Notes: There is an inner monologue of POV Elthina to begin this chapter, just to make it clear what is my take on her. It goes without saying that this is heavy on unreliable narrator and lack of self-awareness, and that I am not endorsing her opinions. But since I'm writing her as villainous, which is an interpretation rather than definitive, I do want to make her POV clear instead of just villain-hatting her from a distance. It's the Song of Ice and Fire fan in me.

Song: Green Day – "Know Your Enemy." This is one of my "Anders songs." Most of my musical inspiration is metal, indie rock, alternative, and some soundtracks. I'm a Xennial (boundary of Generation X and Millennials) to the core, and this is the music I came of age with. The melodic metal albums The Sceptre of Deception by Falconer (which next chapter's song is from) and Century Child by Nightwish were my main "soundtrack" for planning this story and will show up several times.


Chapter 62: Bring on the Fury


The Grand Cathedral of Tantervale, Solace Dragon 9:37.

Elthina, Divine Fidelia I of the Orthodox Chantry, rose from prayer. Sebastian would soon be meeting with her, and she had needed to seek guidance from the Maker and collect her thoughts before speaking with him.

She felt sorrowful. She regretted that this war had been necessary. She had never wanted to be the Divine herself and had always faithfully and loyally supported Beatrix III, the last true Divine to sit at Val Royeaux. She had not backed Dorothea, but when the Orlesian priest had been elected, she had—at first—deemed it the mysterious hand of the Maker, a challenge and an opportunity for His faithful. Justinia V had some outre views, but perhaps with proper influence, and the right people around her, she could be made to come around. With her friends in the Templars and Seekers, Elthina had been a leader in formalizing an alliance among these people, hoping that their unified influence could sway the new, disturbingly heterodox leader. Was not conversion of the misguided the great task of Andraste? Archon Hessarian himself had come to be a disciple.

It was not to be. The plan was scuttled on two fronts: Val Royeaux and Kirkwall, Elthina's own adopted home.

She had never expected anyone in Kirkwall itself—at least, anyone with influence—to deem her an enemy and target her obsessively. Over the years, she had made sure to stay in the good graces of Kirkwall's nobility and priesthood—not, of course, to allow any priest of the Kirkwall Chantry to develop notions of replacing her, though. It would not do to cultivate one particular person as her successor. Apprentices far too often got ideas about overthrowing their masters. Instead Elthina had attempted to stay on everyone's good side in Hightown and in the Chantry. Her good friend, Meredith Stannard, was the sword arm. Meredith could make the enemies; it was what a warrior for the Maker did. Elthina was the hand of friendship, offered to all who counted in Kirkwall.

Except for that secret apostate, the jumped-up half-Fereldan, who refused to take it—who came into the city with a chip on her shoulder that her illicit and unlawful relationship with another apostate had been broken apart years ago, leaving her with a bastard to raise alone for years. Worse, she had not even been kept down by the disgrace, because the boy's father turned up himself as a Grey Warden, untouchable by Meredith's Templars, and the two of them had married quickly, removing the stain of illegitimacy and sin before the nobles even knew Hawke. And, no doubt, nursing their shared grudge together. She had managed to buy her way back into Hightown, the nobles apparently having no memories of the fall of House Amell due to magic, and she was resentfully, determinedly against Elthina from almost the beginning.

But if it were only Hawke and Anders that Elthina faced, she could have dealt with them with Meredith at her side. Meredith had suspected from almost the start that Hawke was an apostate and merely lacked proof. Anders was a hothead and would eventually get drawn into a fight that he would lose. He certainly could never have posed a threat to Elthina by himself.

Elthina could have handled the two mages. But Hawke had, to her dismay, shown a degree of pragmatism shocking in an apostate who hated the Circles: She had made an alliance with one of Elthina's own priests, a fanatic of a different kind who had her own agenda, but who shared enough of Hawke's views that they could work together. It was infuriating to Elthina. She could have used Petrice! Single-minded people who weren't as clever as they thought they were could always be used, even if they did not realize it. She had never intended to let the Qunari stay in Kirkwall. The time had come for her and Meredith to end the custom of having a Viscount, and rule themselves, benevolently and in the name of the Maker. It would have been better for the city. That was the purpose of letting the Qunari remain: Show the people that secular rule led to conquest by the Qun. Elthina could have used Petrice... but Hawke had gotten there first, and Hawke was much smarter than Petrice.

If the Maker had formed the world just a little differently, Elthina thought, she might have been able to use Hawke too. If Hawke had not inherited her apostate father's ability and had never met Anders, Elthina might have been able to make something of her. Elthina begrudged admitting it, but other than her heresy and apostasy, Hawke did have great regard for law and order in the city and had taken an active part in rooting out criminal gangs. If she had not been born a mage, had not been with Anders, had not wanted to work with Petrice, but had otherwise been as she was... it was possible that she might have been a suitable Viscountess after all, under Elthina's and Meredith's thumbs of course. That might have been an acceptable alternative to taking direct power. After all, right now she worked well with dear Sebastian and Joffrey Orrick, Chancellor of Tantervale.

But none of that had happened. Instead, Hawke was an inveterate enemy. It was sad. Mages were not doomed to the Void; they could find grace by following Andraste and adhering to the Circles. Elthina had no idea of Hawke's faith; no one truly knew what was in a person's heart except the Maker, but she did know that Hawke had committed a great sin. It was much worse than being a lone apostate; she was leading others astray and waging war against those who sought to follow the Maker's plan for mages. In her way, she was just as culpable as the false "Divine" in Minrathous, leading the Tevinter people astray. Elthina felt sorrow for the loss of any of the Maker's Children to sin and heresy. But Hawke would have to be held accountable for her own choices.

Elthina had lost Kirkwall. Accused of treason, when all that she had meant to do was for the Maker's greater glory and the good of the city. She had been forced to flee like a criminal, Sebastian breaking her out of prison and escaping with her in the dead of night, repaying the offer that she had made to him long ago. With that, her hopes hinged on her agents and allies in the Chantry managing to convince Justinia that it had all been a mistake, and to pardon and reinstate Elthina. Surely a recently affirmed priest and an apostate would not have influence with the Divine.

She was badly wrong. Instead Justinia had allowed Hawke to make herself Viscountess of Kirkwall, a direct affront to Andraste's commands. Over the next two years, rumors flew between Val Royeaux, Cumberland, Kirkwall, Tantervale, and Starkhaven about how this could be happening—what influence Hawke might have with Justinia. For it did seem that the influence was all Hawke and not Petrice. The explanation that Elthina believed was that one of Justinia's close agents, a sister of the faith who was also an Orlesian bard, had known Hawke in Ferelden and had kept in contact.

Elthina herself knew of this agent, known as Nightingale. Meredith had sent her messages warning about the power of mages in Kirkwall. That mage Anders could baselessly accuse Templars of terrible crimes and execute them in public without consequence. Justinia had put on a show of concern, of course. She had allowed the Knight-Vigilant and a loyal Seeker to go to Kirkwall to question the pair, but all that had come of it was the Knight-Vigilant's removal after Anders and Hawke goaded him to make some unfortunate comments that brought shame to the Templar Order. Elthina feared that Justinia, as a Game-player, had merely seen the meeting as a way to get rid of a foe. Then, not long after, Meredith had sent another message, that Hawke was covering up the murder of Templars by those linked to the Resolutionist apostate gang, warning that Kirkwall was on the verge of becoming a second Tevinter Imperium. Surely that would wake the woman up? That agent Nightingale had gravely accepted Meredith's warnings and assured her that they would be passed on to Justinia, but that was a bard's sham. Justinia had not acted against Hawke even then, accepting the news that the murderer had been found and executed.

Elthina had badly miscalculated, and from that point onward, it was a matter of preparing to do an ugly thing: either assassinate a Divine or split the Chantry. After days of reflecting in prayer and studying her history, she had arrived at a conclusion: The reason that the Maker had not intervened to change Justinia's mind, and indeed had given her over to worse and worse affronts to His plan, was that Justinia was a false pretender, an anti-divine, and the Conclave of 9:34 had been wrongly decided. The Sunburst Throne was no longer held by a true Successor to the Maker's Bride. It was like the Tevinter schism, but with the roles reversed: In both instances, the Maker's will was to defeat the heretics and their false "Divine."

War, alas, was necessary. Elthina prayed that it would be brief and decisive.

She passed into her office and left the door open a crack, waiting for Sebastian. He was in charge of the battle plans for the first attack on Kirkwall—first and, if successful, last.

"Most Holy," Sebastian said, hurrying into her office. Elthina smiled in welcome at him as he closed the door behind him, setting his weapons down in respect of her station. It was still odd to hear to hear those terms spoken in reference to her, and her quarters, while certainly grand, were not like those meant for the Divine in Val Royeaux. As a friend of the late Beatrix III, she had seen those quite often. These were... while not marked with poverty, rather less impressive in the material sense. But we have the Maker on our side, she thought. Andraste's army was not as splendid as the Tevinter Imperium either.

Sebastian took his seat before her desk and removed a collection of figures from his pouch. They were rather simple, just pieces marked with heraldry. He took out a scroll, unrolling it across her desk, revealing it as a map, and placed them on it according to where each force was located.

"Hawke has the Kirkwall rebel mages, a large number of Fereldan rebel mages—though not all of that Circle yet—and some unknown number of longtime apostates like herself," he explained, pointing at the figures with the emblem of the hand of a mage on them that clustered around Kirkwall. "She also has her own City Guard." He tapped a figure with Kirkwall's heraldry. "There is some number of vigilante fighters as well. Hawke is known to have used them in putting down that violent mob that attacked last Satinalia."

Elthina pressed her lips together. She and Sebastian did not see eye to eye about that—not, of course, that he knew her real views or believed the stories of her complicity. That attack was the scheme of the late Ser Mettin, his friend Ser Samson, and Meredith. She had not had a part in the planning, but she had reluctantly, after much prayer, given her assent to the Templars. Mettin had spent years of service in Kirkwall gathering information about apostate sympathizers in the general population, and the intelligence that he brought to her was very disturbing. There were hundreds of them, enough to form a mob of their own. She had found the tactic of going door to door to kill them distasteful, but such things were sometimes necessary. And, she supposed, although Mettin's force had failed to overthrow Hawke, they had deprived her of hundreds of armed supporters.

But Sebastian had been appalled after it had happened and he had belatedly learned of Mettin's part in it. "Hawke has no right, as a mage, to sit in the Keep," he had said, "but this—this was not the way to remove her! I'm glad that Mettin is dead, leading something like that!"

It seemed that Sebastian still felt that way about the attack. Well, Sebastian, Elthina thought, is war any better? A lot more people than that are now going to die to remove her. Like it or not, that force on Satinalia would have nipped this war in the bud if it had succeeded.

But she didn't tell him this. Instead she said, "Hawke also is said to have used vigilantes to murder Meredith and her supporters on First Day Eve. Some are former Resolutionists, or 'Front for Resolution' as they called themselves in Kirkwall. Some are just Fereldan thugs who like her because she's one too."

"We don't have exact numbers," he begrudged. "Presumably the Front for Resolution apostates are part of her mage army, and hopefully there are not that many non-mage fighters." He shifted his focus to the other figures, those that formed a line across the Minanter River from Starkhaven to Tantervale. "Our forces include the militias of Starkhaven and Tantervale, our Loyalist mages, and, thank the Maker, a great many Templars who have joined our side after the Divine in Val Royeaux... pardon me, I'm sorry..."

It had become common idiom to refer to the "Divine in Val Royeaux" and the "Divine in Tantervale" now, though Elthina—Fidelia's people strongly discouraged it. She waved for him to continue, not offended. The faithful had considered Justinia a legitimate Divine until she showed her true colors.

"Of course, Your Gr—Perfection. Anyway, my point is that I think if we strike hard and fast, we have enough power to end this quickly. The mages will pose a bigger problem than the traditional forces. But at the moment, they only have the Kirkwall mages, part of Ferelden's Circle, and some unknown number of apostates. We have a third of the Templars in the Order. One Templar can disable numerous mages at once. I think we could win with a land assault."

Elthina considered. "You say we 'could' win. A combined land-sea assault could make that a lot more likely."

Sebastian frowned. "It might or it might not. Hawke has an alliance with Ferelden, and of course the Fereldan army is... formidable." He paused. The Fereldan army was no longer under the generalship of Loghain Mac Tir, but rather his second wife, Cauthrien. But she had trained under him. The Fereldan army had defeated Orlais within Elthina's own lifetime. "But," he continued, "there's no intelligence that Fereldan soldiers are in Kirkwall. If we sent ships down the river and sea, it couldn't be kept secret. That would give them the opportunity to have transports of Fereldan soldiers cross as soon as Ferelden could muster them. I think our best bet is to march hard and fast."

Elthina had misgivings, but she saw his point in acting swiftly. The rebellious mages were drawn to the personality cult around the apostate "Viscountess" and her Warden mage husband, entranced by the supposed romance of their story and inspired by her demagogic aggression in seizing power. Take them down, and the rebellion will surely collapse.


Kirkwall.

"Viscountess Hawke!" Junar, a hunter of the Sabrae clan of Dalish elves, was still panting from his run from the Sundermount to the Keep.

He had made the run personally, so what he had to say must be important. Caitlyn offered him water and a seat. "What's wrong, Junar? Something is."

He sipped the water carefully despite being out of breath. "My kin in the Lavellan clan have sighted a large force descending from the north."

She was instantly alarmed. "How large is 'large'?"

"We estimate three hundred Templars and an equal number of common soldiers."

Caitlyn was dismayed. That would almost match her numbers, and she didn't have soldiers, just City Guard and vigilantes. "Where is it right now?"

"They march across the Wildervale. Many of the Templars are mounted, but they must go slowly to avoid outrunning the infantry. They are perhaps a day's march from Starkhaven and Tantervale. My fellow Dalish believe that two forces, one from each city, joined."

"This is the first major offensive, then," Caitlyn said, scowling. She looked up at him. "Are the elves in the Lavellan clan inclined to join us?"

"No, Viscountess. They have no treaty with you."

"True, they don't." She rose to her feet. "Thank you for telling me. Take rest here if you wish, and when you are ready to return to the mountain, prepare your people as you see fit. I'm going to meet with my War Council. They are not going to reach Kirkwall, this I swear. Your armed support would be valued, but you know your treaty doesn't require you to fight with us in war."

"I must consult with the Keeper and the hahren. I cannot make that decision myself."

"Of course."


Caitlyn, Anders, Aveline, Alain, Thrask, Petra, Sketch, and Cullen all pored over the map. They were troubled but not hopeless.

"Is it an option to call on Fereldan regulars?" Aveline asked, having had some experience in the Fereldan army years ago.

"I don't know that there will be enough time," Caitlyn admitted. "The Fereldan army will have to be called up from across the country, won't it? It isn't all in one place." She pointed at the map where the figures of the enemy forces stood. "We'll have to meet them on the field. I don't want the city to undergo a siege. This battle can be won if we position our forces suitably." She picked up the three figures representing her mages. "The mages do not need to be in range of the Templars' abilities. If the Templars disable enough of them, I don't see a viable path to victory. The mages need to be kept at a distance, to use area spells."

"The City Guard and your private... army... aren't trained like Templars or the Starkhaven regulars," Aveline warned. "If your plan is to send the non-mages to attack them, I'm afraid they'll be cut through like butter."

"That is why they will have runed weapons. I doubt the Starkhaven regulars all carry elementally runed swords. And while I cannot have the full might of the Fereldan army, I do have time to request support from the Highever militia. I've sent a messenger on a ship for just that purpose, in fact."

"Is there anything the Dalish can do to aid us?"

"There is," Caitlyn said, "and Keeper Huon has promised their support. That will increase our numbers by about two score, mostly archers."

"Archers are good," Sketch observed.

"Here's my plan," Caitlyn said. "It's a fairly standard baited-trap plan. Send out the Guard and my personal loyalists as the bait, to meet the enemy directly." She moved the Kirkwall figure north to meet the enemy line. "Have the mages split into two camps, one taking an eastern detour, one a western. The Wildervale is not ideal for sneaking up, since it is a vale, but there are enough wooded areas that the mages can hide themselves that way. They can cast Haste en masse to reach the site of battle just in time, taking the enemy by surprise, springing the trap around it." She brought the mage figures in two arcs, closing in on the enemy. "It'll be challenge for the Templars to take out the mages if they're attacked from all sides."

"It's a gamble," Aveline remarked. "If the enemy runs through the bait before the mages arrive, we've just lost the City Guard even if we win."

"I'm not going to send the whole City Guard out. The bait will be just large enough to seem credible to the enemy."

"Will it seem credible if there are no mages in it?"

Sketch spoke up. "Some of those in my group want to fight with the center. They know the risks. I'm not going to deny them unless the Viscountess does."

"I'm sure there will be some fear that this is a trap," Caitlyn said briskly, "but if they cannot see the bulk of the mages coming—because of the Haste spell and the other misdirections that they can cast—it won't matter."

"Do we have any intelligence that they are planning to strike the harbor?" Alain asked.

"None. The patrol between Highever and Lighthouse Point would catch it."

They all studied the map, nodding in turn. "When are we leaving?"

"As soon as the Highever reinforcements arrive, or first thing the day after tomorrow, whichever comes sooner."


The next day dawned cloudy, threatening to storm. Time and tides might wait for no man, but the captains of ships still tried to come ashore before the weather turned vicious. The hoped-for Highever ship arrived in mid-afternoon, bearing four score militia from Highever and the Waking Sea Bannorn. Some of them were Chasind warriors, to Caitlyn and Anders' surprise.

"We have land gifted by Fergus Cousland," a Chasind said. "We do not follow your religion, but we would not see the northern Chantry win."

"I understand, and we are very glad to have you here." It was probably best not to introduce them to Grand Cleric Petrice, she resolved.

Anders smiled, reminiscing fondly on his plan in Wintermarch 9:27 to take refuge with the Chasind. Instead a blizzard had foiled his plans, sending him into the cabin of the Hawke family. It was the luckiest storm of his life.

Caitlyn gave him an arch smile, guessing his thoughts. She scanned the horizon as a bolt of lightning struck one of the islands just southwest of the Kirkwall coast. Another ship was rapidly coming ashore, and it seemed to her that it was being moved by more than simple mechanical power.

"Are there mages aboard that ship?" Anders mused, noticing the same thing that she did.

The large ship approached the harbor, docking rapidly as the storm clouds drew near. Caitlyn scanned it. It was named Vigilant, and it carried the flags of Markham and the hand of arcane power that many mages used.

Anders took Caitlyn's hand excitedly, hope flaring in his heart and his face.

A mage descended from the gangplank, first interacting with the port authority. The harbormaster evidently was satisfied with his account. He approached Caitlyn carefully.

"This fellow says he's the First Enchanter of Markham. He says they voted to join Your Grace."

"Let us speak to him, then!" she said eagerly, unable to contain her excitement any more than Anders was.

The mage was a graying, middle-aged, clean-cut man. He removed his cowl and bowed. "Your Grace. Caspar Waite, formerly First Enchanter of the Markham Circle—but no longer does that Circle exist. We have voted to declare independence and join Your Grace's fight, with your leave."

Caitlyn shook his hand gladly. "You are most welcome, and you have come at a critical time."


The Markham mages included forty-seven who were either Healers or battlemages. The children and those whose specialties lay in research took up residence at the Gallows or spread out through Kirkwall, displaying an uncanny ability to find fellow mages even in the rabbit warrens of the city. Caitlyn wondered what to do about the War Council as she temporarily added Waite. She hated to demote anyone, but would it really be practical to add each and every leader of every group of mages that made its way here? Eventually she would need them to vote on a fixed number of representatives.

However, for now, Caspar Waite had much to contribute. His Circle had a high concentration of mages who specialized in entropy magic, attacks upon the spirit and mind of the enemy, and Fade manipulation, rather than elementalism. All of his Healers were Spirit Healers.

Cullen was visibly uncomfortable. "I don't like playing with the Fade," he said. "What exactly do your people do?"

"Curses, hexes, horror visions, Cloud of Death. Nightmares," he said with a rather dark smile. "Nightmares from which the enemy often cannot escape, they are so preoccupying. And for the Fade... we don't summon spirits, if that is what you fear. You are a former Templar, aren't you?"

"Yes," Cullen said suspiciously.

"I thought so. We do not bring spirits into the world. But... creating and manipulating thin spots in the Veil can be very disorienting for enemies."

Cullen glowered. "You just be careful. That's all I'm saying."

Caitlyn actually agreed, but for different reasons. "Don't do anything that could be used against us," she urged him. "I know the spells that you named. But manipulating the Veil to distract people... that's unfamiliar and will seem close to demon-summoning. Let's keep that to a minimum... or conceal it."

"As you wish. But if it should become necessary to turn the tide..."

"Then do it, in that case."


At last the combined force was ready to set off. Caitlyn had a good feeling about it. With the additions of the Highever militia, Chasind, and Markham thaumaturgists, their side now had an advantage by numbers and power—and Caitlyn was pretty sure that her enemy had not heard about Markham's vote. They would be operating with the assumption that she had only the mages she had in Wintermarch.

The most difficult decision was whether she and Anders should both go or one should remain at home with the children. Jo Beth was old enough to eat soft food and have fluids other than mother's milk, and Caitlyn had made some preserved bottles of milk, in any case. She would be taken care of. Mal rather wanted to go, but he knew that a nine-year-old boy would not be allowed.

"I think the significance of the two of us making a stand with our army cannot be overstated," Caitlyn said to Anders that night. "It would inspire more mages to join us."

He sighed, rubbing his head. He saw her point. He did not doubt the capability of the mages' leaders, nor of Aveline to strategize tactics on the fly if needed. But there was a certain morale boost that would come from having the figures who had inspired the rebellion with them.

And yet...

"If it goes badly, you would be in grave danger," he said. "Or even if it doesn't. Your presence would boost morale, but it would crush morale if they targeted you and, Maker forbid, something happened. I could go. They would understand what it meant."

Caitlyn saw the logic in his words, but she could not stand the thought of letting him go off to battle alone. She knew that he had done it before. He had fought as a Grey Warden, facing down monsters in the deep that she could only barely imagine. She could only envision the Architect from having fought Corypheus, and the idea of the Mother was too horrible to contemplate. He had been much less supported in those battles than he would be in the Battle of Wildervale, as she was already calling it in her mind. However, she still was not comfortable letting him go without her.

"We would go on horseback, of course, and we both know Haste ourselves. Neither of us would lead the vanguard, anyway," she told him. Indeed, Aveline had volunteered to command the center. "Kirkwall, Ferelden, and some of the apostates will take the eastern flank; the rest of the apostates and the Markham mages will be the western one. I think we should be with that western group. They'll be closest to this lake"—she pointed at said Wildervale lake on the map—"because Waite thinks he can use the water to create mists and phantom forms, making reality itself look somewhat like the Fade. I can't let you go by yourself, Anders," she said, surprised with the note of desperation in her voice. "I just can't stand the thought of it. We'll be relatively safe with that group and a horse if we had to make a quick getaway. Varric can be Regent here."

Anders was uncomfortable, but he could see her point. "All right, then," he said. "Just please be careful. I can't stand the thought of losing you either."


Later.

Aveline could see the enemy in the distance. The Wildervale had many low hills and valleys, and she was at the top of a small hill, giving her a good view. The enemy force was not at the very base of the next valley, but they had brought themselves into an unforgiving position, unable to see over the little hillock ahead of them.

Aveline smiled grimly. She hoped Hawke knew what she was doing.

By luck, or perhaps the Maker's hand—if He favored their cause—they had found themselves in the preferred position for their battle. The two lines of mages, led by Alain to the east and Hawke to the west, would converge, enclosing this force in their jaws. It was not an original battle plan, to be sure, but it was one that was known to work when it could be pulled off. Aveline was now rather more confident that it would work.

No, what Aveline sometimes wondered at was that she, formerly married to a Templar, was now fighting as the commanding general in all but name for the cause of mage freedom.

Part of it was loyalty to Hawke. That loyalty had been tested when Hawke had revealed, several years ago, that she had dabbled in blood magic, but she had not done it since then, to Aveline's knowledge. It had been tested again when Hawke had given the no-quarter order on Satinalia Eve. However, Aveline had understood the reasoning, brutal as the order was. A violent, lawless mob that was already guilty of murder and treason to the last man and woman could not be allowed to roam free. Aveline understood that Hawke was more ruthless than she herself was. But everyone had their inner monsters, and she had not allowed her monster to take her over. She had faced down her dark side and seemed to have it in control. Hawke was a leader worth following. She, Aveline believed, was the leader that Kirkwall needed, one who was neither weak nor corrupt, as virtually all of them had been before her.

And if a mage could be that leader—well, did that not validate Hawke's cause? Hawke's army had not caused any trouble in the city. Perhaps if the lawfully inclined among mages were not locked up in Circles, then they would be free to deal with the criminally inclined. Aveline did not get on that well with Anders, but she could not dispute, either, that the two of them were good parents. It would have been a loss if their children had never been born or had been taken away from their parents, as the long-standing Circle rules required. Aveline hoped someday, when this war was over, to have a child of her own with Donnic. She was going to be almost too old in a few years.

That said, Aveline found Caspar Waite a bit creepy, and his Circle too. It was creepy that the great majority of a Circle would specialize in mind-meddling, thaumaturgy, and the proliferation of decay. Aveline was, by now, accustomed to mages who used the elements, like Caitlyn herself. Healing had never frightened her, of course. She was even used to seeing Caitlyn fling foes about by her raw manipulation of physical force, or lift objects by that means. Physicality was something that she was comfortable with, but what the Markham mages did was creepy. Markham's university was focused on agricultural research. Why didn't the Circle support that scholarship in its magical specializations? And what would they do after the war was over, if they won? What was the application of such magic to everyday life?

Well, most mages did not use magic more than a few times a day in their everyday lives. They didn't have to. That, too, was one of the points that Caitlyn and Anders made: they were not killing machines, but people who so happened to have this ability.

Yes, Aveline supposed, she understood Hawke's point of view now. And it was not really so odd at all that she was supporting her friend. There was nothing else she could have done.

The Starkhaven-Tantervale force seemed to realize that it had marched into a bad position. They had sighted Aveline and her front line and were moving into position to charge up the hill, trying to salvage something.

Aveline gave a bugle blast, felt the thrill of battle suffuse her, and led her force straight into the maw of the enemy.


Caitlyn felt a bit embarrassed that she had never bothered to specialize in the type of magic that the Markham mages could do. Her preferred approaches of fire, raw force, and—though she vowed, once more, not to use it—blood wounding seemed crude and unsubtle. These people were using elementalism too, she supposed, to manipulate the mists of the lake into heavy fogs, which they enhanced by subtly infusing them with veilfire lights, clouds of entropic pall, and hexes—but that was also embarrassing to Caitlyn. It was an application of the elements that she had never considered, and she was not sure why. She could keep her fire magic down to the heat sufficient to keep her hands warm in winter. She could use ice and fire subtly to create a volume of water at any temperature she liked. Why had she never thought of this?

And although the Markham mages could not read thoughts or emotions with their spells of horror and mental confusion, they certainly could control minds, though without the stigma of blood magic. That was a key part of the battle plan. Along the march, Caitlyn, shamed by her lack of knowledge of how to do this without resorting to blood, had gone into her tent and tried to teach it to herself. She could do some rudimentary mental magic spells by means of spirit attacks now, but the masters from Markham would put her to shame.

"You have nothing to feel inadequate about," Anders reassured her as they prepared to cast Haste en masse to save Aveline's troops.

"Perhaps not," Caitlyn said. "But I am going to learn this when we return."

He smiled, buoyed by her confidence—not even deliberate and pointed, but natural and involuntary—that they would return and have the leisure for magical study. Caitlyn was never satisfied for long, he thought. Whatever her circumstances, they were never quite enough. He understood; he was the same.

They cast Haste along with the rest of their troops and charged forward in a strange, almost unreal blur.


Alain and Petra led the force into the clearing, ending the spell of Haste as a group. Aveline had already engaged her guardsmen, private fighters, and Dalish in a pitched battle. They were fighting ferociously, targeting the Templars whenever possible. The Templars' special abilities would be useless against non-mages. Against those who were not mages, they were merely a legion of warriors.

"Halt!" Petra called out, holding her hand up. Behind her, a force of about a hundred cavalry halted. Some of the mages, mostly those who had lived outside the Circles for a while, could ride after a fashion. Others had to sit behind another rider. It didn't matter. Most of them were not going to engage the Templars and Starkhaven militia in melee.

The Kirkwall guards and private fighters were clearly not as skilled as the enemy soldiers, but the Viscountess's plan of having most of them carry runed weapons made up some—not all, but some—of the deficit. They would not be able to win this battle alone, but they were holding their own, at least.

Across the clearing, a rather menacing, green-tinted, distinctly unnatural fog crawled down a hill. Petra knew what that meant. A wicked smile broke across her face as she waited.

The fog reached the valley. Aveline's melee fighters suddenly disengaged from their duels and took off running, avoiding the fog. The enemy roared in triumph, convinced that they had routed their foe.

The fog crawled toward the mass of people.

In the distance, off the battlefield, out of the forest emerged the force of mages led by the Viscountess, Lord Anders, Sketch, and that Markham fellow Waite. The Markham hexers rode in the vanguard. As one, they cast invisible spells at the force of enemy soldiers, now separated from the friendlies that they were fighting.

The enemy Templars and guards halted, struck by horrendous eldritch visions that no one but themselves could see. Many of them clutched their heads in despair. Others suddenly started wandering around in confusion, bereft of any sense of purpose.

The arcane-enhanced fog reached them, tendrils of cursed vapor curling around them, sending many of them to their knees in terror and decline.

Laughs echoed through the valley as Aveline's melee fighters, who had mostly escaped the sinister magic, taunted their hobbled enemies.

Petra smiled grimly. Magic was fearsome, especially when different schools of magic were used in tandem by a large force. It was no wonder that the Exalted Marches had never overcome Tevinter, nor had the Qunari.

She gave the order. As one, her force finished what their fellows had begun, launching a lethal volley of ice, of rocks and lightning and fire, at the hampered and vulnerable enemy.


Later.

It had been a slaughter. Fewer than four dozen enemies, all Templars, had managed to escape. Caitlyn knew that this army had not been all, or even most, of the Templars who had joined the schism. But it would be a blow.

Going over the battlefield, as soon as the malevolent fog had cleared and it was safe to do so, she had seen no one with the insignia of Hercinia at all, nor any Tantervale soldiers or guards. Her initial sense of gravity and weight at the amount of death that they had just inflicted was rapidly turning to anger. Her blood boiled at the idea that Elthina—Caitlyn would not call her by her ruling name, because she was no true Divine—had imagined she could defeat them with no more than Starkhaven soldiers and some of the rebel Templars. It was an insult. Serves the holy bitch right, Caitlyn thought mutinously. Her pride will take quite a fall when those stragglers report back to her. And there won't be much she can do about it. She has wasted this many soldiers and Templars already, while we've lost very few mages and no more than two score non-magical fighters.

She had intended to take a respectful ride around the battlefield, looking over every corpse, even the enemy, contemplating that they had all been people, and maybe even silently wishing them peace with the Maker despite their actions. But she was too angry and riled to do that. Let some of the others do it. There were many people here who were less prone to anger.

Caitlyn turned her horse around, Anders clutching her waist in affection and support. She trotted up to Aveline. "Enchanter Waite has mages who are very good at closing rifts and weaknesses in the Veil, and after a battle such as this, it must be done," she said brusquely. She gazed out at the field, which was stained with blood, and grimaced in spite of her anger. "If any of your folks want to say words over these people, now is the time to do it."

"Do you want pyromancers to immolate the bodies?"

"No," Caitlyn said. "There are mages, Loyalists and... I suppose... some who are being forced to fight for the schism... in the north. They have the capability. And soon enough, they'll know perfectly well what happened and what the risk is of allowing bodies to sit in a field for too long. They may want to return ashes individually to families, too, so they'll need to be able to identify bodies. It's their problem, not ours," she finished with a glower.


Caitlyn's mood improved as they rode triumphantly back to Kirkwall. This war might end quickly, she thought as they bade the Dalish farewell at Sundermount and continued the short march into the city gates, everyone except their leaders leaving the horses behind outside the city.

The mages who resided at the Gallows parted ways in Lowtown, heading to the docks to receive the welcome and adulation of their fellow mages—their frail elders, vulnerable children, and more homebody scholarly types. Caitlyn led everyone else through Lowtown to cheers and thrown bouquets of flowers. They approached the great ramp to Hightown. She turned around and gave a wave to the crowd, Anders sitting behind her, holding her, and beaming a heart-melting smile that she rarely saw on him. The people approved of both things, cheering wildly, as she led the horse up the ramp.

Mal and her mother, bearing Jo Beth, were the first to greet her and Anders when they reached the Keep. She was nearly smothered with hugs, and Anders too, before they could even dismount. Caitlyn happily accepted her daughter, who was crying due to the noise and disruption, as Mal hugged Anders tightly around the waist before he could get both feet on the ground. The baby quieted in her mother's arms.

Inside the Keep, Varric was waiting to surrender the regency back to his Viscountess and friend.

"Well done, Hawke, Blondie," he said in his wry way. He gave them an asymmetrical grin. "As you see, the city's still standing."

"And you haven't mortgaged the treasury to the Merchants' Guild?" she teased.

"Well, if I did, you can rest assured it would be for a very good reason."

She laughed again, glad of the banter. It was good to be home.


The Small Council and War Council had thrown a banquet for the victorious Viscountess of Kirkwall. To be sure that everyone who had participated in the Battle of Wildervale had a chance to celebrate, they had decided to hold it in the grand dining hall of the Gallows. In Meredith's era, it had not been used; she had not liked the idea of having all the mages in a room where their conversations would be unheard by her Templar spies over the general din of noise. But it was not a gloomy prison, and it would be more than sufficient to host a traditional victory feast.

Caitlyn prepared herself in the Keep. To this day, she did not have servants to help her dress herself, nor did Anders or Mal. They had never needed them before. She also didn't dress in separate quarters from Anders. He didn't even have his own bedroom; they did have separate studies, but they shared a bedroom, as they always had. They could help each other dress if need be. They were independent and unorthodox as heads of state, and Caitlyn was proud of it.

She had just set the diadem of Kirkwall upon her head, a concession to the ceremony of such an event, when two of her friends knocked. She let them in.

"Guess what we found?" Varric said, smirking, with Merrill standing beside him. She was holding an elegant hinged box.

"I can't guess! Just open it and show me! That's an official command," she added with a playful wink so that Merrill would not take her utterly seriously.

Varric opened the box and popped the lid up on its supports. Inside was a velvet-lined cushion sewn and molded to fit around the object it held. Caitlyn and Anders gazed upon it.

It was a coronet—or diadem, or circlet—made of the same dark silverite alloy as the official diadem. However, this coronet was less fancily adorned. The crown of state had sturdy geometric and heraldic designs molded from and etched into the metal, projecting upward like wings. The object that Merrill held was etched in the same manner, but its designs were limited to four low triangular peaks pointing upward from the ring.

"Is this the consort's diadem?" Caitlyn asked.

"It's got to be, Hawke," Varric said.

"Wow," she said. "Where did you find it?" They had looked for the consort's piece on several occasions in the past, but had been utterly unable to find it. Viscount Dumar's wife had been deceased for many years, and Caitlyn supposed it was just as likely as not that some corrupt guard or official had stolen it once there was no one who needed to wear it. She had offered to have a new one made for Anders, but he had never wanted to spend coin on such a thing, and Caitlyn had not pressed the issue.

"It was in a locked chest in one of Dumar's old rooms," Varric said. "I think he must have put it away after she died."

Caitlyn admired the object. It had been many, many years since Kirkwall had last had a female ruler—officially, at least, she thought darkly, recalling that Meredith and Elthina had had Dumar on a leash—and therefore all the consorts had been female. On the occasions when she had thought to search for this, she had almost dreaded finding it, expecting to find something made in a stereotyped "feminine" style with the presumption that of course the consort would be a woman. This was no such thing. It matched the ruler's diadem in style. Caitlyn was surprised but pleased. It would suit Anders well.

He was actually admiring it too. "Thank you so much for finding it at last," she said to Varric and Merrill as she lifted it from its box. She turned to Anders, one eyebrow raised. "You can't escape your fate anymore," she teased.

He chuckled. "I don't mind wearing that."

She set it on his head. It was not the sort of crown that rested atop the wearer's head. Like hers, it was held in place by the wearer's ears and facial bone structure. She admired him as he adjusted it. He was wearing one of his coats, but one made of very fine materials and rich dark colors. Anders looks remarkably good wearing a crown, Caitlyn thought. She took the arm that he extended to her in escort, giving him a pleased smirk, which he returned.


Caitlyn, Anders, Mal, their close friends, and the leader of each complement of mages sat at the head table, enjoying their food and occasionally observing the army's feast. The food was meant to fill people up rather than look pretty. It was hearty and spiced, an early harvest from the farmland between Kirkwall and Lighthouse Point, supplemented with imports from the Fereldan Bannorn. Wine and ale flowed freely, along with satisfaction and good cheer.

This was, for basically every mage in the hall, a life-changing event. Some of them, notably the Fereldans from Kinloch Hold, had served in military conflicts before. Petra herself had not participated in the Battle of Denerim, but some of the older mages had. But, despite Warden-Commander Cousland's wishes, after the Archdemon was slain, it had been back to the Circle for them. The Warden-Commander could not overrule the Knight-Commander for mages who weren't Wardens, and her allies against the Blight had not gotten to benefit much from their efforts. They had been treated little differently from physical weapons, cleaned and put away after the battle was over. This was different. This was their fight and their victory, and Caitlyn and Anders wanted them to enjoy it.

She had a promotion to bestow, though it was an acknowledgment of a de facto position anyway. She had discussed it, wanting to be sure that it would not impose upon its recipient's current duties. There would not be an issue. As the masses of people in the hall finished their main course, Caitlyn turned to her friends, gave a quick nod, and waited as Varric called for attention. The hall fell silent as he announced that the Viscountess had some remarks.

"My friends," Caitlyn began, "fellow mages—Free Mages!" This got a cheer, which subsided quickly as they let her speak. "Honorable guards and loyal armed supporters of Kirkwall and Highever. We have won a great victory in the valleys of Wildervale. We crushed the enemy and left them fleeing with their tails tucked between their legs, back to their masters who would lock every mage back in a Circle, back to their false Divine who would impose heresy on Andrastians who honor the true Divine, back to their leaders who dared to threaten a Free Marcher city with conquest by another! You defeated them, and taught them a lesson they won't soon forget!"

More cheers erupted. Caitlyn had chosen her words carefully, to appeal to every faction that had participated in the battle. The mages had fought for their liberty. Some of the non-mages had fought out of agreement with their cause too. Others had fought for Kirkwall's independence, or in support of Justinia.

"The war continues, as we know. The enemy is still numerous. There is, unfortunately, the possibility that others will join the enemy side, just as people are joining our side. But we know we can beat them, because we've done it! We will welcome anyone to the fight who stands with us honorably and respects the great responsibility of magic. As you all know, we are not fighting this war to tyrannize Thedas with magic as the Imperium would do. We are fighting to live, to earn coin, to have houses, to practice trades, to make friends with anyone who returns that friendship, to have families"—here she beamed at Anders and Mal—"and to serve with our magic, as we are so commanded. That's all we want. But it is worth fighting for!"

The mages erupted into a roar of applause. This continued for some time. When it finally settled again, Caitlyn continued. "And to fight this war, we need the best possible leaders, from the Commander of the Free Mages of Thedas"—here she paused as Petra pounded the table and Anders and Mal beamed at her—"down the ranks of officers. You have shown yourselves fit for self-governance by selecting leaders to represent you in discussions of war. I will honor those selections. I've also included skilled, knowledgeable strategists and tacticians who are not mages. And it is from this group that I would like to announce a promotion. You know Aveline Hendyr as Captain of the City Guard of Kirkwall. Now, let me introduce General Aveline Hendyr of the allied forces!"

The hall erupted into applause again as Aveline, a bit red-faced, her husband beaming up at her, rose. Caitlyn affixed the insignia of a general to her armor. She was pleased with this appointment. Aveline surely would have been a high-ranking officer in the Fereldan Army by now if the Blight hadn't occurred. She was a master of the field and of impeccable honor. The Blight had destroyed her ambitions in Ferelden, and she had already risen as high as she could in the guard of Kirkwall, but so long as this army existed, she held command second only to Caitlyn herself. Caitlyn had run it past the mages' leaders, and none of them had taken offense. They were perfectly content with mage representation due to Caitlyn's own presence—and, unofficially, Anders'—in the command structure. She had briefly considered Cullen for the generalship, but had decided against it. Appointing an ex-Templar was impolitic. She also would just prefer to have a trusted friend, all else being equal.

As Aveline took her seat, Varric smiled slyly. So, Caitlyn and Anders observed, did others on the Small Council. He removed a scroll from inside his leather coat and gave Caitlyn a pointed look. Curious, she decided to take the risk and let him speak.

"While Her Grace was at war, in my capacity as Regent of Kirkwall, I held a meeting of the Small Council," Varric said. "A motion was raised and we held a vote. The Viscountess does not yet know, but she has received a promotion of sorts too." He turned to Caitlyn. "Your Grace, in the interest of efficiency and the security of Kirkwall, the Small Council has voted to grant you emergency war powers for the duration of the conflict."

The mages in the hall broke into applause at this. Few of them understood exactly what that entailed, but more rewards given to a mage, particularly their leader, had to be a good thing.

Caitlyn stared back at him, wide-eyed. Emergency war powers! Her powers as Viscountess were already great. With this vote, they were almost unlimited.

"This is a good thing," Anders said quietly as the clapping subsided.

"Did you know about it?"

He looked down, embarrassed. "They might've told me just before the feast began. I had to keep it secret."

She smiled affectionately at him. "No worries, sweetheart." The smile abruptly faded. "I just hope I can handle such power. I haven't always acquitted myself well before."

"You can. The fact that you are aware of that is itself a good sign. I trust you. I believe in you."


"You know, I think I would have ended up in Kirkwall even if we'd never met in Ferelden," Anders said quietly when they were back at the Keep. They had gone out to one of the private roof gardens and were gazing at the stars.

She shifted in his arms. "You were sent here because of Justice. You still think... that... would have happened? He came to you in the Fade because he sensed your anguish about me and Mal."

Anders tightened his hug. "I do think we would have met. After I became a Grey Warden, I found... for a time... a certain peace. I accepted that the Blight was over, your family was either safe or... not... and I needed to help resolve the problems in Amaranthine before I could resume searching for you. Justice understood and went looking for other injustices to help, briefly, and that was when he found those trapped souls in the Fade. He was forced into the world because of that, not because of his past with me. And I knew Karl was here. I would have come here."

Caitlyn nodded, taking it in. She snuggled next to him. "It's good to know that we still would have met... but Mal and Jo wouldn't have existed."

"That's true," he said quietly. "I'm glad we met earlier."

"And it's because Mal was born, and what happened to this family, that I had the ambition to become Viscountess. I always would have had strong opinions, but I don't know that I would have had that ambition if I hadn't had that trauma." She lay her head on his chest and stroked his sides gently. "We were always meant to be. We would have met, no matter what. But I'm glad it happened the way it did."


Notes: Next to nothing is known about the Circle at Markham, so I've taken some inspiration from H. P. Lovecraft's city of Arkham. Caspar Waite is not a Lovecraft character, but the name "Waite" is borrowed from that world. And yes, the kind of magic they do best is heavily influenced by that.

Elthina's section alludes at one point to the AU version of the fear-mongering and message-passing that occurred to supposedly provoke the game canon quest "Faith" in Act III. (As an aside, I think that was a massive blind and that basically nothing in it is what it appears to be. I think Justinia was actually checking out Meredith and Elthina themselves, and that the message for Elthina to leave was so that the position would become effectively vacant and Justinia could appoint someone else who would actually rein in the Templars. Elthina realized it and revealed as much by saying she would not abandon them.) This message-passing was about different "provocations" in this AU, of course, and Justinia herself was far more controversial and divisive from the first. As a mage Viscountess (and impatient Red Hawke), Caitlyn put much more pressure on her in Spells of Power than she was under in game canon to openly support mage rights and Circle reform, so she couldn't conceal her sympathies.

And don't worry, the battles are not all going to be this easy. Far from it. Caitlyn's thoughts about pride upon leaving the battlefield are for her too.