A World Without Shadows

by maximasdecimas

Lowtown is a dangerous place at night. When Merrill is attackeded by thugs, Hawke comes to save her, but Merrill is shaken by her ordeal. Can Hawke make everything better with a smile, and save the day twice in one night? What will come of it? A story of love spanning three acts. Hurt/comfort, and romance. Mage F!Hawke/Merrill #TRIGGER WARNING - Violence, Attempted sexual assault

19. Chapter 19

Author note: ignore if you don't want to read my ramblings.

Sorry it's been so long since I last finished a chapter. I didn't just disappear though, I've written a short Liara/FemShepard Mass Effect story in the time since my last post to this story, concerning the ending of ME3, which took up most of my time, so consider checking that out if you're interested and haven't already seen it. It's called 'Peace, and Happiness', but you can find it on my profile page under My Stories. I was also learning how to make mods, so those of you who play Dragon Age 2 on the PC, and like mods, then check out my profile on the Dragon Age Nexus (sorry, I'd give you the links but you can't post non fanfiction-related links here, the site won't allow it.)

Search for either my profile name, which is the same as my pen name: maximasdecimas. Or search the names of my mods, which are (respectively) Dark Dragon Hunters Armour and Vigilance Weapons.

One is a standalone armour, and one gives you the option to get the Vigilance swords from DA Awakenings into your DA2 inventory (plus I made an arcane sword... looks like a sword, acts like a staff...) They're okay, if I do say so myself. Shameless self-promotion, I know, but I don't care. Mods are fun. Just spreading the love.)

I wanted to have this chapter done much earlier, and I really thought I would have, but things kept coming up, like work and exams and surprise assignments and birthdays. Including mine - which was also kind of a surprise since I forgot about it. Ineptitude. Also I've had visitors staying, and for some reason they seem to think its rude when I ignore them in favour of writing fanfiction... can't imagine why. Suffice to say I've had a lot of commitments and also work, both the study kind and money-earning kind (unfortunately writing this story doesn't exactly pay very well... damn, I wish it did) so I'm struggling to find hours to spare to concentrate on writing. Also my sister is getting married soon, so bridesmaid stuff is taking up even more of my time; a business which should be exciting, and it is, but… the Australian federal government has just knocked back two bills attempting to legalise same-sex marriages this month, which is… sadly unsurprising, but still heart-crushing, so I've been a bit dejected about that. Sorry. Anyway. I always keep time for writing this, even if it's far less than I would like, it might just take me longer between posts sometimes. Enough of my excuses.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to all my followers and favouriters! Is that a word? Well, it is now. Also, to the person who made a guest review under the name 'quargon', I just wanted to say thank you so much! I'd have replied by PM to thank you, but that function isn't available with quest reviews, sadly. That was a lovely review, it really made me feel awesome, so thank you for all your kind words, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I also like that you like my humour, I always like it when people find the same things funny that I do. I hope you enjoy this chapter half as much, though this one isn't my best work. And on that encouraging note, here it is.

Also, sorry. I wish I had something more impressive to give you after such a long wait, but I'm afraid you'll need to wait until I have time to do better. But, well, you know... you get what you pay for :P And I am sorry about all the uneven spaces of time between chapters. But not that sorry. I am a woman, and I reserve the right to be inconsistent. Please don't leave me.

Okay, NOW here it is.

---

xxx H xxx

---

"And here we are," Isabela mutters unhappily as the lift reaches ground level. Or underground level, I suppose I should say. "A lovely outing with Hawke to Darktown; to marvel at its many wonders. My morning is complete."

"I did tell you where I was headed," I remind her, lowering the winch into its resting place on the lever mechanism. She seemed eager enough to accompany me when I ran into her and Varric, on my way to the bridge to Lowtown earlier, just as he was helping her out of the Blooming Rose. "You are here of your own free will."

"True," the pirate queen allows graciously. "Though I wasn't actually listening to where you said you were going. At least it's nice and dark down here, I suppose." She yawns widely, rubbing surreptitiously at her temples. "That doesn't mean I'm going to complain about it any less miserably, however. It's... far too early for this."

Considering that the sun is still barely above the horizon, she isn't wrong. Truth be told, I would much rather be warm in my nice soft bed with a sleeping, wonderfully naked elf in my arms than down here in this pit of old sewer tunnels, and toxic fog. But Anders has never sent a messenger to my estate before, and certainly not at such an hour. Whatever it is he wants, it must be important. Though frankly, anything that causes me to be parted from Merrill for even the shortest length of time had better be pretty bloody urgent.

"You know what I love about the Undercity? Absolutely nothing," Varric says wryly, stepping out of the lift ahead of me and glancing about. "Watch your purse, Hawke. No law down here, and we don't have our magnificent guard captain to glower everyone away, either. Bianca's good, but she can't keep everyone off you at once, and there are more crooks and con-artists down here than in the Merchant's Guild. And that's saying something." He is eyeing a brown-haired human woman in very ragged clothing standing on the corner as he speaks. She looks harmless enough. I doubt she's at all likely to try and rob us, and besides; if she did, well... don't I have the two best cut-purses in Kirkwall at my side? Everything I know about being a scoundrel I learned from them; surely they will be able to spot any tricks she may try to employ a mile off. Though I suppose they may decide not to warn me in order to teach me a lesson in... humility, or something. They do enjoy that, from time to time.

The woman notices my regard and steps forward, her hands raised in supplication, looking between us with a piteous expression. "Do you have coin to spare, messeres?" she asks, a sort of desperate hope in her voice. Her accent sounds Fereldan, perhaps from around Redcliffe or Lake Calenhad. She meets my gaze hesitantly, eyes filled with the shadow of shame and despair. "My children are starving."

My heart twists at the thought of children living down here, made worse by the knowledge that most of them must also be Fereldan; remnants of the refugees refused entrance at the Gallows, forced to scratch out a living in this squalid darkness amongst the rats and the rot and the chokedamp. Who could believe in a benevolent Maker when poverty such as this is allowed to exist without a thought or a care? What is being done with all the funds I have given towards assisting the displaced Fereldans in the city? Perhaps I ought to circumvent the immediate authorities and simply distribute my coin myself as I see fit. Starting now.

I reach into my belt pouch, drawing out five sovereigns. However many children she has, that should be enough to keep them fed for a little while, at least. "Here, take this, please."

I hear Varric give a small cough I do so, and glance at him. He is shaking his head, looking slightly doubtful. I daresay he thinks she's trying to take advantage of me, and maybe she is, but even so... whether or not she truly has any children, she clearly needs help herself. Her face and arms are quite thin, her eyes are sunken and her dress is hanging very loosely from her spindly frame. I think she really does need help, and if I can afford to give it to her, why shouldn't I?

The woman gasps as she sees the coins I'm offering, and she shakes her head a little, her eyes growing very wide. "Messere! Oh, no, messere, it's too much... I can't..."

"Oh, yes, you can," I tell her firmly, pressing them into her hands. "I hope this helps."

The woman stares for a long moment, and then takes the coins with trembling fingers, gazing at me with watery eyes. "Thank you," she whispers. "Maker smile on you!" She clutches her gold-filled hands to her chest and gives me a watery smile of her own, and then slips the coins safely into her pocket as she walks quickly down the stairs to the street below, calling out as she hurries along. "Walter! Cricket! Boys, where are you? Find the others, we have been blessed!"

Isabela gives a little chuckle. "Oh, Hawke," she sighs, half fondly, half in mock reproof. "Helping the helpless, as always." She grins wickedly. "Too bad Merrill wasn't here to see."

I glance at her sidelong, noting the suggestive eyebrow she raises at me with some apprehension. "I'm sure I'll regret asking you to explain that, but... why, exactly?"

Her grin widens. "Surely you've noticed how much she loves it when you play the hero?" she replies. "I'd bet if she'd seen that, whatever you just gave that woman would have come back to you once she got you home. In a very good way." She winks at me. "I can slip your random act of generosity into conversation next time I see her, if you like. Always willing to do a friend a favour."

Oh, Isabela... I give her a slow, meaningful smile. "Thanks, Isabela, but no favours needed in that area, if you catch my drift."

"Ohh..." Isabela laughs. "Shivery..."

"Speaking of Daisy, Hawke, why isn't she here?" Varric asks as we continue along the dimly lit Darktown street towards Anders' clinic, shrugging when I look at him questioningly. "It's just seems a little odd, considering that you two are more or less inseparable these days. Feels a bit strange. Sort of... wrong, even. Or..." An expression of brotherly concern comes over his face. "Is she still hurt? I thought you said she was better now."

"She's fine," I reassure him. "But somebody has to stay home to make sure the griffon keeps out of trouble."

"Oh, yes," Varric chuckles. "That. Maker's breath, Hawke, you get yourself into the strangest situations. Don't know why I was surprised that you actually found a live griffon, to be honest; this is exactly like one of those fake stories I make up about you. So tell me, what's it like living with a tiny creature of myth and legend?"

"Wonderful, but..." I sigh. "Tiring. He requires constant supervision. It's like... having a baby. An unusually cunning and curious baby who can climb on top of shelves and tables and open cabinet doors with his claws. And then devour the contents indiscriminately. A good thing he appears to have an iron stomach."

"Aw," Isabela says, smiling. "You two, with a baby... It's a sickeningly adorable image."

Really? That's all she got from what I said? I give her an uncertain smile; I'm not entirely certain how to respond to that. "I daresay a child would be less trouble," I say eventually. "We thought it would be alright to leave him with the dog to mind him, but evidently not, since last time we went to the market for five minutes, we came home to find the kitchen was a disaster zone. Feathers is quite a bad influence on my dear old mabari, it seems. So until Mother comes back from Ostwick, someone always has to be home to watch him." My mouth quirks in a wry grin. "Unless we want the house demolished."

Behind me, Varric chuckles. "Sounds like he's more trouble than he's worth. That's even taking into account all the stories I'm going to get out of him." I give him a look, and he raises his hands in mock-defensiveness. "I know, I know. No names. I'm not going to let anyone know you have a baby griffon until you're ready for the world to know, I promise. I'm just saying, little Feathers sounds like more than a handful."

"I'm sure I'm making it sound worse than it is. Truth be told, it's only been a few days since Merrill woke up; I'm quite happy for her to have a few more-or-less restful days at home." I grin wryly. "Though, whether or not keeping a baby griffon out of trouble can truly be considered 'restful' is another matter entirely."

"Yes, well, as happy as I am that kitten is well, we did come here at such an ungodly hour for some reason other than discussing her state of health, didn't we?" Isabela asks with a tired voice, rubbing at her temples again. "Otherwise, I am going to go to bed." She groans softly. "Or perhaps... simply find a nice cool ditch to lay facedown in..."

"Head giving you trouble, is it?" I grin. "I don't think I've ever seen you suffer adversely from too much ale. And here I thought you were a professional."

Isabela groans. "Quintus imported a special dwarven brew from Kal'Hirol. Lava Burst. It's unbelievably strong," she manages. "I didn't feel it at all last night, but... well, it's certainly starting to hit me now. I'd never had anything like it. Can't imagine what in the Maker's name it's made from."

"Trust me, Rivaini," Varric chuckles. "You don't want to know. But it's a sipping ale, if you value your innards. I don't suppose you sipped, though, did you?"

"I most certainly did not," Isabela replies, a noticeable hint of pride in her voice. "Despite the fact that it... well, there's no other way to describe it. It tastes like burning."

"Well, then, I'm afraid you'll get no sympathy from me, dear," I tell her. And she won't. If she hadn't insisted that she was 'perfectly well enough to come along on some random adventures, thank you very much', she could be happily lying on the floor of her rooms right now with a bucket by her head. "You have no one to blame but yourself, really."

Isabela groans dramatically. "Oh, you are utterly heartless."

"Yes, well, my generosity has its limits, I'm afraid," I smile.

"And apparently the current limit is five sovereigns," Varric grins as we reach the run-down Darktown clinic at last.

Apart from the ever-burning lantern above the door outside, none of the candles or torches appear to be lit. "Anders?" I call as I push open the door and step inside, Isabela and Varric following close behind me. It seems unusually empty for this time of the morning, and no one waiting outside for treatments, either. Odd. If it weren't for the "matter of vital importance" mentioned in the letter he sent to me far too early this morning, I might think that perhaps Anders wasn't awake yet, but that would still be quite unusual. Where is he? I light the room with a casual flick of my hand and a silent spell, eyes straining towards the back of the room as I call out again with a touch of impatience. "Anders? Are you here?"

"Hawke?" Anders pokes his head around the edge of the doorway leading to his rooms at the far end of his workshop, and I wave the scrap of parchment containing the message he sent me pointedly in the air.

"I'm here," I say, rather unnecessarily. "You wanted to speak to me? About something regarding the mages' plight?"

The ex-Grey Warden hurries into the room, hastily tying his hair back into its customary tail. Evidently he didn't expect me to respond to his summons quite this hastily; though that does beg the question as to why he made it seem so dire. Perhaps it's just sort of normal for him to overdramatise, now. "Good morning, Hawke," he greets me, smiling. His eyes flick over my shoulder, and a look of surprise briefly flashes across his face. "Isabela? Varric? What are you doing here?"

"We followed Hawke, of course," Varric says wryly. "It's the only way we get to see the sun. None of us can go anywhere without her, after all; you know that, Blondie. More than most, considering where you currently reside." He quirks an eyebrow at the tall mage. "And good morning to you too, by the way."

Anders smiles ruefully. "My apologies. Good morning to you both. I am glad to see you of course, it's just..." He resettles his gaze on my face. "I... thought you might have come alone, given the... sensitive nature of the message."

Sensitive nature? "What do you mean? All it says is that you wanted to discuss something about the mages' plight," I say in some confusion, giving Anders a questioning look. "What, don't you think Isabela and Varric can be trusted?"

"About this, or in general?" Anders asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Because my answer changes depending on which question you're asking."

"Ha. You are such a wit," Isabela drawls sarcastically. "I can barely contain my mirth." She quirks one dark eyebrow a mere fraction of an inch. "See?"

"You'll have to forgive her," I tell him in apologetic amusement. "Her head is a little... unstable this morning. As is her temper."

Anders inclines his head comprehendingly. "Ah." He turns to the crafting table behind him and takes a flask of what appears to be one of his special remedies for the after-effects of too much ale, wordlessly handing it to her with a small wry smile. Isabela snatches it from him with a brief nod of thanks and a wink before heading with Varric to slump against the clinic wall. I shake my head fondly as I watch her lean against her amused-looking dwarven partner-in-crime, who seems no worse for wear after his night of drinking and debauchery. She didn't have to come with me; I was perfectly content to brave the streets of Darktown by myself. At least now she has one of Anders' treatments into the bargain. That's something, at least.

I turn to Anders, the rough feel of the parchment in my hand recalling me to why I've come. "Your message seemed to strongly imply your problem was urgent, or I wouldn't have come so early."

"No, I'm glad you're here, Hawke," he says quickly. "It is urgent, I'm afraid. Once you hear me out, I'm certain you'll think so too. This is regarding the... matter I thought I might have needed your assistance with several days ago, before all that trouble with the damned Antiquarian." He sighs, the lines of worry about his eyes and mouth deepening noticeably. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I doubt if I can deal with it by myself. Not anymore."

Well, it must be serious if he is actually planning to involve me in Underground business. I look at him in concern. "What is it, Anders?"

He glances cautiously towards the open door out into the Darktown street, and then closes his fingers about my forearm and draws me further into the shadows at the back of the clinic. "Have you noticed how many Tranquil are in the Gallows courtyard lately?" he asks, leaning in towards me, keeping his voice low. He is standing so near I have to crane my neck to look up at him. Considering that besides Isabela and Varric, who aren't even listening, I am the only person who could possibly hear him even if he spoke at normal volume and wasn't seriously encroaching on my personal space; his over-caution seems a tad superfluous. "And don't tell me I'm just sensitive to it," he continues, apparently oblivious to my discomfort. "I've been watching and every day there are new Tranquil, selling their bloody wares. Good mages, too. People I know passed their Harrowing."

All thoughts concerning Anders' unnecessary closeness vanish from my mind at his words. My eyes widen as I look up at him, a ball of anger kindling in the pit of my stomach. "But they can't do that! Doesn't Chantry law say that mages who pass their Harrowing can't be made Tranquil?" I ask incredulously. I'm sure I'm right. Father taught me all the laws that apply to mages, and I remember that one particularly; it's a rather important one, if I recall correctly. The penalties for breaking it are supposed to be quite severe.

Anders nods, eyes serious. "Exactly. That's what this is about. The Templars are using the Rite of Tranquillity to silence those who speak against them. They're working on a deliberate plan to turn every mage in Kirkwall within the next three years."

Maker's breath... "Who's behind this?" I ask him. There are many Templars I can think of who would lend their full support to such an idea, but there are also others who would not. Few and far between perhaps, like Thrask, but enough to argue effectively against it. At least, I would have thought so. Certainly this cannot be an open intention, however. "Surely not all the Templars can be involved."

"The plan is the work of a Templar named Ser Alrik. I've had a run-in with him myself," Anders tells me, a clear note of hatred in his voice. A pained look flashes across his face. "He's the one who did the ritual on Karl. Nasty piece of work, likes to make mages beg."

I feel a surge of sorrow at the look in his eyes. What it must be like for him, to have that happen to someone he clearly cared for so much... I don't know exactly what his feelings for Karl had been, but Tranquillity is a fate worse than death for any mage. For all that the Templars claim it saves the lives of the mages given the Rite, it is still a sentence of death, sure as execution or murder. It razes the mind and personality of the victim completely, leaving them as nothing but a shell; the life and vibrancy of the person they once were gone, lost, utterly destroyed. How can they refuse to see that? I know if the Templars ever got their hands on Merrill, and I lost her in such a way... Maker. I can't even think about. I wouldn't survive losing her like that. "I'm sorry, Anders," I say with quiet feeling.

Anders looks at me in silence for a moment, and then inclines his head once, accepting my sympathy. "Thank you." He hesitates. "You... can see why I didn't want to involve you. I'm sorry; I had no choice."

"I understand," I tell him. Truly, I'm just glad he is finally letting me do something, whatever it turns out to be. "But please, don't worry about me. I'm happy to help. What happened between you and Ser Alrik?"

"You know I've been involved with an... underground resistance," Anders begins, glancing about furtively as he speaks. "Mages, living free in Kirkwall, who help others escape."

"Yes..." I prompt with waning patience as he trails off frustratingly.

A strange look crosses his face as he gazes down at me, as though warring internally with himself over what to tell me exactly. "It was during one of our... operations," Anders says at last. "I can't tell you anymore about the Resistance, for your sake and theirs." I suppress a growl of irritation. This again? He doesn't need to protect me; I'm sure I could be useful to him! "Suffice it to say, I've been in the Gallows," he continues, despite my obvious displeasure at his reticence. His eyes fill with sorrow and anger, and a glint of murderous hate. "I've seen Ser Alrik's work firsthand."

That amount of abhorrence and loathing seems more than can be explained by Alrik's treatment of Karl alone. What else has this bastard done? "Tell me about this Templar," I tell him, concerned by the look of barely restrained rage on his face. "What else do you know about him?"

"More than I'd ever wished to," Anders growls through gritted teeth, a flicker of blue spirit fire flaring in his eyes for a moment. I take an involuntary step back, and he makes a visible effort to calm himself, keeping Justice at bay. "Sorry," he says apologetically. "It's just… speaking of this vicious piece of excrement makes me so furious."

I nod my understanding. "I can imagine."

"Not yet, you can't. But you will," Anders says grimly. Ominously. "The Knight-Commander is at least sincere in her convictions. However misguided, she believes she's helping people." He takes a deep breath, his face hardening. "Ser Alrik's a sadist. Cold-blooded as a lizard. He likes to experiment on mages, find out what it takes to push them into the arms of demons."

Andraste have mercy, how can Meredith be allowing this? All I have heard of her suggests that she does, as Anders says, truly believe in order and justice, not in needlessly abusing the mages under her charge. Maybe the actions of Templars such as Ser Alrik are being deliberately kept from her by a corrupt few. Surely the Knight-Commander mustn't know of such depravities... though on the other hand, if she doesn't know, it does not speak well of her control over the Templars under her command. Better that than to find the corruption goes all the way to the top, however, especially to someone as powerful and influential as Meredith. "Then perhaps the blame can be laid on him, and not every Templar?" I venture. "There may be more chance of getting someone to listen to claims of corruption in one man than the whole of the Order."

"That's what I hope," Anders agrees, nodding. "If we bring evidence of this plan to light, there must be men who'll stand against it. Perhaps even the Grand Cleric will finally be forced to act."

"How do we stop them?" I ask him, tilting my head inquisitively. "Do you have a plan?"

Anders looks about again in yet another show of caution, then bends down even closer to me, speaking as softly as he can. "My friends in the mage underground know of a secret entrance under the walls of the Gallows," he answers. "If we can find some shred of proof of Ser Alrik's despicable plan, we can bring it to the authorities. Show the world what mages are forced to suffer." He looks into my eyes. "Come with me, please. Help me find evidence of Ser Alrik's 'Tranquil Solution'."

I frown at the unfamiliar term. "What do you mean, 'Tranquil solution'?"

"That's what he calls it," Anders says, his voice charged with anger. "His idea of a 'peaceful' solution to the mage problem - to sunder the mind of every mage in the Free Marches! I'm told he's bringing his proposal to Val Royeaux, to the Divine herself. He would turn every mage in Thedas into a drooling simpleton under his command!"

"Then we have to stop him," I say without hesitation, my voice firm with determination and not a little anger.

"So you'll help me?" Anders asks, eyes filled with a combination of cautious hope and surprise.

I blink at him, somewhat taken aback. How could he doubt it? I've been trying to get him to let me help the Mage Underground for years, why wouldn't I help him now? "Of course. I wouldn't let you face this alone," I tell him simply. "And I can't stand by while monsters such as this man are permitted to abuse our people like this."

Anders gazes at me, a strange expression on his face. "You are the one bright light in Kirkwall," he says softly, fervently. He stares at me for a moment more, something unreadable in his amber eyes, and then gives his head the smallest shake. "I'm ready to go when you are."

I nod decisively, beckoning to Isabela and Varric, who rise and wander over. "We should go before Ser Alrik puts his plan into action," I say to him as they reach us, then quickly explain our intentions to them as Anders disappears into his back rooms to ready himself.

He is back within a few moments, staff in hand. "Our entrance is concealed not far from here," he says as we follow him out into the dank Darktown street, trying to match his swift, long-legged pace with varying degrees of success. "If we find evidence of Ser Alrik's plan, I'm taking it straight to the Grand Cleric," he continues as he glances back at me, his tone controlled, but his eyes blazing with unrestrained fire. "She will not be able to claim neutrality then."

---

"What use is an impenetrable fortress built in the middle of a lake if anyone with the most basic lock picking skills and a disregard for cleanliness can crawl through these vermin-infested tunnels and waltz right into the Gallows from beneath?" I ask wryly as we make our way carefully through the damp, dripping underground tunnel, the ancient rocky walls heavy with moss, cobwebs, and a strange, oozing moisture I don't particularly want to contemplate. "Or waltz right out of it. Not that I'm complaining, but who in the Void built such convenient escape tunnels?"

"Lyrium smugglers built them," Anders says, his voice harsh with disdain. "To service the Templars who crave the stuff. They weren't terribly careful where they were excavating, unfortunately, so they break through into the old waste pipes in more than one place."

"Yes, it does seem rather... fragrant down here," Isabela comments, her voice heavy with irony. She certainly sounds as though she's feeling better, despite our situation. Anders truly does know his remedies. I should ask him for some of his recipes, I think; sometime when we aren't knee-deep in muck and trouble… although come to think of it, if that's what I'm going to wait for, then the world will likely end well before I get the opportunity. Isabela makes a noise of disgust as she uses a patch of dubious-looking moss to wipe something particularly disgusting and unmentionable from the sole of her boot. "The smugglers would want to charge a fortune just for having to transport their goods through here, if only so they could afford a new pair of boots after every job. I suppose the Templars must really like their lyrium; it would take a massive shipment to make this trek worthwhile."

"Indeed. It's an addiction that has proven highly convenient for us, however," Anders continues. "I have personally led five mages to freedom through these tunnels. They bent to kiss the ground through the sewage."

"I can believe that. It's quite a comment on Kirkwall's attitude, that the Templars house their mages in an old slave prison," I observe quietly. "Really sends a message." I glance behind me at Varric and Isabela, who are following along at a slightly slower pace. "How are you both doing?"

"Don't you worry about us, Hawke, we're with you," Isabela says determinedly. "This Ser Alrik sounds like a real bastard. I'm uncomfortable enough with the concept of Tranquillity as it is; I can't even fathom the mind of a man who believes that ripping apart the souls of all mages everywhere just in case they might one day do something wrong is a good idea. And the Templars here wonder why so many people are sympathetic towards mages. I can hardly blame either of you for wanting to take him down. "

"Ever considered just coming out and making it open warfare, Hawke?" Varric says dryly. "At least then you mages might get a fair fight."

Anders gives a low, bitter laugh. "Even if we had the numbers to challenge them, the Templars would always fight dirty. They fear to fight us, so they destroy our minds instead. They're despicable."

I see a flash of movement through a doorway up ahead and grab Anders' arm quickly to halt him, pressing a finger to my lips as he looks at me questioningly.

"People," I mouth silently, gesturing towards the opening. He nods, and I motion for Isabela and Varric to quietly bring up the rear as we edge towards the open door. Voices ring from the space beyond the opening as we approach; the harsh laughter of men, and the softer, terrified tones of what sounds like a young girl, pleading with them. I exchange an anxious glance with Anders, and we increase our quiet pace, moving up to the doorway and peering through into the faintly lit cavern. A knot of men in Templar uniform stand in a straggled line, blocking the escape of a young, frightened girl in the drab robes of a circle mage. Their leader, a tall, bald man whose uniform designates him as a Templar-Lieutenant, advances on her menacingly.

"No, please!" she cries, backing away from him, her face filled with terror. Her back hits the unforgiving slab of granite wall behind her, and she looks about the group of men desperately. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

"That's a lie," their leader drawls, coming to a halt a few steps from the girl, who whimpers involuntarily at his approach. His face is turned away from us as we watch unnoticed from the doorway, but I can hear the twisted, sinister smile pervading his oily voice. He turns his balding head towards his fellow Templars, his profile just visible to us in the dull light of the cavern. "What do we do to mages who lie?"

Anders breathes in quietly next to me; a sudden, shocked intake of breath. I glance at him questioningly, and he gives me a meaningful look with narrowed eyes, his lips silently forming a single word;

"Alrik."

I feel my own eyes open wider as I look back at the scene before us. So. This is the man.

"I-I just wanted to see my m-mum," the girl stammers fearfully. "N-no one ever told h-her where they were t-taking me..."

A low growl issues from Anders' throat. I glance at him in concern, noting the tell-tale blue glow shining from his eyes, but before I can say anything, they fade back to amber. "No. No, this is their place," he whispers to himself, clearly struggling with the spirit attempting to take command of him. "We cannot—"

The insidious voice of the Templar leader interrupts him. "So, you admit your attempted escape?" he gloats, clearly taking great pleasure in the young girl's terror. She hangs her head, and a vile chuckle issues from the bastard's throat. "You know what happens to mage girls who don't toe the line around here, don't you?"

The young mage's expression turns from fear to abject terror, and she drops to her knees. "Please, no!" she begs, gazing up at him beseechingly. "Don't make me Tranquil! I'll do anything!"

A single escape attempt, and he will make her Tranquil? Without the knowledge or agreement of the Knight-Commander or First Enchanter? Anders was right. I glance at my companions and nod my head towards the doorway, signalling them to follow me through as quietly as possible. The Templars have yet to notice our presence, focused as they are on the helpless mage-child they are threatening. It's rare that we have the element of surprise, and I would like to get the jump on them before they can employ any of their mage-handling abilities, considering their numbers.

"That's right," Ser Alrik drawls, a note of perverse anticipation in his voice. "Once you're Tranquil, you'll do anything I ask." The other Templars laugh cruelly, and the girl flinches, a dry sob of terror escaping her as she stares wide-eyed at her tormentors. She remains unaware of our presence as we edge silently into the cavern, focused as she is on the depraved Templar looming over her. Alrik steps closer and she cringes against the wall behind her in a vain attempt to evade his grasp, but only succeeds in making him chuckle revoltingly. "And I do... mean... anything..." he says as he grabs for her arm, drawing out the last word with sinister satisfaction.

Maker. I grit my teeth, feeling my nails bite into my palms as my hands clench into furious fists. This is not a man, it's a monster. Glaring around the group, I can see no women among them, which is further indication of their true intentions with this girl. Monsters, all of them. You filthy mongrel bastards... Anders growls deep in his throat beside me, fingers clenched so hard about his staff that the well-worn birchwood creaks with the pressure. I doubt he can contain himself much longer. Nor can I; this has gone far enough. It's past time to announce our presence, I think. Not a one of these disease-ridden pieces of excrement will ever lay their filthy hands on this child.

"The Chantry frowns on Templars who take personal advantage of their charges," I say loudly before the wretched man can touch her, the high stone walls taking my voice and flinging it about the cavern like the ringing condemnation of an infuriated god. If I weren't so livid with righteous anger, part of me would be amused at the way the other Templars jump like startled rabbits at the noise.

Ser Alrik spins on his heel, a look of extreme displeasure on his face at the unwelcome interruption. "Who's this?" he demands of his followers imperiously, as though they ought to know.

"It's the Divine," Varric quips scornfully from behind me. "Come all the way from Orlais to tell you, personally, what a jackass you are."

"Amusing," Alrik sneers disdainfully, regaining his composure as he keeps his eyes on me. "You are interfering in Templar business, girl. How did you get in here?"

"You honestly think we'll tell you?" Anders answers scornfully before I can say a word. "You must be as stupid as you are foul."

Ser Alrik's turns his gaze on him, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face. "I remember you," he says slowly. "The apostate whom I caught in the act of abducting one of my charges." He gestures to his followers with a gauntleted hand, and they turn to face us warily, hands edging steadily towards swords and daggers and bows. "You eluded me then, but this time, there is nowhere to run."

"She was not abducted. She was freed," Anders snaps as I glance surreptitiously to Isabela and Varric, giving them an almost imperceptible nod, causing them to reach slowly for their own weapons. "And I have no intention of running, you soulless bastard. We learned of your vile plans. Your 'Tranquil Solution'."

Alrik gives a mocking laugh. "And you've come to stop me, I suppose? How dramatic." He signals again, and his men react instantly, drawing their arms as one. "A shame you brought so few to challenge me. Sheer foolishness, really."

The mage girl behind them struggles to her feet and takes her chance to flee while her tormentors are distracted, making a break for the stairs, but two of the Templars grab her roughly by either arm, the cruel steel tips of their gauntlets digging into her flesh as she cries out in fright and pain. I feel her magic blaze as she reaches for it instinctively, sending pale red fire flickering along her arms. One of the Templars holding her curses violently as the directionless magic jolts through him. His partner utters a short chant under his breath and the girl falls quiet, her body sagging between them as her mana is drained from her.

I bare my teeth in a snarl, my own power flaring in response to my anger. "Get your filthy hands off her!"

Steel sings behind me as Isabela brandishes her daggers with a flourish, her voice as hate-filled as mine as she finishes my threat. "Or we'll remove them. Permanently."

Alrik's eyes widen with righteous outrage, pale eyebrows raised halfway up his hairless head. "Another mage?" I feel a strange force pass over my body and shiver involuntarily just as Ser Alrik breathes in sharply, his eyes widening in alarm. "How has one with power such as yours eluded the notice of the Order for this long?" he snarls, and I stare in surprise. He must have used some sort of Templar power to gauge my mana. Their abilities really seem to border on magic; due in no small part to the lyrium they consume. Such hypocrisy.

Quickly, I raise an arcane shield about myself, altering the spell to fit it closely against my body to prevent hampering my movements. I have never fought against Templars in such numbers, nor in such close quarters; I do not want to give them the chance to drain me with their cursed lyrium-fuelled abilities. "The Templars are not as in control as you appear to believe," I tell him contemptuously.

Alrik glances about at his men, pointing his sword at me threateningly. "Forget the girl, seize this apostate!"

Anders' entire body flares a brilliant blue-white as he snarls in anger at Alrik's words. His voice deepens as the spirit within him seizes control. "You fiends will never touch a mage again!"

"Demon!" Ser Alrik exclaims in horror. "Destroy the abomination! Quickly!"

The Templars drop the young mage, joining their fellows and ignoring her completely as she presses herself against the rock face at her back, curled into a quivering ball. Alrik gestures, and they take up strategic positions at his back; archers on the stairs and the rocky landing above, swordsmen coming to the fore and charging as the dagger-wielding hunters skirt the perimeter, trying to flank us. I signal Isabela and Varric to deal with the archers first as I grab my staff from its holder, sweeping it in a graceful curve towards the oncoming line of swordsmen, encasing them in a wave of solid ice and freezing their bodies into glittering statues. At the height of my power, this spell would mean instant death, but Templars are protected by the essence of magic itself; leaving them at our backs would be a foolish risk if the lyrium in their veins warded them long enough for the spell to fade. We are outnumbered badly enough already as it is. I gesture to Varric, who lines himself up with the frozen men and loads Bianca with an armour-piercing bolt, then fires the hard-tipped projectile straight through them all with one shot, shattering their bodies with the impact.

"That's three for me already, Hawke!" he calls gleefully as he loads another bolt and aims it at an archer on the wall above us. "Better keep up!"

I smile grimly as I raise my hands above my head, sending down a rain of fire on the Templars at the back of the group, calling down each brightly burning ball precisely on their heads and setting them instantly ablaze. They scream as one and drop their weapons and fall to the ground, writhing and rolling in a futile effort to douse the flames. "I think I can manage that."

"Hawke, hit the deck!" Isabela screams from the top of the stairway to my left, and I fall to the ground, obeying the order as swiftly as though I were one of her crew, just as an arrow rips the air right where my head would have been. An instant later the body of the archer responsible slams into the ground before me, blood pouring from the gaping slash in his throat.

I shoot Isabela a grateful glance as I rise, then I spin on my heel, shooting a stone fist straight into the face of a hunter moments before his razor-tipped daggers find purchase in my back. Maker, two close calls in the space of a breath... this is going badly already, and we've only just begun. Swiftly I move to the edge of the fight before I can be cornered again and fight at range, targeting Templars with spirit bolts, lightning and fireballs, determined not to let myself be surrounded. If I let them get close enough to dampen my abilities, I'm lost; even at this distance, I can feel the effects of the magebane coating their weapons and armour beginning to affect me, weakening my spells and gradually draining my mana. Anders - or Justice, I suppose - seems to be having little trouble, however, engaged as he is in the centre of the throng, despatching the Chantry warriors left and right in an effort to get to the Templar-Lieutenant, unaffected by their lyrium-granted powers. Alrik's followers have him surrounded in a veritable human shield at their leader's order as he their lives to spare his own without a shred of remorse in his pale, cold eyes. There are too many of them. Andraste, we must have taken out a good dozen, and we're still outnumbered two to one, not to mention how constricted I am by the threat of the Templars' magebane and draining powers! Justice, still blazing with wisps of darkness and light, is still trying to fight his way to Alrik, while Isabela battles fiercely against two Templar hunters. She is holding her own, but she can't keep it up forever. I push with my mind and blast one of her attackers off his feet, and she gives me a grateful look before returning her attention to the other. With his last remaining crossbow bolt, Varric shoots the would-be duellist in the throat when he tries to rise, then pulls a knife from his boot as another hunter leaps towards him in retaliation, forced to defend himself with a blade little bigger than a breadknife. I cast a spell and slow the bigger man down, trying to give Varric a fighting chance, then glance towards Justice, now completely surrounded by swordsmen, all of them fighting ferociously. But they were defending Alrik... I cast my gaze about frantically, realising that Alrik is nowhere to be seen amongst his followers. Maker, if they're all surrounding Anders now, then where-

Sharp, fiery pain drags along the underside of my arm and my staff clatters to the ground as I lose my grip in shock, gasping at the sudden agony flaring along my limb. I turn swiftly to find Alrik standing directly behind me, the beltknife in his hand dripping with my blood as a slow, sinister smile oozes across his face. Frantically, I try to heal myself, but nothing happens, my mana cannot touch the wound. Andraste's mercy, the blade must have been coated in magebane...

Quick as a twisting serpent, Alrik closes the short distance between us, taking full advantage of my shock to hook his booted foot behind my leg and pull, sending me crashing to the ground. I scramble to my knees, trying to form a fireball but he raises a hand and mutters an inaudible chant. A wave of insidious cold chills me to the bone, and the flames flicker and die at my fingertips as a numbing quiet surrounds me, cutting me off from my mana like a clear stone wall. Oh, Maker, this must be what Father called the Silence... I fight down a wave of dread and alarm, struggling to my knees and trying desperately to think. Andraste, what do I do?

Suddenly, Father's deep, calming voice echoes through my mind as I draw desperately on the memories of his long ago lessons...

'Templars have many ways of exerting control over mages with their lyrium-granted abilities, but the most effective and by far the most terrifying is the Silence. When the Silence takes you, remain calm. If you let your fear rule your reason, they will have you, so be sure to keep your head-'

Alrik lunges down before I can rise and grasping the hair at the nape of my neck, forcing me to look at him. Instinctively, I grasp his arm with my left hand to ease the pressure on my scalp as I grab for my belt knife with my right, but my movements are slow, hampered by the deep cut along my arm, and Alrik kicks the blade from my hand. Panic stricken, I fight against his grasp as the familiar, terrifying feeling of helplessness threatens to overwhelm me; old, ugly memories trying to surface. Oh, Maker...

"There, now," he says, eyes shining excitedly as he gloats. "No point in struggling, my dear. It's over. Your friends are surrounded and outnumbered." I glance over towards the others, my heart sinking as I see the truth of his words, see Isabela and Varric, now fighting desperately back-to-back against a knot of hunters while Justice roars in wrathful fury at the circle of Templars trying to overwhelm him. Alrik gives my head a wrench, staring into my eyes with cold triumph at my choked cry of pain. "My men will soon dispose of them, but you..." A malicious grin spreads over his sallow face. "An apostate as powerful as you, left unchecked and raised without Chantry guidance for so long... well, I'm afraid that you are far too great a threat to the people of Kirkwall to be allowed to retain your mind and free will."

I hold his vicious, openly lustful stare, trying not to let my fear show in my face. Damned if I will let this piece of refuse win. "Not going to happen," I tell him furiously, with far more conviction than I feel. "I will die before I let you brand me, you bastard!"

"You speak as though you have a choice," Alrik laughs, leering at me disgustingly. "Such a spirited little mage you are. A shame that your passion will be stripped from you once you are made Tranquil." He purses his lips thoughtfully. "Though, perhaps I can delay the Rite for a few days so that I can enjoy you as you are. I do like a little fire in a woman. And a little... fight."

'Remember that no one can unmake what you are, and that there is nothing short of Tranquillity that the Templars can do to truly take your magic.'

Father's voice sounds in my mind again, helping to sooth the fury kindled within me at the words and the touch of the filthy creature in the form of a man accosting me. I force myself to be calm and obey the kind, comforting words...

'The Silence is little more than a Templar mind trick, augmented by the lyrium they consume. But they cannot take it from you. You must fight the Silence in a mental capacity, not physically. Let go of your body and call for your mana.'

Against my every instinct, I stop fighting, stop struggling, and let myself relax, trying to feel my way past the strange, intangible wall of silence, searching for the magic within me. Alrik chuckles amusedly at what he perceives as submission. "Good girl," he says, his eyes roaming over my body. "Oh, yes. I shall enjoy having you... as my charge." He leans in close, the fetid stench of his breath making my eyes water. "And once you are made Tranquil, you will enjoy it too, my sweet. You will enjoy whatever I order you to."

'Your magic is always within you, sweetheart. You need only remember, and reach for it.'

The Silence dissipates as I tear through the ethereal barrier, hope rekindled within me as the sweet song of the Fade resonates through my entire being. I smile into Alrik's wretched face, feeling a surge of triumph as his watery blue eyes widen in bewildered astonishment for an instant before I push violently with my mind and send him flying, the force of my mental blast also hurling half the remaining Templars off their feet; freeing Justice, Varric and Isabela form their life-or-death battles in the process. Pirate and dwarf swiftly set to work despatching the fallen Templars before they can rise, and I struggle to my feet as Alrik hits the ground hard, sprawling in a graceless heap in the centre of the cavern - right at the feet of Justice.

Ser Alrik drags himself painfully to his knees, then freezes abruptly, gazing up in horror as the glowing spirit twists the face of its host into a frightening snarl. Justice raises a fist full of blazing spirit power, and Alrik draws himself up, his face regaining a measure of hate-filled composure.

"Maker curse you, you will pay for this," he says, haughty and self-righteous even now, at the last. "Mark my words, you corrupted, soulless abomination, you will suffer-"

The glowing fist comes down. Alrik shrieks as the spirit bolt envelops him, searing through his body and sending him into convulsions, twisting tendrils of magic writhing through the air and destroying the remaining Templars as well in a horrible cacophony of screams and howls. Isabela and Varric turn at the noise, absently wiping blood from their blades on the skirts of the already dead Templars and watching in horrified fascination as the rest of the corrupted holy warriors choke out their last breaths and die.

Once they decide it's safe to move, Varric begins cautiously retrieving crossbow bolts from the bodies of his kills at the perimeter of the cavern as Isabela picks her way over to me. She hisses as her sharp eyes note the bloody rip in my shirtsleeve. "Hawke, you're bleeding!" she says in concern, swiftly unknotting the scarf about her waist and binding my arm quickly. She clicks her tongue reprovingly. "You really ought to take to wearing something a little more appropriate for a fight, you know."

I raise a brow at her. "You're telling me about appropriate dress?"

She rolls her eyes. "I know, I know, don't say it. I can talk, right? But I'm not here as your example. And you'll notice I'm not the one bleeding like a speared fish. Just think about a little leather, here and there. Strictly for protective purposes, of course," she smirks, looking me up and down appreciatively, then glances across the cavern to where Varric stands. "Varric!" she calls. "You alright?"

"Fine, Rivaini," he replies without looking at us. His attention is fixed on Anders, still under the control of Justice, still furiously and futilely shooting searing jolts of pure spirit energy into the broken bodies of the dead Templar unit, apparently oblivious to the end of the battle. "Not so sure about Blondie, though."

A small, whimpering cry reaches my ears, and I look towards the source of the noise, concern filling me as I see the unfortunate little circle mage, still curled in a protective ball, huddling as close to the cavern wall as she can. I start to go to her, meaning to comfort her and make certain she's unharmed, but Anders – Justice – turns at my movement, slashing angrily at nothing with his staff, caught in a rage as wisps of dark spirit magic drift about the body of his host, his eyes blazing as he searches vainly for another target.

"They will die!" he roars, swept up in his righteous fury. "I will have every last templar for these abuses!"

I approach him with caution, watching him worriedly. "It's over, Anders. They're all dead."

In a movement almost faster than I can follow he spins to face me. "They will die!" he cries again, veins of glowing blue magic rippling across his form. "Every one of them will feel justice's burn!"

The little circle mage stares up at him, terrified. "Get away from me, demon!" she cries, raising her hands defensively as he whirls to face her.

"I am no demon!" Justice booms indignantly, stalking towards the girl, who presses herself against the rough cavern wall at his approach. "Are you one of them, that you would call me such!"

"No!" the mage girl quavers, terrified tears pooling in her eyes. "Andraste, please, take it away. I've been good. I've served the Chantry—"

"Silence!" the spirit snarls, and the girl curls in on herself instinctively in terror, whimpering in fear.

"Is this... still Justice?" Isabela asks, her voice subdued and uncertain. Her eyes are wide as she glances at me. "Didn't Anders claim it was a good spirit?"

A guttural growl issues from Anders' throat, the sound distorted by the creature within his soul. "I will have my vengeance!"

"Don't hurt her!" I start forwards, circling about him with careful movements until I stand between him and the terrified child. "Anders, this girl is a mage," I remind him, my voice low and urgent. "We rescued her from being made Tranquil."

"She is theirs!" Justice booms. "I can feel their hold on her!"

Swiftly I raise an arcane shield about the girl, protecting her from the spirit's wrath. I hope I can talk him down from his rage before this escalates; I don't have enough mana to protect both the girl and myself if this goes badly. "She's the reason you're fighting, Anders!" Maker above, I have never seen him so beyond reason. "Don't turn on her now!"

"Please..." the girl sobs. "Please, messere..."

"Anders…" I step in closer to him, keeping the shield steady about the petrified girl behind me. My eyes catch his and I hold his gaze, deliberately repeating his name in the hope that hearing it will help him fight the thing in possession of him. "Anders, I know you can hear me. You have to fight. This isn't the way."

"You stand with her," the spirit observes, twisting Anders' face into a frightening mask of anger as he gestures towards the bodies of the vanquished Templars. "Then you stand with them!"

"I do not stand with the Templars," I counter, trying not to let my anger at his ludicrous accusation enter my voice. "I am a mage. A free mage."

"No such mage exists. Not in this land," Justice snarls. "If you cannot admit what you are without fear, you have no more freedom than the Chantry slave who cowers at your feet."

"She can't help what she was raised to believe," I tell him quietly. "You will not harm her."

Justice surveys me coldly. "Anders believes you are the one to lead the mages to freedom. If you cannot recognise a threat, I have my doubts. However..." He pauses, narrowing his blue-veiled eyes. "I know his heart. Anders cares for you. I have no wish to harm you for his sake, but if you do not step aside, I will do what I must."

"He's my friend," I answer in some confusion. What threat? And what does the spirit mean; he knows Anders' heart? "Of course he cares. And I care about him. If you do this, the guilt will destroy him. How is this girl a threat? Why harm her? She's no danger to you; leave her be!"

Justice shakes his head slowly. "Foolish child. You understand so little of your own kind." He gestures to the trembling mage girl, working himself into a rage. "This one calls me a demon, and would allow the Chantry to subjugate her. All such mages undermine our efforts! In defending her, you defy the cause. You defy justice! I will not allow it!"

"No, Anders, you can hear me, I know you can! Don't let Justice do this!" I plead, staring past the blue glow of the thing in my friend's body, trying to see Anders beneath it. Behind him, Varric slowly raises Bianca, his expression reluctance warring with resolve as he aims the bolt point-blank at Anders' back. I shake my head imperceptibly at him, but he gives me a serious look and doesn't lower his weapon, determined to protect me. Hopefully he can do it without actually killing Anders, if I can't get through to him before Justice attacks me. "It's your body, Anders," I say with renewed urgency. "Take control!"

Justice glares at me, a murderous glint in his eyes as Anders' face contorts in cold fury. I raise my staff defensively, trying desperately to find some hidden reserves of mana as Justice raises a hand full of crackling azure fire, ready to strike at me... and then he stops.

"No!" The voice that tears hoarsely from Anders' throat is his own, clutching at his temples as he grapples with the Fade creature inside him. "I will not let you harm her!" The blue glow fades from his hand and his eyes as he regains control of his body, banishing Justice back into the imprisoning recesses of his mind. I watch him carefully for a few moments as he slowly straightens, breathing hard, and then I cautiously drop the shield around the circle mage, who immediately struggles to her feet and flees, stumbling up the stairs and through the darkened archway above us. Anders turns to me, a look of absolute horror on his ash-pale face.

"Maker, no..." he says, voice shaking. "I almost... If you weren't here..."

"Anders, it's alright now." I step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder, intending to offer him comfort but he flinches back, shaking his head.

"It's not alright, Hawke, I'm so sorry, I'm... I..." He staggers back. "I need to get out of here."

He turns on his heel and breaks into a run, brushing past Isabela and Varric through the door into the passage we came through, sprinting around the corner and disappearing into the darkness.

"Maker's balls..." Varric blows out his breath, lowering his crossbow. "Thank the sodding ancestors you got through to him, Hawke. I really didn't want have to kill Blondie. His diamondback face is far too profitably awful." He glances back in the direction Anders fled, the worried look on his face belying his irreverent words. "Should we go after him, or...?"

"Loot the bodies first," Isabela puts in, unsuccessfully trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice. She shrugs as she notices our eyes on her. "You know... give him a moment alone, and all that."

She has a point, whether or not she really means it. I nod. "Perhaps there may be something useful on Alrik's body, at any rate."

I approach Alrik's still smouldering body and bend down cautiously, trying not to touch him any more than necessary as I rummage through his belt pouch. My fingers close about a small roll of paper, and I pull it out, breaking the seal as I step away from the foul man's cooling corpse, quickly scanning the contents of the scroll. A small frown creases my brow at what I read;

To Her Excellency, Divine Justinia,

I am well aware both you and Knight-Commander Meredith have rejected my proposal, but I beg you to reconsider. The mages in the Free Marches are past controlling, their numbers have doubled in three years, and they have found a way to plant their abominations in our ranks. They cannot be contained! The Tranquil Solution is our answer. All mages at the age of majority must be made Tranquil. They'll coexist peacefully, retain their usefulness—a perfect strategy! It's simply the best way to ensure mages obey the laws of men and Maker.

I remain, as always, your obedient servant,

Ser Otto Alrik

So Alrik was truly trying to implement his Tranquil Solution across all Thedas, as Anders thought, but... he was alone in his endeavour, with no support from his superiors. This may not be quite what Anders wanted to find, but at least it is evidence that such a despicable plan did in fact exist. Perhaps there is some use that the Underground can get from this regardless.

Isabela straightens from her search of a dead Templar hunter as I finish reading, tucking the gold she just removed from the body safely down her blouse. "Found something, Hawke?" she asks curiously as she reaches my side, trying to read over my shoulder. "Ooh, a letter! Ah, secrets and intrigue. What does it say?"

"Not much," I answer absently, showing her. "Alrik obviously planned to send it to the Divine in Orlais. It just asks her to reconsider his 'proposal' about the Tranquil Solution."

"Is that what Anders was looking for?" Isabela asks, glancing at me inquisitively.

I give a one-shouldered shrug. "Yes and no. It proves that the Tranquil Solution was real, but it was not the wide-spread conspiracy that he believes. Alrik had no support from those above him."

"Well, we'd better go and check on Blondie anyway," Varric says, looking back at the passageway behind us. "Before he goes and does something dramatic."

He's not wrong there. We certainly need to make sure he's alright, given everything that just happened. "Yes, and he'll still want to see this, even if it's not quite what he's looking for," I agree, then glance towards the archway through which the young girl ran. I want to make certain she's alright before we leave her here on her own. Perhaps I can even convince her to flee the Gallows, then maybe some good will come out of all this trouble. "Just give me a moment. I want to speak with the mage girl if she's still here, to make sure she wasn't harmed." Isabela and Varric nod, and we head up the stairs towards the passage the girl vanished into. "Then we can head back to Anders' clinic to take care of him."

I do hope he doesn't do anything drastic before we get there.

---

"Trash. Trash. Keep. Trash. Trash..." The anger and self-loathing in Anders' voice is completely at odds with his actions as he crouches over the worn storage chest beneath his crafting bench, sorting out its contents in what I can only assume is an attempt to simulate feelings of order and control. "Won't be needing that anymore..."

Isabela and Varric glance worriedly at me. "I think you should be the one to talk to him, Hawke. You're better at dealing with... emotional shit," Varric says tactfully.

"Best not to make him feel crowded or cornered right now," Isabela adds. "And he'd be more comfortable speaking to you about this, what with the whole 'apostates in arms' thing and all."

"Fair point," I reply absently, watching in concern as Anders tosses an unidentified but evidently fragile item angrily across the room where it shatters against the wall. "I'll handle it."

Varric nods. "We'll be right here, Hawke."

I step through the clinic door, scuffing my boots loudly against the hard-packed earthen floor to announce my presence, though somehow I feel he already knows I'm here. "Anders, calm down," I tell him gently. "Throwing everything out isn't going to make you feel better."

He drops his head without looking at me, his knuckles growing white as he grasps the edges of the chest in a vice-like grip. "Should I feel better?" he asks, the words ringing with wretched despair.

"You're upset," I say, trying to keep my tone quiet and soothing. "We need to talk about it-"

Anders rises, turning to face me with a look of utter misery. "Upset doesn't begin to cover it," he interrupts me, voice trembling slightly with emotion. "You were the only thing that kept me from murdering an innocent girl! A mage! One of the very people I've dedicated my life to saving!"

"The girl is alright," I reassure him quickly. "I told her to find her parents, and then leave Kirkwall. Whatever else happened today, one more mage is free. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

He shakes his head, looking at me mournfully. "It doesn't make up for what I did. Not just to the girl, though that was bad enough, but to you!"

To me? I blink at him in confusion. What did he do to me? "What are you talking about? I'm fine."

Anders gazes at me with pained eyes, clearly distressed. "Hawke, I… I almost attacked you. Justice was fully in control, and he saw you as a threat. He wanted to kill you. What if I had…" He stretches out his hand to me, his fingers almost brushing my cheek before dropping his hand and stumbling back as though he doesn't trust himself to touch me. "Oh, Maker, Hawke, what if I had hurt you, or worse?! It's all gone wrong. Justice and I… we're just a monster, same as any abomination!"

"You were out of control. But even then, you heard what I was saying," I reason calmly. "You knew, in your heart, that you had to stop."

"You have too much faith in me," Anders says despairingly. "Without you, I'd never have known who was there until it was too late. I'd have killed that girl. I'd have tried to kill you. Perhaps I should be locked up."

Alright, clearly the gentle understanding approach isn't working. I fold my arms, meeting his eyes in a challenging glare. "So you're just going to stop? Let the Templars win?"

Anders gestures helplessly. "Maybe they deserve to win. Maybe they're right. How can I fight for the freedom of mages, when I am the example of the worst that freedom brings?" His eyes are bleak and dull, without even a hint of the driven fire for change I am so accustomed to seeing. I have never seen him so without hope. "How can I even trust myself to heal anymore?" he says forlornly. "What if that... creature of vengeance turns on a patient? Will he... will I... resist? Or will I loose his fury?"

"Mages are dangerous. Trained or untrained, we have power that people without magic can't comprehend. Power that some mages choose to use for ill, and others are unable to control," I allow regretfully. True or not, the admission is still a difficult one. "There's no escaping it. That's why this has been so hard." I reach out and grasp his arm supportively. "Make yourself a good example. Make yourself the proof that we can control our powers; that we can be a force for good, not something to be feared."

For a long moment Anders is silent, then he places his hand over mine on his arm. "Maybe you're right," he says at last.

I smile encouragingly, hearing the first spark of renewed hope in his voice again. "I'll help you through this," I tell him. "We got rid of Ser Alrik, right? Meredith will look downright reasonable in comparison. Loathe as I am to suggest it, maybe the Chantry can mediate this whole unpleasantness, if we bring it to the right people."

Anders gives a short, dry laugh. "Perhaps." He gives me a questioning look. "Then... did you find anything on Ser Alrik? Or was the "Tranquil Solution" just another of my delusions?"

"It exists," I tell him hesitantly, uncertain whether knowing this will make him feel better or worse. I draw the unsent letter from my pocket and hold it out to him. "But it was Ser Alrik's plan, no one else's. He and his men were acting alone, and against direct orders."

"Let me see that!" he says quickly, all but snatching the somewhat crumpled paper out of my hand in his haste. He reads the note quickly, and then looks up at me, astonishment writ large on his face. "The Divine... rejected the idea. Meredith rejected the idea! This was... not what I expected." He glances down at the paper again, running a hand over his hair as he scans its contents again. "Perhaps I should try talking to the Grand Cleric," he says slowly. "Maybe she's more reasonable than I thought. Though... I can hardly trust myself to go to the Chantry right now. Not with Justice so close to the surface." He takes a breath, and gives me a pleading, though markedly hesitant look. "Hawke... I know I have no right to ask you for anything more after today, but I don't know of anyone I can trust more than you. And the Grand Cleric knows you. Could you bring this to her attention? And perhaps... this is a lot to ask, but if you could give it to that Ser Cullen in the Gallows, perhaps he can give it to the Knight-Commander."

The Gallows again. At least there'll be more sunlight this time, and less raw sewage. Rather more Templars, though. Wonderful. But I do want to further the cause of mages, and if this will help... "Alright," I tell him. "I'll take care of it."

He breathes out in relief, giving me a grateful nod as he grasps my hand in both of his. "Thank you, Hawke. And not just for this. I... owe you more than I can ever repay." His gaze falls on the makeshift bandage on my arm, and a frown of concern crosses his face as he looks back up at me. "You're hurt?"

"A knife cut," I explain. "Courtesy of Alrik. It isn't serious, but I need to clean it of magebane before I can heal it."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Anders says, hurriedly reaching for a fresh cloth and a flask of elfroot potion.

I stand still as he swiftly unties Isabela's scarf from around my wound. "It isn't that bad; I was just going to take care of it later," I reply, suppressing a wince as he dabs expertly at the gash. "It must be after midday now, after all." My mouth curves in a fond smile at the word as my thoughts run to home, and the beautiful elf waiting for me inside. She did know where I was going this morning, of course, but I wasn't sure how long I would be out. Maker, I can't wait to get back to her; I'm already deeply regretting agreeing to show Alrik's letter to the Knight-Captain and the Grand Cleric today. Hopefully it won't take me too long, and I'll be back in Merrill's arms before I know it. "Merrill will be wondering where I've gotten to."

Anders' hold on my arm tightens a little. I glance at him questioningly, uncertain whether his reaction was connected with my mention of Merrill. There is a pronounced downturn to the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are slightly narrowed. Well, there's my answer; he still disapproves of our relationship, then. I can sense another futile argument in the offing, but after today's events I'd really rather avoid another confrontational dispute of any sort, let alone one regarding my personal affairs. I pull my arm gently out of his grasp, trying not to let my annoyance show, mending the newly cleaned cut with a swift healing spell. "Thank you, Anders, but I can manage. I'd better get going if I'm going to make the next ferry to the Gallows."

"Of course," he replies after a slight pause. "And thank you, Hawke. I am truly grateful for your assistance in this."

I give him a small smile as I turn to leave. "You're welcome, Anders. I'm always glad to help a friend." He lifts a hand in a brief farewell, smiling in a tight sort of fashion, before turning to busy himself at his crafting table.

I close the clinic door behind me, glancing at Isabela and Varric leaning casually against the wall outside. "You heard all of that, I assume?"

Varric chuckles. "Uh-huh. And you got roped into another favour, right?"

I nod, suppressing a sigh. "Two separate outings to my two most favourite places in all of Kirkwall," I reply wryly. "Care to join me in my misery? The lift to the docks is just around the corner; it shouldn't take too long to get to the Gallows. Hopefully we won't get into another life-or-death battle with a corrupted Templar unit once we're there. Not today, at any rate."

"I can do the Gallows, but the Chantry?" Varric shakes his head. "I'd rather not."

"Why not?" I ask, somewhat dryly. "Too repressive for you, I suppose?"

Isabela makes a noise of agreement. "Can't blame him for that. You can smell the repression in that place before you walk in the door."

"Despite your many and varied attempts to relieve it?" Varric quips in amusement, raising an eyebrow fondly at the lusty pirate, who shrugs.

"Too many lovely young sister-initiates to corrupt; too little of me to go around. It's a slow process."

Varric chuckles appreciatively at her comment. "It's not that, anyway," he says. "I've always actually kind of liked the Chantry. It's like a building full of sweet old grandmothers. But honestly, I'd rather fight a high dragon naked than confront the Grand Cleric openly about the nefarious plan of a Templar we only just killed. That's just asking for trouble, not to mention finger-pointing. Followed by imprisonment, and the hangman's noose."

"But don't you see? No one's ever going to believe anyone would be brazen or thick-headed enough to do that," I tell him, smiling wryly. "They'll never suspect a thing. And besides, don't you want to record the moment for prosperity, or something?"

Varric shrugs. "Eh. Rivaini can fill me in later." He tips me a mischievous wink. "Besides, I've just had an idea for a story about you I can actually tell. You know, without getting you sent to the Gallows. Or... you know, the other type of gallows."

I raise a wary eyebrow. "A story about...?"

"You," Varric says, a very suspicious sort of grin spreading over his face. "Fighting a high dragon."

Something tells me I'm not going to like this... "A high dragon? Me?" I ask in confusion. "But I've never fought... and you said you'd rather fight a dragon. How do I even come into this? Why can't you make up a story about you, for a change?"

"Well, despite my many impressive skills and attributes, I have to give the people what they want," Varric informs me patiently. "And this story would sell far more copies if a beautiful human woman is the one engaged in deadly combat with a ferocious high dragon. Naked."

Holy bloody Maker! I can't believe what I just heard. "What?"

"I know," he replies. "Sometimes, my brilliance amazes even me."

I stare at him incredulously. "Naked, Varric?"

"Absolutely," he grins. "Like I said, I'd sell far more copies if you're the one who's naked."

"Why does anyone need to be naked?"

"Well, of course the dragon has to be naked, obviously," Varric replies with a small chuckle, then pauses thoughtfully for a moment. "But you're absolutely right. I'll have to think up a really compelling reason for you to be wearing nothing but your skin. Perhaps you could be bathing luxuriously in a stream moments before the encounter, blissfully unaware that the body of water in question borders on the dragon's nesting grounds. That could work." He looks up at me. "You know what Hawke? I think I'll have to skip the Gallows after all. I really need to start getting this down."

Oh, for the love of... I glare at him warningly. "Don't even think about it!"

"I think it's far too late for that, Hawke," Isabela says, evidently trying unsuccessfully to repress a giggle of amusement.

"Varric?" I call after the wretched dwarf as he heads off through Darktown. "Varric!" No response, although I'm quite certain I hear him chuckle again. "Varric, don't you dare!" He just waves over his shoulder and disappears around the corner out of sight. "Blast!" I mutter, and then sigh, deciding to let him go for now. I'd better get moving if I want to finish Anders' remaining unpleasant requests today, after all. It can take Varric quite a while to finish one of his little stories; there'll be time enough to try and change his mind. Or possibly break his bloody friend-fiction writing-hand... though I suppose some might consider that to be a little extreme. I'll have to find a way to... discourage him later. Right now...

I look at Isabela. "I don't suppose you'd care to accompany me, at least?" I ask her hopefully. I'd really rather not visit the two least mage-friendly places in Kirkwall alone, but I also would rather not put it off either. It's far less painful to draw the splinter out quickly than to let it fester, after all. "We get to take a boat to the Gallows. You like boats."

Isabela scoffs. "Those leaky little mop buckets ferrying people unfortunate or foolish enough to want to go to that awful place hardly count as boats," she counters, shaking her head in disgust. "They're barely even seaworthy. I'm afraid that's not much of an incentive, sweet thing."

"I'll buy you a drink," I offer. She raises an eyebrow in answer, and I bite my lip thoughtfully. "Two drinks?" The eyebrow climbs higher. "Oh come on, Isabela, please?" I ask plaintively, giving her my very best pleading expression. "You won't abandon me in my hour of need, will you? Please?"

Isabela shakes her head, sighing wearily even as her mouth curves in a grin. "Oh, Hawke. I do so love to hear you beg..." I smile, sensing victory, and she gives a small chuckle, throwing an arm about my shoulders. "Fine, I'll go with you. To the Chantry as well, if you want. But I tell you what," she says seriously as we set off for the lift up to the docks. "Two drinks, nothing. You're going to owe me an entire tavern's worth of ale after this. And even that probably won't be enough to block out the incredible, depressing tedium we are about to face."

I grin at her fondly, giving her an affectionate nudge with my elbow. "At least we're facing it together."

---

"And then Isabela went to the Chantry, and saw that it was... boring." Isabela sighs loudly as we walk down the grand Chantry hallway, her voice practically dripping with wry disdain. "Canticle of Isabela, stanza one, verse one."

I glance at her, feeling a small smirk tug at my lips at the look of miserable disinterest on her face. She seems nothing so much as a sulky child, with that tone of voice. And that pout. "Don't worry," I reassure her patiently. "It isn't as though I actually want to be here myself. We're not staying any longer than it takes me to interrogate the Grand Cleric, I promise."

Isabela slows her steps, coming to a stop a few paces from the entrance to the worshipper's hall, the giant statue of Andraste looming above casting an intimidating shadow over the high-ceilinged room. "About that..." she says, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. She glances up at the raised pulpit above our heads, looking oddly troubled. "Do you really want me to be here? Perhaps it isn't such a good idea. My presence may not be exactly, shall we say... helpful."

I raise a questioning eyebrow. "What's your concern? I don't really need you to do anything while I question her grace. Just stand there, look pretty, and let me handle everything. You know; business as usual."

Isabela gives a small laugh. "Tease. You know what I mean. I'm not exactly comfortable coming in here at the best of times, but..." She sighs, crossing her arms. "The last time I met the Grand Cleric I was unceremoniously thrown out on my arse."

Oh. Of course, how could I have forgotten about that! "That would be because it was bare. And in her bed. With one of her hitherto most promising sister initiates," I remind her happily, my smirk now a full-blown grin. "You've spoiled the virtue of how many Chantry sisters now?"

She shrugs disinterestedly. "Oh, who keeps track of such things? I'm not a 'notches on the bedpost' sort. Enough to earn me eternal damnation in the fires of the Void, certainly, which doesn't bother me much, mind you. From what I hear that's where all the good parties are going to be. But it does bring me back to my main point; are you sure you need me for this? What if the Grand Cleric has me hauled off this time, or something?" She scuffs a booted foot against the floor in a rare display of agitation. 'It's boring in the brig. There's nothing to do; no ale, no sex, the food is absolutely terrible and I can't escape Aveline's lectures, not without banging my head against the wall to block out her self-righteous droning about decency and discretion and all that rot."

Hm. Well, when she puts it that way... "You certainly needn't come with me if you don't want to," I tell her. And she did obligingly accompany me all the way out to the Gallows already, after all. Twice. "But I'm sure it won't be as bad as all that. Isn't a Hand of the Divine supposed to be all about the forgiveness of past sins, or something? Maybe she'll even bless you, if you ask her nicely."

Isabela makes a disparaging noise, rolling her eyes at me. "Oh, yes, and wouldn't that just make my day." She lets her eyes roam idly about the hall of petitioners and worshippers and then freezes for a moment, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. "Or perhaps this will," she chuckles delightedly, a predatory grin spreading over her face, and I glance about, trying to follow the direction of her gaze. Isabela strolls over to one of the prayer benches, and I feel a smile spread over my own features as I realise just who caught her attention.

"Well, well, lop my legs off and call me a dwarf," Isabela smirks, cocking her head as she stares down at the snow-haired elf sitting at the edge of the wooden pew, head bowed as though in prayer, looking almost ludicrously out of place in his bare feet and dark, spiky armour. "What are you doing here? Praying?" She gives an affectionate, if somewhat derisive chuckle. 'Never thought I'd see that. I'd never have bet I'd see you set foot in here at all, actually."

Fenris jerks his head up at her words, then leaps to his feet as though scalded, looking decidedly caught out. "I could say the same," he drawls after a moment, regaining some of his composure. "Unless of course you happened to ask for the 'bad girl special' at the Blooming Rose again? I would have thought you might have learned your lesson after the last time you did so."

"Ooh, and he gives as good as he gets!" Isabela laughs. "Though, I notice you haven't answered my question."

"Your powers of observation serve you well," Fenris intones dryly as he turns to me. His face softens slightly, assuming an enquiring look as his voice becomes softer, more polite. "May I ask why you are here, Hawke? I was not aware that you visited the Chantry often. You never struck me as a particularly religious person."

He's not wrong there. "Oh, I'm not," I reply. Not being a self-hating mage, I have never seen much rhyme or reason in putting my faith in a religion that demands that I and my magic must become a veritable slave to the Chantry or be killed outright, simply because of an accident of birth. And the teachings of a woman burned at the stake a thousand years ago, of course… or rather an interpretation of said teachings. Who knows how much the word of Andraste could have changed in a thousand years? And with her safely dead, she is somewhat unavailable for questioning to provide clarification on the matter. "For obvious reasons, I suppose. Actually, we're just here to speak to the Grand Cleric."

"Not me," Isabela puts in hastily, evidently feeling the need to clarify. "I'm just here for moral support."

Fenris raises an eyebrow. "Indeed? Given where we are, I would have imagined such a role would best be filled by someone with less… questionable morals."

Isabela gives a surprised laugh. "My, we are snarky today, aren't we?"

I grin at her. "Face it; you more or less set yourself up for that one."

She gives a one-shouldered shrug. "An act of charity, on my part. I am nothing if not a giver," she answers, then casually reaches out to ruffle Fenris' hair. "And I do enjoy hearing Fenris attempt to mimic having a sense of humour."

Fenris grunts in annoyance, dodging away from her. I bite back an amused smile at Isabela's antics, and Fenris's increasingly futile attempts to maintain his dignity.

"Are you here to discuss any topic in particular with her grace?" Fenris enquires as he hurriedly brushes his hair out of his eyes with a gauntleted hand, sparing a moment to give Isabela a chilling glare, which is met with a sultry smirk in return. "Is this perhaps regarding the... incident... with a certain very recently deceased Templar earlier this morning? One who met a rather abrupt and violent end?"

He's heard already? I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised, considering that our detour to the Gallows after leaving Anders' clinic gave Varric so much of a head start to bandy the tale about. It wouldn't shock me to learn that half of Kirkwall had heard the story by lunchtime, though I do hope that Varric has remembered to leave out my name, at least when speaking to strangers. I almost feel I would prefer the naked dragon fighting tale. "Indeed. I'm here to ask her grace about the despicable plan of that wretched Templar, Ser Alrik." I tell him, feeling my smile die on my lips. "I want to hear what Elthina knows about it, and if she claims no knowledge of the matter, then I want to know why her knowledge of her own Templars and their attitudes is so woefully incomplete." I raise an eyebrow at him. "I daresay I need hardly ask how you knew about it already. Did you run into Varric at the Hanged Man, by any chance?"

Fenris nods grimly, a light of understanding in his eyes. "About an hour ago, yes. Varric told me what transpired beneath the Gallows. So that was what the abomination wanted your help with, I take it? This 'Tranquil Solution'?" I nod, and he huffs derisively. "Why is he not with you, then? I rather thought he would jump at such a chance to openly challenge the Chantry in such a way."

"Ordinarily, I'm sure he would have," I answer slowly. "But he asked me to approach her grace about Ser Alrik's plan without him. He would risk being exposed as a mage himself, if he let his anger and Justice get the better of him while speaking to the Grand Cleric. I doubt that would end well for him." I hesitate, wondering how much I ought to say. What happened beneath the Gallows can hardly remain a secret for long, at least amongst our little circle, but nonetheless, I am loathe to be the one to give Fenris any more fuel to feed the flames of his hatred of mages, particularly Anders. But given what Fenris knows already, perhaps he knows the rest; such tales spread like wildfire among my companions. Especially when certain irrepressible dwarves are involved. "He is still... upset over what happened when we went to confront Ser Alrik-"

"When he became the monster he is, and very nearly killed that mage girl you had all been defending, you mean?" Fenris finishes for me, a blend of scorn and knowing satisfaction on his face. "Such a shock, I'm sure."

I suppress a sigh. So he has heard all the details, then. I can hardly pretend to be surprised; Varric was with us, after all. He works fast. "The point that both of you are clearly missing is that he didn't kill her," I tell him, trying to keep the hard edge of exasperation out of my voice. I can't say I don't share some of Fenris's concerns about the spirit in Ander's head - though not to quite the same degree, obviously - but I am getting rather tired of repeating this same argument. "He wasn't beyond all reason."

"I was there, too," Isabela adds supportively. "He stopped himself - stopped Justice - and regained control."

"The way Varric told it, he only prevented himself from doing so because Hawke stopped him," Fenris counters. "If she hadn't been there, that girl would have died by his hand."

"And I'm sure you would have been terribly broken up about that," Isabela says, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Mage or no, the child was an innocent," Fenris replies calmly. "One who did not fall to demonic temptation to save herself, even when threatened with Tranquillity and abuse." He glances at me. "There are few such mages in the world already; I would not have liked to have seen their numbers thinned even further. How can he claim to fight for mages if the demon inside him destroys those he saves without provocation?" His eyes narrow angrily, though his wrath is not directed at me. "Not to mention that he very nearly attacked you as well, Hawke. Does the man truly think he can lead a revolution when he is in constant danger of losing control to such a degree?"

I can't think of a single thing to say to that. My instinct, naturally, is to defend my fellow mage, and yet... Fenris has a point, at least in this case. If I hadn't been able to get through to Anders, could he have stopped Justice alone? I want to believe that he could have, but in all honesty, I... I don't think he would have been able to. Anders claims that Justice is a spirit of good; benevolent and righteous, but... that is not what I saw come out when he lost control in that dungeon. That was Vengeance; full of wrath and revenge and blind, indiscriminate, murderous fury. I can hardly blame the mage girl for mistaking such a being for a demon rather than a spirit. And after seeing it for myself, so much stronger, so much more hateful than ever before, I... I am no longer so certain there is that much of a distinction between them, at least as far as Justice is concerned. Right now, I think Anders must be feeling much the same way. "I... don't know. But he is asking the same thing of himself right now, Fenris. It's tearing him up inside. Whatever you think of him, his intentions are good."

"And yet he sent you to confront her grace about this in his stead, risking your own exposure in the process," Fenris says, his lip curling. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Wait," Isabela says suddenly. "So... you met up with Varric at the Hanged Man, and then came here? Did you... come here because he told you we were coming to the Chantry? You did, didn't you?"

Fenris glances fleetingly at me and then looks away, clearly highly uncomfortable. "Of course not," he snaps. "I was... delivering something."

"Delivering what?" Isabela smirks. "Praise to the Maker?"

He shoots a glare at her, and she chuckles. "Oh, and now he adds smouldering to the routine? You are too precious." Fenris' glower darkens dangerously.

"Alright, Isabela," I say, feeling the need to step in between them before this escalates any further and we create a dramatic scene in the middle of the Chantry. Andraste preserve me, I do hate having to mediate between my companions like this, as though I were the mother of several especially unruly children. A rather inept mother who is generally unable to exert any control whatsoever over her brood. Though to be fair, it is usually Isabela who is the troublemaker, and it isn't as though I can simply send her to her room or anything like that. I did try once, but all I got was a suggestive smirk and an invitation for me to accompany her. I doubt I'll have any more success this time, but still, I feel I ought to at least try and spare Fenris any more of her merciless teasing before we have another angry-blue-glowing related incident in a dangerously inappropriate location for the second time today. "Enough. We are here for a reason, after all."

Isabela grins wickedly at the increasingly heated elf, ignoring my attempts to interrupt her fun. "You know, Fenris, if you are feeling a little lonely..." she says slyly, giving him a sultry wink, "I know a way we can take care of that. Several, in fact."

Fenris opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and then opens it again, looking somewhat nonplussed, but he is saved from answering as a brusquely authoritative and heavily accented voice rings along the corridor behind us.

"A moment, sister, if you please. I am here on important business for the Divine."

I turn, intrigued, to search for the source of the voice, which appears to be a black haired woman who is currently engaged in an obviously one-sided conversation with a very intimidated-looking Chantry sister at the entrance to the worshipper's hall. She is wearing a set of black armour emblazoned with a curious symbol; a white Chantry sunburst containing a single glaring eye, and possesses a pair of piercing golden eyes and an exotic beauty, though it is somewhat marred by the stern expression on her olive-skinned face. I hear an appreciative noise from Isabela just behind me and grin; I can almost see her undressing the woman with her eyes. Maker knows I've felt the same stare turned in my direction, more than once. From the dark-haired newcomer's severe demeanour, however, I'm not certain she would be particularly… shall we say, receptive to Isabela's attentions. It's merely a hunch.

"I must speak with the Grand Cleric," the woman declares, folding her gauntleted forearms. "Direct me to her."

The Chantry sister to whom she is speaking visibly shrinks in on herself, stuttering helplessly as she gazes up at the taller woman towering over her. "I... I, ah..."

Poor thing. A cloistered life provides very little in the way of self-confidence, it seems. Perhaps I ought to take pity on her, Chantry sister or no. "Whenever she isn't giving a sermon or administering to her flock, she generally can be found standing about unobtrusively on the dais," I grin at the intimidating woman, walking up to her as the rattled looking sister takes her chance to slip away unnoticed by the imposing stranger. "Just up the steps on your left. Or your right, if you prefer. You get to choose. Isn't it fun?"

The woman raises a finely curved brow, her expression guarded and rather haughty. "You are easily amused," she comments, looking down her nose at me.

Self-important and arrogant, are we? Oh, dear. "I am indeed. I make it a point to be. Life is far more enjoyable that way," I counter, refusing to be cowed. "Besides, there is little enough liberty in day-to-day life as it is. I relish the freedom in every choice available to me."

"I see," the woman says. "I suppose that is fair."

"That's an... interesting accent you have," Isabela interjects as she steps up beside me, her voice a sultry purr. She raises an openly suggestive eyebrow. "Exotic. Intriguing. Nevarran, perhaps?"

"I am Nevarran by birth, yes," the woman says, inclining her head, either oblivious to Isabela's flirtatious inflections or ignoring them. "From a clan of dragon hunters to the north. I came to Orlais when I reached my majority, and have been a Chantry Seeker for several years."

I grin, unable to help myself. "Well, you've finally found one," I quip irreverently, glancing about the grand interior of the Chantry. "A rather nice one, at that. Congratulations. Your long search is over."

The woman stares at me for a moment, then quite surprisingly smiles a little, giving her whole face a much pleasanter cast. "You are a wit, I see. And not one to be easily intimidated. How refreshing. Might I have your name?"

I incline my head. "My name is Hawke."

The Seeker returns a slight nod of her own. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast."

A strange sense of foreboding shivers through me at the sound of her name. I'm not certain what caused it, precisely, but... it gives me very a strong urge to exercise caution about this woman. "A pleasure to meet you," I say as I attempt to interpret this new subconscious warning. Seekers of the Chantry, from what I have heard, are occasionally sent to assist Templars to search for particularly powerful and elusive apostates, but I am not so arrogant to assume she could possibly be looking for me. There is no reason I can discern to make me feel this way. Still… Cassandra Pentaghast. Seeker or no, this is a woman to be reckoned with. I will have to remember that.

"You've come by ship all the way from Orlais?" Isabela asks, the light in her eyes suggesting her interest is a professional one rather than anything else, for the moment, at least. Though I rather doubt that will last beyond the space of a breath or two. "It's quite an arduous journey across the Waking Sea. I ought to know; I've sailed through more storms in that Maker-forsaken channel than I care to remember. Is this voyage strictly business, or is there room for… pleasure?" Isabela smiles wickedly, letting her eyes trail openly over the woman's body. I bite my cheek to hide a grin. And there it is... "If it's the latter, I would be happy to give you the… grand tour."

The corner of the Seeker's mouth twitches ever so slightly, though whether in amusement or irritation, I can't tell. "Strictly business," she says, very pointedly.

Isabela sighs. "Such a shame."

"I am here to inspect Kirkwall's Templars, as my duty as a Seeker dictates," Cassandra says, proceeding to ignore the lusty pirate. "There have been murmurs of dissent with regards to the operation of the Gallows; abuses of power, mistreatment of the... inhabitants of the Circle, here, even demonic possession. I have been sent to address these concerns and discover if there is any truth to the rumours."

Inspect the Templars? I feel my eyebrows lift a little; I wasn't aware that the actions of the Templars were watched, much less from an organisation outside of the ranks. "I confess; I know little of the Seekers. What exactly do you do?"

Cassandra draws herself up. "The Seekers of Truth answer directly to the Divine in Val Royeaux. Seekers are sworn to uphold the word of Andraste by ensuring the integrity of the Templar Order is maintained, rooting out corruption wherever it may be found," she answers proudly. "The Templars must represent the Chantry to the highest standard, without exception. We exist to ensure that they do so. It is not our sole function, of course, but it is a great responsibility."

"Indeed?" I reply quietly. If she is truly here to root out corruption amongst the Templars, then I hope she brought rather a lot of manacles. Such an onerous job she has before her. At least I have lessened her burden by a good score of corrupt Templars today, though it would be remiss of me not to help her further. There are many more rotten holy warriors in the ranks, after all. Perhaps this is a fortuitous meeting after all, if this Seeker can act in my stead on the distressing piece of information I learned from Alain, the former Starkhaven Circle mage who was mixed up with Decimus and Grace, and their merry band of blood mages. Information about the treatment suffered by mages, and a certain Templar bastard named Karras. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

Cassandra raises a sculpted eyebrow. "I take it you have something for me?"

I feel my expression harden as I remember my conversation with poor young Alain. "I visited the herbalist's stall at the Gallows earlier today, and met with a young apprentice of my acquaintance."

"You engage in relationships with mages?" the Seeker asks, a small frown creasing her brow. I bite the inside of my cheek to conceal a sudden surge of mirth. If you only knew how many ways that was true... "How do you know this apprentice?"

Well, that is a story I have neither the time nor the patience to recount in full, not today, at any rate. But I think the short version will satisfy her, if I put it right. "I... brought him to the Circle myself several years ago, at his own request. I wanted to see if he was well. He told me... some disturbing things." I rub uncomfortably at the back of my neck as I remember Alain's words, and the fearful tone in his voice as he confided in me;

'Ser Karras says that if I tell anyone he's been in my chambers, he'll make me Tranquil…' Maker, but I wish I had convinced him not to go to the Circle when I had the chance. But I wanted to find Grace and the others before the Templars came, and there was so little time...

"Mages are confined to their cells and subjected to beatings on a regular basis, for the slightest offence. And worse," I tell the Seeker darkly. "From what I have heard, some Templars are all too eager to take personal advantage of the mages under their- shall we say, care. My friend was too afraid to say anything more; the Templar in question told him he would be made Tranquil if he told anyone about the... late night visits to his quarters." Cassandra's eyes flare in understanding, and her lips tighten in anger. Relief floods me at her reaction; despite her apparent wariness of mages, it seems she truly is looking to prevent the Templars from abusing their positions, and the mages under their 'protection.' If I can do anything to help them myself, I will. At least Ser Alrik has already been dealt with. "I do not wish to betray his confidence, but..." I lower my voice, taking a small step closer to the Seeker. "You may wish to direct you attention towards a templar by the name of Ser Karras. Though you did not hear this from me."

"Karras," Cassandra repeats, her eyes hard. "I will investigate him as soon as I have finished speaking to her grace. Thank you, Serah Hawke." She gives a slight bow and takes her leave, marching through the worshipper's hall and up the stairs to the Grand Cleric's dais with quick, precise steps, head held high.

Isabela watches her go appreciatively. "Oh, I do love a woman in uniform," she sighs wistfully.

"I think that one is beyond even your powers of seduction," Fenris drawls, dry humour clear in his voice as he moves over to us, evidently having preferred to remain unnoticed by the Seeker. I can hardly blame him.

"Nonsense," Isabela scoffs dismissively. "A challenge, perhaps, but not beyond the realms of possibility."

Fenris chuckles. "I admire your confidence. Though, perhaps in view of her position, you may wish to let this one go; particularly considering all the apostates of your acquaintance." He looks at me, his face taking on a worried cast. "Be careful, Hawke. It is already dangerous enough for you to be here. Perhaps it isn't wise for you to draw the attention of Chantry Seekers, of all people."

He's not wrong there. "About as wise as all my frequent trips to the Gallows on one errand or another," I reply wryly. "I just can't seem to help it. Too late now, at any rate. I'm sure I would have run into her at one time or another, most likely at a far more inconvenient moment. In the middle of casting a fireball, for instance." I shrug, a small grin curving my lips. "After all, nobody expects the Andrastian Inquisition."

"Hawke?" I turn at the sound of my name, spoken in the familiar northern brogue of Prince Sebastian Vael, heir claimant to the throne of Starkhaven. Maker's breath, has the Chantry become the new epicentre of chance meetings? Though, come to think of it, meeting Sebastian here isn't really all that surprising; it was his home from the age of fifteen, after all. He smiles as he approaches us, blue eyes shining as brightly as his pristine armour. "And Isabela, Fenris! I certainly did not expect to see any of you here. What brings you to the Chantry?"

"I'm here to see Elthina about a... delicate matter," I reply, knowing that he will not presume to pry into anything I imply to be private.

"Ah. Then I will not intrude," Sebastian says, inclining his head graciously. He turns his gaze on my companions. "And you two are just tagging along, I suppose?"

"Would I be here otherwise?" Isabela sighs. "Hawke takes us to the nicest places."

"I'm sure you've been to worse," Sebastian chuckles. "At least the Chantry is dry, and relatively clean. And not rife with bandits or slavers of any description. Well, not at the moment, at least."

Isabela gives him a wry grin. "True enough."

"How goes the campaign to retake your city?" I ask with polite interest.

Sebastian sighs. "Not well, I'm afraid. I am still spending most of my time of late trying to discover who was behind the assassination of my family, though I have petitioned the Viscount for aid to reclaim my birthright. He has yet to give me a definitive answer, however. Nor have any of the other rulers in the cities I have visited."

"Perhaps you ought to reconsider your approach," Fenris suggests. "Muster support amongst your people, rather than insisting on aid from foreign leaders to whom you will be indebted. If there is anything I have learned from the company I have kept these past three years, it is that people will much more willingly give their hearts to someone who will do, rather than demand."

"You make an interesting point," Sebastian says thoughtfully. "You seem to have a head for such matters; I would like to hear your advice on a few matters, if you wouldn't mind."

"Certainly, though I don't know that I will be of much assistance." Fenris looks at me, inclining his head. "And we should allow Hawke to speak with the Grand Cleric."

"I just finished talking with her myself. She is up in the pulpit, speaking with a Seeker from Orlais," Sebastian tells me helpfully. "The Divine must be concerned about the growing unrest of the mages in the Kirkwall circle, to send a Seeker here."

"As long as someone is concerned," I reply quietly. When he puts it that way, it does sound encouraging that the Divine herself believes that the trouble amongst the circle may be attributed to the Templars, at least in part. Of course, if she decides that the problem is the mages instead... I sigh imperceptibly, shaking off my sober thoughts as I turn to Isabela, motioning to the dais. "Shall we?"

She nods, and we leave the two men quietly discussing politics as we ascend the stairs, reaching the top in time to see Cassandra bowing in farewell as she takes her leave of Elthina. She turns as we approach, giving me a faintly respectful sort of nod as she passes us on her way to the stairwell, which I return. A formidable woman, that one. I wish her well on her search for corruption amongst the Templars, though I doubt she'll need any luck from me. She seems more than capable; the Templars should begin looking over their shoulders. I know I wouldn't want to be the one she was hunting for.

"Hello again, Hawke," the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall greets me solemnly as I reach her, while Isabela hangs back a little, trying to remain unnoticed. Elthina gestures toward the black-armoured Seeker as she reaches the end of the entrance hall and marches purposefully out through the gilded Chantry doors. "Seeker Cassandra was impressed with your presence of mind. Most people are too intimidated to speak freely with her."

She spoke about me with Elthina? I suppose I must have made quite an impression on her. "She may want to work on her people skills a little," I comment lightly, then my voice hardens a little as I recall the reason I came here to question her. "But if she's come to sniff out corruption in the Templar ranks, then she has truly impeccable timing."

Elthina blinks in some surprise. "What do you mean by that, child?"

I draw in a deep breath, swiftly working out how to broach the topic. "I have... heard a rumour... of something called the Tranquil Solution," I tell her, watching her face for some sign of recognition. Her eyes widen a little, her mouth tightening slightly. So she has heard of it, though I cannot tell if her reaction is one of alarm, or distaste at the mention of the reprehensible plan. I meet her eyes somewhat challengingly. "Is it true the Templars are planning to use the Rite of Tranquillity on every mage in the city?"

"What?" Elthina gasps, sounding genuinely shocked and affronted. "No! It's not an uncommon gripe to hear in the Templar barracks, but the Chantry has never supported such a thing."

A gripe, is it? That is not the impression I got from Knight-Captain Cullen. He seemed to approve of using the Rite on more mages, albeit more or less tacitly. "The issue is a little more serious than you seem to believe," I inform her grimly. "I think you should see these papers, written by one of your own Templars."

She takes the letter I offer her and reads it, her storm-grey eyes darting swiftly across the crinkled page. They open wide in confusion as she frowns at the paper in her hand. "This is... Ser Alrik's signature," she says, glancing up from the paper to look at me, a suspicious frown turning down the corners of her mouth. "Where did you get these? We just got word that he was murdered in the Gallows not a few hours ago!"

So they have discovered him already. That is unfortunate, but not unanticipated. I gaze back at her levelly, showing nothing of my thoughts in my expression. "I can't say I'm sorry to hear that. From what I have been told, the man was known to be using his position to torture and assault the mages under his charge. And using the Rite of Tranquillity without authorisation to cover up his abuses. If he hadn't met such an end, I am certain he would have been first on Seeker Cassandra's investigation list," I say, unable to resist the urge to denounce the vile man's name. "The Order is well rid of him. As for the papers, they... fell into my hands a few days ago. Quite mysteriously," I lie smoothly. "I have contacts. Cutpurses and pickpockets and the like. I don't ask where they get their information, or how. The point is; they prove that Alrik had a plan to turn every mage in Kirkwall Tranquil! He even approached both the Knight-Commander and the Divine about this, though fortunately the letter suggests they denied him. But you must have known something about this. Why deny it?"

Elthina gives me a measured look. "Ser Alrik made a suggestion, yes," she says calmly. "But we turned him down." Well, certainly his suggestion was turned down. If every mage was Tranquil, there would be no magic left to control. No war spells, no healing. How would the Chantry and Templars fare, relying on hensbane and leeches to cure their ailments instead of the talents of their pet mages? No wonder the plan was rejected.. Though I daresay it had put the idea of, as Cullen put it, applying the Rite more widely into the heads of many with the authority to make it happen; disposing of the weaker or less malleable mages, and keeping the most powerful and tractable intact for their own uses. Hypocrites. "The Rite of Tranquillity has always been a last resort," Elthina continues. "It has saved lives, but is not without its costs."

Indeed. The cost is a life worth living. I just don't understand how anyone could believe that a meaningless existence as a soulless shell without joy, without love, without any sort of emotion at all is better than a quick, clean death. No more than I can understand how a compassionate woman like Elthina can stand by, knowing what mages suffer. She must know. I hold her eyes seriously, wanting a straight, clear cut answer to the question I am about to voice. "Your Grace... are you truly intending to stay neutral about the mages forever?"

"You mean to ask which side I favour? Destroying the mages or setting them free?" she asks, and I nod, after a slight pause. I did not expect her to so bluntly phrase the matter in such extremes. "I cannot take sides. There are many strong opinions in this city, child. It is not my place to decide who is right."

"But you are the voice of morality within the city," I argue. "People look to you to know what is right. Shouldn't the Chantry have a more active hand in matters such as this?"

"The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in hand," Elthina answers, her voice kind, but somewhat dismissive. "She is a gentle mother, who knows her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves."

Right. Well, when she puts it that way, the Chantry sounds like a wonderful neglectful mother indeed. I think I agree with Merrill's argument the last time Sebastian tried to convince her of Andrastian superiority to other 'heathen religions.' Despite all the talk of how wonderful and essential those who do the work of the Chantry are, none of them actually seem to do anything at all, apart from give sermons, or ask for tithes, or stand about singing the Chant all day. I don't see how that is at all helpful to anyone. "But... surely you have some opinion on the matter?" I press insistently. I really ought not to push too hard, or my interest in this topic will start drawing unwelcome interest and speculation which I can ill afford, but I am tired of those in power and influence evading the matter. It will not go away simply because they ignore it, only grow bigger as the pressure builds and builds until eventually, one day, it will all come crashing down. Or possibly blow up. "I mean... hypothetically, if there were a group of people being brutally subjugated by another... wouldn't the Maker favour the oppressed?"

She sighs. "Hawke, for a thousand years the Chantry has had to find the balance between those born with magic, and those sworn to guard them. That hasn't changed here. Sometimes mages abuse their powers, and sometimes Templars become too... zealous in their methods of dealing with them. Both sides make good arguments, and both have flaws. No good can come of showing favour to one side."

But she is beloved amongst all citizens of the city, respected amongst the circle and revered amongst the Templars! A word from her in favour of compassion towards mages could ease so much unnecessary and misguided fear amongst the population, and prevent the subsequent mistreatment of those with magic in their blood. "For a thousand years, mages have been punished for the crime of being born with the gifts the Maker gave them," I counter, trying to keep the rising heat out of my voice. A good thing indeed that Anders did not come; if he were here listening to our increasingly ineffectual conversation, he would be hard put to contain himself. I hear a faint note of resentful anger mixed with mournful sadness in my voice as I ask the question that has gone unanswered since my childhood. "The Maker created mages. Why doesn't he protect them?"

Elthina watches me in silence for a moment. "You have truly taken a great interest in what many in the city call the plight of the mages, child," she says slowly, her voice shrewd, though tactfully quiet. "I cannot help but wonder at your motivations."

And now I've gone and overdone it. Time to back down, I think, before she begins wondering at my motivations too deeply. I think quickly. "I... have had dealings with mages in the Gallows. Most I have met are good people, who do not deserve the treatment they receive. I suppose I'm just wishing for some way to resolve the difficulties between them and the Templars," I tell her evasively. "I admit; I was hoping you might be able to assist in coming to some sort of swift compromise."

The Grand Cleric gives me an understanding look. "I am certain if one can be reached, we will find it, though such a thing cannot be forced," she replies gently. "The Maker's time is not men's time. We do not need to rush."

Isabela, standing unobtrusively a few paces behind me, chuckles a little at that. "I'll have to remember that line the next time I'm late," she says quietly to herself.

Her softly spoken comment draws Elthina's attention, and she peers behind me, trying to make out Isabela's features. "I believe I know you from somewhere..."

I bite back a grin, anticipating her grace's reaction when she remembers precisely when, where, and in what compromising position she has seen my irrepressible pirate friend before. Though, now that I think on it; she might not recognise Isabela after all. Not with her clothes on...

The Grand Cleric gasps suddenly. "I... it was you, you're the one who... in my bedchamber..." She trails off in embarrassment as a deep blush burns two red spots in her cheeks.

Well. This interesting development may not go all the way to making up for what an awful day this had been, but I'll take it. It's an amusing start, in any event. "My friend has come to beg your forgiveness for her... transgressions, your grace," I say, giving Isabela a teasing wink and receiving an annoyed glare in return. "Isn't that right, my dear friend?"

"I'll 'dear friend' you," Isabela mutters beneath her breath, and then "Yes, uh, your grace. I'm really very sorry for what I did. I... beg your forgiveness. Sincerely."

Elthina surveys her in silence for a long moment, then nods once, her composure restored. "Very well, child. If you are truly genuine in your penitence, then Andraste will forgive you your sins." She raises her hand in blessing. "May the Maker bless and keep you. May His smile grace all the days of your life and His light guide you to His side. So let it be."

Isabela assumes an unconvincing expression of grateful repentance, eyes straying to the comely sister in the corner lighting candles before Andraste's shrine. "Yes," she replies distractedly. "So let it be."

Elthina coughs uncomfortably. "Well. Such excitement. I... think I need to lie down." She shoots Isabela a reproving stare. "I believe I can assume it is currently safe to do so, for the moment at least. If... if you'll excuse me, Hawke."

"Of course, your grace," I reply with a respectful nod, and she hurries away down the stairs to our left, just as Sebastian and Fenris appear at the top of the landing to our right.

Sebastian stares after Elthina as she hurries away, then lifts an eyebrow inquisitively as Isabela. "So... where exactly is it that her grace knows you from, to cause her such discomfort?"

Isabela gives him an arch look. "I have absolutely no idea to what you are referring."

"Eavesdropping is a hobby of yours then, I take it?" I ask, raising a brow at the aspiring Prince.

He laughs, eyes crinkling merrily. "It... comes in useful sometimes," he replies.

"We heard Elthina speaking as we came up here to seek you out," Fenris clarifies for me. "Though in truth we only heard a little of your actual discussion."

"I did catch the tail end, however," Sebastian notes, looking at me with a serious expression. "I understand your concerns regarding the mages and Templars. I confess; I do not understand myself why her grace will not intervene." He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps you ought to exert more influence over the city yourself, Hawke. You have a talent for leadership, and people seem to respect you, even look up to you. And I don't just mean the other nobles."

"I'm not exactly a noble," I contradict him quickly. Leader? Me? Maker's breath, that's just what I need. More attention and closer scrutiny. I'd be hauled off to the Gallows inside of a month. "Not really. My mother was the heir to the Amells, true, but my father wasn't a lord, or anything."

Sebastian shrugs. "Perhaps not, but you are of noble blood regardless. Your mother inherited the estate of the Amells, which the Viscount has recognised."

I scoff. "Due in no small part to the exorbitant sum I offered him to get it back."

"And you have... an aura of nobility about you," Sebastian continues, blithely ignoring my sarcasm. "True nobility, not an overweening belief in your own superiority. I'm surprised you never took the Amell name, in fact."

"Why?" I ask him bemusedly. I already have a name after all, not to mention it would be rather confusing for everyone. I'm not sure anyone even knows what my first name is, anymore. Sometimes I'm not even certain I remember myself.

"Because it's your birthright," Sebastian answers earnestly. "Once the viscount accepted you as your grandparents' heir, you could have been Lady Amell."

"My mother is Lady Amell," I correct him. "I'd rather teach the nobility to respect the name Hawke. I'm happy with who I am."

The heir to the throne of Starkhaven inclines his head. "You're right, then," he agrees wryly. "You wouldn't fit in among the nobility."

"That's fine by me." I smile crookedly. "Like I don't have enough people trying to kill me already?"

Sebastian laughs. "This isn't Antiva," he says, still chuckling in amusement. "Not all nobles are targets for assassination."

"How sheltered are you?" Isabela comments, somewhat sardonically. "Are you supposed to be proof of this theory?"

I see Fenris shake his head in disapproval as I sigh at her poorly thought out jest. Sebastian inhales sharply, looking slightly taken aback. "Point," he says after a moment.

"And on that note, I think it's time to get you home to Lowtown." I grasp Isabela's forearm, throwing Sebastian an apologetic look as I give her arm a pointed squeeze. "I think someone needs a drink."

Isabela looks suddenly remorseful, as though belatedly realising the cruel undertones of her offhand comment. "Sorry, Sebastian. I didn't mean anything by it."

He waves her off, smiling gently. "I know, it's alright. Don't worry; you are forgiven."

"Alright, alright," she smirks cheekily. "No need to go all Chantry-boy on me; I've been forgiven and blessed enough for one day. I am sorry, though."

"Apology accepted, my lady," Sebastian says, bowing to her. He nods farewell to us, and then takes his leave, departing to one of the quieter prayer rooms towards the back of the Chantry. I motion towards the doors with a toss of my head and we make our way back into the fresh air and welcome light of Hightown.

"Ah, that's better," Isabela sighs in relief as she steps into the sunshine. "Though, now I need something to take my mind off the fact that I just voluntarily ventured into the Chantry without the intention of impurity and debauchery." She turns to me, wearing the sort of cheeky grin that always appears on her face right before she says something highly discomforting. Brilliant. "So, tell me, Hawke," she begins conversationally. I glance at her warily, and her smile widens. "How well does Merrill... perform?"

Fenris coughs loudly behind us as I give Isabela an incredulous stare. "Pardon?"

"I just want to know how well she's taken all of our little discussions to heart," Isabela explains patiently. She arches a well-sculpted brow. "Well? What's she like?"

I can't believe we're discussing this, though honestly, I'm not really certain why I'm so surprised. I'd best answer her, or she'll only keep asking me in increasingly inappropriate situations. Like in front of Mother, for instance. Isabela really does like to test our friendship, doesn't she? "Sweet. Tender. Loving," I answer, and then smile at her slowly. Might as well give her something she'll enjoy hearing. Merrill won't mind, I'm sure. I'm fairly certain Isabela has already asked her much the same question about me. "Insatiable."

Isabela's eyes widen in astonishment. "Really? My kitten, insatiable?" she chuckles delightedly as we make our way down the stairs. "How glorious..." She gives her head a mournful shake. "And me once again without quill and parchment. I should have stolen some of Varric's when I had the chance."

Oh, no. No. Not this again. A story about me inexplicably fighting a high dragon wearing nothing but my skin, I could tolerate, as long as I never had to read it, or lay eyes on the front cover, Maker forbid. But if something of such an intimate nature about my relationship with Merrill ever finds its way into circulation amongst the general public... well, let's just say I will be somewhat less than pleased. "Isabela," I begin warningly. "If I find anything about Merrill and me in any of your serials, or Varric's for that matter-"

"Yes, yes, awful consequences, your anger will be terrible to behold, et cetera," Isabela cuts me off, rolling her eyes a little. "I suppose I'd better not let you find those particular serials, then."

My eyes narrow dangerously. "What?"

"Nothing," Isabela says, clearly trying to suppress giggles. "You have pretty eyes." I sigh quietly. Oh, for the love of the Maker...

I suddenly hear some odd scuffling sounds coming from the darkened stairwell leading to Darktown, and frown. The sounds are innocuous enough and likely beneath my notice, but something just... doesn't feel right. I hold up my hand to halt my companions as we pass, stopping to listen as I hear someone speak;

"Pull his tail!"

"No, I'm going to poke him!"

A loud yelp issues from the shadows, followed by childish giggling.

"Stupid dog..."

I stride quickly over, Isabela and Fenris following after me. Two young children in fine noble clothing are crouched in the shadows at the edge of the stairwell, laughing as they torment the small, white dog huddled between them. The poor little thing gives a pained whimper as one of them pokes it sharply with the stick in his pudgy hand. Maker's breath, what's going on? Bile rises in my throat at this display of needless, childish cruelty. Little wretches. A life of privilege, and still they can find nothing better to do than torment a helpless animal?

"Hey!" I say sharply as I reach them. "Get away from that dog!"

The children jump and stare at me, though they don't move away from the quivering ball of fur between them. "I know who you are," the elder child informs me, looking at me over her shoulder with a haughty expression. "You're the Hawke lady. You live next door."

I recognise the children now; offspring of the Ahrenbergs, some of my least favourite neighbours. Which, given the overall pretentious and pompous quality of Hightown residents, is truly saying something. I survey the girl with poorly concealed disdain; she'll be trouble when she's older, that's for certain."Yes, and I know who you are," I tell her, trying to force my voice to sound calm and authoritative rather than simply disgusted. "Leave that animal alone, or I will have to tell your mother."

The youngest of the pair drops the stick he's holding and steps away from the small dog immediately, but his sister straightens slowly, glaring at me with a pronounced curl to her lip. "My mama says you dirty the streets of Hightown because you're a filthy elf-lover," she says dismissively. I stare at her, utterly floored by her words. An ugly sneer appears on the child's small features. "We don't have to listen to you!"

Fenris growls menacingly, giving them a murderous stare. "You will obey, if you know what's good for you! Leave! Now!"

The children gasp, wide eyed with fright, and then they flee; sprinting full pelt through the archway into the courtyard below the Keep. Running home to tell their parents, no doubt. I doubt that will be the last I will hear of this, sadly, but it had to be done. And I can't seem to muster a shred of remorse for allowing Fenris to scare those vicious little monsters. I may even get him a present.

The little dog uncurls itself from its protective huddle and blinks at us cautiously for a moment. Then it gives a tiny yapping bark of what I choose to assume is thanks, and trots over to us, standing on its hind legs to place its little paws against Fenris' leg. He stares down at it in bemusement, and it wags its little tail as it looks up at him, then begins to furiously lick his shin; the highest part of him it can reach.

"Aw, look," Isabela giggles. "Fenris... you just saved a puppy."

He grimaces a little, bending down and picking up the little dog to stop it licking him. "Temporary insanity," he comments dryly, holding it inelegantly at arm's length as it gazes at him adoringly. "I assure you, it will not happen again."

I grin happily, the sight of the cross lanky elf holding the fluffy white pup awkwardly in his arms reminding me strongly of when he carried Feathers home for me. "But you're clearly so good with animals. Past evidence speaks for itself. You may even be able to turn your talents into a career. Dog trainer, dragon tamer..."

"I simply cannot express the full measure of my delight at your excellent suggestions," Fenris drawls wryly. "I shall ponder your advice long and hard into the night."

I chuckle softly as I lean in closer to Fenris to check the animal's collar, finding a small tag with the name 'Taffy' on one side, and the address of an old Kirkwall family in the noble district on the other. I look at the dog, raising an eyebrow. "Taffy, is it?" The little fellow barks once upon hearing his name, looking up at me with bright eyes. Well, he's no fearsome mabari hound, but he's certainly adorable enough to make up for it. "Apparently it belongs to the Prideaux family. I believe they live in the house directly across the square from you, actually, Fenris."

"I suppose I can return it to its owner, then," Fenris says somewhat distastefully, glancing down at the animal in his arms, whose little curly tail begins wagging again upon receiving his attention. "Since I will be heading that way."

"You ought to find somewhere nicer than that dank old mansion," Isabela says as we head towards the stairs to the noble estates. "Like Lowtown, at the Hanged Man, or something. There's a free suite a few doors down from mine, I think."

"I am comfortable with where I am," Fenris says distractedly, leaning his head back awkwardly so that his face is safely out of the reach of his fluffy admirer's tongue.

"Suit yourself." Isabela shrugs nonchalantly. "Though why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me."

"I like the view," Fenris replies simply.

Isabela looks him up and down. "So do I."

He raises a non-committal eyebrow and heads towards the estates with the little dog in his arms, Isabela following along hurriedly behind him as she tries to match his long strides. "We'll see you later, Hawke!" she calls over her shoulder with a wave.

"Is it really necessary for you to accompany me?" I hear Fenris say dryly as Isabela flings an arm casually across his shoulders.

"Seeing you returning a lost puppy?" Isabela's wicked laugh rings across the courtyard as they reach the stairwell to the noble estates. "There's no way I'm missing this! Not to mention I am in desperate need of a drink. Some of that Agrisio Parvanii you've been drinking your way through for the past three years will do nicely. If you've got any left."

I smile as I walk into the Keep courtyard and head towards my mansion, my pace quickening eagerly as I draws nearer to home, and Merrill. Maker's breath, but I missed having her at my side, though in all honesty I'm glad she didn't have to witness everything that happened with Alrik today, or hear about what poor Alain has suffered in the circle. It will be bad enough telling her about it when she asks about my day, though I don't intend to dwell on it long, of course. There are much more... pleasant pursuits I have in mind for this afternoon. I wonder how Merrill has gotten on with just my old dog to help her watch over that troublesome little griffon.

I hope he hasn't given her too much trouble...

---

Xxx M xxx

---

"Feathers, no!"

The stubborn little griffon pulls again at the corner of the book I was reading - or was trying to read - while sitting in the window of the upstairs reading room, waiting for Hawke to come home. Feathers gives a petulant caw, the sound muffled a little bit by the paper in his tightly clamped beak as he tugs even harder, demanding my attention. I give him my very best cross look.

"Stop that!" I tell him firmly. "This book belongs to Hawke's mother, and they'll both be terribly upset with you if you hurt it!"

He lets go of the book corner and mews piteously, resting his head on my knee in apology. I give up on the book and take him in my arms, stroking his soft furry back. Mythal, I hope anyone happening to look up and see me sitting here in the window holding a baby griffon will just think he is just a cat, or an oddly shaped pillow, or something. It could lead to rather a lot of awkward questions, otherwise; though if they do look, they probably won't be able to make out anything but a small white blur. At least, I hope they won't. Unless they have particularly sharp sight, we should be fine, and really, even if they did spot him, I doubt they would instantly leap to the conclusion that it was a real live griffon they were seeing. That would mean they'd have to start believing that griffons exist again, let alone that one has taken up residence in Hightown, and well... I think we're probably safe enough. Much more likely that they would decide they'd had one too many goblets of Antivan wine with their midday meal. That sounds like something most of them would do, anyway, from Hawke's ever-so-slightly scornful descriptions of her noble neighbours.

I cuddle Feathers close, listening to his contented purr as I look down through the window, keeping my eyes on the courtyard below while I watch for Hawke. It's well past midday now; the sun will be setting soon. I am starting to get a little worried, though I know she wasn't sure how long whatever Anders wanted would take when she left this morning. Still, I hardly expected it would take all day. Mythal, I miss her. And to think I used to go for days at a time without seeing her at all; I don't know how I ever managed it without going mad! I hope what she's been doing wasn't anything too dangerous, but... knowing Anders, well... it could be anything. And... and he did say, before; when we met him in Darktown and he hinted that he might need her assistance... he did say that the thing he needed help with was dangerous, after all. What if... what if something happened, and I wasn't there? What if he wanted her to... I don't know, attack the Templars, or-or start a mage rebellion or something, and she got hurt, or Mythal forbid, captured? What if she's been taken to the Gallows? What if-

No, no, stop it! Come on now, Merrill, enough of that. Not a good mindset. Think positive. Hawke is quite capable of looking after herself without your help, after all. Or anyone else's help for that matter. She's fine. I'm sure she's fine...

Feathers gives a worried little chirp, blinking up at me. Likely sensing my growing anxiety, I suppose, reacting instinctively to my mood much like Hawke's mabari does when she's feeling some particularly strong emotion. "She'll be alright, Feathers," I say, though I know I'm trying to reassure myself more than him. "I'm sure she'll be along any moment now." My speech is fast and anxious, despite my attempts to calm myself. Even more than normal, I mean. "Yes. Nothing to fret over. She'll be fine, I know she will..."

A small, feathered head presses into my chest, and a sweet, purring melody fills the air as Feathers gently croons a soothing little song. I feel my nervousness abate a bit and smile, stroking his little ears gratefully. I do love his strange little ability, though I'm not certain he truly knows much of what he is doing. Much like me half the time, really. I wish I had a better understanding of griffons; then I might be able to figure out how to train him...

A very familiar-looking woman strides through the Chantry courtyard archway across the other side of the square, and I sit up attentively, trying to make her out. Short black hair, black boots, red tunic, a graceful, purposeful walk... It could be Hawke, but then, I've already fooled myself six times now, thinking I saw her; I don't want to get my hopes up again, and I can't see her face...

The woman glances up as she draws nearer, looking straight through the window at me as though she sensed me watching her, and I giggle joyfully, giving her a happy wave as I see her beautiful features clearly, smiling cheekily up at me. It is Hawke, she's home! Oh, Creators, it's about time! I set Feathers gently down on the floor beside Hawke's loyal dog, who is lying in a guarding position by the door. He hasn't let me out of his sight all day; I think Hawke must have told him to watch me. Or Feathers. Or both of us. "Now you behave, you little troublemaker," I tell Feathers warningly. "I'll be back shortly, but I don't want to come back in here and find that half the books have been eaten." Feathers yawns, and I sigh, looking at the mabari. "Will you mind him for me, please? I won't be long, and I'll be bringing your mistress with me, I promise."

He gives me a happy, determined bark in reply, fixing Feathers with a commanding stare as my silly little griffon chick gazes back at him with wide eyes. He gives a questioning, very innocent sort of chirp.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know" I tell him fondly, nodding pointedly at the watchful mabari. "He's got his eyes on you, so behave."

I close the door behind me and then rush down the stairs, not willing to waste another moment. The front door swings open and hits the wall with a loud bang as I burst through it, but I don't care. Hawke is home! I spot her just as she walks past the decorative stand of trees in the middle of the square and run to her, throwing myself happily into her waiting arms.

"Oh, ma vhenan, you've been gone so long!" I cry softly, burying my face in her throat. "I'm so happy to see you!"

She gives a low, contented laugh, holding me close. "Me too. I'm sorry I've been so long." She gives a little sigh. "It's been... quite a day."

"A bad day?" I ask in concern, pulling back to examine her, frowning a little as I see faint shadows of exhaustion beginning to show beneath her wonderful eyes.

Hawke nods tiredly. "It certainly wasn't pleasant."

Whatever Anders wanted her help with must have been something quite awful then. I tighten my hold on her reassuringly. "Well, don't worry, Hawke. I'll soon have you feeling better."

She presses her palm gently to my cheek, smiling into my eyes. "I already do," she says quietly, slipping an arm about my waist and drawing me against her as she leans in for a slow, sweet kiss. I curl my arms around her neck as our lips meet, melting into her, marvelling at the way we fit together so perfectly, as though made for one another.

Hawke draws away reluctantly at last, smiling down at me as she twines her fingers with mine. "Let's go home."

I nod, and we walk slowly back towards the house, passing a group of nobles standing by the stairs to the Keep. They seem to be staring at us with expressions ranging from mild displeasure to outright anger and disgust, whispering to each other as we draw near. I glance up at Hawke, intending to ask her what could be upsetting them so... but then, I don't have to. The look on her face as she glares at them with furious defiance is answer enough; they're talking about us. About Hawke, being with me.

Oh...

A surge of unease rises in the pit of my stomach as I look at their stony, disapproving faces, but I push it down firmly. Whatever their opinions of me and Hawke, it isn't worth troubling over. Not in the least. I tug gently on Hawke's hand to call her attention away from them, and smile reassuringly when she looks at me. "It's alright, ma vhenan," I tell her softly. There isn't anything they can do to change how much I care about Hawke, or what she feels for me. That's all that matters. "It doesn't matter what they think, or say. Don't let them worry you; I'm not going to."

She envelops me in a loving smile as we reach the door to her mansion at last. "You're absolutely right, love," she says, and presses a tender kiss to my brow as we go inside, her miserable neighbours and their foolish opinions already behind us, and forgotten.

"So what did Anders need?" I ask, closing the door behind me and bolting it securely. I'd rather no chance of trouble or visitors today, not now that I've got Hawke home at last. "Why were you gone so long?"

"Short answer?" Hawke says, smiling wryly. "He wanted me to help him break into the Gallows dungeon, and well, it was all downhill from there, frankly."

Mythal! Did I hear that right? I stare at her in shocked disbelief. No wonder Anders said it was dangerous; for an apostate to break into any part of the Gallows is about as safe and sensible as casually sauntering into a dragon's den and jabbing it in the eye with a stick. It isn't at all likely to end well. "You... you broke into the Gallows?"

She sighs quietly. "Yes. But it didn't go quite as any of us expected. Let's sit down somewhere, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Alright, ma vhenan," I agree gently, biting back my torrent of anxious questions. Of course she needs to rest a bit, she's been on her feet all day, no doubt. We should really go and check on Feathers, anyway, before he gets himself into trouble. "I was just in the library with Feathers." She raises an eyebrow, and I smile reassuringly. "Don't worry; I left your sweet old dog to watch him. But you know we can't leave him for long. Why don't we go there, unless you're too tired to climb the stairs?"

Hawke gives a soft chuckle. "Hmm. I think I'll manage," she smiles cheekily, wrapping her arm about my shoulders and drawing me close against her body. "Though, I may have to lean on you a little. Just in case."

Feathers and his mabari guardian gambol excitedly about our feet as we enter the room, respectively barking and chirping their excitement. Hawke smiles as she leans down to pet each of them on the head, and then collapses into the nearest armchair, fondling her silly dog's ears affectionately as he thrusts his heavy head into her lap. I take the chair next to her, settling myself comfortably as Feathers jumps onto my knees and snuggles up to me contentedly, purring softly as I look at Hawke. "Now, what was it that Anders needed to break into the Gallows for, of all places?"

Hawke leans her head back against the comfortable back of her chair, sighing softly. "Where should I begin?" she asks herself quietly. She thinks for a moment in silence, then draws herself up as she turns to me, ready to explain. "Anders wanted help seeking proof of a plot amongst the Templars to put all mages through the Rite of Tranquillity..."

I watch her with wide eyes as she explains everything that happened; Anders telling her about the awful Templar's horrible plan; finding those Templars tormenting the young mage in the Gallows dungeons, and Alrik attacking them; Anders losing control of Justice and very nearly killing them all, everything. I feel a jolt of anger and distress when she shows me the rip in her sleeve and the angry red scar scoring her flesh where the Templar slashed her arm. At least she's all healed up now, though I have a feeling she is glossing over some other rather more unpleasant details about the encounter that she doesn't really want to tell me. I won't press her about it for now, since she seems to be alright, and all. That scar on her arm tells me it was quite a savage cut, though. I know it will fade in time, and there probably wouldn't have been anything I could do to prevent it if I had been there, but... that doesn't make me feel any better about Hawke being hurt. And I feel very badly for Anders, losing control like that. I can't imagine how he would have felt if he hadn't been able to stop Justice from killing that mage girl, or attacking Hawke. He must still be feeling absolutely dreadful about it, though. Poor man.

"So what happened when you went to the Gallows?" I ask once she tells me about calming Anders down, and of what he asked her to do in his place. "The second time, I mean."

"I spoke with Knight-Captain Cullen, telling him I'd heard rumours about Alrik's Solution," she replies, a sober frown creeping over her face. "I'm afraid I found him to be... disturbingly in favour of wider application of the Rite." She shifts a little in her chair, looking at me with a slightly troubled expression. "I also saw Alain, the boy we met a few years ago during that trouble with the... Starkhaven mages."

"The blood mages, you mean? The ones whose leader tried to kill us?" I ask, and she nods.

"Yes. And... you remember the woman, Grace? She was with him," she says, her frown deepening sadly. "It seems Meredith didn't stop hunting the rest of the group until they were all recaptured, which Grace now blames me for."

What? "How can she blame you for that?" I ask in bewilderment. "What did she say?"

"Something about leaving them with 'no food, no water, and only a moment's head start'," Hawke sighs. "She even thinks I told the Templars about them after all, since they didn't stop looking for them all this time."

How can she truly feel that way, after everything we tried to do for her and her people, even after half of them tried to kill us? "But you helped them!" I cry indignantly. "You risked yourself to lie to that Ser Karras!" Hawke's face darkens a little at the reminder. "If you'd told them about the mages, you would have had to admit to helping them and then they'd have locked you up too, how can she believe that?"

Hawke shrugs. "It's understandable that she wants someone to blame," she says, sounding a lot more calm than I do about it. But then, she is blamed unfairly for things quite a bit. I suppose she's gotten used to it, but I still don't like it when it happens to her. Not my Hawke.

I shake my head, still smouldering about it. "Well, I don't see why she can't just blame the Templars, then."

"I'm sure she does. I just don't think that's enough for her," Hawke says, her voice a little sad. She looks at me, and her eyes shine with warmth and love. "Never mind it now, emma sa'lath," she says. "It doesn't matter."

I smile at her, the loving endearment pushing all else from my mind, as usual. Probably just as she intended, I suppose. She knows me too well. "What else did you do, then?" I ask, deciding to take her suggestion and let it go for now. "Did you go to the Chantry next?"

"Apart from a brief visit to Solivitus," she replies, nodding. "Since I was there and all. That was about it for the Gallows, and it was off to the Chantry straight after that, to see what Elthina had to say."

I glance at her tunic, and raise an eyebrow as I look back up at her pointedly. "You went to see the Grand Cleric like this? All covered in Templar blood?"

Hawke blinks. "Hm," she says in surprised realisation. "I suppose I did. I didn't really think about it that much after it dried." She glances down at herself, shrugging indifferently. "It doesn't really show, though. And I cleaned my face first, of course."

I sigh, shaking my head at her fondly. "Oh, ma vhenan."

"What?" she asks innocently, raising an eyebrow at me. "Don't tell me you're upset with me."

"No, of course not!" I reply quickly. What a silly thing to get upset over. "It's just a very Hawke sort of thing to do. It's good these clothes are red, though, otherwise it might have looked a bit suspicious, talking to the Grand Cleric about the plans of a murdered Templar, wearing clothes that were obviously all over blood. As it is, it just sort of looks like a bit of an interesting pattern. Crimson, with a darker red pattern of... sort of splotchy-looking... things."

"Well, when you put it that way, it certainly does sound quite interesting indeed," Hawke laughs. "Perhaps I can start a new fashion."

"So then, what did the Grand Cleric have to say about Ser Alrik's plan?" I ask her. It doesn't seem likely that she would know about it, but she might at least want to do something about it once she heard. Otherwise, what is the Chantry for, if they're all supposed to be so good?

"She didn't seem too concerned by it," Hawke answers, a clear note of resigned disappointment in her voice. "She would rather believe that it is simply something the Templars say when they've had a hard day oppressing mages, rather than something they would actually put into practice. Apparently it is not her place to prevent maltreatment in any case, in case that compromises her status as a neutral party." She sighs. "But that's all over with now, at any rate. For today, at least."

I reach out and place my hand gently on her arm. "Well, then, don't think about it anymore, Hawke. You're home now, you can relax. In fact, I insist that you do."

Hawke smiles, eyes dancing merrily. "Ma nuvenin, my love," she says, her voice filled with love and affection. "If you're sure there's nothing else that requires my immediate and undivided attention."

I think for a moment, and then shake my head no. "I don't think so," I tell her, and then pause, remembering. "Some letters came for you earlier, of course, but they were only sent by a regular courier, so I don't think they're that important. There's also a large package addressed to both of us."

"Who is it from?" Hawke asks, a look of curiosity mixed with caution on her face.

"I don't know, it doesn't say." I reach out to her dog, still with his big head resting in her lap, and ruffle his ears affectionately, earning myself a few licks in return. "This fellow sniffed it a bit, but he didn't seem to think there was anything to worry about inside, so I left it beside the writing desk, where I put your other messages. I'm sure it can wait though, whatever it is."

"Alright then," Hawke agrees. She moves her dog's head gently out of her lap and stands, groaning a little as she stretches her tired body. "Though, I suppose I ought to read the letters, at least..."

I hear the reluctance in her tone, and put Feathers gently down on the floor under the mabari's watchful gaze as I rise from my chair, fixing Hawke with a firm, no-nonsense sort of look I learned from watching Marethari, though I know it isn't half as effective as hers. She's had longer to practice, after all. Much, much longer. It seems to work well enough on Hawke, though. Most of the time, anyway. "It can wait until tomorrow, ma vhenan," I inform her seriously. "You've had a long day; you need to rest and not worry about what anyone else wants from you for a while. Besides, it's a bit too late in the day to go adventuring. The sun will set soon; there'll be nothing you can do if anyone wants help now. And if the letters aren't urgent after all, then there's no harm in waiting a few hours to read them, is there?"

"I suppose not," Hawke says, smiling at me adoringly. "Oh, but I missed you today, my little voice of reason."

I smile back. "I'd better not be your only voice of reason; else we're both going to get into trouble quite a bit." She laughs, and my heart lifts at the sound. Creators, I love making her laugh; it just makes the world seem so much brighter. I step forward and hug her about the middle, cuddling into her and sighing happily as she wraps her arms tight about me. "And I missed you too, emma lath. I want you all to myself for the rest of the night."

I feel her kiss the crown of my head. "I'm all yours," she whispers, leaning back a little to look at me. "Did you have anything in particular in mind?"

"I thought... I could draw you a bath, maybe?" I ask, feeling my heart melt as I glance up into her beautiful, loving gaze. "With... with oils, and scents, and candles? Does that sound nice?"

Hawke strokes the hair back from my brow and then cups my cheek in that tender gesture of devotion that makes me feel so, so loved. "That sounds perfect," she says quietly, her lovely voice filled with warmth. "As long as you'll be sharing it with me."

I giggle softly. "Of course, ma vhenan," I say in mock-reproof. "That goes without saying."

"Wonderful," Hawke replies. She smiles slowly, wickedly, dropping her gaze to my simple rough-spun tunic and soft cotton trews. Without further ado, she sweeps me into her arms, holding me close. I laugh in delight, clasping my arms about her neck and clinging tight in breathless anticipation as she carries me down the hallway.

"Let's get out of these clothes, then," she suggests as we enter our bedroom; her voice a silky whisper in my ear. I shiver wonderfully at the sound. "I don't know why we bother with them, really. Such a terrible inconvenience..."

---

Yes, I know, not the best chapter. Like I said; multiple distractions. I should have more time to write soon, I hope, and there'll be more of Merrill in the next installment. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you want to (but please be kind, I bruise easily!) See you in a little while as soon as I finish a better chapter, and thanks for sticking with me.

maximasdecimas