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Varric had just lost his fourth consecutive hand of Wicked Grace, to Hawke's over-the-top delight, when finally the youngest de Launcet made his appearance from the floors above. "About time," he muttered. Imagining what had been going on upstairs—wishing he was capable of some of those same goings on upstairs himself—had been driving him crazy.

Hawke looked up as Emile de Launcet approached their table. "Well?"

"I'm not going to tell you about it!" he said indignantly.

"Was it worth it?" Varric asked, ignoring the sharp look Hawke cast him.

"I will accept whatever punishment the Templars mete out happily."

"Damn," the Rivaini remarked, "I haven't been giving Nella enough credit. Maybe I should see if she's still awake." She took her ale and hurried upstairs, calling out Nella's name.

"Well, come on, then," Hawke said briskly, motioning Emile toward the door. Varric followed her, and the last two members of their happy little group still awake, Sebastian and Anders, joined them. Just the people he didn't want to take to the Gallows.

Meredith was burning the midnight oil in her office when they arrived. She nodded coldly to her Templars, who took Emile away, and then turned to Hawke. "Well, Champion. One out of three."

"We were forced to kill Huon and Evelina. Unfortunate, but necessary," Hawke said wearily.

"Emile, however, seemed rather happy to be back."

Hawke shrugged. "I was very convincing."

"Apparently. The boy's father has made an impassioned appeal on his behalf. I am considering letting him live."

Varric wondered how many coins had been part of that 'impassioned appeal'.

"What say you, Champion? Do you believe Emile to be dangerous?"

"Not dangerous. Just stupid."

"His father implied as much." Meredith nodded sharply. "Very well. I shall let him live. Champion." Her tone made it clear she was finished with them.

Varric was turning to leave when he heard Blondie's outraged voice. "That's it? Pay us and send us on our way?"

"Yes, Anders. That's it." Hawke tugged at his arm, but he didn't move.

"Not a single thought given to the fact that you Templars brought all this on yourselves?"

Meredith came toward him. They were of similar heights, and she was able to look him directly in the eye. Varric found them both frightening. "Be very careful, mage. Your friendship with the Champion protects you only so much. We do what we think is best for this city. That is all we can do."

"This is not the time, Anders," Hawke said more gently, and this time, cowed by Meredith's ice-blue eyes, he allowed himself to be dragged away.

In the silence of the Gallows courtyard here in the dark of night, however, Blondie was not so restrained. "'Not the time'," he mimicked. "If not now, when? You cannot deny their crimes!"

"And Huon and Evelina?" the Choirboy asked. "Are we to hold them entirely innocent, then?"

"So the Templars are absolved of all responsibility? You cannot be that big an idiot."

"And you cannot seriously be blind to what just happened! Or perhaps you can. You've made no secret of your intent to lead the mages here in revolution."

"Well, I've tried not to shout it from the rooftops," Blondie countered. "You've just been around when I talk with my friends."

Choirboy took a step closer to the mage. "Well, as we have mutual friends—who for some reason don't want you to get hurt—let me tell you this: If you go forward with this revolt, the Chantry will bring its full might to bear. They will kill you."

Blondie shrugged. "Andraste was killed. That doesn't mean she failed."

Even Varric was shocked by the hubris of that comparison. The Choirboy was nearly apoplectic. "Do not compare yourself to Andraste!"

"Who should I compare myself to? That doddering old biddy of a Grand Cleric?"

"How dare you?" Choirboy's Starkhaven accent had thickened with emotion. "Elthina is everything a Grand Cleric should be. She's holy, wise—"

"Spineless," Blondie finished. "Hesitant. She's clay in Meredith's hands."

Choirboy straightened, his voice cold and dignified. "In the face of danger, sometimes the bravest thing is to stand back and trust that the Maker will see justice done."

"Well, if doing nothing sums up your religion, then Elthina is perfect. Personally, I'd prefer a Chantry that favors action over sloth."

For a moment, Varric thought the Choirboy was going to attack Blondie. Then he got hold of himself, turning to bow to Hawke. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll catch the ferry back."

"Of course. Thank you for your help, Sebastian."

"'Thank you for your help'," Blondie mocked her. "Fat lot of good he did."

"Fat lot of good any of us did," Hawke snapped. "You included. You'll get nowhere antagonizing Meredith. Who, may I remind you, holds my sister's well-being in her hands."

"I am trying to make this a world safe for your sister to be free!"

Hawke shook her head sadly. "No, you're not. You're trying to make this a world that isn't safe for anyone."

Blondie's lip curled in disgust. "I see. I didn't know you felt that way. Don't worry—I will not ask your aid again."

He, too, walked off, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Hawke and Varric alone. She reached out a hand, grasping his shoulder as if to hold herself up. "I'm afraid, Varric," she admitted softly. "I'm so afraid of what's to come."

Without thinking, his hand came up to cover hers. "You'll handle it, Hawke, as you always do."

"That is what I'm afraid of." With a final squeeze, she let go of him. "Come on, let's not miss the ferry and be stuck here all night." She looked up at the enormous statues of slaves that filled the courtyard. "I really don't like it here."