My prey ran through the streets of Kirkwall, my furious strides eating the distance between us.

The part of me that was still thinking rationally expected him to head southeast, towards the city's docks. To get to a waiting ship to escape, to slip out of the city before anyone besides me realized who was responsible for the assassination. Instead he was cutting northwest through the alleys and side-streets, looping back around toward the main route to Hightown. Clearly aiming to catch up with his main target, risking exposure to ensure that Meredith didn't survive the day.

Whatever. It didn't matter.

He'd killed Petrice.

That was all that mattered.

All that would ever matter.

I vaulted a barrel, maybe ten paces behind him when he burst out into the first major street. It was mostly empty of people despite it being mid-afternoon; this part of Kirkwall well remembered what had happened the last time an explosion had gone off near the Alienage. They were showing damned good sense in taking shelter, abandoning half-finished construction projects in the interest of staying alive.

I was grateful for that. The dwarf could have vanished into a thick city crowd, but without one it was easy to track him when he cut right out of the alley, then tried to swerve down a side-street before I could emerge to see where we'd gone. I was too close for that ploy to work without a crowd to cover his movement, letting me stay hot on his heels.

Our boots pounded on the dirt road as we sprinted, eyes tracking us when we ran past shops and homes. He snarled as I drew another few steps closer, an arm vanishing into the cloth around him. I saw the sparks fly before it emerged with a lit grenade, and was already swerving right before he could toss it over his shoulder.

There was a winding ramp built on scaffolds around a new building, and I wasted no time in rushing up, flinching when the grenade tumbled past on my left. It went off with a crack just as I threw myself off of the wooden platform, landing in a roll, coming up to keep up my sprint.

It probably looked cool.

It cost me at least five paces on the bastard.

Snarling, I pushed myself harder, relying on my knowledge of the city to keep up the chase when he got out of my sight around a corner. He was clearly fixated on finishing off Meredith. Probably some scheme of Greg and Cousland's to stop the final act of the second game from happening. My only hope was that he kept that focus. Kept up his own pursuit of the wounded Knight-Commander, kept trying to get close enough to give his Golem more specific commands. The direction it would need to most quickly kill her. It gave me a route. A destination I knew he was aiming for.

Abandoning the streets, I swerved over to another ramping scaffold and bolted up to the roof. Taking the thieves' highway in broad daylight was a stupid-ass idea, but it was the only way I could think of to catch up. Rushing along the rooftop, I made the small leap to the next house over, scrambling across it before making the next jump.

That let me start to see the chaos unfolding in the city once again. Let me catch a glimpse of the Golem beginning a march up the stairwell to Hightown, the party laboring to carry Meredith's broken body barely ahead of it.

And up on the roofs with me were the Night's Watch Archers, flinging arrows at more men and women in dark cloaks. Here and there Guardsman were scrambling up as well, seemingly confronting both sides. The ones closest to the Watch must have been told what happened; they quickly joined us in chasing down people I assumed were Wardens. But the one closest to those same Wardens must have been told something else, from the way they shouted that the Knife-Ears were lying, and tried to go after us instead.

Happily leaving a mess in their wake, most of the Wardens started dropping down to the streets, doing their best to vanish amid the confusion.

"Halt, knife ear!" A woman's snarl came as the Guard tried to haul herself up, "They already told us you betrayed the Templars! You finally showed your-"

My boot slammed into her head like I was kicking a soccer ball, snapping it back and sending her flying back down to the street. I didn't bother watching to see if she survived the landing, instead whipping my eyes around to try and find my target. I didn't find him, but I did see two of the shrouded figures still on the roofs, off to the west. Coming back this way now that the Archers who'd been harassing them were thoroughly distracted. One smacked the other on the arm as they ran, pointing at me, and both changed course to start up their own pursuit.

"Fuck!" The word was a hiss, legs burning with the effort getting back up to speed. Part of me wanted nothing more to swerve as well, to rush right at them. One of them may have thrown the grenade that had killed Petrice.

...but they weren't the ring leader.

He had to die first.

Then I could track down the rest of them, and send them to join him in hell.

Somewhere on the other side of the Veil I heard bestial snarling, followed closely an answering challenge from Longing. Rage, or some kind of Hunting spirit was probably eager to start feasting, forcing the demonic lioness to defend the carcass she'd claimed for herself long ago.

The vague part of me that was still thinking rationally realized I'd made a mistake somewhere in there. I should have had my Dream-catcher on me today, in addition to having my mana drained away. That I really needed to make that a standing policy moving forward.

The rest of me focused on making the next jump, landing on top of a long stretch of apartments, eyes flicking between my path and the street, looking for my target.

I slowed up when I found him, only just barely reaching the street I'd been moving along, entering the market closest to the Hightown entrance. It was still mostly packed, the people here either having not heard or not cared about the chaos happening just a few blocks away. He'd gotten his fake-cane slung across his back, one hand resting on his belt while the other pumped with the motion of running.

He wasn't a neophyte at street fighting either. He wasn't bothering to look behind him; he knew there'd be plenty of warning from the civilians of someone else sprinting along, trying to attack his back. Instead he was checking every alley and doorway I could be lurking in... and checking above him.

The hand on his belt blurred when he saw me silhouetted by the afternoon sky, attacking despite the fact that we were a good twenty yards apart. Sunlight glinting on steel had me duck just before a thrown dagger would have slammed into my forehead, a strange reverberation and the taste of copper filling my mouth when it shot past.

Great. Enchanted throwing knives.

Darting to my left, I leaped down, kicked off a windowsill, and landed right in front of him. Another dagger appeared, turning aside my first thrust, his mouth set in a hard line within his beard.

I didn't bother with threats or promises.

He didn't bother asking what the hell I was doing.

We just did our level best to murder each other while people began shouting and screaming, clearing space around us.

Steel rang as I pushed him, abusing the longer reach of my blade, of my arm. He abused this strength, blocking my slashes directly, grunting at the impacts but not letting me drive him back. He was good. He was damned good, and damned quick, but a dagger's a shit weapon to fight a sword with.

I backed off when he tried to close, a quick cut slicing open his arm when he was a heartbeat slow in recovering from his attempt to thrust. He snarled, drew back, just in time to avoid me cutting open his guts, and then played dirty.

"Knife-Ears are rebelling!" He shouted, "Help me dammit!"

"The Wardens tried to-" I ducked a half-second before a construction worker could clock me with a two-by-four, then threw myself into a sideways roll to get the hell away from Brosca's dagger. "-fuck!"

"They killed Meredith!" Brosca apparently wasn't done, "Murdered a Revered Mother! Hang this bitch!"

He must have passed his fucking charisma check, because the crowd surged forward at his words. Another Guardsman was among them, already saying he'd always known that we were traitors, his sword gleaming as he led the mob in. I managed to block two more attacks from improvised clubs, took a blow on my armor, parried a thrust one from a sword, then...

...then I had to run, because I couldn't take on several dozen people at once.

Hate and rage boiled inside of me at the sight of Brosca smirking when I turned. When I forced my legs to carry me into an alley, scrambling up a collection of barrels to avoid the reach of several men trying to grab my legs. Hauling myself back onto the roof, I kicked the highest of the barrels over before anyone could follow, then got the hell away from the ledge when someone threw a rock at me.

I was ready to start screaming in frustration when the other Wardens caught up, leaping from one rooftop to another to close on me. Both were Human, male, and proved to have leather armor under their cloaks. One had a long dagger in his hand, the other a short-sword.

"Surrender." Dagger told me, taking a few steps away from his partner, letting them try and approach from two different angles. "Today has nothing to do with your kind."

A quick look confirmed that none of the Archers were anywhere nearby. None would be able to help me.

I was trembling with emotion, exertion. Out of mana.

And two Gray Wardens were about to kill me before I could avenge Petrice.

Fuck. That. Shit.

I bared my teeth at the pair of them, but when I spoke my words weren't directed at the Wardens. "All of my memories of when I was sixteen for your help today."

My devil responded at once. Invisible water rushed over me, through me, my legs trembling as strength flooded into my body. I felt mana flood back into my soul, the power making my fingers start to shake.

Longing didn't say anything. She didn't have to. I knew she'd heard me, was helping me, protecting me.

"Get out of my way." I snarled, that time very much directing it at the two men. "Or die."

Dagger narrowed his eyes, then rushed forward just in time for me to mutter, "Schwert."

The blue sparks of my telekinetic strike slammed into his left knee, wrenching the leg out from under him. He let out a surprised grunt, getting one hand down to try and catch himself when he slammed into the roof.

My sword ramming into his collar stopped him from getting up, the blade twisting free in a splatter of blood to catch the next Warden's attack. Wielding his own weapon like a club, he hammered at my guard, trying to simply batter his way through to kill me. Considering his size he'd have probably managed it if I hadn't just made a deal with a devil.

"Flickum bicus!"

He screamed when the little candle-light spell went off right in one of his eyes. The man jerked in agony, unable to stop his reaction. Unable to block my sword when I sank it into his throat just as I had his partner's.

"Fuck." I shook my head, spitting out some of the blood that had gotten into my mouth. Kneeling beside each corpse, I took a few precious seconds to check them for anything usable. Sword didn't have anything, but Dagger had one of the enchanted throwing knives, along with one last grenade.

I pocketed both before standing, rushing back to the edge of the roof. Hearing the crowd baying for my blood, shouting for a ladder.

...and I found Brosca back on the main street, nearly to the broad stairwell up, racing to catch up with the moving battle that had already made it into Hightown.

Snarling in frustration, I tore off after him once again, leaping across narrow alley, keeping my balance on an angled roof as I got back up to speed.

That quiet, still mostly-sane part of my brain marveled at the fact that I didn't feel tired at all. My legs weren't burning, neither were my arms. God above, I wasn't even breathing that hard. Longing was definitely coming through for me today.

The same could not be said for the city of Kirkwall. Chantry bells had begun to ring all around as everyone woke up to the fact that something was going on. People were shouting in confusion on the streets, then doing more pointing and bellowing when they saw me sprinting across the tops of their homes. When they saw arrows go flying past from where the Watch was still fighting with Guards against more Guards and a few other Wardens on the other side of the main street.

I ignored them all.

They didn't matter.

Only Brosca mattered.

My feet slammed into a second floor stairwell, the steps carrying me back down to the streets once I'd passed the mob hoping to murder me. Let me really start to sprint as I ran down the wide boulevard, swerving around or leaping over the crushed and wounded men and women that the Golem had left in its wake. It was almost exclusively Templars that were dead; civilians, guards, and Elves alike seemed to have merely been knocked senseless.

That dichotomy struck me as significant as I ran past them. Possible proof that this had been a plan cooked up by someone far more concerned about limiting collateral damage than Brosca was. I remembered that for later even as I realized I had new problem ahead of me.

Brosca had picked up help. Five of the Wardens who'd dropped from the roofs were escorting their boss, all of them moving in step with one another as they began clambering up the stairwell. Two of the Guards who'd been shoved aside by the Golem tried to get up, to get answers as to what the hell was going on.

Two enchanted knives sank into their foreheads before they could finish their challenge, and I caught the trail end of Brosca's orders.

"-get your potions down! We've got to catch up with them!"

Six to one odds wasn't good. Especially when going up against people at least good, probably a whole lot better, than me in straight combat. Doubly especially when I kept enough self control to restrain my magic. To stop myself from simply immolating them all right here in the open, in front of half the city.

Petrice would never forgive me if I avenged her, only to be executed by Meredith. Assuming the lynch mobs didn't string me up first for being an Elven apostate. Assuming Meredith survived, and it wasn't Cullen swinging the sword at my neck.

No flamethrowers.

I had that much self control.

I didn't have enough to stop myself from chasing after them anyway, boots striking each step as I desperately tried to close the distance, crushing discarded vials of some kind of potion on the first few stairs. If their leader hadn't been a dwarf, if another dwarf hadn't been in their party, they probably could have left me behind even with my spirit-enhanced endurance. The bastards' legs were just that much longer, their bodies refreshed from whatever they'd just drank... but there were dwarves among them, and Brosca's short strides slowed them down enough that I could keep pace in the long run up the grand stairs. Could slowly, painfully slowly, start closing the distance. That lasted until one of them looked back, shouting a warning to the others that I was still chasing them.

Throwing knives weren't my thing. At all.

The enchantments on the one I'd stolen apparently stopped that from mattering. My horrible throw was corrected mid-flight by the magic, the weapon flying in a metallic blur that ended at the woman's throat. She fell, thrashing, forcing me to leap over her when her body began tumbling back down the stairs.

Two more stopped, turning back. My candle-light spell ignited the wick on my grenade right near the end, and an even quicker casting of my telekinetic spell hurled it up just behind them. The blast cut them down, their bodies absorbing the impact for me.

"Get back here!" I screamed as I ran past their corpses, giving zero fucks about how much I could be screwing up canon right now. How I had no idea who those Wardens were, had been, could have been. "Get back here!"

My magic came easily, too easily. A quickly cast barrier turned aside the knives the remaining trio threw back at me, even if it shattered from the sheer force of the enchanted weapons. Another bit of telekinesis sent one of their grenades flying back right at them when they tried to toss it over their shoulder at me, leaving me free to cut open a Dwarven woman's throat as I clambered over her thrashing body.

The last pair of Wardens turned to hold their ground when they got to the top of the stairs, leaving me to finally slow up my pace. My borrowed long-sword rising to en garde, my body settling to a stop three long steps down.

Behind them the courtyard was empty, one last Templar laying dead where she'd clearly tried to slow down the Golem. Where it had broken her, a shattered sword in one hand, her bow laying abandoned a few feet away.

"Idiot." Brosca growled at me, forcing my eyes to lock onto his. "We're doing this world a favor, you stupid bitch."

I sneered back at him. "She doesn't even have the idol, you fucking moron."

He snorted. "Doesn't matter. Howe? Deal with her. She won't risk killing you."

Howe? Shit. Right, that was... Nathaniel Howe. The redeemed one who joined the Wardens in that expansion. The man who would have been the one to save the Hawke sibling who'd been blighted, if things hadn't gone so far off the fucking rails.

Two hours ago I wouldn't have wanted to fight him. Wouldn't have wanted to risk throwing things off more than I already had.

Howe's blade met mine as Brosca turned, bolting off once again, leaving his subordinate to fight me in Hightown's entryway.

"Please!" Howe gasped when our steel rang, when he slowly gave way to my aggressive attacks. When it was finally my turn to be the armored one. To abuse my protection, to take advantage of the fact that he was wearing cloth with minimal leather protection beneath. To be the one to accept a glancing hit that just slid off my partial plate, to cut through his sparse protection, drawing blood on an arm.

"You don't understand what's at stake here!" He yelled, retreating as we left the stairs behind.

Oh I fucking did. I knew it better than he did!

I tried to circle around him, to dart past to chase Brosca, only for Howe to shift his feet, keeping his body in my way.

He parried a thrust, blocked a slash, then pulled off a neat double-feint that nearly let him chop the top half of my head off. As it was I barely ducked in time, and then only narrowly rolled aside before he could kick me back down the stairwell.

The Warden pursued, hard, having apparently been taking it easy on me in the first exchange. Now he was taking me seriously, and he was kicking my ass as a result. Our next exchange went just as poorly, leaving me frantically defending, trying to come up with a new plan.

I scrambled back from a slash, hissed two words trying to burst his eye just as I had the Sword-Warden, only to watch the sparks of my magic get swallowed up by some kind of amulet around his neck. A desperate follow-up with a Schwert worked better; it was still weakened, but it was strong enough to rock him back, to give me space to get set once again.

"...you would defend Templars?" His eyes narrowed in visible confusion. "Someone like you?"

"Someone like me," I spat, "Has no choice. Or did you miss my radar-dish ears?"

Howe clearly missed the reference but understood the tone, wincing, sword wavering again. "Please, girl. Don't make me do this. It has to be-"

"Schwert!"

He threw himself sideways at once, clearly aiming to dodge the strike he thought I'd just sent at him.

The broken Templar's sword I'd grabbed with my sparks homed in on his calf, slamming into the hilt when he planted his feet once more. Howe yowled in pain, tottered, and gaped when I sprinted past him again. I saw him try to twist, to pursue, only to topple with another scream of pain when the blade cut at his muscles.

Then I was beyond him, already sprinting to catch up with Brosca.

A bare whisper of magic, and that coppery taste was my only warning before another knife screamed in from a dark corner. Somehow I got my sword around, deflecting the thrown weapon away from my neck. I had enough time to see Brosca lurking in the shadows before his second throw slammed into my thigh just as I'd just buried steel in Howe's.

I'd still been moving, and I toppled with a choked off scream just as he he had. I hit the ground hard enough that I rolled, coming to a stop when I collided with the Templar's corpse.

"Finally." Brosca growled, stalking around me, staying way the hell out of reach. "I'm going to let Smith have it for not telling us you're a mage."

"Schwert!"

My sword lept from my hands, hunting his throat, guided by a stream of blue sparks. He didn't move. Just sneered in the split-second before a field of red-purple sparks simply appeared around him. The barrier shattered on impact, just as mine had, but it left the sword to clatter to the ground at his feet rather than bury itself in his neck.

Something inside of his cloak flared with magic one last time, then went dark.

"Heh." His beard moved with his pleased grin, a broad hand pulling out a small stone, turning it over before putting it into a pocket. "Damn that girl does good work. Howe? Knock this bitch out when you get a potion in you. We'll need to take her back with us, see if her visions line up with Smith's."

I tried to get up.

Throwing knife number three slammed into my other thigh before I could even think of summoning a barrier, putting me right back down with a chorus of swear words. Knife four took my right shin, making damned sure I wouldn't be standing up anytime soon. The pain making it hard to do more than scream and snarl.

"Stay, bitch." Confident in his overkill, Brosca was already walking away, pulling the control rod off his back again. "I'll be right back, Howe! Hurry up back there!"

Howe was already pulling the steel out of his leg with one hand, another holding up a potion so he could rip the stopper out with his teeth. Brosca was leaving, jogging casually away, ready to make sure that Meredith didn't make it to safety.

I glared death at him, the word for my flamethrower on my lips before I saw the first civilians starting to return. Calling out in confusion, demanding to know what was going on. I saw Brosca ignore them, picking up the pace.

I couldn't cast at him. I'd die if I did.

I had no weapons on me. The only thing in reach was a corpse and...

...and a bow.

I was shit with a bow. Fiolya had tried to teach me, but I was lucky to get anywhere near the target. And that was in a calm setting, where I was standing, not wounded, in a proper stance. This would probably trying to shoot while prone, unbalanced.

It was all I had.

Fingers seized an arrow from the dead woman's quiver, yanking it out. I heard myself scream when I lunged for the bow itself, felt my legs cramping up around the knives sticking out of them.

Brosca whipped his head around at the noise, openly sneering when he saw me grab the bow.

He was still sneering when the arrow slammed into his throat.

When I killed a Warden Origin.

When I avenged Petrice.

Which... was a thing, because I didn't remember putting the arrow to the string at all. Or aiming. Or doing anything like that.

Yet when I glanced down, I realized that I must have, because the arrow was gone, and I had thin line of blood on my fingers from pulling it back.

...and when had I yanked out the knives from my legs? And stood up?

...Longing?

"Busy!" She snapped back at once, "Wrath and Grief are both trying to take bites from you!"

Ah.

Well, at least she'd been able to help.

Movement behind had me whip around, another arrow somehow in my fingers, bow up and aimed at Nathienal Howe. The Warden was staring at me in shock, hands spread away from his body.

"...your prisoner, lady." He said diffidently. Loudly.

I was frowning when I heard a woman call out, "Dame Maeve!"

Guard-Lieutenant Aveline stormed into the courtyard, what looked like a phalanx's worth of the City's Guard right behind her, along with a handful of Templars. Those without helmets were clearly sweating, panting for breath. They must have run the entire distance from the tourney grounds to make it back here so quickly.

"I..." The world began to tip, the bow falling from my suddenly nerveless fingers, and only Aveline racing forward, an arm wrapping around my chest, kept me upright. "...ow."

She turned, bellowing to someone over her shoulder. "Potions! Now! Dame Maeve, what in the Maker's name happened here!?"

I heard myself mumbling the words. "Wardens. Tried to assassinate Meredith. Killed her entire Guard, set a Golem to finish her off. Mother Petrice is dead. Don't know how many others. Plenty of others."

Aveline nearly dropped me in shock, only barely managing to tighten her grip. "Maker's blood, you... you can't be..."

"Used Qunari explosives to lure her out of the Alienage. Then more to cripple her." I rasped. "Chased them. The dwarf. Has the control rod. Need it. Need proof."

Her head whipped around once again, then she nodded, "Beloved! The rod!"

"I have it!" Another man called back. I managed to look to see Aveline's should-be-dead husband picking up the control rod, "And this is definitely Warden Brosca! I recognize him! How does one disable a Golem?"

No one had any idea, and he resolved to snap the rod over his knee at about the same time as a Guardsman finally got a potion up to my lips. I downed it, then another. Felt my wounds stitching shut. Felt the wave of hunger and exhaustion brought on by the liquid rolling in to replace them. Whatever power Longing had given me fading away so quickly that it was like it had never been.

...and I owed her another year of memories.

...didn't matter.

Petrice was dead.

I'd avenged her... but she was still dead.

More guards had pushed Howe along. Bound his arms behind him, gagged him. Another two had grabbed Brosca's corpse, carrying it along as Aveline gently forced me to start walking. To follow the trail of destruction deeper into Hightown. Other Guards raced down into Lowtown, to get control of the chaos. Shouting for their comrades to stand down, to support the Watch. To capture any Warden they could find.

Aveline asked more questions as we moved, and I heard myself telling her what had happened. Everything from the first blast to the second. To the Golem. To my pursuit of the Wardens, killing everyone in my way. The mob that Brosca had tried to set on me. The few Guards who'd attacked me and the Watch rather than than the Wardens, and the many who'd done it the other way around.

I was still mumbling the details when we reached the main square to find Knights from half the nations of Thedas sealing it off, bolstered by Templars and Guards, all of them running around as Cullen shouted orders in the distance.

Aveline got me through the cordon.

The shattered remnants of the Golem lay on the other side. More Knights were still hammering away at it. Literally, they were using war-hammers to break it apart, making sure it would never get back up again.

"Another rejuvenation potion at once!" Vivienne, Madame de Fer, was kneeling nearby. She wore no mask, and her elegant silver and blue robes were soaked in blood as she hovered over a still form. "The shards were laced with some kind of toxin, I need a full herbalist's kit as well!"

Dumar and Alistair were standing nearby, the former nervously wringing his hands as he stared down at Meredith's pale form. "Can you save her?"

"Yes, but not out here!" Vivienne turned, snapping at a nearby Templar. "Get me that potion, and then we must get her into the Chantry so I may work in peace!"

"But-"

Alistair's bark had the authority Dumar lacked. "At once, Templar!"

"Messere!" Templars rushed around, fetching a Chantry Mother who darted in with a vial. Vivienne seized it and carefully got a few drops between Meredith's still lips.

"Viscount!" Aveline's shout came as we drew closer, somehow keeping my nearly limp body upright. "Dame Maeve is here! She witnessed the assault, and killed the one responsible!"

What felt like a thousand pairs of eyes turned on us. On my blood soaked legs, the way I was hanging off of Aveline. Turned on the Guardsmen who threw Brosca's body down onto the ground, my arrow still protruding obscenely from his neck.

And...

And I got see what Alistair must have looked like when he'd been told Loghain would be a Warden. His gentle features twisted into a fury that had hard-bitten men and women shy away from looking anywhere near him, clenched fists shaking at his sides. He spoke before the Viscount could, before anyone else could. His voice was like granite cracking. "Proof?"

Aveline's husband threw the shattered control rod down next to the body. "He was wielding this, your majesty. A control rod."

The Viscount found his own anger a moment later, his back straightening. "The Wardens. The Gray Wardens of Ferelden attempted to murder a Knight Commander of the Templar Order!? In our city, during the Grand Tournament!?"

"More." I heard myself rasp as loudly as I could. "Her Guard are dead. Mother Petrice is dead."

Dumar's eyes widened, then narrowed as he whipped around. "King Alistair!"

"I know!" Alistair snarled back, eyes not leaving Brosca's corpse. "Maker damn you, I know! You! Find Warden Commander Cousland this instant! Arrest her and every other Warden you can find, in my name! Check every ship in harbor, raise the chain, and seal the gates!"

Knights in Ferelden's colors ran off at once, and I heard Brennan somewhere shouting for the Guard to assist them. To obey Alistair, to close off every way in or out of Kirkwall. I turned tiredly, finding my friend giving me her most apologetic expression before she ran off with them to command the hunt.

"We have one already!" Aveline waved for Howe to be shoved forward. "I do not know how many others will remain. Dame Maeve killed at least six in her pursuit."

Allistair's death glare had turned to Howe, and actually made the other man shrink, but at Aveline's words he jerked his attention back to me in what looked like surprise. "You did?"

"Six dead, one prisoner." I corrected tiredly. "They were in my way."

"What?" He'd just begun to frown when the Viscount cleared his throat.

Dumar's voice was quieter, almost understanding. "The knight and the Revered Mother were in a chaste relationship."

Alistair's anger didn't bade, but there was the smallest wince. "Ah."

The Viscount took several steps closer, visibly forcing himself not to look as they finally got Meredith's cot moving, carrying her rapidly over toward the Grand Chantry. I thought I saw Elthina rushing out to meet them, falling into step with Vivienne as they raced to save the Knight-Commander's life.

"Dame." Dumar said quietly. "Lady Maeve?"

My eyes blinked slowly, turning back to him. "Thrask. Trevelyan. They alive?"

"Yes, but both are wounded. Incoherent, or so I thought. I... did not believe what they tried to say before they were taken for treatment." He admitted. "I am sorry for your loss, lady."

...I wasn't doing this tonight. Not tonight.

"...tired." I told him. "I'm going to Varric's estate."

"Of course. There will hardly be a trial tonight, not when our time must be spent finding the remaining Wardens and praying for the Knight-Commander's life." The Viscount sighed, "We will deal with the remaining fallout, and your reward for ending this another time. Guardswoman? Escort the Knight to the Deshyr's estate, then return here at once. I will send for you tomorrow, Lady Maeve, so that you may be involved in resolving this... catastrophe."

Reward. Another reward.

For what? Missing the men on the roof?

For letting Petrice die?

"Yes, messere." Aveline replied, still strangely gentle as she got me moving again. "Come on. Easy now."

Four more Guards formed up around us as she led me away. She said nothing on the walk. Just offered me some water, which I drank. One of the Guards offered me something a lot stronger, which I drank as well.

Varric's butler was shocked when I walked in to the estate, bustling over, "Lady Maeve! I thought everyone was in Lowtown for the evening!"

"They are." I muttered, already brushing past him, Aveline shutting the door quietly behind me. "Send someone to tell them I'm here. Tell them Petrice is dead."

"I-what!?"

I ignored his horrified yelp, already shuffling past. "I'll be... in Hawke's room. Yeah. There. Oh. Send someone to the Alienage. Find my squire and get her up here too. Tell her I need everything."

"I... yes, lady, of course." He was already racing off, shouting for other servants.

Limping steps brought me down the stairs, to the main living level underground. Along the quiet hallways until I reached the rooms that Hawke had been staying in. Varric had managed to hide most of his good booze from me, but Hawke had found plenty of it. Hidden it in her trunks, in her wardrobe, and even under her bed.

A mumbled word set the room's small fireplace alight, giving me warmth to collapse into a chair with a bottle of whiskey.

"...you there?" I asked the air.

She sounded tired, worn out, when she spoke into my ear. "Yes."

"...thanks for today."

"I did little." Longing replied. "Merely stopped others from feasting on your in your weakness."

I huffed, taking a swig of the whiskey. "You did more than that. I'd have died if you hadn't refreshed my mana. Helped with the bow."

There was a started pause, then Longing murmured. "...what? I did what?"

I felt myself freeze. "...was that not you? I made you an offer."

"...I did not hear you. I only protected your spiritual self. Ensured no other spirit could touch you." A sharp yank at our tether made me twitch, "There is no other tether here. Just ours."

...then how the hell had I...

"...dammit. Grief is back." Her presence faded from around me as she moved off to protect her claim against another Elder for the second time tonight.

I sighed, bringing the bottle to my lips.

I'd figure out what the fuck had happened to me later.

Petrice was dead.

Petrice was dead.

The bottle rose again.