Notes: There are several OCs in this chapter, which is set in Hercinia. The characters of the comic Magekiller aren't relevant to these events (and I don't have it anyway) and I wasn't able to find anything about Hercinian officials and merchants, who are the people important for my purposes. That said, I do find it very amusing to think of the comic's apparent plot of Venatori in a city that (in my AU) has been taken over by a zealot and—as you'll see—filled with propaganda. Unfortunately there are Venatori sympathizers in Kirkwall too, so I guess I can't laugh too hard. The mage supremacists "back home" include proto-Venatori.

Song: Green Day – "She's a Rebel"


Chapter 70: She Brings This Liberation


Caitlyn knew there was little time to lose, so she did not waste any.

The Free Mages left behind a small support force at Markham, just in case it was needed, but the majority of them, all the Rivaini mages, and a big portion of the Markham regulars set out as soon as they had rested the next day.

Caitlyn was introduced to Rivella, the First Enchanter of Dairsmuid, who was as Aveline had said—the daughter of Captain Revaud of the Felicisima Armada. She was a powerful nature mage, but she had other talents too. She had led the Rivaini ships, captaining the flagship, one of her father's. A beautiful woman who had much in common with Isabela in looks, heritage, and personality, she was eager to lead the maritime part of their assault on Hercinia.

"We'll reach it first," she said. "As you may have noticed, Viscountess, I know some tricks to steer a ship quite swiftly."

"Magic?" Caitlyn asked.

Rivella smirked. "Word of your mages' exploits at Kirkwall Harbor had reached us. We don't do exactly what the Tevinters do, but we know something about harnessing nature. You'd be surprised how much speed it adds at sea."

"I was surprised when you got here first," Caitlyn replied. "I'm impressed but no longer surprised. You know," she continued, "I am putting a great deal of trust in your people to let them captain my ships too, including the Vengeance. But you can obviously do it faster than we can."

"Your trust won't be misplaced. I'm the daughter of a pirate, but we do not betray our mage allies. The fleet will reach Hercinia and wait for you."

The plan was for Rivella and the ships—the Rivainis' and Kirkwall's—to sail north to Hercinia and blockade the harbor—but not violently. In fact, it would not even be a blockade. Trade would still flow. The ships, ten of them, would anchor at harbor and wait, not docking, not emptying, and not being aggressive to any other ship. They would fly Rivaini flags. The ships would hold several hundred fighters. The rest, over two thousand, would go on foot.

Caitlyn did not look forward to urban warfare. It had been brutally unpleasant in the Qunari attack, with hostiles appearing around every corner and alleyway. A pitched battle such as they had just fought was a bloodbath, but it was something she could plan for. Urban fighting was chaos. She hoped that the city surrendered in its own right, but it would depend on how loyal Margravine Arriata's functionaries and guards were—and how many Orthodox Chantry Templars remained behind.

She watched as the naval force began the short march south to the inlet where the ships were anchored. There's no turning back now. If I change my mind, I've lost my fleet and cravenly betrayed an ally. This is do or die.

Anders squeezed her hand supportively. "It'll be all right."

"It's stupid and irrational," Caitlyn remarked, "but it's hard letting her go. I can't help but fear I won't see her again."

"The ship—or Rivella?"

Caitlyn turned to him, startled. "The ship, of course!" she exclaimed. "Maker! I didn't mean..." She shook her head. "Rivella will be fine. We'll see her again in Hercinia. As liberators."

"Yes," he agreed.

She took a deep breath. "Let's march."


Hercinia Harbor, a day and a half later.

The harbormaster and tax officer were in a heated argument.

"They can't do this!" the taxman exclaimed. "Just sitting there, not coming ashore, not docking? It's illegal!"

The harbormaster scowled. "It's not. They made damn sure to anchor just outside our harbor." He gazed through his spyglass at the ten Rivaini ships, arrayed and calm—yet still somehow menacing. It was the fear of the unknown. Why were they there? Were they who their flags said they were? What did they mean by such behavior? But— "They're in international waters. I don't know why they would do this, but they're within their rights."

"It's a blockade! Rivain is making war on us."

"It's not a blockade. They're not stopping anyone from sailing away."

"This is bizarre," the taxman complained.

"On that we agree."

"It's got to be the Estwatch scum. Pirates pretending to be Rivaini ships. They're waiting for another convoy to come and attack in force."

A chill went down the harbormaster's spine. The taxman was a bit of an idiot about ships, but that theory made perfect sense. But at the same time, the ships were not attacking or blockading. They were not doing anything. They were not even in Hercinia's waters, technically. If Hercinia attacked them without provocation, that would be the act of war.

And speaking of war...

"I don't like any of it," the harbormaster finally said, putting his scope up. "The siege was going well, if you can believe the propaganda coming out of this new Chantry, but then... silence. Something's going on."


The outskirts of Hercinia, a day and a half afterward.

The sun had set, leaving the vast army illuminated only by moonlight—and the glimmer of Hercinia in the distance. The Free Mages of Thedas and the Militia of Markham halted atop the last of the Vimmark foothills.

"Thank the Maker we didn't have to cross the mountains," Anders said.

"We'll have to someday," Caitlyn said quietly. She had a patrol of Dalish elves, City Guard, and ex-Carta dwarves guarding the Vimmark Pass north of Kirkwall, to guard against a land invasion. It would not be enough to hold the Pass against a full-scale assault, but it would provide the city some warning.

"We're not ready yet," he said in an even quieter voice, making sure that none of the soldiers marching behind them would hear it.

"We're not," she agreed reluctantly. "It would be a terrible risk to assault Starkhaven or Tantervale, with the defenses they have, and I shudder to think what kind of army those two cities can field with their combined population. We haven't seen it yet."

"Taking Hercinia will strengthen our position, at least."

"I hope we can take Hercinia without too much bloodshed." She gazed downhill at the glittering city. "If the leader is indeed a religious fanatic, I doubt she will do the right thing. She might think she could let the army sack the city, but protect herself long enough for Starkhaven and Tantervale's thousands—however many—to arrive. And she might well be right."

"Then we have to take control very quickly."

She glowered. "I hope the Arishok is wandering the Void, but what he did was rational: Target the Viscount. We have to do the same."

Anders grimaced. "That's a sobering way to look at it. I never thought we would need to do what the Qunari did to us."

"There is only one other way: If someone who wants to protect Hercinia's people surrenders the Margravine and Orthodox Chantry leaders. Otherwise, we invade the city and fight our way to the Keep, just as the damn Qunari did." She hardened her gaze. "I hope it doesn't come to that. But if it does, so be it."

She sent up a flare that would be seen as far away as the harbor. No one noticed the scout in the trees, nor did they see him dart back rapidly to his city.


The guildhall of the Mercantilist Union of Hercinia.

Lady Anabela Campos, Guildmistress of the Mercantilists—the wealthiest and most influential guild of human merchants on this stretch of the Amaranthine Coast—stared expressionlessly at the messenger as he reported. The assembly chamber was always dark, with the gold-detailed burgundy wall coverings and black candles in wall sconces and tabletop candlesticks. Tonight, its atmosphere seemed especially foreboding.

"Messeres," the scout said, "the force is one hour's march from the city."

Lady Campos gazed out impassively. "And you say that they are not the Margravine's army, returning from Markham?"

"They're not armored as the Margravine's army was, milady Guildmistress. Some have plate armor, others leathers."

"Is there any indication of who they are? What banners do they fly?"

"They aren't carrying banners, and my apologies, but I didn't catch sight of their heraldry. It's dark of night. I thought it might be a mercenary company until I saw the sheer size of it. Unless there is a company in the Free Marches that boasts two and a half thousand people."

There isn't, she thought. Her quick mind, which had made her a shrewd, ruthless businesswoman and lofted her to the head of the guild, rapidly came to a swift, grim conclusion. "Thank you for the report," she said, dismissing him. "You have served the Guild well." The scout bowed hurriedly and departed.

Lady Campos then faced the guild officers. A dark look graced her face as she addressed them. "Well," she said. "Taking this with the news of the fleet just outside the harbor, I think we have only one explanation. We have important choices to make, my friends, and very limited time to make them."

A merchant spoke up. "Pardon, Messere, but I don't follow. What explanation? What choices?"

"The ships did not come from Estwatch, and they are not raiding as that pirate scum does. Nor did they come from the north. According to what our people saw, they came from the south."

The man was bewildered. "Ships come from the south all the time. Lots of Nevarran and Orlesian trade."

"They are not trading. They are not docking." She leaned in, dark gray eyes glittering. "They have not tried to blockade, but neither will they come ashore or even enter the harbor proper. They're just there. Waiting."

"Waiting for what, though?"

"We wondered that, but our scout has now given us an answer: They were waiting for the army that we just heard of to arrive by land."

The man still wasn't getting it. "But that makes no sense. The allied fleet can't have come from the south, but this army has to be the city army, returning from a triumph in battle," he protested. "The scout just didn't see the heraldry in the dark, as he said. What else can it be?"

"Ah," Lady Campos said pointedly. "What indeed?" Outside, the night sky suddenly seemed darker with this unanswered, but vaguely menacing, question. A chill seemed to descend upon the room. The black candles' flames flickered.

Lady Campos took a long draught of dark red wine from a gold goblet. She gazed at the rest of the guild, then spread her hands on the wooden table. Gold rings studded with large gemstones decorated her fingers. "The plan was for the Margravine's forces to march to Markham and besiege it. A week later, with the siege going well, a few ships left from Tantervale and Starkhaven, bearing Orthodox Chantry officials. The Hercinia army would have no reason to return home until the new priests and Divine Fidelia's puppet lord had arrived from the Minanter cities. Those ships have not been spotted."

"We must've missed them, then," said another man, frowning. "Already arrived at Markham and now sent our army back home." He shivered, as if he knew full well this was not so but was terrified of the sole alternative.

"We could not have. Even if they did not resupply, they could not have gone so far out to sea that we would miss them. To do that is to risk a raid by the pirate filth on Estwatch." She leaned in again. "Furthermore, an estimate of travel time down the many twists of the Minanter indicates that they should barely have reached the ocean. They were not a fighting force. They had no need to rush. But that meant the army had to stay to hold Markham. If the siege were successful," she added darkly.

The guildsmen started murmuring in alarm and fear. A different lord spoke up. "Then you're saying..." He couldn't finish, the unspoken idea was so ghastly. He shivered, the motion making the candle at his place setting flicker.

"Here is what we know," Lady Campos said grimly. "The Margravine sent a force to attack Markham. For days we had regular reports from that. No mention of the arrival of ships from Starkhaven and Tantervale, nor of a victory. The siege was going well, but it was ongoing. Then, suddenly—silence." She paused and let that sink in. "Now, merely three days after the commanders at Markham go quiet, a mystery army at least two thousand strong is at our doorstep, and a mystery fleet with Rivaini flags appears just offshore from the south, refusing to dock or to leave."

The first man spoke up again, fear suddenly filling his eyes. "Are you implying that we might have lost the battle, Guildmistress?" Several merchants gazed uneasily out the windows at the night sky, as if fearing what it concealed.

"I am suggesting that an allied Dairsmuid-Kirkwall force reached Markham and broke the siege, yes. And the Margravine left us defenseless. The Viscountess of Kirkwall is an intelligent person. She might have realized it."

Several of the lords had already arrived at this conclusion, but hearing their Guildmistress speak it openly sent the entire guildhall into a flurry of alarmed talk. "But if they broke the siege, maybe it is the stragglers of our army returning!" someone said hopefully, as if to forestall the inevitable.

She shook her head. "There are far too many for that, they would carry banners, and they would have sent word. No. The force outside our walls and in our harbor is not ours."

"You're saying that that force outside our walls is those fucking apostates?" someone else finally burst out. "An army of mages? And those ships..."

Lady Anabela Campos raised her hand for silence. "That is exactly what I am saying. I believe our army has been destroyed at Markham and the enemy is about to attack us. And yes, an enemy with tremendous magical power. As I said, we have choices to make and our time to make them is rapidly dwindling. They are less than an hour away. I need your undivided attention."

At her word, the entire hall fell silent. She continued speaking.

"My friends, I know you have all grudgingly gone along with Margravine Arriata's... alliance... and the imposition of this schism on our city." She tapped the brooch she wore carved with the guild symbol. "We are Mercantilists. Our relationships with the Maker are between us and Him. Religious conflicts are our concern only if a religious dogma threatens our business, and fortunately, the change in which Divine the Hercinia Chantry honors has had no effect on anyone's need for necessities or desire for luxuries. This was not our conflict. But things have changed. There is an army of vengeful mages at our doorstep."

"The ships from Starkhaven and Tantervale..."

"Will not be enough to defend this city and will not arrive in time anyway. They are days from us. Viscountess Hawke is here. We cannot fight her force, but we might parley in secret."

"What you suggest is treason," someone whispered in fear.

Lady Campos took another sip of wine, smiling crookedly. "Treason is an interesting concept. Is it not treasonous to Hercinia to let an invader sack the city if we could have prevented it? I fear Margravine Arriata would let her people die and call it a sacrifice for the Maker—conveniently, one she does not have to make—if she and her Chantry friends could hold out long enough for Starkhaven and Tantervale to send support. But that will be far too late for the people of this city. In my view, that would be the act of treason."

"But... that mage... that apostate Viscountess..."

"Is a scion of an ancient noble Kirkwall family. She's ruled for four and a half years. She is a mage, but a good leader, by all accounts. We might propose a deal with her to depose the Margravine and restore the Orlesian Chantry—our faith just two and a half years ago. But we must act as one in this."


The army had halted to examine the walls through spyglasses and make final battle plans. Sacking a city was a dark thing, and Caitlyn hoped to avoid it, but she had to consider the possibility. The leaders were all discussing what to do when a messenger approached.

"It's a small group from the city bearing a flag of truce," she reported. "They say they have come in secret and represent the Mercantilist Union, which is the most powerful human merchants' guild in the city."

Thank the Maker, Caitlyn thought. Anders actually voiced the sentiment.

The Mercantilists included a handsome middle-aged woman with black hair and olive skin whom the others seemed to regard with immense respect. She was the best-dressed, too, so Caitlyn instantly guessed that she was the leader.

She was correct. "Lady Anabela Campos, Merchant and Guildmistress," introduced a guard, and the parley—or, rather, secret discussion—began.

"I don't suppose you are here on behalf of the Margravine," Caitlyn said.

A wry smile filled Lady Campos's face. "Indeed not. I believe she would let Hercinia bleed if she could save herself and her friends in the Chantry."

"That is what we feared." Caitlyn's gaze narrowed. "But make no mistake, Lady Campos. Hercinia attacked Markham, our ally. We will not let that stand. I do not want mass bloodshed—as you have undoubtedly figured out, we saw plenty a few days ago—but I am not going to let the ruler and the mage-hating heretics who ordered the attack go unpunished." She brought her hands together as she gazed sternly at her guest, hoping to project strength and resolve. "I will attack if that's what it takes. But I hope that you and I can find an alternative solution that honors justice and mercy."

"That is exactly why we are here. Of course you must exact retribution. But we do not want the people of Hercinia to suffer further because of the dogmatic stubbornness of those in charge."

"I want the current ruler out and I want the Orthodox Chantry, as it calls itself, ousted. Every one of them. Hercinia's Chantry will recognize Divine Justinia. This is non-negotiable." She gazed at Lady Campos. "How do you propose to achieve that? What are the Mercantilists prepared to do?"

"We have immense power over commerce. The Merchants' Guild operates in Hercinia as well as in Kirkwall, but the ruling family and the Orthodox Chantry did not do business with them. The local priests deemed the dwarves heretics, and the Margravine agreed." Lady Campos chuckled darkly. "Their accounts and investments are made through the bank that we control."

Anders broke into a smirk. "I love it."

"Indeed. We can seize their assets. We also have power over many local merchants. If a shipper or shopkeeper is on our bad side, it is devastating to their business. We can pressure the trade community of Hercinia not to do any business with sympathizers of the heretics."

"That's all very well," Caitlyn said, "but how can you get them out of power quickly? We want them removed before Starkhaven and Tantervale can send an army to their defense."

"We have agents everywhere, including the Keep."

"This sounds exactly like Varric," Anders muttered under his breath.

"The Chantry is a bigger problem. We had people there when the Orlesian Chantry ruled, but this schism has been impossible to infiltrate. But we believe we can overthrow the Margravine and limit the fighting to the Chantry."

Caitlyn considered that. Those were the people she wanted dead anyway, not the civilians of Hercinia. "What about loyalists among the population? Will we be in for an ugly street fight?"

"Nothing organized. You command a vast force. They would be fools to take you on individually or in small groups. The Chantry will be a focus of resistance, and there are Templars there, but you should not need to engage in nonstop urban warfare."

It was good. It was exactly what Caitlyn hoped for. Indeed, it was almost too good. These are businesspeople, ruthless and hard, she thought, studying her guest. They aren't doing this out of the goodness of their hearts. They may indeed care about Hercinia, but it's at least partly because it would devastate their profits for it to be sacked, burned, and ravaged. And this woman wants something that she hasn't yet said. I bet anything I know what it is.

"Someone must replace the Margravine," she said, gazing fixedly at Lady Campos. "And it is obviously of great interest to me that the new leader be a friend to our cause—or, at least, not an enemy."

"Yes, someone must replace the Margravine. And of course, you are right."

She's going to make me say it. "And I think you see yourself in that role?"

"I am the leader of a powerful guild and all the businesses it controls. I exercised foresight and leadership to parley with you. In short, Your Grace—yes. I think that deserves reward. Do you not agree?"

Caitlyn was relieved that her guest was not being coy about it now. She understood and respected bluntness. "I certainly do. How, though, can we be sure of your loyalty?" She gave Lady Campos a challenging stare. "As you said, the Mercantilist Union accepted the business of the schism. You hold their accounts. What if they make a generous offer later?"

Lady Campos's smile was grim. "They will see it as treason and heresy that I dealt with you at all. They won't forgive, Your Grace, and they certainly won't try a bribe. No, Your Grace, these people are true believers. They are not interested in having rulers they have bought off or blackmailed. They want secular leaders who are fully in agreement with their beliefs and cause."

That fits, Caitlyn thought. She's taken their measure. She did business with them as a matter of survival and probably didn't care as long as trade kept flowing. But if she's wrong about the schism—and if I am wrong too, since I agree with her about what they're like—and they do try to buy her off with gold, then what? I need to make that untenable.

Caitlyn sighed heavily, almost affectedly, and shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not enough to earn my trust," she replied.

Lady Campos drew back momentarily, surprised, but then her gaze narrowed too as she realized and respected what Caitlyn was doing.

"Well," she said, forcing a smile, "what can I do to earn your trust, then?"

Caitlyn took a breath, exchanging a glance with Anders. "The Circle of Hercinia sent its battlemages to Markham to fight. They surrendered to us and are our captives." She had not let the Hercinia mages join the army until she was certain that they could be trusted, but they were in decently-kept quarters in Markham. "The apprentices, the weak, those whose talents lie elsewhere—they remain at the Circle."

Anders spoke up. "The Orthodox Chantry may kill them if there is any delay in taking the city," he urged. "Children and defenseless adults, the ones left behind because they couldn't fight. They could be Annulled!"

"I've heard no rumor that that is planned," Lady Campos said, knocked off balance by this apparent digression. "There would be no point, since they stayed behind for the reason you say. They were of no use to the schism's war effort. What threat could they pose as a pretext for killing them?"

"The only pretext those people need is that they would rather see mages dead than free," he insisted, glaring at her. "The last Knight-Commander of Kirkwall threatened to murder every mage in the Circle, children included, unless Ca—my lady wife stepped down. At the time, that included our son, whom she'd taken hostage. After we took the Circle, we realized she'd planned to do it no matter what. There was no threat. She just wanted mages dead."

That deeply disturbed Lady Campos. "How is it that we did not know of this?" she exclaimed, the hard mask of the businesswoman shattering.

"In Wintermarch 9:37 Justinia sent a Divine Decree that laid out the facts, and that was one of the things it said," he replied. "I assume that it was suppressed here."

"Undoubtedly. The Margravine had allied herself with... Elthina. They had not yet split from the Chantry, but they controlled information, clearly. We never saw this decree. I had no idea." Lady Campos remained troubled. "I do see your concern now."

Caitlyn cut in. "You can demonstrate your loyalty to us, therefore, by doing something that would permanently and unquestionably burn all bridges with them: Smuggle out the mages."

The businesswoman was taken aback. "I... that would be difficult, Your Grace. The Circle is housed in an old Tevinter tower on the outskirts of the city, in a converted dungeon, as I understand it..."

"Sweet Maker," Anders swore angrily. "Is there any Circle in Thedas that's not a tower or an ancient prison?"

"I suggest you find a way to get them out," Caitlyn said without sympathy.

"We do not have infiltrators in this Chantry! Your Grace, I would give this order if it were within my power to give, but it is not! The only way into that tower is by fighting, and we need to focus our resources on the Keep."

Caitlyn was almost ready to end this parley. But she stayed her temper. I didn't have enough sympathetic Templars on the inside to stop Meredith, she thought, so I had to attack. It's worse here. The schism would have rooted out all "disloyal" Templars by now to replace them with fanatics. This woman really doesn't have any stealth options. But that doesn't mean I can trust her.

She took a deep breath. "Fine. My people will free the mages. But this means my loyalty test will be something else, something less pleasant." She gazed at her. "I have over six hundred additional prisoners of war from Hercinia's militia. They are in captivity in Markham. I meant to release them here once we took the city, and perhaps I will release the common soldiers, but the officers will remain our prisoners for the duration of the war." Her stare hardened. "As you should know, Ferelden is also my ally, and you know that south Ferelden was blasted in the Blight." A dark smile formed on her face. "If our alliance ends in betrayal, those prisoners of war will spend the rest of their days burning and purging the Taint from the cold, desolate, Blight-riddled Korcari Wilds."

Anders drew back in shock at the threat, gasping at his wife's ruthlessness.

Lady Campos was appalled. "You would threaten prisoners of war with death by Blight sickness?" she sputtered.

Caitlyn crossed her arms. "Only some. They would be serving with the Grey Wardens, so they would have even odds of surviving the initiation if they became Tainted." That dark, menacing smile filled her face again. "But this is only something to worry about if Hercinia ends up in enemy hands by its new leader's deliberate choice. Otherwise, they remain in comfortable, well-fed, well-treated captivity in Markham until the war is over."

The Mercantilist stared at Caitlyn, shaking her head in awed respect. "And I thought I was hard. Very well, Viscountess Hawke. You have a deal."

"I'm glad to hear it... Margravine Campos."


"Wow," Anders said when they were alone. He gazed at her admiringly. "I'm impressed that you could make that threat so convincingly."

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows at her husband. "You don't think I meant it?"

He tilted his head. "You... did? You really would send the officers to Blighted lands?"

She took a deep breath. It was brutal, but— "If she turned on me... yes. And I expect Warden Loghain would emphatically approve. Isn't he in charge of the southern Warden post?" Anders nodded, and she continued. "There is ample precedent for prisoners to be forced to serve in brutal conditions in the name of a common good, and ridding a Blighted land of Taint qualifies."

"You saw your brother in the Deep Roads, infected with the Taint," Anders said, gazing concernedly at her. "He would have died if the Joining had failed or I hadn't been there. You would send dozens of people to face that risk?"

"If I were betrayed." He looked rather shocked, so she added quickly, "All right. You want to think I couldn't go through with it. I realize that's a compliment to me, sweetheart, and I appreciate it. You think better of me than I do of myself." She smiled. "So let's hope we don't have to find out."

"I think she'll be loyal to you," Anders said. "She really didn't know about the threat that Meredith made. That shocked her. She saw it as strictly business until our army showed up tonight, then it was about saving her city, and now she realizes the depth of the evil of which some of these people are capable."

"As she should, if she means to rule." She glowered, remembering the mortal peril that Mal had been in that night. Not too far away, other mage children might be facing that danger. "We need to be ready to move quickly."


It was night, but it was also late spring, so the city had life after dark even ruled by religious zealots. The Orthodox Chantry had not managed to outlaw bars and taverns. Word was spreading quickly of the force at their doorstep and the ships spread out in a semicircle around their harbor. Some of the citizens were just as clever as Anabela Campos, and they arrived at the same correct conclusion that she had.

"Our army is gone!" a cobbler declared to his drinking friends at a pub downtown. "That's the word, anyway! And those ships are filled with mages!"

"I heard worse than that," a tailor chimed in. She leaned in and spoke in a whisper, but one that the entire group of friends could hear. "The mages are coming and they're thirsty for vengeance." She glowered at the heraldry of the Orthodox Chantry, the blood-red sun pierced by a downward-pointed black sword. The priests and Templars had required all "sin-prone establishments" to hang these banners as a reminder of the virtue of temperance. "We're fucked now. We never should have broken with Val Royeaux."

The bartender overheard. "That's enough of that," he said gruffly. "I won't have these new Templars coming down on us. Scary buggers, they are."

The tailor stared back defiantly. "They have bigger problems now. I say let us have one last night of revelry before the mages come in and sack everything." She raised her flagon.

The bartender threw up his hands in defeat. "At least try to keep it down."


"We have to leave!" the well-to-do merchant's wife exclaimed. She gestured at the menacing, glittering ships, which were finally moving inexorably closer. "Don't you realize what that is? And what is said to be at the city walls? We have to take ship and get out of here!"

"To what end?" the silver-haired merchant replied nihilistically. "We'd lose everything and have to start penniless—and where would we even go?"

"Better penniless and alive than dead!"

He gazed up miserably at his wife. "What's the bloody point? They took Vernon from us to the Circle, our only child, sent him to Markham, and now he's probably dead for a cause he didn't even believe in. Forced to fight for her. A heretic." He spat at the propaganda print of Divine Fidelia, which the Margravine's men had distributed to all the wealthy with the requirement that they display them in their windows. The glob of saliva landed with a splat on the picture. "I just hope the Maker forgives those who had no choice."

His composure suddenly broke. The merchant doubled over, crying, as his wife came over to share her grief. The couple sobbed in each other's arms.


The private office of the Margravine's Tower of the Hercinia Keep was full of angry, fearful people all yelling at each other.

"Of course it's the rebel mages!" roared the Captain of the Guard. "And if they're here, it means our army is lost! Slaughtered or captured, to a man!" He was shaking as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, which he downed at once.

Margravine Reyna Arriata was worried, but she concealed it well beneath a serene visage. "We will outlast them here, a bulwark of true faith."

"Outlast them?" the Knight-Commander of Hercinia repeated. "We might last long enough to be rescued, but the city! It won't be a siege, Your Grace. It can't be. All our best forces are gone! It would be a street-to-street slaughter!"

"The Maker rewards death for a righteous cause. Far better to let the army of heretics and apostates stampede through here than to make any sort of deal with them. The Maker would not forgive it."

These words calmed the Templar—a bit. "You're right, of course," he said, "but the Maker also rewards an act of virtuous sacrifice to save lives. Andraste died, but her followers lived on to tell the truth about her."

The ruler looked up at him, her gaze hard. "Knight-Commander, our hold on this city is far more tenuous than you know. The people only grudgingly honor Divine Fidelia. There is a reason we have had to order Chantry heraldry and posters of Her Perfection displayed everywhere. I think it would be good for these resentful ingrates to see the true face of the enemy at last. The true violence and evil that comes of letting magic rule over man! When the Divine's forces come, they will be greeted with flowers and cheers."

"You think so?" the Guard-Captain muttered under his breath, too low for her to hear him. Aloud he said, "Your Grace is wise. So be it. I will give the order to my remaining people to defend the city as best they can."

"Do so, Ser."

Suppressing his grumbles and concealing his trembles of terror for what he realized he was about to do, the Captain left the office and closed the door behind him tightly. His stomach roiled with nausea.

Dirty rotten traitor, his conscience whispered.

As if in argument came an image of the streets of his beautiful city, spattered with blood, angry mages sending fire and lightning into the homes of his people, screams and shouts and blood, more blood—

His stomach churned harder. He ducked into a corridor and closed his eyes, then removed the heavy gold ring he wore. Engraved on the underside of the gold-plate setting of its black cabochon was the sigil of the Mercantilist Union.


Anders grew increasingly anxious as dawn drew near. "I cannot stop thinking about the mages in that Circle," he said apologetically to Caitlyn. "I don't want to wait any longer. The Templars will go there as soon as word leaks out about the coup. I just know it."

He had put together a force of mages and ruthless, hardened soldiers. Even if the Templars gave the mages trouble, their powers would be wasted on the non-magical soldiers. And Anders had hopes that the mages' runed leather armor would provide some small defense against Templars.

Caitlyn realized that he would not rest until this was done. She worried for him; she didn't like being separated from him as they both went into danger, but she could not join him. Not this time. She needed to be ready to move in once word came of the Margravine's capture or assassination. And it was a good point that someone needed to defend and liberate the Circle very quickly.

It hurt to let him do this, but it was the right thing to do. Utterly unconcerned who saw, she leaned over and gave him a deep kiss, caressing the sides of his face and letting him thread his fingers into her hair, stealing this brief moment. They broke apart gently.

"Go, my love," she said in a quiet tone. "Set those mages free. It's what you were born to do."

Anders gazed back sadly but proudly at her. "And you bring down those tyrants in that false Chantry. We were both born for this. Together."


Anders' force of mages and non-magical soldiers rounded the city stealthily, trying to reach the side nearest the Circle before dawn. He was not going to wait for word about the assassination or capture of the Margravine. She already knew that a hostile army sat at her gates. The Mercantilists' plots were a separate matter. These mages might be in imminent danger.

The ugly tower, which reminded him of Drake's Fall in Amaranthine, pierced the sky. A ring of wall connected to the main city wall on one side, but this wall went on to completely enclose the tower. Any mages who escaped would still be encircled; they could not dart into the labyrinth of city streets. Anders' ire churned within. He had to fight to keep Justice from bursting out.

He had taken with him several score of the Fereldans from the first revolt in Dragon 9:37, whom he knew and who had experience fighting in a tower. There were also non-magical soldiers who were particularly effective and zealous, usually because they had relatives or friends who were mages.

In a different life, Anders thought, that might have been Caitlyn. But instead she took after her father and is one of us. Our leader. He smiled in pride at the thought of his beloved wife and partner. She had scared him a bit with her dark threat to that Hercinian woman to send the captive officers to the Blight lands, but he really didn't think she would go through with it despite the tough talk. It was an effective threat, though. Caitlyn was just that—effective. Because of her, we're going to liberate a city, starting with these mages.

He examined the walls. They were not granite, just common stone. A few lookouts prowled the ramparts.

He examined the rocky western edge of the wild, nearest the foothills. Stones jutted up from the earth.

He turned back to his force and gave a nod.

Force spells produced no flashes or flares. They were extremely effective in the dark, even the blue dimness of early dawn. Without a sound other than the slight shifting of soil, the force mages among the group lifted the stones out of the ground. Silently Anders raised one as well. It was important to lead.

As one, the mages lofted their burdens—weightless to them because of their magic, but terribly heavy and destructive under the laws of momentum—and heaved them at the exact same spot in the wall, where a hairline fracture in the stone revealed a weakness. Tons of stone struck the weak spot in the wall all at once, blasting a jagged hole. Time stood still for a fraction of a second as rubble skittered down the cave-in. Then the entire section of wall above the gap collapsed in a rush of broken rock and dust.

"Down there! Shoot!"

Anders and his mages put arcane shields up to protect themselves and their allies from projectiles. Several of them hit the archers with disorientation spells as others blasted aside the pile of fallen rubble with force spells. They surged into the ring surrounding Hercinia's Circle tower. There it lay, protected by only a dozen or so Templars who were scrambling for their weapons. They must have known of the army's presence but had clearly not expected an attack to come on this side, where there were no gates.

Anders laughed at the feeble force. "Tear them apart!" he chortled as his unit stormed the tower.


Caitlyn had sent a few non-magical rogues who spied well to watch the movements in the city, particularly the Keep, Chantry, and Circle Tower. She wanted a report as soon as something happened on any of those fronts. Finally, as the sky was turning indigo, they returned to the army camp.

"They've made their move at the Keep," one reported. "The Mercantilists have the Guard-Captain, turns out. He let the grunts in. We saw it."

Aveline raised her eyebrows. "Useful for us, but if this woman has any sense, she'll remove him. He proved he can't be trusted. That's oathbreaking."

Caitlyn refrained from rolling her eyes. "I didn't tell my new allies what to do specifically," she replied to her friend. "Their choices are their own." She returned to the spies. "Do they hold the Keep?"

"They do. They have the Margravine and Knight-Commander captive. Word has not reached the Chantry, but it will."

"What of the Circle?" Is Anders all right? her mind screamed.

"The curtain wall went down and your husband's force stormed the tower. It was not hard for them at all. They have retrieved the mages and are making their way around the city again. There is an additional wall separating the Circle Tower from the city, which would have to be breached to continue an assault from that spot. Your husband must have deemed the mage children's safety a more important priority than infiltrating Hercinia there."

"He would," she agreed. "And if the Knight-Commander wasn't even there, it makes sense that the defenses would be so terrible."

Caitlyn decided to wait for Anders' group to return. They could storm the Chantry together after all, she thought happily.


Later.

The gentle deep blues of the early dawn had given way to the blazing orange heat of a rising sun. There was no hiding anymore.

There had been a minor scuffle at the changing of the guard for dawn, as some of the guards loyal to the old regime realized that there had been an internal coup and fought bitterly against letting the army inside. They fell quickly, overwhelmed. Caitlyn could tell from the silent scowl on Aveline's face that her friend did not like the obvious mass infiltration of the City Guard by a dodgy trade guild. For that matter, Caitlyn didn't like it either, but for a different reason. If the Mercantilists had had so many people in the City Guard, as it seemed they did, why had they not acted to remove the regime earlier?

The regime didn't hurt business too much, she resolved as she entered the city through the open gates. But effecting a coup would have brought down the wrath of Starkhaven and Tantervale, and they would have had no guarantee of allies anywhere to support them. My coming changed that. It's amazing how people, mages or not, will endure the rule of tyrants because taking a stand seems—and often is—too risky. Someone has to step up, the trickle before the dam bursts, and that was Anders and I. For mages and for this city.

Caitlyn and Anders led the army through the gates. She had hoped—not expected, admittedly, but still hoped—to be admitted to the city rather than tearing down the walls and gates. She was glad it had happened after all.

Other than a few brave souls, the people of Hercinia mostly kept to themselves, hiding in their homes, not wanting to run afoul of the invading army and the "apostate" bogeymen who led it. Caitlyn found that a dark part of her liked being feared personally, but she didn't want mages as a whole feared. That would hurt the cause.

She gave her lieutenants strict orders to make them behave as the army stalked through the streets. "No fighting with civilians," she ordered, "unless they fight first, and if they do, meet it with proportionate force. And no destruction of civilian property." A wayward print with a picture of a smugly serene Elthina was caught in the breeze and fluttered down to the street. One of the mages, a Kirkwall one who knew all too well whom it depicted, snarled at it and stamped it into the mud.

"Destroy those things, though," Caitlyn amended. "Don't break formation to retrieve them, but if you see any within reach, tear them up."

The army, bearing flags of the Free Mages, Kirkwall, Markham, Ferelden, Rivain, and—after the parley—the Mercantilist Union of Hercinia, stalked inexorably toward the Chantry.


Their Rivaini allies were already there. They and the battlemages and soldiers from the main army who had sailed with them had encircled the Chantry with a ring of spellcasters, crossbowmen, and archers. It had not done much damage, but it had kept the enemy from scattering through the city.

Rivella was waiting for them. "Well met!" she exclaimed to Caitlyn and Anders as their force arrived. "We've got them penned in, but we're not sure how many are in there, and best not to walk into a potential slaughter..."

The Chantry was a large, well-built structure rather like Kirkwall's. It could hold a lot of people, and some priests could fight. They were, in a way, more dangerous than Templars. Everyone knew Templars were professional warriors. A harmless-looking priest might suddenly reveal lethal daggers.

Caitlyn had not brought her siege equipment into the city. That was too threatening, and she was a putative ally of the new order. It certainly would have come in handy now, though, she thought bitterly.

She turned to a city official, apparently loyal to the new order, who was beside Rivella. "Is there a battering ram in the city armory?" she asked. Behind her, several of the more devout officers gasped.

The guard raised his eyebrows at what she implied, but did not comment. "There sure is, Your Graces. Shall I have it brought?"

"Yes." While he was acquiring the weapon, she turned to her people. "It will only smash in the doors. That's unavoidable. We're bursting into a Chantry to spill blood, you do realize. There is no other way to remove them." She paused, adding, "If it bothers you, look at it as liberating this House of the Maker from heretics."

The guards soon returned with a huge hardened log, fitted at one end with a solid metal head. Caitlyn ordered her strongest fighters to the front, almost all of whom were non-mages. "Force mages just behind the battering team! Help them, but be careful!" she ordered. "Elementalists and hexers, watch the Chantry and be prepared to hit anyone who comes out!"

The team heaved the ram, cheering and jeering as they slammed the heavy metal doors repeatedly. They appeared to be of dwarven make, so extremely strong and well-built. But they were not magically enhanced. With each slam, aided by force spells, the doors dented.

A gap suddenly appeared between the doors. The next hit burst them open.

A flood of Templars and furious, armed priests burst out.

"This explains why the Circle was so easy to liberate!" Anders exclaimed, nailing a Templar with an ice spell.

Caitlyn finished him off with a gravitic blast—her father's textbook called it "Fist of the Maker," she thought, enjoying that bit of justice—that reduced him to a pile of red fragments. She frowned momentarily. "I don't think that's frozen blood," she said, not really wanting to stare at the gore, but unable to look away. "It's almost like..."

"Red lyrium!" Anders exclaimed in disgust. "It took this one over just like Meredith!"

It was unmistakable. Every Templar in the vanguard was a Red Templar, and they were all bursting open with the stuff whenever they were killed. The malevolent, sinister aura of the vile substance permeated the air itself where the bodies fell.

The presence of the red lyrium seemed to have an effect on the enemy forces too, including the priests, who presumably had not been taking it. They were all fighting to the death in a frenzy of snarling, stabbing, and slashing.

"Freeze that filth!" Caitlyn finally ordered. They had to enter the Chantry, and a casing of ice would provide some protection from the sinister aura until they could figure out how to destroy this stuff. The frost mage team quickly encased the Chantry entrance in a thick layer of ice.

The army stormed into the sanctuary.

From there it was the type of battle that Caitlyn had feared and dreaded as soon as she reached Hercinia. As the news of the Mercantilist coup spread, the loyalists to the old regime and the Orthodox Chantry must have gathered here. Fighters seemed to burst out of every nook and cranny, from behind every bookcase and urn, few of them actually Templars or even priests. They stood no numerical chance against the allied army, but they made the invader fight for every inch.

And they all fought with that aggressive, bloody-minded frenzy that Caitlyn and Anders had only ever seen in those under the influence of red lyrium.

A group of archers and crossbowmen were raining down projectiles from an upper level. They were doing outsize damage for their numbers, and it infuriated Caitlyn. "Take them out!" she snarled at a group of mages. A volley of fireballs struck the archers, quickly burning out amid all the marble and stone. Caitlyn glowered. "Take the high ground!" she commanded.

With the sanctuary hall now mostly cleared, the army surged up to the next level. This Chantry was built stunningly similarly to Kirkwall's, with upper levels of corridors and offices above a vast open sanctuary. Enemies could, and did, lurk in all these spaces—but the building had fallen to the army, and it was only a matter of time before it became official.

Finally, after a long series of fights filled with blood, ice, lightning, and malevolent entropic clouds, Caitlyn burst into a heavily ornamented office.

A priest in fancy habiliments glared back at her. "So you have me, apostate," she said coldly. "And you mean to send me to the Maker's side."

"Oh, is that where you think you'll go?" Caitlyn replied with a snort.

She drew herself up. "I am certain of it. I have stood for the true faith and true Divine. I go to my reward. Enjoy your brief occupation of this city."

"It won't be brief," Caitlyn replied, motioning for her forces to take the Grand Cleric prisoner.


Later.

Lady—no, Margravine Anabela Campos wasted no time. With her loyalists and new allies at her side, her first act was to order the execution of the deposed Margravine and the surviving Orthodox Chantry officials as traitors and heretics. It was done on the steps of the Keep at sunset that day. The swift, brutal dispatch of the hangings was shocking even to Caitlyn, who knew she had a similar authoritarian streak herself, but she understood the point. Soon, the convoy of ships from Starkhaven and Tantervale would approach the harbor. It had to be indisputably clear that the city was no longer theirs and that there was not even a meaningful resistance to the new order.

Anders gave Caitlyn a dark smile. "You do realize that you've essentially handed Hercinia to the local version of the Coterie," he said quietly.

Caitlyn blanched. She had realized that the Mercantilists were a dodgy group, ruthless in business and obviously using some unsavory tactics to have installed agents throughout most of the city's institutions. But she had chosen to see it as being like the dwarven Merchants' Guild.

She wiped the grimace from her face and gazed ahead resolutely. "That was the choice we had: that or sacking the city. If this new Margravine governs poorly, it's Hercinia's responsibility to deal with that." She returned his wry smile at last. "I take your point though. To avoid acting like the Arishok, I made a deal with Hercinia's Harlan. Though hopefully she'll instead be Hercinia's Varric." She sighed. "The things we have to do in war."


Caitlyn and Anders were concerned about the red lyrium. They wanted to inspect the Chantry from top to bottom with some picked mages and soldiers, and with no one from the Orlesian Chantry in the city yet, there was no one to raise a fuss.

Their concern was borne out when they entered the cellar. Spikes of the stuff as large as tree branches grew from whatever was on the stone floor—Caitlyn squinted in the torch-lit darkness, trying to identify what the lyrium was growing from—

"Maker's fucking breath!" Anders' curse in the house of the one whose name he invoked was, somehow, still utterly appropriate for the appalling sight. As Caitlyn understood what she was seeing, she thought the Maker Himself might curse at the vileness and defilement.

A dozen dead Red Templars had been laid out in sarcophagi, as if they were being prepared for burial dwarven-style, but the boxes were open, and it was all too clear why. Red lyrium had completely transformed their bodies, bursting from the corpses in spikes. It merged and melded together above the sarcophagi in a shape like a cluster of everite. The sinister aura that they had felt at the entrance was, in this darkness, visible—a pale red light.

"They are harvesting it," Caitlyn gasped, revolted. "They know what it does—at least some of them—and they're using that." Her stomach churned.

In the darkness, blue light was starting to compete with red. Familiar lightning flashes were darting over Anders' body, and he was struggling to keep Justice from taking over. His staff clattered to the floor as he clamped his hands to his head. "Augh," he groaned in pain, doubling over.

"Anders!" Caitlyn exclaimed, throwing her own staff over her shoulder by its strap and grabbing him for support.

He rose sharply to his feet and glared at her through bright blue eyes. "We must leave this foul place," he spoke in the deep tones of Justice.

"Of... course," she said, eyes wide. The red lyrium was an unpleasant prickle for her, an irrational sense of being angry and on edge, but for him it was obviously far worse.

She picked up his staff from the ground and gently took his arm, leading him out of the cellar. He heaved a breath, and cold blue faded back to warm amber when they left the malignant red cloud behind.


Caitlyn and Anders made it clear that under no circumstances were people to wander in the Chantry until the red lyrium in the cellar could be destroyed. She was not sure exactly how to do that, what would work, so she had mages operate in shifts—to avoid exposing anyone for too long—to blast it with elements until it was all gone.

She and Anders had grand guest quarters in the new Margravine's Keep, and they relished taking a bath after the long march, battle, and stresses of the day. They had gotten very little sleep the night before and needed to sleep well tonight. The army would stay in Hercinia long enough to "discourage" the ship convoy. Caitlyn sent word to Markham to release most of the prisoners and send them here. But after her army had left, Hercinia's defense would be up to its own people. They were both eager to return to Kirkwall and see their family again.


That convoy turned up at the harbor two days later. The lookouts, including several army officers, had raised all the flags of the allied forces to the array of flagpoles at Hercinia's harbor. It was quite amusing to them to watch as the ships with Starkhaven, Tantervale, and Orthodox Chantry flags drew near, then slowed as the standards flying at the harbor apparently came into their sight, then made careful, ponderous turns back in the other direction.

Cheers, jeers, and hoots erupted in the harbormaster's quarters. Corks flew through the air, followed by foamy sprays, as the convoy intended to install occupying forces in Markham turned tail once their crew realized that their own ally had fallen instead.


The new Margravine Campos held a leaving feast for the triumphant allied army. The Viscountess, Consort, and leaders of the army were seated at the head table with her and her inner circle.

Caitlyn turned to Rivella, First Enchanter of Dairsmuid. "We've released the Hercinia apprentices to their families," she said, "and we're giving the battlemages the choice to join us or go home too—to help train these apprentices," she said. "They're splitting roughly evenly, so it's no more than about fifteen new mages for us. You and your people would be very welcome in Kirkwall if you wanted to come back with us."

Rivella smiled but shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but we love our home and need to be there for our people, who we serve as Seers and Healers."

"I understand," Anders agreed feelingly, "but we would be glad to have you. Why stay in a Circle?"

"Our Circle is different. We don't really need to 'rebel' as the rest of you did. We already have more freedom than any other Circle in Thedas, probably including those in Tevinter."

"Isn't there a Chantry in Dairsmuid?" Petra asked, frowning.

"There is, but it isn't like the ones you lot have. They talk about their religion and leave everyone else in peace to follow it or not."

"I cannot see our Grand Cleric allowing that in Kirkwall," Anders said.

Rivella smiled thinly. "Most likely not. We've... heard of her."

"I had little choice but to ally with her," Caitlyn said defensively. "And I've done all that I can to keep her from persecuting people unjustly."

"Well, it's nonetheless best if she and her people never show their faces in Rivain," Rivella said. "But on to pleasanter subjects. We are pleased to offer our loyalty to you and support for your cause, but we don't feel that we need to go to Kirkwall for protection."

"Are you sure?" Caitlyn asked. "What if the enemy attacked Dairsmuid?"

"Then we'd fight the bastards off. Melt into the countryside. Go to sea. I think we can handle anything short of, say, four-hundred-plus Templars targeting us all at the same place. And from what I hear, you have reduced their numbers rather significantly." She raised her goblet to Caitlyn.

"We have," Caitlyn agreed, joining the toast. "You are welcome in Kirkwall if you change your mind, but... you know yourselves best. It was an honor to fight beside you."

"Likewise, Your Grace. You are doing great things for mages."

"Maybe the next time we fight together will be when we lay siege to Tantervale to win this war."

Rivella laughed. "That will be a grand day. Yes, one day we will fight side by side for a final victory."


Notes: The Mercantilist Union is my invention. But Hercinia is a port city known "for its taxes," so such guilds would be powerful.

Seekers are unaffected by red lyrium due to their spirits. I've written Anders having a bad reaction because he is a Grey Warden, red lyrium is Tainted, and Justice is fighting it. The red lyrium itself isn't hurting him badly, but I see Justice's resistance to Corypheus's voice in canon (and, uh, soon here) as being like an inflammatory immune response. That is what causes him pain.