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Hawke stood in front of them all, looking at her people and at the mages. Varric had seen that determined look on her face before, and it heartened him. They had always won when she looked like that. For that matter, they had always won, period. At least, if you defined winning as living through whatever horrors Thedas had in store for them that particular day.
Today, though … Varric wished he believed this would be another one of those days.
Not privy to his dark thoughts, Hawke took a deep breath and addressed the collected group. "We have to stand firm. We have to know that we are in the right. We have to believe in ourselves and in each other. We all know what the Templars believe. We know what they're afraid of. But fear makes us make mistakes. We do not need to be afraid. Let that be the Templars' burden, not ours."
There was a collective sigh as everyone took her words to heart in their various ways and looked around at each other.
Hawke looked down at Varric, her eyes on him as she added, "They are not taking the life I built. They don't get to decide how this ends. We do!"
Strong words. Good words. But she didn't believe them. He knew what she believed—that the life she'd built in Kirkwall was already over, that she had nothing to go back to, not even him. And with all his heart he wished he could be what she deserved; that he could offer her something worth staying for, something that would make up for everything they'd lost. But he wasn't that guy—he never had been. And he didn't think he could change now. Not even for her.
And she knew that. She knew him as well as he knew her—inside out. And she had already decided how this ended. The only way she knew how to salvage anything from the wreck of her life in Kirkwall was to leave it.
Before he could get any further, Orsino appeared behind them. "Champion. It is beginning."
Outside the door, they could all hear it now. Marching feet. Jangling armor. The Templars were coming for them.
One of the mages shrieked and huddled in the corner, arms over her head. The rest of them stood firm—for now.
"Let's go." Orsino opened the doors, and it began.
Varric saw the battle in flashes of fire and lightning from the mages, aiming Bianca in the moments when his eyes weren't dazzled in the dark interior of the Gallows. The mages were so terribly fragile, unarmored and unprepared, up against the heavy weapons and thorough training of the Templars. They were falling so fast it seemed completely unfair, Varric thought, aiming Bianca at the slit in a Templar's helmet and watching the bolt fly home.
Orsino struck the line of Templars with a fireball. Singed, their armor smoking, they fell back.
Hawke shut the massive doors again, and Varric took a deep breath in the sudden quiet and the freedom from the flashes of light.
"Why don't they just drown us as infants?" Orsino spat. "Why wait? Why give us the illusion of hope?"
"First Enchanter, we need to—" Bethany began.
But Orsino continued as if she had never spoken. "I refuse to keep running. I won't wait for her to kill me."
"We're not running," Hawke said. "We're standing our ground. Meredith will die long before you do."
She said it with grim pleasure. Whatever else Hawke wanted before she left Kirkwall, Meredith's death topped the list. Varric only hoped that it wouldn't be a situation where they took each other out. He didn't want to live through that one himself.
Orsino shook his head. "If only I could believe that."
He had the stance of a man who had decided to do something drastic; something drastic that would take the rest of them out as well.
"Quentin's research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside. But I see now there is no other way."
Quentin? Varric cast a swift look at Hawke. That note in the horrible warehouse basement where her mother had breathed her last. The one signed "O". Apparently now they knew who O was. Who had supported Quentin in his research, the research that had killed at least a dozen women.
Behind the doors, they heard the jingle of armor. The Templars had regrouped. They were coming back.
Orsino faced the door. A knife had appeared in his hand, a small gleaming knife that he held poised. "Meredith expects blood magic? Then I will give it to her. Maker help us all."
"First Enchanter, no!" Bethany cried out.
But Hawke was ahead of her, stepping in front of Orsino. "How dare you? First you support that monster and his research, you help cause the death of numerous women …"
"What research?" Bethany asked.
"The monster who killed Mother. Orsino was his source for magical assistance."
"No. No. No, please." Bethany's voice was filled with pain. She had trusted Orsino; he had been her teacher.
"I … didn't mean to. I didn't know what he was planning to do. I just wanted—something. Something that would give us power, let us fight back."
"And now that he's gone, now that all his experiments ended in nothing you could use, now you abandon your people by resorting to blood magic, proving to Meredith that everything she expected was right, leaving anyone who remains alive to be turned Tranquil or killed under the Right of Annulment?" Hawke looked down at him, her lip curling. "You're a miserable coward, Orsino. All of these mages deserved better."
"You don't understand. There is no other way." The knife hovered over his palm. Then, with a sudden sharp movement, it slashed. Blood spurted from the wound.
The bodies of the fallen mages were drawn to Orsino, his face and body flattening and elongating, blending in with those of the others, until what stood in front of them was no longer recognizable as anything that had once been a person.