Song: Coldplay – "Viva la Vida." The whole song, honestly. Don't hate, any fellow metalheads. It's a good song.


Chapter 76: Upon Pillars of Sand


The siege continued as Firstfall advanced. The days grew shorter, colder, and windier, the bite of the weather and early nightfall adding to the mood of anger and dread that was taking hold in the city. People bundled in coats, cloaks, and scarves, scowling against the wind as they walked aimlessly, were a common sight on the docks, the alleys of Lowtown, and often even the well-paved streets of Hightown.

Varric dutifully reported the grim news from the Merchants' Guild. The blockade was not allowing trade through, and the dwarven merchants were already growing impatient and alarmed. As Treasurer of Kirkwall, Varric himself was receiving pressure to use his influence with Viscountess Hawke to do something to get trade flowing again.

Caitlyn's gaze hardened at that. "I'm not capitulating. Tell them that."

"I have, Hawke. I hate even dealing with them. I'd rather ignore the mail. But I don't have that luxury anymore. They're breathing down my neck."

"The fight is with us, not the neutral countries that send ships through here," Caitlyn said, glowering into the air at the report, "but of course, making us hurt by cutting off most maritime trade is the point."

Varric nodded glumly. "This is probably just the beginning."


At the end of the month, Caitlyn finally received a raven from Markham. To her astonishment—and alarm that they had reduced their own defenses—her ally had sent a force to Lighthouse Point despite the daunting numbers.

However, by the time it had arrived, the enemy had dug in, having created trap-filled trenches east of the Point. There was nothing the Markham force could do except return home to continue defending their own city.

"Mages would be able to deal with the trenches with earth, force, and ice spells," Anders remarked mournfully when he learned about this. "Mages could flush them out into an open field. But we can't get them out due to the rest of the enemy force at our walls."

Caitlyn gazed down at her lap. "We're cornered," she said quietly. She did not like to face that reality, but reality it was. "We're surrounded. We can outlast them... until spring, when they can take over the farmland. What can we do except wait for them to make a mistake? Which they don't look to make."

Anders gave her a look of alarm at this descent into darkness. "Something will come up."

"Do you have any ideas?"

He sighed, rubbing his head. "Not yet."


After the siege had gone on for a month, she called a Small Council meeting. The domestic situation was just as crucial as the battlefield now. She did not want to know how bad it was, but she knew she needed to.

It was just as bad as she had feared.

"I've been receiving a lot of complaints from locals about the Fereldan soldiers and Kirkwall Militia," Aveline said.

Caitlyn narrowed her gaze. "I'm sure the Coterie is exploiting this situation, but I'm not easing the laws about Coterie dealings."

"That's not all the complaints," Aveline said. "The Militia—and, more problematically, the Fereldan officers—are harassing and arresting people who aren't Coterie, who then have to be released. It's creating ill feeling."

"Are they guilty of other crimes? The people arrested?"

"Some. Not all. I've had enough of these reports that I think the soldiers are just... frustrated that they are doing this instead of defending the walls, and they're taking their anger out on the populace. It's another source of anger and resentment on both sides."

"What's the point of adding more bodies at the walls? Nothing is moving! I need those people looking for Coterie, especially in a time like this." She thought a bit more and added, "Discipline them if you think there's a problem."

That seemed to conclude that piece of business. Varric spoke up. "The situation in Lowtown and Darktown is getting bad, Hawke. Not starvation, but the food kitchen is getting a lot more customers than usual, because people's coin is dwindling. They're dipping into their savings—if they have any—since trade revenue from the harbor is cut off."

"Speaking of the Coterie," Anders said, looking uncomfortable, "I also think the brothels have been seeing an increase in... business. The healing clinics are seeing a lot more patients with... well, venereal illnesses."

Aveline and Petrice sniffed in contempt, and Caitlyn scowled. "So people are running short of coin, yet they spend it at brothels."

"Nobody ever said people were rational," Anders agreed unhappily.

"I don't like that at all," Varric chimed in. "If they are burning up their coin that way, it could mean they're giving up and want to experience as much pleasure as they can before..." He trailed off, but no one needed him to finish his dark sentence.


"I think we should go to the walls to rally the forces," Anders suggested. "And perhaps bring the children too. We can do it safely."

Caitlyn considered the idea for a moment before agreeing. "I agree. We don't have to stand atop the walls and defy the enemy personally—though I do think that would rally the troops even more. Temporarily, at least," she added.

Anders smiled. "It's an appealing image—but, yes, the morale boost would only be temporary, and you probably couldn't replicate it. But we should go to the walls to motivate the mages. And soldiers."

The arrangements were made, and the next day, she and Anders went there with the two children, well-guarded, Caitlyn herself in her drakeskin armor and red silk cape. Some of the Mages' Council were always there, rotating out in shifts just like the soldiers, and today Merrill and Alain were at this guardhouse. Caitlyn and Anders greeted them.

"We have a report after you've visited," Merrill said quietly.

Caitlyn momentarily worried, but she put it out of her mind. Motivate the troops, she told herself, forcing a smile back on her face.

Mal was on his best behavior, watching at a respectful distance as the mages reinforced wards, occasionally caught and returned projectiles with force spells, and the non-mage soldiers stood vigilant by the war machines. Jo Beth, for a change, was not behaving like a brat, staying silent and holding Anders' hand, as her wide hazel eyes watched the shift.

Caitlyn and Anders—and Mal—tried to close their ears to the ongoing thumping sounds as rocks crashed against spellwards. "How does this not get to them, day after day?" Anders asked in a low voice.

She winced. "It probably does. Which is why your idea was a good one."

They did not want to take anyone away from their duty with some sort of grand speech. Instead, they had deemed it best to mingle—safely—and offer words of encouragement on an individual or small-group basis, letting the mages and soldiers see the children too to remember why they were fighting. This was a good choice: The children were charming, and Caitlyn and Anders saw more than one Circle survivor in upper middle age, well past fighting if they had been non-magical but nearing the height of their power as mages, who broke into wrinkled smiles at the sight of the young mage couple with free children, one of whom was carrying a staff of his own.

I was taken to the Circle at twelve, Anders thought as he mingled with the Free Mages, offering verbal support—and rejuvenation spells when needed. Now, in little more than a month, my son is going to be twelve. That realization was startling, but it made him proud of what he and Caitlyn had achieved. He only briefly set foot inside a Circle and I won't see it happen to him again. Jo is three. She could do magic in a year or two if she's as precocious as Mal. I will not see my children's lives ruined now. He felt his inner resolve, and that of Justice, stiffen in determination at this thought.

The formerly grim, listless, or blank-faced soldiers and mages were notably happier from the visit with their Viscountess and her family. But after that, Caitlyn and Anders had to listen to what Merrill and Alain had to say.

They were ushered into a private office in the guardhouse, no doubt meant for a commanding officer. Caitlyn did not mind letting the children stay, seated on either side of their father. Jo Beth was still a toddler, and Mal was plenty old enough to hear whatever they had to say. He understood everything that was happening in the war and on the domestic front.

They wasted no time. "We've been hearing murmurs of discontentment and disgruntlement from the mages on duty here," Alain said.

Caitlyn and Anders raised their eyebrows. "What sort?" she asked.

Merrill took the lead. "People murmuring that the Restorationists might have been right all along."

"But they aren't Restorationists—or Potentatists—themselves?"

"They didn't have any of the... paraphernalia... of that group," said Alain.

"Which we know thanks to my universal search," Caitlyn said, unable to resist giving Anders a pointed look.

He scowled. Why did you have to do that? This was a pleasant outing. But he said nothing.

Alain and Merrill ignored the tense exchange. "They whisper that perhaps Lady Harimann would have been able to defeat the siege by now," he said.

Caitlyn scoffed and rolled her eyes. "And do they offer any ideas how she might have done so?"

"No," Merrill said. "It's just complaining."

Anders sighed. "It's not unusual for people to turn to extremism when they are desperate. It's the siege, the fear in the air, the hard times." His gaze darkened. "If Caitlyn and I had remained powerless, I would have become an extremist myself, I suspect. Probably not this kind, but some kind."

"They don't like the fact that the supremacists are still locked up instead of being allowed to help," Merrill added. "They think it means you aren't taking the siege as seriously as you could and are putting personal vengeance ahead of the cause. I'm sorry," she said, wide eyed. "It's just what they say."

"No need to apologize for repeating their words to me," Caitlyn assured her.

Anders took a deep breath, and gave his wife an uneasy look, as if he were afraid she might curse him. "I may regret this... but I think you should at least consider releasing some of them."

Caitlyn noticed his unease and instantly deduced his reason. She felt bad, and that softened her towards his view. If he hadn't appeared... well... afraid of her, she might have dismissed it at once, she realized guiltily. "If I do that, it'll be just the ones who weren't at the Keep when Lady Harimann attacked or directly involved in plotting it," she said.

"And," Anders said more bravely, "the mages who are complaining that the supremacists are locked up... sort of have a point. No offense. Not that you aren't doing your utmost—but if those fools will help the defense, and they weren't part of the assassination plot, why not let them be useful?"

"You're right," she said. "The thing that worries me is setting them loose among other mages who seem more open to those ideas than they used to be."

"We—or whoever is on duty—will have eyes and ears open," Alain said. "That's how we've heard these complaints in the first place. It's easier to keep supremacist views from spreading here than it is in a civilian setting."

"You're not worried about betrayal?" Mal spoke up, to everyone's surprise.

Caitlyn turned to him kindly. "That's a good point, dear," she said, "but... in this case, I think it's a different calculation for them. Betraying me here means a victory for radical Templars and a mage-hating schism, so I think they will choose to defend Kirkwall. And they will be watched closely, as Alain said."

Mal nodded. "I suppose that makes sense."

She turned back to face the adults. "All right. I'll release the ones who didn't go to the Keep or take part in that plot, who are 'only' supremacists. On a probationary basis. Community service," she said with a chuckle. "They must fight here. And hopefully that will also put an end to the complaining."

"And we'll do what we can to change their minds," Alain said.

"Good luck with that."


Caitlyn coordinated with Aveline and the Mages' Council to have the mage supremacists who were not directly involved in the assassination plot released from prison and sent to the city walls to join the defenders. This included the twenty who had been identified only with the universal search as well as eight more that the Mages' Council had known about from their own observation. She made sure that the group was split up, to prevent a large cell from forming in any shift that could potentially have the numbers to mutiny.

Getting twenty-eight mages out of prison also relieved the Arcane Guard mages who were assigned to guard magical prisoners, continually draining their mana. Caitlyn had considered ordering Thrask and his dozen-odd Templars to do this, but something in her revolted against the idea of having Templars guard and suppress imprisoned mages. Their job now was to take down dangerous magical criminals such as Tevinter slavers, not to act as jailers for fairly ordinary mages once again. I guess I do have some limits, she thought.

She was confident that the Mages' Council could watch the parolees. They were still angry and embarrassed that they'd had a mage supremacist, Grace, on the Council itself, and exhibited very limited tolerance for the view.

What she did not expect—though, she supposed in bitter retrospect, perhaps she should have—was the outrage that this decision triggered in Kirkwall.


"She'll let her own kind out even when they try to kill her!" sneered a rag-clad drifter in Darktown to a cluster of muscular characters with Coterie armor. "But if folks like us just go to a play, or act in it, are they let out? Nope!"

"Hawke is a mage supremacist herself," one of the Coterie bruisers said in a low voice. "We call her the Red Magister for a reason."

Another Coterie thug spat onto the ground. "She's going to take the whole city down for the sake of her fucking pride."

The rag-clad man agreed. "She doesn't even have to bow to the fake Chantry. She could go to the real thing and make a deal with the Templars and Seekers who're still with Justinia."

"She won't because she's determined to impose mage rule on us, as I said," the first Coterie thug insisted. "That only happens if she wins outright. Mark my words, that Lady Harimann—that was a power struggle, that was. A fight about who got to lead the mage supremacists. Hawke won. That's why she's letting Harimann's followers out. They'll turn to her if she's merciful to them."

"She isn't letting our people out because we are the real opposition," the second Coterie thug chimed in. "The enemy wants to turn this city into Tantervale, the supremacists, Emerius. We're actually loyal to Kirkwall."


The Lowtown marketplace buzzed with discontentment. The stores of most merchants were starting to see marked inventory declines, and some goods were already gone. With no new shipments coming in through the harbor or by land, there was no foreseeable prospect of that changing. What the merchants now viewed as the "special treatment" of mage merchants, who served in the army or the armory during this hardship, fostered even deeper resentment.

"Enough is enough!" exclaimed a spice merchant whose stock was empty. "It's Haring! This has gone on for a month! Is Hawke going to beggar and starve the city for the sake of her fellow mages?"

"I agree," spoke up a silk merchant who also had an empty inventory. "It's time to end this. If that means surrendering, so be it. I heard that it was all right in Hercinia. Business continued. If you ask me, we're being fed a load of propaganda about this schism and how repressive it supposedly is."

At this, a sheet of old, worn, faded propaganda—the one depicting Elthina as a blood-drenched demon—fluttered in the winter wind.

"It can't be as bad as this," the spice merchant agreed, gesturing at empty, abandoned booths. "So the mages go back in their damn Circles. So there's a different Divine. So what? At least life goes back to normal!"

"Keep it down. That's treason talk," spoke up a nervous armorer.

"You wouldn't care, would you, Arnold?" spat the silk merchant. "You're doing well from this, what you sell! Those damn mages are doing all right too; if their shops have no business, they can just go to the walls. But not us! Orlais and Antiva are cut off. We can't get any new merchandise."

"Maybe I went too far," the spice merchant reflected. "But I'm just angry! I suppose there are alternatives, though. Hawke could turn to Justinia, ask her to send loyal Seekers to get rid of these enemy forces. They'd ask for something from the mages, but considering what the mages have forced on this city, hunger and austerity, travel and trade closed off, I'd be fine with that!"

At this point, seven members of the Kirkwall Militia, taking orders from Fereldan military officers, stepped forward, revealing themselves. "You two are under arrest for sedition," the leader, a Fereldan officer, gloated.

The men sneered. "You filthy Dog Lord," the silk merchant said.

"Oh, that's a hoot from someone saying the heretics aren't that bad! You're lucky we're not turning you over to the Grand Cleric for that!"

The man seethed. "Everything the Coterie says about Hawke is true: setting mages and foreigners loose to crush Kirkwall's people!"

One of the militia stepped up. "I'm a Kirkwaller. And you are seditionist scum whose tongue has licked too much Orlesian ass. Wrists out, traitor."

"People won't forget," the merchant sneered as he and his friend complied.


Lady Agnes Vorse de Soliere was a noble who had fallen on hard times due to her late son's seduction by blood magic. The scandal, the fall of her family's merchant house, and the requirement to indemnify her son's victims had decimated her fortune, leaving her with no choice but to sell her Hightown home and move to Lowtown—much like the Amell family. She had opposed Caitlyn Hawke's election at the moot after Viscount Dumar's death, the sole person to speak in opposition to Hawke. Now, she felt thoroughly vindicated.

"You were right," murmured Heloise, a close friend. They were safe behind Lady Agnes's closed door, or they would not have held this conversation. "It was brave of you to do what you did then, and you were right."

"Viscountess Hawke is becoming every bit the tyrant that Perrin Threnhold was," Lady Agnes said. "Killing the last Knight-Commander—well, perhaps she deserved it, but what has followed? The Grand Cleric, Hawke's close ally, burning people at the stake! Fereldan thugs running our military, soldiers making arrests instead of the Guard, locking up anyone who disagrees with Hawke. The Harimanns arrested and held indefinitely without any evidence! I fear for them, I do. This is all a desperate attempt to exude the appearance of power as true power slips from her fingers."

"And now, the harbor is closed off and trade with Orlais is stopped. That was the thing that doomed Threnhold," Heloise said ominously.


The Keep.

"What I have done is merciful compared to what these people deserve," Caitlyn said hotly. She had called another Small Council meeting to discuss the rapidly spiraling domestic unrest and the arrests of numerous people for sedition over the past week. The pair in Lowtown had been only the beginning.

"Merciful?" Varric repeated. "Just, yes, but..."

"I'm not—yet—charging them with treason, despite that they were expressing sympathy for the enemy in a time of war—a literal siege. They'll keep their heads. Nor am I imposing ruinous fines on them that they cannot pay in a time like this. I'm locking them up." She laughed sharply. "If times are so hard, perhaps they should be grateful for the free food!"

"They're guilty of sedition according to the law, no question about it," said Aveline evenly.

"I sense a 'but' in there..."

Aveline sighed. "Maybe... fewer public arrests, Hawke? Especially conducted by Fereldans who are disturbingly eager to make them? They're breaking the law, and this is a siege. You're right to arrest them. But maybe do it differently, for the sake of your own image. That's all I'm saying."

"I don't think my image would be any better if seditionists just disappeared. I'm showing the city what I'll do, and that I am not ashamed of doing it."

Anders looked down at his lap. Caitlyn noticed. "What is it, Anders?"

He gazed up at her, conflicted. "I see it like Aveline," he remarked, giving the Guard-Captain an ironic glance. In the past, they had often disagreed. "What they said is seditious. They don't care a bit about mages, what we went through in Circles—what Meredith put mages through in this very city. All they care about is their own gold."

"The flow of trade is cut off," Varric said carefully. "This isn't just greed."

"Yes, but according to the Militia, they were totally dismissive of mages' suffering. One of them even minimized what the schism had done in Hercinia. They weren't there! They didn't see it!" He punched the pillow in his chair. "They belong exactly where they are. But... I also don't want you, Cait, to be hurt politically because you were too harsh."

"The only alternative I can see," Caitlyn said, "is to arrest them privately. So they disappear and nobody sees exactly when or why. How is that better? I think it would make me look worse, like I have something to hide, or like I was keeping a secret police that takes political prisoners. Meredith did that until I became Viscountess, her squads who arrested 'mage sympathizers' by breaking down their doors in the dead of night. I'm making this very public, and I'm not in the wrong. They broke the law."

He grimaced. "You're right. That wouldn't be better. I don't know."

"I think part of the problem is that Fereldan officers are doing it, gleefully," Aveline said. "People deeply resent being arrested by chortling 'foreigners.'"

"If they are expressing support for the Coterie, that's the Militia's sphere."

Aveline leaned in. "Hawke, I never thought I'd say this, but there's a distinction between the legal and the wise. I think you should take the Fereldans off the job. Put them at the walls and have Kirkwallers do it."

Caitlyn scowled. "That isn't going to stop the complaints. They're being arrested. There is no way to sweeten that. If people don't like it, perhaps they should stop speaking sedition."

"It's a siege," Varric said. "Times are bad and getting worse."

"The siege isn't easy for anyone, but most people have managed to stay out of jail or prison."

Comte de Launcet and Ser Marlein Selbrech exchanged uneasy looks before the landed knight spoke up. "This is probably not the best time to mention this, but I should warn Your Grace that there are complaints in Hightown too."

Caitlyn sighed. "Of course there are. I have enemies everywhere."

"I don't know that I would say they are enemies," Ser Marlein said delicately. "They understand the law better than the average denizen of Lowtown, so they know those merchants and others really are guilty of sedition. But they don't like the fact that the Harimann widower and children remain in prison, also charged with that—especially since some of the mage supremacists were freed to serve at the walls."

Aveline tried to avoid looking pointedly at Hawke. She had opposed the continued imprisonment of the Harimanns from the start.

"The supremacists I released were not involved in the assassination plot. They are doing community service, not freed. And there is an ongoing investigation into the Harimanns," Caitlyn said tightly.

Aveline knew she was risking another outburst from her friend, but she could not let that stand. "The mansion has been combed from top to bottom. We have not found anything new. The Harimanns also have not had anything new to say in questioning."

Caitlyn turned angrily to her. "Is the investigation active or not?"

"At the moment? It's inactive, quite frankly. We have no new leads."

"Their mother kept her intentions secret for years! The family could be doing the same. I am not letting them out yet."

Aveline heaved a sigh. "Then get used to complaints from Hightown."


The caves beneath Darktown.

Anders was trying to keep the stress and looming feeling of doom out of his mind whenever possible. It helped to always have something to do. Mal was eager to learn healing, and the clinics were seeing a lot of patients these days—not all of whom had conditions that Anders was uncomfortable letting his son see. Most had not picked up syphilis in the Ripe Peach or Blooming Rose; most just suffered from routine winter ailments such as flu and pneumonia.

One blessing was that Kirkwall still had an abundance of minerals, plants, and fungi in its depths, and most were useful in medicinal potions. They did not need to import ingredients for everything. Some, like royal elfroot, were harder to get in winter, but others would grow practically everywhere in any season—and Anders had a nice rooftop herb garden in the Keep. For other ingredients, he needed to make occasional visits to the caves.

I've been sending others for a long time, he thought, scraping minerals off the walls and organizing them into boxes. But I need to keep my mind busy. I need to feel that I am doing something that matters. Even—he swallowed, not wanting to face the thought—even if the city falls, and my family and I have to run for it, I will have helped these patients. Nothing can take that away.

He regretted that he could not help Caitlyn feel better. He could imagine the pressure she faced. He didn't agree with all of her decisions. He still thought the universal search of the mages was a bad thing, he did not like Grand Cleric Petrice's auto-da-fé, and he wanted Cait to release the Harimanns if she couldn't get any evidence against them. But he did understand why she made certain other decisions. The idea of those merchants, because of coin, shrugging at the oppression mages would face if they were forced back into Circles again—especially Circles run by the mage-hating schism and radical Templars—enraged him. He completely supported Caitlyn's decision to have them imprisoned. He just hoped that she could get through this dark time.

He examined the contents of his boxes. The minerals would need refining, but that was what his workroom in the Keep was for. He made a mark on the cave wall and on his map to indicate the area that he had picked clean, and headed back to the surface where his guards were waiting for him.

Having a personal guard was a strange thing to him, and it would have brought back unpleasant memories of the Circle, but these were mages, not Templars or even ordinary warriors. They were the Healers who worked in the Keep clinic beside him. They were colleagues.

They chose the shortcut to the cellar in the Hawke mansion. Anders felt a stir of nostalgia as he unlocked the trapdoor and stepped in. His appearances still surprised Leandra and the others, but not as much as they once did. The familiar furniture filled his line of sight, evoking memories of a happier time.

We were married here, he thought after greeting the in-laws and helping the other Healers through. Mal did his first spell here. We were so happy...

He sighed. I used to think that about the Lothering days. Those were the happiest of all. Malcolm and Bethany were there. Cait and I had such simple dreams. I recall looking back nostalgically at Lothering when we lived in this house. Now, things are so dark that I feel that way about the time spent here.

He pushed this sad line of thought out of his mind. This is temporary, he thought. The siege will be lifted. Somehow. It'll be lifted, Caitlyn will turn away from this dark side of herself, and we'll usher in a new era for mages.

With his cohort of Healers surrounding him, Anders walked up the paths of Hightown to the Keep. He entered, seeing the Healers off at the clinic, and carried the box of materials into the inner Keep to his private workroom.

Anders began separating the ingredients into buckets. The plants and fungi were usable without too much processing required, but the minerals had to go through an extensive purification process. It was something that required intense focus, hence exactly what Anders wanted to occupy his mind.

He frowned. This was not a good haul. His deep mushrooms were contaminated, he noticed. The fungi, extremely valuable in many potions, were coated not with their own spores, but a mineral powder. It was trash, formed from urine. The Tevinters called it sela petrae, but that was a more dignified name than it deserved, he thought. Glowering, Anders washed the mushrooms, allowing the runoff to drip into a bucket that had been used to haul charcoals from the fireplace out of the workroom.

He moved on to the minerals. He had scraped orichalcum, but it was also heavily contaminated—in this case, with drakestone, a mineral for which he had no use. There was at least as much drakestone as orichalcum, likely more. Cursing, he took out a knife and scraped the soft yellow crystals off the valuable mineral, depositing the waste in the same bucket that contained the sela petrae. Slowly the bucket filled with waste.

As hours passed and he continued to work, he felt cold, even though he wore his coat. The stone walls didn't keep much heat in. He felt his fingers stiffen. That wouldn't do. He carried the bucket of waste over to the fireplace and set it down next to the hearth.

Readying his magic, Anders cast a small fire spell at the fireplace. His fire spells were not as good as Caitlyn's, who specialized in the element, and a small tail of flame separated from the main blast and flicked the waste bucket.

He was not prepared for the explosion that ensued.

When his ears had stopped ringing and he had healed his bruises, he got up from the floor and examined the damage. The table was overturned. His entire haul lay scattered. A blackened area extended from the hearth.

How in the Maker's name did that happen? he thought.

Then he saw the shattered pieces of the waste bucket.


Mid-Haring.

Caitlyn's stomach turned as she received the latest word—not a raven from an ally, but a report of a piece of gloating propaganda put out by Elthina, boasting of the capture of Hasmal. The propaganda broadsheet said nothing about what had happened to the Circle in that small city.

They sent ten thousand troops to take Lighthouse Point and besiege us. They cannot have more still. Surely not.

But she knew it was likely true. It would be too easy to disprove a lie.

"I don't want this spread throughout the city," she told the Mages' Council, who had brought the word to her. "How did you learn about it?"

"It reached the enemy forces, and they lofted a bundle of them up from a trebuchet," Sketch explained. "Our force mages caught them to see what they said. I now wish they hadn't."

"It's enemy propaganda," Caitlyn declared, "and I won't have it circulating in the city if possible. How many people saw it?"

"Five mages. We didn't let them take it with them, and we asked them to keep it quiet because it was propaganda," Petra put in.

"Thank you for being on top of this," Caitlyn said gratefully. She lowered her voice. "I hate to say it, but propaganda aside, this is probably true. And that means they have more than ten thousand troops."

"Unless Hasmal made a deal due to the trade issues," Sketch pointed out.

"I almost hope it was that," Caitlyn muttered. "This is extremely bad."

No one disagreed. The mages took their leave and departed—except for Merrill, who lingered. It was clear to Caitlyn that she had something private that she wanted to say.

She regretted that Anders was not here, but he had been preoccupied with something in his potions workroom and the library for the past week—research of some sort. He wouldn't say much about it. She hoped it was something that would be useful for the war and not just something to distract himself.

"What's up, Merrill?" she asked her friend when they were alone.

The Dalish elf hesitated. "I had a thought about a possible way to break the siege. Two ways, actually."

"Oh?" Her heart thumped. "Do tell!"

Merrill took a deep breath. "You may not want to do this, but I had the thought of... well... summoning, er, spirits to attack the enemy on their ships."

"You mean... demons."

"Well... yes."

Caitlyn was surprised at the fact that she did not immediately dismiss this. It was desperate, true, but the situation was quickly becoming desperate. However, this idea had some glaring problems. "I'd... rather not do that unless we have no other choice," she said. "There are Templars, Red Templars, and even a few mages aboard those ships who are trained to put down demons—and any survivors at all would spread word that we'd resorted to demon-summoning. It would be devastating to the cause if that got out."

"That is true," Merrill agreed glumly. "I didn't think you would want to do it. But I had another thought." She took another deep breath. "What about using blood magic to control the enemy commanders and make them do something foolish?"

Caitlyn felt guilty about it, but she actually considered this idea. "We'd have to have their blood to do that, wouldn't we?"

"Yes. As I expect you know, it's possible to blood-control an enemy in battle, but that's because they are in range and you can pull their blood to you. To control someone out of range, you have to have a sample." She paused. "I could go outside the walls, enter the enemy camp looking like an elven servant, and get it that way."

Caitlyn's mind instantly revolted against that. "That is incredibly risky, Merrill," she said at once. "You would be at grave risk of rape even if they didn't catch you as a spy! And if they did, I don't suppose I need to say what would happen."

"I am willing to take the risk."

Caitlyn's heart broke at her friend's earnestness. "I appreciate that," she said feelingly. "That means so much to me... but I can't ask this of you. Not yet. Taking on that much personal risk for something that might not actually work... I can't ask you to do that. But it means a lot to me that you offered."

"Please keep it in mind if nothing else comes up," Merrill urged her.

Her heart broke again. Surely this would not be required. "I will," she said heavily, "but I'd rather not resort to this."


The Keep library.

Anders closed the Tevinter apothecary's formulary and picked up his notebook. He had spent a week trying to replicate the explosion, but had not been able to do so. This book had described the properties of the minerals, and how they were used in Tevinter, but there had been nothing applicable to creating explosions triggered by fire.

Anders couldn't understand it. The waste bucket had contained drakestone and sela petrae, no other scrap materials. It had been dusted with charcoal from having been used to carry soot and charcoal from the fireplace, and Anders considered that important too. As he knew from making healing potions, all ingredients counted. Yet he hadn't managed to recreate the boom. There had to be something about the proportions. He could not recall just how much of each was there, and these books shed no light on it.

He was also not sure about his use of water. It would be useful to mix the ingredients, but obviously the substance had to dry to ignite as it had. It must have done so that day in the workroom, when Anders had been so preoccupied with cleaning his materials that he had lost track of time.

I scraped off the drakestone, he remembered. There were flakes and dust from it, not big chunks. Flakes and dust of sela petrae too, in water runoff. I just need to experiment with proportions, I suppose.

The bucket had been nearly full. He was not trying to create an explosion that big again. Nothing too bad had happened, but that was dumb luck. It was extremely unlikely that Anders had happened upon the most efficient chemical combination by dumping trash into a bucket. When he did find that best possible mix, he had no idea what size blast might ensue. Better to keep the work on a small scale for now.

Anders just prayed that his hopes for this substance were legitimate and he wasn't fixated on this to distract himself from the ugly reality of the siege.


Caitlyn's nerves were fried that evening. Anders was holed up in his study, doing Maker knew what, as he had been for the past week—yet he would not tell her a word about it. Meanwhile, Hasmal had fallen, the prison was filling up with seditionists, and the city of Kirkwall had started to feel like a bomb ready to explode. And the only vaguely plausible option she had was sending Merrill into the enemy camp to collect blood for blood magic.

It was unfair to take out her frustration and anxiety on Anders, she knew—but she could not stop herself from doing it.

She grabbed him after dinner and cornered him as Mal and Jo went to their rooms. "I want answers," she said. "What are you spending so much time doing in the library and workroom?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm researching something."

"I had gathered that much," she said curtly.

"Sweetheart, I—about a week ago, when I was in the workroom cleaning off my latest haul, something odd happened. I'm trying to figure out why."

Caitlyn stared at him indignantly. "'Something odd happened'? What, exactly? Are you just obsessing over this... problem... to distract yourself? You are, aren't you?"

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Am I? he thought miserably. Is that all I'm doing, looking for hope in a random explosion of a rubbish bucket because things are that desperate and hopeless?

No, he resolved. That happened for a reason, and it is a reason that can be weaponized. I just know it. I'm onto something big. "It's something that might be useful for the war. Really," he said when her gaze hardened. "I just... can't tell you yet, because I don't want you to get your hopes up and be let down."

All the anger in her seemed to deflate at these words. She sighed and leaned in for an embrace, which he gladly gave. It felt good to hold her in his arms and not have to defend himself against her rage. Maker, they were both so tense all the time now, and for her, that manifested as anger. It was nice to just hold each other again.

"I promise I'll tell you when I have something to tell," he whispered.

She rested her head against his shoulders. "Maker. I'm sorry. Do what you need to, Anders. What right do I have to be on your back like this? It's not like this research is keeping you from doing something more crucial. Do what you have to, love."

"I will," he said, "and I promise. I mean that."


30 Haring 9:39 Dragon.

The day dawned cold and cloudy, like so many in winter. The siege had been ongoing for nearly two months. The day seemed auspicious to mark the end of the decade, and yet the conflicts of the 9:30s were clearly continuing into the next ten years. The siege itself continued.

For Kirkwall, it also brought back memories of another First Day Eve, that of Dragon 9:36. That was the day that Meredith Stannard had thrown down the gauntlet by defying Justinia's order to resign her post and then taking Hawke and Anders' son hostage. She had died before the next sunrise. No one could ever say for certain afterward that Harlan and Lusine had chosen this day to recall the grim anniversary of a tyrant's overthrow, but it seemed likely.

It began in Lowtown, in a Coterie-owned safe house. The well-dressed criminal leaders observed the furious, gathered crowd with satisfied smirks.

"You've endured this siege for two months," Harlan coached them. "In that time, food supplies have dwindled and trade has ceased. We have tried to ease your suffering, providing you with food, employment, and bodily pleasure..."

Several ribald hoots burst from the crowd at this. Lusine winked at them.

"But times remain tough, and our so-called leader is to blame. Many people have urged Hawke to make a deal with the Templars and Seekers who are still loyal to Justinia to obtain their help, but she won't do it!"

"She is willing to destroy Kirkwall to get what she wants for her fellow mages," Lusine put in, sneering at the thought of that Fereldan refugee.

"Instead she has taken to locking up anyone who disagrees with her—except other mages—and charging them with sedition for complaining about this siege," Harlan lied. He knew perfectly well that almost all of the people in the dungeons were indeed guilty, but their imprisonment for nonviolent crimes made them useful symbols for him to invoke to rile the crowd. "She's put numerous merchants in prison merely for complaining that they have run out of stock. The Harimanns are imprisoned without any evidence at all."

"Down with the Red Magister!" called someone from the crowd.

"All right, none of that," he chided gently and insincerely. The crowd snickered; they knew he didn't mean it too. "Remember, my friends—we don't hate mages and we certainly don't support the northern heretics. We're against what Hawke is doing, what she has become. It is for the good of Kirkwall that we march today."

"Overthrow the Fereldan apostate!" someone bawled.

"No," Harlan said, again insincerely, "not like this. We're marching to try to persuade her to change course. It's a peaceful demonstration of popular will. She may not know what the people want," he demagogued. "Hightowners don't suffer the shortages that you, the beating heart of Kirkwall, do."

This comment, deliberately chosen, got the crowd snarling in anger.

"So we will show her what the people think! Enough of this needless war! Enough suffering for the sake of her pride! We will call on her to release her political prisoners and deal with the loyal Templars to get aid. Only if she refuses to do what's right for Kirkwall will we turn to... alternatives."

Lusine smirked as her lover concluded his speech.


Anders' experiments had finally had a breakthrough. In desperation, he had simply mixed sela petrae and drakestone in varying percentages, concluding that there was comparatively little charcoal in the original explosive mixture.

Some mixtures had fizzled. Some had burst into flame. Some had smoked.

One, seventy percent sela petrae and fifteen percent each of drakestone and charcoal, had exploded destructively. The blast was even more concussive than the accidental one that first day.

"This could work," Anders murmured to himself inside his workroom, making note of the blast radius. "I'll need to think about how to deploy it, but this really could work." His heart thumped in hope, an almost forgotten feeling.


Harlan and Lusine's mob swelled in size as it marched through Lowtown. A great many people from Darktown also joined. Some of the protesters were professional Coterie; others were longtime malcontents who had managed to avoid the scrutiny of the Militia and the Grand Cleric's Suprema; still more were ordinary people who were sick of the siege and its accompanying scarcity.

His insincere plea to avoid overtly seditious chants had gone utterly ignored. The crowd now numbered twelve hundred people, all angry, most shouting blatant calls to overthrow the Viscountess of Kirkwall. Some were calling for even worse.

"We want Harlan! We want Harlan!"

"End the war! End the war!"

"Open up trade! Open up trade!"

"Hang the apostates!"

"Burn the apostates!"

Harlan and Lusine overheard the latter two chants and exchanged worried looks. Explicit calls for violence were dangerous. For once, Harlan wondered if the crowd he had riled had gotten out of hand, beyond even his control.

He and his lover turned back to the crowd. The crime boss called out, "None of that, I said! Do you want to lose your heads?"

Some—not all, but some—of the calls for violence subsided as the crowd marched up the ramp to Hightown, bearing homemade signs, banners... and other things. Harlan and Lusine slipped back into the crowd. They did not want Hawke's people to see their faces in this.


"We have a problem, Hawke."

Caitlyn was holed up in her office, trying desperately to focus on something that she could actually control. Anders was at work in his workroom again, and her mother was watching the children. Caitlyn tensed uneasily as she let Aveline into the office.

Her friend was grim. "There is a mass protest. Larger than the 9:36 mob."

Caitlyn's expression grew worried at that comparison. "Violent?"

"Doesn't look like it. They say they have... demands."

"And do those demands include abdicating?" she said tightly.

"I don't know," she said sincerely. "They won't talk to anyone except you."

Caitlyn felt overwhelmed. A sudden pang of a headache throbbed at her temple. She leaned back in her chair, groaning, then looked at her friend. "What do you advise?" she asked.

Aveline hesitated before replying. "There are at least twelve hundred people, and they look like civilians, not Coterie. There's real anger. I think you should hear them out first. Dismissing them violently without listening to them is likely to make things worse."

"There's not much that I can do," Caitlyn said, rising to her feet. "If they want food, I can't give in to a riot, or else the supplies will be mobbed. If they want peace, well, so do I, but not at the price of defeat."

"I don't know what they want," Aveline said. "And I wouldn't call this a riot... yet. If it were, I'd advise against listening to them. It's just a protest."

"I'm going to shield myself nonetheless."

"Naturally," Aveline agreed.

She had hoped to get Anders' support, but he was not in the library, and she did not want to waste time detouring to his workroom. She called for a few Arcane Guard who were stationed at the Keep to defend her.

Flanked by her guards, she ascended to a balcony overlooking the streets of Hightown and emerged. A sea of angry faces stared back at her from below.

She cast a force spell to amplify her voice. "People of Kirkwall!" she called out. "This is not the usual way to gain a hearing, but I am still responsive to your voices. We are all facing hard times now with the enemy at the gates and in the harbor. Is that what brings you to the Keep today?"

It was a diplomatic beginning, and she hoped it would calm them down. Her hopes were initially borne out as an anonymous protest leader stepped up with a petition in hand.

"We want trade opened up!" the man yelled. Behind him, the crowd roared.

Caitlyn frowned. "The enemy has blockaded our harbor, as you well know! We are working hard on ideas to lift the siege."

"Not hard enough!" someone called.

"We want the merchants let out of prison!" the man with the petition called out. "Is complaining about hard times a crime?"

"No, but sedition is!" Caitlyn replied, her heart thumping. "Everyone who's locked in the cells on that charge actually committed it!"

"That's a lie!" someone screamed.

"Do not call me a liar!" she shouted. "You have been lied to, but not by me! Those merchants said I should surrender to the heretics in the north!"

"The Harimanns didn't, you liar!"

Aveline shifted uneasily behind Caitlyn. Caitlyn herself was struck silent.

Few in the crowd actually cared about the Harimanns, a wealthy noble family, but they were a powerful symbol—and to the working-class and middle-class people who comprised this crowd, their imprisonment was a source of fear. If Hawke will lock up fellow nobles without evidence, she would do the same or worse to any of us.

The name had caught fire in the crowd. "They're innocent!" cried someone.

"Let them out!"

"You let the Vint supporters out, you mage hypocrite!"

"Free the Harimanns! Free the political prisoners!"

The peaceful protest was rapidly turning into something else. Caitlyn and Aveline narrowed their gazes, finally recognizing two faces: Harlan and Lusine. The crime leaders were trying to flee through their own crowd. They knew it was out of their control. Caitlyn's anger towered at the sight of them. So this is their mob after all, she thought in growing fury.

"A blood mage made the Harimanns do it!"

This cry was like a spark to fuel. The crowd began raging in fury.

"It's always mages! We're penniless and hungry because of a mage's war!"

"Fuck all mages!"

Yes, the crowd was definitely out of anyone's control. Caitlyn and Aveline exchanged looks. "Prepare to disperse them by force," Caitlyn said.

A particularly aggressive group shoved aside the petitioner at the head of the crowd. They were carrying wooden stakes and big bags full of something...

"Down with the Magister of Kirkwall!" one of these new rioters roared, taking something out of his sack.

Caitlyn, Aveline, and the Arcane Guards sucked in their breath as these rioters quickly withdrew the contents of their sacks: two straw-stuffed figures, one with long red hair and the other short and gold, painted sticks attached to their backs, the figures dressed in caricatures of Tevinter magisters' robes.

Aveline was scrambling from the balcony back into the Keep to activate the Militia, but the rioters had already attached the effigies to the stakes. Someone else in this aggressive group attached a placard spelling it out, in case there was any doubt: "Hawke and Anders, Magisters of Kirkwall."

Another member of this group splashed them with oil. Someone lit a match, setting the effigies aflame.

"Burn at your own stake, Magister!"

"We want Harlan!"

"Viscount Harlan!"

"Viscount Harlan!"

The great majority of the crowd chanted sedition, their original plan to petition the Viscountess—or, at least, give that impression—forgotten.

Caitlyn stared at the effigies, suddenly terrified. They did not look like her and Anders—their faces were too unrealistic, with huge eyes and mouths—but that made the effect even more horrifying as they caught fire. In that moment, it seemed to Caitlyn that the conflagration foretold her family's future.

The effigies were blazing brightly by the time the Militia burst through the Keep doors.


Later.

"The effigy-burners are traitors," Caitlyn said icily as Aveline and the other guards gave her an update. "That's a direct threat. It's high treason."

"Agreed," Aveline said briskly. "We got everyone in that group, plus some of the loudest ones calling for your overthrow. And..." she paused.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows.

Aveline took a deep breath. "We got Harlan and Lusine."

Caitlyn's eyes widened. "You actually arrested them?"

"Yes. We have them." She scowled. "Harlan is claiming that the effigies 'went too far' and that he 'didn't authorize or condone that.'"

"Lying piece of filth," Caitlyn seethed. "The crowd may well have gotten outside his and Lusine's control, but he knew perfectly well what he was doing. He didn't really want to petition me. It was a threat. Its very existence, when led by him, was a threat! It was to weaken me! If I had given in to anything they wanted, it would have weakened me. It would have shown them that I'll let him cow me if he has a mob behind him!"

"I agree, and if I'd known he was behind it, I wouldn't have advised you to speak to them," Aveline said. "I'm sorry, Hawke."

Caitlyn heaved a sigh, glaring at nothing in particular. She turned back to Aveline. "Keep those two under strict watch. They'll try to bribe guards. I do not want anyone on a routine shift to watch them, just trusted people."

"I understand and agree completely."


Caitlyn cuddled Jo Beth in her lap. Mal and Leandra sat nearby on the sofa, while Baldwin and Pounce curled up on the rug. She wished Anders were here too, but he was still in his blasted workroom doing... whatever he was doing.

It wasn't his fault at all, but Caitlyn found herself rather out of patience in general. The protest—no, the riot—had brought it home to her in a way she could not ignore. People wanted her overthrown. They were willing to burn her and Anders in effigy before her very eyes.

I was right about Harlan all along. He wants me overthrown. I knew it. I knew that was his goal. Today he proved me right. He led an effigy-burning mob to the Keep in the middle of a siege! If that isn't treason, what is?

I never should have listened to the timid people on my Small Council. I should have had him hanged two years ago, before it could get this bad. Every time I have gone soft on these people, they've seen it as weakness.

This siege has to end, she thought, her focus shifting. She gazed at her son and daughter, her mother, her pets. Their lives depend on it. The burning effigies and her dark fear about them returned to her memories.

She recalled Merrill's suggestion of using blood magic to control the enemy commanders. It was a desperate ploy, and rationally Caitlyn knew it was likely to fail. Summoning demons to attack the ships was even more desperate.

But the riot had shaken her badly. Even the capture of Harlan and Lusine, at long last, did not assuage her fear. In the midst of this fear, even desperate, high-risk ideas like Merrill's seemed better than the status quo.


Anders gathered his notes. This could work, he thought. It's not nearly as fragile as a lyrium bomb would be, and the ingredients are not rare. We could build plenty of these explosives just from what we find in Darktown's old tunnels and caves...

He was waiting for his wife when she emerged from the family sitting room. She nearly walked into him as she stepped through the doorway.

"Anders!" she exclaimed, reaching for his shoulders to steady herself. He put one hand on her waist to help her, the other holding his papers close. "I didn't see you!"

He smiled mildly. "You're distracted, and for obvious reasons. But..." He trailed off and then paused.

Her gaze darted up to meet his. Her eyes were wide. "You're finally going to tell me what you've been up to?"

He looked seriously at her. "Yes. I've had a breakthrough."

She waited.

He took a deep breath. "I think I might have something that could break the siege. An explosive."


Notes: Cheers to fortuitous laboratory accidents! I theorize that something like this is actually how Anders had this idea in canon too. If Tevinter has this weapon, there's no good reason why they haven't beaten the Qunari decisively.

I do hope the clear trajectory of this isn't a disappointment to anyone! The details get ironed out next chapter.