Garrett was sweating.
Outside, the sun was absent, the blast having drawn in clouds to cast a carpet across the city. It left Kirkwall with a coldness unfamiliar to the city, something more akin to autumn in Ferelden...yet here, the cold was unnatural, the chilly quietness creeping into the bones like no cold Fereldian wind could do.
Yet still, Garrett was sweating.
He was outside, in the small open ground in front of one of the gates to the wall around the Circle tower. Within every building, there was movement, the clatter of armour and the hostile glares of templars. Garrett couldn't tell how many there were by now, but their numbers around the Circle Tower's defences were rapidly growing.
Though Garrett considered himself brave, he wasn't in a hurry to rush to his death, and at the moment, he knew the chances of him escaping the situation alive were diminishing by the moment. Damn Anders, damn him all to hell! Garrett straightened and took a deep breath, feeling himself shivering in fear. All I wanted was the Viscount's seat, a proper balance of power and...Maker, not all this, not this...
Far in the distance, he could see the mark left by Anders' deed. From the low street, it looked nothing like a disaster, just an abrupt...end to the city. As if someone had started building the city from scratch a little while ago and simply hadn't finished with one part of it. But the disaster was real enough, the dead real enough...thousands, more...Garrett could almost feel their souls slip by into the next world. He gritted his teeth, hating how much of Kirkwall's bloody history he knew, and how frail the veil to the fade was. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
The thought made him look down, at his prisoners, to glare at them with all the hate he felt pumping in his veins.
The tower had been chaotic after the disaster and Meredith's exit, with the nobles and mages nearly coming to blows when a panicking noble had suggested ousting out all the mages to the templars and hoping for the best. There had been shouting, drawn swords...and a mage killing herself in a fit of terror, another only adding oil to the flames by trying to use her blood to power his magic in defence of his fellow mages...luckily other mages had stopped him or Garrett was sure the whole tower would have exploded in a clash that would have left whatever survivors at the mercy of Meredith.
It had taken all of Garrett's authority, rhetoric and will to calm things and restore order...at the end, he'd felt like he'd gotten more than a few more grey hairs. He'd reminded them all of how much they now needed one another if they were to get out alive. He'd barked loud and hard at every dissenter, battering them down with hard words and harder eyes. He'd called for a hunt for all responsible, all involved in Anders' heinous crime, dangling the carrot of survival in front of them all while beating them with the stick of threats what would happen if they failed to bring all responsible before Meredith.
Even so, Garrett was anything but sure that Meredith would be satiated by the blood of only those responsible. He'd seen her eyes before she'd left, horrified, terrified...but also strangely relieved, for now the situation had become so much simpler for her...
Garrett didn't like where such reasoning brought him.
Finding the culprits had been easy enough. Terrified, the mages had stumbled over one another to report every little bit of suspicious activity by others. Some had been so scared they'd confessed right on the spot, others had broken down as accusation after accusation had been levelled at them. It hadn't exactly been a proper trial, but they'd been short on time.
The ones who'd worked with Anders were a varied lot. From Orsino the First Enchanter, to two senior enchanters, a well-respected teacher, some students, a librarian and even an eleven year old slip of an elf girl who'd already wet herself thrice since being grabbed by one of Garrett's soldiers. All bound and gagged, the criminals numbered thirteen, Anders and his twelve accomplices. Three had insisted upon their innocence until the moment they were gagged, and Garrett didn't doubt that one or two actually were innocent...but there was no time for further investigation or giving the benefit of the doubt, he needed to bring all possible criminals before Meredith.
Kneeling in the dirt, their hands bound behind their backs, not a mage met Garrett's gaze. Orsino still looked broken, the man's eyes vacant at he stared at the ground, lost in his grief and regret. Others were trembling, one or two rocking back and forth, muttering prayers. The little elf was crying, a steady stream of terrified tears pouring down her face. A few were still struggling with their bonds, terrified, yet unable to do anything even if they got free as some of Garrett's men stood behind them with ready weapons.
The onnly one with a raised head was Anders, the man looking straight ahead, the gag curling around his mouth as he offered the distant sight of his massacre a small smile. Of all of them, he was the only one who looked at peace, calm, even serene, the man was pleased even as he was marched to his death.
Garrett wanted to kick him.
"You're an idiot, you know." Garrett shook his head, unable to keep himself from spitting the words. "A monster, even...all those deaths...for what? A war? A civil war across all of Thedas between mages and templars? One that your side will lose? And all the innocent who'll die...had you no thought for them? Where's their justice!?"
Turning his head, Anders looked up at him...and smiled.
Garrett kicked him, sending the mage tumbling face first to the ground. "Justice!? You value some deranged mutation of the concept more than you value lives! How...what kind of person does that!?"
Anders, grunting, sat back up. Even without the gag, Garrett realised the mage wouldn't answer him.
It had hurt to see the reactions of his companions at the revelation of what had happened, of what Anders had done.
Varric, shaking his head, had said nothing. Merrill had looked away, biting her bottom lip. Isabela had looked disgusted, but calm.
None had looked surprised, none had been shocked...they'd known Anders would do something stupid one day. Varric had even warned me, as had Merrill, I...how could I have been so blind as to not see that? The answer was simple. Arrogance, ambition, focused solely on my advancement...by Andraste, I was a fool...
The realisation stung deep. For all his intellect, for all his plans and good ideas, Garrett had stumbled on the finishing line, blinded by hubris.
He kicked Anders again.
Then, finally, there was a distant clatter of approaching horses. Looking up, Garrett felt fresh hope kindling. Cullen was at the front of twenty mounted templars, none with their weapons drawn. His heart sank when they got closer though. Cullen's face was a mask of sadness, weary eyes taking in the sight of Garrett, his men and his prisoners.
Garrett spoke even before Cullen had reined in his horse, the words tumbling out before Garrett could stop them. "In a gesture of good faith, I come bringing the one who detonated the bomb, as well as those who aided him in making it. Meredith, being the one in charge of such affairs, can of course proclaim any judgement over them as she sees fit. I hope, by showing how little we tolerate these acts, that she understands that the rest within the tower are not to blame and that we're still willing to negotiate about a settlement of our quarrels."
Dismounting, Cullen sighed as he met Garrett. He took the nobles hand, shook it...and then let go with a dejected look on his face. "You have my respect, Hawke, but after this..." He looked back, staring at the devastation for in the distance. "...you might understand Meredith's position. She was ambivalent before, if not outright hostile, now..." The man shrugged, pale. "...now we give prayers to the Maker."
"Sh-she won't listen?" Garrett swallowed, his lower lip trembling, painfully aware of the nervous coat of sweat soaking his face. "You can't try to...talk to her? Cullen, this will destroy Kirkwall, everything...Meredith must surely understand what rash action might cause, not only here, but in all of Thedas."
"With all due respect, Serah, rash action has already been taken." Cullen shot the serene-looking Anders a withering glare, one the mage ignored. Looking back up to Garrett, Cullen shook is head. "I'm...truly sorry, this is a disaster." Garrett could only mutely nod, his insides going cold as true realisation of what the Templar's words mean sunk in. "I'll...take the mages, try to convince Meredith that it's enough but..." The man grimaced. "...you might want to ready your defences...or run away, should you have the chance."
Garrett stared at Cullen even as the man's entourage too dismounted, the templars warily moving forward to take the prisoners from the equally guarded soldiers under Garrett's command. Cullen, not participating, met Garrett's gaze with a sad one of his own. "I didn't mean for all this to happen..." The words felt hollow, stupid.
Cullen nodded though. "I know..." He took a deep breath. "...I hope not to see you on the battlefield, I'm not ready to try to kill the only man that might have restored this city to order."
Garrett, a lump in his throat, nodded. "C-could you tell my br-brother..." A deep breath, the words came from deep within, struggling against his will, old resentment fighting against his wish to at least clear the slate. "...th-that I'm sorry?"
Cullen grimaced, bowing his head. "I will..but I think it's too late for that."
"I...see."
Turning, Garrett began to move back to the tower, each step heavier than the next, feeling like he'd aged ten years in as many minutes.
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The outer wall had fallen in less than two hours.
Garrett had studied siege-craft and the arts of defending and attacking a castle, and had thought he could apply that relatively well to the circle tower and its wall...but Meredith with her years of experience had proven him a fool in his attempt to defend the wall.
The wall, while high, wasn't wide enough to withstand battering rams, especially after templars had attacked them with pickaxes. And with the city so close to the wall, the templars had had an easy time with attacking wherever they wished with little warning given to the defenders. Additionally, the wall was a smooth circle around the tower, with no towers jutting out to aid in raining down arrows down at the base of the wall. Instead the archers had to lean out...making them easy targets for templar bowmen and crossbowmen hiding in the houses just outside.
Garrett had lost a good thirty of his soldiers, and two mages as well, to barely a loss for the templars. He'd also lost the wall, or what was left of it after the templars had brought down multiple sections to face every exit of the tower. Each collapse had created a low battlement of gravel and stones for troops to hide behind as they prepared to defend or attack at a moment's notice. Behind those mounds, patrolling templars kept watch for any sally even as carpenters worked just behind, putting together catapults long stored in pieces within the Templar Keep.
The siege had truly begun.
After the fall of the wall, the tower had once more nearly succumbed to the panic gripping everyone, with all blaming each other, and Garrett, for the loss and thinking themselves doomed. Garrett would probably had been unable to keep order if Meredith hadn't ordered an assault on the tower itself, the woman no doubt motivated to capture the tower as soon as possible and gain access to the mages once more.
The result lay strewn on the inside of what remained of the wall. A good fifty templars lay dead, arrows riddling their bodies or their limbs torn and burnt by magic. The templars might have been trained warriors, able to handle themselves in a fight, and they might be trained in holding back the powers of mages, but the combination was another beast entirely.
Keeping the magic nullified was hard when arrows were thumping into your shield and men died around you. Arrows and spears were hard to deflect when paralysing glyphs appeared all around. Duels were hard to win when the limbs of their foes were ever supplied fresh energy while wounds mended and the ground itself seemed to heave under your feet as the mages worked in concert with the warriors.
The templars had been beaten back without a single loss, and that had managed to restore some spirit into the defenders, a feeling that the situation wasn't entirely hopeless.
Standing on a small balcony, overlooking the Templar's work, Garrett couldn't share in the optimism. Fifty templars was but a drop in the bucket for Meredith, and while the tower was built by the finest Tevinter architects long ago, nothing could withstand the bombardment from onagers and trebuchets forever. And once the tower was ruined enough, once enough entrances had been made...then no teamwork in the world would save them.
Garrett had thought things through since his meeting with Cullen, and though hope was nearly extinguished, there was one thing that might save them. His letter to the Divine ought to have nearly reached her by now, if they could hold on, defend themselves well enough, someone would come to investigate. It would be hard to argue for his case, what with templars now lying dead at his feet, but Garrett appreciated it as his only chance. With the right arguments and proof, he might even still salvage things and become Viscount...
Such a vain hope. Garrett grimaced, feeling a pit of self-loathing for it as he felt Merrill press closer, the shaking elf quiet as a mouse next to him as they overlooked the army arrayed before them. Maker, you, our child, if...no, we must make it out, we must hold on. His arm around her, forgotten during his previous thoughts, tightened its grip.
Ahead, something was moving.
Merrill, her keen elven eyes quicker to focus than his, gasped. Garrett, a second later, groaned, horrified.
Ahead, atop one of the breaches in the wall, thirteen stakes of wood, surrounded by kindling and wood, were raised. Atop each, the mages Garrett had handed over were bound. Anders, in the centre, stood out with his already scared body now covered with blood and bruises as he'd been stripped of his robe.
"Th-they w-wouldn't do that...would they?" Merrill whispered, the elf trembling and pressing close.
Stroking her shoulder, Garrett swallowed. "I...think they are."
Orsino hung limply from his stake. Others were weakly moving, looking around themselves with eyes wide in terror. The little elf, a good two heads shorter than any of the others, was thrashing about, her babbled words lost to the wind. Only Anders stood straight, calmly looking straight ahead.
Shaking his head, Garrett managed to speak. "We...don't need to see this."
"I...think we do." Merrill retorted. "They might have done a bad thing, Anders most of all, but...they deserve witnesses." Though she spoke with a surprising amount of calm, a glance told Garrett that the elf was horrified at the prospect of watching, her face as pale as a sheet.
Someone in templar armour stood up on the wall, raising a large parchment as he began to speak. Though obviously shouting the words, he was too far away for the words to be heard. It's just a list of accusations...like they need them. Garrett stared in horror, well aware who was reading the parchment. Carver...Maker, how did we end up on different sides in this battle?
The speech wasn't long, and once done, Carver took a torch offered to him and walked over to the closest stake. Atop, the elf girl screamed in horror as the man lit the wood beneath her feet on fire.
Ignoring her, Carver continued to the rest of the stakes, lighting each in turn, only pausing slightly at Anders' to spit out some insult that none but he and the mage could hear. Anders, still as the stake he was tied to, ignored the templar.
Within a minute, the flames had begun to rise by each stake, making the mages cry out in terror and pain as they writhed in their bindings as much as they could. Even Orsino, having been silent and broken, now cried out in anguish and jerked up where he slouched, smoke hissing from the hem of his robe. Next to him, the elf girl was babbling incoherently, screaming out words seemingly at random as she tossed and turned...and then wailed as a flame caught hold of her robe.
The screams rose in intensity with the growing fire, fires rising ever higher and stronger, turning the screams to strangled coughs as smoke filled the lungs of the burning mages.
Still writhing on her stake, the elf girl was finally enveloped in fire, a living torch screaming and twisting like an obscene banner. Then Orsino followed, the man's skin crumpling into ash as fire ate away at his finely chiselled features. Then another mage, and another mage, succumbed, the fires killing them slowly.
The last to die, seemingly immune to the flames, was Anders. The mage had stayed silent and unmoving the entire time, even as his fellow conspirators died, even as the flames caught hold of his robe, he remained still and silent.
And the flames, beginning to eat away at the mage's flesh, were turning blue.
Within moments, the entire stake was swathed in blue fire. Within, the burning Anders raised his head, gazed up at the sky, and smiled.
Then the fire rose even higher, and the man was no more.
Squeezing Merrill tightly, Garrett clenched his jaw tight in rage at the sight. There you go, Anders, you got your martyrdom, ably supplied by Meredith serving it on a platter, as I did your war...you won.
Next to him, Merrill sighed. "I know it's bad...but I can't feel bad for him. He was a friend but...he never was, was he? He used us, from the moment we met him, he used us...and now he betrayed us."
"Yes, love." Garrett swallowed, holding her closer as he placed a protective hand over the slight bulge that had appeared on her belly. Maker, don't let...I can't even think it. "Yes."
I need to get you out of here.
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Thanks to Abydos Jackson, for the keeping me Sherlocked.