Notes: Thank you for reading this story! I am fudging the timeline a bit because I don't see any particular reason why Qunari-related quests must occur before "All That Remains" does, and it works better for this story for the Qunari arc not to be broken up with other things. In addition, well... read on.
Song inspiration is "Ruiner" by Nine Inch Nails.
Chapter 32: Coveting What Was Mine
Caitlyn stormed into the house, followed by Aveline, who looked equally irritated. Before she had left to meet with Aveline in the Keep, she had put Mal to bed, and her mother had followed soon after, but Anders was still awake and waiting for her. He looked up sharply at the entrance of the two red-haired, hot-tempered women grousing at each other.
"I am not doing the work of paranoid Templars!" Caitlyn exclaimed to her friend, eyes wide. "If the City Guard went to this man's house, searched it thoroughly, and found nothing, then of course it was just more paranoia on Meredith's part and that of her henchmen!"
"Caitlyn," Aveline said, "I don't dispute your point. Ser Emeric made fools of my guards, and I'm not pleased about it. The Guard of Kirkwall serves the city and is supposed to be at the Viscount's disposal, not that of the Knight-Commander."
"The less I say about Viscount Dumar's weakness right now, the better. It's perfectly obvious that when Meredith assassinated Viscount Threnhold and selected Dumar, she was choosing someone she could control."
"Viscount Threnhold was a menace to the city, I've heard," Aveline said.
"I don't doubt that, but it wasn't the place of the Templar Order to get involved in politics, let alone commit regicide."
Anders spoke up at last. "I agree with Caitlyn. Perhaps Threnhold deserved it, but it was the duty of Kirkwall's nobles to depose him peacefully, and then the duty of the people to overthrow a tyrant after the nobles failed in their duty. But as you say, darling," he added to Caitlyn, "she knew what she was doing. Dumar is very... pliant."
Aveline sighed heavily. "That said... someone is killing women throughout Kirkwall. I think Emeric is correct that the murders are connected and that this is not just the usual gang-related crime. There were indications in his investigation that suggested it was one person, one murderer, who was targeting women for a reason. You should look at the notes, Caitlyn. I suspect that you had to recover the body of a victim once before."
Caitlyn pulled a parcel of parchment out of her pack and scowled at it. "It was about three years ago. I didn't recover the 'body' of a victim; I recovered the hand." She looked at the documents. "This Templar thinks the murderer is a mage, of course. Gascard DuPuis, an Orlesian noble living in Hightown."
"There are a surprising number of apostate mages among the lower Orlesian nobility," Aveline said.
"That's true," Anders chimed in, to Caitlyn's surprise. "The demon that cast Justice out of the Fade had taken over an Orlesian noblewoman who had been a mage—a blood mage, in fact. And I heard in Amaranthine that the late Arlessa of Redcliffe had her mage son kept out of the Circle because it was commonplace in Orlais for lower nobles to do that." He paused. "Of course, maybe those aren't the best examples to use..."
"And Petrice is fairly liberal about mages because of that same culture," Caitlyn said. "I know. I have never met DuPuis; he seems like a recluse, but perhaps he is a mage. I'm the last person to judge him if he is an apostate! But my point is that this Templar, this Ser Emeric, may be onto something but suspects the wrong person because he is biased against mages."
Aveline sat down in a chair and gazed at her friend. "As I said, the City Guard found nothing in his house. But... perhaps you should pay him a visit. You are a mage; perhaps you could detect hidden things that non-mages could not. Just to be sure." When Caitlyn still looked unconvinced, Aveline pleaded with her. "Women are dying, Caitlyn, and this is the only lead anyone has."
Caitlyn sighed heavily as she looked over the notes again. As much as she hated to admit it, she realized that the Templar had connected at least some of the dots in the same way that she would have. He was not lyrium-addled; his mind was sharp. There were commonalities in the murders, which implied something far more sinister and deliberate than street crime. And if he's right—if DuPuis is a mage and a murderer—then it's in my best interest to take care of this myself and clean up quietly afterward. Otherwise it would be used against me when I try to make my own move for power: a noble of Hightown who was a secret apostate mage, doing horrible things with his arcane talent. I... suppose Aveline is right.
She glanced up at Aveline and nodded. "All right. I'll go to his house."
Anders stayed at home when Merrill and Varric showed up to join Caitlyn and Aveline. Their plan was to always have a mage at the house—either one of them or Merrill—in case Mal practiced magic and lost control of a spell, but if a dangerous murderer who targeted women really was on the loose, it seemed advisable for Leandra's and Orana's sakes too. They did not know how to defend themselves.
As Caitlyn led the small group down the street, she tried to suppress her growing indignation, to little avail. I found the remains of a victim three years ago! she thought angrily. Street gangs wouldn't cut off someone's hand and leave a valuable ring on the finger. It was clear then that something worse was afoot. Apparently there have been more women killed since then, and as usual, nothing has been done about it. Nothing gets done about anything in this city until it's too late!
"Aveline," she said, attempting to keep the irritation out of her tone, "I was wondering, actually. Why is it that a Templar is the only one to investigate this? Does the City Guard not have enough money?"
Aveline stiffened defensively. "I am still discovering petty corruption," she said, her voice taut. "It is shocking how many guards are being extorted by a gang or crime guild to whom they owe coin. Believe me, Hawke, I'm not satisfied with this state of affairs either, but when problems are rooted so deeply, it takes time to dig them all out." She paused and added, pointedly, "You may learn that yourself one day."
Caitlyn was silent, taking that in. Did Aveline know about her ambition too? Varric certainly had guessed, but she was not sure about the rest of her friends. Merrill was probably oblivious. Fenris and Isabela... well, Fenris was clever; it would not surprise her if he had guessed too. He had been keeping more to himself lately, settling in to his old master's house and trying to teach himself to read. She approved; it seemed that he was inspired by the fact that Mal could read well, and moreover, it was a sign that he was trying to make a life for himself that had purpose beyond revenge on Magister Danarius. As for Isabela... Caitlyn realized suddenly that she had not seen much of the pirate lately, and when she had, Isabela had not been herself. She had been anxious, jittery, and disinclined to make jokes and innuendo. It seemed that she had even broken off her... relationship, or whatever it was, with Fenris; Caitlyn had not seen them together in weeks. Something is up, Caitlyn realized. As soon as she settled this matter tonight, she resolved to have a serious talk with Isabela.
They reached the entrance to the DuPuis house and promptly entered. Almost as soon as they stepped inside, a pack of shades descended upon them.
"I don't suppose the guards had anything like this happen!" Caitlyn exclaimed as she felled one of the Fade creatures, which disappeared in a fetid black vapor. Beside her, Merrill was screaming Dalish curses and casting spells Caitlyn had never seen from anyone except this young elf.
"Certainly not!" Aveline replied, smashing her sword into the side of one of the creatures. Caitlyn hesitated for a moment before casting a spell that would enchant the blade—and Varric's bolts—with the elements.
At last all the Fade creatures on both the ground and upper level of the house were gone. Caitlyn noticed a note on a nearby table and picked it up. Her gaze grew stormy as she read it, but this was not the time to share its contents. Anders would find this highly interesting, she decided, pocketing it. Aveline raised her eyebrows but did not comment, and the group continued through the house.
A set of blood-filled glassware lay prominently in the next room. Merrill's eyes widened. "I think he is a blood mage," she said in a low voice.
"You think?" Aveline muttered. Her visage was growing dark.
"Please don't!"
The terrified cry shattered the air. Caitlyn, Merrill, Varric, and Aveline jumped to their feet and dashed down the hall in the direction of the woman's voice, boots pounding and echoing downstairs. Caitlyn stopped in front of a door, caught her breath, and slammed it open, her staff at the ready.
A man with dirty blond hair was standing imperiously over a well-dressed woman who had been badly injured. Her face was bruised and her arms bore red scratches and cuts. As she quickly took in the scene, Caitlyn felt a flaming hot rage suffuse her body. She readied a fireball to fling at the man—
"Stop!" he exclaimed, holding up a hand, eyes wide, as he turned around to face them. "This is not what it seems!"
"Oh, isn't it?" she retorted as flames formed in her palm.
"I am not the one killing women around Kirkwall," the man, presumably DuPuis, insisted. "If you will let me explain..."
"Oh, this I have to hear," she said. "Do explain, then. Explain why this woman is cowering before you, bloodied and terrified! Explain the shades that you set to attack us and the vials of blood in your room, too!"
"I did not set the shades to attack you," said DuPuis, "but after this house was raided once, I needed to set up defenses for myself."
"To defend yourself against the law."
"I am not the murderer," he insisted. "I am trying to find the killer, in fact! He killed my sister!" He gave the woman on the floor a glance of disdain. "She is frightened of my method."
"Your method being blood magic, no doubt."
"Yes, I am using blood magic to try to find him," DuPuis admitted. "He has left a trail of blood throughout the city in the form of his victims' remains. This can be used to track him down... provided that it does not become too old to be usable..." He sighed. "Unfortunately, the trail is cold."
"And this woman? She looks alive to me," Caitlyn said acidly.
"In case the murderer targets her next, I would be able to track her quickly and recover her—and capture the killer as well."
"Then you've got what you need!" snarled Caitlyn. "She doesn't want to be here. If you are telling the truth, how about giving me a piece of evidence for that other than your word? Let her go. Now."
DuPuis sighed again. "She would be safer staying... but as she wishes."
The woman scampered to her feet and ran from the room without another look at the man who had been her captor. Caitlyn rather hoped that she would not tattle to the Templars about what she had just seen, or if she did, that she would not be able to identify Caitlyn. She took up with DuPuis knowing that he was a mage, she thought. Surely she isn't like that... and surely she would not turn in her rescuers. When she was gone, Caitlyn turned furiously to DuPuis. "I still don't trust you," she said.
His eyebrows furrowed in anger. "You said that if I let her go—"
"I didn't say I would let you go. You brought the Templars here—a secret mage living in Hightown, like me! They used to let Hightown alone! Living here used to be a guarantee that Meredith wouldn't—" She broke off, aware that Varric and Aveline were staring at her in absolute shock at this self-centered turn of her thoughts.
DuPuis realized it too. His gaze narrowed. "So that's what you care about," he sneered, "yourself. You might even believe me, but it does not matter if you think I have put you at risk from that hag."
She formed another fireball threateningly in her palms. "I have a family, DuPuis. I care about them—and I did not say that I believed you," she added. "You are not the only blood mage present. My elven friend and I both are."
Aveline gave Caitlyn a shocked look and drew back slightly. Varric was unsurprised, but then, he had seen her do it in Corypheus's prison last year. She had not used it since then, but she was quite certain that she remembered how.
DuPuis stiffened. He clenched his fist, his nostrils flared, and it appeared for a moment that this would become a hard, bloody, unpleasant fight—until Caitlyn, who had been readying her own magic, felt a tug of her sleeve. She turned, and Merrill was gazing at her with wide green eyes.
"Can I tell you something?" the young elf woman asked.
Caitlyn breathed out through her clenched teeth. This was not the time for one of Merrill's statements that were apropos of nothing. But as she considered her friend, she realized that Merrill seemed very intent on this. She felt a pang of guilt for her irritation as she nodded quickly and stepped aside.
"I think he's telling the truth," said Merrill in a whisper.
Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. "How do you know?" Something occurred to her. "Merrill—can you read minds with blood magic?" And if you can, I want to—She broke off that thought at once, feeling ashamed for even having it.
"Not exactly. Not individual thoughts. But it is sometimes possible to get a broad sense of something, especially if the person is thinking especially hard about it at the time. There was a drop of his own blood on an artifact downstairs—the one that had trapped the shades before he released them, I think—and that is how. I don't think he is lying that he is not the murderer."
Caitlyn closed her eyes momentarily, considering her options. Her own outrage about the Templar-initiated raid on a Hightown estate was comparatively unimportant, and she realized it now, to her shame. It was a reaction from fear for Anders, Mal, and—yes—herself, not reason; DuPuis had brought Emeric down on himself by his own conduct, and the Templars would not suddenly demand to search everyone in Hightown now. What mattered more was bringing the murderer to justice. If she let DuPuis go and it turned out that Merrill was wrong about this, any future deaths would be on her, and she knew it. But if DuPuis was not the killer, that meant that her initial instinct—that the Templar had been overzealous—was correct. But this visit had confirmed that there was indeed a killer, and if DuPuis was not it, that meant that this was a dead end, with no clear path forward. Other than his approach, she thought.
Quickly coming to a decision that she hoped she would not regret, she turned back around and faced Aveline, Varric, and DuPuis. "All right," she said, her features contorting into a scowl. I won't put this on Merrill, she decided at once. I won't say it's because of what Merrill told me... even though it obviously is. I want to be a leader, so I will own this decision myself, Maker help me. "I don't trust you, DuPuis, and I think it's worse than despicable that you would use blood magic on women without their consent, whatever 'good purpose' you may have for it. That sort of high-and-mighty behavior is exactly why some people hate all mages... and I'd wager that it's what got a Templar interested in you. As a mage myself, I don't appreciate it."
Aveline and Varric seemed to realize what Caitlyn had decided to do, even though she was not finished speaking. They also seemed to disapprove. But Caitlyn had expected that, especially from Aveline, and she continued resolutely. "But... and I may regret this... I believe you when you say you aren't the killer." Her gaze narrowed. "If it turns out that you have lied... there will be nothing left of you when I'm through with you."
Relief spread over the nobleman's features. "You will not regret it," he assured her at once. "And I will not forget this."
Caitlyn did not like that comment one bit. She gave him a menacing glare as she turned aside. Aveline was glowering as they headed toward the top of the stairs.
"He sends his victims lilies just before he abducts them."
"What?" she said sharply, whirling around.
"That is his calling card, as it were," said DuPuis. "He murdered my sister, and I have talked to the friends of a couple of victims, and that is what happened before they died as well. A bouquet of white lilies left at their home with no sender identified, as though from a secret admirer."
"That is utterly depraved," Caitlyn growled.
"I have shared this with you to protect you—well, you and your lady friends here are quite capable of protecting yourselves, but if there are any women in your acquaintance who are not, it is the only warning sign that the killer's victims seem to get."
Aveline and Merrill seemed offended at his use of the term "lady friends," even in the midst of an apparent compliment of their fighting prowess, but Caitlyn found this man slimy and unsavory for other reasons. Even if he was telling the truth—and she hoped to the Maker that he was—his interest in this killer seemed to be something other than a desire to bring him to justice. She could not put her finger on exactly what it was; any diligent investigator would know a great deal about the killer's "signature," but there was something about the way that he talked about the lilies that made her skin crawl. He spoke of his sister almost as an aside.
"Then I will know what to do if anyone I know ever receives them," she said. "I meant what I said, DuPuis. If you lied to me tonight, I swear before the Maker that you will pay for it."
Caitlyn and Merrill had barely had time to stash their staves in shrubbery upon the silhouetted approach of another Templar. Fortunately, the woman did not see their actions—but her message was very disturbing, claiming that Ser Emeric had agreed to meet them as per the contents of her note.
"I didn't give a note to Ser Emeric," Caitlyn told the Templar, chills of alarm darting down her spine. "Someone forged my name."
The woman's eyes widened in concern. She drew her blade. "Then it is a trap for him! I hope I am not too late..." She dashed off.
Caitlyn and Merrill turned to their friends. "I'm not going," Caitlyn said at once. "I'm sure she is right, but I'm not revealing myself as a mage to her."
"Nor am I," said Merrill.
Aveline sighed. "If that man has laid a trap for Ser Emeric..."
"How about this?" Caitlyn said. "You and Varric can follow that Templar if you want. Merrill and I will wait here. If you come back with evidence of his involvement in the trap..." She did not need to finish the sentence.
After Aveline and Varric left to follow the Templar, the two mages waited nervously for their friends to return. At last the dwarf and the guard captain trudged back, both of them looking very unsettled and disturbed.
"The Templar was dead," Aveline reported grimly. "It was in an alley, and there were shades all over, but Ser Emeric was already dead."
Caitlyn grabbed her staff tightly. "That lying bastard..."
"I don't think he did it, Hawke," Varric put in, to her surprise. "It was too well-planned, I think. You only talked to Emeric today, right?"
"This evening, with Aveline," she confirmed.
"That means that the person who summoned the shades must have been watching, to know to forge the note from you specifically," Varric continued. "And gave it to Emeric after you had left, and then summoned all the shades to that alley to kill him. And DuPuis was at his home the whole time. He could have hired an agent, I suppose, but it seems less likely than that he... really is not the murderer."
Caitlyn let out her breath in relief. "That makes sense, Varric." She grimaced, suddenly ashamed of herself. "I suppose I shouldn't have been so against Ser Emeric. He was all right. He was investigating a murderer... who, if he summoned shades, really is a mage. He just had the wrong one." She sighed heavily and stared at the ground for a moment, then looked up, resolved. "We'll continue the investigation that he started. His work will go on until the killer is brought to justice."
"It's about bloody time," Anders exclaimed as Caitlyn stepped back into the house. "I was about to go out looking for you!"
She managed a brief smile, but could not sustain it. "Anders... we have to resolve this. The man that the Templar thought was a killer really wasn't... but there is a murderer on the loose, and it is a mage, as much as I hate to say that. It can't continue."
He considered for a moment before nodding. "People like that... if they even deserve to be called 'people'... give all of us a bad name."
"I agree." She pulled out the note that she had picked up in DuPuis's mansion and passed it to him. It was wrinkled and damp from evening humidity, but it was still readable. "This seems comparatively unimportant now in the grand scheme of things, but I thought you might find the last sentence—and the writer—rather, ah, interesting."
"'I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that the Circle of the Magi, as a whole, does not welcome casual inquiries about the mages in its care,'" Anders read, his gaze narrowing in contempt. "Oh, that they don't—even from the families, the parents, of children who have been locked up there! They certainly bloody well don't want anyone 'inquiring' about the mages there! And this is from First Enchanter Raddick of Starkhaven!" He tossed the wrinkled note on the table beside him and shook his head derisively. "What a pathetic tosser," he spat. "Who knew it was possible to write with one hand and stroke off Templars with the other? There must be holes in his robes around the knees!"
Caitlyn stifled a shriek of laughter in spite of the events of this evening. She had never heard Anders express his contempt in such vulgar terms; usually he was very dark and dour when he talked about Circle abuses, and it was hilarious to hear him just spewing bile like any ordinary person.
Anders continued heatedly. "I'd assume that DuPuis was writing to Starkhaven because he thinks the killer was one of their escaped mages..."
"I don't remember if the murders began before or after those mages escaped," Caitlyn said. "He might not have been with that group, but yes, it seems that DuPuis thinks the killer has a connection to Starkhaven's Circle. And the Circle refused to help."
"Typical," Anders sneered. "Utterly typical."
Caitlyn then explained to him what had transpired that evening, from the confrontation at the DuPuis house to the ambush set in the alley that Varric and Aveline had handled. "This murderer is very dangerous," she said, "and even though I let DuPuis go, I don't like him and I don't trust him either. He seemed unhealthily interested in this case... and I don't know what to think about his claimed reason for involving himself. Either he lied about having a sister who was killed, or she didn't mean that much to him and he's become too interested in the killer to conceal that. At least, that's how it seemed to me."
Anders stared ahead. "I didn't hear him, so I can't say. People handle grief differently... but I trust your instincts, love. If you got a bad feeling from him, I trust that." He got up from his seat and pulled her to her feet, his arms resting around her waist. "Let's forget about it for tonight, though."
She smiled, leaning against him. "I can't go straight to bed, Anders. I need a bath badly."
He chuckled. "Well, we've got a nice tub for that. I'll join you."
"That would be lovely."
The next afternoon, Caitlyn resolved to talk with Isabela about her recent odd behavior. She knew that the murder case needed resolution too, but she did not have a better idea than DuPuis did for that. It was disgusting to think of using a woman as bait for a killer against her will, as he was doing... but she didn't have an answer herself. She just hoped that if the murderer did abduct the woman she had seen the night before, DuPuis would be able to get there in time to prevent her from being killed.
Caitlyn hoped that Isabela would come to the Hawke mansion to talk. Mal went with Anders to the clinic in Darktown, but she still hated being away from home. The clinic was so close to the secret basement entrance that it almost felt like an extension of the house now, rather than a separate location. But Isabela sent a reply that she would not intrude on Caitlyn's hospitality and preferred the Hanged Man, if Caitlyn "really wanted reassurance that all was well."
All is not well, Caitlyn thought, resignedly gathering her pack. If all were well, she would not tell me that. If all were well, Isabela would make a joke about my worries. She realized that Isabela intended to hide behind the raucous atmosphere of the bar as a way to avoid having a serious, sincere discussion. But Varric will also be there, most likely, she thought. I'll corner her with him.
The pirate was sitting in a dark corner on the far side of the Hanged Man, her sharp honey eyes gazing out suspiciously. She was still quite recognizable, but it was obvious that she was seated as far from the front entrance as she could be, and that she was using the shadows of the common room to make herself less noticeable. An inquiry with the bartender revealed that Varric was not there, to Caitlyn's disappointment, but as she made her way to Isabela's tiny table, she resolved that she would just do this herself.
The pirate captain smirked and shook her head at the contents of Caitlyn's glass. "That's expensive," she said. "I can tell from how it smells."
Caitlyn smiled back, though it was an empty smile. Her small rocks glass did contain the priciest whiskey from the Fereldan Bannorn—the southern epicenter of grain whiskey distillation in Thedas—that the Hanged Man sold. "I guess I've gone soft. I can't drink rotgut anymore."
"Hightown does that to you, sweetcakes." Isabela said, downing her own drink with one shot. She swallowed without a wince, as if to prove her point. "Now. What's all this about you being 'troubled' for me?"
Her tone was too light and dismissive, and it did not fool Caitlyn for one second. She leaned forward on the table and met Isabela's gaze with a hard one of her own. "You haven't seemed yourself lately, Isa. You don't joke... you've broken up with Fenris..."
"Fenris and I were never 'together,'" she replied. "It was just sex."
"I'm not quite sure I buy that," Caitlyn said. "You had something with him for two years that made you keep turning back to him. When have you ever done that with anyone? I don't know if it was exclusive... but it doesn't matter. Some people can be committed without having to be monogamous. I'm not one of them... but maybe you are. You said once that you don't like to be 'tied down,' but you were with him for two years. That's a commitment, Isabela."
Isabela eyed her with a glower. "You really need to mind your own business, Hawke, and not try to matchmake for your friends. If you have a burning itch to see people together, then keep the lamps burning tonight when Anders pins you to the mattress—and don't let him blindfold you." She forced a smirk on her face.
In spite of the fact that this was an obvious attempt to placate her with a normal—for Isabela—bawdy comment, Caitlyn briefly smirked too. "Thank you for the advice," she said. "I'll definitely do that."
Isabela grinned. Her gaze became somewhat unfocused, and Caitlyn realized that she was rather enjoying the image she had put in her own head. That was awkward. Even to this day she did not like to remember that Isabela also knew what Anders looked like nude, and how he—no, she thought, ending that at once before it took over her thoughts. One night eight years ago versus... Maker, hundreds of times now. That realization made her feel quite smug and calmed her disturbed thoughts. I know intimate things about him, things that he likes me to do and things he can do to me, that nobody else knows because we discovered them together.
She took a breath and let it out, returning her thoughts to the present moment and task. "In all seriousness, I'm worried about you," she said. "You've also been holed up in here... and just today, you're lurking in the shadows. I've never known you to deliberately try to avoid fights with people who were after you."
Isabela broke Caitlyn's gaze and fixed hers instead on Caitlyn's glass. "No one is after me."
"Isabela," she said, shaking her head slightly, "you know I don't believe that. Someone is, and it's someone you're genuinely frightened of, or you would go and confront them. That worries me, a lot. I'm worried for you, and you can trust me with whatever it is. We're friends... aren't we?"
Isabela stared ahead, past Caitlyn. She did not speak for a while, and Caitlyn was about to repeat her plea, when the pirate finally responded.
"Yes, we are friends, and that is why I can't tell you."
"Friends help each other with their problems."
Isabela looked pained. "I... can't ask you to help me with this one," she said, her voice surprisingly weak. "I don't want you or any of the others—including Fenris—involved in this. You're right. I broke up with him. Part of that is because... well, I don't know how to have a relationship, not like you and Anders, and he's so... he's free for the first time in his life, and he's lost so much, and he deserves more than..." She broke off, shaking her head. "You and Anders have a child who needs you, and the others... it's because you are my friends that I can't involve you in—in what I'm dealing with. Not this time, Hawke," she insisted when Caitlyn opened her mouth to object again. "Please. Trust me on this. I can't do that to you."
"Isabela, who is after you?"
The pirate grimaced and stared at the table dully. "I can't tell you," she said in that weak voice that was so unsuited for the bold, saucy woman that Caitlyn knew. "It's too dangerous."
"Then it's too dangerous for you to fight alone."
"I don't intend to fight them. That's not my plan." Guilt flooded her face.
Caitlyn was about to demand to know what she meant by that when someone tapped her shoulder. She turned around sharply to face Varric. His expression was shockingly dark.
"Varric! What's the matter?" she exclaimed.
"You need to come home, Hawke," he said. "At once."
She rose to her feet, finishing off her whiskey with a single gulp. Despite being smooth, it burned on the way down. Varric grimaced at the sight of her taking a shot, which worried her even more. "I'm all right, Varric," she reassured him. "I ate before coming here. What's the matter at home?"
"There's... a situation."
That could mean almost anything. "A situation? Has Mal—"
"He's fine," Varric assured her as she gave Isabela an apologetic, parting glance—but Isabela was rising to her feet as well, albeit in a somewhat conflicted way. "Anders has it in hand... for now. But we need to get back as soon as we can."
After another brief moment of hesitation, Isabela followed after them.
Varric did not have much to say to them along the way, and to Caitlyn's surprise, he thought it better to sneak back into the mansion through the basement than to enter openly through the front door.
"What's going on?" she demanded of him at last as they crawled down a ladder into Darktown. "Is someone watching the house?" Meredith Stannard? she thought immediately—but then her thoughts admitted of a second, even worse possibility. Or the murderer?
"Possibly," Varric said grimly. "Probably," he amended. "Hawke, I wish I could tell you more, but Anders himself didn't want to say much. I don't entirely understand what's going on myself, just that he wanted you back as soon as you could get there, but that he didn't want you to be seen entering the house from the street."
They kept to the shadows as they passed through the corridors of Darktown, finally emerging through the secret trapdoor into the basement. They closed and locked the trapdoor behind them and crept up the stairs, through the basement entrance to the ground floor. Anders was waiting for them, his staff in hand, his gaze alert and wary.
"What's going on?" Caitlyn asked him. "Is everyone all right?"
"Yes," he said in a low voice. "Come here. I'll show you." He walked down the hallway, where—to her surprise—one of her staves rested in a corner. She had not left it there. "You should take that," he said as they passed it. "I think you'll need it soon. Varric—you have Bianca, as usual, and Isabela... yes, you're armed too."
"Anders, what in the—" She broke off her question as they entered the sitting room. Her blood ran cold. On the nearest table, a bouquet of white lilies rested.
"Lilies?" Isabela said, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't get it..." Varric whispered an explanation to her—they all seemed to have an unspoken agreement to keep their voices low in case the murderer approached while they were talking and realized that other people were at home—and her eyes grew wide. She scowled and drew her razor-sharp blades from her back at once, nodding.
"They're all upstairs," Anders said quietly. "I had to explain to your mother, Caitlyn. She didn't understand. But she does now, and they are all upstairs, and all together, in Mal's room. It is warded."
"What about Mal?" she said, upset that the child had to know about something as awful as this. "Does he understand?"
Anders grimaced. "I think he does. I'm sorry." He gazed at her unhappily. "He already understood about bad people who wanted to kill his family members..."
"Thanks to my first year in Kirkwall," she muttered.
"He wants to protect them with his magic. Of course, he can't, not against this, but..."
"He's like us," she finished quietly. He nodded.
They reached the front of the house. "And now... we wait," Caitlyn said, glowering at the front door.
"He'll show up," Anders said grimly. "And we'll be ready when he does."
"Should we get the others?" she asked.
"I don't know how much time we'll have before he makes his appearance," Anders said, "and if anyone is indiscreet, it would tip him off and he wouldn't show at all. And, uh, well, the other three of your friends are not exactly the most discreet."
"Fenris can be concealed if he needs to," Caitlyn said, "but I take your point about time."
They waited, and the minutes dragged on interminably slowly, until at last a quiet knock sounded on the front door. The rogues gave each other pointed looks and retreated to the shadows, their weapons drawn. Anders readied his staff. Caitlyn took a deep breath and prepared herself. Should I? she thought, glancing at her arm. If ever it is justified, it is in a time like this, she answered herself. Fight fire with fire... or blood with blood. Anders caught her glance and closed his eyes, clearly realizing the question that she pondered, but he seemed resigned. She gave him a quick apologetic glance as she nicked her arm on her knife. She felt her magic surge in her. Taking another breath, she pulled open the door.
It took only a fraction of a second to realize that this was not someone they knew and was not a harmless messenger. The man at the door gasped as he realized that his arrival was anticipated and his would-be victim was not there. He snarled in fury, revealing his teeth, and readied a spell.
The mechanism of Varric's crossbow clicked, and a bolt thudded into his shoulder. A spurt erupted from the wound—but it became clear at once that he was a blood mage too. He clenched his fist, and a debilitating punch hit all four of them as blood suddenly erupted from their bodies, not enough to kill, but enough to weaken. Laughing in glee, the murderer took advantage of the time to throw up a magical shield that would block most physical and magical attacks.
But not all, Caitlyn thought, staggering on her feet. She was furious with herself for not taking him out first, but this magical wound he had just given her, unpleasant as it was, was still something she could use. She focused her magical energy, feeling it surge more powerfully than ever before—but then, I've never used a blood wound this big before, she thought darkly—and blasted the killer as hard as she could. His shield went down, dissipating in the air. Shock filled his face.
Caitlyn clenched her fist around her staff and slammed it on the floor. A wave of cold shot forth, encasing him, freezing him solid—but only for a second. He was a very powerful mage, she realized, and he knew what he was up against now.
The fight was protracted and very ugly. Anders had to step back at one point and blast the entire group with a powerful healing spell to counter the killer's damage, and because Caitlyn was using blood magic, it was less effective on her. She was meeting the enemy spell for spell, blasting him repeatedly with everything she knew. Varric was shooting bolts at the man and Isabela was doing a deadly dance around him, slicing and stabbing with her blades, the two rogues trying to time their attacks with Caitlyn's immobilizing blasts of cold and raw force so that he could not use the wounds to power blood magic spells.
"Why won't you die?" Caitlyn screamed furiously at him, at last giving in and hurling a violent fireball indoors. It struck target, and the mage finally hobbled to his knees, the flames going out even as he did. Anders glared and sent a spell to put him into a deep sleep. At last he tumbled to the carpet, out cold—but not yet dead.
"I'm perfectly fine executing him while he sleeps," Caitlyn snarled as Anders sent another healing spell at all of the group. "Let's finish this."
"We need to know where his lair is," Anders pointed out. "There might... possibly... be victims still alive. Or notes, or other accomplices."
She growled in frustration but saw his point. "Yes, we do, but I still don't know. He's too dangerous to interrogate." She stared down, a thought suddenly crossing her mind. "Unless..."
A bad feeling crossed Anders' mind. "Cait, what are you going to do?"
She smiled darkly, feeling oddly excited. "I'll make him talk... and no more than talk."
Anders, Varric, and Isabela all drew their breath sharply as Caitlyn cast the blood enslavement spell on the captive. Her gaze was set and hard—and the truth was, although she was feeling rash and a bit giddy from breaking yet another magical taboo, she was also a little frightened of herself right now. It had been well over a year since she had used blood magic—until tonight, and now, not only had she left a pool of blood all over the foyer from her attacks, she was using a spell that had once been, to her, an inviolable red line. Enslaving people's minds is never all right, she had once thought—but now, she was doing it.
He is a sick, twisted murderer, she argued with herself as the man awakened groggily. His gaze was unfocused and his jaw slack. He's too dangerous to interrogate by normal means, as I just said. He can just bite the inside of his own mouth and have a source of magic to draw from. This has to be done if we are to get anything out of him.
"You have a hideout," she said, glaring. "You are based somewhere. Where is it?"
"It is a foundry in Lowtown," he replied in a toneless voice.
"Oh," Isabela said, "I think I know where that is. It's been used for... smuggling," she said, her voice suddenly becoming self-conscious.
Caitlyn was momentarily curious, but this was not the time to inquire further. She fixed the mage with a hard glare. "And what will we find there?" she demanded. "What accomplices or... summonings... do you have?"
"Demons," he said. "Desire demons. They occupy the bodies."
Looks of disgust and contempt filled their faces at these words. "What else?" she said, trying to control her anger until she was finished.
"Shades. Possessed corpses. That is it."
"Any wards or traps?"
"No wards, no traps."
Caitlyn stood back, glowering with utter hatred at the killer. "I've still got him—his disgusting mind, that is—if anyone else wants to question him," she spat, "but I've heard enough."
"So have I," said Anders, disgust written on his face.
"And I," added Varric.
Isabela's lips were curled and her nose was wrinkled. She sighed in revulsion and gave Caitlyn a quick nod.
"All right, then," Caitlyn said. "All together, shall we?"
Despite the blood enslavement that he was under, the man realized exactly what was happening as the two mages and two rogues simultaneously stabbed, shot, and blasted his body into red chunks of ice.
Caitlyn heaved a huge breath and collapsed to the floor, burying her head between her legs and closing her eyes. My mother would have been killed, she thought. My mother and possibly my son, if that man thought he was in the way. If Anders had not been here, they would be dead now. She began to shake and tremble.
A gentle touch on her shoulder got her attention and stopped her shaking. She lifted her head and gazed into Anders' eyes. A choked sob escaped from her as he sat down beside her and cuddled her close.
"It's all right," he whispered. "We got him. He didn't hurt your mother, and he'll never hurt another woman again. He's dead."
"It's not over yet," she whispered. "The lair is full of... things..." She squeezed him and tried to control her shaking with another intake of breath. "But we'll deal with that once we're rested."
Anders helped her to her feet, holding her close until she was no longer wobbling. He was trying to support and comfort her; this was obviously a very upsetting experience for her—and despite the tough front that she had put on, he also suspected that she was frightened of herself for using so much blood magic and, at last, that blood enslavement spell. He actually intended to have a talk with her about that as soon as he thought she was calmed down enough that it would not immediately spark defensive anger in her. But he was feeling very disturbed himself as well, and it was not only because of the shocking events themselves. He had had a terrible dream about two years ago—the dream that I had the night she ordered me out of the house and we had that awful fight, he recalled—and among the many horrors of this dream had been a vision of Leandra Hawke dead and dismembered. They had averted that fate now... and perhaps, he tried to tell himself, it was just a random piece of Fade imagery, the sort of gore occasionally conjured up in bad dreams, rather than a prophetic vision. But even if it was that, he thought, holding Caitlyn close, it means we can change the future. It is not fixed. And that means that... other things in our dreams that have not happened are not fixed either. The Templars coming for Mal...
Knock, knock. Someone was outside the front door again. Caitlyn pulled away at once, tensing again and reaching for her staff. Anders and the others grabbed their weapons as well. The murderer had not said he had any accomplices in the hideout... but perhaps they were elsewhere. Caitlyn opened the door—revealing Gascard DuPuis.
Varric was instantly on high alert as the blond man gasped in shock at the bloody, mangled fragments of thawing flesh before him. "What is this—was this—"
"He came tonight to abduct my mother," Caitlyn said, fixing the blood mage with a hard glare. "He left the lilies in advance. Thank you for that information, by the way. We were ready for him."
"He is dead," DuPuis said, stating the obvious as he stared at the remains of the man's body.
"No kidding," Varric growled. "Better him than another innocent... like your sister, right?"
DuPuis blinked as he stared in disbelief and growing dismay at the sight before him on the floor.
"Why are you here?" Caitlyn said.
He looked up, his gaze hard. "Was this truly necessary?" he said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. "I was going to track the woman you met last night, who was at my house, and now..."
"That's not how blood magic works," she replied. "If you're trying to track her, you still can. And tracking her would not lead you to him—to our front door." Unless he killed her and was carrying—but she banished that unfinished thought. It was too vile to contemplate, and there was no way to verify it anymore anyway. The man's body was destroyed beyond recognition along with anything that had been on it.
DuPuis swallowed hard, caught in the lie.
"Was your sister truly killed by this man?" she demanded. "Because you really aren't acting like it."
He hesitated for a moment, a gleam of anger passing through his eyes, and then he burst out angrily, "All right—so that was false! I never had a sister. He was a teacher of magic for me, a necromancer, but he—"
"Abandoned his apprentice," Varric snarled. He raised Bianca. "And you want to follow in his esteemed footsteps." He put a finger over the trigger.
"I didn't ever want to do this!" DuPuis exclaimed, putting his hands up. "Necromancy is a perfectly respectable school of magic in Tevinter and Nevarra and has nothing to do with murder!"
"Then let's go to his lair right now," Caitlyn said, a falsely sweet smile on her face, "and see what his actual notes are about."
"I'll stay and guard the others, in case any more followers show up," Varric said.
The others stormed out of the house, DuPuis frog-marched in front, Isabela's daggers pointed at the nobleman's back while Caitlyn and Anders kept their staves at the ready. Tonight, being seen by Templars was the last thing on her mind.
After a series of grueling fights against Fade creatures and possessed corpses—and a horrifying sight of a stitched-up corpse in a wedding dress, missing its head, set up beneath a painting of a woman whose face looked appallingly like Leandra's—Caitlyn and her companions were piling the corpses and body parts. It was impossible to reunite the dismembered pieces of the bodies or identify any of the victims anymore, so she decided, miserably, that the only thing to do was to have a mass pyre. Standing back, she cast flames at them, feeling sick at the carnage. All of this death, she thought, so that a depraved monster could have an animated corpse to pretend was his dead wife. I have lost loved ones and I would never, ever consider something as vile as that. That is not what necromancy is about, either. It's a perversion of its purpose. I don't know much about it, but I do know that. And even if this man did spend some time in the Starkhaven Circle—he must have escaped long ago and gone incognito, to have been old and married—this cannot be blamed on the Templars or the Circle policies. This is pure evil that existed in his own mind. He wasn't even an abomination.
She sat down and shook again. My mother would have completed it. He would have— She broke off the thought.
To her disgust, Gascard DuPuis was almost indifferent to the pile of burning bodies. Instead he was poking around in the killer's trove of notes and books, reading in fascination. It quickly became too much for her to watch. Rising to her feet, she glared at him.
"If he had taken my mother and killed her tonight, would you have told us?"
DuPuis gazed at the floor, not answering.
"Answer me."
He sighed. "No. I would not have. I wanted to kill him myself and take his knowledge."
"And now we've done your dirty work for you," she replied, flexing her fists. "If you want to be a necromancer, why can't you just go to Tevinter and learn it properly? Apprentice yourself to a magister who practices it as it is meant to be, rather than a monster like this? Or is it his specialized knowledge that you really want to learn?"
"He... did some unique things, yes. Evil things, of course, but he tried to push the limits of necromancy. There was... a portrait in my house. I do not know if you noticed it. It belonged to a woman that I experimented on... when he refused to teach me."
Anders stood up, and flashes of blue light began to crackle down his body.
"Experimented on," Caitlyn repeated. "You know, I really don't think you need to have those books or notes after all."
DuPuis clutched the parcel he was carrying close to his chest and stared back at her. "How eager you are to judge," he hissed. "You are a blood mage yourself. You said you learned where this place was by performing the blood slave spell, and you presume to judge me for wanting to learn arcane magic?"
"Leave the notes behind," she said, ignoring his attack. "You can't be trusted with them."
He hesitated for another moment before barking out a bitter laugh and throwing the books to the floor. "Fine!" he exclaimed. "If it is the notes or my life, there is no choice, is there?"
"You admitted to experimenting on an innocent," said Anders—but it was not quite Anders, she realized. The bluish-white spirit light was dancing across his skin, and Justice was popping in and out, flashing in his eyes but not seizing full control. His voice was strangely attenuated but not fully the spirit voice. "She must be avenged."
Avenged? Caitlyn thought in sudden alarm. Perhaps this was not the Justice aspect after all.
"She didn't die!" DuPuis exclaimed, his eyes now very wide at the menacing sight before him.
Caitlyn stepped forward, determined to end this before it spiraled. "Get out," she ordered. "Leave Kirkwall. I don't want you in this city. I won't blame you for the deaths, but I don't want to see your face around here again."
Isabela raised her eyebrows at Caitlyn in surprise. "You're letting him go?"
"I have no proof that he is directly responsible for anyone's death," she said. "Even the woman he was terrorizing last night wasn't among the bodies here." She gave the nobleman a dark, ironic glare. "And you know, I'll admit something. Maybe I don't have a right to judge you. Maybe I am a hypocrite for what I did tonight. But the difference between us is that I feel guilty about what I resorted to, and I'm afraid I will do it again in the future. I haven't done it in over a year, but... it was very easy, tonight, and that concerns me. I don't think you feel any concern whatever. That's why I don't trust you and don't want you here. Go, before I change my mind."
He did not need to be told twice. With a look of stark terror in his eyes, he darted from the foundry, his arms empty.
Later, after Isabela and Varric had finally returned to the Hanged Man, Caitlyn and Anders trudged upstairs to Mal's bedroom. She let him take down the ward that was still there and opened the door.
Leandra and Mal were huddled quietly in a corner on Mal's bed. He was reading aloud to his grandmother, his childlike voice very soothing. On the opposite side of the room, Orana was pouring a shot of liquor into a cup of tea—which was no longer steaming, so it was clearly lukewarm at best. That was no surprise given how long it had taken to settle the horrible business.
"You're back," Mal said, interrupting his story. He smiled weakly at his parents, quite sleepy.
They rushed toward the bed, climbing atop the mattress like children themselves and hugging both of them. "We're back," Caitlyn whispered, feeling tears come to her eyes. "We're back and everyone is all right. Everyone is safe. The bad man is dead, Mal."
He hugged his mother back. "Of course he is. You and Father are the best. You can do anything."
I wish we could, she said. Oh, I wish we could. She shared a pained glance with her own mother, and she knew that the older woman understood far too well.
"You saved her," Caitlyn whispered as she clung to Anders in bed. It was extremely late; dawn was only a few hours away, and they were still having trouble getting to sleep. Even with every door—including the basement trapdoor—locked and heavily warded, and even with the knowledge that the murderer was dead and DuPuis was on his way out of town, they could not rest easily tonight. What would have happened if he hadn't been here, she thought, rubbing his back.
"Not by myself," he replied gently. "I was here, so we were prepared, but it took all of us to bring him down. And you led us."
She considered that. "I suppose I did. I don't know that I made the right decision to let that man go free, though."
"I don't either," he admitted, "but I don't know that killing him would have been the right decision, either, if—as you said—you couldn't prove that he had caused or intends to cause anyone's death. I think you would have second-guessed yourself whatever you chose."
She chuckled darkly. "Most likely so."
"That's the curse of being a leader. Not that I'm an expert in that," he said with a smile.
She buried her face against his neck and closed her eyes. His words suddenly weighed on her, the full force of their meaning hitting her. The curse of being a leader is second-guessing all the hard choices. Oh, Maker, what am I going to do? And I can't really trust myself with knowledge and power...
"Anders," she said urgently, lifting her head, "the blood magic. I..." She cast her gaze down, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't know what to say. At the time, it felt necessary—both the offensive spells and the mind spell—but I don't know now. I got a kind of rush from doing it, from breaking that taboo, from having that power over another person—and that scares me." She forced herself at last to meet his gaze and saw compassion in his brown eyes.
He was silent for a moment, considering what to say. In truth, he had noticed that himself when she was performing the spells, and it had been disturbing to him too. "You're aware of it," he finally said, "and that matters. Just... hold to that awareness. Think of this, of what it feels like now, when you're tempted to use it again." He sighed. "I had a slip too. In the foundry... well... that was Vengeance again."
"I thought it might be," she said quietly.
"He's appearing more and more," Anders said, his expression pained and uneasy. "It upsets me. I don't want Justice to become this. It's... wrong. It's not who he is. And I know how to stop it as well, but... I'm losing control too. I just get angry so much these days, whenever I see evil—and there is so much evil in this blasted city." He scowled ahead. "We have lived in this house for over two years now. We have wealth and influence—and what has changed? That's why I'm angrier about the same conditions that have existed since 9:31. It's because I'm more frustrated."
"We haven't tried to wield that influence yet," she said. "It's coming, love. I promise it's coming. Things will change." She considered for a moment. "Even tonight... that monster was a mage, of course, but what stopped him? Not to diminish what Varric and Isabela did, but it would have been much harder if we had not been there. Good magic... or... well... magic performed by good people," she amended guiltily, "brought down an evil mage. That's part of the point that we should make."
He nodded. "I'll have to think about how to word it, but maybe I should mention this in the document."
She knew he meant his mage rights manifesto, and a smile formed on her face at that. "Yes," she agreed, giving him a final hug. "You should." She caressed his cheek. "Maker's breath. I know you don't want to take full credit to yourself, but... the fact that you were there when it counted saved Carver and now my mother." She pulled him down on the pillows, trying at last to go to sleep.
"I made your father a promise right before he died," Anders said in a whisper. He had never told her this, because he had felt that he had failed this promise, but now seemed to be the time for it. "I promised that I would let him die with dignity... that I would love you... and that I would protect his family." He pulled her close as a muffled cry escaped her at this. "I always felt that I had failed in that last," he said. "But..."
"But you didn't," she finished. "You didn't have the chance with Bethany... and we'll never know... but every time you did have the opportunity, you protected us. And it's your family now."
"Yes," he said, marveling at the words, still awed by them even though it had been true legally for two years and true in their hearts for longer than that. "It is."
Notes: Screw you Bioware.
Caitlyn has suffered enough, and it doesn't serve a plot purpose for Leandra to die here—instead, as you see, there is a purpose for the Butcher to be thwarted instead! I am not actually against "fridging" if it's equal opportunity gender-wise and illustrates something about the plot or setting, rather than just providing a reason for the protagonist to become angry at a single villain (which I guess would make it... not fridging). That's why I kept certain other deaths that occur because of mage abuse, Karl's in particular, Malcolm's more indirectly in this AU; and Bethany charges the ogre as her own decision and goes down fighting. But the circumstances of Leandra's death in the game are exceedingly gross to me for all kinds of reasons. A depraved serial killer who was wealthy enough to escape a Circle and live independently for years isn't something that can be blamed on Templar pressures or policies, and if the game point of this is to give players a reason to side with Templars at the end, it's a shitty and awful reason, because the implicit argument is that it might be acceptable to oppress an entire group of people who are born that way, because of the very worst examples in said group.
