocked all ways of electing a Viscount of the city, but we nobles can still, by consent, choose to have one of us lead the rest, no? Give me the authority to lead you all, to use your resources and abilities, and I'll bring this city around and make Meredith seem the fool."

Silence.

Stunned silence.

Then Guillaume spoke, chuckling. "It's semantics...but yes, I suppose Meredith couldn't stop that." Noting Garrett's eyes, the man shrugged. "I suspect this would cost us quite a bit, no? As I recall, Meredith is still taxing us...even raised them last month."

"Yes, it'll be expensive, especially at first...but this is the chance to revive the city, a good one...the option is a slow death." Garrett offered a grim smile. "I'd rather take the chance, were I you."

Slowly, many gazes were drawn to Charles...who smiled at Garrett, bowing his head. "Sometimes, expenditures must be made, I am with you, Champion."

A buzz of excitement shot through the crowd at the unexpected words from the man known as the greediest man in Kirkwall.

Yet, a man, hiding behind a woman, spoke up in protest. "I...c-can we do this though? All respect, Hawke, b-but you are clearly a friend of mages!"

A hushed silence fell, everyone looking at Garrett to see his reaction.

Easy now... Garrett smiled, sitting down in the middle of the stairs, making him look as open and understanding as possible." As are most of you. When the apostates you hire heal your son or daughter, or cure the sickness of your favourite servant...you're their best friend." Someone coughed, most looked away from Garrett's soft gaze. "I have merely made my friendliness more permanent." A chuckle. "Remember, magic saved you, all of you. From the spells shattering the door to the throne room to the runes inscribed into my armour and sword, without it, none of you would be here today." Cocking his head to the side, Garrett continued. "That said, magic is dangerous, and it is the territory of the chantry and Circle, I respect that...as long as they respect the mages in turn." A shake of his head. "I cannot say that is the case right now."

"So what is your stance on magic then, if we're to have you lead us against Meredith?" Guillaume asked, arms held wide. "We'd all like to know, I'm sure."

"My stance is that there is no stance." Garrett replied, a little irritated with the man, but knowing an answer was required. "This is not a struggle between the templars and the mages, no matter how much Meredith would like it to be so or convince others it is. This is a struggle between the religious and the secular, about who has the right to rule this city, and I will not allow some little squabble in the circle to colour such a debate."

The answer elicited applaud, making Garrett smile. Yes, nearly there...come on...

Another person, a woman with a face drawn in disapproval, narrowed her eyes at Garrett though. "And what of your elf...tendencies?" Garrett held back a grimace. "We all remember how hundreds of them joined the Qunari, how they shot at us...meanwhile you are clearly sleeping with one of them."

Garrett bore his gaze into the woman, who trembled, yet stood firm, raising her chin defiantly as other nobles moved away from her even as they gazed at Garrett for a reply.

"One who was among those saving you, yes." Garrett finally replied. "Are the elf servants that I know await you in your estate the same as those who once shot at you? No? Then I guess my elf isn't some noble-murdering monster either..."

A few people chuckled at the reply, but a man with a pale look shook his head. "Yet she is an elf, and a mage, and sharing your bed, no? Meredith warned us against that very thing..."

A murmur of fear crossed the hall.

"I wouldn't worry about that." Nothing, emptiness, a void... As one, the crowd gasped and took a step back at the white light suddenly emanating from Garrett's eyes, like twin fires looking at them...only to instantly falter as Garrett's lips split into a smile. "If Meredith's argument is that templars are untouchable by such powers...then who better to lead you?"

At the side, Charles chuckled at the look on the peoples faces.

"Still..." A dwarf, looking unimpressed, hitched his belt over his bulging gut. "...she's still an elf. The matter of succession is tricky then." Many nodded, the idea of such succession clearly abhorrent.

Time to argue for elven rights? Garrett shook his head, he wasn't about to risk it. "Forgive me, but I believe this was an election to become your Viscount, not the city's? Secondly, there is no succession, not here in Kirkwall, at least. Yes, many a son and daughter has become Viscount after their parent has died, but they have all been elected." Garrett smiled and shrugged, forcing himself to ignore how angry such talk about Merrill would have made him, had he not been prepared for it. "It's a non-issue."

Silence.

Then, Charles slowly walked up the stairs, coming to stand to Garrett's right side, his voice clear as he offered his hand. "I'm with you, Viscount Hawke."

Smiling up at the old man, Garrett took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet, clasping the man's shoulder before looking across the crowd of nobles. "And what of the rest of you? Are we going to do nothing...or will you let me lead you to a new Kirkwall?"

People only muttered among one another though, unsure, watching Garrett warily, making his smile falter. Shit.

But then, Guillaume marched up the stairs as well, smiling widely as he took his place on Garrett's left. "I'm with you, Viscount Hawke, for a brighter tomorrow!"

Garrett, chuckling under his breath, leant closer and put an arm over the man's shoulders, voice low. "Laying it on a little thick, are we?"

"It's how I do things, brother." Guillaume whispered back, then raised his voice at the crowd. "All for Hawke as Viscount, say 'yes'."

"Yes."

"Yes!"

"Maker forgive me...yes."

The agreements were few, even with two of the prominent nobles at Garrett's side, making his smile melt, tone growing cold. "Remember the alternative, people, and if not me...then who?"

Across the floor, dozens of people exchanged looks, dejected, worried, afraid, hesitant.

Then another noble spoke up. "Yes."

"Y-yes."

"Aye."

"Guess there's little choice, yes."

"Yes, Champion, we're with you."

Garrett's smile returned, strained, but there. So, nearly viscount, and with a reluctant support...I can work with that.

"Thank you, friends, for your support."

Next to him, Guillaume leant close. "So, about your mother..."

Still smiling as best he could, Garrett growled back. "Go back to your wife, Launcet."

Now, to use this power...

8

8

8

Thanks to Abydos Jackson, for egging me.