Notes: Thank you for your continued interest! Here begins Book Two of Spells, Spells of Power. I'm continuing the numbering of the chapters unless I get negative feedback about it (i.e. you'd rather I restarted each book with Chapter 1).

It is in this book that events will turn sharply AU... even compared to the first part. There won't be too many mentions of canon game quests here after a certain point, because the characters' circumstances will be quite different from what they are in the game at that same point in the timeline.

Chapter song inspiration is "Troubled Times" by Green Day.


Book Two: Spells of Power


Chapter 30: A New Day Dawning?


Solace, Dragon 9:33, Kirkwall.

Maker's flaming breath, there are few spells that can be safely taught to a five-year-old, Caitlyn Hawke thought in exasperation as she examined the mild repulsion glyph that her five-and-a-half-year-old son, Mal, nickname for "Malcolm Anders Hawke," had cast at the door of his bedroom to keep his parents out. She felt dread at the thought of him entering his teenage years, if he was already trying to rebel at age five. I suppose, given who his parents are, the desire to rebel is in his blood, she thought, and yet... I don't want to be on the receiving end of it! This glyph was weak, typical of childhood magic, but the fact that he had shown magic at age five at all could mean that he was powerful—and magic strengthened with age.

Anders was instructing him in healing magic, a subject about which Caitlyn knew little. It was also Mal's primary interest, which she supposed was all to the better. That was safe to teach, at least. The creation school in general was safe, and Caitlyn had learned some other spells from it over the past couple of years—including glyphs. They had both agreed that they would not teach their son the elements, spirit damage, or entropy until he was old enough to better control the strength of his spells and they had thoroughly warded the Hawke mansion against damage. She was already eyeing the basement as a practice room for him when that time came. Her father had forbidden her and Bethany from using certain kinds of spells inside the Lothering house, she recalled. It had been frustrating at the time, and she had defied this rule more than once, but now she saw the point of it. If she and Anders taught him well, someday Mal would have enough control over his magic that they could teach him the riskier schools. To the extent that there were any books about how to teach children who manifested magic very early—they had found one printed in Tevinter—that was the advice from that source as well: "Teach the safer spells first until the child learns self-control."

Besides, the absolute last thing they needed was for a mage child to cause destruction because his mage parents didn't teach him how to control his magic. That would be more than just a disaster for the family; that would be a disaster for the cause that she and Anders were beginning to pursue. Never mind that the Fereldan Circle was almost destroyed from within, she thought darkly. Disasters in the Circles somehow never count against that system, but disasters outside the Circles always count against reform.

I wish Father and Bethany were still here, Caitlyn thought with a pang as she headed downstairs. They would have been able to help, especially Father. He had been their teacher when she and her sister were children, and Caitlyn was inexpressibly grateful that she had had a mage parent now that she had a child of her own who was one. Except for the six months in Dragon 9:27 when he lived with the Hawke family and learned from Malcolm too, Anders had been taught in the Circle. While Mal had learned quite a lot about healing for his age from watching his father at work, Caitlyn had found that she was actually better at one-on-one instruction than Anders. She was better able to detach from her magic itself and explain to Mal what the process entailed, whereas Anders was deeply involved in every spell he cast. She attributed it to Anders' familiar spirit enhancing almost everything he did and to herself having been tutored by her father for years. This repulsion glyph that she had just observed was one that she herself had learned from one of Anders' books only a couple of years ago, but she had been the parent to teach it to Mal.

She reached the foot of the stairs and passed into the living area, where her mother was seated. Leandra had her oil paints and a canvas, and she was painting a family portrait of the family as... it currently was. As Caitlyn took her seat, she glanced up at the walls, where her mother's other painting hung: a portrait of the entire Hawke family as it was in 9:27, Malcolm and Bethany included, with Anders smiling sheepishly to the side, his arm around Caitlyn's waist, and a small bump on her belly. Leandra had painted this from her charcoal drawings from years past. She had given up art when they had moved to Kirkwall and she had lost her youngest child, but she had taken it back up recently.

When Leandra had completed that first painting about a month ago, Caitlyn had been almost unable to even look at it. Nothing about it was inaccurate—Mal was not present in the picture except as that bump, and he had not, in fact, been born yet—but it was still painful to look upon, because it was a reminder of what could have been. However, she had become used to it now, and it was nice to be able to look at the wall and remember so readily what her father and sister had looked like. Her memories of their faces had been getting fuzzy, especially those of her father, she had realized—and that made her much sadder than looking at this painting did. Forgetting what her father and sister had looked like was a stark, bleak kind of sadness; the painting was a warmer, more mixed kind. With the painting to jog her memories, she could feel sad about them but still remember them clearly.

The second painting, the one Leandra was currently painting, included Carver in his Grey Warden breastplate, Grandfather Amell's sword strapped to his back. Caitlyn and Anders stood behind young Mal, the expressions on both their faces a mix of pride, regret, and happiness—which was quite accurate, and spoke well to Leandra's artistic talent that she could capture all of that in oils.

The mabari Baldwin and the orange tabby cat Ser Pounce-a-Lot were curled up by the cold hearth, some space between them, but it was still apparent that they got along well. Baldwin was Caitlyn's dog and clearly regarded her as the alpha of the entire "pack," including the other humans and the cat, but Pounce likely considered himself the head and Anders the second-in-command as his caretaker. It was amusing to Caitlyn, but if it worked, she was in favor of the animals thinking whatever they needed to.

"Mal has learned how to cast a glyph of warding," Caitlyn said wryly to her mother.

"Oh, Maker," Leandra said with a chuckle.

"He warded the threshold of his bedroom. Obviously I would have no difficulty removing it, or stepping past it, but honestly—a five-year-old!"

The older woman smiled indulgently. "You tried to use magic against me as soon as you could, you know."

Caitlyn blushed, remembering an event from her childhood shortly after she learned she was a mage in which she had threatened to set her mother's clothes on fire unless Leandra gave her a cookie. Her father had been utterly furious, angrier than she had yet seen him by that age, and he had given her a firm lecture about mages who abused their magic by menacing and bullying non-magical people just because they could. As a nine-year-old girl who had just wanted cookies, she had been thoroughly shamed at having upset her beloved father so much that he would lecture her about magisters and maleficarum. The experience had been formative, though, and she had never forgotten his lesson.

"I was a brat," she conceded. "Mal just wants his privacy. I expect he's reading or playing by himself." She smiled briefly, but it faded. "I hope Anders and Varric come back soon. I would've gone, but he wanted to go, and you know one of us should be with Mal until he has learned more about magic. Anders hasn't been out much lately except to go to the clinic, which hardly counts."

"Is Varric coming back with him?" Leandra inquired in surprise.

"I don't know. It's possible, though. The problem involves Varric's brother, with whom he does not get along. He might want to come here to have company after that."

"It's so sad when family members can't get along," Leandra lamented. "Gamlen is difficult, of course; I do understand it, but it's still sad. This brother is the one who headed the Deep Roads expedition, isn't he? What was the problem?"

"Some sort of domestic issue at the mansion, apparently," Caitlyn said. "They think Bartrand is hiding there for some reason."

"I hope everything is all right," Leandra said.

As if in answer to that, the lock in the front door clicked, and the door itself was flung open. Anders and Varric stalked inside, an expression of disgust and fury on the dwarf's face and a very troubled one on Anders'. "I'll get you a drink," the mage said to Varric in distracted tones.

The animals sat upright as Varric set his mechanical crossbow down and stormed into the living room, sitting down with a glower on his face. "Hello, Hawke," he grunted to Caitlyn. He nodded to Leandra. "Sorry to disturb you."

"It's nothing," the older lady said. "Caitlyn's and Anders' friends are always welcome here."

The dwarf merely grunted as Anders returned with a carafe of brandy and stacked glasses. He seemed uncommunicative right now, and Caitlyn decided to let him settle down. Anything involving his brother tended to rile him, after all.

"Is Mal upstairs?" Anders asked his wife.

She nodded. "He has warded his doorway, too. Oh you," she scolded as a slight smirk formed on Anders' face. "Of course you approve of that!"

"Is the ward still there?" Anders asked, still smirking.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Well, then, clearly you don't mind it too much either."

"I could take it down or walk through it if I truly needed to," she said. "It's harmless, and it would only hurt his feelings if I took his magical work down for no good reason."

"You two have no idea how lucky you are," said Varric. "All of you, actually, Junior included in absentia. To have a normal family..." He trailed off darkly, shaking his head and heaving a sigh, as he downed his brandy.

Once everyone who wanted a drink had one, Varric and Anders began to narrate the events of that evening.

"It was that idol," Varric muttered. "I knew that thing was bad news. It should've been destroyed and never allowed to leave the Deep Roads!"

"The idol made of red lyrium?" Caitlyn said. "He still had it? I hope you destroyed it, then!"

Anders shook his head. "He didn't have it anymore. He said he had sold it to a woman." He frowned in thought, trying to remember the dwarf's exact words. "'Glittering like the sun, but with a heart as cold as ice,'" he quoted. "That sounds exactly like a Templar in my opinion—shining armor, icy heart. We should get in touch with one of the ones you know, Caitlyn... Thrask is probably better than Varnell... and see if he can root out who it is."

"Shut it, Blondie," Varric muttered, clutching his drink. "Tonight isn't the time for your blasted Templar obsession." He glowered ahead. "My Maker-damned bloody idiot of a brother has just destroyed his entire household and his own mind because of that thing."

"What do you mean, destroyed his entire household?" Caitlyn said, a chill of fear and foreboding prickling down her spine.

"I mean exactly what I said. He killed everyone in the mansion except one or two servants. He claims that idol made him do it. Bastard!"

Leandra and Caitlyn were horrified. "This is a thing you found in the Deep Roads?" Leandra said in alarm. "Were there more objects like it?"

Caitlyn shook her head at once. "It was unique. It was made of lyrium, but red. There was an entire empty thaig—a dwarven settlement, basically, Mother—that was filled with veins of this red lyrium, but no other artifacts anywhere. And we didn't linger. I got a really bad impression from it as a mage, as did Anders. Something is wrong with it. It's... corrupted somehow."

"Lyrium isn't supposed to affect the minds of dwarves at all, unless they are Grey Wardens and have a connection to the Fade through the Taint," Anders said. "That Bartrand—and Varric, too, when we were on the expedition—experienced any effects from it, let alone this kind, is very alarming." He gave Varric a defiant look. "Which is why we need to find out who has it now."

"What became of Bartrand?" Caitlyn asked, fearing that she knew the answer already.

"He's still alive," Varric muttered, "for now. Anders was able to heal him temporarily, bring him back to himself a little bit. I don't know what the long-term solution will be, though. I could send him to a Chantry hospice, where the Templars with brain rot go."

"He won't be cured there," Anders said. "I still think you should send him to Tevinter instead. They might be able to actually do something about it."

"They're just as likely, if not more so, to experiment on my brother with their bloody sparkly paws," Varric retorted, "considering him an 'interesting subject for study.'"

"Tevinter culture respects dwarves."

"They won't respect a disgraced surface dwarf who is off his rocker!" Varric exclaimed. "Especially one who was exposed to a magical substance that they've probably never heard of!"

Anders put up his hands in surrender. "All right! He's your brother. I'm just warning you not to expect him to get better at a Templar hospice. It's a place where they go to die."

Varric scowled. "After what Bartrand did, maybe that's for the best. I know I couldn't look myself in the eye each morning if I knew that I had betrayed my household like that, whether I did it on purpose or not. Maybe I was wrong tonight and should've put a bolt through him after all, for mercy."

Caitlyn had no idea what to say to that. "I understand why you didn't, though. He is your brother," she offered somewhat helplessly, "and you know he wasn't himself when he did this. I've never had to mercifully kill anyone who was close to me... thank the Maker." She glanced unhappily at Anders, who had given her own father a mercy killing when Malcolm developed the Blight sickness in 9:27. Anders gazed back at her, sadness in his face too. Caitlyn took a deep breath and continued. "It would be more difficult for you than for anyone else, is my point. If you decide he should have a quick, painless end, you... can ask me. I know entropy spells that drain life quickly. It'll be over in a minute, and he won't suffer. I promise, Varric."

Leandra looked askance at her daughter but did not scold her. Anders could see the exact moment that she remembered watching Aveline kill her husband mercifully, and remembered that he had done the same for Malcolm, because nothing more could be done to help them.

Varric finally sighed heavily. "I'll think about it, Hawke," he said, sincere tones in his voice. "Thank you for the offer. I'll consider it."


After Varric left and Leandra had gone to bed, Caitlyn turned to Anders with concern in her face. "I agree that we need to find out who has that idol now, if it did this to a person without a connection to the Fade. If you're right that it is a Templar, that's very, very bad."

He gazed ahead toward the sleeping cat and dog. "I would like to study this red lyrium to find out what is wrong with it—but don't worry," he reassured her at once as alarm spread over her face, "I know it's not safe. It's not safe for anyone to meddle with, clearly."

Caitlyn considered. "I wonder, though... you said something tonight, about dwarves who are Grey Wardens having a connection to the Fade..."

"When I was at Vigil's Keep, there were two dwarves in the Wardens," he explained. "They had Warden nightmares. It was their first experience with dreams. And... I suppose it's additional evidence that the Black City is the source of the Taint," he muttered grudgingly.

"Well, I was thinking... you reacted differently to it than any of us did. You said you almost had two responses to it: being drawn to it and being repulsed, and that the repulsion was closely associated with Justice, but that the draw was almost like a dark song."

Anders nodded.

"So I wonder... do you think that this lyrium could be affected by the darkspawn corruption somehow, and that is why you had a unique reaction, as the only Grey Warden in the party at the time? And why a dwarf who was not a Warden was affected by it too, since the Taint is a conduit to the Fade for them?"

He considered that. "It's an interesting idea. But Grey Warden mages take lyrium potions all the time, and in fact, every Warden who takes the Joining arguably does too, since lyrium goes into the potion. Wardens don't go insane like Bartrand Tethras did."

"But that would be refined lyrium. This idol, and those veins in the thaig, were not."

"That's true. I don't know. This is why I wish it were safe to study—but honestly, it should probably be wiped out, all of it. Nobody can handle it safely, not even a dwarf."

She nodded. "I agree with that. You know," she confessed, "if we could have lived a normal life, a quiet life, I think I really would've liked being a magical instructor and researcher. I've discovered that lately, teaching the basics to Mal and reading books in our library. But... there are a few things that are too dangerous, that shouldn't even exist, and this could be one of them."

Anders pulled her close and stroked her vermilion-red hair. It was halfway down her back again, as it had been six years ago. "I wish we could've lived a normal life too," he said, "and I have noticed how much you like studying magic. I'm so glad that you have found something you like!" he added with a smile. "Something that isn't violence and killing, as you said."

"I've even avoided performing any more blood magic," she said in a whisper. "I... was really slipping a while back. I was doing spells that were strictly blood magic, that can't be performed without it, not just using my blood for ordinary ones." Her expression darkened. "My father warned me and Bethany about that. He was right."

"Good," he said, hugging her. "I'm glad that you and Merrill were able to help me with the flu patients without using any of my lyrium, but I was getting worried too, after you started using those other spells."

"Now that I know how to do those spells, and have done them before without lasting harm to myself, I think there will always be a temptation," she admitted.

"But you know you can resist it," he said encouragingly.

"Yes," she said. She got to her feet, pulling him up with her, and gazed into his face. "Let's read to Mal and then get ready for bed, love."


Caitlyn reflected in bed late that night, after they had spent time with their son, put him to bed, taken baths, and made love twice. She and Anders had been back together for over a year and a half, closer to two years now, and they had been married for over one. It had been a happy year for her—and as she thought about it, watching him sleep peacefully for a change, she realized why that was so.

I really did stop being cruel to him, she thought. After the fight we had during the flu outbreak, when I ordered him out of the house because I was angry at my mother and took it out on him, I realized that I could actually lose him if I didn't treat him right and respect him. He always respected me, my interests, my aspirations. I didn't respect his passion, though. Before the epidemic, I didn't respect what it truly meant to be a Healer. I didn't respect his independence, either. I tried to control him—to dictate what he did and on what schedule, and to make him feel guilty when I couldn't do that. Maker, I even tried to control his relationship with his own son, to discourage Mal from pursuing his own interests too because they were closer to Anders' magical specializations than to mine. It was because I was—and am—afraid I would lose them, but that doesn't justify it. I was wrong to treat him that way, and it wasn't even making me happy to do it. I fell in love with him because of who he is, not who I imagined I wanted to force him to be. I love him because he is an independent person with his own perspective and interests. We share a passion for mage rights—that's a necessity for both of us, after all that we suffered—but I love him for who he is, himself. Now that I have let him be himself without verbally abusing him for it, we're both so much happier and more affectionate with each other.

Mother was right when she gave me advice before the wedding. She said that love wasn't enough by itself and that we couldn't take each other for granted. I wasn't listening because I was annoyed with her about something else, but she was right. The rings on our fingers and records in the Chantry might bind us by law, but that is also not enough to bind us in our hearts. We have to choose it ourselves by our words and deeds toward each other.

She gazed at Anders again. His chest was rising and falling regularly, and his sleep was calm, with no sign of the spirit of Justice. She was glad that his dreams tonight did not require the spirit to assume control, but she no longer minded the spirit in its good form. The Vengeance aspect, which she had seen once—possibly twice if the night that Karl had died was another such instance—was a different, more frightening matter. But Justice was good, she acknowledged, and according to Anders himself, Justice had saved his life both in the Fade and out of it. If not for Justice, she wouldn't have him now. I would have lost him, she thought. I never would have seen him again. Mal never would have known his father at all. He believed that he owed his life to Justice and that was part of why he let the spirit in, but I owe Justice too. She sighed. I wish I could have known the spirit as he did, before it merged with him at all. Even now, it is not a distinct being anymore. That may have been the only way to save him without taking another life as a blood sacrifice to send him back into the Fade, as Anders tells me, but it's still sad to me. Justice survives as part of Anders... but he used to be a separate individual. He sacrificed that for Anders—and for me, for Mal, for our cause. That's the ultimate sacrifice, in a way.

She leaned over Anders and planted a soft, almost intangible kiss on his forehead, smiling tenderly as she did. I love you, she thought, and I will never give you cause to doubt that ever again.


Anders took Mal to the clinic the following day to continue his "apprenticeship" and instruction-by-observation in healing magic. As Caitlyn watched them leave, she realized that she should check on Varric. She thought momentarily about going to the Hanged Man, where his room was, but then realized that he was much more likely to be at the Tethras mansion in Hightown, albeit for a grim reason. The mansion would be filled with bodies.

Sure enough, the dwarf was in the house, looking as grim as Caitlyn had ever seen. He had a team there to help with ripping out bloodstained carpet and disposing of the bodies—preparing them to return to the Stone, according to dwarven customs—but he was overseeing it, a dark scowl on his face.

"Hawke," he said in acknowledgment as she entered. "Glad you came."

She nodded and sat down beside him. "I felt that I needed to. I'm sorry I wasn't there last night, Varric."

He gave her an understanding look. "It's all right," he said. "Blondie was able to bring Bartrand back from the brink, and no offense, but I doubt you could have."

"I'm sure I couldn't have," she agreed.

"And one of you needed to be with your child, since he is a mage." He managed a brief smile. "It's good to see somebody with a happy family. It gives me something to believe in. Even though I don't see it in my own kin, I know it exists." He sighed heavily. "I wouldn't trust myself to be a father. My upbringing was... not happy."

She gazed ahead. "Mine was, but a lot of bad things happened following Dragon 9:27, and if I weren't one already, I probably would think that this disqualified me from being a mother. I've managed to make it work, though. At least, I think I have, with Anders by my side especially."

He considered that. "I know. Some of us can rise to the occasion even if we would otherwise think that we couldn't. You're one of them, Hawke." He gave her a genuine, friendly smile, and she felt relieved that the moment of tension had dissipated. "Regarding Bartrand." He scowled out at the evidence of the carnage that still remained in the house. "I don't want to send him to Tevinter, and I've thought about it. Perhaps Blondie has a point about Templar hospices. The Chantry can't cure toxic exposure to the regular kind of lyrium, so what could they do for exposure to something that they have probably never heard of? He'll drool down his own shirt there, pissing and crapping himself at the last, until his brain finally gives out—or he'll attack and they'll have to put him down violently." He sighed heavily. "He's already fallen back into what he was last night. Anders' healing lasted even shorter of a time than I feared. I've got sleep syrup in him and two people guarding him upstairs..."

"My offer stands," Caitlyn said at once, steeling herself even as she spoke the words. She had killed many people, but they were always trying to kill her or someone she cared about. This would be very different. "I will do it if you think that is best, and I swear on my life that I will use something that causes no pain or suffering for him. Anders doesn't know entropy spells, but I do. They don't do any damage to the body—no burns, no injuries. They just... drain life."

There was a moment of silence for several seconds before Varric spoke again. "I'm so sorry, Hawke," he said, his voice suddenly cracking. "I'm sorry to ask it of you." He gazed at her, looking surprisingly vulnerable for the tough, streetwise dwarf that she knew.

She gave him a brief hug. "It's all right," she said. "I'm sorry it's necessary... but I do understand. I wish... there was something that could be done for him. I wish that this hadn't happened. But since it did, and there's no rational hope for him, I... well, this is something I can do." I get it now, Anders, she thought sadly as she and Varric headed up the stairs for him to say his final goodbye to his brother. I understand how you felt about having to give a merciful death to people you couldn't save. I understand. It's yet another thing for which I was unkind to you. I understand now, and I'm sorry.

Bartrand was a mess. He barely recognized his own brother. "Do you want to wait for me to summon Anders to heal him again?" Caitlyn whispered to her friend. "Do you need to say any last words to him?"

Varric considered for a moment before shaking his head. "That'd just make it harder. What is there to say now? That thing made him murder almost his entire household." He turned aside. "Just... take care of it."

She gave him another brief hug, then readied her magic. The spell she cast, known in the books as Death Cloud, drained the dwarf of his life, first putting him to sleep and then slowly shutting down his bodily systems. It grew difficult to sustain as he transformed from a drooling, raving madman to a peacefully sleeping man, but she knew that she had to finish this, hard though it might be. Finally Bartrand Tethras breathed his last.

Varric closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, regret and despair filling his gaze as he looked at Caitlyn. "Thank you," he said. His gaze flitted back to his brother. "And Maker have mercy on the soul of whoever bought that damned idol—or perhaps I should say, the victims of whoever did."

"We'll find the buyer," she said, more to reassure him than herself. If there was no record of the sale, it would be a monumental task. "We'll find the buyer and destroy the thing, and then we'll go back to that thaig where the rest of that red lyrium is and blast it to smithereens." It seemed ridiculous to her even as she said it. Darkspawn would have overrun the Deep Roads by now. They were already starting to do so in late 9:31 when she and her friends ventured there.

He gazed back sadly at her, clearly not believing her words either.


"You and Varric should go to the Hanged Man together," Caitlyn urged Anders that evening. "He's feeling terrible about the loss of his brother, and you were there—you saw all the bodies..."

"You had to put him to death, though," Anders pointed out.

She leaned against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "And it was horrible, and I understand how it felt to you now," she said softly, "especially since my father and Karl meant a lot to you, whereas Bartrand Tethras was just the brother of my friend. But I'm all right now. I didn't see the violence itself. You did. You and Varric should go out together, a 'boys' night out,' as it were. You haven't left the house at night in months."

He smiled gently at her. "I have a family here."

She hugged him. "You do," she agreed, "but that doesn't mean you cannot have any time for friends! You've been working very hard. You should do this."

"Well... all right."


The following evening, the two friends were ensconced in their cups at the Hanged Man, complaining in increasingly colorful words about the myriad of problems in Kirkwall. Bartrand Tethras, surprisingly, barely came up at all—but perhaps it wasn't so surprising, given how bad Varric feels, thought Anders.

Varric slammed his empty stein on the table. "Blast and damn it all! Between the gangs, the Qunari, and the bloody Templars, Hawke is the only thing keeping this accursed city together!"

Anders drunkenly raised his drink in a toast to her that Varric could not join. "She is!" he exclaimed as beer sloshed over the side.

A barmaid quickly shuffled by and refilled Varric's stein. She scurried away, apparently used to male customers groping her if she lingered, even though neither of these would have done so. Varric grunted, tossed her a coin that she deftly caught, and raised his newly filled drink to clink against Anders'. "I misspoke," he said. "You did good work a while back. I know the ladies helped, but it's mostly down to you that Darktown didn't lose half of its population to a disease. Cheers, mage."

Anders joined the toast, but looked to disagree. "Actually," he said, "you give me too much credit. I was out of lyrium and couldn't have handled everything by myself anyway. Caitlyn—"

"Keep it down."

Anders was well in his cups by now, but he suddenly realized that his voice was rather too loud in a public place for him to be talking about his wife obtaining privately sourced lyrium for him and performing spells. Few in Kirkwall knew that she was a mage, and they needed to keep it that way until she could obtain protection from the Circle as he had. "Right," he agreed. "But she did a lot too. So did Merrill, but it was all Cait's idea."

"Hawke? I heard you saying 'Hawke.' I bet I know who you mean."

Varric and Anders glanced up sharply, trying to identify the speaker. It was not hard. A young man in casual leathers smirked across the bar. He was not visibly armed, but it was always safe to assume that anyone in the Hanged Man was carrying weapons anyway. Anders tensed, and Varric subtly shifted his crossbow on his back.

"The Hawke I know about is a Fereldan dog woman who washed up with the rest of that flea-infested flotsam three years ago," the young man continued, obviously thoroughly drunk if he thought this a good idea. His obnoxious smirk broadened. "Her father was an infamous apostate and maleficar, and you know what else?"

"Oh, Maker," muttered Varric. He preternaturally sensed what was coming. Anders seemed already lost to anger. The young mage was breathing heavily, his stare fixed upon the provoking young man, and although no signs of Justice were yet present, Varric had no doubt that this was going to turn into a brawl very soon if the idiot said what Varric was sure he was going to say.

"She took after her whore mother spreading her legs for an apostate herself in Dog Land!" the man finished with glee.

The other patrons drew back in excitement, several of them oohing and chuckling as Anders stormed across the bar, grabbing his staff off his back. But when he reached the young man, it was his fist that connected with the fellow's face, sending him reeling backward. The tavern erupted in cheers.

The man scrambled to his feet, blood trickling from his nose, and instantly lunged for Anders—but the mage ducked and grabbed his collar, fury written in every line of his face.

"Oh, you're him, aren't you?" the man said. The smirk formed again despite his bloodied nose. "Of course, I should've recognized that Vint coat." He lowered his voice. "We know what you and Hawke have done, and payback's going to be a bitch. The Warden Dog Lady can't protect you here."

Varric emerged by Anders' side and pointed his crossbow at the man. "What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Who cares?" Anders snarled. He threw the man violently to the floor. "She's offended half the criminals in this city. You know what happens to all of them when they try to get 'payback,' don't you, you fool?" he said to the man. "You're no different."

The man spat blood on the floor and glared defiantly. "I'm no alley rat," he sneered in a low, menacing voice. "Hawke also has enemies at the Gallows, and we're the ones that are going to take both of you down for what you did to Karras."

An incandescent, flaming rage suffused Anders at those words. Justice tried to take him over, but Anders was just in control enough to know that that was a terrible idea in such a public place. A guttural yell burst from his mouth as he sent a blast of deathly cold frost at the Templar, utterly unconcerned that the man was already injured.

The Templar was blasted with the spell but quickly shrugged it off. "And that is why Meredith is right that your kind shouldn't leave your cells!" he spat, raising his hand to perform a Holy Smite. A whiff of lyrium filled the air.

Anders shouted in blind, incoherent outrage again. He swung his staff around to use it as a blunt-force weapon, knocking the man over—it was much easier to fight a Templar when they were out of their heavy armor, he noted—and interrupting the Smite before the man could finish.

Without waiting a single second, Anders began to send spell after spell at the man, frost, conjured rocks, lightning, and blasts of raw gut-punching force, not giving him a chance to return a blow or even stand upright. He quickly, unconsciously, reached an equilibrium with his spirit that allowed Justice to enhance the power of his spells without actually taking him over. This enabled him to cast spells at full power, because Justice was apparently renewing his mana as he needed it. He felt like a manifestation of the Fade itself as he battered the fallen Templar repeatedly. When the spatters of blood on the floor became a small pool, he—or Justice, or Vengeance—felt nothing but a vindictive surge of pleasure. Vengeance, then, he thought in satisfaction, not caring about that either.

"Stop it!"

The words were not coming from the man on the floor, but rather, from someone who was grabbing Anders' arm with a harsh grip. He snarled in disregard and gave the Templar a kick between the legs, eliciting another groan from the fallen man.

"Maker's fucking breath, Anders!"

At last, he began to come back to himself, brought out of his fog of rage by the use of his name. He breathed heavily and turned to one side, where Varric was standing by, a look of complete fury on his face. The barkeeper was rapidly approaching from the other side, and he looked equally angry.

"Get out," the barkeeper ordered him.

Anders wrenched free of Varric's grasp and glared. "Are you siding with the Templars?"

"I don't take any sides," the barman seethed. He glared at Anders, then shook his head at the battered and bloodied man on the floor. "But you were about to kill him."

"He insulted and threatened my wife."

"That is something for you to settle outside my pub if you can't control yourself better than this!" he exclaimed. "A bit of brawling, throwing punches, is one thing, but I won't tolerate this from anybody, even an exalted Grey Warden of Hightown. You were about to kill that man, and your big showy spells were menacing the rest of my customers! Out, before I have my men throw you out."

Anders was still heated and angry, but he allowed Varric to drag him out of the Hanged Man by his arm. Several customers gave him signs of approval as he passed by, but Varric's face was still a study in exasperation.

When they were finally well away from the pub and heading back to Hightown, Varric turned to Anders with a scowl. "Well done, Blondie," he growled. "Congratulations. You're the first person I have ever known who was so violent as to actually get tossed out of the Hanged Man for fighting."

Anders was still rather tipsy, so he smirked with pride at these words.

"You're proud of that," the dwarf said, shaking his head in amazement. "Unbelievable."

"He deserved that and worse. You heard what he said about her."

"I did, and I also heard his threat. I would have preferred to know more about it, so that she can prepare for it, you know."

That was something that had not occurred to Anders, and as they reached the doorstep of the Hawke estate, the broad grin on his face faded away. Had he endangered Caitlyn by acting rashly? He hoped not...

He unlocked the door. They went inside the house and headed to the living room, where Caitlyn was seated by herself, frowning in concern over a letter. Her mother and Mal were already in bed. Anders sat down on the divan beside her, but Varric took a single chair across from them.

"Anders! Varric!" she exclaimed, shocked at the look of anger on Varric's face. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Your hotheaded husband here got himself kicked out of the Hanged Man for brawling," Varric said. "I didn't think that could actually happen, but he proved me wrong!"

She turned to her side and raised her eyebrows at Anders. "Not a scratch or a bruise on you, though," she observed. "Did you heal yourself?"

"I didn't have to," he replied proudly, a smirk forming on his face again in spite of himself. "I used magic."

"He means that he blasted the fellow with one spell after another, keeping the man down, and took no blows himself."

"It was a Templar," Anders explained. "He insulted you—and your parents—and called you horrible names, then threatened you. He said he was a friend of Karras, that one who wanted to murder all the apostates. He deserved what I gave him." He reached for her, trying to throw an arm possessively around her. "Come here, love."

She was torn. As embarrassing as the thought was, it was actually very appealing to think of him violently defending her so intensely that it got him tossed from a rowdy pub where brawling was commonplace. However, Varric was not happy, and she had a feeling that it was not simply because his planned evening with a friend had been cut short.

Her moment of hesitation gave Anders the advantage. His arm fell across her waist, and he pulled her close, gazing into her green eyes with his warm brown ones. In spite of herself, her lips parted, and a quick intake of breath filled her lungs.

"Maker's breath, this arouses you. You're just as bad as he is," Varric said, shaking his head.

Embarrassed, Caitlyn extricated herself from Anders' embrace. "You're still drunk, Anders," she told him. "You need to sober up." She reached for a pitcher of cold water that rested on the table next to the divan and poured him a cup. "Here. Have this, and..." She readied her magic, then sent the single healing spell she knew at him.

As the spell struck him and he downed the cold water, Anders felt himself slowly becoming sober again. Varric shook his head again and continued. "If he had been better able to control his outrage, we might have been able to find out the specifics of the Templar threat."

"You said it was about revenge for killing Karras, though?" Caitlyn said.

"Apparently so," Varric said.

She picked up the letter that she had been examining. "I think this has to do with that, then," she said. "It didn't make much sense to me otherwise... my 'considerable talents' and an 'opportunity' in Hightown... Shady deals never took place on the streets of Hightown. I know that. I used to be a smuggler. They happened in abandoned warehouses and the like. But after hearing about this drunken fool of a Templar, I expect this letter is about the same thing." She glowered. "They—another pack of lawless zealots in the Gallows—mean to trap and ambush me." She passed the letter to Anders, and he carried it to Varric after he had read it.

"Most likely so," Varric agreed, putting the letter back on the desk. "We'll be prepared."

"I should contact Ser Thrask," she said. "I hope he's all right."


The following night, just after midnight.

Caitlyn, Anders, Varric, and Ser Thrask stepped away from the pile of fallen bodies, which did not include the smirking fool from the Hanged Man—but Anders supposed that that one was probably still too badly injured to have come. The Templars who truly hated mages would not even avail themselves of Healers. That was unfortunate; it meant that he was still in the Gallows and could cause more trouble someday. But we already know there are still enemies there, he thought, starting with the Knight-Commander herself.

"I need to get back to Lowtown as quickly as possible," Thrask explained as he broke off from the rest of the group. "I'm supposed to be on patrol there tonight."

"Thank you for coming, though," Caitlyn said. "I'm sure it was no easier to kill fellow Templars tonight than it was when Karras took up arms against you."

He sighed. "It actually was, though. These people have broken their oaths to serve the Maker, as far as I'm concerned. There is rot in the Order that has to be cleaned out."

She nodded. "Do you think this group tonight had the support of the Knight-Commander?"

"I don't know if she knew about it," he admitted.

"If she did, I'm sure she would approve," muttered Anders.

"She is certainly setting a bad example from the top down, at a bare minimum," said Thrask. "Better leadership would make a difference."

"And policy changes," said Anders.

"We're... working on that, all of it. But there is one other thing I need to ask of you, before you go back to Lowtown," Caitlyn said. "There was this... item. When we went to the Deep Roads, Varric's late brother carried it out. A dwarven idol, a small statuette, made of lyrium—but the lyrium was red."

"Red? I've never heard of that."

"Neither had any of us. The reason I mention this is that... well... it drove Varric's brother mad. Murderously so."

"He killed almost everyone in his household in paranoia and rage," Varric said. "Anders here briefly brought him back to himself, and he said that he had sold the idol."

"I think he might have sold it to a female Templar," Anders said.

"Did he give a detailed description?"

"Nothing that could be used to identify someone specifically, unfortunately," said Anders, "but... the idol itself is unmistakable."

Caitlyn had already pulled a sheet of parchment from her robes and was quickly sketching the idol as she remembered it. "Here," she said. "This is basically what it looked like."

Thrask took the parchment, and his eyes widened. "That's... ugly. Not your drawing," he clarified. "That looks like a demon of the Fade."

"It might also have been a dwarven wraith of the Stone," she said. "We found it in a... cave... that was full of veins of this same red lyrium, and we all had poor reactions to it. That is the problem, the source of the evil, not whatever the idol represents. It drove a dwarf mad," she emphasized. "A dwarf, with no Fade connection. It would be disastrous if a Templar bought it."

"I suppose it would at that. Well, I'll keep an eye out for it," Thrask said. "I can't promise anything—even if you are right that a Templar bought it, she probably wouldn't display this openly, you know. But I'll be on the lookout anyway."

"Thank you."


Back at the Hawke estate, Caitlyn and Anders entered the living room to find, to their surprise, that Mal was awake again. They had put him to bed before going out, but he had awakened, and his grandmother had been unable to get him back to sleep until his parents returned home.

"I thought you two weren't going to leave him here without another mage present," Leandra admonished them as the little boy leaped to his feet.

"We usually won't," Caitlyn said. "He wasn't supposed to wake up and then stay awake, though," she added, raising her eyebrows at her son.

"I need another story," he said, gazing up at them.

She relented. "Oh, all right. One story, and then you need to try to go back to sleep."

Mal was actually more tired than he had let on; he just wanted to see his parents when they returned. He nodded off quickly after they had finished reading to him. Caitlyn and Anders went to their own bedroom and tumbled onto the sumptuous bed together, falling into the now wonderfully familiar dance of intimacy and love.

"Good night, darling," he whispered next to her ear as he rolled to her side and pulled her close.

She nestled against him, closing her eyes. It had been a happy, peaceful year, the likes of which she had not known since Dragon 9:27—but events seemed to be ramping up again, and she had a bad feeling that the time of peace was soon to be over. At least we have each other this time, she thought.


Notes: Even when game quest events do occur, as in this chapter, I'm not going to stick rigidly to the odd game timeline in which nothing happens for three years on two separate occasions. The timeline is almost past the first such block, of course, but if I need something to occur in Dragon 9:35-9:36, it'll happen then rather than inexplicably being delayed till 9:37.