"He said, 'Well I died today when you took my breath away
With that Oklahoma sunshine on your face
And I'd find a way to promise you forever
Even if forever means I'm gonna have to sell my soul today"
- Poor Man's Poison, "George Law Man"
The battle was over, but the war had just begun.
The smell of blood and death was thick in the Gallows. Across the water, Kirkwall burned. Screams echoed into the night.
Once again, so many eyes looked to the Champion of Kirkwall for answers, Templars and mages both. He had none to give them.
And so, he walked forward. He waited for a knife in his back, from one of the surviving Templars or mages. It didn't matter who.
But none came, just the sound of footsteps behind him. A slight turn of his head, and he saw Fenris following him, along with Aveline and Varric. Slowly, the rest of the mages crept forward. Watching him, wondering if he was their new leader.
He wasn't. He was just a man.
Still, they waited for him, for the Champion who had spoken for them before, to say something. For the first time in his life, Garrett was voiceless.
He walked on, his companions at his back.
The alienage was burning, the heart tree ablaze. Tongues of flames flicked against the dark night, threatening to overtake Lowtown. Covering his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, Varric urged his companions forward. He knew these streets well. Though the smoke burned their eyes and the sound of screams reverberated around them, the dwarf knew the way. There was a warehouse, identical to so many around Kirkwall, where the door always hung a little crooked. Garrett spotted it first through the haze. He threw himself against the catawampus door, forcing his way into the warehouse.
Varric, the last to enter, slammed the heavy door shut behind him. The others coughed, trying to catch their breath. The sound of screams was at last muted, replaced by Garrett's and his friends' raspy coughs.
Garrett's lungs were short of air as struggled to catch his breath. He leaned heavily against his staff. Never before had a battle taken so much out of him. It was dark, the only light coming from the glow of flames through cracks in the door. Once Garrett had recovered enough to stand straight, he illuminated the tip of his staff, filling the room with dim light.
There was nothing remarkable about it: rows of crates, the smell of stale air and dust, empty rooms and empty chests.
Like the foundry. Too much like the foundry.
Visions flashed past Garrett's eyes: Orsino, blanketing himself with corpses. Leandra's clouded eyes. The smoke still hanging in his lungs was not just smoke, but burning flesh.
The Champion sank to his knees and vomited. A sheen of sweat covered him, soaking underneath his dark robes. He shook, hands and knees on the filthy warehouse floor.
"Garrett." Fenris's voice was kind, a tone reserved for his lover. The elf placed his hand on Garrett's shoulder as he knelt beside the mage. "You need rest."
Garrett rose. "We can get to the Estate from Darktown," Garrett told them, then winced. He'd sometimes used that passage to visit Anders quickly, and more than once Anders had used it to hide from the Templars. It was cramped and dank, but it would still serve its purpose.
"Hawke, no." Aveline's voice was sharp. "The city is rioting. How many men will be pounding at your door?"
"They will want blood," Fenris added. "If not the abomination's, then yours."
"That's nothing new." Garrett attempted to bring his normal glibness to the situation, but the quip sounded hollow now, even to his own ears.
"They're right, you know," Varric added, offering Garrett a waterskin. "Once word gets out about what really happened in the Chantry, Kirkwall will want to see mages pay. Even their beloved Champion."
"If I can contact my guards, I may be able to buy you some time," Aveline spoke up. "They can help clear a path for you out of the city."
"Out of the city?" Garrett's dark eyebrows arched. "This is my fault. I can't leave."
"It is the abomination's fault," Fenris drawled. "Not yours."
"But Anders…I helped him…" Anger stirred inside Garrett, mixed with disbelief. He'd helped gather the materials, and plant the bomb. Hadn't he agreed with Anders so many times before, pushed the other mage to keep fighting for freedom? "It may as well have been my doing." His head ached; he just wished that this whole night was a dream, and that he could wake up. "I need to make this right."
"You can't make it right if you're dead," Varric said.
Garrett looked to Fenris.
"They're right," the elf told him.
"But—" Garrett wanted to object. They wouldn't hear him.
"You can't keep fighting." Aveline's voice took on a softer tone. Kirkwall was her home as much as it was his. "Not tonight. We can rendezvous tomorrow."
The mage looked at his friends and confidantes. His eyes lingered on Fenris's face. Most wouldn't have recognized the slight frown on the elf's lips, the awkward way she shifted his weight. Even Varric would have written it off as his "broody" demeanor. Garrett did not. He recognized it as fear, not for himself, but for his lover. That alone made the mage relent. "Fine. We'll make for the Wounded Coast. Maker knows how many caves we've cleared out there. Varric?"
The dwarf looked up from fidgeting with his crossbow. "Yeah?"
"Will you check on Bodahn and Sandal? And Orana?" If there really were a mob at the gates of the Hawke Estate, he needed to make sure his servants were safe. Especially Orana; the elven woman would need Varric's help to survive Kirkwall.
He nodded. "Of course. I'll make sure they're safe.
"And I am coming with you," Fenris told him in no uncertain terms. Garrett smiled, despite his weariness. Despite everything.
"Thank you, Fenris."
"Hawke, if we do not…" Aveline started, but her voice was thick, holding back tears.
Hawke shook his head. "No, Aveline. We are not saying goodbye here."
She nodded, chewing her lip. "Then let me say good luck. To both of you."
"Thank you, Aveline."
She turned her face away from the pair, hiding tears in her eyes. "All right. Give us an hour." Her normal voice, the voice of a commander, returned. "Varric, you're with me."
Varric's last words were to Fenris: "Take care of him, Broody."
That left Garrett and Fenris alone in the warehouse.
Garrett wrapped his fingers tighter around the staff. The fighting had been bad when they'd left the Gallows. Who was to say what chaos had erupted during their brief respite? But he couldn't wait any longer.
They waited, listening to the sounds of rioting.
When the time came, Fenris nodded to Garrett. "Are you ready?"
Garett had always tried to avoid leaving Kirkwall at night. Sundermount was dangerous enough in full daylight, never mind pitch black. The thought of just leaving the warehouse was daunting, never mind scrambling through the wilderness. The ache was deep in Garrett's bones, expending so much of his mana at the Gallows tonight. "As ready as I'll ever be." Secretly, he thirsted for a drop of lyrium, something to get him through the next few hours. "Do you remember the cave of Tevinters we cleared out last week?"
"Of course. I doubt it's re-infested yet."
"Good. Then that's where we're heading."
Finally, they left the warehouse, and went into wider Kirkwall.
The passage from the undercity was rank as ever. It was cramped and narrow, ceilings low enough that Garrett had to duck his head so as not to hit the ceiling. The air odors of mud, brine, and human waste filled the stagnant air. Worse than the stench was the darkness. With only the dim light of Garrett's staff to see by, he and Fenris were forced to feel their way along the damp walls. When the path at last sloped upward, Garrett nearly got on his knees to thank the Maker that their trek out of the city was almost at an end.
Digging into the last reserves of his strength, they finally rose to the surface. Finally, they rose to the surface. After so much time in the dark, even the stars hurt Garrett's eyes. They shone above him coldly as he helped Fenris step out from the passage. For a moment the two said nothing, only breathed in the clean sea air.
Garrett embraced his lover, and for a moment, there was no fear, no weakness. They shared a kiss of relief and joy for surviving their hardest battle yet.
The stars blazed above, and Kirkwall burned.