Notes: At long last, here it is.

Song: The Rains of Castamere. I expect most of you have heard it, but in the event that you haven't, there are several official versions and covers online.


Chapter 59: The Rains Weep Over Her Hall


Caitlyn and Anders sent for their friends and allies, including the leaders of the vigilantes and former Crows. Most of them were in or near the Keep, so within minutes, they were all gathered in a private room.

Caitlyn closed her eyes, trying not to think about Mal locked up in the Gallows as a Templar cut his arm to take his blood, but miserable thoughts kept intruding. He has heard everything Anders and I have said about Meredith and that Circle, she thought unhappily, and although we know there are decent ones there who try to protect the mages, he doesn't know who they are. He won't know whom to trust. And Meredith is paranoid. She might be keeping anyone except her own cronies from getting near him. She obviously did this to have him as a hostage against us as she defies the Divine. She might not let anyone around him except the ones she trusts.

The anger and fear threatened to overtake her, so she took a deep breath and forced herself to think about how to get him out. She faced her friends and allies, trying to focus.

"All right," she said, "as you all know, Meredith has taken Mal into the Circle, and I think this is to use him against us—to take a hostage and threaten him in order to get something from us. She is also defying the Divine's order to resign, and her 'friends' in the north already had a heads up about that order. They are preparing to declare a schism, and I think she took Mal to threaten us into surrendering to her. Having Kirkwall would significantly strengthen their hand, and she doesn't have any qualms about hurting a mage child to get what she wants." She glared ahead, furious and scared for Mal. "It will not stand. We are getting him out."

"Well, of course," Varric said, surprised that she apparently felt the need to explain. "I think even Fenris would agree that we've got to get your son out."

"I certainly would," the elven warrior said. "My views on mages have... evolved... since I escaped from Tevinter. Not all mages are like the magisters, and Mal is a good child. He doesn't deserve this."

"Still," Caitlyn continued, "this is not a peaceful operation to smuggle a child out of the Circle. This will be an attack on the Knight-Commander and her Templar protectors. Some of you have been hired"—she nodded at Zevran and the other former Crows—"but the rest of you, if any of you don't want to be part of that, you are free to go now with no ill feeling from me."

Not one person spoke up. Several shook their heads in disbelief that she would think they would abandon her now.

A faint, grim smile formed on Caitlyn's face. "Well. Thank you."

Charade raised her head. "Of course I am doing this. I used to live in Tantervale. I know what those people are like, even though I'm not a mage. And... I feel like I might have been able to prevent this if I'd been at Aunt Leandra's house," she said apologetically.

"No," Caitlyn said feelingly. "Ser Thrask tried to stop them, and he lost his sword hand for it. They would not have hesitated to kill a layperson. It wasn't your fault at all." When her cousin seemed to accept this, she continued. "Since Meredith does have Mal as a hostage, we have to be careful. We're not going to negotiate with her for his release, but... perhaps we can deceive her into thinking that we are." She turned to Anders.

"Vigilantes and former Crows in our service," he began, "we would like you to remain in the shadows. Jump on rooftops and make your way to the Gallows that way, if you can do it without being seen. Sneak under the Gallows causeway. It's almost night, so that helps. Stay hidden. If you can use magic or an enchanted item for concealment, now is the time to do it." He turned back to Caitlyn.

Aveline was frowning in clear disapproval at what she heard so far, but Caitlyn continued. "I also think it's probably best for everyone except Charade, who is family, to stay with them, or otherwise keep hidden. If we show up at the Gallows with a heavily armed group surrounding us, Meredith will know that we don't mean to negotiate, and if the group is big enough, she will be able to see it coming from a distance. It's better if Anders and I—and you, Charade, if you want to come—appear to be alone. She might come out with some of her followers if she thinks she has strength of numbers to make her demands, instead of retreating to a fortified building. The goal is to get her away from the mages, including Mal. There are Templars in the Gallows who want to protect the mages, and the fewer enemies they face, the better. Then we attack."

Aveline finally spoke up, unable to contain herself any longer. "Your Grace, if this is an order, I swear I will obey your command," she began, "but I must speak my own reservations about this plan."

"You don't think it will work?"

Aveline grimaced. "I don't know how to say this, so I'll just be blunt. Just because the enemy behaves dishonorably is no reason to do it oneself. Pretending to come in peace and negotiate, then ordering a mass attack during a parley, is not honorable. It lowers us; it reduces us to her level."

Anders glowered, and several people among the vigilantes scoffed. Darkly amused smiles formed on the Crows' faces. Caitlyn tried to contain her own suddenly flaring temper. Their son was in danger, a hostage for a deranged and cruel Templar, and Aveline was concerned about "honor"?

"I respect your reservation," she said tautly, "and everyone in the room heard it, for the record. But I disagree. As we have learned over the past few years, sometimes being honorable against a dishonorable, amoral, fanatical foe only gets people hurt—or worse." She peered at her old friend. "If a sneak attack is dishonorable, then I choose my child over my honor."

"I understand," the Guard-Captain said submissively, bowing her head, "and I respect that reason." She smiled wryly. "I would resign my post if you issued a command that I simply couldn't follow. This is not one of those. As I said, I will obey this order and fight with you."

"Thank you," Caitlyn said crisply. She turned to the others. "Does anyone else have something to say? A criticism of the strategy itself?"

No one else spoke.

"Very well," she said. "Then may the Maker, the Creators, the good spirits, and the souls of our deceased loved ones watch over us all tonight." Father and Bethany, she thought. She had made the statement to be inclusive of the few dwarves there without actually using the word "ancestors," because everyone present likely had someone dear who had passed on, but thinking of her mage father and sister was almost too much right now. Bethany loved Mal, she thought. She delivered him and saw his first two and a half years. She and Father would love him so much now. They would fight beside me if they were here. She turned to Anders, suddenly overcome, and reached for his hand. He covered hers with both of his and gazed deeply at her, holding her hands tightly.

That was enough. She took a deep breath and faced the group again. "Gather your arms and armor quickly if you haven't yet. We move out."


The group left in stages, slipping out of the Keep through side entrances rather than leaving in a big show from the front gates. It delayed them, and all the while Caitlyn and Anders grew increasingly anxious and fearful about what might be happening to Mal, but they tried to calm themselves by thinking about the fact that the attack needed to be successful for Mal to come out. Anders' old memories of his escapes from Kinloch Hold, the successes and the failures, came unbidden to his mind, and he recalled that the two that were the most successful—9:27 and 9:30—he had planned well.

Bethany was killed days before I reached Lothering, because I waited, he thought unwillingly—then tried to push that out of his mind. As Caitlyn had pointed out before, they did not know that that was the case, and it did him no good to think of it now anyway. But if I'm... The thought would not go away, so he took out a sheet of paper and began to write. The dark thought did not leave, but this deed helped him cope with it.

At last their friends and the fighters had left the Keep, to make their way stealthily to the Gallows and lie in ambush. Caitlyn, Anders, and Charade turned to each other grimly. They would carry their weapons, because it might appear too suspicious to Meredith if they all came unarmed, but as they left the Keep together, they all felt horribly exposed and vulnerable. The moons provided little light for the sky, both of them in a waning crescent phase, and clouds shadowed them often. Kirkwall's lights were the main source of illumination.

"I just want you to know," Charade spoke up suddenly, "that however this turns out, it's meant a lot to me to know my family."

"I understand," Caitlyn said huskily. "And Mother and Jo Beth will live no matter what—and Carver and your father too. But I understand."

At last they reached the imposing structure, with its heavy grated gates barring the doors—locking the mages away, Caitlyn thought angrily, locking Mal away—and the horrible statues of slaves mounted on the walls. Fitting, she thought. Beside her, Anders was trying to control his temper and other emotions too. She caught sight of a flash of spirit light around his neck, but it vanished quickly as he took a breath. Caitlyn tried to arrange her features to appear defeated and submissive, as a group of silhouettes and long shadows approached her.

The smug, cold, pale visage of Meredith Stannard came into focus. About fifteen other Templars flanked her, their faces hidden behind their intimidating helmets, their gauntleted hands gripping their weapons tightly.

"I expected you to come," the Knight-Commander said, not even trying to keep the smirk off her face. "Did the traitor Thrask manage to tell you, or was it your pitiful weeping mother, who always did regard the Maker's law about sheltering apostates as a mere suggestion?"

Caitlyn tried to suppress the flare of outrage that surged in her at this provocation. It wouldn't help Mal. "I'm not here to fight with you," she said, her tone of voice sounding strange even to her as her mind screamed at her to snarl back, to attack. "You took him knowing that we would come; you didn't intend to keep this a secret, so you obviously want something from us. What?"

Meredith's mouth curled into a broad smile. "That was easy," she said. "Family truly is a weakness for you mages. You have proven exactly why it is right to separate you from each other; you will surrender anything, even your own bodies, even an idea that you claim to believe in, for that. For a mortal." She gazed out at them. "I once had a sister who was a mage. My fool parents did not send her to a Circle, and when she was finally discovered, she became an abomination and killed dozens, including them. I was the only survivor. Those innocent people might be alive today if my family had not selfishly put their emotions ahead of holy law, which exists for a reason."

Caitlyn could scarcely believe her ears. "I would ask how you could speak this way about your family and your sister, instead of considering that she turned to a demon because the idea of the Circle had terrified her so much, but it is pointless. You have proven that you have a heart of ice. But," she said, collecting herself, "that is not why we are here. What do you want from us?"

"You would ask the same question of a demon," she said triumphantly.

Caitlyn gritted her teeth, trying to put it out of her mind. She is wrong. This isn't sincere, she thought. We are not actually surrendering to her. She just thinks that we are. Beside her, Anders shifted restlessly, ready to attack.

"Do you want me to send word to the Divine to broker a compromise?" Caitlyn finally lied. "Is that it?"

Meredith actually laughed, a rarity. It was not a pleasant laugh, but was a malevolent, strangely attenuated cackle. Her eyes gleamed with a glow that Caitlyn and Anders now recognized as the sign of taking red lyrium. "The so-called Divine has bigger problems."

Caitlyn and Anders exchanged uneasy glances. This was starting to feel like they were the prey and Meredith was toying with them. Fear suddenly gripped Caitlyn; had the horrible woman already killed Mal?

Just ahead of them, behind the group of Templars, they saw a silhouette leap from a rooftop to the ground, then duck into the black shadows. Two more followed, none of them making an audible sound.

The sight of their reinforcements provided some comfort and reassurance, but Caitlyn and Anders were now eager to get to their point and find their son. Caitlyn's heart was pounding at the thought of what he might be suffering. "Meredith, you are in trouble with Divine Justinia due to your use of red lyrium," she said, her voice harder than before.

A Templar beside Meredith spoke up. "That is temporary. The Seekers will find red lyrium to be useful and potent once they investigate it properly and without prejudice. It is a gift of the Maker, given to us before our great trial, a sign that we are chosen to win."

"I was talking to the Knight-Commander," Caitlyn said coldly. "Meredith, you would do well to silence your fanatics. I know what Justinia has commanded and I know that you are defying her order. Don't make it worse. Let's make a bargain. Give our son back to us."

Meredith glowered. "You have been a fool tonight to put yourself, your husband, and your cousin in my power, apostate. You know what Templars can do, and you are vastly outnumbered. One Holy Smite almost killed your other mage spawn in the womb. It would have if not for your abomination of a mate. Oh yes, I know he is not just a mere Spirit Healer," she added darkly.

Stark terror gripped Caitlyn at this. How did she know about Justice? And was she just blurting out confessions now? Did she not care what Caitlyn and Anders—and Charade—learned, because she didn't intend to let them walk away? And what have you done to my son, you evil bitch? she thought.

Anders took a deep breath and stepped forward, glaring furiously at her, unable to contain himself or fake it like Caitlyn. "If this is the confessional, don't you have more to confess, Meredith?" he sneered. "Or perhaps I will do it for you. I'm sure some of these people know about it, because they were part of it," he said with sneering contempt, glaring at the other Templars, "but in case there are a few who don't..." He paused, glowering. "The Knight-Commander prayed with Mettin and Samson before they assassinated Mistress Selby," he said to the gathered Templars. "She also knew about their plans to lead the Satinalia Massacre and deliberately let it happen. That's why she didn't come to Kirkwall's aid. Do you want to be loyal to a traitor?"

There. It was said. Meredith was stunned for a moment, taken by surprise, Caitlyn noted with grim satisfaction. She studied the line of Templars for any sign of movement, any indication that they had an objection to this...

Not a single one moved to step away from their leader. They were backing her to the bitter end, because they truly believed they were right, that they would win, and that anything was justified in service of their cause. They believe she was right to do it, Caitlyn realized. They know what she did and approve of it. Disgust, contempt, and horror filled her at what that implied for the forthcoming attack. More blood, she thought. It never ends. Overhead, the clouds completely covered the thin moons, darkening the scene further. In the distance, she saw two more silhouettes drop, including a short, stocky one with a heavy weapon—Varric. They fell into the shadows, waiting.

A broad, dark smile formed on the Knight-Commander's face. "My loyal soldiers of the Maker do not betray the right, the just, the holy," she said.

"You already have," he spat. A flash of blue light passed over him. "I have letters to prove it. Do none of you care?"

"The deaths of mage sympathizers mean little. This is a waste of time," she said dismissively. She glowered at Caitlyn. "I know for a fact what you did that night, apostate. You incinerated an entire block of people who were surrendering. You burned them alive."

Caitlyn tensed angrily. Anders put a hand on her shoulder, and on her other side, Charade gave her a surprised look but remained steady on her feet.

That is an admission that she conspired with Samson, Caitlyn realized, because Samson is the only other surviving witness to that except Anders. He told her. Who else has he told? And yet, even as this realization filled her, she also realized that she could not point this out, because to do so would be a confession of her own deed. Instead she readied her staff at a diagonal in front of her body. "They were not surrendering," she lied, sneering at the Templar. "I came here to negotiate, and I still want to, no matter what you have done, no matter what lies you tell about me. I just want my child back. That's it."

"You are not getting your child back," Meredith said. "I will not break holy law for anything. But if you want to make a bargain, this is my bargain: Abdicate and give yourselves up to the faithful, submitting at last to the law for your kind, or I order the Annulment of the Circle. Including your spawn."

Then he is alive still, she thought at once—but his life hung in the balance with that vile threat. How many Templars loyal to Meredith were still inside? Surely most of them were outside, including those who took red lyrium, but she would have been a fool not to leave some loyalists behind. There are others, led by Ser Keran and his people, she thought, trying to assuage her terror.

Another flare of light passed over Anders as he tried to keep Justice from exploding. He turned to Caitlyn anxiously. "It's time," he began to say in a whisper.

A shadow moved in the distance, unseen to the Templars.

One of the Templars standing with Meredith tapped her pauldron. "Knight-Commander," he said in a low voice, "I don't like this. Something is wrong. They wouldn't come here alone like this and make these accusations."

Meredith turned to him, glowering. "Don't be a fool. They are proving what I have always known about mages, that they are weak. Take their spawn from them and this is what they do—betray everything that they claim they stand for, every ideal and moral that they say they hold dear."

"Knight-Commander!" the Templar said urgently, not even bothering to keep his whisper inaudible to the trio before them. "Forget about that for a moment! They understand the risk of facing their enemy alone and saying these things, and yet they are here anyway, which means they don't intend to suffer any consequences."

"They are arrogant and overconfident—" Meredith began to say rotely, but she broke off before she could finish as a shadow finally caught her eye. She breathed heavily as she slowly turned back around to face Caitlyn, Anders, and Charade. Her eyes were wide and gleaming, and lines of stress and anger appeared in her face as she realized what was happening.

Caitlyn and Anders readied their staves. Charade carefully raised her hand to the quiver of arrows on her back.

"You," Meredith snarled. She reached for the scabbard at her waist.

Caitlyn had not set an agreed-upon code word to begin the attack, since she was not sure how well some of her reinforcements would be able to hear her, but there was no ambiguity about a fireball. The orange-red burst of flame lit up the night sky, blasting the cluster of Templars and knocking the ones caught in the heat burst backward, as her friends and reinforcements came out of the shadows and began to attack.

The Templars scrambled to their feet, their crimson robes aflame, trying to put them out. The fireball had not killed anyone—but it had knocked several of them over and given Caitlyn's group a brief advantage. Crows and vigilantes began to jump out of hiding, drawing their blades, shooting arrows, or casting spells. The sounds of screams and the clangs of arrow barbs against Templar helmets, ricocheting to the ground, filled the formerly still air.

"Templars!" Meredith screamed from the ground, as she tried to get to her feet. She had taken the fireball head-on and was attempting to extinguish the flames crackling away at her Templar robes. "Give the order!" With that, a pair of them broke away from the main group and ran for the Gallows to tell their fellows still inside to slaughter all the mages, dodging the rain of arrows and bolts as best they could.

Anders leaped aside and began casting a complicated spell to trap them inside an electrical cage, preventing them from entering the Gallows. Caitlyn realized what he was doing and tried to protect him, as a Templar with a crossbow immediately began to target him. It was pure dumb luck, or bad aim, that his first two bolts missed Anders—but at last, a second fireball from Caitlyn took him down. Anders finished his spell, trapping the Templars inside, preventing them from entering the Gallows for the time being.

"Vigilantes!" Caitlyn shouted. "Go in there and warn Ser Keran and the good Templars!"

"I'm with them," called Fenris, as he cut a gaping, mortal wound in his foe's side with his greatsword. The man fell to the ground with a death groan. Fenris jumped over him and sprinted toward the Gallows with the small team of vigilantes who appointed themselves to that role, Isabela following behind him.

"No!" shouted Meredith, as she finally got to her feet. She reached again for her scabbard and carefully, with a grating screech of metal, withdrew a startling sword.

Caitlyn stopped cold and gaped at it. The sword was infused with red lyrium from blade to hilt. It gleamed scarlet-pink in the glittering lights of the mage fighters' spells, unique in the sea of silver blades.

"You are surprised," the Knight-Commander said smugly. "This is forged from the lyrium idol that the dwarf took out of the Deep Roads. The Seekers cannot sense its presence, I realized."

Caitlyn and Anders were stunned. Now that the thing was out of its sheath, shining malignantly in the night, they could tell that it was near—they could sense the angry, dangerous buzzing in their minds—but they had not felt it at all before. "But—" she sputtered. "But we can sense it—"

"My scabbard is shielded like the Seekers' chest," Meredith crowed. She smirked at their appalled faces. "I have waited for this for a long, long time."

In a fraction of a second, Caitlyn snapped out of her shock. "Likewise!" she snarled, as she leaped away to ready a new magical attack—force magic, she thought in a flash, since Meredith seemed resistant to her elemental attacks.

As her wave of gravitic manipulation sent the Knight-Commander stumbling backward for a moment, she noticed that in that same moment, Anders' cage dissipated in a crackle, allowing Templars to enter the Gallows to spread the word of Meredith's order.


Screams and shouts filled the rooms of the Gallows' mage quarters, accompanied by the clash of steel. Ser Keran's allies had scrambled at the word of the vigilantes that Meredith had given her terrible order. There was a painful choice to be made, because even with the additional support from the vigilantes, there were not enough fighters for every Circle mage to have a defender. Ser Keran had to make his choice, and he chose to defend the apprentices—the children, the adolescents, the mages who were not full Enchanters. The adults could, in theory, defend themselves, though the Templar knew that some of them would still be lost. It sickened him. This is not what the Order is meant to do, he thought angrily as he fought a Meredith loyalist in front of a dormitory in which seven young mage girls had gathered for mutual protection.

"Traitor," snarled the Templar. The moment cost him dearly, for Keran sliced a bloody arc across his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground. I am the traitor? Keran thought in derision. You tried to carry out an order to slay innocent children because the Knight-Commander wants to take over Kirkwall and wage war on the Divine. Although the girls inside the room were visibly relieved that this attacker was dead, they knew that they were not safe—and sure enough, another of Meredith's loyalists soon emerged around the corner to fight Keran. What is wrong with so many of us? the young man thought as he took up this new fight.

At the other end of the corridor, a group of teenage mages defended the entrance to the hall as best they could. They had put up a magical shield, which was not very strong, but it at least provided a brief obstacle for an attacker to overcome, giving the mages an advantage for that moment. A large, helmeted person stormed toward this entrance to the corridor, raising his hand. The scent of lyrium gathered around him—and with a blast, he tore down the young mages' barrier.

"No!"

From one of the rooms, a boy several years younger and several inches shorter than the adolescents burst out, a staff in hand, his face fixed and angry. He raised his hand and slammed the staff on the ground. A burst of ice, culminating in lethally sharp spikes, jutted forward from his staff, blocking the Templar from entering.

The teens were shocked. "You're just a child! How can you do that?" exclaimed one girl at least a head taller than the boy.

"My parents taught me," Mal Hawke said. He took a breath; the big ice spell had taken a lot out of him...

The group of adolescents quickly formed a protective circle around him, for the Templar was shattering the shield of ice with his sword. He would break through soon. The teens shared unhappy glances and readied their staves, sending spells at the bulky man. The spells clearly left him uncomfortable and slowed him down, but none of the children had enough power to stop him, and Keran, the only adult in this corridor, was occupied with another fight, defending the room full of little girls.

"You little monster!" the man roared, breaking an ice spike into frost with a hack of his blade. "I'll show your body to your accursed, unholy parents!" With that, he smashed through the ice and lunged for the group of children.

Before he could reach them, a whoosh of air, a flash of light, and the strong scent of lyrium passed down the connecting corridor, ending abruptly. A white-haired elf with a giant sword stood over the Templar. "No, you won't," Fenris said, plunging his sword all the way through the man's body.

"Fenris!" Mal exclaimed happily as the elf turned around to face the mage children. "Does this mean they came?"

"Of course they came," said a very familiar, grainy voice. Varric peered around the corner, followed by Isabela.

"They're outside fighting the Knight-Commander," Fenris said.

"I want to help them," the boy began.

"Not a chance," said Fenris.

"I can fight. I want to fight."

"Think about your poor parents if anything happened to you," Varric said. "We're all sticking together, understand? You can fight if the fight comes to you again. You're not going to go looking for it."

This seemed to mollify the boy, who scowled but retreated to the room with the other mages. Fenris and Varric stood guard, Varric sending bolts into any enemy combatant who appeared in the connecting corridor, Fenris leaping forward to take on anyone who made it past that.

Down the hall, Ser Keran finally was feeling the strain of constant fighting. He had finished off the second enemy, but a trio then appeared, challenging him greatly. He had to fight them. The friends of the Viscountess were defending the other end of the hall and could not spare anyone. But it was hard now...

A familiar face suddenly burst into Keran's sight. "Cullen!" the young man exclaimed as the former Knight-Captain began to fight beside him.

"I once called for the Annulment of the Fereldan Circle, when it appeared lost to demons and abominations," Cullen growled, clanging his sword against the blade of an enemy, "and the Hero of Ferelden disagreed. She was right and I was wrong. Not all the mages were lost even then. And this is nothing more than a political Annulment order. It is evil and I won't stand for it."

At last the two men together finished off the last of this round of enemies. Keran wiped the sweat off his brow and tried not to look at the pool of blood on the floor, the blood of fellow Templars who had put their loyalty to a hateful ideology and a hateful person ahead of their sacred oath to protect their charges as children of the Maker. If the Knight-Commander wins tonight, we will all be executed, he thought. She will take over Kirkwall and join the challenge to the Divine, and Maker only knows what will happen. But if the Viscountess's people win, this is only the beginning of consequences and repercussions. This is war, and then after that, what? What are we now?


The clouds that had gathered, obscuring the moonlight at first, were now very thick and threatening to drench Kirkwall in a cold, barely-above-freezing rain. Outside the building, Caitlyn, Anders, and Merrill were attacking Meredith with everything they could give, as the Crows and vigilantes, taking direction from Aveline, whittled away at the Templars who continued to fight outside with Meredith. Several had fallen already. Unfortunately, several others had joined them from the Gallows after the revolt from Ser Keran turned the tide inside. When the remaining enemy Templars fled the building to join their commander, Anders and Caitlyn took it as a sign of hope that they had temporarily given up holding the Gallows and simply wanted to attack the Viscountess herself, deeming regicide an easier task than Annulment for now. The alternative explanation, that everyone in the Gallows was dead, was unthinkable—so Caitlyn and Anders did not think of it as they fought.

The Knight-Commander herself was fighting with the vigor of a Blighted beast, Anders thought. No one her age should be able to leap from stone to stone, ascending the walls like an Orlesian harlequin trained in tumbling, yet Meredith was doing exactly that to give herself a better angle for fighting. It was as though the corrupted lyrium that she had taken—perhaps still took, if the Seekers had not found all the supply after all—and the sword with which she fought were enhancing her body instead of destroying her, as had happened with Bartrand Tethras.

But then, he fought like a cornered animal that wouldn't surrender, too, Anders corrected himself as he parried an attack with a spell.

Although he fought whenever he was not sending a blast of healing magic into the fray, and Merrill supported them whenever she was not helping Aveline and the teams of fighters, Caitlyn was Meredith's chief target. The two women circled each other with years of mutual hatred and determination blazing from their eyes as they fought.

"You—you collected all of this," snarled Meredith as she leaped aside from Caitlyn's spell, "the family, the coin, the estate, priest, crown, even your own pet Divine—"

"You are delusional. She never backed me as much as I wanted," Caitlyn scoffed, sending another jolt of raw force at Meredith. It knocked the Templar on her back, but only for a moment; the red lyrium that seemed to be giving Meredith unnatural stamina flared in her eyes and her skin as she rolled to her feet at once.

"She shouldn't have backed you at all!" roared Meredith, charging Caitlyn. Surprised, Caitlyn threw up a powerful glyph shield, which bloomed to its full strength just as the Knight-Commander barreled into it. Meredith tumbled backward again—and, for a couple of seconds, seemed to stay down. But Caitlyn had to take her breath in that time and wait for a burst of mana, and in those seconds, Meredith got to her feet again—this time jumping almost out of combat, leaping atop the wall, her sword gleaming red.

"You collected all of it to convince the world—to convince yourself—that the Maker was on your side!" Meredith roared from atop the wall. "But He is not, and you will never have Him on your side!" Eyes gleaming madly, she extended the tip of the sword to one of the horrible slave statues.

For a brief moment, Caitlyn was sure that she had finally lost her mind, that the red lyrium had taken her over—but then the statue moved.

Shocked, Anders finished off the Templar he was fighting and moved to support her immediately as this statue and two others lumbered off their perches and began smashing their arms into rocks, stones, anything in their way.

Meredith exulted gleefully and crazily at this from atop the wall. "It is a gift of the Maker to His holy soldiers!" she cheered. "Never before seen, sent to us in our time of greatest need!"

It is a malignant, corrupted substance that is activating ancient Tevinter spells on the statues, Caitlyn thought as she sent force spells and ice spells at them to render them brittle and smash them. That or it is somehow enchanting them itself—but the Maker has nothing to do with this. Beside her, Anders fought the unnatural things with a stunned, disbelieving expression on his face.


Across the courtyard of the Gallows entrance, Aveline, Merrill, and the fighters were still taking down the enemy. The Templars who were the most loyal to Meredith, who had probably all been taking red lyrium, were hard to kill, but they were being whittled away even as others—many not on Anders' original, now irrelevant, list—joined them. It really appeared that the only Templars with a conscience were the ones inside, fighting beside Ser Keran.

Merrill was fighting ferociously against a particular Templar, whom she obviously recognized from her brief stay in the Circle. Fury filled her face as she fought him, snarling Dalish curses all the while.

"You ought to be shut up inside there with the rest of them, knife-ears," the man sneered at her as he tried to cut her in half with his blade. "I know Hawke got you out. We all know."

Merrill was too furious to return his taunt. Instead she answered him with an action: a debilitating, immobilizing form of Dalish magic that she had further developed herself. It was blood magic, but it was oh so satisfying to Merrill to watch. This Templar had been the one who had cut her. He had shoved her down and hit her, threatening that he could have done more, kept back only by fear of what had happened to his former comrade Alrik.

"Ah!" Zevran exclaimed in satisfaction as he reached this fight. He swished his blades through the air to finish the job.


Caitlyn's strength was flagging again as she fought against the enchanted statuary. In any other context, she would have wanted to know how this worked, what specific property of the red lyrium caused this, but not when they were attacking her, a single blow to the wrong place could end her life or Anders', her real enemy was still very much alive and in the fight, and her son was inside the enemy's fortress. The things did not feel pain and could keep fighting until they were too shattered to continue.

At least this means I'm not tempted to use blood magic, she thought with dark irony as she finally cast a force spell that crushed the arms off one, causing cracks to rapidly spread throughout the remainder of its form, felling it.

With Anders beside her—whenever he was not lending a hand to Aveline or Merrill—she was able to keep fighting despite her growing fatigue. The souring of Meredith's expression as the last piece of statuary went down further pleased her, and she suddenly realized that she was going to win this.

She thought that for all of two seconds—before the crossbow bolt ripped through her left shoulder.

Caitlyn staggered, reeling from the sudden onslaught of pain as she struggled to hold onto her staff.

A second crossbow bolt shot with a thud into her abdomen.

She gasped, shocked, as she fell to her knees, her staff clattering on the cold stone. Pain flooded her, sending her entire body reeling and trembling from the sudden traumatic injuries.

It all happened very quickly. In a flash of clean, fierce, hard, vengeful blue light, the spirit took over Anders. He knew, preternaturally, where the bolts had come from, and with an uncanny burst of energy, he blasted a spell in the direction of the crossbow-wielding Templar—whose third bolt was aimed directly at the back of Caitlyn's head.

Anders' spell reached this Templar just in time, immobilizing him as if turned to stone. Furious that an enemy had slipped past them in the shadows, the Crows and vigilantes nearest this foe piled on with lethal attacks, which were made even more lethal by the brittleness that Anders' spell had wrought. In a mere second, the body was already a bloody, dismembered mess.

Anders turned back without hesitation, realizing that Caitlyn was injured and alone on the other side of the courtyard with Meredith Stannard. He readied a healing spell and prepared to cast it at her, then gaped in shock.

Caitlyn had wobbled to her feet despite her wounds, and although blood poured from her shoulder and belly, staining her combat robes, she had pulled out the bolts and—somehow—was not bleeding out at a deadly rate. As Anders reached her and sent the first wave of healing magic at her, he belatedly realized why. She was clenching her staff as though she herself was an avenging spirit, majestically, menacingly. She glared at Meredith, who was climbing down from atop the wall with a look of utter loathing in her cold eyes, and a vortex of red vapor surrounded her torso before settling and vanishing. She had used the blood already spilled from the wounds to power a spell to partially heal herself of those same wounds.

She didn't have to do that, Anders thought in dismay. I let her down. I chose to attack the one who did it to her rather than healing her, so she used a blood magic spell again after years of abstaining. He remembered the third crossbow bolt, the one that was never shot, and felt a chill. I... probably saved her life, though.

Meredith reached the ground and drew her sword again, glaring at Caitlyn as if she were a demon. "Maleficar," she hissed. "I knew it. You all turn to this. You are all weak."

"That 'weakness' is about to be the reason why I lived to kill you," Caitlyn replied, her voice as angry as Anders had ever heard it. "What does that make you?" She readied an orange spell, the embryo of a fireball, in half a second.

Meredith was ready and jumped out of the way of the worst of it, but she was still singed. Anders sent another healing spell at Caitlyn, trying to avoid inadvertently catching her enemy in it too, and then joined the fray once more.

Finally—finally—Meredith herself was notably weakened. There were no more statues to bring to unnatural life, and the Crows and vigilantes had finished off all of the defenders except a few. Pools of blood and fallen bodies dotted the stone ground. Most of the surviving fighters, as well as Merrill, had run into the Gallows to check on the mages—and Mal. As the Knight-Commander smashed through a wall of ice with her red lyrium sword, the realization of what had happened struck her too.

"No!" she shouted to the unforgiving sky. "No!"

Sensing weakness like a pair of predators with cornered prey, Caitlyn and Anders closed in, not giving her the faintest suggestion of mercy. She does not deserve any, Caitlyn thought—and Anders did too, though neither knew they were sharing the same thought.

Meredith's attacks became unfocused and desperate. She hacked and slashed with all the skill of a child who had just picked up a sword, the mages easily dodging her blows now. Her face became paler than ever, beads of sweat forming on it, and her eyes grew wide. Caitlyn and Anders were quite sure they could see the signs of red lyrium in her very bloodstream, through the prominent veins that were popping out.

"Maker, your servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil!" screamed the woman.

Anders glowered in contempt and sent a single lightning bolt crackling over her armor. She twitched and jerked from the charge but still was not out.

"No! I will not be defeated!" Her voice had grown hoarse. She swung her blade again, trying to cut Anders' staff in two, and missed.

For the briefest of moments, Caitlyn considered what spell to use. Fire was her signature... there would be something darkly satisfying about draining Meredith's blood at last, now that she had broken her promise anyway...

Meredith raised her sword to the heavens beseechingly. "Maker! Aid your humble servant!"

Her decision made, Caitlyn readied a crushing spell, a force spell. Clean and effective, and I'm not giving in to desperation again with this spell, she thought, casting it just as the Knight-Commander finished her final plea.

The spell struck Meredith just as the sword began to glow in her hand. Meredith screamed—Caitlyn and Anders gaped in horror, not wanting to watch but unable to look away—as the lyrium spread rapidly and painfully through her hand, melding her fingers to the grip.

Caitlyn's spell shattered the red lyrium sword and Meredith's hand, sending red fragments flying outward, but the red lyrium continued to spread down her body, its path clear and smooth from the fact that she was already attuned and addicted to it. Her scream became a cry of stark terror as the substance that she had trusted, which she had believed was a gift from the Maker, betrayed her.

"Get away from it!" Anders cried, pulling Caitlyn away, as the corrupted lyrium consumed the Knight-Commander before their eyes.

They turned aside as her scream died in the night, and she with it.


The pair had not been holding each other for more than half a minute before they felt the first drops of frigid, yet not freezing, rain. The bone-chilling cold and wetness were enough to jolt them out of their brief moment, and as they broke apart, they realized that Aveline was approaching, accompanied by two people who had emerged from the Gallows.

"That's—she just—it took her over!" the Guard-Captain sputtered. She had witnessed the transformation but still did not quite believe it.

Varric, standing next to Cullen Rutherford, eyed the red lyrium statue of the late Knight-Commander. He shook his head, struck silent, unable for once in his life to find the right words. The former Knight-Captain could only gape.

The cold rain began to fall more quickly. "We shouldn't be near it. Her," Caitlyn mumbled. Her wounds were still throbbing, despite the spell that she had used herself and Anders' clean, harmless healing magic. "Is it... the Gallows is secured, then?" she said to Varric. "And Mal is... there?"

"We've taken it," he assured her at once, "and yes, Hawke, he's there and he's perfectly fine." He smiled at her. "He cast a spell that impressed some of the older apprentices, it was so good."

Anders beamed, and Caitlyn also managed a smile in spite of her pain. She was very proud of him. "We must see him, then," she said urgently.

"You are wounded," Cullen objected.

"I can take care of that," Anders said, placing an arm around her waist possessively. He gazed at the imposing structure, then back at the former Templar. "The mages are all leaving if they want to."

Cullen stared at him. "But—"

Caitlyn stepped in, wishing that Anders had kept silent so that she herself could do this later, but she supposed that it had to be done at some point. "He is right. Those who want to leave will be allowed to go. This building is now a holding of Kirkwall, and the mages and Templars who want to stay will be in charge of managing it, under my authority." She gazed hard at Cullen. "This is war now, and that is the final word on this." Her tone was firm. "Varric—please send a messenger to the docks to find my mother and daughter, and have them escorted to the Keep."

"Sure thing," he agreed.

Caitlyn breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment to take it all in. They had made it. "Now, my husband and I are going inside to find our son."

She gazed out at the stone pavement, where the cold raindrops were beginning to spread the blood into thinner pools and slow-moving trickles. And so it begins, she thought as she stalked toward the battered structure.


They ran down the corridors, which were mercifully free of the bodies of mage children, even though some adult Enchanters had fallen while fighting Meredith's loyalists. Caitlyn knew that they would have to deal with the fallout of this attack soon enough. They had organized citizen vigilantes and former Antivan Crows to attack and kill two dozen Templars as the two of them fought the Knight-Commander herself. Meredith's death alone would be controversial, Caitlyn was sure. There would be people who claimed that it was magic, spells that she and Anders cast, rather than red lyrium.

But that could wait. For now, she just had to get to her firstborn child. The thought of having her family, minus Carver, together again warmed Caitlyn's heart. And Carver is safe, she reflected as they rounded a corner. Whatever comes tomorrow, we can prepare for it. We are all safe tonight.

"Mother!"

The boy's voice broke through the general hubbub inside the dormitories. Mal ran out of the doorway in which he was standing just as Caitlyn and Anders rounded the last corner to find themselves face-to-face with him. Beside him stood Fenris, Isabela, and a small group of admiring mage children. Anders gaped at the elven warrior.

"You guarded him?"

Fenris peered back evenly. "Does that shock you? I have always said that he is a good child. Even though he is yours," he could not resist adding.

"I cast a spiky wall of ice that blocked a bad Templar," Mal said, sounding both excited and frightened of what had happened, "but he started to chop through it and said he was going to... hurt me, to show you... but then Fenris came and just... His sword went all the way through!" The boy grimaced.

Anders was struck silent. Without a word, he got on his knees and pulled his son into his arms. "I'm so glad that you are all right," he whispered, rubbing Mal's head as he squeezed him.

After a moment, he released Mal from the hug. The boy stepped back and moved to hug his mother, but Caitlyn winced. She was still bloodied, though Anders had managed to seal her wounds. "Mal," she said, "watch out—"

"I don't mind," he said quietly, embracing Caitlyn. She muffled a sob and held him close.

At last, when he had drawn away from her, Anders posed a question that he had not wanted to ask, because he hadn't wanted to think of its being done to his son, but he did need to know. "Mal," he said carefully, "at any point, did a Templar cut you to take your blood? Or... were you ever unconscious or asleep?"

Mal shook his head. "They didn't do that and I have been awake the whole time."

"Meredith didn't make a—" Anders broke off, raising his gaze to Caitlyn's face in horror. She stared back, equally horrified. The only reason why Meredith Stannard would not have made a phylactery for a new Circle mage after several hours was...

She never intended him to be a Circle mage, Anders thought. She wasn't going to release him to us, but she—she meant to—to kill the hostage. She was always planning to Annul the Circle, no matter what we promised her.

He and Caitlyn surrounded Mal in one fluid movement, wrapping their arms around him in an even tighter hug than before.


Some mages decided to remain at the Gallows because they had no one in Kirkwall to return to or no longer knew—if they ever had—how to take care of themselves outside of this building, how to perform basic living activities. As a mage who had lived free and independent her whole life, Caitlyn found it depressing to consider that, but it was the case for some of them. At least they would be in charge now, holding the place themselves, rather than being under the thumb of a tyrant. Caitlyn set Alain and two other adult Enchanters in command. Ser Keran and the Templars who had fought beside him would stay as well, but to protect the remaining mages from people who tried to attack them as the first self-governing Circle of Magi in southern Thedas.

I hope it lasts. Let us hope that Divine Justinia doesn't send a new Knight-Commander here to reestablish the old order, and... definitely let us hope that there are no soldiers from the north marching on us this minute, Caitlyn thought. She would dispatch scouts to ascertain that.

But for now it was time to go home. The cold rain had only intensified, and the temperature had dropped as well. As she stepped outside the Gallows with her family, friends, and some of those allies who had fought beside her, she realized that it was starting to ice over. She sighed, gazing out at the pools of diluted blood and corpses that were soon going to be coated in ice once they chilled enough. The red lyrium statue of Meredith, fixed in agony, dripped with icy, half-frozen rain.


Leandra and Jo Beth were waiting for them at the Keep when they arrived. Caitlyn accepted her infant from her mother, cuddling the baby close. I was afraid I would never see you again, she thought, kissing her little daughter as the baby reached, wide-eyed, for her mum's face. But we're all here.

Anders was still barely able to let Mal out of his sight, but the boy was happy to see the family pets again after his scare. As he sat on the floor and hugged the big mabari around the neck, Anders went to a side table and picked up a sealed note that he had left behind.

"What's that?" Caitlyn asked him.

He passed it to her. "I wrote it in case... well. It would have been sent to Ferelden if..." He could not finish, gazing at Mal with wide, emotional eyes.

Caitlyn opened the letter.

.

My daughter,

If you are reading this, then your mother and I died years ago when you were but a baby. I am sorrier than I could ever say; please know that we loved you very much and did not want to leave you. We left you with your grandmother and uncle to save your life.

Your grandmother has undoubtedly told you this, but you had an older brother. His name was Malcolm Anders Hawke—named for your grandfather, and for me, though that was your mother's doing! He was a mage, like us, and on the day that we lost our lives, he was taken by a monstrous, wicked Templar. We gave our lives to try to save his. We would have done the same if it had been you, beloved, and we are so, so sorry that we could not even save your brother so that you could grow up with him and know him. There is no pain worse than that of a parent who failed their child, and your mother and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive us for our failures. I wrote this letter in the hope that I would burn it and that you would never read it, but that is not what happened. We failed you, we failed him, and I am sorry.

Please know that your mother, your brother, and I loved you so very much. You are all that is left of our family now. Please carry the torch for us.

Your loving father,

Anders

.

Caitlyn set down the letter carefully, breathing hard. She could readily imagine Jo Beth reading this as a girl, alone with her aging grandmother, Carver, and Charade, as they told her stories about her parents and brother. Tears filled her eyes at the thought, even though it had not happened. She pulled her daughter close and kissed her forehead again as Anders hugged Mal and choked through his own sobs.

"I'm going to destroy this," she said quietly to him. He looked up from the top of his son's head and nodded at once.

Holding the baby close to her chest with her left arm, she raised her right hand over the note and aimed a small but hot flame at it. It caught fire at once. Caitlyn watched, protecting Jo from the flames, as the edges of it curled and turned black, the charring spreading toward the center and crumbling to ash as it did. Burned up and gone, like the future in which she would have needed to read it, Caitlyn thought. We are all here. Mal is all right and so are we. We still have our family, and Meredith is dead. Whatever the future holds, she can never hurt us again.


Very, very late, after Caitlyn had sent Aveline to establish a curfew and dispatched runners to determine if there were soldiers from Starkhaven or its allies marching for Kirkwall, the magnitude of what had happened struck her with full force.

We killed the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall—and all her supporters. We went to the Circle and assassinated them, then set the mages free, on the day that we know there was a statement of defiance among her northern backers. I am going to have to be a war leader. I cannot avoid it any longer. Even if soldiers are not coming now, they will someday soon, and I will have to lead and defend my city in a time of war—a war that will shake every nation in the south. Caitlyn began to shake, herself.

"Love," Anders said gently, reaching to cuddle her.

She welcomed his embrace, but it was also like the removal of a cork from a bottle of fizzy wine. "We assassinated the Knight-Commander," she burst out. "Every last Templar who wasn't already with Thrask's group was killed. Not one of them walked away. People on the outside will see that we contracted a mass assassination of Templars."

"We had to," he said.

"I know... but... I was hoping it would only be Meredith. Maybe that was a foolish hope, but I dared hope it."

"We did what we had to," he said again, holding her as she shook.

"This is it," she said. "This is war. We can't unring the bell now. We must fight, and we must win. Otherwise... the children..." She broke off.

"We will win. Justinia was on your side but too cowardly to commit. Now she has to take a side, and I haven't made our side untenable. We didn't have all the Templars killed, just the ones who backed Meredith."

"Get your evidence in order, then," she said, "because we have to justify this if we want her aid—and possibly the Fereldans' aid too." She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to collect herself and think rationally, as the Viscountess that she was. "It's critical for people to know that we had those Templars killed for treason and rebellion, not for being Templars." She closed her eyes. "What have we done?" she said, covering her eyes.

"Meredith was planning regicide, Caitlyn, love," Anders said gently. "You know she was. She was going to take Mal and Jo away once she killed both of us. Yes—there will be a war. I hope it's a quick one," he said, wincing and closing his eyes in genuine remorse; this was not something to speak of lightly and he knew it. "I hope it's quick and decisive. But it was inevitable no matter what. I'm sorry, my love, but it's a fact."

"It is your belief. We'll never know now." She breathed deeply, running her hands through her long messy hair. "I consented to this. I helped you. I struck the final blow myself, with my own magic. I shouldn't do this to you, and I'm sorry. I just... I just had to talk..."

"It's all right," he said gently. "Being in charge of one side of a war is scary, and you didn't think the deed tonight would be this bad."

"I didn't. But we have to move forward. It's done, there is a part of me that is relieved it's done at last, and we have to live with the consequences." She took his hand and peered at him with an expression that was a mix of fear for the future, wryness, pride, and love. "And you'll stand with me."

He squeezed her hand. "I always meant to stand with you. Always."

She gazed up at him, a sad smile on her face, and squeezed his hand back. "I know."