Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Varric Tethras is a fraud, a cheat, and a very skilled liar, as writers are wont to be.

There was a story that Varric Tethras told Cassandra Pentaghast, a tale of Abigail Hawke and her journey to becoming the Champion of Kirkwall. The tale was romantic, thrilling, full of heroic maidens and dastardly villains, but it was in no way accurate.

The woman who was to be the Champion of Kirkwall arrived in the city with her family. Her brother and sister, Carver and Bethany, her mother, Leandra and the newest addition of Aveline Vallen. They fled Lothering when the darkspawn attacked, and would have been lost in the wilderness were it not for the assistance of an elderly apostate. They came over from Gwaren at the height of the Blight, when Kirkwall was so afeared of the Blight that they cut the city off from everyone but the most reputable of traders. Only people with money or goods could get in, and refugees such as the Hawkes had neither.

Leandra was born to the noble house of Amell, which might have given them some leverage at one time, but the Amell name was not worth much anymore. A mage in the Amell family and Gamlen Amell’s habits and ill-use of his fortune had lost the family its noble title. The fact that Bethany and Abigail were apostate mages would have meant that appealing directly to an administrative authority was out of the question, for fear of getting Templars involved. All of that meant that the Hawkes were having a great deal of trouble getting into Kirkwall.

Gamlen, however, still had enough contacts with the local smuggling gangs that meant with some effort, he could get the family into the city. To pay back the cost, Carver, Bethany and Abigail could be hired under Athenril, the leader of the smugglers. Aveline offered her services as well, not much liking being in debt to smugglers. As she was only one woman and technically not part of the Hawke family, however, her debt was lower, and she only had to work for Athenril for three months instead of a year.

It was a neat solution for one problem, but the problems did not end simply because they succeeded at getting into the city.

Gamlen had managed to gamble away the entire family estate, down to every last candleholder and curtain in the Amell mansion. The Hawkes and Aveline crammed themselves into Gamlen's tiny Lowtown slum, a fact which Gamlen complained about at length.

After about a month in the service of the smuggler Athenril, Abigail managed to talk Athenril into letting Carver and Bethany off the hook for debt repayment. Abigail was the best suited to smuggling, better with people and better with violence than either Carver or Bethany.

For all that Carver had been a soldier, his capacity for violence was very small, though he would often claim otherwise. Bethany was a spirit healer, and had a healer's heart. Abigail did not want to force either of them to be warriors if they didn't have to be.

Smuggling gave Abigail the chance to make some connections in Kirkwall's extensive criminal underworld, but other than that, the year Abigail spent in Athenril's employ was hardly worth mentioning, apart from how it allowed Abigail and Varric Tethras to meet for the first time.

The initial meeting of Abigail Hawke and Varric Tethras was far more ignoble than Varric would have people believe.

A fortuitous and charming meeting? Hardly. It was as simple a thing as this:

Varric needed something from the black market. Abigail secured it, and brought it to him.

“Are you Varric Tethras?” Abigail asked him, spotting the only dwarf in the Hanged Man. Dwarves were common enough in Kirkwall, but more often in the Merchant's District and Hightown, not slumming in a filthy den like the Hanged Man.

“That's me,” Varric said, giving her half of a grin. He was a redhead, a less than common sight. What truly made him stand out was that he chose to forgo his beard, which was a bit of a crass fashion statement for dwarves, especially dwarven men.

“I have something for you,” she passed the package (innocuous and wrapped up with brown paper and string, as if it were a legitimate package) over to him.

“Thanks,” he flashed a full smile at her. “Tell Athenril thanks for me, would you? I've been waiting for this.”

“Of course,” Abigail said with a tiny smile in response.

And that was how they met. Not nearly as flashy as Varric himself would tell it, but then again, Varric always did have a soft spot both for Abigail and for the dramatic arts.

When her year of service for Athenril was up, Abigail immediately set about finding different work. The legality of smuggling work put Abigail on edge, and made the rest of the family extremely nervous. There were little work options for apostate mages, as both legal and illegal options opened the possibility to detection by Templars, but illegal work had the added danger of the Guards. Aveline may have managed to join the Guard, but she was by no means in a high enough position that she could get Abigail out of serious trouble.

In addition to the trouble of getting work, the Templars had become much more vigilant within the recent year. Many rumors circulated as to why this might be, and it was generally agreed upon that it had something to do with the Gray Wardens, but no one knew for certain.

Since word had come from across the sea of the defeat of the Archdemon and the end of the Blight, one would think that the vigilance of the Guards and Templars would decrease, but it seemed that something had happened that put them all on edge. There were rumors, of course, but everyone knew not to trust rumors in Kirkwall.

Whatever the case, it made getting work very difficult for many people, apostate mages most of all.

Bounties and treasure hunting were some of the few jobs that were fair game for mages of all kinds, treasure hunting especially, as it involved going to far away locales where people could use a mage and might be less than picky about the legality of magic.

After the Blight, the Deep Roads were supposed to be easier to traverse for a little while. Because of this, there were about a dozen expeditions to the Deep Roads that were planned by various merchants, mercs, and treasure seekers. Carver, Bethany and Abigail had been to everyone in town who might have been hiring, but had been turned away every time. Most expeditions simply did not want any very young, mostly inexperienced refugees on their teams.

They had no luck until Abigail came across Bartrand Tethras' expedition. Bartrand was a sour, unpleasant dwarf with a quick temper, but he was Varric's brother. So Abigail bypassed Bartrand entirely and went straight to Varric.

She, Carver and Bethany met Varric in his preferred locale of the Hanged Man. It was never quite clear why Varric loved the Hanged Man so very much, as the drink was expensive for how unpleasant it was, the smells and general atmosphere were vile, and the company was even worse. Nevertheless, it was where Varric could almost always be found, and he even maintained a room there. It was possible he liked it because of the cheap lodging, but he never confirmed that one way or the other.

“I heard that your brother's been planning an expedition to the Deep Roads, Varric,” Abigail told him, sitting down across from his desk.

“Now where'd you hear that?” Varric said with a grin.

“Are you going to help us or not?” Carver demanded.

Abigail rolled her eyes and elbowed Carver in the ribs.

“Easy, Junior,” Varric said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I'll see what I can do—Bartrand doesn't need any more sell-swords.”

“It seems as if no one does,” Abigail said with a slight frown.

“No one wants any healers either,” Bethany said with a slight sigh, leaning her head on her hand. “I'd've thought they'd at least want someone who could stitch up wounds...”

Varric grimaced. “You're a little late in the game," he said. “Everyone's scrambling to get into the Deep Roads, especially after that whole thing in Amaranthine.”

“What happened in Amaranthine?” Carver asked. “I’ve heard about a dozen rumors, and they all sound ridiculous.”

“Athenril heard it was something about darkspawn attacks,” Abigail said. “The Wardens ended up burning down the city—or something of the sort.”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “The Ferelden Wardens had some trouble, and now it turns out the Deep Roads aren't as empty as we thought.”

“And how does that relate to burning down Amaranthine?” Carver asked, shocked.

“The place got overrun by darkspawn,” Varric said. “Not sure what happened, but the city basically got destroyed. Not exactly what I’d call one of the Wardens' finest moments,” he added with a grimace.

Abigail sat back in her chair. “Well, in any case—about Bartrand's expedition...?”

“We're in the same boat as everyone else,” Varric said. “We already have as many mercs as we need, and we already have a healer.”

“You could use more than one?” Bethany suggested.

Varric snorted. “Not to hear Bartrand tell it,” he said. He sighed and leaned back. “Truth is, Bartrand's been tearing his hair out, trying to fund this expedition.”

“What are we supposed to do about that?” Abigail asked.

“Well, if you helped fund it somehow, we could take you on as a partner,” Varric explained.

Abigail frowned, spreading her hands. “Varric, our entire problem is that we don't have any money. If we did, we wouldn't be joining such a dangerous expedition.”

“It's not as bad as all that,” Varric said, waving his hand. “Anyway, no one else wants to pitch in—if you got me so much as a single sovereign, I'd be happy.”

“Do we even have enough money between us for a sovereign?” Carver asked, a fairly reasonable question.

“I do have some leads on some bounties,” Varric pointed out. “And some people who might want help. Paying people.”

“That's better than what we have,” Abigail said. “Which is nothing.”

“You gotta start paying attention to the bounty notices around town,” Varric said with a chuckle. He leaned back. “I can give you the names of a few people who might pay you,” he said.

“Why can't you do any of these jobs?” Carver asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Well, a lot of them need more than one person,” Varric said, his tone dry. “And I'm kind of busy with the merchant thing. If you wanted me to help out, I wouldn't say no—but like I said, a lot of these jobs need a team, or else they're just suicide.”

“Alright,” Abigail said. “But first—why doesn't anyone want to fund your expedition? Is there something wrong with it? Is it more dangerous than the other ones?”

Varric shook his head. “Most people want to sign on with a big Orzammar expedition,” he said. “Or with one of the larger Merchant's Guild families. And honestly, no one likes Bartrand. That's the big problem, right there.”

“So it's not a problem with the expedition itself?”

“Nah—everyone's just crowding us out, is all.”

Abigail nodded. “Well, alright. But I'm keeping an eye on things, to be sure. Anyway, you said that you have some bounties we could do?”

Varric had actually been keeping track of several bounties, just in case the chance came up. He and Bartrand really were having a difficult time trying to get the funds for their expedition. Abigail mentioned the possibility of taking on one of the smaller bounties together. She, Carver and Bethany had up until now been one team, and were always short a lockpicker. Varric knew about the picking of many locks, as he told them, and he was quite happy to join them.

Varric, it turned out, was an excellent and experienced fighter with one of very, very few dwarven crossbows this side of Kal'hirol in his possession. They went on one short errand with him—someone with money had lost something of theirs, and wanted someone else to retrieve it. After successfully retrieving the item, Varric and his crossbow became a far more permanent fixture with Abigail and her siblings.

Of course, there was one other person Abigail and the Hawkes could count on both for help, and for a semi-steady supply of work.

Abigail went to visit Aveline at the barracks of Viscount's Keep. She caught the redhead in between patrols, idly cleaning her sword.

“Oh—Abigail!” Aveline looked up, surprised. She had taken her Guard armor off, and was dressed in a soft shirt and pants, her feet barefoot. She had freckles all down her arms, put there by the light of the Kirkwall sun.

“Aveline!” Abigail smiled and they grasped hands as Aveline got to her feet. She towered over Abigail, and just about everyone else she ever encountered. In benefited her greatly when she was arresting people.

“What are you doing here?" Aveline asked. "You know I'll come by sometime next week...”

Abigail shrugged. “I wanted to know if you had any more work,” she explained. “How's the Guard life? Any more problems with the Templars?”

Aveline's face fell.

The Templars and the Guard were very intertwined in Kirkwall, and it chafed on Aveline in unexpected ways. Few decisions were made by the captain of the Guard that weren't also run by Knight-Commander Meredith. Meredith didn't interfere with Guard business very often, but the fact that the Guard was constantly informing the Templars of their business was somewhat unnerving.

“What is it?” Abigail asked, her eyes narrowed.

Aveline opened her mouth to speak, but looked over Abigail's head, and her eyes widened. She grabbed Abigail’s arm, tight enough to bruise, and guided her around a corner.

“You need to be more careful,” she said.

“Why? What's the matter?”

“That business in Amaranthine riled the Templars up,” Aveline explained. “They're here more often now than they ever were.”

“Aveline, let go,” Aveline was still holding on very tightly to Abigail's arm. Aveline looked down at her hand with slight surprise, as if she hadn't realized what she was doing, and released her. “The Templars have been all over Lowtown, too—what have you heard about Amaranthine? I heard the city was burned down--”

“By the orders of the Wardens,” Aveline said in an undertone. “Surana, the one who killed the Archdemon--”

“I remember.” everyone knew the name of Surana, the hero of Ferelden. Everyone knew the story of how she killed the Archdemon. Though the details changed, the outcome remained the same. “Why does that concern the Templars?”

Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose. “It's ridiculous,” she said. “But some decisions King Alistair and Surana made stepped on the Templars’ toes, and I suppose the burning of Amaranthine was the last straw, even if it was to do with darkspawn. Apparently the Lady Seeker--”

“Who?”

“The Seekers—those the Templars answer to. Apparently the Lady Seeker has told her Templars to be on the lookout for Surana, as they have no idea where she is.”

“I still don't really see what that has to do with us.” Abigail frowned, a line appearing between her brows.

Aveline spread her hands. “Since the Blight is over, they think she shouldn't have the authority she does—and Amaranthine proves them right. So now they’re all over everywhere, in case any Wardens and squirrelled away, I suppose.”

Abigail folded her arms. “What exactly happened? Do you know?”

“All I know is, Amaranthine is destroyed,” Aveline said, her tone dark. “I don't think it means the Templars should be sticking their nose in Guard business, but I understand why they're doing it. Destroying a city cannot go without consequence.”

Abigail held up her hands. “Fine—I didn't come to talk about this.”

“Oh—yes, of course. Why are you here?” Aveline asked, a look of concern crossing her face. “Is everything alright? How are Leandra and Bethany and Carver—is Carver still trying to find work?”

“We’re...managing.” Abigail said. “Gamlen's complaining a little less since you've moved to the barracks.”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “He's moved on to complain about other things, I'm sure,” she said.

“Yes. Carver applied to the Guard, or at least that's what he told me. Did you hear anything about that?”

Aveline grimaced. “I did.”

“And?”

“And, I told the Captain not to take him.”

“Why?” Abigail asked, surprised. “He could use a job—you know not many people around here want to hire refugees.”

“He's temperamental, doesn't like taking orders, and he's very young, Abigail,” Aveline said, shifting from one foot to another.

“He isn't too young to do merc work,” Abigail pointed out.

Aveline snorted. “The hiring standards of mercs aren't up to me. If we were to take him on, I worry that he'd become something of a loose cannon, and that's the last thing we need.” she paused. “And hiring him would bring more scrutiny to your family,” she added. “We do conduct background checks, Abigail, and they'd dig into your family history. Even one mage is a red flag for them,” she shook her head. “And if they found out about you and Bethany--”

Abigail sighed and closed her eyes. “I see,” she said. “Yes, that'd be a problem for us.” she put a hand on her hip and rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “Do you have any bounties?” she asked. “Mother's still trying to find some steady work, so is Carver, but Bethany and I can't.”

“I do have one or two, actually,” Aveline said. “And there is some Guard business I could use some outside help on.”

“Maybe Carver and Varric could help you with that.” Abigail stroked her chin in thought.

“Varric?”

“Varric Tethras. He's trying to fund an expedition to the Deep Roads, and he's the only one who might sign us on, so we're helping each other out. He doesn't really have a steady job either, but he's good with a crossbow. He has one of those dwarven ones.”

“Really? I don't think I've even seen one of those before,” Aveline said, raising her eyebrows. “Just the Ferelden ones, and they don't even use those up here.” she snorted. “The Guards all prefer the longbows. The Captain says ordering crossbows would be too expensive, no matter how many times I try to tell him they're easier to use, and faster--” she shook her head. “Anyway, Abigail—a Deep Roads expedition, really?”

Abigail shrugged. “Carver can only get merc work, and Bethany and I are pretty limited in the jobs we can take, even the—not so legitimate ones,” she said. “No one wants to hire Gamlen, and Mother's looking for work but no one wants to hire a Fereldan, either, never mind that both of them have learned all those things nobles learn--”

“Abigail, you should have come to me sooner if it was a problem,” Aveline said, her brow furrowed. “I have lots of bounties and leads—.”

“I hardly want to be doing merc work forever, Aveline. You of all people know there is a fairly short list of old mercs around,” Abigail said.

“There is, at that, but even fewer is the list people who've gone to the Deep Roads and back.” Aveline furrowed her brow and crossed her arms, tapping one bare foot on the ground in thought.

“And if we do make it back from the Deep Roads, we'll have enough money to get out of Lowtown,” Abigail insisted, turning over her hands in a placating gesture. “Maybe even get the estate back from whoever Gamlen sold it to.”

“Maker, Abigail, you should kick that man out of your house,” Aveline said, rolling her eyes.

“It doesn't belong to us, it belongs to him.” as Gamlen repeatedly reminded them.

“After he somehow gambled away an entire fortune, he'd probably deserve to be thrown out,” Aveline told her with a scowl. She and Gamlen had constantly gotten into fights when she had lived with the Hawkes.

“That’s entirely likely,” Abigail agreed. “Look, I can't get anywhere near the Deep Roads, or anywhere else for that matter if I’ve not any money, so if you have any bounties we could get, that would be just perfect.”

Aveline sighed and brushed a strand of red hair out of her eyes. “If you're so bound and determined to risk your neck, I suppose I can't stop you,” she said. “Just—tell me if you're doing anything that you might need help for. Don't drag me into anything illegal.”

“I won't,” Abigail assured her. “Or, I will endeavor not to.”

“Abigail...” Aveline rubbed her forehead.

“One of the errands I still need to do isn't illegal,” Abigail said, switching tack. “I need to go up to the Sundermount.”

Aveline looked surprised. “Still? You haven't delivered that--” her lip curled. “--amulet yet?”

“I haven't the time,” Abigail explained, pushing her bangs off her forehead and putting a hand on her hip. “And I don't know anyone who could come with us who knows the mountain.”

“You can take a map, you know,”

“Not a good decision,” Abigail said. “It's not like other mountains. Everyone I've talked to has stories about demons and Dalish and who knows what else. It isn't exactly a day hike.”

“That is a problem,” Aveline agreed with a grimace. “Most Guards don't even like to patrol anywhere near there.”

“Varric has gone up there once before,” Abigail said. “He says he'll come up with us, but we shouldn't go in a group less than four. I'm still wrangling everyone together. We need at least five free days, but more likely we'll need something closer to a week. Ten days at the worst.”

Aveline considered that. “Are you sure you should even be doing this errand?” she asked. “I know that Flemeth helped us, but we don't even know what kind of people she wants this delivered to, or why.”

“I said I would, and she got us to Gwaren, so it's the least I can do,” Abigail said. “Anyway, who knows what would happen if we were to break our word? It might be cursed. It certainly feels magical enough.”

It did, too. The small amulet fairly bent the Veil around it, and felt heavy in Abigail's pocket.

“That's possible, I suppose,” Aveline said. “I don't think I can manage to get away from the Guard for three days, never mind ten, but I'll see if I can find you some of our more accurate maps.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said, letting out a relieved sigh. “I didn't want to have to rely on something second-hand.”

Something caught Aveline's eye and she glanced to the side, then took Abigail's elbow and guided her out of the barracks entirely.

“If you have to find me here, send Carver, at least for the next month or so,” Aveline said in an undertone. “You don't need any more Templars breathing down your neck.”

Abigail nodded, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She was only armed with a small dagger. In Hightown, it was frowned upon to walk about heavily armed, doubly so with the quarterstaff Abigail favored. A proper mages' staff was completely out of the question. She would find it very difficult to defend herself against a Templar.

She left Aveline then, and when she came out of the Barracks, she saw a Templar in full plate headed into the Viscount's Keep. She ducked her head and averted her face, but kept an eye on him.

Chapter Text

Abigail next met with Varric a day or two later, when both of them had free time. They met at his room in the Hanged Man, like they were both wont to do. Maker knew Abigail didn’t want to bring any potential business partners over to Gamlen’s any more than she had to. Varric looked over an inventory of supplies for the expedition as they spoke.

“Right,” Varric said, chewing on the end of his quill and flipping through the inventory. “So we don't just need money, but we also need some decent maps to the Deep Roads.”

“Doesn't the Orzammar embassy have some?” Abigail asked, leaning her head on her hand and reading the inventory list upside down.

“Going through the Embassy means about ten tons more paperwork than Bartrand would like to do,” Varric said, running his hand through his hair. “If we ask them for maps, we have to apply to become a joint Orzammar-surface expedition, instead of just doing it on our own.”

“There isn't any other way to get a hold of them?” Abigail raised her eyebrows and sat up, surprised.

Varric waved a hand. “No—Queen Aeducan has a monopoly, and she's trying to get us surface dwarves to join up with her. If you want Orzammar maps, you have to join an Orzammar expedition.”

“That hardly seems very bad,” Abigail said. “Wouldn't they be able to help?”

“Sure—and take most of the stuff we find for study,” Varric said. “That's the only thing keeping Bartrand from going to them. He was all set to until he found out that most of the things down there would just end up back in Orzammar.”

Abigail tapped a finger on the table. “So—if the dwarves won't give them to us, who would?”

“I've heard there's a couple Gray Wardens in town,” Varric said. “If anyone'd have maps to the Deep Roads, it'd be them.”

Abigail looked at him sharply. “What are Gray Wardens doing here?”

“The way I heard it?” Varric raised his eyebrows. “Running from the Templars.”

Abigail leaned back in her chair and let out a breath. “Aveline said something about that. We could get in a lot of trouble going to them, Varric.”

Varric spread his hands. “If we're gonna get any maps, we need to find the Wardens. No Wardens, no maps, and there's no telling how long they'll be in town.”

“And if we wanted to find them—which I’m not totally sure of—how would we go about doing so?

“Let me ask around—I bet they came in with some of the Ferelden refugees.”

Abigail hummed in agreement. “That could very well be,” she said. “You’re sure there’s no other way?”

“Unless we want a second-hand map from someone even shadier than us, no, there’s no other way.”

“And are you positive that asking the Embassy would make the trip less profitable?”

“Me? I’m not sure—but there’s no way Bartrand will do this if we get any Orzammar dwarves involved.” Varric shrugged. “He’s an idiot like that.”

Abigail sighed. “Fine, go and look for them. But be careful,” she advised him. “We don't need the Templars or the Guard coming after us.”

Varric nodded.

Abigail drummed her fingers on the desk. “There's one other thing we need to do.”

“What's that?”

“We have a trip to the Sundermount to make,”

“What, right now?” Varric raised his eyebrows.

“No, not right this second. But there is something to be delivered there.”

“What is it?”

“This thing,” Abigail dug in her belt-pouch and held out Flemeth's amulet. She always carried the amulet on her, for fear of losing it. It was a small, tarnished silver orb on a braided black cord, heavy for its size. “A witch gave it to us.”

“...did she now?” Varric raised his eyebrows even further, leaning in to inspect the amulet. “You need to tell me that story.”

“There isn't much to tell,” Abigail admitted. “We were trying to get out of Lothering, and ran into her coming the other way. She knew enough magic that she could help the darkspawn off our back, and she had some money that helped us get to Gwaren.”

“Was she running from the Blight, too?”

Abigail frowned. “No, not exactly. It was strange. She didn't much like the darkspawn, but it was more as if...she had other problems on her mind.” she tucked the amulet back away. “Either way, she helped us, and I promised to bring the amulet up the Sundermount when we got here. I figured it was the least I could do, I just haven't had a chance to yet.”

“Well, I'm sure we can manage that,” Varric said. “I hear there's a Dalish Clan camped up there—you think they might know something about that?” he pointed at the amulet.

“The witch—Flemeth—actually mentioned something about the Dalish,” Abigail said with a slight frown. “She told me to give this to the Keeper on Sundermount, so maybe she meant the Clan that’s staying there?”

“Well, we’ll find out when we get there, I suppose.”

It took a few days of asking around, but ultimately it was Bethany who found someone who might know the Gray Wardens. She'd met him through one of the organizations that did charitable work for Ferelden refugees.

They met him at night, in Lowtown.

“Are you sure about this man, Bethany?” Abigail asked. They waited in a small side street. Carver paced, restless, glancing around every few minutes. All four of them were armed, Carver with his sword, Varric with his crossbow, and Abigail and Bethany with matching quarterstaffs.

“If I was, I wouldn't have dragged you all along, now would I?” Bethany said, nodding her head at Carver and Varric. Aveline was at work this time of night, and Abigail was very uncertain of the legality surrounding Wardens, so she wouldn’t have asked her to come in any case.

“Good point,” Abigail said.

They waited for about half an hour before a man with long black hair came to meet them.

“Nathaniel!” Bethany exclaimed.

The man, Nathaniel, gave a slight, tired smile. His dark hair was braided away from his face in Fereldan style, and he wore battered leather armor that surely came from a Fereldan armorer. Over his back was slung an impressive longbow that most people would have trouble drawing, but he bore it with ease.

“Bethany,” he said. “Hello. Are these your siblings?” he looked at Varric. “And...friend?”

“This is Abigail and Carver,” Bethany said, gesturing to her sister and brother. “And Varric Tethras.” she turned to her companions. “This is Nathaniel.”

Abigail stepped forward. “We heard you might have information about Gray Wardens?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, eyes on Abigail’s staff. “Why do you want to know?”

“We're planning a Deep Roads expedition,” Varric explained, moving up to stand next to Abigail. “We need Deep Roads maps, and you're the only people who might have some.”

“The Orzammar embassy would.” he pointed out, still looking suspicious.

Varric grimaced. “We can't go through them—long story. The Gray Wardens are the only option we have.”

“Hm,” Nathaniel sat back on his heels and crossed his arms. He eyed Bethany and Abigail's staffs. “Are those for staff-fighting, or magic?”

“Is that important?” Abigail asked.

“I want to be sure you're not Templars devising a very elaborate trap,” he told her.

“How can we be sure that you're not a Templar?” Abigail asked.

Nathaniel gave them a long, hard look, then he sighed and raised his hands. “Look—I'm certainly not a Templar. And I suppose, since you're so worried about them, you aren't either.”

“No,” Abigail said. “We're not.”

“Are you apostates?” again, his eyes were on Abigail and Bethany’s quarterstaffs.

Bethany and Abigail took a long look at each other.

“I know other apostates,” Nathaniel prompted. “And I haven’t turned any of them in, if that’s what you’re worried about. You both act rather like apostates.”

Abigail pursed her lips, but Bethany spoke up.

“Yes,” she said, holding out a hand and letting a small witchlight flare and then die again. “We are.”

Nathaniel breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Maker for that,” he said. “I’d rather deal with apostates than Templars any day.”

Abigail peered at Nathaniel intently. “You are a Gray Warden, then?” she didn't know any other non-mage who might have something to fear from Templars.

“I am,” Nathaniel inclined his head. “Do you really just need our maps of the Deep Roads?”

“Yes.”

Nathaniel tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “I suppose we can manage that,” he said. “I'd have to ask the others what they think.”

“Others?”

“Come on,” Nathaniel said. “I'll introduce you.”

Nathaniel lead them through Lowtown and into Darktown, which was bad enough, but then he went to a far back corner, which unnerved them all greatly. He came to a stop in front of a door, next to which was a window with a lantern burning in it.

“Do you know the healer in Darktown?” Nathaniel asked.

“No,” Abigail said.

“I've heard of him,” Varric said with a shrug. “Why?”

“This is his clinic,” Nathaniel said, nodding at the door before giving it a knock and opening it. The clinic was crowded, but the patients were all asleep. One woman sat at a crate that had been upturned to serve as a desk.

“'Lo, Nathaniel,” the woman yawned.

“Hello, Lirene.”

“Who're your friends?”

“Some people who might need a favor,” he said. “Where's Anders?”

“The back. Finally convinced him to get some sleep—he was so tired he started glowing a bit.”

Nathaniel grimaced and shook his head, but didn't comment, and didn’t explain the ‘glowing’ bit. “Come on,” he gestured at Abigail and the others. “This way.”

They went to the back of the clinic, down a dark hallway. Nathaniel knocked on one of the doors.

“Anders? Justice?” Nathaniel called.

After a moment, the door swung open. “What is it, Nathaniel?” a sleepy voice groaned, and a blond man appeared in the doorway. He looked exhausted, with dark shadows under his eyes and a day’s worth of stubble on his chin.

He caught sight of Abigail and the others. Immediately the man's eyes gleamed brilliant blue and blue-white light that was not healing magic began to swirl around his hands. Abigail and Bethany both tensed, feeling the strange reaction from the Veil. He stepped forward, and the others stepped back in unison, hands on their weapons.

“Don't,” Nathaniel snapped, grabbing his wrist. “They're safe.”

“Are you so sure?” the man's voice had a peculiar quality to it, deep and multi-toned, reminding Abigail of a demon she had met in the Fade once.

“Yes.”

The blue glow died and the man's eyes returned to a normal brown. “Hm,” He scowled. “What do they want?”

Nathaniel let go of him. “Maps of the Deep roads.”

“That's nice. Why don't you send them to Velanna's?” he yawned again and tucked his hair behind his ears. “Sigrun probably has some.”

“I'm not about to knock on Velanna's door at this time of night.”

“Are you going to introduce us?” Abigail asked, putting her staff on her back and folding her arms.

“Yes, Nathaniel, introduce us.” the blond man told Nathaniel, thumping Nathaniel’s shoulder. “No need to be rude, right?”

“That’s a bit rich, coming from you,” Nathaniel sniped. “Anders, this is Abigail, Carver and Bethany Hawke, and Varric Tethras.” Nathaniel pointed to each of them in turn. “This is Anders.”

“And why did you drag them to my door in the dead of night?” Anders demanded. “I don't see any bleeding.” he peered at them. “That one has a cold,” he pointed at Carver, who startled a bit at being singled out. “But other than that there's nothing wrong with them. Don’t see why this couldn’t have waited till morning.”

“Anders, Abigail and Bethany are apostates,” Nathaniel said.

“Nathaniel!” Bethany snapped.

“You are?” Anders perked up immediately. “Oh—well that's actually worth getting me up for.”

They went to another, slightly larger back room that clearly served as a kitchen. Anders nursed a mug of something hot, still blinking sleepily, but more willing to hear them out.

“So you need Deep Roads maps,” Anders said.

“That's right,” Abigail told him.

“Why, in the name of the Maker, would you want to go down to the Deep Roads?” Anders sighed.

“Well, it's entirely possible that there's a fortune to be made down there,” Varric said. “And there should be a lot fewer darkspawn now--”

“That's not true,” Anders snorted into his cup.

“What do you mean?” Bethany asked.

“We were down there not six months ago,” Nathaniel said. “And there were darkspawn by the hundred—and worse.”

Varric sighed and sat back in his chair. “You feel like telling that to the dozen of expeditions that are all set to head out?” he said.

Nathaniel and Anders glanced at each other.

“Surana probably told the dwarf Queen all about it,” Anders mumbled, looking down at his mug. “Not really sure why you're all still doing it.”

“Look, are you going to give us the maps or not?” Carver snapped.

“If we do, you have to do a favor for us,” Anders said, glancing up. “A favor for a favor.”

“Anders...” Nathaniel put a hand on his harm.

“I have to try, Nathaniel!” Anders snapped. Momentarily, his eyes gleamed blue.

“No, you don't. It's not safe--”

“Oh, like any bloody thing is safe!”

“What's the favor?” Abigail asked.

“There's more than one reason we came to Kirkwall,” Anders said. “I have a friend here—a prisoner in the Gallows.”

“Anders...” Nathaniel started again.

“If we get them to help, it'll be less likely the Chantry will look for us!” Anders snapped, slamming his mug down on the table.

“And just look for us instead,” Abigail said. “Two apostates.”

“There are two of you who aren't apostates,” Anders pointed out, looking from Carver to Varric.

“Tell us about this friend of yours,” Varric said. “Why's he so important?”

“I—he's an old friend,” Anders said. “Before we left Amaranthine, I got some word from him—the Kirkwall Circle is even worse than the Fereldan one, might even be breaking Chantry law.”

“But right now, we can't do anything about him, or the Circle,” Nathaniel said.

“So what are you doing here, then, if you can't do anything about your friend?” Abigail asked.

“Being on the run from the Templars,” Anders growled. “Same tale, different day.”

“That might because you lot burnt down Amaranthine,” Carver said, folding his arms.

Anders snorted and he and Nathaniel exchanged a dark look.

“That might be it,” Anders said. “But the Seekers were on Surana's back months before that ever happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose you must not have heard,” Anders sneered. “The Seekers chased Commander Surana—the hero of Fereldan—out of the country, because she's a mage, and they don't like mages being important.”

“If that's true, why does that mean you had to leave too?” Carver asked, his eyes narrowed.

Anders rolled his eyes. “Please. They manage to run the most important mage in the south out of her own fortress, and you think any of us stood a chance?”

“What does Surana being a mage have to do with what happened to Amaranthine?” Bethany wanted to know.

Anders sighed and sat back in his chair. “It's a long story,' he said. “She made a choice—maybe it was the wrong one, it was probably the wrong one--”

“Saved our hide, though, didn't it?” Nathaniel muttered.

“But either way, the Chantry wasn't having it. Amaranthine was just the last straw—she just got under the Chantry's skin too much, her and the King, but they can't do much about the King.”

“They could,” Nathaniel said. “But it wouldn't look very good.”

“Not really, no.”

Abigail and the others glanced at each other.

“Right,” Abigail said, leaning over the table. “Will you give us any maps you have if we don’t help you?”

“No,” Anders said, just as Nathaniel said “Why not?” they glared at each other.

“Anders...” Nathaniel growled.

“Nathaniel,” Anders hissed.

“Listen, why don’t we talk to the other Wardens you mentioned?” Varric suggested. “Maybe see what they have to say about this.”

Carver rolled his eyes. “You can't seriously be considering this?” he snapped, waving a hand at Anders. “Helping a criminal apostate? That'll end well.”

“Carver...” Bethany sighed.

“I’m not really sure how much we can help,” Abigail said.

“Yeah, we’re not exactly experts at breaking people out of the Circle,” Varric added.

Anders looked at Abigail and Bethany, interested. “You two have never been to a Circle?”

Abigail shook her head. “Our father escaped,” she explained. “But we've never been to one in the first place.”

Anders sighed. “Alright,” he raised his hands. “Let’s see what Sigrun and Velanna think.”

“Alright,” Abigail stood up, but Anders waved her away.

“We are not banging on Velanna's door at four in the morning,” Anders said. “We'll have to wait till at least sunrise, and I have about a dozen patients--”

“I'm a healer,” Bethany said. “Maybe I can help.”

“A spirit healer?” Anders sat up.

Bethany nodded.

“Excellent!” Anders exclaimed. “Alright—if you want to help me with the clinic a bit, that would be good—Nathaniel's terrible at healing, only knows battlefield medicine, the bastard...”

“When exactly would I have the chance to learn more than that?” Nathaniel asked, folding his arms and looking cross.

They stayed in the clinic for a few hours, Bethany and Anders both doing some healing, Varric, Abigail and Carver helping when they could. When it was light enough, Anders and Nathaniel deigned it an appropriate time to visit their friends.

Sigrun and Velanna did not live in Darktown, but instead in the Kirkwall Alienage. Darktown was a ways away from the Alienage, but Nathaniel and Anders knew some back paths to get there by. The vhenadahl cast shade over the main square, and was the largest and healthiest tree Abigail had seen in Kirkwall by far.

Bethany glanced around, noting the stares of the Alienage residents. “Are you sure it's...alright to come here?”

“Don't worry,” Anders said. “They know we're Velanna and Sigrun's friends.”

“They didn’t much like us at first,” Nathaniel said. “But it’s hard to disagree with Velanna.”

They reached a small house in a back alley and Nathaniel knocked on the door. After a minute, it opened.

“Nathaniel! Anders!” the woman at the door was not an elf, which was a surprise. She was a dwarrowdam with black hair that reached past her shoulders. She had dark facial tattoos and was dressed in a patched tunic. “And...friends?”

“Hello, Sigrun,” Anders said with a smile.

“These are some people who need to talk to you,” Nathaniel said, gesturing at Abigail and her companions.

Sigrun looked them all over. “Well—come inside,” she said.

The inside of the house was full of plants. With a box of flowers by each window, and multiple ferns and potted plants dotting the inside, it looked for all the world like a miniature jungle.

“Sigrun?” another woman's voice called from deeper in the house. “Who’s at the door?”

“Nathaniel and Anders came over,” Sigrun called. “They brought friends.”

An elvhen woman came out of the back room. She had blonde hair, disheveled from sleep, and pale Dalish tattoos twining over her forehead. She had a pinched, sour expression.

“Why did you drag four strangers to my house?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

“Velanna, this is Abigail, Bethany and Carver Hawke, and Varric Tethras,” Nathaniel gestured to each of them in turn. “Everyone, this is Velanna and Sigrun.”

“What is it you want?” Velanna asked.

“We're looking for maps to the Deep Roads,” Abigail said. “We were hoping you could help us.”

Sigrun and Velanna exchanged a look.

“Why would you want to go down there?” Sigrun asked, baffled.

Varric sighed. “We're planning an expedition,” he explained. “This is the best time to go down to the Deep Roads, so--”

Sigrun laughed aloud. “I guess you didn't hear—the reason I'm with the Wardens? My entire Legion contingent got killed down there. Legion, not surfacer.”

“Look, we already heard this from those two,” Carver said, jerking his head towards Nathaniel and Anders. “Will you give us the maps or not?”

Sigrun rolled her eyes.

“You brought them here, so you must be considering it,” Velanna said to Anders and Nathaniel. “Why are you asking us?”

“I figure we can get them to help us with Karl,” Anders said. “They're not Wardens, and Varric and Carver aren't even mages.”

“Anders...” Sigrun sighed.

“What?” Anders snapped. “We can't just leave him!” momentarily, his eyes gleamed blue.

“Get a hold of yourselves,” Velanna snapped back. “I told you it was a bad idea to--”

“It's done, Velanna,” Anders said.

“We...may be able to help,” Abigail said. “With your friend, I mean.”

Bethany stared at her. “Abigail...” she muttered.

“This seems like it could be important,” Abigail reasoned. “If the Templars are breaking laws, shouldn’t we look into it?”

“No,” Carver said. “Not if it brings the Templars down on us.”

“They wouldn't care about you,” Abigail said. “Just me and Bethany.”

“And that's not bad enough?” Bethany exclaimed. “Abigail—”

“At the very least, if something illegal is going on, shouldn’t the Guard know about it?” Abigail pointed out. “But we can’t just get them involved in Circle affairs for no reason. We have to have due cause.”

That gave everyone pause.

“I was already trying to get him out,” Anders said. “We know a way to cheat the phylacteries and everything—but I haven't heard from him in weeks, and I think the Templars learned he was trying to escape.”

“What about that evidence that the Kirkwall Circle is disobeying Chantry law?” Abigail asked.

Anders nodded eagerly. “Yes—Karl told me about unlawful rites of Tranquility. But since he’s a mage in the Circle, the Grand Cleric wouldn’t listen to him.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Get him out of the Gallows, before anything else,” Anders said. “Personally, I'd love to burn the whole place down—but Karl was one of the only mages there with an escape plan.”

“We think there's some people who've been trying to smuggle mages out,” Sigrun piped up. “But we haven't run into them yet.”

“And this is the only way we'll get our maps?” Abigail asked.

“I don't even want to give them to you,” Sigrun said. “But hey, if you pull this off, I'll give you whatever you want.”

“Alright,” Abigail said. “We'll help you. Where do we start?”

Nathaniel grimaced. “We start with a bloody trap,” he said. “We know where Karl is—but he hasn't spoken to us. It's a trap.”

Anders sighed and slumped back in his seat. “Yes, probably,” he said.

“Where is he?” Abigail asked.
"For some reason we've seen him around the Chantry in Hightown,” Sigrun said, her brow furrowed. “Really weird.”

“That is weird,” Varric said. “Wait a minute—I'd've heard if they were letting a mage just wander around Hightown—what does your friend look like?”

“He's a human,” Anders said. “Gray hair—middle aged, I suppose. A beard?”

Varric frowned. “That describes just about half of all the humans I know,” he muttered. “Yeah, this sounds more and more like a trap.”

“You did say that the Chantry wants to find you,” Bethany pointed out. “Maybe they know he's your friend, so they're trying to draw you out.”

“That's what I said!” Sigrun exclaimed. “But Anders isn't having it.”

“I don't care if it's a trap,” Anders said. “I have to help him.”

“Is that really you speaking?” Velanna muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Abigail asked. “You all keep acting like Anders is two people, not just one...”

“He is two people,” Sigrun said. “There's Anders, and our other friend Justice.”

“Anders made the foolish decision to give the spirit Justice a body to live in,” Velanna explained, folding her arms and glaring at Anders.

“It was not foolish!” Anders said. “His arms fell off and Templars were attacking! I got shot!” he pressed a hand to his collarbone.

“And now you cannot tell where you end and he begins,” Velanna snapped. “I told you, spirits do not belong in this world.”

“Wait, hang on--” Abigail said. “Are you—possessed?”

“Technically speaking...” Anders muttered.

“You're an abomination?” Carver exclaimed.

Anders gave a heavy sigh. “Yes, technically!”

“You really have to tell me that story,” Varric said.

“Look, that's not important right now!” Anders said, getting to his feet. “Trap or not, we still have to help Karl either way—and if we find evidence that the Circle's been doing things illegally, well, all the better, right?”

Chapter Text

The possibility that the Kirkwall Templars could be acting illegally was a frightening one. It was one thing to try and deal with Templars who obeyed Chantry regulations, it was quite another to deal with those who didn't even obey their own code of conduct. No matter how bad Circles were normally, a Circle with a rogue Templar contingent would be even worse.

Anders also brought up the possibility that Templars disobeying Chantry law could increase the split between the Circles and the Templars, something he was (or perhaps he and Justice were) very conflicted about.

“On the one hand, good riddance to the Templars,” as he explained it. “But on the other—war is always the worst outcome, always.” he snorted. “That's something any healer will tell you. There has to be a way to help the mages peacefully." his expression was troubled and uncertain, but his conviction was obvious. "The more volatile the split gets, the more likely everything is to turn into all-out violence, which I don't really feel like dealing with.”

It was decided that it would be safer to find Karl, and take any potential evidence and present it themselves to the Grand Cleric or the Guard, rather than have it work its way slowly by mouth, and put more mages in danger by doing so.

Abigail, Anders, Carver, Varric and Nathaniel all headed to the Chantry. Bethany opted out, and she stayed with Velanna and Sigrun at their home. Velanna and Sigrun's house in the Alienage would be at least a temporarily safe spot for an apostate to hide, as Templars tended to search the Alienage last, especially if the mage they were looking for was a human.

The Hightown Chantry was enormous, ostentatious, and dominated a good portion of that part of the city. Even at night, lights shone from the windows and a fire burned sluggishly in the brazier out front.

The huge front door was unlocked, as always, but they avoided it. Instead, they took a smaller, less obvious side door. The inside of the Chantry was thick with incense and candle smoke, and was quiet, all the worshipers and Sisters having gone for the night. Some torches were still lit, but it was still fairly dim inside.

“Where might Karl be?” Abigail asked, looking around.

“One of the back rooms,” Varric suggested. “Better set up for a trap, that way.”

The back halls didn't smell quite so strongly of herbs and incense, which was a definite bonus. The back halls were smaller, darker and twisting, not frequently opened to the public. The fact that there were no locked doors in their way made them suspicious, but convinced them they were going the right way. They found Karl quite quickly, in a small room whose door was open. Another bad sign.

Anders pushed the door further open, and it swung inward.

Karl stood with his back to them, clad in a shapeless gray Circle robe.

“Anders, I know you too well.” Karl's voice was dull, listless. “I knew you would never give up.”

“What's wrong?” Anders put a foot forward. “Why are you talking like--?”

Karl turned, and even in the dim light, the sunburst pattern on his forehead was clear.

“Oh, no--” Anders whispered.

“Anders,” Nathaniel put a hand on his shoulder, curling his fingers into Anders’ coat. “Justice—don't--”

“They can't do that,” Anders took one aborted step towards Karl. “They can't—they can't--”

“I was too rebellious,” Karl explained, his expression utterly blank, like a mask. Revulsion curled in the pit of Abigail’s stomach. “Like you. The Templars knew I had to be made an example of.”

“No,” Anders shook his head.

“How else will mages ever master themselves?” Karl postulated. “You'll understand, Anders—as soon as the Templars teach you to control yourself.”

There was a footstep in the hall.

“Oh, damn,” Varric muttered, putting a bolt to his crossbow. Each of them wrapped their hands around their weapon of choice.

In the doorway appeared a very large, very armored Templar. Everyone collectively moved back.

“This is the Warden,” Karl said, gesturing to Anders. “I suspect he knows other apostates as well.” Karl's dull eyes flicked to the staff in Abigail’s hands.

“No,” Anders' eyes began to gleam, and he went to his knees, clutching his temples. Lines of white fire spread from his eyes, across his face, until it looked like his skin was full of tiny cracks. He surged to his feet. “You will never take another mage as you took him!” Anders roared, his voice echoing like a demon's, his eyes and hands burning with a hot white fire.

There was more than just the one Templar, but Anders—Justice—took most of them on without a second thought. Before anyone else could so much as raise their weapons, Anders had taken down three of the oncoming Templars, slamming two into walls with fatal force and consuming one in a blast of blue fire. There were several more Templars, but all were dealt with just as quickly. At last, they were the only ones still standing. There was a lull, as everyone waited for more Templars to arrive.

“Anders,” Nathaniel approached him slowly. “Justice. Calm yourselves—we need to get out of here before more come.”

Anders' shoulders heaved, and gradually, the blue light died from his skin. “I'm fine,” Anders muttered. “We're alright.”

“Anders?” Karl started, sounding...surprised. “What did you do?”

“Karl!” Anders hurried to his friend's side.

“It's like...you brought a piece of the Fade into the world,” Karl leaned forward, pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “I—I'd forgotten what that feels like--”

The room went very cold all of a sudden, frost curling up the walls. Abigail recognized the signs of a mage with little control, and eyed Karl, her hands still clenched tightly around her staff.

“Karl, how did they do it?” Anders asked, taking Karl's shoulders. “You've been Harrowed for thirty years—they can't do that--”

Karl gave a dark laugh, then choked. “The Knight-Commander does as she pleases,” he said. “Especially to catch apostates.”

“You have to tell the Grand Cleric, someone--”

Karl shook his head and grabbed Anders' arms, tightly. “Anders, whatever you did, it's fading,” he said. “Please, please, kill me before I forget again—you cannot imagine it, Anders, all the color, all the music in the world, gone--”

“Karl, no!” Anders shook his head, and his eyes gleamed momentarily. “No, we can't—but I--” he shook his head and said several more sentence fragments, as if arguing with himself.

“Maybe there's a cure of some kind,” Nathaniel suggested.

“Can you cure a beheading?” Anders demanded.

“We can hardly just kill him!” Abigail exclaimed. “There has to be a way to help—oh no,” she breathed, hearing footsteps pounding in the distance.

“We have to get out of here,” Carver said, grabbing Abigail's arm. “Come on--”

“No—Anders, please--” Karl held on tighter to Anders. “I would rather die a mage, Anders—don't leave me like this, please, please--”

“Decide right now, because more Templars are coming--” Carver started, before a broadly applied Silence sent Abigail, Anders and Karl to their knees.

Nathaniel hauled Anders to his feet, Varric grabbed Abigail, and the group tore out of the Chantry. Anders was glowing again, and fought through several Templars before Nathaniel dragged him away. Templars were swarming the Chantry, several more Silences making Abigail's head ring and her vision blur.

Varric and Carver half-carried, half-dragged her out of the Chantry while Anders hurled blue fireballs at the Templars and roared in a voice like a Rage demon. Nathaniel managed to fell a few Templars with strategic arrows, but mostly, they focused on leaving as fast as they possibly could.

They ran out of Hightown, the Templars hot on their heels, but when they got into Lowtown they turned the Templars around until they were eventually thrown off their trail. Then they hurried back to Sigrun and Velanna's place in the Alienage, jumping at every shadow. Even the main square of the Alienage had several Templars searching it, so they went down a back alley and came in through a side door.

“What in the name of all the Creators did you do?” Velanna demanded before they were even fully in the door. “There are Templars everywhere!”

“It was a trap,” Abigail said. “You were right. It was...bad.” she sat down, her legs shaking, her chest tight. Bethany was by her side immediately.

“I left him there,” Anders leaned against the wall, his chest heaving. “I just—left him there.”

“We could hardly have done much else,” Nathaniel said, putting a hand on Anders’ shoulder. “There were too many Templars--”

Anders surged to his feet. “We know the Templars are doing things illegally now,” he said. “Karl is a Harrowed mage—and they made him Tranquil. That goes against every one of their laws--”

“What about for dangerous mages?” Carver asked. “Couldn't they make him Tranquil if they said he was dangerous enough?”

“He's a teacher!” Anders exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “He teaches healing and potions making! He can barely cast a barrier spell—he's no battle mage!”

“Look, before we talk about that, will you all shut up? We still have to do something about all the Templars,” Sigrun hissed, peeking through the shutters of a window which looked out over the square. “Ah, Ancestors—should we get out of the city?” she asked the fellow Wardens. “They know we're here now--”

“No,” Anders snapped. “I'm not leaving. Not yet.”

“Maybe you don't have to leave permanently,” Abigail said, a thought striking her. “I need to make a trip to the Sundermount,”

“Why?” Velanna asked.

“There's a Dalish Clan we need to meet with,”

“Which one?”

“I don't know—I didn't exactly get their name.”

Velanna scowled. “Why not?”

“The circumstances were—unusual,” she took the amulet out of her belt pouch. “A witch we met in Ferelden gave us this, and if we did what we said we'd do with it, she would help us. She helped us get out of Ferelden, so, we need to bring this up the Sundermount.”

“We would put the Dalish in danger with our presence,” Velanna said. “The Sundermount is already too close to safely stay for longer than a fortnight--”

“We could talk to Aveline instead,” Carver said. “Maybe she could help—if the Circle is breaking laws, she'd know what to do.”

“But what do we do right now?” Sigrun asked.

Nathaniel peered out the shutters. “Stay here for the night,” he said. “Anders—do you think we need to--?”

“They probably don't even have my phylactery,” Anders said. “And at this point...” he gestured to himself. “It probably won't work very well.”

“What's a phylactery?” Carver asked. “You’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve never heard of it.”

“A device used to track Circle mages,” Velanna explained with a scowl. “Blood magic.”

“Blood magic?” Carver and Bethany exchanged worried and confused looks.

“It is a vial of blood with a tracking spell attached to it,” Velanna said. “Hypocrites.” she wrinkled her nose.

“And you're safe from that?” Abigail asked Anders. “How?”

“The blood they have is pre-Warden and pre-Justice,” Anders said, running a hand down his face. “It turns out, if you drink enough mysterious liquids, you can dodge the tracking spell. There's a nastier way to trick it, but I think we should be alright for now.”

“What's the other way to trick it?' Bethany asked.

Anders grimaced. “You drink someone else's blood,” he said. At their shocked looks, he raised his hands and added “It doesn’t involve any blood sacrifices or some other nonsense! Honestly, all it takes is a papercut and a few drops and you're set for at least a few hours.”

“You're right,” Varric said. “That's definitely the nastier way.”

“The Warden initiation involves drinking a whole goblet of darkspawn blood,” Sigrun interjected. “I don't really see the problem.”

“It does?” Abigail asked.

“It does,” Velanna, Sigrun, Anders and Nathaniel all nodded.

“That's disgusting.”

“Sure it is, but it lets you sense darkspawn,” Sigrun said. “Now will all of you hush?”

The Templars prowled the streets all night, into the early hours of the morning, but they eventually left the Alienage without so much as bashing anyone's door in.

Hahren Josiah, the cantankerous and very elderly Hahren of the Kirkwall Alienage, may have had something to do with that. Sigrun went out to see what was going on, and spotted him harassing a pair of Templars, shaking his walking stick at them and scolding them for scaring the Alienage residents. Both of the Templars looked a little embarrassed to be shouted at by a tiny old elvhen man, and soon after that they were gone.

Varric went out to see if they were still searching the rest of Lowtown, and came back with the news that it was safe for the Hawkes to return home. Nathaniel and Anders deigned to stay at Velanna and Sigrun's for at least the next day, until they could be sure that the Templars' search had slowed.

The Hawkes returned to their home, and Carver immediately went to fetch Aveline.

“What is it, Abigail?” Aveline asked the minute she stepped in the door. “Carver wouldn't tell me.”

“The Chantry's breaking laws,” Bethany said immediately.

Aveline frowned. “How so?”

“It's a long story,” Abigail said. “But the Templars made at least one Harrowed mage Tranquil—that's illegal, by the Chantry's own laws.”

Aveline sighed and ran a hand down her face. “Would you be the reason the Templars were in such a huff this morning?” she asked.

“That’s quite possible,” Abigail said. “What did they say?”

“The Knight-Commander herself came storming in to yell at the captain, and then the Viscount,” Aveline said. “Apparently some Gray Wardens tried to break into the Gallows and rescue a friend of theirs—would that be your Tranquil mage?”

“He wasn't in the Gallows, he was in the Hightown Chantry,” Bethany said. “The Templars laid a trap for the Wardens.”

“And they broke their own laws to do it,” Abigail said.

Aveline gritted her teeth. “I don't have much influence over the captain,” she said. “This is bad—this is very bad. If Templars ignore their own laws--”

“Nothing good comes of it,” Carver said in a dark voice.

“No, it doesn't.” Aveline thought for a moment. “I can't go to the captain or the Viscount with just one Tranquil mage,” she said. “And if you're sure his Tranquility is illegal--”

“It is,” Abigail said.

“Then I wouldn't put it past the Templars to have changed his records, or make it harder for us to get to them. It'd be my word against the Templars.”

“Damn,” Abigail muttered. “I was hoping you could do something...”

“Not yet,” Aveline said. “If I had more evidence, I probably could.” she frowned. “Something isn't sitting right with the captain,” she said. “Maybe he knows about this...I'll try and look into it, Abigail.”

“Thank you,” Abigail leaned back, taking a breath. “We'll see if we can get you more information.”

“Was it Gray Wardens who tried to rescue the mage?” Aveline asked. “Or did you get mistaken for them?”

“No, there were two Gray Wardens with us,” Abigail said. “There's actually four in total.”

“Abigail...” Aveline sighed. “That won't really help your case against the Chantry. That business in Amaranthine...the Chantry hasn’t outright declared the Order criminals yet, but I’m sure the only reason they haven’t is because of the backlash.”

“You should meet them,” Bethany said. “A lot of what they talked about sounded...strange. Like the Chantry's been breaking their own rules for a long time.”

“And are you really sure of how reliable they are?” Aveline looked dubious. “The Chantry isn’t exactly wrong in their distrust. It was by a Warden’s order than Amaranthine was destroyed.”

“So far, they've been alright,” Abigail said. “If you wanted to meet them, we could do that now, actually.”

Aveline nodded and got to her feet. “That would probably be a good idea.”

So Abigail took Aveline to Sigrun and Velanna's house. Nathaniel and Anders were still there, and Velanna wasn't exactly happy to see a member of the Guard on her doorstep, but none of them could fault the usefulness of having an ally in the Guard.

“So you're all here because the Chantry drove you out of Ferelden?” Aveline asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And not because of Amaranthine.”

“It's a bit more complicated than that,” Anders said. “Apparently the Commander annoyed them with her very presence—they wanted to drag her back to the Circle after she was done with the darkspawn. If they got her, they'd've gotten me and Velanna too.”

“We're not sure how legal that is, actually,” Sigrun said. “The Seekers leaned really hard on the King and Queen, otherwise they would've let us stay.”

“And what about Amaranthine?” Aveline asked, raising her eyebrows. “Would that have anything to do with why the Seekers were so very annoyed with her?”

Sigrun looked down.

“We didn't want the Commander to do that,” Anders muttered. “But she didn't have a choice.”

“How so?”

“Well, it being completely infested with darkspawn and most of the city dead was a good start,” Nathaniel said.

“If she'd tried to save Amaranthine, Vigil's Keep would've been overrun,” Sigrun said quietly.

Aveline sat back in her seat. “A hard choice.” her face was unreadable.

“The hardest,” Anders murmured.

“It was not,” Velanna said. “The choice was clear.”

Sigrun put a hand over Velanna's. “Look, we've gone round and round about this,” she said. “But that was the Commander's choice, and it made the Chantry angry enough to go after her, and us. That's why we're here.”

Aveline rubbed her forehead. “I don't know all of what's been happening,' she said. “I know the Templars here are—different, more aggressive, than the ones in Ferelden. They have a hold on the Guard and the Viscount I don't like.”

“Not surprised,” Anders muttered.

“I'll look into this business with the Knight-Commander,” Aveline assured them. “I would advise you leave Kirkwall, however.”

“And where exactly are we supposed to go?” Velanna demanded. “Any shemlen nation is controlled by your Chantry--”

“What about Orzammar?” Abigail asked.

“We’ve thought about it before,” Nathaniel said. “We would've gone west from Vigil's Keep, towards the Dalish Clans in the Frostbacks, but we kept running into trouble. We can't go through the Deep Roads, of course—Kal'hirol is cleared out, but not the Roads between there and Orzammar, and Kal’hirol itself is much too close to Amaranthine.”

“Here, we're like more refugees,” Anders said. “No one looks twice at us—well, maybe at you,” he elbowed Velanna. “But if you're mangey enough, no one thinks anything of you.”

“Not until you attack the Hightown Chantry, anyway,” Aveline said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, not until that.”

Aveline leaned back in her seat. “What are your plans?” she asked.

“I need to go to the Sundermount,” Abigail said. “I thought maybe it would be a good idea to bring the four of them with me.”

“Mm,” Aveline nodded. “There's been some trouble up that way recently—I'll see if I can't get the Guards out of your way when you head out. If you're going, you need to do it soon.”

Chapter Text

Getting out of the city was easy, thanks to Aveline's influence in the Guard. Carver stayed with Gamlen and Leandra, while Abigail, Bethany, Varric, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel and Sigrun all climbed the Sundermount.

“My Clan had stories about this place,” Velanna said as they neared the mountain. It was enormous, Kirkwall built in its shadow. “No humans, or dwarves, or Vashothari dare to live here. Just the Dalish, and even then, very few.”

“Why, if you don’t mind my prying?” Abigail asked.

“It is a graveyard,” Velanna said. “A mausoleum for the ancient Elvhen. In the war between Arlathan and the Imperium, the elves made their last stand here. There is blood and pain in the very soil. The Veil is cracked and torn, and there are stories of something terrible living within the Fade.”

“Like the Blackmarsh?” Nathaniel asked.

Velanna gave a harsh, humorless chuckle. “No,” she said. “Not like that at all.”

They met the Dalish near the top of the mountain. The Veil wore thin and ragged, like rotting silk. Anders flinched every once in a while, curious spirits approaching him. Bethany heard whispers, just out of reach, and Abigail's hands buzzed with a strange, nervous energy.

Two Dalish hunters saw them coming and stood in their path. Velanna and the hunters had a quick conversation in Dalish, Velanna frequently gesturing to Abigail.

Eventually, the hunters turned to the rest of the group.

“You may see the Keeper,” one of them said, his voice thickly accented, far more so than Velanna's. “Step lightly, shemlen. Our arrows are trained on you.”

“What about us?” Sigrun asked, gesturing to Varric and herself. “We're not humans.”

The hunter scowled. “Durghen'len,” he corrected. “Our Clan is not a friend of your Queen. You should watch your step as well.”

“She's not my Queen,” Varric said. “I've never even been to Orzammar.”

“I care not,” the hunter said, waving them along. “Mind yourselves.”

“Who is the Keeper?” Abigail asked. “Flemeth never said—she just said to take it to whatever Keeper was here.”

“Marethari,” Velanna said with a slight frown. “This is Clan Sabrae. I was certain they allied with Orzammar and the Wardens in the Blight...”

“Maybe they changed their minds after,” Sigrun suggested with a shrug.

Velanna's frown deepened. “Perhaps.”

Marethari was waiting by a large fire pit. She was a peculiar looking woman. Her skin had a strange, papery quality about it, her long white hair bound in an untidy bun at the back of her head. Her tattoos were pale, curling over her cheeks and chin. She was small, smaller than Velanna, but there was a heavy presence about her that made her seem larger than she really was.

Her pale eyes flicked to Abigail immediately upon seeing the group. “You are the one with the amulet,” she said. Her accent was thick as well, but a little different than the hunter's had been. “Come here, da'len. Let me look at you.”

Abigail hesitated, then went to stand before her. Marethari surveyed her, her green eyes examining her as if Abigail was a weapon to look over for future use.

“Tell me, how did this burden fall to you?” Marethari asked.

“A witch saved me and my family from the Blight,” Abigail explained, exchanging a glance with Bethany. “She asked me to take it here.”

“Mm,” Marethari inclined her head. “Wise of you to heed her words. I am afraid, however, your part in this is not done yet.”

Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“You must take it to the top of the mountain,” Marethari pointed, where the peak of the mountain loomed high overhead. “It must be given a rite for the departed—one of our rites. Then you may return it to me.”

“Why can't you take the amulet now, and do the rite yourself?” Abigail asked.

Marethari gave an odd, humorless smile. “Because she gave the amulet to you, not to me. You are the bearer. No one else may have this task.”

“Oh.” Abigail blinked, and exchanged a look with her companions. “I’m afraid I don't know any Dalish funeral rights...”

“I do,” Velanna said.

Marethari raised her hand. “I am sure that you do, lethallan,” she said. “But this one is unique to Clan Sabrae. You would not have been entrusted the amulet if the woman bearing it did not know we would be here. I will send my First with you—she is a more capable battlemage than I, and you will find many terrible things on the mountain's top.” Marethari gave a long sigh. “And when the ritual is finished, I ask that you take my First with you, away from here.”

“What?” Velanna exclaimed, shocked. “Why?”

“Don't you need a First?” Sigrun asked, frowning in a confused way.

“I haven't even met her,” Abigail pointed out. “Why would she want to go with us anywhere?”

Marethari cast an unreadable gaze past them, to the trail that lead up the mountain. “It is a long and sorry tale,” she said. “Far too long to recount now. Know that this is what she wants—it is what she has decided.”

Velanna scowled.

“Ah—if you insist,” Abigail said. “We’ll do as you ask.”

“Merrill will be waiting for you on that path,” Marethari pointed to the path she had been looking at. “Be careful—she strays closer to the mountain each day we stay here.”

The group left to head up the trail.

“That was weird,” Varric said.

“More than weird,” Anders said. “I've never even heard of a Clan just—giving up their First. Fighting with them, yes, but just...letting them leave like this? Velanna?”

“Never,” Velanna said. “There is something worse going on here. I can feel it.”

“You sure that's not just the mountain?” Varric asked. “There is enough magic going on here than I can feel something's wrong, and that's not exactly a good sign.”

“It is not just the mountain,” Velanna snapped. “I will speak with this First, and then I can learn what is happening.”

The walked up the trail, which rose steeply over the cliffs of the mountain. They came across no one until they met an elf sitting on a large boulder, her back to them. She held something that gleamed in her hand.

The elf noticed them and got to her feet. She was quite tall for an elf, almost as tall as Anders. She had pale olive skin, as if she had not seen sunlight for some time, and her short black hair was cut unevenly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn't hear you follow—you must be the one with the amulet. One of you. Aneth'ara.” her accent was very thick as well, though quite different from Marethari's, as if she had learned to speak in a different country entirely.

“I am,” Abigail said. “I'm the one with the amulet.”

“Oh—I'm so sorry, I didn't even ask your name!” she exclaimed. “Unless—is it rude to ask a human their name? I'm Merrill—but you probably knew that already. I'm rambling, I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” Abigail assured her. “I'm Abigail Hawke. This is my sister, Bethany, and these are my friends, Varric Tethras, Anders, Velanna, Sigrun and Nathaniel.” she pointed to each of them in turn.

Merrill smiled at them, her shoulders hunched a little as if she were shy.

“Marethari said you could show us a Dalish rite?” Abigail prompted.

Merrill nodded. “Well, not Dalish, exactly,” she said. “For that amulet, it's a rite only Clan Sabrae has—Marethari said it comes from Arlathan.” she pointed up the trail. “Come on, we should go—I can explain more on the way, if you want.” she looked down. “I mean—if that's polite. I'm sorry, I don't have much experience with your kind.”

“There is no need to worry over whether you are polite to them or not,” Velanna said, with a haughty tilt to her chin.

“Of course you'd say that,” Anders muttered. Velanna elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and he elbowed her right back.

“Oh! Ir abelas, I didn't realize you were—your hair is in your face, I thought--” Merrill broke out into Dalish, and Velanna gave a rare chuckle and answered in the same language. They had a short conversation as they went up the trail, until they came to a flat clearing where another hunter waited.

His head jerked up, surprised. He was crouched by a small patch of elfroot, gathering it. He got to his feet, and slung a woven bag full of elfroot over one shoulder. He frowned when he looked at Merrill.

“I see the Keeper finally found someone to take you from here,” he snapped.

Merrill scowled at him. “Yes.” her eyes traveled to his bag. “I'm not the only one drawn to the mountain,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You can't judge my choices when you walk the same path.”

The hunter recoiled. “I do not!” he said.

“Then go back down to the camp,” Merrill instructed, pointing down the path. “Or do you want to see Asha'bella'nar yourself?”

The hunter tilted his head back. Abigail noticed the faintest tremor in his hands. “Finish your task quickly,” he sneered, shoving past them. “We cannot be rid of this one fast enough.”

Velanna yelled something insulting in Dalish at him, and he shouted something back. Sigrun grimaced—she'd picked up a little Dalish and Velanna and the hunter were being extremely rude.

“Oh, goodness,” Merrill's face flushed. “Velanna—don't do that, please?”

“I know what it is when your Clan does not understand your decisions,” Velanna said. “He does not deserve my respect.”

They continued on. “I'm sensing a story there,” Varric said. “Want to tell us about it?”

“No,” she stared after the hunter, a frown on her face. “It's nothing. Just ignorance. So, um—Velanna says you all came from Ferelden,” Merrill said quickly. “Have you been here long? Do you like it here?”

“I was born in Kirkwall,” Varric said. “It's got a lot of interesting things—not sure how much a Dalish elf would be interested in, but you never know.” he gave her a disarming smile, and Merrill giggled a bit.

“Kirkwall is a mire,” Velanna said, her face twisting.

“At least you don't live in an actual sewer,” Anders said.

“Oh, do you live in a sewer?” Merrill sounded very concerned. “Oh dear. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all...”

“I'm sure you'll be alright,” Bethany said. “Anders just lives in—in a bad part of town. Elves live in the Alienage, it's—well, it’s nicer than Darktown, at any rate.”

“For a given measurement of 'nice,'” Sigrun said. “It's got that big tree in it, though—they don't even have trees that big in Hightown. Do you like plants?” she asked Merrill. “I used to think all elves liked trees and things, but Velanna says that’s not true.”

“We like them perfectly well,” Velanna said. “We just don't go around smelling everything.”

“If you'd lived your whole life underground, you'd want to see how things smelled too,” Sigrun said, playfully bumping Velanna's shoulder with her own.

“They're nice,” Merrill said. “I like flowers—when we’re traveling, always see so many different kinds! Can you grow flowers in Kirkwall? There were never many flowers in the shemlen cities in Ferelden.”

Velanna started speaking in Dalish to Merrill again, and the group continued on. The air was oppressive and foreboding, worse the higher they went. Merrill lead them through a series of caves and out the other side, and all the mages shuddered.

The Veil was very, very thin on this side of the mountain. The whispers were clearer now, and all the mages could feel the presence of many spirits pressing against them. There was a strange sense of vertigo, a fogginess like a dream.

“What's wrong with the Veil here?” Abigail whispered. “What happened to it?”

“The elders came here to sleep,” Merrill said softly. “Uthenera, they called it. The long dream. But they don't sleep peacefully anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Anders asked.

“You'll see.” Merrill sounded unfathomably sad, and a strange feeling of heartache settled on all of them. “I'm sorry--” she said, jerking her head up. “I didn't mean to—on the mountain, here, you have to keep calm. The spirits and other people get disturbed by strong feelings. Ir abelas.” she took a deep breath, and the strange sadness lifted.

“I have never even heard of that happening anywhere,” Anders said. “What--?”

“It doesn't happen anywhere but here,” Merrill said. “Not that I know of.”

“I told you,” Velanna said. “This mountain is dangerous. Even living in its shadow is dangerous.”

They continued forward along the path, until they encountered a shimmering magical barrier that blocked the way forward.

“Oh, dear,” Merrill breathed.

“What is it?” Abigail looked at the barrier. She reached out to touch it, then pulled her hand back at the last moment. “Who put this here?”

“No one,” Merrill said. “The mountain wants to keep us out.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. It does this sometimes.” Merrill looked at it. “I can open the way forward. One moment.” she rolled up her sleeve and pulled a knife from her belt. She cut her arm, and blood dripped from her wound. She raised her hand, and the Veil shuddered around them, grew more solid for an instant—and then the barrier dropped.

“Blood magic?” Anders breathed. “No wonder your Clan has a problem with you.”

“Be quiet,” Velanna snapped, scowling at him. “Your Chantry superstitions don't apply to the Dalish.”

“They don't like it, though, my Clan,” Merrill said, looking away from them.

“Because it's dangerous!” Bethany exclaimed. “Are you insane? Surely there was a safer way to do that!”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Velanna said. “Dangerous? She cut open her arm—it is a few drops of blood!”

“But demons--”

Velanna rolled her eyes. “Did you not feel the Veil strengthen? Blood magic is no doorway to demons—if anything, it’s spirit healing that opens the door for demons. You summon spirits! Did you never make that connection before?”

Bethany blinked. “Oh.” she said in a very quiet voice.

“It's safe,” Merrill assured them. She ran a hand over her arm, and the blood stopped immediately, and she pushed her sleeve back down. “Really! I'm not hurting anyone—and it works best here. Just throwing fire or lightning at barriers like that doesn't work—I've tried before.”

“If it’s not a problem, why doesn't your Clan like you using blood magic?' Nathaniel asked as they moved cautiously forward.

Merrill shrugged, her back tense. “I learned it in the Fade,” she said. “Like a—do you know i've'an'virelan?”

“Dreamers,” Velanna said. “Somniari. Are you a Dreamer?”

“Oh, me? No, never!” Merrill laughed, rubbing her arms. “But you can learn to do it, a little bit—like someone who's not a spirit healer learning healing spells. But Marethari doesn't trust it. She thought maybe a demon told me, disguising itself as a memory. I don't know why it would, though.”

“Why would you trust anything you saw in the Fade?” Abigail asked. “It's all a trick—isn't it?”

“Oh, no!” Merrill said. “You just have to be careful. You can walk into memories with practice—I'm not very good at it, though. I get lost, and then I have to find my body again.” she shuddered. “No, I saw a memory, of an elf using blood magic, and I thought that maybe—maybe I could try it.”

“Why would you do that?” Anders demanded.

Merrill was quiet. “Our Clan was attacked by darkspawn, when we were still in the Brecelian,” she said. “All our halla died. My friends Tamlen and Mahariel—I thought maybe, I could use the blood magic and cleanse their blood--”

Everyone was quiet as Merrill trailed off. She took a deep breath.

“I couldn't. But I knew I could use it for other things.”

Abigail was about to ask what other things when something rose from the ground. A corpse clawed its way out of the dirt, dressed in shredded brocade, an ancient sword hanging loosely from a skeletal hand.

“Andraste's ass, not this again,” Anders muttered as more corpses began to rise, all dressed in ancient and rotted finery, clutching various weapons. One even held a mages' staff, though it wielded no magic. The corpses fought like people whose minds knew how to fight, but whose muscles had forgotten.

They finished off the corpses, though Merrill said that if they weren't destroyed entirely, they would rise again soon, their bodies pulling back together.

“Why is your Clan here?” Abigail asked. “It seems...dangerous.”

“Marethari says that before Sabrae traveled Ferelden, they traveled the Free Marches,” Merrill said. “And when they did, they came here. So we came here also.”

They came to an alter placed on a precarious cliff. There was a bowl of blue Veilfire already burning there, and it gave off no heat.

“Put the amulet there,” Merrill instructed, pointing. Abigail put the amulet in the place she indicated, and Merrill stepped up beside her. She raised her hand over the alter.

“Hahren na melana sahlin,” she intoned. “Emma ir abela souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas. In uthenera na revas.” she flicked her fingers, and for a moment, everything was the same.

Then the dragon woman appeared in a flash of brilliant white light. There was a roar, like that of a high dragon, and the light coalesced into the shape of a hundred batlike wings, which folded in on themselves until they formed the shape of a woman.

The woman shone brightly for a moment, then her figure softened and solidified, and she at last looked more or less real. She was tall, enormously tall, a full head taller than Anders. Her long white hair was swept back from her crown in an imitation of dragons' horns, and her red tunic looked to be made of dragonhide. Her tunic had a train that trailed behind her like a cape or an extravagant dress. The tunic itself was over a suit of armor, which was silvery and gleamed faintly with enchantments.

Her face resembled that of Flemeth’s, except that where Flemeth’s eyes were a dull, ditchwater brown, this woman had eyes of brilliant, shining gold.

Merrill bowed low.

“Ander'an atish'an, Asha'bella'nar,” she said.

Asha’bella’nar smiled.

Chapter Text

Asha'bella'nar tilted her head to one side, looking at Merrill. “One of the People, I see,” she said, her golden eyes warming at the sight of her. “So young and bright. Do you know who I am, beyond that title?”

Merrill didn't look up. “I know only a little.”

“Then stand. The People bend their knee too easily,” Asha'bella'nar said, indicating Merrill should rise. Asha'bella'nar's every move was fluid and elegant, effortless. She surveyed the group, her gaze landing on Velanna for a moment. Velanna had not bowed, and Asha'bella'nar seemed fascinated. “You are of the People as well,” she said. “But I see you do not know me as this one does.”

Velanna's back straightened. “I only know whispers,” she said. “Of dragons and things long forgotten.”

Asha'bella'nar’s smile grew. “Of course,” she said. “Many things persist through time. This is one.” she turned her gaze upon Abigail at last. “So refreshing to find someone who keeps their end of the bargain,” she said, her tone making Abigail feel as if the dragon woman were making fun of her, but she wasn't sure why. “I half-expected my amulet to wind up in a merchant's pocket.”

“Your amulet?” Abigail exclaimed. “So—in the Wilds—was that--who was that? Was it your sister, or...?” Abigail couldn't think of any other ideas. the witch they had met in the Wilds had been a small woman, with wild gray hair and a haggard face. She'd worn a patched dress made of plain deerhide, nothing like this strange ensemble of armor and dragon’s skin. She had moved stiffly, as if her joints had pained her. However, despite these differences, Asha'bella'nar and Flemeth shared the same face, and had the same voice.

Asha'bella'nar’s smile showed teeth, her golden eyes gleaming. “Yes, it was me. Is it so difficult to believe that one may take many shapes?”

“So—you were inside the amulet?” Bethany asked, her eyes very wide.

“Just a piece, a small piece,” Asha'bella'nar said. “A bit of security, should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has.”

“Morrigan?” Anders glanced at the other Wardens.

“Wasn't that the name of Surana's--?” Sigrun asked, eyes darting to Asha'bella'nar and back.

Asha'bella'nar looked at the Wardens. “You know Surana as well, do you?” she said, her lips drawing back from her teeth, showing that they looked a trifle sharper than was common. “I am pleased that her name has spread so far.”

The Wardens all glanced at each other, nervous.

“So—you have plans, I assume?” Abigail asked quickly.

“I do,” Asha'bella'nar turned away from them, to look down at the valley below. “A word of advice, before I go,” she said. “We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. When that moment comes—do not hesitate to leap.” she turned back to them, that smile still on her face. “It is only when you fall that you learn if you can fly.”

“Well, that’s certainly easy for you to say,” Abigail said, her words coming out as a croak.

Asha'bella'nar laughed, and the sound pierced each of their hearts, a dagger of curious mirth and loss, betrayal--

Then it was gone, the world righting itself.

“I did not say it would be easy for you.” she told them. “Your world will see the hardest thing it has ever seen, before this is done.”

“What does that mean?” Varric muttered.

“A great many things, but I can hardly tell you about all of them now,” Asha'bella'nar said. She looked at Merrill again. “Step carefully, da'len,” she said. “No path is more dangerous than when one's eyes are shut.” her teeth flashed, catching the light. "But no path is more rewarding than when one sees it clearly."

“Mas serannas, Asha'bella'nar,” Merrill said, inclining her head.

Asha’bella'nar surveyed the others as well, and her eyes caught on Anders. “You should step carefully as well,” she told him. “Spirits do not fare as well as they once did. You are a beacon in the dark, calling many things to you.”

“What do you mean?” Anders wanted to know.

Asha’bella'nar only shook her head. “The time has come for me to leave,” she said. She looked at Abigail. “You have my thanks—and my sympathy.”

The Veil warped around them, coiling around Asha'bella'nar like a cloak, and then quite suddenly a high dragon was soaring off the cliff and rising overhead. It was so large that its shadow covered them all for a moment, and then it was gone, behind the mountain.

“Maker,” Anders breathed. The rest of them were silent, stunned, their own feelings of awe changing the air around them.

“We should leave,” Merrill said quietly. “The mountain is becoming unhappy again.”

They made their way back the way they had come. Fortunately, they did not encounter any corpses this time. They met with Marethari, who waited at the bottom of the trail.

“I saw Asha'bellanar fly over the mountain peak,” she told Abigail. “Mas serannas, da'len. Your debt is paid in full.”

She looked to Merrill, Marethari and Merrill had an exchange in Dalish. Velanna's face grew darker as she listened to it.

“Come on,” Merrill said, turning away from Marethari after a few moments. “We should go.”

“Hold a moment,” Velanna said, touching Merrill's shoulder. She approached Marethari, and they had a heated conversation in Dalish. Merrill interrupted and pulled Velanna away. Velanna got one last word in before she allowed Merrill to take her.

“What were you all talking about?” Abigail asked as they left the camp.

“Keeper Marethari is a fool,” Velanna snapped.

“No, she isn't!” Merrill protested. “She just doesn't understand--”

“She is a fool for driving out her own First,” Velanna said, raising her voice. “And for driving away the only person who knows anything about the eluvians!”

“Stop,” Merrill said, her voice now more stern. “We should just leave.”

Velanna scowled.

“What's an eluvian?” Sigrun asked.

“An artifact of Elvhenan,” Velanna said. “I have never seen one in person, only read of them.” she looked at Merrill, and asked her more questions in Dalish, very quickly.

“Would either of you care to fill us in?” Anders asked.

“Oh, not right now,” Velanna snapped, waving a hand at him. “Later.”

Anders sighed. “And by that you mean...never, right?”

“I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding on this.”

Merrill had to go and get some things from one of the aravels. She returned with a rucksack and a large box that had several locks placed on it.

“What’s that?” Bethany asked, pointing at the box.

“This? Oh—nothing,” Merrill held the box closer to her. “It’s nothing.”

Bethany raised her eyebrows, but didn’t ask any more questions. Velanna instead engaged Merrill in talk as they walked away from the Dalish camp. Velanna and Merrill spoke for several minutes, when something occurred to Abigail.

“Where are you going to live?” she asked Merrill.

“The Alienage, I thought,” Merrill said. “Is there somewhere else?”

“Do you already have a house there?” Sigrun asked.

“No—oh dear,” Merrill said, her eyes widening. “How do I get a house?”

“Why don't you live with me and Velanna for now?” Sigrun suggested. “Then you can sort it all out later.”

“Are you sure?” Merrill asked.

“We already live in the Alienage,” Sigrun explained. “And I think Velanna likes you. She doesn't usually talk to people this long.” she winked at Velanna.

“Oh—you are ridiculous, arasha,” Velanna said, flushing a little.

“So are you, ibine,” Sigrun said with a grin, and she slipped an arm around Velanna's waist.

“One thing that might be a problem,” Varric said. “I don't think the Templars are going to be very happy with another apostate in town. Are you sure this'll be safe?” he asked Merrill.

“I'm not sure,” Merrill wrung her hands. “I can hide my magic—Mythal knows I've had enough practice—but I've heard the Templars in Kirkwall are very bad. Are they?'

“Yes,” Anders said bluntly. “You should stay with your Clan.”

Merrill shook her head. “I can't,” she said. “I swear, I think Marethari is half-convinced I'm possessed,” she blurted out. “And no one else understands—they think it was the eluvian that killed Tamlen and Mahariel, so they want to forget it—but I can't forget it!” she chewed on her thumb. “A Keeper is supposed to remember, even the dangerous things—especially the dangerous things. They don't--” she took a deep breath. “When I fix the mirror, I'll come back to them,” she said. “And I'll show them. Then they'll know—what it was all for.”

“And I suppose the blood magic is all worth it, then?” Anders muttered.

An angry expression crossed Merrill's face for a moment. “Did I ask you?”

“You have to know how dangerous that is,” Anders said. “I mean--”

Merrill shook her head. “I really don't think I asked you,” she said, her voice light but her words firm. “Why—we hardly even know each other! That's very personal, isn't it?”

“Personal to tell you you're putting yourself in danger?”

“Well—yes!” Merrill blinked. “Oh—is that not personal for humans? I can never tell.”

“Anders, if you would remove your foot from your mouth, that would be appreciated,” Velanna snapped. “Or better yet, close it altogether.”

Anders sighed heavily, but left off the subject. They spent the better part of the rest of the day getting down the mountain. Abigail went ahead when they reached the city gates to see if she could find Aveline or one of the guards friendly with her and get them into the city with minimal hassle. After about an hour, Abigail returned, with Aveline in tow.

“You lot need to be careful,” Aveline told them. “But you should be alright—there has to be a better way of getting in and out of the city.” she looked at Merrill. “You're Merrill, aren’t you?” she said.

Merrill nodded.

“I'm Aveline Vallen—the Hawkes are friends of mine.” she reached out and grabbed Merrill's hand in a firm greeting. Merrill seemed a little confused by the custom, but made no comment.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Merrill said, trying a small smile.

“This isn't a really good time to be moving into Kirkwall,” Aveline said with a grimace. “It'd probably have been a better idea to stay on your mountain.”

“Oh—no, I don't think so,” Merrill shook her head.

“Alright,” Aveline's expression was dubious. “Anyway—you lot, look out for yourselves. The Templars are still nervous and they might be considering closing the city to refugees again.”

“What?” Abigail asked in surprise.

“That would be a bad idea,” Varric said. “Do you have any idea how many things we couldn't get a hold of the last time the city was closed?”

“I don’t understand,” Merrill said. “Why would it be so bad? I mean—it wouldn’t be good for the refugees, but--”

“If they’re blocking refugees, they end up blocking merchants and anyone else, too,” Anders explained, rolling his eyes. “They want to make sure no refugees sneak in somehow. It makes trade a mess.”

“I know,” Aveline said, rubbing her forehead. “Look—just be careful, alright?” the group went to leave, and Aveline caught Abigail's arm. “I could use your help with something, if you can,” she said.

“Sure,” Abigail said. “Come by Gamlen's later and we can work something out.”

Aveline nodded. “Good.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, this is the Alienage?' Merrill said, staring around at the square when they arrived. Her eyes were very large and they lingered on the muddy streets and the patched clothes of the residents. “This is where the elves live?”

“You're the one who wanted to come here,” Anders pointed out, folding his arms.

“I've never been somewhere with so many people,” she said, looking around. “It seems—lonely.”

“Oh no, it's nothing like that!” Sigrun assured her. “Maybe they'll take some getting used to you, but people around here are alright.”

“Anyway, you know all of us already,” Abigail told her. “I'm sure you'll be making more friends soon.”

“Just watch your back,” Nathaniel advised. "This isn't always the safest place.

“Oh, believe me, I will,” Merrill said.

"Where in Kirkwall is safe, anyway?" Anders asked Nathaniel, who considered that thoughtfully.

“Come on,” Sigrun said. “Why don't we get you settled in? We can introduce you to Hahren Josiah and our neighbors.” Sigrun, Velanna and Merrill went to their house, while Anders and Nathaniel decided to go back to Darktown.

“You're sure you'll be alright there?” Abigail asked, her expression dubious. “It’s not very safe at all.”

“But what's life without a little risk?” Anders said with a slight smile.

“A lot longer, statistically speaking,” Nathaniel sighed.

“We can talk about it later,” Anders said. His eyes caught the light, gleaming faintly blue for a moment. The two of them left, leaving Bethany, Abigail and Varric alone. They walked towards Lowtown, some of the Alienage elves glancing curiously at them as they left.

“So,” Abigail said, turning to Varric. “Do you know of any other jobs for us?”

Varric gave a heavy sigh. “I've been looking,” he said. “There's a couple possible ones—a captain whose ship got sunk might have something for us. At this point, I'd even suggest the Qunari.”

“The Qunari. Really.” Abigail folded her arms.

Varric spread his hands. “We're running out of time and options,” he said. “Two other expeditions have already gone. You might wanna talk to Athenril.”

Bethany groaned. “I can't stand that woman,” she said.

“Athenril isn't so bad,” Abigail said.

Bethany frowned at her and folded her arms. “She liked you,” she muttered. “Carver and I not so much.”

“Look—come by tomorrow, and I'll see if that ship captain has anything for you,” Varric said.

Velanna and Sigrun helped to get Merrill settled in the house. They put Merrill up in the back room (Velanna moving aside several potted plants to free some space), and Merrill set about making herself comfortable.

“Did your Clan fight in the Blight?” Merrill asked Velanna.

Velanna nodded as she reorganized her plants into a better position. “We did.”

“A Wandering Keeper came to ask us if we would,” Merrill said, carefully putting her mysterious locked box on top of a nearby counter. “But Marethari didn't want to. Some of the others did, but she wanted to come here, away from the fighting.”

“I’d thought that Clan Sabrae allied with the Wardens,” Velanna said, her lips pursed. “I could have sworn that I had heard that...”

Merrill shook her head. “A Warden came to see us,” she said. “But he left.”

Sigrun came into the room. “Come on,” Sigrun said. “Why don’t we take you to the market? Show you around. It doesn’t do to be in this stuffy house all day.”

“It is not stuffy,” Velanna huffed, but agreed, and they both lead Merrill out of the house and to market.

The market was a collection of stalls around the Vhenadahl. Most merchants didn’t go near the Alienage, so the Alienage had developed their own merchants of a sort. There were local sellers as well as a few peddlers visiting from other Alienages.

Merrill was fascinated by all of it. There was a woman who sold only fruit pies, and a woman selling wines, a man with little wooden carvings—she loved it, and delighted in flitting from stall to stall and asking the proprietors questions.

“Velanna, Sigrun!” an elderly elvhen man came hobbling over to them, leaning heavily on his stick. His long silver hair was gathered in a severe braid that accentuated his sharp face. “I didn’t know you’d come back.”

“Hahren Josiah!” Sigrun smiled. “Yeah, we just got back a little while ago.”

“Savhalla, Hahren,” Velanna said, inclining her head.

“Good to see both of you got back in one piece.” He looked at Merrill, who was busily inspecting a bunch of radishes. “Who’s this young lady?”

“This is Merrill,” Sigrun said, patting Merrill on the shoulder. “She’s going to be staying with us for a bit. Merrill, this is Hahren Josiah. He’s in charge.”

“Well, for a given measure of ‘in charge,’ anyway,” Josiah grumbled.

“Ander’an atish’an,” Merrill said, putting down the radishes and inclining her head respectfully.

“Nice to meet you,” Josiah said. His eyes traced her vallaslin. “You’d be Dalish, like Velanna here?”

Merrill nodded.

Josiah hummed. “Arianni’s Dalish, too—your Clan kick you out? Heard they do that sometimes.”

“What?” Merrill squeaked. “No!”

“Oh. Well, why are you here, then?”

“We...” Merrill looked away. “Disagreed. The Keeper and I.”

“So they did kick you out.”

“Hahren,” Velanna snapped.

Josiah raised his hands. “Alright, alright,” he acquiesced. “Well, young lady, I hope you like it here. Don’t cause any trouble, you understand?”

“Of course not, Hahren,” Merrill gave him a nervous smile.

“Good. Now, Velanna, David and Heynel still need that cough medicine—you wouldn’t happen to know any herbcraft, would you?” he asked Merrill.

“Oh!” Merrill jumped, startled at being addressed. “Um—a little,” she said.

“Lovely, lovely. Could always use someone else who knows that. Anyway, Heynel went out in the bloody rain again, and he’s still coughing,” Josiah rolled his eyes. “So if you could get him some of your syrup, Velanna, that’d be dandy.”

“Oh, curse Heynel,” Velanna shook her head. “I told David to keep an eye on that idiot husband of his...” she rubbed her temples. “Yes, Hahren, I’ll see what I can do, but if it turns into pneumonia, tell Heynel to get his worthless hide down to the Darktown healer—my potions aren’t much good against fluid in his lungs.”

“The healer’s back?” one of the women at the stalls who had been listening to their conversation butted in.

“Oh, yes,” Sigrun nodded. “He got back a little while ago, same as us. He should be getting back to work soon.”

“Oh, good,” the woman, middle-aged with iron-streaked auburn hair, gave a sigh of relief. “My Zicra broke her leg, and I’m worried I’ve not set it properly.” she looked at Velanna. “I’d have asked you, Velanna, but you were away.”

“Bone-setting isn’t my strong suit, anyway,” Velanna grumbled. “You’d be better off taking that daughter of yours to the healer.”

“Oh dear,” Merrill said, sympathetic. “Maybe—maybe I could look at it?” she suggested. “I know some bone-setting—if you want, that is, I mean, if you don’t want me to, I won’t...” she looked away.

“You do?” the woman exclaimed. “Oh, that’d be just wonderful! Oh, where are my manners? I’m Rachel, Rachel Josran. You’re Merrill?”

Merrill nodded. “Yes. I know some medicine—my potions are no good,” she chuckled. “But I can do injuries well enough. And I can definitely tell you if you set it right or not.”

Rachel beamed. “Oh, well, young lady, why don’t you come right away? I can get my son to watch the stall for a bit. Abraham!” she called to a gangly elvhen youth who was chatting with a few friends. “Watch the stall, would you?”

Abraham came over, looking sulky. “Yes, Ma,” he mumbled.

“Good. Now, I’ll be back in a little bit—watch it carefully, understand? You go off with your friends and I won’t be happy.”

Abraham sighed and leaned his elbows on the stall. “Yes, Ma,” he repeated, rolling his eyes.

“Wonderful! Now, young lady, come along—I’ll show you the way.”

To Merrill’s surprise, Rachel looped her arm in hers, and tugged her towards the tenements. Sigrun giggled and covered her mouth, and waved as she left.

“Well, she looks like she’s doing just fine,” Sigrun said.

“Who’s that?” Abraham asked. “She was pretty.”

“Too old for you, da’len,” Velanna said curtly, rapping Abraham on top of his head with her knuckles.

“Ow! Velanna! I just said she was pretty!” Abraham rubbed his head.

“Hmph,” Velanna folded her arms.

“You worry too much, ibine,” Sigrun said, putting her arm around Velanna’s waist. “She’ll be just fine, you’ll see.”

Chapter Text

Abigail came to meet Varric about the job he’d mentioned. She went to the Hanged Man, as usual.

“So,” Abigail said, sitting down next to Varric at his normal table. “You told me there was someone who would pay me for something. In the future, I would appreciate more details.”

“Isabela, over there,” Varric pointed. “She could do with a hand.” Abigail looked where he pointed.

A human woman sat at the bar, looking generally displeased with life. She had a pair of wickedly sharp daggers strapped to her back, and long brown hair bound back with a blue bandanna. She wore a rather dangerous amount of jewelry for someone lurking in the Hanged Man—a gleaming necklace and a pair of matching earrings.

“Are you quite sure?” Abigail asked.

“Pretty sure. She had some bad dealings with someone she was trying to get information from—maybe we'll be better.”

“Alright, come on then,” Abigail jerked her head and she and Varric went over to Isabela.

“Back again, Varric?” Isabela said. She looked Abigail over and gave a smile. “Now—she's someone who might get things done.”

“You have that little faith in me?” Varric said with a grin.

Isabela raised her eyebrows. “Let's just say I trust actual mercs over businessmen who want to be mercs and leave it at that, alright?”

“I am not a merc,” Abigail said.

“And I don't want to be one,” Varric said.

Isabela shrugged. “Did Varric tell you what I needed?”

“No.” Abigail frowned at Varric.

“Typical.” Isabela sighed and put down her mug. She turned around to face them fully and leaned back against the bar. “Someone hired me to grab a relic for him. I lost it, and he's going to be very, very upset when he finds out about that.”

“A relic?” Abigail asked. “What kind of relic?”

Isabela waved a hand. “Don't worry about it. Probably at the bottom of the ocean by now...” she tutted to herself. “Anyway, no one I hired was able to find it, and neither was I. Which means I need to deal with Hayder myself.”

“And what do you need us for?” Abigail asked.

“Backup. My crew all abandoned me when the ship sank, cowardly bastards...” she scowled for a moment, her honey-colored eyes glinting dangerously. “Anyway, I'm not going to go against Hayder and his band of idiots alone, because I know he won't play fair.”

“If you can pay us, we'll do whatever you wish,” Abigail said.

“Just the two of you, or are there more?”

Abigail and Varric looked at each other.

“We could probably wrangle Junior and Sunshine...” Varric said.

“We do have some...new friends, though,” Abigail said. She thought for a minute. “Maybe Merrill would help out.”

“Why?”

“She needs money too, doesn't she?”

Varric shrugged. “I dunno, she doesn't seem like the fighting type...”

“You saw her fight on the mountain.”

“That doesn't mean it's a good idea.”

“What about Anders or the others?”

“Alright, enough,” Isabela held up her hands. “So you have a whole band of idiots too—good to hear.”

“They are not idiots.” Abigail said.

“Anders and Nathaniel do voluntarily live in Darktown,” Varric reminded her.

Abigail considered that. “Well, yes, they do.” she shrugged. “Isabela, we can help you if you can pay us. And can you?”

Isabela smirked. “Sweet thing, one perk of being a pirate is that I definitely have some money lying about. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, that's something we're really happy to hear,” Varric said.

“One last thing,” Abigail leaned forward. “Do you have any issues with mages? Some of our friends are...well, they know more than staff fighting, let's leave it at that.”

Isabela laughed. “Problem with mages? I'm Rivaini—it's you bloody mainlanders that get all weird about magic. No offense.”

Abigail smiled, relieved. “None taken, that’s exactly what I was hoping to hear. So, when do we start?”

Isabela was to meet Hayder at night in one of the seedier spots in Hightown. Abigail was really unsure about the location.

“We have a friend in the Guard,” she told Isabela. “I could just tell her to get Hayder. It might save you a great deal of trouble.”

Isabela tapped her chin. “That...would be a good idea,” she said. “I don't usually go to the Guard—they're never very happy to see me, if you get my drift.”

“I gathered that.” the piracy bit had been a tip-off.

“Exactly.” Isabela rubbed her forehead. “The problem is—he's the go-between between me and my actual employer, an Antivan bastard called Castillon.” she scowled. “Castillon was dealing in slaves, and I stopped that, only he decided that I had to pay him back, so I went and got the bloody relic for him.”

“Why did you do that?” Abigail asked. “You could have just run, couldn't you?”

“I could have," she sighed. "But if I ran, he'd probably track me down again. No, I think I'll need to deal with Hayder myself—at least let Castillon know it'd be a bad idea to get on my ass again.”

“Alright...” Abigail said, uncertainly. “If you think that's the best thing to do, I suppose we can help.”

“And the money helps, too,” Varric pointed out.

“That too.”

Abigail went to see Merrill in the Alienage, to see if she wanted in on Isabela’s job. She was still at Velanna and Sigrun’s house, and the three of them seemed content so far.

“I'm trying to get my own house,” Merrill said, the four of them sitting at the small kitchen table. “I don't want to impose any longer than I have to...”

“It's fine,” Sigrun assured her. “Anyway, we like the company. Isn't that right, ibine?” she nudged Velanna.

“Hm?” Velanna said. “Yes—being around another Dalish is a relief.”

“Good to hear,” Abigail said. “I really came here about a job, however. Would any of you like to help?”

“What's the job?” Sigrun asked. “We could do with some money.”

“It's a little complicated, but essentially, we’re doing backup for a woman who wants to make sure nothing goes wrong with this person she's meeting.”

“Criminal?” Sigrun asked.

“Isabela? Very likely. The man she's meeting? Definitely.”

Sigrun and Velanna looked at each other.

“Sorry, count us out of that,” Sigrun said.

“We hardly need the extra attention,” Velanna sniffed.

“Could I help?” Merrill asked. “Or would that be a bad idea?”

“You can if you want,” Abigail said. “That would make the team a little mage-heavy, however.”

“I do know knife-fighting,” Merrill said. “If you're worried about Templars, I don't have to use magic to fight.”

Abigail raised her eyebrows at her, and Merrill hunched her shoulders.

“Any time we passed near human settlements, it was always a good idea to hide our magic,” she explained. “Sarel—Marethari's husband—always said that it doesn't do for a mage to only defend herself with magic anyway.”

“Do you know any nonmagical fighting?” Abigail asked Velanna.

Velanna's lip curled. “Staff fighting,” she grunted. “I prefer magic.”

“So do I!” Merrill exclaimed. “Or not fighting at all.”

“Well, you can come if you want,” Abigail said. “It would probably help to have more people rather than fewer.”

“I would not advise it,” Velanna said. “It seems like it could too easily go wrong.”

“No, I’ll help,” Merrill said. “It sounds like it might be fun.”

Sigrun laughed. “You have a weird idea of fun, don’t you?”

Merrill flushed and hunched her shoulders. “People’ve told me that before,” she admitted.

Abigail, Bethany, Carver, Varric and Merrill came to meet Isabela at the place she had specified. Merrill was edgy, shifting from foot to foot, her staff switched for a pair of long Dalish daggers. Bethany and Carver were both nervous as well, neither of them enjoying the proximity to Hightown.

Isabela met them about fifteen minutes later than she said she would. Her hair was pulled sharply away from her face in a bun, and her jewelry was gone. She wore the same short tunic and tall boots, but had added a pair of thick gloves that went halfway up her arms.

“You're all here, good,” Isabela nodded. “Want to introduce me to your friends?” she looked at Abigail and Varric, eyebrows raised.

“This is Carver and Bethany, my brother and sister,” Abigail said. “And that's Merrill—she's from the Alienage.”

“Hello,” Merrill smiled and gave a tiny wave.

Isabela smiled in return. She looked Merrill up and down and gave her an appreciative wink before saying, in a more businesslike tone, “And—which of you is the mages? I heard something about mages.”

“Bethany, Merrill, and I are.” Abigail said.

“No staff?” Isabela asked Merrill.

“Oh—I can get by without it,” Merrill assured her. “It'd stand out a little, anyway.”

“Good,” Isabela nodded. “I like having eyes on me normally, but this is a situation where we could easily have too much of a good thing.” she looked at Bethany, eyes tracing her staff.

“It's a quarterstaff!” Bethany exclaimed, noticing her gaze. “Abigail's is too!”

“Alright, that'll have to do,” Isabela said. “Come on—I set up a meeting with Hayder, but I just know he won't play fair.”

Hayder did not, indeed, play fair. A group of thugs attacked Abigail's group, showing that Isabela had been smart to get some backup. According to a note on one of the thug's bodies, Hayder was hiding out near the docks, and they went to go find him.

“Probably hoping to catch me,” Isabela growled.

“Are you around the docks often?” Merrill asked.

“Oh yes, I need to keep an eye out for another ship,” Isabela said. “It's a lot easier to find a ship to steal or buy when you're near them.”

“You'd steal a ship?” Carver asked.

“Only if it were a good enough ship.”

“But you would still steal one?”

Isabela sighed. “Is that really that much of an issue for you?”

“Well—I--” Carver sighed. “No, not really. Considering my line of work.”

“You don't even have a line of work,” Abigail said. “None of us do. We're just doing random jobs because none of us have enough skills to be an apprentice.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” Carver said, rolling his eyes.

“We can all talk about our terrible life choices later,” Isabela said. “Right now, there's a job I hired you for.”

They found Hayder in a dingy warehouse near the docks.

“I really want to know what part of your brain thought it would be a good idea to ambush me, Hayder,” Isabela said, unsheathing her blades as soon as she walked in the door.

“Isabela—should've known you'd find me,” Hayder growled. He was a greasy looking man with a Ferelden accent, and he cast a casual glance at Isabela's companions before focusing on her again. “Castillon's not happy with you, girl, not at all.”

Abigail rolled her eyes and took her staff off her back.

Hayder scowled. “Where's the relic, Isabela?”

“I lost it,” Isabela snapped.

“You lost it?”

“If you didn't notice, my ship sank, half my crew died, and the other half all ran off after reaching land,” she said. “Yes, I lost it.”

“And is there any reason you didn't let Castillon know you survived the wreck?” Hayder asked, folding his arms. “He would’ve liked to hear about that.”

“Must've slipped my mind.” Isabela's tone was utterly icy.

“No slaves, and no relic,” Hayder's lip curled.

“Oh dear, no slaves!” Isabela rolled her eyes. “My heart bleeds for Castillon. He's just going to have to do without.”

“You could always just not tell your boss Isabela's alive, if he doesn't know,” Varric pointed out. “Save us all a lot of trouble.”

Hayder snorted. “If I cross Castillon, he'll kill me, and my life's worth more than this pirate's is,” he gestured at Isabela.

Isabela sighed and shook her head. “Only one way to settle this,” she muttered. She took a throwing knife from her belt and flung it, hitting one of Hayder's fellows in the chest. A fight began immediately, but a group of ragged bandits weren't any match for three mages. The fight was very quickly ended, but not before Isabela took a knife to the gut.

Abigail and Carver held Isabela between them while Bethany tried to heal the injury, but after a few moments she grimaced.

“I can't do much,” she said. “I'm sorry—I can just stop it from bleeding, we need a better healer--”

“Anders has a clinic, doesn't he?” Merrill said, knotting her hands together worriedly. “I could try blood healing--”

“No,” Bethany snapped. “No blood magic.”

“It won't make it worse,” Merrill insisted.

“How can you say blood magic won't make things worse?” Carver demanded.

“Because I've done it before,” Merrill said. She chewed her lip worriedly. “Not on anything like this, though--”

“Anders' clinic,” Abigail decided, before they could waste any more time. They half dragged a semiconscious Isabela there. No one paid any mind to the group of people hauling a bleeding woman around Darktown. It was a reasonably common sight.

The light in Anders' window was lit, which was a good sign. Abigail kicked the door in.

“Anders!” she called. “Are you here?”

“Right here,” Anders came hurrying over. “For the love of Andraste—it's barely been a week since I saw you! Over here, on the table--”

They brought Isabela to the indicated surface, and Anders shooed them away while he worked.

“Oh, Creators, I hope she'll be alright,” Merrill said, shifting from foot to foot.

“Did you seriously want to use blood magic to heal her?” Bethany demanded.

“Yes—you saw how much blood there was.” Merrill held out her hands in an imploring manner.

“Blood magic doesn't heal anything!”

“Do you know any blood magic?” Merrill asked. “Do you know any blood mages?”

“Well--” Bethany faltered. “No, but—but I know it doesn't heal!”

“Don't be silly,” Merrill said. “Why wouldn't it? That's like saying a fire spell couldn't set a fire.” she rolled up her sleeve. “I don't even have any scars here, you see?”

The skin on both her arms was totally clear, free of any scar or blemish, or even any scabs. This was remarkable, considering the times they had been her cut open her arm.

“I could have helped!” Merrill insisted, pushing her sleeves back down.

“It's alright,” Abigail said, patting Merrill on the shoulder. “We got her to Anders in time.”

“What were you all doing?” Nathaniel had come up to them, watching Anders work. “Who is she?”

“She hired us to help her with a job,” Abigail explained. “But she got stabbed.”

“I can see that.”

Anders finally finished up, the glow of the healing magic dying. They hurried over to see how Isabela was.

“She'll be fine,” Anders said. “No thanks to any of you,” he glared at them. “I really don't need more than one or two stab patients a night, you know.”

“'s alright,” Isabela mumbled, finally coming around. “My fault. Should've kept a better eye on—whoever it was...”

“Quiet,” Anders instructed. “And stop moving so much. Just rest, alright?”

Isabela furrowed her brow. “Sure...” she said. “But first, where am I?”

“Darktown.”

She groaned. “Andraste’s tits, how did I end up here?”

“The Hawkes, Varric and Merrill dragged you here. All over half of Kirkwall, I assume.” Anders glared at them, his arms folded.

“Oh?” Isabela glanced at them. “Thanks for that. 'preciate it.” her eyes slid closed. “I'll pay you when it's light out, alright?” her breathing evened out, and she was soon deeply asleep.

“You're sure she's alright?” Merrill asked Anders.

Anders waved a hand. “Perfectly fine—she’ll have a nasty scar, maybe, but other than that...”

Merrill gave Bethany a significant look, and Bethany just sighed.

“So—what were you all doing that got this woman stabbed?” Anders asked. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Former pirate captain,” Varric explained. “She wanted us to be her backup during a meeting. We backed her up, but...apparently things didn't exactly go as planned.”

“A pirate?” Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. “Wait...she wasn't from one of the ships that sank in that storm, was she?”

“She was,” Bethany said.

“Wonderful,” Anders muttered. “Now I have to look forward to bloody pirates coming through my door as well as refugees, and the Vashoth.”

“The Vashoth?” Abigail asked. “What have they to do with anything?”

“Nothing, really, except for crowding my clinic. They really don't get on with the Qunari,” Anders explained. “Had a woman in here—apparently she tried to take on five stens at once. Stupid thing to do, even for someone that tall.”

“Why'd she do something like that?” Bethany asked.

“Didn't get a solid reason, but apparently she was an escapee from the Qun,” Anders said. “She was worried they were going to attack her or drag her back, so she struck first. Turned out, they had no idea who she was.”

Varric shook his head. “Those Qunari are bad news,” he said.

“Mm,” Anders nodded. “Surana hates them. You remember, Nate?” he nudged Nathaniel.

Nathaniel nodded. “The Qunari are pretty awful to their mages,” he said. “Even worse than the Circle.”

“And your Commander didn't like them?” Abigail asked.

“She's a mage, so...” Anders spread his hands.

They continued talking for a bit. Bethany and Carver returned to Gamlen's, but Abigail, Varric and Merrill stayed to make sure Isabela would be alright (and to get paid).

It was well into the morning when Isabela finally woke properly, rubbing her eyes.

“Alright, so explain to me again how I ended up in a Darktown clinic?” she asked.

“We took you here,” Abigail said. “You were stabbed.”

“You don't remember?” Varric said.

“I try not to remember getting stabbed.” Isabela informed him. “Not exactly fun memories, are they?”

“Try not to do it again,” Anders called over from where he was working on a broken arm.

“Believe me, I'll remember that.” Isabela stretched and got to her feet. “Alright, so you lot want payment...” she hummed to herself. “Well, you bothered to drag me all the way here, so you've probably earned more than we negotiated at first, right?”

She did end up giving them a good deal more than they first asked for, which was of a great help. She also assured them that should they need anything, they could simply ask her.

“I'll probably be in Kirkwall a while,” she said with a sigh. “If you want to find me, I'll be at my place by the docks—or a tavern, whichever.”

“We all live in Lowtown,” Abigail said. “Well—Merrill lives in the Alienage. So if you need to see us, you know where we are.”

“And Nathaniel and Anders live here,” Merrill said.

“Don't go dragging me into this!” Anders said.

“But this is where you live, isn't it?” Merrill asked.

Anders sighed. “Yes.”

Isabela glanced at Anders, then did a double take. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What? No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? Have you ever been to the Pearl, in Denerim?”

Anders glanced up at her, looking at her in a new light. “I—yes...” he said. “Hm.”

“Oh, wait a minute, I do know you!” Isabela snapped her fingers. “You could do that thing with electricity!”

Anders flushed. “Maker above, it is a small world, isn’t it?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Abigail glanced between the two of them. “So...where exactly do you know each other from?”

“Long story,” Anders said, at the same time Isabela said “Whorehouse.”

Merrill giggled, Bethany and Carver gaped, and Varric laughed, immediately asking for the story. Isabela launched into an exuberant explanation, while Anders continued to be very red and only offered occasional commentary.

They left Darktown to go back to their respective homes.

“You should bring me on that expedition of yours,” Isabela commented idly to Varric. “I've a knack for finding treasure.” she winked at him.

Chapter Text

The next few days were quiet. However, Athenril had a lead on a job for Abigail, so Abigail took Varric and Bethany and went to meet the contact Athenril had specified.

The person in question was a dwarf named Anso, an individual that Varric knew in passing. Anso was skittish and jumpy, never a good sign, but he needed help and was willing to pay them a great deal for it. As far as he knew, the property (he wouldn't tell them what it was, specifically) had been taken to the Alienage, but Anso didn't have to means to deal with bandits and thieves.

“We'll get it back for you,” Abigail assured him.

After Anso was out of earshot, the three of them looked at each other.

“This smells bad,” Varric said.

“It does,” Abigail agreed. “What do you think is really going on?”

“I don’t know,” Bethany said. “But we should go to the Alienage and see if we can find out. Maybe Sigrun or Velanna or Merrill would know more.”

They made their way to the Alienage, and found it extremely quiet. Sigrun, however, was hovering under the Vhenadahl. She was dressed in heavy plate armor, and a hammer was slung over her back.

“Sigrun?” Abigail said, taking in her armor and weapon. “What are you doing here?”

Sigrun blinked at her in surprise. “Me? What are you doing here?”

Before either of them could explain, Velanna and Merrill crossed the square, each coming from a different alley. Both of them were armed as well, Velanna with a staff that had a crystal embedded in the top, Merrill's a twining figurehead. Merrill also had a long knife on her belt.

“I found nothing,” Velanna said with a shake of her head.

“Nor me,” Merrill said. “Not even a mugging!” Merrill was fascinated by muggings, and seemed oddly disappointed.

“What are you three doing out?” Abigail asked. “It's the middle of the night!”

“There's something weird going on,” Sigrun said. “Someone spotted a man in Imperial armor a few days ago, and there's been some other weirdos around too.”

“Tevinters?” Abigail asked, furrowing her brow.

“Perhaps,” Velanna said. “In any case, what are you doing here?”

“We've a job,” Abigail explained. “We’re supposed to be getting back lost property.” she and Varric exchanged a look.

“It really feels like some kind of set up,” Varric said. “Not sure what kind, exactly, but it sure feels like one.”

“I bet they have something to do with each other,” Bethany said. “Do you know about any strangers in the Alienage, smugglers or the like?”

Sigrun and Velanna glanced at each other.

“Most human criminals get chased out,” Sigrun said. “But like I said, people've seen Tevinters around...” she frowned.

“But there were a couple of humans who used a house around here,” Merrill said. “Zefris and her sister chased them away, though.”

“Who's Zefris?” Abigail asked.

“She sells wines, just there,” Merrill said, pointing to a nearby empty cart. “Oh! And the house the humans were using was right next to her—that's why she was so angry.”

“Why don't we take a look?” Abigail suggested. “It can hardly do any harm.”

There was no one in the house, but there was a large chest of dwarven make.

“Do you think that's Anso's?” Bethany said.

“Could be,” Varric said. “You see a lot of dwarven chests around here?”

They opened it. “That's strange,” Abigail said, peering into the chest. She turned it for her companions to see. “There's nothing in it.”

“Maybe it was stolen?” Merrill suggested. “Things get stolen here a lot.”

“Could well be,” Sigrun said. “I mean—no one's been here for a day or two. I don't think anyone lives here, it's not exactly unlikely.”

“Why don't we keep looking?” Abigail suggested. “I don't want to go back to Anso empty handed, at least not until I figure out what's going on.”

Outside was a group of humans in Tevinter armor. Velanna muttered a Dalish curse, and everyone took out their weapons.

“None of them is the right elf,” the woman at the front of the Tevinter group snarled to her second.

“Doesn't matter,” said her second. “Whoever enters the house, remember?”

There was no chance to stall, the Tevinters simply attacked. Lights began to go on in the Alienage, and during the fighting, a large number of insults in Dalish and Alienage pigdin were called out. Someone threw a rock at one of the Tevinters, but no one else came out to fight.

Due to the three mages, the fight was over quickly. The Tevinters had enchanted armor and there was one mage accompanying them, but he wasn't a match for them.

“What in all the Void is all this about?” demanded a loud voice from one of the apartments overhead. “Velanna? Sigrun? Merrill?”

Sigrun slung her hammer over one shoulder. “Damn Tevinters,” she called back. “Go back to bed, Lorren.”

“What are they even doing here?” Hahren Josiah came out of his home, limping on his walking stick. His silver hair fell freely down his shoulders instead of pulled back in its usual severe braid, and he looked even angrier than normal.

“Hahren Josiah,” Velanna greeted. “Ir abelas—these scum must have sprung a trap for whoever entered that house,” she pointed at the house they had just left. “Do you know anything of this?”

“He wouldn't,” came a new voice, and they all turned to look. Another elf came down the Alienage steps.

As he came into the light, it was easy to tell that he was an odd one. His hair was just as silver as the Hahren's, but his face was almost as young as Carver's. Ice-pale tattoos trailed over his warm brown skin, and glimmered slightly as he moved. He was very short, even for an elf, only about a head and shoulders taller than Varric, but stocky and muscled. His armor was spattered with blood.

“Oh, for the love of the Maker,” Hahren Josiah rolled his eyes. “And who exactly are you?”

“The one they set the trap for,” he said with a sneer, looking down at the bodies of the Tevinters. He had a very thick Tevene accent. He glanced back up at the Hahren. “I apologize. I asked Anso to set a distraction for the hunters—I had no idea they'd be so...numerous.”

“You should bloody well apologize!” Hahren Josiah exclaimed, thumping his walking stick on the cobblestones. “Waking the whole cursed Alienage up—some people have work in the morning, you know!”

“Hahren, we can take care of it,” Abigail said, stepping up. “We're the ones who got dragged into fighting, after all.”

The Hahren rolled his eyes. “Oh, lovely, some Lowtown shem solving problems instead of causing them,” he snapped. “That'd be a nice change of pace.” he turned to Velanna and Sigrun. “Would the two of you be so kind as to get the rest of these idiots out of here?” he said. “Before Zefris or one of Malana's boys gets an idea into their head?”

“What about the bodies?” Merrill said.

“We'll deal with it at a decent hour,” Josiah said. “Now, Merrill, dear, please take your friends and move this somewhere else.”

“You heard him,” Abigail said. “Come on,” she gestured to the silver-haired elf. “You can explain everything to us.”

They walked out of the Alienage.

“And don’t come back!” Josiah shouted at the new elf.

“Oh, Creators, the Hahren’s upset,” Merrill said, worried.

“We did wake him and half the Alienage up,” Sigrun pointed out.

Merrill clucked her tongue, worried. “Maybe we could help put better walls up? Stop anyone else like that coming in?”

“You,” Velanna jabbed a finger at the unfamiliar elf. “Explain.”

“Those soldiers were Imperial bounty hunters, sent to retrieve a magister's lost property,” he said. “Namely myself.” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, no,” Merrill covered her mouth. “You aren't a slave, are you?”

“I am not a slave,” he snapped, clenching his fists. “My name is Fenris.”

“That's a lovely name!” Merrill said. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A small wolf.”

“No.” Fenris glowered at her, his curious tattoos catching the light.

“How do we get from them trying to find you to us having an all-out fight in the Alienage?” Abigail asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“They wanted to draw me out into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could hardly face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely.”

“So you hired a merc group with a go-between, so you could spring the hunters' trap on the mercs instead of yourself?” Varric asked. He shook his head. “It'd be clever if I weren't the one in the trap.”

“You are unscathed. I see no problem.” Fenris folded his arms.

“There's a problem in waking up half the Alienage,” Sigrun said. “We’re never going to hear the end of it now.”

“There is also a problem in four mages running around freely, but you are not speaking of that.” Fenris’ eyes were on each of the mages, his gaze suspicious.

“Do you have a problem with mages?” Abigail asked.

Fenris' lip curled. “If you knew magisters as I did, you too would have a problem with your kind.”

“But we aren't magisters,” Merrill said.

“You of all people should know how insulting it is to compare elvhen to Tevinter magisters,” Velanna snapped. “You are an elf yourself!”

“Yeah, and I'm pretty sure Velanna would murder any magister she ran into,” Varric offered helpfully.

“Magic is more dangerous than any difference of race,” Fenris snapped.

“But you're covered in magic,” Merrill pointed out.

“Is that him bending the Fade?” Abigail asked. “I was having a hard time pinning it down.”

“It's like you're casting some spell,” Bethany told Fenris, her expression curious. “But I don't know what it is.”

“I am casting no spells!” Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose—an interesting gesture, as his hands were covered by very sharp gauntlets. “Do you not see these markings?” he tapped his chin, where the strange tattoos trailed from his lower lip, down his jaw, and over his neck.

“I saw, but I thought they were just pretty,” Merrill said.

“You are daft.”

“I am not! I just don't know what they are!”

“Lyrium,” Fenris gave a heavy sigh. “A magister's experiment—lyrium branded into my flesh, to see what it would do.”

“Well, that makes you practically a mage in a funny sort of way, doesn't it?” Merrill said.

Fenris’ eyes flashed. “No, it does not!”

“Enough,” Abigail raised a hand. “Now, Fenris—we aren't really happy about being tricked this way, and I know the Alienage isn't happy we had a fight there--”

“That is not of my doing. The Tevinters chose to operate there.”

“Which is...odd, and very bad,” Abigail said. “In any case, if they really were slavers trying to recapture you, we can help you.”

“We’re not really big fans of slavery,” Varric said.

“Why didn’t you just ask us for help in the first place?” Bethany wanted to know. “No one in Kirkwall likes slavery very much.”

“It would have been too dangerous,” Fenris said with a wave of his hand. “And too much attention would have been drawn to me. A go-between was the best solution.”

“Fine, fine,” Abigail said. “As long as we still get paid.”

“What? Oh—yes, of course,” Fenris said. “I do not have money on me at the moment, as it is the dead of night in Kirkwall...”

“Makes sense,” Varric said with a shrug.

“But when I am through with my next task, you shall be paid.”

“And what is your next task?” Abigail asked. “As I said, we can help you with it.”

“The magister who sent these hunters is still here in this city,” Fenris said. “I must confront him before he escapes.”

Abigail nodded. “Right then. We can help you capture him.”

“Why?”

“If there is a slaver like that in town, I want to know about it,” Abigail said. “We cannot just let a slaver run around doing whatever he wants. Take us to him.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at them.

“In any case, you just said you had trouble taking on lots of people on your own,” she said. “What happens if you are surprised by a group? We can watch your back for you.”

“We're already out here,” Varric pointed out. “Might as well.”

Fenris looked at all of them, sizing them up. “If you must,” he said at length. “Follow me—his mansion is in Hightown, we must be quick if he is not to escape us.”

“When did he get here?” Varric asked. “I'm pretty sure I'd've heard of a Tevinter magister setting up shop.”

“He is using an assumed name,” Fenris growled. “He knows well of the hostility of the south, and the particular hate Kirkwall has of mages.”

“Well, the Templars don't like them,” Sigrun said. “Everyone else seems to be busy with their own problems.”

“And do these problems include magic?”

“Only when you go to the Sundermount,” Merrill said. She paused. “Well, there are a lot more nasty things in Kirkwall than anywhere I've been before,” she elaborated. “I think it's because the Gallows are so close. Makes everyone just miserable.”

Fenris furrowed his brow at her, not understanding, but he didn't push the issue. Instead he turned to Abigail. “What was in the chest?” Fenris asked. “The one they kept in the house?”

“Nothing,” Abigail said. “It was empty.”

Fenris frowned. “I suppose it was too much to hope for.”

“Were you expecting something?” Merrill asked.

Fenris shook his head. “It no longer matters.”

“Are you sure? What if--”

“It is not important,” Fenris insisted, and they left it at that.

The mansion they came to was tall, and the building itself was of a more Tevinter style than the more modern Kirkwall style. That wasn’t uncommon in and of itself, especially with older buildings.

“Is this the place?” Abigail asked, looking up at it with a critical eye.

Fenris gave one short, sharp nod. His expression was closed and sour, his brows drawn together. His shoulders were hunched and he shifted from foot to foot. His feet were bare, contrasting with his metal armor.

“Anything we should know?” Varric asked.

“He will have traps,” Fenris said. “Demons.”

“Oh, I can take care of those!” Merrill said. She pulled the knife from her belt and squinted at the door. “Only once we're inside, though.”

Fenris' eyes darted from Merrill to her long knife. “You are a mage. What need have you for a blade?”

“Oh, it's not for them,” she assured him. “It's for me.”

“What?” Fenris narrowed his eyes at her.

“We can explain later,” Abigail said. “We need to take care of the magister now.”

Fenris immediately kicked the door in.

“Subtle,” Varric muttered.

They went inside. “Danarius!” Fenris bellowed. “Show yourself!”

The house was quiet. At least, it was until they moved further inside, and suddenly it was filled with demons.

The fight was confusing, with spells flying everywhere and Fenris, Varric and Sigrun trying not to hit anyone with their weapons.

Merrill sliced open her arm, and a stream of blood was flung out into the air. The demons fell back, and the entire world suddenly felt more real and solid, the demons less strong.

Fenris exclaimed a Tevinter curse and brought his sword up, pointing it at Merrill. Merrill ignored him and forced the demons back more.

“What are you doing?” Fenris demanded.

“What are you doing?” Abigail asked, grabbing his sword arm. “She's getting the demons to leave off!”

“With blood magic!”

“They don't much like blood magic,” Merrill said, offhand. “Give me another minute and I'll have them back in the Fade.”

“That makes no sense,” Fenris said.

“Of course it does!” Merrill sliced open her other arm, and with another spray of blood, the demons became insubstantial, softer. The world tilted for a minute, then righted itself, and then they were alone in the house. “There—much better.”

Fenris stared at her, then at the others. “She is a blood mage,” he said, as if they somehow hadn't understood the first time.

“Yes, we're all very clear on that,” Bethany sighed.

“How did you--” Fenris waved his hands, the wild gesticulation making his confusion clear. “This does not—how are you not an abomination?” he demanded of her. “Why are you even here?”

“Why does everyone think blood magic means people will turn into abominations?” Merrill asked with a sigh.

“Because that's what happens,” Bethany muttered.

“Don't be silly.” Merrill shook her head. “Demons can't hardly make heads or tails of a blood mage.”

Fenris looked baffled. “..later,” he growled. “We can deal with it later.”

He kept a close eye on Merrill as they went through the house, which was empty. There was no one there. A few magical traps and more mundane ones (Merrill narrowly avoided getting caught in a huge bear trap), but other than that, everyone was gone.

They finished searching the house and came back to the main room.

“Gone,” Fenris growled. “I'd hoped—but it does not matter any longer.” he shook his head, his silver hair hanging in his eyes. “I assume Danarius left valuables here—take them if you wish.” he began to walk towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Abigail asked.

“Outside.”

Fenris left them, and Abigail sighed. “Varric, go make sure he doesn't vanish,” she said.

“Sure,” Varric shrugged.

Abigail and her companions looted the place, which indeed had a large number of valuables. Then they went outside, where Fenris and Varric were talking quietly in the shadow of the mansion.

Fenris looked up when he saw them. “So, I seem to have found myself in the company of four mages,” he said with a scowl. “One of whom is a blood mage.”

“Well, when you hire people from Lowtown, you take what you can get,” Sigrun said with a shrug.

“I did not hire you or them,” he pointed to Velanna, then Merrill.

“No, you merely set Tevinters upon our Alienage!” Velanna snapped.

“That was not of my doing!” Fenris snarled back. “The hunters assumed I would be hiding there—there was no way for me to remove their presence without advertising my own!”

“You didn't have to lie to get our help,” Abigail said. “Couldn't you have told the Guard or the Hahren?”

“There was at least one mage with the Tevinters,” Varric pointed out. “Bet you could've gone to the Templars with that.”

Fenris scowled. “The Templars would as soon arrest me for these,” he held out his arm, showing the gleaming lyrium marks. “I have tried to appeal to southern Templars before—I would have thought they would consider a Tevinter magister a viable threat, but they always thought me more so.”

The group collectively sighed.

“The definitely sounds like Templars,” Abigail said, shaking her head.

“You could still have gone to the Hahren of the Alienage, if you were worried about the Templars or the Guard,” Sigrun pointed out.

Fenris blinked at them. “That had...not occurred to me,” he admitted. “The elves of Tevinter could hardly defend against hunters.”

Merrill made a sad, sympathetic noise, and Velanna scowled.

“The Alienage here isn't like that!” Merrill said. “They'll throw things if they don't like you.”

“Or use blood magic, if you are any example to go by,” Fenris said with a sneer.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Merrill raised the arm she had cut, hummed a little, and the cuts healed over completely. “Anyway--”

Fenris wrinkled his brow. “What did you do?”

“Healed myself. See?” she held out her arm to him.

“So you are a healer as well as a blood mage?” Poor Fenris now looked more confused than ever.

“A spirit healer, you mean?” Merrill shook her head. “Oh dear, no, not me. Bethany is, though.” she pointed to Bethany. “I just do blood magic.”

Fenris stared from her arm, to her face, then back at her arm again. “Then...how did you...?”

“You can heal with blood magic.”

“No, you can't.”

“I just did it.”

“I...” Fenris continued to look baffled. He sighed and closed his eyes a minute. “I imagine I appear ungrateful,” he said at length. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I am afraid I don’t currently have the coin Anso promised with me--”

“Just get it to us as soon as you can,” Abigail said. It only made sense that someone wandering Kirkwall in the middle of the night would not have much money on him. “What are you going to do now?”

Fenris shrugged. “Perhaps I could leave Kirkwall, go further south...perhaps there is somewhere I could run that Danarius would not follow.” he frowned. “But I no longer wish to run.”

“So does that mean you're gonna stay here?” Varric asked.

“I suppose that it does.”

“In that case, do not set foot in the Alienage unless you're sure there's no Tevinters on your tail,” Velanna snapped.

“He could come live in the Alienage if he wants to!” Merrill protested. “I bet Hahren Josiah would understand if Fenris explained.”

“I bet he’d throw something at Fenris,” Sigrun countered. “Or sic his grandkids on him.”

Fenris blinked at them. “I do not wish to live in the Alienage,” he said. “As I see it, there is a perfectly serviceable house that is currently abandoned.” he pointed to the mansion behind them.

Abigail raised her eyebrows. “That's certainly true.” a thought came to her. “If my family paid you rent, could we live here?”

“What?”

“Well, we're living in Lowtown with my uncle, but we’d really prefer not to. That house is too big for one person.”

“Two mages living in a derelict Hightown manor?” Fenris grimaced. “If you wish to avoid Templars, that is exactly the opposite of what you should do.”

“You just said that you get attention from Templars,” Abigail pointed out.

“I am not another two mages.”

“Look, I don't want to cut things short, but maybe we could talk about this sometime that's not one in the morning?” Varric suggested.

“Right...”

“We should get back to the Alienage,” Sigrun said. “See if there's anything we have to deal with.”

“It was lovely meeting you, Fenris!” Merrill said with a little wave.

Fenris had a peculiar expression, like he was caught between anger and confusion. “Goodbye,” he said at length.

Merrill, Velanna and Sigrun left. Abigail, Bethany and Varric left as well, with a promise that Abigail would come see Fenris in the morning.

True to his word. Fenris was still in the mansion the next day. He'd cleaned it up some, getting rid of bodies and smashed furniture, and when Abigail arrived, he was pacing the front hall, restless.

He startled when she entered the door, and then scowled.

“You may want to look into locks,” Abigail advised.

Fenris just growled.

“So, what do you plan to do?” Abigail folded her arms.

“I...am unsure,” Fenris admitted. “Oh—here is your payment,” he handed her a coinpurse, which she accepted and pocketed. “Do you still...wish your family to stay here?”

Abigail looked around at the house. “I don’t know,” she said. “It might be dangerous for two mages to live in Hightown. You were right about that.”

Fenris looked relieved, and Abigail realized that he was still very tense, shoulders drawn tight. He still wore armor, not having removed any of it, and though his sword was not strapped to his back, it was within easy reach, leaning against a nearby wall.

Abigail rubbed the back of her head. “Well...” she said. “If you need work, Varric could probably lend you a hand. And if you hear any more about slavers, definitely tell us.”

Fenris nodded his head once.

“We also know a healer in Darktown,” she added. “He could probably help you out if you got into any scrapes.”

“Thank you,” Fenris said. “But I have little need of magical healers.”

“Alright,” Abigail shrugged. “So...I’ve never seen anything like those marks. You say a magister did this to you?”

Fenris nodded again. “You and the other—mages—mentioned that they make it appear as if I am a mage,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “The Templars I have approached had a similar misconception. Why?”

“They’re bending the Fade around you,” Abigail explained. “It’s as if you’re always casting some kind of spell. You really can’t tell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you aren’t a mage? Maybe your magic was dormant, and this—lyrium experiment—did something to it. I don’t think injecting lyrium into anyone’s skin would do anything but kill them, if they were a normal person.”

“If I was ever a mage before having these markings, I would not know,” Fenris said. “I recall nothing before having them. In any case, if a slave is found to have magical abilities, he is freed.”

“But you have magic,” Abigail said. “If it’s not magic you were born with, it’s like having an enchantment bound to your skin. You’re—well, I suppose not a traditional mage, but I don’t know what else to call you.”

Fenris shook his head with a scowl. “No. You are wrong.”

Abigail shrugged. “It’s enough magic for the Templars to be on you, isn’t it?”

Fenris’ glare grew, if it were possible, even darker.

Chapter Text

Abigail looked in on Anders and Nathaniel at the clinic. While she was there, she encountered Isabela, who was sitting on one of the tables, clearly waiting to be seen. She looked better than she had the last time Abigail had seen her, her skin healthy and brown.

“Oh, hello, Isabela,” Abigail said.

Isabela smiled. “Hello there. What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Bothering me, is what,” Anders said, coming around the corner.

“You're the one who told me to come back so you could make sure this was healing,” Isabela retorted, tapping the spot on her abdomen where she'd been stabbed.

“I did, and I regret it,” Anders grumbled. “Hello, Abigail.”

“Anders,” Abigail nodded. “How are things here?”

“Well, we had Templars sniffing around here the other day,” Anders said, prodding Isabela in the stomach. Isabela flinched and waved Anders off.

“You don’t need to stab me all over again,” Isabela snapped at him.

“Hm,” Anders frowned, and his hands lit up with healing magic. He pressed his hands to her abdomen. “How much pain have you been having?”

Isabela shrugged. “Well, less than a knife in the gut, let me tell you.”

Anders glared at her. “Isabela...”

Isabela sighed. “Some aches and pains,” she said. “Right here,” she indicated where she meant.

“Anders,” Abigail put a hand on his shoulder. “Templars?”

Anders nodded. “They come around every once in a while,” he said, furrowing his brow.

“Templars come around everywhere,” Isabela said, rolling her eyes. “You know, I spot them on the docks all the time? Bloody ridiculous.”

“Don’t they need to go to the docks to get back and forth from the Gallows?” Abigail asked.

“Well, yes—but I don’t think they should be gallivanting about in the city anyway,” Isabela said. “I mean, really—Calenhad Templars weren’t like that. There were only about five Templars in Denerim at any time.”

“More than that,” Anders muttered, tone dark. “But I see what you mean.” he took his hands away and prodded her again. “How’s that?”

Isabela squirmed and batted him away. “Better,” she admitted. “But there’s no need to prod at me. At least, not there there isn’t.” she waggled her eyebrows, and Anders huffed.

“Abigail, what’s this I hear about you waking up the Alienage in the dead of night?” Anders asked as Isabela hopped off the table.

“Business,” Abigail said. “We didn’t realize how much of a fuss we’d kick up. A former Tevinter slave needed to get his hunters off his back, so he used us to do it.”

“An elf, then?” Isabela asked. “If he was going through the Alienage...”

Abigail nodded. “A bit of a strange one, too,” she said. “You should meet him sometime. He’s called Fenris. I might ask him to help on a job or two.”

“Hm,” Anders said. “Not allied with the Templars or anything, is he?”

“He doesn’t like mages much,” Abigail said. “But Templars aren’t overly fond of him, either.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Abigail rubbed the back of her neck. “You’ll see when you meet him.”

Abigail left the clinic and went to the Alienage to check in on Merrill, Velanna and Sigrun. She sat at their table while Sigrun poured tea.

“Is Hahren Josiah still angry?” Abigail asked.

“Yes,” Velanna said. “He wants to find Fenris and shout at him, but nobody knows where Fenris lives.”

“Oh, Zefris was railing on and on about it,” Sigrun rolled her eyes and passed Abigail a teacup. “Malana’s boys and Lorren, and Rachel, too.”

“Is it going to be trouble for Fenris?”

“Oh, no,” Sigrun shook her head. “As long as Fenris doesn’t bring any more trouble, they’d just yell at him for a bit and then probably invite him to stay for dinner.”

“Really?”

“Well, he’s an elf, so...” Sigrun shrugged.

“They’re very...cavalier about who they consider part of their community,” Velanna said, her expression sour.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s dangerous,” Velanna put her cup down. “I’ve told Josiah over and over again—if they let every half-elf idiot into their Alienage, they’ll end up letting in someone...unpleasant.”

“Have they?” Abigail wanted to know.

“Yes,” Velanna said with a scowl. “I had to chase off a swindler just a few months ago, and I always hear stories about thieves...”

“There’s even an old story about a murderer,” Sigrun said, frowning slightly. “Josiah and the others are so lax on letting people in...if your eyes glow in the dark or you have pointed ears, they’ll invite you in, no questions asked.”

“It’s different than with the Clans,” Merrill said. “We’re very careful about who joins us.”

“That makes sense,” Abigail agreed.

“Makes you seem a little unfriendly,” Sigrun pointed out. “I mean, the Alienage takes everyone—it seems to mostly work out for them.”

“We have to be careful,’ Merrill said. “Oh, I don’t know how many stories I’ve heard about Clans being hurt because they let in someone they should have. What about you, Velanna? There was Clan Adhlean and their poor Keeper, and that awful business with Clan Virnehn...”

Velanna nodded. “We run the risk of letting in Templars, Chevaliers if we’re in Orlais, bandits, thieves, soldiers...Creators only know what else. Local shemlen hate the Dalish, even if we’ve done nothing to them.”

Abigail stretched out her legs. “Well, how are you settling in here?” she asked Merrill, wanting to change the subject.

“I’m alright,” Merrill said. “Velanna and Sigrun are helping.”

“Stopping you from getting lost,” Sigrun said with a grin, reaching out to ruffle Merrill's hair.

Merrill flushed with embarrassment. “Well—yes. This city is just so big!”

“I suppose it does take some getting used to,” Abigail agreed. “I came from Lothering—did you ever hear of Lothering? A week from Ostagar?”

Merrill nodded. “We went by there once, before the Blight,” she said. “It was very big too, but so much smaller than Kirkwall!”

“Exactly so,” Abigail agreed. “I had a hard time getting around too, when we first came here. Aveline needed a map or a guide for the first three months, and she was constantly on patrols around the city.”

Merrill giggled. “That makes me feel a bit better,” she said.

They chatted for a bit more about life in the Alienage (Merrill recounting a mugging she had seen, and finding it quite fascinating), but after a few hours, the sun was beginning to go down, and Abigail had to leave.

The three of them wished Abigail a safe trip back home, and Merrill gave her a quick hug, which Abigail was surprised by but returned with a smile.

Chapter Text

“Our house belongs to a slaver ring?”

Abigail came home to her mother and Gamlen having a shouting match.

“Last time I checked, yes!” Gamlen said, folding his arms in such a way that made him look rather like a sulky child. “But that's out of my hands—I sold it to some above-board people, next thing I know, it's all criminals!”

“Why did you sell it at all?” Leandra demanded.

“I was trying to clean up the mess Father left!” Gamlen exclaimed.

“What's going on?” Abigail muttered to Carver.

“Gamlen sold Mother’s house to some criminals,” Carver whispered back. “She is not happy.”

"Well, that only makes sense, I suppose."

“What did the will even say, Gamlen?” Leandra snapped. “Was the house even left to you?”

“It doesn't matter!” Gamlen retorted. “It was read, then put in the vault. No one needs to bother anymore!”

“Well, that certainly doesn't sound like you're avoiding the question at all,” Carver grumbled. Gamlen glared at him.

“We could try and get the will back ourselves,” Abigail suggested.

“What good would that do?” Gamlen said.

“Well, for one, you're not exactly the most trustworthy source,” Bethany informed him. “We could read it for ourselves and see what it had to say.”

“And it might be useful in taking back the Amell estate,” Abigail mused.

Carver snorted. “Is there really a point to that?”

“No, there isn't,” Gamlen snapped.

“I am not listening to you anymore,” Abigail pointed at Gamlen. “You sold a house to slavers.”

“Should we really be so focused on the past?” Carver asked.

“Carver, if you get a steady job, then you can complain about the methods we use to get money.” Abigail informed him.

Carver fell into a sullen silence.

“Anyway, I don't really like the idea of a slaver ring operating in Kirkwall,” Abigail said. “Who do we know who might be able to help?” she asked Bethany.

“Fenris, and Velanna, too,” Bethany said.

“Mm,” Abigail nodded. “Could be.”

“Are we seriously doing this?” Carver asked, heaving a sigh.

“You do not have to come if you don't want to,” Abigail informed him.

“Are you already planning on doing this?” Gamlen said, aghast. “You’ve been back home ten bloody minutes!”

“Should I not be planning anything?”

“What's past is past, girl. Don't dwell on it.”

Abigail made a show of turning her back on Gamlen to face Carver, Bethany, and Leandra instead.

“So,” Abigail said. “What should we do?”

“If you think you can do it, you should,” Leandra said. She bit her nails. “Oh—curse it, if I’d just taken more fencing and less etiquette lessons...”

“We wouldn’t ask you to fight, Mother,” Bethany assured her, putting a hand on her arm.

“And why not?” Leandra rubbed her forehead, and shook her head. “It’s my family’s home, for the love of the Maker!”

“We will do it, Mother,” Abigail assured her. “It’s our home as well. And even Gamlen’s.”

“We can't do it with just the three of us,” Bethany said. “Maybe we could bring Varric along…? Fenris, definitely.”

“Is Fenris that man who hired you for the Alienage job?” Carver asked.

Abigail nodded. “He has a bad history with slavers.”

“He’d be the one who drew all those Tevinters to the Alienage.” Carver sat back and folded his arms.

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure he’s trustworthy?”

Abigail looked at Carver. “I only need someone I can trust to fight with. And I’ve fought with him before.”

Carver raised his hands and leaned back. “Fine. It’s not like it’s my neck—oh wait,” he glowered at her. “It is.”

“Carver...” Bethany sighed.

“You met this man...how?” Leandra glanced from Abigail to Bethany.

“We were doing a job,” Bethany explained. “He’s—he’s a good swordsman. Very strong.”

“And very clever,” Abigail added. “And he’d have more of a reason to kill slavers than to stab us in the back.”

Leandra didn’t look convinced. “And you’re sure…?”

“Yes. Why, do you want to meet him?”

“That’s alright, dear,” Leandra sighed. “I—have left too many things in your hands to worry about it now.”

“Thank you.”

“Although I would like to meet some of your...business partners,” Leandra added. “That Tethras fellow seemed pleasant enough.”

“You’re just going along with this?” Carver demanded. “Mother, please, we don’t need to do this!”

Leandra ran a hand through her hair. “And what would you suggest, Carver?” she asked him.

“I’d build something new,” Carver said, puffing out his chest. “We don’t need to look to the past.”

“New like what?” Abigail asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m open to ideas.”

“Well, I...” Carver faltered and rubbed the back of his head. “I’d think of something.”

“You’re not thinking of anything now.”

Carver glared at her.

“Carver, come on,” Bethany sighed and patted him on the shoulder. “We can take you to meet Fenris, and then we can see about getting those slavers out of the house.”

Fenris’ mansion was much as it had been the last time Abigail had seen it. It was dark and smelled rather strongly of spilled wine and burnt food.

“This is where he lives?” Carver breathed, looking around.

“For now, I suppose,” Abigail said. “Fenris!” she called.

“You need not shout,” Fenris appeared at the top of the stairs. He was out of his armor for once, dressed in a long gray tunic and dark leggings. His silver hair was a mess and he glared at them as he came down the stairs. He was barefoot, as usual. In one hand he held his sword, and he leaned it against the banister.

He looked at Carver, eyes narrowed.

“This is my brother, Carver,” Abigail said.

Carver stared at Fenris, wide-eyed. “Hello.” he managed.

Fenris gave a short, sharp nod before turning his attention back to Abigail. “What is it you wish from me? Why are you here?”

“Fenris, we're going to get rid of a slaver ring,” Abigail said. “Do you want to help? It would be for free but we could use the extra hands.”

“A slaver ring?” Fenris scowled. “You hardly needed to ask.”

Abigail nodded in approval. “I want to ask Velanna, too, but I’m worried that it would make the team too mage-heavy.”

Fenris' lips thinned. “It would,” he agreed.

Fenris agreed to go with them, and they all went down to Darktown to take the back way around to the Amell mansion.

The Amell cellars went down so far they could be accessed from Darktown. Leandra had explained it, as well as providing them a basic map of the floorplan.

“I suppose our family really was important,” Carver said when they found the door into the cellars. He looked at the passage, eyebrows raised, and knocked on the side.

“Were you confused by the noble title?” Abigail asked, inspecting the passage and lighting a small flame in her hand to light the way.

Carver glowered at her.

They went through the house, picking off slavers from the bottom up. There was some worry about the magic being cast, as slavers would absolutely sell out mages to the Templars or attempt to capture and sell the mages themselves, so Abigail and Bethany stuck to mundane means of fighting for the most part. Quarterstaffs were a useful weapon, both for those with magic and those without.

Fenris was of great help. His lyrium markings warped the Fade around him and let him be faster and quieter than the average warrior. He also had a very unsettling trick of phasing his hand into someone else’s body, then ripping it out, usually instantly killing his opponent. He was quickly drenched in blood, moreso than the rest of them.

Finally, they got into the family vault. First off, they started looting everything they could carry. Then they got into the lockbox which held the will and removed it.

“Come on,” Abigail said. “We should take this back to Mother.”

They left the house, the slavers gone. Fenris returned to his own home, and the Hawkes to theirs. They wanted to read the will with Leandra present.

“So, I have good news,” Abigail said when they came through the door. “We have more money.”

“Better news,” Bethany said, holding up the envelope with the will in it. “Here's Grandfather's will, Mother.”

Leandra took the envelope and read quickly through the will. Leandra looked down at the will, covering her mouth with her hand.

“So?” Abigail prompted. “What does it say?”

“It says Father left everything to me,” Leandra said. “And my family.”

Slowly, all three of them looked to Gamlen, who folded his arms.

“It's hardly like you were here to claim the inheritance,” Gamlen sniffed.

“You absolute bastard,” Leandra snapped, clenching her fists.

“Who's the one who ran off the Ferelden?” Gamlen demanded. “I had to stay behind and deal with your mess—you didn't even come home for the funeral, Leandra, don't blame this all on me!”

“Don't you dare,” Leandra snarled, advancing on Gamlen, who actually backed up a step or two. “By the time I finally got the news, the twins were a week old, and you'd had the funeral three months earlier!”

“And you wouldn't have gotten the news so bloody late if you had just stayed in Kirkwall and not run off with that apostate!”

“Gamlen, if you'd said anything—anything at all—I could have started petitioning the Viscount for our property months ago—a year ago!”

“It doesn't matter,” Gamlen insisted. “You can't just get the house back by whining to the Viscount! No money means no title—and two apostate brats definitely means no title! It was bad enough we had the mage cousin, but the two of you, who aren’t even in a Circle? That couldn’t be worse.”

Abigail and Bethany both scowled.

“Maybe you should repeat that when all three of us aren't armed,” Carver growled.

Gamlen rolled his eyes. “You lot should have bloody well gotten used to Lowtown by now,” he snapped. “All this nonsense with your dwarven friend and now this—it's pointless.”

“Says the man who hasn't managed to get a decent job in all this time?” Bethany said quietly.

“Neither have any of you!”

“No one wants to hire a Ferelden refugee,” Carver said.

“Aveline seems to be doing just fine.”

“None of that is a good reason why you haven't gotten a job, and you wanted to keep the facts of the Amell inheritance from us,” Abigail said, putting her hands on her hips. “I'm sure the Viscount doesn't want more criminals and slavers setting up in Hightown—with this maybe we can at least keep the house vacant instead of some sort of slaver den.”

“Don't bother,” Gamlen said, waving a hand.

“If I wanted life advice from a drunk and a gambler, I'd ask for it,” Abigail said.

“Oh, yes, complain about me, when I'm the one keeping a roof over your head!”

“You’re keeping a roof over our head?” Leandra exclaimed, incredulous. “I believe it’s Abigail and Carver who brought in last month’s rent, and you still don’t seem to have brought in any!”

“Face it, Uncle—we bring in more money than you do, and that's with the expedition and no steady work. You need us more than we need you.” Bethany told him, folding her arms.

“Mm,” Carver chuckled. “Pretty sure you'd've gotten kicked out on your ass if it wasn't for us.”

Gamlen threw up his hands. “Waste your time all you like, it doesn’t matter to me,” he hissed.

Leandra decided that she would try to petition the Viscount for rights to the Amell property, citing the will as evidence that Gamlen had had no leave by which to sell it.

Chapter Text

Aveline had a problem that was a bit odd and under the table, and one that she needed Abigail's help for.

She was beginning to get the feeling that the Guard-Captain, Jeven, was up to something. It was nothing specific that made her think this, but a collection of small things. A badly timed raid on a patrol, several Guards being injured on patrols that should have been safe, and weapons going missing.

What Aveline needed Abigail for was to help her follow a Guard along a nighttime route through Darktown.

“It doesn't make sense that he was assigned that route,” Aveline explained.

Abigail raised her eyebrows. “Why not? Don't people get reassigned all the time?”

“It would be an unfamiliar patrol,” Aveline said with a shrug. “And by himself? We generally don't let officers patrol by themselves in Lowtown, at night.”

Abigail hissed through her teeth. “That makes sense,” she conceded.

“Exactly. So I think Jevan wants something to happen to Donnic—I don't know if he's waiting for a happy accident or...”

“Or he's already arranged something.”

“Exactly.”

Abigail got Carver and Varric to assist her and Aveline in tracking down Donnic. When it got dark, they searched Lowtown for him, eventually finding him cornered by several Coterie. They managed to dispatch the Coterie, and save Donnic.

Donnic was shaken, but alright—if Aveline and the others hadn't come across him, he'd be hurt or dead. He was not prepared to take on a Coterie gang.

“I knew something was off,” Donnic hissed, punching a fist into his palm. “I knew it—Jeven's been wrong for months.”

“Coterie,” Varric grimaced. “Not a great sign.”

“Do you think he’s in debt?” Abigail asked.

“If he is, that’d explain all the weird things going on,” Varric said. “If he’s in debt, there’s a pretty good chance he’s giving them weapons and money, and getting Guards who might be suspicious killed.”

Donnic nodded. “That definitely explains it.”

“We need to find the local Coterie, then,” Abigail said. “They’ll probably be able to confirm it one way or the other.”

Varric got a wicked look in his eye. “Let me try,” he said. “Give me a day or two, and I can figure out if your Captain is in with them, Aveline.”

Aveline nodded. “Be quick about it,” she said. “I don’t want this to go on any longer than it has to.”

Varric did indeed find the evidence that Jeven was in debt to the Coterie. It took some doing, but he did manage to get the evidence that Aveline needed. She brought it to the Viscount, who had Jeven arrested, and Aveline was promoted for bringing the knowledge to light. Varric, as proving instrumental in the investigation, was given a fairly substantial reward as well, which would help the funds for the expedition along quite a lot.

Despite how well that particular adventure went, the next job that Varric came up with was not exactly what one would call the best fit for Abigail and her friends.

“A Templar's gone missing?” Abigail said, folding her arms and tapping one foot on the ground. “This does not exactly seem like the most ideal job for us, Varric.”

“Carver could help out,” Varric suggested. “Nathaniel or Isabela or Sigrun might be up for it too. Shouldn't be an issue as long as we don't have too many mages with us.”

“You say that like I'd even take the job to begin with.” Abigail’s pose did not unbend.

Varric ran a hand through his auburn hair. “Look,” he said. “His sister couldn't even get the Templars themselves to investigate it,” he leaned forward. “This, and the thing with Karl, and now you have Aveline as Guard-captain?” he spread his hands. “If you're looking for evidence against the Templars, this might be it.”

Abigail caught his meaning and frowned, lowering her arms. “They don't want to investigate it themselves?”

“The sister said she was always turned away any time she asked about him.”

“That...doesn't make sense,” Abigail furrowed her brow and began to pace. “Why wouldn't they...?”

“I don't know,” Varric said, watching her walk back and forth. “And that's why I think it's important.”

“And I'm guessing she offered to pay us a quite a bit?”

“She sure did, and that helps too,” Varric said with a shrug.

“We should tell Anders,” Abigail said. “He'd want to hear about this.”

“All the Wardens will, probably,” Varric said. “And Aveline.”

“Alright,” Abigail got to her feet. “Alright. If you think it's a good idea—we can go get them.”

They went to see Anders and the other Wardens first. It took some convincing to get him to listen to anything about Templars, but when they explained the situation, he became more interested.

“That's odd,” Anders said with a frown between his brows. “Templars are usually pretty well tracked—they leave on rotation to different Circles, but I've never heard any that just...vanish for no reason.” he began to pace. “If anything, you'd think they'd use those kind of stories to scare mages out of blood magic—see how terrible this apostate was, he didn't just kill a Templar, he made him disappear! That sort of thing.”

“So this really doesn't make any sense,” Abigail said.

“Not really.”

“Maybe the Kirkwall Circle works differently than Calenhad,” Sigrun suggested.

“It can't be that different,” Nathaniel said.

Anders nodded. “A lot of Circles are supposed to be somewhat uniform,” he explained. “It keeps people from practicing 'illicit magic,'” he rolled his eyes. “If something happened to this Templar, and the Templars are covering it up, that might be enough evidence for the Grand Cleric to do something,” he said.

“I thought so too,” Varric said. “So we're going to bring Aveline in. Evidence can't sound better than when it's coming from the Captain of the Guard.”

Anders frowned. “Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? The Grand Cleric would listen to her, right?”

Anders still seemed leery. “I don’t know…”

“We can at least ask her about it,” Abigail said. “It makes sense.”

They explained the situation to Aveline, but she didn't have any better an idea than they did.

“I haven’t heard anything about missing Templars,” Aveline muttered, rubbing her chin. “Which doesn't make sense—this woman who hired you, you said she'd gone to the Templars repeatedly and they never helped? Why didn't she go to the Guard?'

“She thought that the Guard wouldn't do anything,” Varric explained. “She said she was worried that they'd hand the case off to the Templars again,”

Aveline shook her head. “If the Templars were having trouble, it would make sense for them to come to us for help,” she said. “Maker only knows they like to order us to do enough things already...why would they keep this from us?” she frowned, shaking her head. “Is it possible this man just ran off? Abandoned the Order?”

“The woman and her brother are close,” Varric said. “The reason she got worried is because he stopped sending letters to her.”

“And most Templars never 'run off' from the Order,” Anders said. “You have one or two strays, but most of the time they're too addicted to lyrium to even think of leaving.”

Aveline grimaced. “Wesley always said something similar,” she said. “Well—recruits don't take lyrium until they're full Templars. Is it possible he got cold feet?”

“If that's the case, why would the Templars hide it from his sister?” Abigail asked. “This entire thing feels wrong.”

“Then we should go to the Templars, and ask them about this man,” Aveline said.

“Ah—well, Anders and I can't really do that,” Abigail said.

“This is your job,” Aveline said. “If you come with me and leave your staff, you should be fine.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” Anders scoffed. “Is it really a good idea for the Templars to know her face?”

“It will look better if I have an independent party investigating with me,” Aveline explained. “If it’s just me, they’ll think the Guard are poking into their business, and clam up. This way, if they think there’s more people on their backs, maybe it will get them to tell us more.”

“I don’t know...” Anders still looked dubious, but Abigail couldn’t fault Aveline’s reasoning.

Abigail, Aveline and Varric went to the Templar Barracks in the Gallows to speak with anyone who might know something about Keran. The Templars were all very close-mouthed, but after much searching, they managed to find three Templar recruits who would talk to them about Keran.

The three told them about other Templars who had gone missing, besides Keran.

“Wait—there are Templars—as in plural—going missing?” Abigail hissed, shocked. “And you haven't talked to the Grand Cleric or the Guard about it?”

The three recruits glanced at each other.

“We talked to the Knight-Captain,” one of them, Hugh, said. He shuffled from foot to foot and avoided Aveline's eyes. “But he said not to worry.”

Aveline frowned. “He told you not to worry about missing recruits?”

The three nodded.

“I've heard that the Knight-Commander has some new initiation,” one of the others, Paxley, said. “That if you don't pass it, you'll be killed.”

“That's illegal,” Aveline said flatly. “By Kirkwall and Chantry law. It doesn’t matter if it’s a Templar doing it, murder is still illegal.”

“Why didn't you go to the Guard about this?” Varric asked. “If the Knight-Captain wasn't any help--”

“He said not to worry!” said the third Templar, Ruvena. “He's the Captain—he should know what's going on.”

“But you're right here, talking about how you think your Commander has been killing people,” Abigail said.

“That's just a rumor,” Ruvena said, with a nasty look at Paxley. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“If there was a rumor going around the Guard that I was killing new recruits, I'd get hauled up in front of the Viscount,” Aveline said. “Especially if there were missing guards.”

“They aren't all missing!” Ruvena insisted. “Wilmod came back.”

“What?” Paxley and Hugh looked at her, surprised.

Ruvena nodded. “He came back this morning.”

“And where is he now?” Hugh asked, folding his arms. “I haven't seen him all day.”

“Well, I think he checked in with the Captain, then went outside the city to clear his head,” she explained. “Something really shook him up—I thought maybe he was slated to watch a Tranquil ritual, so maybe--”

“Since when do Templars leave the city unless they have an apostate to chase?” Aveline asked. “That doesn't make sense.”

“It's not like we don't get days off,” Ruvena said. “He's allowed.”

Aveline, Abigail and Varric all looked at each other.

“Can we speak with your Captain?” Aveline asked. “This is important.”

It turned out, Knight-Captain Cullen was not at the Gallows, and the Knight-Commander would take no visitors without an appointment, even if that visitor was the Captain of the Guard.

Aveline shook her head. “I swear they're hiding something,” she muttered. “They make an effort to stick their noses in Guard business often enough—and then they close up when the Guard comes to them? It doesn't make sense. It’s never made any bloody sense.”

Eventually they did find a Knight-Lieutenant willing to speak. Apparently the Knight-Captain was out on the Coast, with the recruit Wilmod.

“Why would he go there?” Aveline asked.

The Lieutenant shrugged. “The Captain thought Wilmod'd been acting oddly,” he said. “He wanted to talk with him.”

“On the Wounded Coast.”

“I suppose,” the Lieutenant said.

“That doesn't make sense.” Aveline ran a hand over her hair. “Can you tell me anything about a recruit named Keran? And I heard there were concerns about other recruits as well?”

“Oh—Guard Captain, please,” the Lieutenant chuckled. “This is an internal matter. If the recruits are talking amongst themselves, I'm sure it's nothing—if it's important, we'll let you know.”

“A woman came to us claiming that her brother, a Templar recruit, had vanished,” Aveline said, folding her arms. “If you could tell me where Keran is, I would be happy to be on my way.”

“I can hardly keep track of every recruit that passes through the Gallows,” the Lieutenant said, rolling his eyes.

“Is that so?” Aveline leaned forward. “Because I know every recruit serving under me.”

The Lieutenant pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go speak to the Captain,” he said. “He'll tell you just as I have.”

“I am speaking to you.”

The Lieutenant spread his hands. “I can't tell you,” he insisted. “Maybe the Captain will know more.”

Aveline pulled back, a scowl on her face. “Alright,” she said. “I'll go speak to your Captain. And then your Commander, and possibly the Grand Cleric, because it's clear your people are woefully inadequate.”

“Guard-Captain--”

Aveline turned on her heel and left.

Varric shook his head. “I didn't realize what a problem this was,” he said.

“Templars love sticking their great beaks in our business, but the minute we think they have a problem, they stonewall us,” Aveline hissed. “Abigail—we're going to the Coast.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Abigail said. “Let me grab Anders, and maybe some of the others—they'll want to hear about this.”

“Only Anders,” Aveline said. “Not Velanna or Merrill or Bethany.” she frowned. “You might want to keep Fenris out of it too.”

“I wasn't counting on bringing him or Merrill,” Abigail said. “But good idea.”

Anders by himself would be risky enough, but a lifelong apostate like Velanna or Merrill would be even more dangerous. Fenris had mentioned trouble with Templars before, and he was arguably more visually conspicuous than any apostate, so he was out as well.

Abigail got Anders, Nathaniel, and Sigrun to come with them to the Coast. The Lieutenant had actually pinpointed a spot on a map of the Coast to try and get Aveline to leave, so they knew precisely where to head.

“I didn't think that even the Knight-Commander could refuse to see the Captain of the Guard,” Anders said.

“I probably could have forced my way in, but I'd've needed more cause,” Aveline said. “The nobility tend to fall on the Templars' side more often than not.”

They approached the spot marked on the map, and Abigail and Anders both flinched at the same time.

“There's something wrong here,” Anders said. “Come on—we should hurry.”

“No magic,” Abigail said. “Remember—absolutely no magic.”

“You hardly need to tell me how to hide from Templars,” Anders hissed.

“Just don’t start glowing.”

They came around the bend, to see two men in Templar garb arguing with each other. One was taller and blond, the smaller one dark-haired. The tall one struck the short one, sending him sprawling, and Aveline made an outraged noise and moved forward.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, grabbing the blond Templar's shoulder.

He shook her off. “This is no business of yours, Mistress--”

The Veil shook.

The dark-haired man got to his feet, the Veil around him warping and wavering like a heat haze. “You would do well not to strike me again, human,” he growled, his voice deepening unnaturally. He wiped away a stream of blood from his mouth, and his eyes began to gleam.

“Get back,” Aveline grabbed the blond man and hauled him backwards. “Everyone—back!”

Again, the blond man shook her off. “All of you, away!” he waved the group back and unsheathed his sword. “You cannot deal with demons--”

Nathaniel took aim with his bow and landed an arrow right in one of the demons' eye sockets. The demon snarled in rage, yanking the arrow out and breaking it in two.

The blond Templar smote the area around him, making Abigail and Anders flinch and their ears ring.

“Varric, Nathaniel—hit the bloody thing!” Aveline snapped. “Everyone else, out of the way of the Templar!” she gave Abigail and Anders significant looks.

The Templar raised his sword and hacked away at the demon, smiting it once or twice more. Varric and Nathaniel both landed arrows in its chest, and after only a moment or two, the demon fell. The body faded into ashes, leaving only the Templar armor behind.

The Templar sighed heavily and sheathed his sword, pushing his hair out of his face. He turned to them.

“You should not be here,” he said. His eyes landed on Aveline, and his face lit up in recognition. “Vallen...?”

“That,” Abigail said, cutting him off. “Was an abomination. A Templar abomination.”

“This is none of your affair,” the Templar snarled.

“Are you Knight-Captain Cullen?” Aveline demanded.

“I am. Why?”

“I have been looking for you in the case of one of your recruits—a man named Keran.” Aveline folded her arms. “Apparently he's missing.”

“What?” Cullen exclaimed. “No! This is an internal matter—you should never have gotten involved.”

“Y'see, we probably should have,” Varric said. “Turns out, about half the Templar recruits are scared out of their minds, thinking your Commander is doing something to them, because it's not just Keran who's missing.”

“What?” Cullen looked confused. “No—no, of course not!”

“Then where are all the missing recruits?” Aveline growled, stepping forward. “This is bad enough that I became concerned, Knight-Captain. What is going on?”

“Ah—Guard Vallen...” Cullen moved back a bit.

“Guard-Captain,” Aveline corrected.

“Guard-Captain, this is strictly a Templar matter,” Cullen insisted. “There is no need for the Guard to--”

“Then perhaps I should take my concerns to the Viscount,” Aveline hissed. “The Grand Cleric? Maybe if your Order isn't doing its job I should send word to the Seekers.”

Cullen went pale. “Alright, enough!” he held up his hands. “Yes, that Templar—Wilmod—turned abomination,” he sighed. “Yes, there are several missing recruits, Keran included.”

“How does a Templar even turn abomination?” Anders demanded, apparently unable to keep quiet any longer. “I always heard that they couldn't.” he folded his arms.

Cullen avoided everyone's eyes. “Normally, they can't,” he said. “But we think there is blood magic, among the mages.”

“Blood magic?” Aveline raised her eyebrows. “And you didn't think that was in the least bit important to mention?”

“It is an internal matter, Guard-Captain,” Cullen snapped. “Though I can see it has clearly become an external one.”

“I should say so,” Aveline snapped. “How exactly are we supposed to trust your people if this is the kind of thing that's happening?”

“Because we are dealing with it,” Cullen said.

“Not very well, apparently,” Aveline tilted her head to one side “The other missing recruits—where were they last seen?”

“Several of them—including your Keran, and Wilmod here—had last been seen at the Blooming Rose,” Cullen's ears went pink. “It is...unseemly...for Templars to visit that particular establishment, but they did so anyway.”

“And what did the workers there have to say?”

“I didn't feel it necessary to question them,” Cullen said, now going entirely red.

“You didn't even think to question the people there, the place they were last seen at?” Aveline snapped. “One of your own people is missing and you, the Knight-Captain, could not bring yourself to question the workers at the Rose?”

Cullen backed up. “As I said before, this is none of your concern,” he snapped. “I would have done so if I thought it was important.”

“It's my concern when Templars are vanishing and apparently your organization refuses to do anything about it!” she jabbed him in the chest. “How would that look if I told the Grand Cleric that you can't even keep an eye on your own Templars? How are you possibly supposed to be adequate protectors of mages if you let Templars become abominations?”

Anders bristled at the mention of 'protecting mages,' but forced himself to relax when Nathaniel put a hand on his shoulder.

“Should I tell Meredith of your utter incompetence, or should I go straight to a higher authority?” Aveline demanded.

“Argue my competence all you like, but the fact is, there is still at least one blood mage on the loose,” Cullen said. “Probably more. So, Guard-Captain, before you make any rash action, I suggest you let us handle it first.”

“I'm loathe to let you handle a sandwich, let alone anything else,” Aveline said. “Here—I will investigate your missing recruits. If I find any blood mages before you do, I'm taking this to the Grand Cleric.”

“Guard-Captain--”

“Enough,” Aveline cut him off. “Try and do your job, and I will do mine.”

The group left Cullen standing on the Coast.

“I thought Merrill said blood mages can't summon demons?” Abigail asked the moment they were out of earshot.

“And you seriously believe her?” Anders said.

“Velanna does,” Abigail said. “And I have not seen anything that would make me think otherwise. When we were helping Fenris, she even managed to get rid of some demons. That’s the opposite thing, really.”

“We should ask her about it,” Nathaniel said. “Maybe it'll help us find what we're looking for.”

They all looked to Aveline, who was fuming.

“This is unbelievable,” she shook her head. “Absolutely inexcusable--”

“Yes, yes, but we have other things to worry about right this moment,” Abigail waved a hand. “Anders? Have you heard about any rogue mages running around?”

Anders shook his head with a frown. “Nothing,” he said. “But that might not mean much.”

“We should ask Merrill about the blood magic thing,” Varric said again. “If nothing else, we don't wanna run into a blood mage without being prepared, right?”

“Good point,” Aveline said.

They went to Merrill's house, where Merrill was just as baffled as Abigail was by the description of the abomination Templar.

“Blood mages can make abominations, but it’s—well, it’s not practical,” Merrill explained. “You have to punch a hole in the Veil, essentially, and it takes a great deal of power, enough to kill a person. I think that’s what they do in Tevinter.”

“Is it possible that that’s what happened to this man?” Aveline asked.

Merrill shrugged. “Maybe,” she worried her hands together. “But it—like I said, it’s just not very practical. It’s essentially using blood magic to do something a spirit healer could do without sacrificing anyone. It'd make more sense if a blood mage was, oh, dominating their mind—that's something blood magic can do easily.”

Aveline shuddered. “But this wasn't mind domination,” she said. “There was definitely a demon possessing that man.”

Merrill frowned. “That doesn't make sense,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I mean...” she worried at a hangnail. “Maybe—have there been a lot of murders, Aveline?”

“Not more than usual,” Aveline said, then scowled. “Then again, it’s possible there’s mage and Templar deaths that the Guard hasn’t been told about.”

“Why don't we go and question the workers in the Rose?” Abigail suggested. “Maybe then we can get a better handle on the situation.”

Aveline groaned and leaned back in her seat. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maker, I can't stand questioning them,” she muttered.

“Why?”

“It's bloody impossible, is why,” Aveline exclaimed. “You can't get a single straight answer out of them that doesn't involve them propositioning you.”

“Isabela could help,” Varric said. “She knows the Rose pretty well.”

Aveline raised her eyebrows. “And why exactly is that?”

Varric chuckled. “Take a guess.”

Aveline sighed.

Chapter Text

Abigail, Varric, Aveline, Merrill and Anders went to go find Isabela. She was at her small house in the docks, and answered immediately when Abigail knocked on the door. She was pleased to see them.

“Been a while since we've seen each other,” Isabela said with a grin. “You need something?”

Abigail nodded. She explained about needing to speak to the people at the Rose, and Isabela's eyes narrowed in thought.

“It's more than one or two Templars that frequent the place. A lot of them do—or try to, anyway.” Isabela explained as she pulled her boots on. They were tall, made of oiled leather, and she needed to lace them up and buckle them from the bottom.

Aveline snorted. “How professional of them.”

“They're bad customers, too,” Isabela said. “Lusine can't stand them, and neither can anyone else.”

“Then why would they let them in?”

Isabela shook her head. “They usually don't,” she explained. “You can get sick servicing a full Templar—if they have a cut or a scrape, they can get lyrium on you. I don't need to tell you how uncomfortable that can be. And either way, if the recruits turn up, usually a full Templar turns up the next day to harangue Lusine and the rest of the workers about it.”

“Don't the full Templars take precautions?” Aveline asked. “Wesley and I had to—I never got sick, but it was always a possibility if we weren’t careful.”

“Who's Wesley?”

“My late husband,” Aveline explained. “A Templar.”

Isabela frowned. “I suppose these ones must not take enough precautions, then,” she said. “Probably why Lusine doesn't like them—she doesn't like any even slightly ill customers. Doesn't like to pay for healers, you know.”

Aveline sighed. “So, we should speak with her, then? This Lusine?”

Isabela nodded. “Though she probably wouldn't speak to you,” she looked Aveline up and down. “She doesn't much like the Guard—if you're around, she'll say a lot less.”

Eventually they decided that Isabela, Abigail, Merrill and Anders would go to the Rose. The mages would go in case they needed to defend against magic. The others would wait until they were done, and then they could discuss what they had found.

When they arrived, Merrill was absolutely enamored with the Rose.

“Oh, it’s so lovely!” she exclaimed upon seeing the perfumed and silken-bedecked interior. She watched a slender elvhen man in a short tunic walk by—he gave her a wink, and she flushed and giggled.

“Oh, Kitten,” Isabela laughed and clapped Merrill on the shoulder. “You’re awfully sweet.”

“Don’t you think it’s lovely?” Merrill asked.

“Oh, I do,” Isabela eyed a plump woman with long black hair. “Quite a bit. Here, let me talk to Lusine. You lot wait here.”

Lusine was the gray-haired woman standing at a counter by the front. She rolled her eyes when Isabela approached.

“Oh, Maker, Isabela, you were here just the other day!” Lusine said. “Not that I mind if you’ve the coin, but really...”

“I’m not here for that, Lusine. I hear you've been seeing more Templars than usual, is all,” Isabela said, leaning over the counter.

“Idunna's been taking them,” Lusine said with a shrug, leaning her head on her hand. “They pay good coin, and she can handle them—experience with them before, she says.”

“Can I see your books?” Isabela asked.

Lusine narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Isabela sighed. “Some of the Templars who came here turned up missing,” she said, rolling her eyes. “A woman wants us--” she gestured to Abigail, Anders and Merrill. “To find her Templar brother, and, well, turns out there's a lot more that decided to drop off the face of Thedas than we thought. And some of them've been here.”

Lusine folded her arms. “And why haven't the Templars come to me about this?”

“They're idiots,” Isabela said, spreading her hands. “Apparently the Captain himself wanted to, but couldn't muster up the balls to do it.”

Lusine snorted. “Would this Captain be that blond Templar who stood outside here for an hour, badgering the customers?”

“Probably.”

“Ugh, anything to keep that man away from my bloody front door,” Lusine said, and brought out her book of clientele. “Let's see—what was the name again?”

“Keran,” Abigail said. “Also a Wilmod, a Petunia, and a Laurence, I think. At least, those are the names I remember.”

“Mm,” Lusine nodded. “Yes, Idunna's dealt with all of them—some more than once. And you say they came up missing?” she raised her eyebrows.

“Who is this Idunna?” Anders asked. “Do you know her well? Do you think maybe she had something to do with this?”

Lusine shrugged. “She hasn't been with us long, a month at most,” she explained. “Some woman from Darktown—you know how it is.”

“Can we talk to her?” Abigail asked.

Lusine's eyes flicked to Isabela.

“We won't do anything to her,” Isabela assured her. “Honestly, we just want our money from the woman with the missing brother.”

Lusine nodded. “Makes sense—up the stairs, third door on your left. I think she's in between jobs now.”

They went where Lusine indicated (Merrill remarking again at the prettiness of the Rose, much to Isabela's amusement), and Abigail knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a sultry, feminine voice called. The group walked in, and the dark-haired woman sitting on the bed raised her eyebrows. “Maker, but this is a party, isn't it?” she said with a sly smile. Her eyes flicked from Abigail, to Isabela, to Merrill and to Anders in quick succession.

“We aren’t here for that,” Abigail assured her. “We just had some questions about some of your clients.”

“Oh aye? How's that?” Idunna leaned back.

“The Templars,” Abigail said. “Lusine said you've been seeing them.”

“Well, they have good coin, don't they?” Idunna said with a shrug. “And I can protect myself.”

“Some of the ones you—ah—serviced turned up missing,” Anders said. “Want to tell us anything about that?”

Idunna got to her feet. “Oh, but this is so dull,” she said. “I can do a lot more than just talk.”

“Not here for that,” Isabela said, shaking her head. “Haven't paid—sorry. I mean, I would if I could, but we're a bit busy at the moment.”

Idunna sighed, and the Veil shuddered.

Abigail felt a sudden pain in her chest and staggered back, pressing her hands over her heart. Isabela put a hand to her breast, looking faint, and Merrill choked and went pale, curling her fingernails into her tunic.

Anders flinched, then the blue white of healing magic temporarily filled the room, and the pain eased, but the weakness didn't.

“What was that?” he demanded of Idunna. “What did you do?"

Idunna scowled, and moved back.

“That was—healing magic,” Anders said, moving towards her. “But used—wrong--” his eyes gleamed. “You're a healer?” Anders grabbed her by the shoulders. “A healer?”

Idunna lashed out again, and Anders yelped and snatched his hands back as if burned.

“Healer?” Abigail gasped. “How can a healer--?”

Merrill reached for her blade and cut open her arm, the color returning to her face and strength returning to her legs. Blood trickled down her arm, and she tried to help Isabela and Abigail, but Idunna bore down with her magic again and suddenly the two women found it hard to breathe.

“Enough!” Anders snarled, blue veins of white light creeping up his cheeks. He pushed Idunna back and bore down on her with his own magic, stunning her with a mind blast and allowing the spells to lift from Isabela and Abigail.

The four of them advanced on her, weapons in hand.

Idunna held her hands up. “You're a mage,” she told Anders. “You should understand--”

“Understand what?” he demanded. “That you're using healing magic to hurt people? That you somehow created an Abomination?”

“You don't care about the blood mage there?” Idunna jerked her chin in Merrill's direction.

“She's not the one who made the Abomination,” Abigail said. “Start talking, Idunna.”

“Templars don't trust any mages,” she said, then gave a hollow laugh. “That's what they all say. But all that fight and mistrust goes out of them the minute any mage lays a healing hand on them.”

She looked up at Abigail. “Healers know the best way to kill someone,” she said. “And we know the best way to hurt them. Pain doesn't hurt Templars. Do you know what frightens Templars, what sets off a light in those lyrium-addled brains of theirs?” she leaned forward. “Demons.”

“Oh,” Abigail whispered. “Oh, no...”

“You didn't,” Anders breathed. “You couldn't have--”

“Do you know how easy it is to ask a demon to live in someone else's body?” Idunna said. She looked Anders up and down. “You know, I'm sure.”

“But possessions have to be consenting--” Anders said.

“'Now, Ser Templar, I'm going to do something that will feel a little strange, but don't worry—it's just a healing spell,'” Idunna said in a mocking tone. “'Is that alright with you?' And of course it is. It always is.”

“Why are you doing this?” Abigail demanded. “What's the point?”

“They always want us, our magic, then blame us for having it!” Idunna snarled. “They just use us when they please—like we're their slaves, and they can hardly bandage a cut without crying to us about it! Have you ever seen a Templar going through withdrawals? Absolutely pathetic. They shouldn't rule us—we should rule them!”

“No,” Anders insisted. “This isn't right—a healer heals, you don't—you don't use your healing to hurt people!”

“Oh, and I'm sure you have room to talk,” Idunna rolled her eyes. “Spirit.”

“Are there any more of you?” Anders demanded. “Any friends?”

Idunna clenched her jaw and didn’t reply.

“Tell me,” Anders snarled, and his eyes went blue-white, his voice deepening to an unnatural level. Idunna recoiled and held her hands out, shielding her face.

“Don't kill me,” she hissed. “Don't kill me, spirit—I'll tell you—I'll tell you—”

Anders immediately went dark again.

“Terohne,” Idunna said. “My friend, Terohne—she's escaped from the Circle, her and two others, Maxwell and Belinda. They told tales of Tevinter, and how the mages there rule—we thought maybe we could escape there, but we just don't have the means—so Terohne wanted to take revenge on a few Templars.”

“And where can we find her?” Abigail asked.

“A safehouse in Darktown,” Idunna said. “Here—here, give me a map--” she indicated where Terohne could be found.

“We can take this to Aveline,” Abigail said. “What do we do about her?”

“We can't turn her in to the Templars,” Anders said. “Even if the Templars weren't awful, they couldn't handle her—they failed once already.”

“Don't kill me, please,” Idunna begged.

Abigail considered. “Why don't we turn her in to Aveline?” she suggested.

“That's as good as the Templars,” Anders rolled his eyes. “The Guard can't deal with magic at all.”

“I'll leave Kirkwall,” Idunna insisted. “I'll never come back—I won't touch another living soul, I swear--”

Abigail sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Leave and don't come back. And if I hear about this sort of thing again...”

Idunna thanked them profusely and left, not even stopping to pack her things.

“Don't know if that was the smartest move you could have made,” Isabela said with a grimace.

“How are we supposed to get a body out of here?” Abigail asked.

“Fair point.”

“The problem isn’t a blood mage, it's a spirit healer,” Abigail explained to Aveline and the others when they met back up with them again. “And some of her friends. We have a location for the friends here--” she put down the map and pointed.

“A healer?” Aveline frowned and examined the map. “What do you mean?”

“Some spirit healers figured out a way to hurt people with their healing,” Anders said, his eyes glinting.

“How?”

Anders sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “It—what she said is possible,” he admitted. “If you summon the wrong spirit, a demon—you can do it, I just...never thought...”

“It makes more sense than for a blood mage,” Merrill said, her tone very soft. “Blood mages—more blood magic makes it hard to feel the Fade. Maybe blood mages can learn from demons, or make their way into the Fade—but a spirit healer does it every time they do their magic. It would be easy.”

“But a healer wouldn’t do that!” Anders insisted. “A healer’s not supposed to—you wouldn’t--” he shook his head, eyes flickering blue and brown erratically.

“This one did,” Aveline said, her voice grim.

“Do you think Cullen knows?” Abigail asked. “Or Meredith?”

“I don't see why they wouldn't know about four missing healers,” Aveline said, her frown growing more pronounced.

“Why wouldn't they tell you about them?” Merrill asked.

Aveline shook her head. “I don't know,” she said. “Come on—let's go see what we can do about this.”

The safehouse was a tiny wooden building on the very edge of Darktown. When they found it, Aveline kicked the door down, and they went in. Immediately the mages could feel a change in the quality of the Veil.

“Someone's been doing demon summoning,” Anders muttered under his breath.

“Wonderful,” Abigail said. “Merrill?”

“I can help in case of traps,” Merrill said, drawing one of her long knives. “But probably not before we find them.”

Aveline sighed and eyed Merrill's blade. “Do you really have to do that?” she asked.

“You could hit the demons if you wanted,” Merrill pointed out. “But it's easier this way, don’t you think?”

Aveline looked dubious. “That can't be healthy for you, Merrill.” she said, in a forcibly gentle tone.

Merrill shrugged.

They crept through the safehouse until they found a most curious sight. A man, suspended in a peculiar beam of light.

“What is this?” Abigail breathed, looking up at the man. He was a human, tall and well-built, with light hair.

“A cage, I think,” Merrill said. She frowned, tilting her head to one side. “I smell...brimstone,” she said.

“I do too,” Abigail said. “Demons, do you think?”

“Definitely,” Anders said.

“I thought I heard someone sneaking around,” came a voice from the shadows behind them. Terohne appeared, her two friends flanking her.

Terohne was thin, wasted, with wild, long hair and enormous eyes.

“You're Terohne?” Abigail asked.

“What does it matter to you?”

“You've been killing people,” Aveline accused, drawing her sword and pointing it at the mages.

“Well,” Terohne smirked. “Templars.” she held out her hand, and the Fade rippled, and Aveline's knees buckled. She wheezed, tugging at her breastplate, face going blue as if she were being strangled.

“Aveline!” Abigail exclaimed, bolting forward, but she was stopped dead in her tracks by a pain in her chest. Abigail clutched her chest. It felt as if an elephant were sitting on her, and she couldn't breathe.

Anders' eyes went blue and Merrill immediately cut herself open. Anders fought the mages while Merrill tried to break the spells on the others.

One of the mages knocked Anders back, and he fell to the ground, his body seizing violently.

“In the days of Tevinter, mages ruled over everyone,” Terohne snarled, approaching them. “Then you decided that we needed to serve you—but that's wrong. We should rule you—we should rule you all!”

“Completely crazy,” Varric gasped, unable to get to his feet.

Anders finally stopped thrashing and stood up, slamming the other two mages with a fire spell. Merrill leapt to her feet, and ran to Terohne.

Merrill slashed her blade across Terohne's throat, and the woman choked for a few moments, before collapsing, blood pooling on the floor.

Everyone breathed in the sudden silence.

“Does anyone need healing?” Anders asked, breathing heavily. “Proper healing, this time?”

Aveline's chest was still tight and Varric's knees weak, but other than that they were little worse for wear. Anders took care of the worst of it, and then they were ready to move again.

“Come on,” Abigail said. “We should see what we can do about him,” she jerked her head towards the man in the magical cage. Now that the mages were dead, the cage was dangerously frail, and Anders carefully reached out to undo the spell while Aveline waited underneath the man to catch him when he fell.

It turned out that the man was indeed Keran, the missing Templar. He couldn't clearly remember what the mages had wanted him for, but Anders and Merrill both confirmed that he didn't seem possessed, not feeling any otherworldly presence about him.

They escorted Keran out of the building, where they, to their surprise, met Cullen, coming the opposite direction.

“I see you found Keran,” Cullen said.

“We did,” Abigail said. “And a few less-than-pleasant spirit healers. I see you found this place.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, but other than that, didn't seem surprised.

“How did you find us, anyway?” Abigail asked.

“I...retraced your steps,” Cullen admitted.

“Finally decide to talk to the women at the Rose, then?” Varric said with a smirk. Cullen flushed.

“Did you know about this?” Aveline growled. “About the healers?”

Cullen looked down. “We did,” he admitted.

“You had an entire group of dangerous healers go missing, and you didn't think to tell the Guard?”

“We were dealing with it in our own way,” Cullen insisted, face going red.

Aveline's face darkened. “Not dealing with it very well, were you?”

“You knew?” Keran squeaked. “Why didn't you say? Apostates--”

“These particular apostates were too dangerous for recruits to go after, as you can clearly tell,” Cullen snapped.

“You didn't even tell your own people?” Aveline snarled. “They can damn well tell when people go missing! If they don't know, they can't possibly defend themselves! Hardly anyone can!”

“Apostates are dangerous, this particular ones especially, but--”

“But they are healers!” Aveline snapped. “Templars trust them more than any other mage! And you didn't think it pertinent to warn them?”

“Meredith felt that it would be detrimental for people who didn't need to know to be hearing about it,” Cullen hissed. “Imagine how it would look—not blood mages, not necromancers or the possessed, but spirit healers, hurting people and summoning demons? No one would ever trust the Templars again!”

“Why should we trust you?” Anders snapped. “You got your own people killed like this, and you didn't even bother to investigate it! The only reason we found him--” he pointed to Keran. “Is because we went looking, not you!”

Cullen shook his head. “This is none of your affair,” he said. “Keran—we should go back to the Gallows. The First Enchanter can tell if you are possessed.”

“I'm not,” Keran said. “I'm fine!”

“We shall see,” Cullen said.

“I'm taking this to the Grand Cleric, Captain,” Aveline said at Cullen's retreating back. “This isn't the last you'll hear of it.”

“Do as you see fit, Guard-Captain.”

“Are you really going to see the Grand Cleric?” Isabela asked once Cullen was out of earshot. “Not sure how far you'll get with that.”

“And what would you suggest?” Aveline demanded, folding her arms.

“You could contact the Seekers,” Varric said. “It's their job to watch the Templars, right?”

“Oh, Seekers are the last bloody thing we need around here,” Anders said, exasperated. “It's them that chased Surana out of Vigil's Keep.”

“I'll go to the Grand Cleric first,” Aveline said firmly. “I'm not sure if any of you should come with me...”

“I'll come,” Abigail said.

“Me too,” Varric said. “Everyone else should go home.”

The meeting with the Grand Cleric did not go well. Aveline explained about the missing recruits, and even mentioned the questionable legality of performing the Rite of Tranquility on certain mages, but Elthina did not seem to care.

“The Templars manage their own affairs, Guard-Captain,” Elthina said, getting to her feet.

“Manage their own--?” Aveline stood up. “Grand Cleric, at least one Templar is dead!”

“And so are the healers,” Elthina said. “I no longer see any cause for concern.”

“None?” Aveline's eyes were wide with shock. “The Guard know about blood mages and other apostates, but we've never even heard of healers like this--!”

“And it is not important for you or your people to know,” Elthina began to head for the door. “You may call upon the Templars if you are concerned.”

“But the point of this is the Kirkwall Templars are inept!” Aveline insisted. “Half the recruits were so terrified of Meredith they thought she was responsible for the disappearances, not a mage!”

“Recruits will talk,” Elthina said idly. “I see no reason to involve myself or the Seekers in this matter.”

“No reason--?”

“None, Guard-Captain.” Elthina said, and the matter was closed. Elthina left, leaving Aveline, Abigail and Varric alone.

Aveline shook her head, flabbergasted. “I don't understand,” she said. “This—this makes no sense.”

“Maybe they have a problem with the Guard getting involved,” Varric suggested. “I mean—you kind of shoved your way in anyway.”

“It's my job to get involved!” Aveline exclaimed. She shook her head. “It just...makes no sense why they would act this way.” they left the Chantry, and began to walk back to the Viscount’s Keep.

“Didn't Anders and Nathaniel say that the Chantry was on Surana even before Amaranthine burned, because she was a mage with a noble title?” Abigail asked, a frown drawing her brows together.

“What has that to do with this?” Aveline said, glancing at Abigail with a curious expression.

“What if it's more than just a problem with mages—what if the Chantry felt threatened by the Wardens, so they came up with an excuse to scatter them?”

“Why would the Wardens threaten them?” Aveline said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Surana killed the Archdemon, and in any case, that has nothing to do with this!”

“Maybe it's similar,” Abigail suggested. “The Wardens started to step on their laws, so they pushed back. You started to step on the Templars’ toes, so they push back again, because they don't like you coming in and interfering with their business.”

“I don't like them interfering with mine, but I would not do this!”

“No, no, this actually makes sense,” Varric said, a look of dawning realization crossing his face. “With the Wardens, and the Archdemon, and Ferelden being a mess—they're bound to get scared. Maybe this doesn’t even have to do with magic or how dangerous it is—maybe the Blight made them all jumpier, so they start getting spooked any time anything happens that they don’t like.”

Aveline stroked her chin. “I'll think about that,” she said. “Abigail, can you keep an eye out for any other dangerous apostates? I honestly don't think the Templars can handle them anymore. At least, not these ones.”

“I’ll try, for all the good it will do if more of these kinds of healers come around,” Abigail said. “Even Anders and Merrill have a hard time dealing with them, and Maker only knows what would happen if more healers found out they can do this.”

Aveline groaned and ran a hand over her head. “First Enchanter Orsino constantly complains about Templar maltreatment,” she said. “He and the Knight-Commander are always at each others’ throats. There is no possible way there isn’t discontent in the Circle. This is going to keep happening.”

“What do we do?” Varric wanted to know.

“Maybe there’s a way to compel the Templars to ease off,” Abigail suggested. “Terohne and the other healers had problems because the Templars kept coming to them for healing, and the mages will lash out in other ways if they’re being mistreated, like with Karl...” she turned to Aveline. “Perhaps you can talk with the Knight-Commander about it.”

“Not a chance,” Aveline shook her head. “Meredith won’t back off, not for anything.”

“Then what should we do?” Abigail wanted to know. “We cannot go barging around in the Templar’s business all the time. It’ll cause problems for my family, and for a lot of people we know.”

“I know,” Aveline agreed. “I’ll...think on it. There has to be a solution.”

Chapter Text

One day, Merrill came to visit Abigail at Gamlen's house. She wasn’t around very often, so it was a bit of a surprise. Carver and Bethany were both pleased to see her (Carver blushing and stammering a bit), but she had come to see Abigail specifically.

“Is something wrong, Merrill?” Abigail asked.

“Our neighbor, Arianni, her son's gone missing,” Merrill said.

“Why hasn't she called the Guard?”

“Her son, Feynriel, is a mage,” Merrill explained. “I thought maybe we could find him before Templars or slavers do, since she's ever so worried. She was talking to one of the Templars, but he couldn't promise not to hurt her son.” Merrill wrung her hands.

“What do Sigrun and Velanna think?”

“They want to help her too,” Merrill said. “Sigrun just thought I should find you while they went to see if they could find any trace of Feynriel.”

“Well...” Abigail rubbed the back of her head. “I don't know, Merrill...” she grimaced. “I don't like to do free work, especially if Templars might be involved. Do you think the boy's really in trouble? Maybe Anders knows some people who could help--”

“We already talked to Anders,” Merrill said. “He hasn't heard anything about Feynriel, and none of his friends have either.”

“Mm,” Abigail frowned. “That's bad.”

Merrill nodded. “So, do you want to help? Anders can't—he says that two of the gangs in Darktown are fighting again and that means more work for him than usual.”

Abigail set her shoulders. “I'll see what I can do.”

Velanna and Sigrun had contacted two people Arianni told them to see. Sigrun went to find a Ser Thrask of the Templars, and Velanna to interrogate Feynriel's father. Neither Thrask nor the father (a human merchant from Antiva) could say where specifically Feynriel was. However, Vincento, the father, pointed them to a man called Samson who apparently helped apostate runaways.

This was immediately suspect.

“Anders’ never mentioned a Samson,” Sigrun said with a frown. “And he would know—he knows just about everyone who might be smuggling mages out of the Circle.”

“Maybe he’s new?” Merrill suggested.

“He could be that, or he could be a slaver,” Velanna said with a scowl.

“Well then, we should definitely see him,” Abigail decided.

Samson was actually fairly easy to find, as he was reasonably well-known around Lowtown if one asked around enough. He was thin and wan, his cheeks sunken and his skin sickly. He had the shakes and greasy hair of lyrium withdrawal, his eyes bloodshot and hollow.

“You're Samson?” Abigail asked. They met near a merchant stand, far enough away to be out of earshot.

Samson inclined his head. “You've been asking questions.”

“Do you know where an apostate named Feynriel might have gone? We heard he came to you for help.”

Samson narrowed his eyes. “Why d'you want to know?”

“His mother asked us to help,” Merrill piped up.

Samson looked at her. “His mother? Not the Templars.”

“We do not work with Templars,” Velanna said with a disapproving sniff. “Aranni—Feynriel's mother—is our neighbor.” she gestured to herself, Sigrun and Merrill. “We wish to help her.”

Samson glanced at Sigrun. “Never met a dwarf who lived in an Alienage before,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Sigrun shrugged.

“Have you heard of this boy or not?” Velanna demanded.

Samson sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah,” he said. “He wanted out of the city, heard I could help him.”

“And did you?”

“He didn't have the coin,” Samson spread his hands helplessly. “And I don't have enough coin to take on charity cases.”

“So what did you do?”

“I turned him away, told him to go back to his mother,” Samson said. “I'm no Templar anymore, but the nightmares he was talking about—well, I don't know anyone outside of the Circle who could help.” he shook his head. “I don't think he took my advice, though.”

“Do you know where he went next?”

“Last I heard, he was at the docks, looking for a cheaper ship,” Samson said. “The only thing is, ships that are willing to take on half-elves with no coin? Usually up to no good.”

Velanna growled a Dalish curse.

“Do you have any specific idea of who he might have gone to?” Abigail asked urgently.

“No, I'm sorry,” Samson said. “Hopefully he's still poking around on the docks—especially if he's been talking about those nightmares to anyone else. Most ships don't want to take on apostates, even slaver ships, and all that demon talk would spook just about anyone.”

They left Samson to hurry down to the dock district.

“Why didn't Feynriel come to us?” Merrill fretted. “I thought for sure he and Arianni know we're mages...”

“You heard Arianni,” Sigrun said. “She's terrified of him getting attacked by demons.”

“But we could help!” Merrill insisted. “I know a little dream-walking, and I know how to keep demons away--”

“She was just scared,” Sigrun soothed. “Arianni doesn't know everything we know. And if she told him she was going to tell the Templars...”

“Of course he would run,” Abigail said with a sigh. “How old is he?”

“Not even twenty,” Merrill said. She perked up. “Maybe Isabela's heard of him.”

Isabela had, indeed, heard of him.

“Or at least, I've heard of a half-elf bothering the cheap captains,” Isabela said when they explained the situation. “And word's gotten around that the boy's probably half-mad or demon possessed, too. S'pose he mentioned the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

“Do you know where he is?” Abigail urged.

“I can probably figure it out,” Isabela said. “Come on.”

“Why haven't the Templars caught up to him yet?” Sigrun asked as Isabela lead them towards the docks.

Isabela snorted. “Templars know better than to listen to a bunch of sailors,” she said. “Half the time if a sailor's seen magic, he was drunk off his tits and mistook the moon for the ocean.”

“Shouldn't the Templars be more on guard, though?” Abigail asked with a frown. “They're paranoid enough as it is—I would have thought they would spend their time chasing down every lead, no matter how ridiculous.”

“I suppose they've been burned too many times,” Isabela said. “Sailors will call anyone an apostate or a sorceress or a magician. It's practically a tradition. You wouldn't believe how ridiculous they can get sometimes.”

“That, and the Templars are kind of stupid,” Sigrun said.

“That's true,” Abigail said. “But also paranoid—that's why I don't know why they wouldn't listen to every rumor.”

“Don't push your luck,” Isabela muttered darkly.

It took some asking around, but someone did know where the half-elf with the strange dreams was. It took them a few hours to locate him, badgering a scarred ship captain who didn't seem like she much appreciated it.

“Are you Feynriel?” Abigail asked as they approached him.

“He is,” said the captain before Feynriel could say anything. “For the love of the Maker, will you deal with him? I don't need demon-children on my ship.”

“I'm not--!” Feynriel protested, but the captain was already walking away. He glared at Abigail and the others.

Feynriel was elf-blooded, and it showed. Common knowledge was that the child of the union between a human and an elf always looked human, but this was not true. Many half-elf children had the large, reflective eyes, strong nose or short stature of an elf. Many had jewel-colored eyes or even pointed ears if the human parent had elvhen blood in their line.

Feynriel had a very strong nose, the large eyes (a dark gold), and though he did not have pointed ears, his ears were larger and slightly odder shaped than the average human's.

He peered at Sigrun, Velanna and Merrill curiously. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Your mother wanted us to find you,” Merrill explained.

Feynriel snorted. “To drag me back to the Templars, right?”

“Templars?” Isabela laughed. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“I could've sworn you knew Velanna and I are mages,” Merrill said with a slight frown, her brow furrowed.

Feynriel flushed. “Well...maybe Mother mentioned something about that, once or twice,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

“You and Arianni could have told us!” Merrill urged. “We could have helped, lethallin!”

“Helped how?” Feynriel demanded.

“I don't know, perhaps given you any kind of magical learning from which to work off of?” Velanna said, rolling her eyes. “Told you any ways to ward off demons, instead of what you apparently know, which is nothing?”

“Mother told me some ways,” Feynriel mumbled. “She remembered from the mages in her Clan...”

“But she is not a mage herself,” Velanna said. “She could hardly teach you much.”

“How about we have this conversation away from other people?” Abigail suggested, eyeing the shifty-looking sailors that frequented the docks.

“Good idea,” Sigrun agreed.

“I'm not going back to the Alienage,” Feynriel said, folding his arms.

“That's alright,” Isabela said amicably. “You all can come to my place—for the moment. I don't exactly want any of you to stay too long.”

They went back to Isabela's tiny house, and Feynriel explained the nature of his particular magic.

“Other mages start out by—I don't know, lighting things on fire or making them fly about,” he said. “But not me. I can walk in people's dreams. Before I had it under control, I kept wandering in and out of my mother's dreams,” he explained, looking away. “And the neighbors'.”

“Under control?” Velanna raised an eyebrow. “You don't have any control—that is your problem!”

“Only dreams?” Merrill propped her chin on her hands, looking thoughtful. “Nothing else?”

Feynriel rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe I could do other things,” he said. “But I never tried to.”

“Somniari,” Velanna said.

“Oh, Creators,” Merrill exclaimed. “Do you really think so?”

Velanna nodded. “Yes—natural Fadewalking? He's a Somniari.”

“Well, we can hardly teach him,” Merrill said, worried. “I know a little Fadewalking but not very much...”

Velanna nodded.

“What's a Somniari?” Feynriel asked, looking from one to the other.

“A mage who can walk the Fade naturally,” Merrill exclaimed. “You can wander around in other people's dreams and see memories with little effort.”

“I thought mages all went into the Fade while they slept?” Isabela asked.

“That is an oversimplification,” Velanna said.

“Yes, it's a little different from that,” Abigail explained. “Mages can go into the Fade, and demons are more likely to be attracted to us when we're asleep, but mostly we stay in our own heads when we dream, unless we're leaving on purpose. People's dreams are part of the Fade, which is why demons can come in, but they're not really the same thing.”

"Most mages need lyrium or another aid to get into the Fade without practice," Merrill piped up. "And I think it's only Somniari who can go into other people's dreams."

“...right...” Isabela said.

“The Dalish could help,” Merrill said, tapping her chin. “Feynriel, I mean. I think Marethari is still on the Sundermount...”

“Is the Sundermount the best idea?” Velanna said. “With all the spirits there...”

“Marethari will move on, I’m sure of it,” Merrill said. “They've only been there a few months—it doesn't make sense that they'd stay.”

“Would the Dalish even take me?” Feynriel snapped. “Mother's Clan threw her out when they learned she was having me.”

“What Clan does she hail from?” Velanna asked, while Merrill looked away, ashamed.

Feynriel shrugged. “I don't know! Does it matter?”

“I know several Clans that have half-elves or even part-elves as Clanmembers,” Velanna said, frowning a little. She and Merrill exchanged a look, and an expression of understanding crossed Merrill's face.

“Arianni's from Orlais, isn't she?” Merrill said.

“Well—Mother always said her Clan went from Orlais to the Free Marches when they were wandering,” Feynriel explained. “Why?”

At that, Merrill and Velanna exchanged another look and a deep sigh. Velanna shook her head and muttered something in Dalish.

“What is it?” Feynriel asked, looking from one of them to the other.

“Ferelden and Free Marcher Clans are a lot more...open-minded about city elves, and elves who might not be pure elvhen,” Merrill said. “Orlesian Clans are...different. I don't think it's their fault!” she was quick to assure Feynriel. “It's not safe to live in Orlais as a Dalish Clan. But it makes them cruel.”

“Oh,” Feynriel blinked. “Mother never told me that. Why wouldn't she go to another Clan, then?”

“I'm sure she had her reasons,” Merrill said. “Maybe she tried to find other Clans, but couldn't. Maybe she didn't want to go back. Maybe she likes living in an Alienage better. You should ask her yourself.”

“In any case,” Velanna said. “Back to the subject at hand?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Merrill said. “You should go to Clan Sabrae, Feynriel. If Marethari can't help, I'm sure she'd find someone who can.”

“Oh,” Feynriel said. “Are you sure your Clan would take me?”

“Your humanity would set you apart,” Merrill said. “But they would never simply turn you away, not when you're in such need.”

They ended up taking Feynriel back to the Alienage to say goodbye to Arianni. Arianni was relieved to see Feynriel safe. She wasn't sure about sending him to the Dalish instead of the Circle (the bad memories of her Clan extended far beyond their final rejection of her), but Velanna and Merrill assured her it would be alright, and much safer for Feynriel.

Velanna accompanied Feynriel to the Sundermount, as Merrill wasn't sure how happy Marethari would be to see her. Velanna returned within a few days, with the news that Marethari and the Clan had decided to help Feynriel as best they could.

Chapter Text

A few weeks after the debacle with Feynriel, Aveline contacted Abigail, needing her help again.

Aveline met Abigail in Gamlen's house.

“Alright,” Abigail said. “What is it?”

“The Viscount needs someone to look for his son,” Aveline said.

“Why can't the Guard do it?”

Aveline sighed. “The Viscount doesn't want the Guard to do it,” she leaned back in her chair. “It's not the first time he's run off before.”

“Oh?” Bethany sat down next to Abigail. “Maybe we should leave him be, then, if he doesn't want to be found.”

“If you don't do it, some other, more dangerous group of thugs will,” Aveline said. “The Viscount's put a large bounty on finding his son, and he's not going to take it down.”

“And you're worried that some bounty hunters might end up getting him killed,” Carver said, leaning over the table.

“Exactly. That's the last thing we need.”

“Why has he run away before?” Abigail asked.

Aveline leaned back in her seat. “He has...an affinity for the Qunari,” she said. “He'd probably convert if he wasn't the Viscount's son.”

Abigail raised her eyebrows. “He'd want to convert?”

“If you're not a mage, apparently it's not so bad,” Aveline said with a shrug.

“'Not so bad' isn't the same as 'good.'”

Aveline eventually did convince Abigail to come to the Wounded Coast to look for Seamus. They brought along Carver and Varric, and searched for half a day, before coming across a merc company that had found Seamus first.

He had been in the company of a Qunari, a friend of his, and the Winters had killed the Qunari.

“For the love of the Maker,” Aveline growled, looking down at the Qunari corpse. She rounded on the mercenaries. “Do you have any idea how much more trouble we'll have with the Arishok now?” she demanded.

“What do I care?” the head merc said, waving a hand. “As long as I get paid--”

“You won't get paid at all if the Qunari decide to attack us!”

“What does it matter what the Qunari think?”

Aveline and the Winters merc shouted at each other for several minutes, while Abigail and Varric went to see how the Viscount's son was holding up. None too well, as it turned out. The Qunari—Ashaad—had been a friend of Seamus', and Seamus defended the Qunari vehemently.

Eventually it was decided that the Winters and Abigail's company could split the bounty, and they brought Seamus back in one piece. Seamus and the Viscount had a very public argument before the seneschal escorted everyone out and gave them their money.

“Y'know, Abigail, we might just manage to get the funds for the expedition after all,” Varric said as they counted up what they'd earned.

Abigail looked at him in surprise. “Do you think so?”

“Sure! A few more jobs and I think we'll be good to go.”

Abigail went to see Merrill again, to find Merrill very excited over her current project. She had been working on something for weeks, but no one was quite sure what it was, and Velanna and Sigrun weren’t talking out of respect for Merrill’s privacy.

“Abigail, here, I want to show you something!” Merrill tugged Abigail's hand.

“What is it? Are you going to show me this thing you’ve been working on? I’ve been wanting to know,” Abigail said with a smile, following Merrill.

“You won’t want to when you see it,” Sigrun said, half-laughing. “It’s so creepy!”

“It is not creepy,” Velanna huffed.

“No, it's perfectly safe!” Merrill insisted.

“It makes weird noises,” Sigrun said.

Merrill lead Abigail to her room at the back of the house, where an enormous mirror, easily six feet high, stood freely in the center of the floor. The Veil around it was curiously bent, and it did indeed make strange noises, like the soft chiming of bells.

“What is it?” Abigail asked.

“My eluvian,” Merrill said. “The ancient elves used them to communicate over great distances. I can't get it to work yet, but I finished putting all the pieces back together, and setting the frame up.”

“Maybe it doesn't work yet because it needs another mirror to talk to?” Abigail suggested.

“Maybe,” Merrill said, her tone thoughtful. “But I don't know. I've hardly had the chance to try.”

“Was this one of the things you and Marethari disagreed over?”

Merrill nodded. “When we first found it, the darkspawn had been at it,” she said. “Tamlen and Mahariel, the ones who found it, died soon after,” she looked down. “Marethari said it was Tainted, but I thought that that didn't make any sense—it's a mirror, not alive. It doesn't have anything to Taint. So I took the pieces and tried to purify them—there were all sorts of nasty spells on them. Marethari thought it was still wrong, though. She thought it would be dangerous.”

“If she thought it was dangerous, why did you keep pushing?”

“It's a Keeper's job to remember, even the dangerous things,” Merrill frowned. “I thought Marethari knew that. She's supposed to know that.”

“Well—maybe when you fix it, you can bring it back to her and show her,” Abigail said, giving Merrill a quick, encouraging hug around the shoulders.

Merrill leaned into Abigail. “You really think I can fix it?”

“Why not?”

“Velanna says I can too,” Merrill bit her lip. “But I'm never sure. What if Marethari is right? What if I'm doing the wrong thing?”

“Well...” Abigail ran a hand through her hair. “I don't know. I think it's worth the risk.”

“You do?” Merrill looked up at Abigail, her face lighting up.

“Something this old, working again?” Abigail reached out to touch the frame of the eluvian. It was slightly warm to the touch, and she took her hand away again. “It would be—amazing.”

“Oh, I knew you'd understand!” Merrill bounced on her heels, her smile lighting up the room.

There was one night everyone had off, and Varric was aware everyone had the night off, and so he invited everyone to the Hanged Man.

Abigail, Carver and Bethany came, of course. Isabela was there already when they arrived, and had been lured by the promise of free alcohol.

“Varric said he'd pay for the whiskey,” she said with a shrug and a wink towards Varric. “This is terrible, but it'll get you drunk as anything else.”

“You really want to drink what they serve here?” Bethany asked, making a face.

Isabela laughed. “Why shouldn't I?”

“Probably because it'll give you a disease,” Anders chimed in. He and Nathaniel had just arrived as well, and sat down at their table.

“No it won't. It's whiskey—this stuff's cleaner than water.”

Anders sighed and propped his head on his hand. “Look, if I can't get drunk, I'm going to make everyone who can miserable.”

“Why can't you get drunk?” Abigail asked.

“Justice doesn't like drinking, and either way, ever since we merged it’s as if my body processes it faster, too fast for it to have any effect,” Anders said with a scowl. “I don't know why that is—I have to eat even more, too, so he’s probably not doing it on purpose.”

“It was actually a serious problem when we were on the road,” Nathaniel said. “Wardens already have to eat more than a normal person—Anders and Justice've fainted more than once from hunger, without going that long without food.”

“I ate an entire roast pig by myself once,” Anders said.

“I see I've come into a very enlightening conversation,” Aveline came over and sat down next to Abigail.

Isabela raised her glass. “You had any more trouble with those Templars, big girl?” she asked.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because if any of these folks had had trouble with them, I'd've probably had to come in and help rescue them or something,”

Aveline tilted her head to the side. “Fair point. No, I think they've backed off a bit for now—though I don't know how long that'll last.”

“Haven't heard of them bothering anyone at the Rose lately—and believe me, I'm there a lot.” she winked and grinned, in case anyone didn't get her meaning.

“You just adore unhealthy habits, don't you?” Anders said.

“I'm not the one who lives in a sewer.”

“It's a clinic in Darktown, and it's probably cleaner than your house.”

They had enough people to play cards, and over cards they chatted about things that weren't bounties or Templars or anything too dangerous. Isabela showed them some tricks she could do with her knives, and Anders hounded everyone about the possibility of helping out at the clinic.

Sigrun, Merrill and Velanna arrived a bit later, Velanna scowling as usual, but Sigrun and Merrill looking eager.

“I’ve never played cards before,” Merrill said. “How do you do it?”

“Do the Dalish not play cards?” Isabela asked, aghast.

“How often would we get the opportunity?” Velanna growled. “It’s a foolish hobby, anyhow.”

“Well, Kitten, I’ll teach you,” Isabela told Merrill with a grin. “Just don’t bet anything you aren’t prepared to lose.”

A little while later (after Merrill had lost her footwraps and overtunic, but had won Isabela’s belt) Fenris came through the door, looking as threatening as he ever did. His silver hair still hung over his face, but he spotted them well enough.

“Hey—thought you didn't want to come!” Varric grinned as Fenris sat down at the far end of the table, apart from everyone else.

“I did not. But I hardly have much else to do.”

“You know, if you're looking for ways to make yourself useful, I could always use a hand at the clinic,” Anders said. Fenris glowered at him.

“Will you stop badgering everyone about that?” Isabela said with a laugh. “No one else besides you and Nate want to spend any time there.”

“I need extra hands!” Anders protested. “Even frightening glowing elves like him!”

“You glow sometimes, Anders,” Merrill said, with a confused frown between her brows.

Anders sat back in his seat and sighed. “Never mind.”

“I am not much of a healer, anyway,” Fenris muttered.

“All he really needs is someone to hold things,” Nathaniel said.

“I could do that!” Merrill said.

“And probably scare the liver out of everyone, just by being there,” Anders said.

“Aw, Merrill's not scary!” Isabela protested. “Are you, Kitten?” she patted Merrill’s shoulder.

Merrill giggled. “I don't think so,” she said. “Maybe sometimes.”

“You're definitely scary,” Anders said, waving his mug at Merrill. “Waving a knife around and talking about blood magic...it’s just a matter of time before a demon snatches you up, just you wait.”

“Just because she knows more than you do does not make her frightening,” Velanna said. “Merely better-informed. And probably more intelligent.”

“Aww, ibine, there's no need for that,” Sigrun said, but she was grinning.

“Ibine, huh?” Varric piped up. “There's one I don't hear too often, but you call her that all the time.”

“What does it mean?” Bethany asked.

“It's a dwarven endearment,” Varric explained. “I guess it means...jewel? Gemstone? Shiny thing? Something like that.”

“Gemstone,” Sigrun clarified. “Which you should probably know if you're going to do a lot of business with Orzammar merchants. Just saying.”

“Look, five years ago, no one cared about dwarven except for maybe one or two people on the surface!” Varric said, spreading his hands. “Now the Queen's decided she likes surfacers and everyone and their mother needs to learn it.”

“Common comes from the old dwarven tongue,” Merrill piped up. “It shouldn't be so hard to learn.”

“It does?” Carver glanced at her. “I'd've thought Common was related to...I dunno, Tevene or Orlesian or something...”

“Common is nothing like Tevene,” Fenris said.

“It's because the dwarves were everywhere before the Blight,” Merrill explained. “Since they were the ones who were merchants and caravans and everything, everyone just learned their language.”

“Mm,” Velanna grunted. “That's why Dalish has some similarities with the dwarven tongue as well.”

“Oh, Dalish has a bit of everything!” Merrill said. “I think it even has a bit of Tevene, Fenris.”

“What a wonderful thing to share roots with,” Fenris muttered.

“Tevene, Orlesian, common, dwarven, and all the Elvhen we recovered,” Velanna said.

“Why does it have so many different influences?” Abigail asked.

“People stopped speaking Elvhen after the fall of Arlathan,” Merrill explained. “The language was lost after all our years in slavery—but when the Dales were founded, scholars and historians wanted to try and recover Elvhen. But it had been so long and we'd forgotten so much that we couldn't even know if anything we found was right.”

“A summation of our entire history, really,” Velanna said, her brows drawn together in a frown.

“Anyway, they made a new language in the Dales,” Merrill continued. “Even with all the problems—we just needed our own language, you see. And when the Dales fell, the Dalish made sure we wouldn't lose it again.”

“Why don't they speak it in the Alienages?” Bethany asked.

Both Merrill and Velanna scowled.

“Because the Chantry doesn't want them to,” Velanna growled. “Our language is called a heathen tongue, savage, barbaric—children are discouraged from learning it from their parents, no one is allowed to speak it at a place of work--”

“Also Dalish was only spoken in the Dales, anyway,” Merrill said. “When they put Alienages in places like Denerim or Val Royeaux, all the people there either were never Dalish to begin with, or were moved far from their homes, where no one spoke Dalish. They did it on purpose.” she perked up. “You could learn Dalish if you wanted to, Fenris!” she said. “Velanna already teaches some of the Alienage children--”

“And the adults who wish to learn,” Velanna added.

Fenris considered that. “Perhaps,” he said. “I have always found it useful to know other languages.”

“Oh, that's lovely!” Merrill beamed.

“I don’t know how much worth it would really be, however,” he scowled. “The Dalish are freer than any other elves, and they squander their freedom by trying to revive a long-dead past.”

“Oh, Fenris that’s sort of the opposite of what I’ve been saying,” Merrill said, crestfallen.

“Then what is it you are saying?”

“That we should remember the past,” Merrill said. “Preserve our heritage and our history, because what is the point of all of it if we just...forget?”

“Perhaps forgetting a history of defeat would be the better option,” Fenris grunted.

“And what of all the good things?” Merrill said. “What about—songs and paintings, and magic? Well, you might not like magic much,” she amended, seeing Fenris’ glare. “What about all the things that made us who we are?”

“Orlesians and Fereldens and Antivans all have their histories and cultures and stories,” Velanna said. “Why should we not have our own?”

“And Fenris, don’t you learn from—from lost battles, or mistakes you’ve made?” Merrill asked.

“If I had ever lost a battle, I would be dead,” Fenris said.

“Surely you’ve made a mistake before,” Merrill cajoled.

“No.”

“So, you used to captain a ship?” Aveline asked Isabela, trying to change the subject.

Isabela smirked. “That's right.”

“I don't think I've seen your name on a captain's registry...”

“It wasn't exactly a merchant ship, you know.” Isabela took a sip of her cup.

“Ah,” Aveline’s expression grew cold. “I see.”

“You must have been to all sorts of places,” Merrill said, leaning forward, her eyes shining. “I’ve never been across the sea before, just on a boat from Gwaren to Kirkwall. I was ever so sick...”

The conversation turned to Isabela’s adventures and the places she had visited, and the night wore on in a pleasant way. Nathaniel and Aveline both headed home early. Carver and Bethany left soon after they did. Sigrun and Velanna left after that, whereas Isabela proclaimed she’d stay until the early hours, and Varric had a room there.

Merrill, Abigail, Anders and Fenris ended up heading home together. Fenris would not have gone with them, except that he left at the same time they did.

On their way home, they came across a very peculiar sight. A Chantry Sister, out in the middle of the night, claiming to have work for street toughs.

“That's very odd, now, isn't it?” Merrill asked, narrowing her eyes.

“It's hardly very bright, that's certain,” Abigail said. “Excuse me? Sister?” she called, hoping to get the fool woman away from the more unsavory members of Lowtown. However, the woman ignored Abigail, continuing to speak with the man whose attention she had caught.

“If you have the skill, I have the coin,” the Sister said to the man, and before any of them could stop her, she vanished around the corner behind him.

“For the love of the Maker,” Abigail muttered.

“How stupid does someone have to be?” Anders said.

“We should ensure she does not die,” Fenris said. “There is no reason for her to be harmed simply because she acted foolishly.”

They followed the Sister around the corner, where she had been backed into an alley and was currently being threatened by one of the many, many thugs that populated Lowtown.

“I would suggest that you and your friends leave,” Abigail said, rapping one of the thugs across the shoulder with her staff.

“Oi!” the thug turned, and upon looking at Abigail's group, her went pale and sighed. “Oh, Andraste's tits—you people?”

“You people? I don't think we've met before.” Anders said, raising his eyebrow.

“Seen you around,” the thug said. “Haven't we, Jim?” he jabbed one of his friends.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jim rolled his eyes. “Come on, you lot—don't need to deal with these lunatics. Not like Sisters ever have much money on them anyway.”

The thugs went, grumbling unhappily.

“I wasn't aware you had garnered such a reputation,” Fenris said.

“Maybe that stunt in the Alienage helped,” Abigail said. “And Bethany, Carver, Varric and I do take quite a lot of jobs around here.”

They turned their attention to the Sister, a severe looking woman with short blonde hair.

“I appreciate your assistance,” the woman said. “But I was in little danger.”

“Oh really?” Abigail put her hand on her hip.

“Yes.” the Sister gestured, and out of the shadows appeared a large Templar holding a naked sword. “And why—those look quite like mages' staffs you and your friend have there,” the Sister said, raising her eyebrows.

Abigail did what she had found to be most useful in these situations, and snorted. “What, this?” she raised her staff. It was plain, weighted at the top, but with no figurehead. “This is a quarterstaff, Sister.”

“Do you have any idea how bloody expensive it is to get a decent weapon around here?” Anders said, catching on. He held up his own staff, taller than Abigail's, with a blade on the end. “I mean, look at this thing—it's just a stick with a knife tied to the end of it. Do I really seem like the kind of man who has money for a sword?”

“Maybe you should put ribbons on it,” Merrill suggested.

Anders stared at her. “Why would I do that?”

“It would be a lot prettier,” Merrill said, with a dubious look at the rough-hewn wood.

“And must you really go so armed?” the Sister folded her arms.

“Sister, considering that you only avoided being attacked by thugs, you know the answer to that question.” Fenris said. He shifted, drawing attention to the large, cheap broadsword on his back.

“I see,” the Sister said, surveying them all intently. “Then perhaps you are just the kind of people I need.”

“Need for what?” Abigail asked.

“I have a job for you,” she said. “Something to be done quietly, by those capable enough to suffer violence, but unimportant enough to not draw attention.”

“Well, that's only mildly insulting,” Anders said, exchanging a look with Abigail.

“It is only a statement of fact.”

“Why not have your Templar do it?” Abigail asked.

“He has better armor than anyone here,” Anders pointed out. “And a bloody great sword.”

“Templar involvement would draw undue attention.” the Sister explained.

“And what, getting yourself killed in Lowtown wouldn't?” Anders snapped.

“Do you wish this work or not?”

Abigail folded her arms. “Would you be paying for this work?”

“That is generally the idea behind 'work,' yes,” the Sister said.

“I like to know the names of the people I plan on working for. I'm Abigail Hawke—what about you?”

“Sister Petrice. So you will work for me?”

“I'd need some details, first.”

“Meet me here, tomorrow evening, and you shall have your details.” Petrice informed her.

The group of them left, all a little bemused.

“That was odd,” Anders said.

“I wasn't aware Chantry Sisters were in the business of hiring mercenaries,” Fenris said, a frown wrinkling his brow. “What work could she possibly have that she did not wish to use Templars for?”

“Probably something illegal,” Abigail said.

“Should we tell Aveline?” Merrill asked.

“It couldn't hurt for her to know,” Abigail said. “Who knows...? Mayhaps this will the thing to finally get the Seekers to come and investigate the Kirkwall Chantry.”

Anders sighed and shook his head. “Oh, you have mages getting hurt and no one cares, but when they start breaking laws...”

“I highly doubt protecting the populace from magic is the same as active harm,” Fenris drawled.

“That's because you have no idea what you're talking about,” Anders growled.

“Oh indeed? Because I don't see the South having nearly the same problems as the Tevinters. No magisters—someone to actually take care of demons, not use them--”

“Fenris, the Circles don't really do a good job of keeping magic under control, if that's what you want,” Merrill pointed out quietly. “There's so much fear and hurt in one place it starts attracting demons. You can't get near a Circle without getting horrible nightmares.”

Fenris blinked. “But—is that not the very point of Circles? To contain such things as demons? If a Circle attracts demons--”

“Then what's the bloody point?” Anders said. “I don't have any idea, really—probably has something to do with getting free healing.”

“You supply free healing.”

“Yes, because I want to!”

Fenris shook his head. “Mages should be contained—as much for their own good as anyone else's,” he frowned. “But what these Templars have been doing—this makes no sense. They break their own laws, and if you are to be believed, they actively encourage magical danger among the mages they oversee.”

“I’m not sure about that first part,” Abigail said. “But essentially, yes.”

“You wouldn't believe the kind of nonsense they got up to in Calenhad,” Anders said. “I mean—fine, you don't give a damn about mages being in prisons--” he rolled his eyes.

“You are correct. That matters little to me.” Fenris said.

“But, during the Blight, Calenhad Circle became overrun with abominations. One bastard got some of his friends to go along with his whole blood magic nonsense--”

“Which is sort of stupid, really--” Merrill said.

“Yes, extremely so, and then the whole damn place was filled with demons. And you know what else? The Templars couldn't deal with it. The Warden-Commander came in and cleaned the place up with a handful of friends—got rid of all the demons, to the Knight-Captain's satisfaction, even. The kicker? The Warden-Commander is a mage. A mage did the Templars' job better than they did.”

Fenris was quiet for a minute. “That...does not make sense,” he said.

“How so?” Abigail asked.

“That—if the tower was overrun, why did the Templars even let the Commander inside? How did she, a mage, do what they could not? It is their duty to protect people from things like that. Why did they fail?”

“Probably because Templars are idiots,” Anders said. “They did call for Annulment, but Surana got their first.”

“The Chantry is scared of magic because it doesn't understand it,” Merrill said. “They try to make it safe, or contain it, but the whole world is built on it. All people go to the Fade when they sleep—except for dwarves, of course.”

“But--” Fenris scowled. “A free mage will want for power—the existence of the magisters proves that. But the entire purpose of protecting people from mages is negated if doing so puts people in danger from demons anyway.”

“Yes, half of that is still wrong,” Anders said. “But the other half is about right. I mean, suppose you're a mage-hating bastard who doesn't care for the freedom of fellow sentient beings—alright. But having places that are so full of hate and fear it warps the Fade around them and attracts spirits and Andraste only knows what else? That's not what I would call good, either.”

“No,” Fenris said. “It isn't.”

“Does every mage in Tevinter become a magister, Fenris?” Merrill asked. “Do you know about any elvhen magisters? Or even vashoth ones, maybe?”

“I--” Fenris opened his mouth, and closed it again. “Vashothari would not be tolerated in Tevinter,” he said. “They hate the Qun too much—even though vashothari are not part of it, it would not matter to them.” he ran a hand through his hair. “Most mages are not slaves—elvhen or otherwise. But...no, I have never seen an elvhen magister.”

“Aha!” Anders exclaimed. “So what you say about power-hungry mages isn't even true in Tevinter, the country with the most power-hungry mages!”

“You hardly know what you speak of,” Fenris scoffed. “Perhaps there are exceptions—for example, Abigail and Bethany have not turned to either blood magic or become abominations--”

“Velanna doesn't do those things either,” Merrill pointed out.

“Her as well, then. Exceptional. That does not mean all mages are as strong as they are—the two of you alone prove that.” he looked at Anders and Merrill.

“I live in a sewer, so I don't really know where you get off about me being power-hungry,” Anders said. “And Merrill's a bloody lunatic, from what I can tell, so I think she's a special case.”

“Me?” Merrill was offended. “I only offered my body to a spirit—oh no, I didn't. You did that. Silly me, I'm so scatterbrained.”

“Didn't you need to practically get possessed to learn blood magic?”

“What?” Merrill blinked. “Don't be silly. You can't learn blood magic from spirits—they hate it.”

“If that's the case, how do you make an abomination from blood magic, like at Calenhad?”

“Oh, you have to kill people for that,” Merrill explained. “Very messy. Very wasteful. That's probably what all the magisters in Tevinter are doing, Fenris. They're not very bright, if it makes you feel better. Fenris—magic is always going to be dangerous, and just locking all the mages up won't help.”

Fenris was quiet again, and after a long moment, he asked “Why is it that they do not kill the mages, or make them Tranquil?”

“What?” Anders exclaimed, so angry he began to glow.

“Why do they not?”

“Because that's horrible, Fenris!” Merrill exclaimed.

“No, wait a minute...” Abigail bit her lip. “Why don't they? I mean—I wouldn't want it to happen,” she said. “But...that would solve the Chantry's whole problem, wouldn't it?”

Fenris looked troubled. “I...would not wish mages who had done no harm dead,” he said. “But...if the Templars truly prioritized the safety of the people, and there is little effective means to make them safe, why would they not take the more powerful route?”

Anders' glow died. “I...I don't know,” he said. “Other than that's awful and you are a terrible person for thinking it I...I don't really know why they want us alive. I mean—peasants tend to hate mages, enough to kill them--”

“Maybe they just don't want to kill that many people?” Merrill suggested. “I don't know who would, really—even when they invaded the Dales, the Chantry didn't kill--well, they didn't kill everyone."

“But if mages cannot be made safe...why do they have laws about who could be made Tranquil at all?” Fenris said. “Why is it a punishment, or a last resort?”

“Well, they don't behead people on the regular either,” Anders said. “But...you're still a terrible bastard, but that...is a good point. I mean, they don't exactly like us—and Circles are dangerous. Why don't they kill the mages?”

“What did that healer say?” Abigail asked. “Templars always came to them for healing, every time. Maybe they like the things that magic can do, so they don't want to get rid of mages.”

“Why would they like any magic?” Fenris demanded.

“I don't know, why wouldn't someone like healing?” Anders asked. “But...wait. If the Chantry likes having free labor, doesn't that make Circle mages technically slaves? I mean, I already thought so, but--”

“It does not,” Fenris snapped.

“Free labor is the definition of slavery.”

“Mages are kept clothed and sheltered--”

“And what, slaves aren't? I can't see even a really evil magister just wanting all his slaves to catch pneumonia and die.”

“Mages learn to read--”

“To cast spells, which are magic, which is both dangerous and there's the whole free labor thing again.”

“Mages are far more dangerous than slaves.”

“Which just brings us right back to the first question—why bother keeping a mage around if they're so bloody dangerous?” Anders was almost gleeful. “Slave labor.”

“You have never been a slave,” Fenris snarled. “Do not presume to know what it is like.”

“No? Alright then,” Anders folded his arms. “Once, I was locked in the dungeons, by myself, in the dark, for a solid year.”

“You what?” Merrill and Abigail both gasped at the same time.

Anders shrugged. “Yes. I swear I thought I'd die down there—but they didn't let me. Demons came to talk to me, every bloody night--”

“Why?” Fenris said.

“Why what?”

“Why did they do that to you?”

“Oh—I tried escaping.” Anders shrugged. “They'd gotten fed up with the escape attempts, I suppose.”

Fenris was very quiet again as they walked through Lowtown. “I wish to see what this Sister Petrice is doing,” he informed Abigail when they parted ways. “If the Chantry is as flippant with the safety of normal people as you say, then it may be vital to prevent what she is plans.”

“Of course,” Abigail said.

“Poor Fenris seems a bit confused a lot of the time,” Merrill said when he left. “Maybe it's Kirkwall. I get ever so lost...”

Anders snorted. “He's a bastard is all,” he said.

“Anders!”

“What? He doesn't like you any more than he likes me.”

“I think anyone who gets involuntary full-body lyrium brands gets a bit of leeway for being a bastard,” Abigail said.

“If you say so,” Anders said, tone of voice highly dubious. “Count me out of the thing with the Sister—I don't want to be any closer to the Templars than I have to be. But let me know how it turns out. Whatever she's up to sounds bad.”

“I shouldn't come either,” Merrill said, sounding put out. “Too much magic would make them nervous. You'll let me know how it goes, won't you?”

“I'll tell both of you,” Abigail promised, and they all returned to their respective homes, Anders walking Merrill back to the Alienage. He'd meet up with Nathaniel there and they could go back to Darktown together.

Chapter Text

Bethany and Carver were uncertain about the job.

“Should we really go and see Petrice?” Bethany asked. “It doesn't really sound like our kind of work.”

“It doesn’t sound like any kind of work,” Carver said.

“I'm going,” Abigail said. “I want to know what her game is.”

“What if it's a trap?” Bethany asked. “What if it's just some new way of looking for apostates?”

“I'll bring Aveline,” Abigail said. “She'll probably want to know about Chantry people being up to no good anyway. Fenris said he'd come, too—if I get Varric, Isabela, Sigrun or Nathan, then I'd be the only mage.”

“You're already leaving me out?” Carver said, raising his eyebrows. “I haven't said if I wanted to come or not.”

“You can if you want,” Abigail said with a shrug. “I’m certainly not stopping you.”

“It's more the fact you didn't think of me in the first place,”

“Carver...” Bethany sighed.

“Look, I'm the one who draws less attention than either of you—I don't have to hide from Templars. Why is it that you're the one who calls the shots?” Carver rolled his shoulders and planted his feet.

“I don't know, Carver, perhaps because you never bothered?” Abigail suggested.

“I would if--”

“But you don't. I am not exactly very pleased that I've somehow been made de-facto head of the family, you know. Perhaps if you bothered to do something other than follow me around, this wouldn't be an issue for you.”

Carver scowled and put his hand down on the table. “I don't just follow you around!”

“Then I hardly know what it is that you're complaining about, quite honestly.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Bethany snapped.

“I am fairly confident I wasn’t doing anything,” Abigail said, her tone frosty.

“What would it take for the pair of you to stop fighting all the time?” Bethany demanded.

“Mayhaps if Carver got an actual job, then he can complain about what I do.” Abigail stared at Carver with eyes like flint.

“You know no one's going to hire a refugee here!” Carver snapped.

“Then go sign on with a merc company or someone with lower hiring standards. You've a sword arm, and it's not exactly a change from what we usually do.”

“I'm not going to sign on with mercs!”

“Then find. Another. Job.”

“And how am I supposed to do that, exactly?”

“I don't know, Carver, Bethany and I are far more unemployable than you are, and we manage to find work.” Abigail tapped one finger on her upper arm. “If you cannot find work on your own, don't complain about me finding it for you.”

“Unemployable?” Carver scoffed. “People are falling all over themselves to give you jobs!”

“Maybe if you were less obnoxious, people would do the same for you,” Abigail said.

“Abigail!” Bethany exclaimed. “Now, honestly, both of you shut up.” she put her hands on the table. “Abigail—go find Aveline and tell her about Petrice, alright?”

“As you wish,” Abigail waved a hand and got up from the table. “Maybe when I'm back Carver will have unstuck his head from his ass.” she left before either of them could say anything else.

She found Aveline, whose expression grew more grim as Abigail explained the situation.

“This definitely sounds suspicious, at the very best.” Aveline said with a deep frown between her brows.

“Do not come as the Guard-Captain,” Abigail instructed her. “She wouldn't even have bothered asking us if we didn't look like people who would not be missed.”

“A Guard might just scare her off,” Aveline nodded. “You're right.”

They rounded up Fenris, Varric and Isabela. Varric and Isabela weren't as interested as Aveline and Fenris were, but Abigail and Aveline both felt it might be useful to have backup.

Petrice had directed them to a small, out of the way alley that they came to when the sun went down. Petrice herself arrived several hours after dark.

“Those three—they weren't with you last night,” Petrice said when she arrived, looking at Varric, Aveline and Isabela with her pale eyes narrowed.

“Any work you can get, right?” Aveline said, shrugging and shifting her shield more comfortably on her back.

Petrice pressed her lips together, studying them as if they were specimens under glass. After a long moment of deep consideration, she nodded. “Very well. Come, this way.” she lead them to a tiny, rundown warehouse that as far as Abigail had known, was abandoned.

“Inside,” Petrice instructed.

The warehouse was dingy, dark and smelled very strongly of fish. In it, Petrice's Templar friend was already waiting. He inclined his head in their direction, Templar plate gleaming in the dim light, but he didn't say anything.

“Now, Sister,” Abigail said, one eye on the Templar. “What's the work you have for us?”

“I have a charge who needs passage from the city,” Petrice explained, folding her hands inside her sleeves.

“Hire them a ship,” Isabela said, twirling one of her daggers in a free hand. “Why are we involved?”

“This charge is...of a delicate nature,” Patrice said, shifting her gaze away from them. “I think you will agree that the nature of this escort makes it...unique. I cannot have it connected to me.”

Aveline folded her arms. “Is this illegal?” she asked.

“You hardly seem the type to shun illegal work,” Petrice said. “But no, I would not say that it's strictly illegal.”

“Oh, good,” Isabela rolled her eyes and spun her dagger the other way around. “We're off to a lovely start here.”

“Clearly,” Aveline growled. “So—who is your charge?”

Petrice opened a door into another room, and gestured for the occupant inside to come forward. Out came an enormous Qunari man, large even for a kossith, but what was more unsettling was the weighty iron collar around his neck, and the mask on his face. His mouth was held closed with stitches.

As one, they all stepped back as the Qunari approached them.

“He is a survivor of infighting with the Tal-Vashoth on the coast. I call him Ketojan,” Petrice said. “A bridge between worlds.”

“Is that his name?” Abigail asked, looking up at the enormous man. He was a lighter gray than the other kossith she had seen, his skin with a somewhat sickly hue to it.

Petrice shrugged. “I could not say. He has not told us.”

“Do you think that has something to do with the stitching on his mouth?” Abigail said. “Why didn’t you cut it of him?

“He refused to let us remove it.”

“That does make sense,” Fenris said, speaking for the first time and drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Your charity is a lost cause, Sister. If a Saarebas does not free themselves, they will not take freedom when it is offered.”

Petrice regarded Fenris with a wary expression, looking him up and down, her eyes lingering on his lyrium markings. “And what would you know of it?”

“...I have been to Seheron,” Fenris said after a moment. “I know their tongue, and some of their culture.” he glanced at Ketojan, green eyes level. “Your impulse to free him is wasted.”

“You know Qunlat?” Aveline asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

Fenris shrugged and looked away, brow knitted. “I am hardly fluent in it.”

Petrice scowled. “Would you wish this mage returned to his brutal kin?”

“Why do you want him free so badly?” Abigail asked. “He can't be happy, but if he's a mage, why bother freeing him at all?”

“Wouldn't the Circle be a better option?” Aveline said.

“No—the Viscount would learn of it, and would simply return Ketojan to the Arishok.” Petrice said.

“And why is that a problem for you?” Varric asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Examples such as he will show the Chantry that the Qunari presence in Kirkwall is not merely a test of faith—it is an open challenge. He is an example of how cruel the Qunari are, even to their own people.”

“And allowing him to run around outside of Kirkwall will help that...how?” Isabela asked, propping a hand on her hip and leaning back on one leg. “If you think he's so important, why don't you bring him to the Grand Cleric?”

Petrice frowned. “Do you wish to take on this work, or not?”

“We have to talk about it first,” Abigail said, and lead the group out of earshot.

“This is some sort of trap,” Aveline said.

“Read my mind, big girl,” Isabela muttered with a sidelong glance towards Petrice. “Fenris? You know Qunari—what do you think about this?”

Fenris glanced at the Saarebas. “Qunari mages are known for escaping,” he said. “It is a strange thing—they either have no desire to escape, or that is the only thing they wish. There is no in-between. She said he was a survivor of a skirmish between Tal-Vashoth and the Kirkwall Qunari?” he shook his head. “That does not make sense. No Qunari would leave a Saarebas alive if the rest of his watchers were dead—no Tal-Vashoth would leave a Qunari alive, especially a Saarebas.”

“Maybe it was a happy accident,” Abigail suggested. “Perhaps for some reason he survived, and he's confused because he doesn't know what to do next, if he wasn't planning on escaping.”

“Perhaps that is the case,” Fenris inclined his head. “But this entire affair would be better suited to the Arishok, or the Circle.”

“What about one of the Vashothari groups?” Abigail asked. “There's a Vashoth mercenary company in town--”

“There's a merchant boat that's just Vashoth,” Isabela mentioned.

“Many Vashothari groups are home to apostates,” Fenris' lip curled a little. “But even Vashothari mages would be loathe to accept a Saarebas that didn't come to them of his own free will. He would be a liability to them. It seems this Petrice is steering the Saarebas in a direction she wishes—what for, I cannot say.”

Varric shook his head. “No, this definitely sounds like a trap,” he said. “Too many little things don't add up. Aveline?”

“I could invoke the Guard now,” Aveline said, biting her lip. “But there's no guarantee it would work—we might just get stuck with the same problem we had with the escaped healers, and be blocked again.” she shook her head. “No—I need to see how the plan plays out. Then I'll invoke the Guard.”

“I suppose, then, we need to do this,” Abigail said.

Isabela grimaced. “Right behind you,” she said. “For what it's worth...”

They returned to Petrice. “We shall do it,” Abigail said. “Are you sure we cannot take that collar off?”

“I can only do so much,” Petrice said.

“You could not find a smith to cut all that mess off him?”

“That would have been too conspicuous,” Petrice sniffed. “I suppose that is one reason the Qunari chain their mages so heavily—one can hardly hide looking like this. In any case—there is a passage to the undercity, here,” she pointed to a trap door in the corner. “It goes through the mines and tunnels under the city. It should take you out near the Wounded Coast.”

“Lovely,” Isabela drawled. “Just my idea of a good time—crawling through undercity tunnels.”

Petrice gave them a location to meet her at when they finished with the job, and then they left. Ketojan came when called. He seemed to understand both common and Qunlat, but his responsiveness didn't change when Fenris spoke Qunlat instead of common.

The undercity was mostly dull, though they kept watch for thugs and muggers.

“So, you speak Qunlat,” Aveline said to Fenris, after several moments of walking in silence.

“I believe that has been made clear.”

“The Guard has been looking for a Qunlat translator for months—you might have said something.”

“I cannot read it,” Fenris pointed out. “And I am hardly fluent--”

“We've been working with people who don't know so much as 'hello' in Qunlat,” Aveline said. “At this point, anything would be better than what we have.”

“I will...consider it,” Fenris said.

“You know, if you worked with the Guard, we could help you with your magister problem,” Aveline said.

“How so? As far as Tevinter is concerned, Danarius owns me very legally,” Fenris sneered.

“But we don't hold with slavery in the south. If you got a Kirkwall citizenship, we'd have legal means to defend you against him, especially if you have a skill we need, which you do.”

“I will consider it,” Fenris repeated. “Perhaps we should focus on the task at hand...?”

They continued to make their way through the undercity. It was revealed that Ketojan could in fact use his magic when they ran into a group of thugs and were forced into a fight.

Ketojan's magic was scattershot, not so much manipulating the Veil or the Fade as tearing at it with a violence that was startling.

“Where did you learn that?” Abigail demanded of him when the fight was over. “That's just about the worst spellwork I have ever seen—how come the Qunari don't have problems with demons, from their mages punching holes in the Veil?”

Ketojan just growled as best he could.

“I see what you mean about Saarebas being liabilities,” Abigail told Fenris with a frown. “This is—this is insane. I thought the Circles were bad enough...”

“Is the problem really so bad?” Aveline asked, a worried frown creasing her brows. “If all the Qunari mages have such poor spellwork--”

“It's a disaster waiting to happen,” Abigail said firmly. “You need to contact the Circle—Void, maybe even the Templars, and tell them that they should prepare for some sort of magical disaster if the Qunari stay here too long. Fenris? Are the Qunari known for magical accidents?”

“Saarebas are kept under such tight guard that any indication of the slightest mistake or weakness is taken care of immediately,” Fenris said. He was frowning as well. “The magisters always spoke of Saarebas with contempt—I thought it was just because the Qunari had learned to control their mages. But if what you say is true--”

“This is dangerous,” Abigail said, her tone very certain. “Even more dangerous than the ways the Circles handle it. On his own, he can't possibly control his magic without someone teaching him. He’d be a danger to everyone around him.”

“Maybe we should take him to the Circle,” Aveline suggested. “But—no, that wouldn't work. The Viscount would probably send him back again.”

“The Qunari would never allow for a magical accident,” Fenris said.

“But isn't the whole point of accidents is that you don't mean for them to happen?” Isabela said. “He's an accident,” she nodded at Ketojan.

“And—just tearing at the Veil with magic, like he did, is dangerous,” Abigail said. “All it takes is for one tiny spell to go awry, without anyone even noticing, and it could blow up in your face.”

“One minute everything's fine, the next, the dead start walking around.” Varric said.

“Exactly.” Abigail agreed.

“Well—we can't simply set him free, then,” Aveline said.

“Are you sure the Vashothari wouldn't take him?” Isabela asked Fenris. “I know a merc group that could do with a mage--”

“A trained one,” Fenris said. “If Abigail is correct, he is barely trained at all.”

“He'd have a better chance with the Vashothari than anyone else,” Varric said. “Think maybe Anders knows anyone in the business of getting people away from the Qun?”

“If he is, we can't exactly ask him,” Abigail pointed out. “We should get out of the undercity first, then decide what to do next.”

They made their way through the undercity, and out of the mouth of a cave on the Wounded Coast. Right at the mouth of the cave was a group of Qunari, who looked up as they approached.

“You will hold, basra vashedan,” the Qunari at the head of the group told them, holding up a hand to stop them. “I am Arvaraad, and I claim possession of the Saarebas at your heel.”

Abigail looked from Arvaraad to Ketojan, then shook her head. “Absolutely not,” she said, putting her hands down in an emphatic gesture. “You have no idea how to handle magic.”

Arvaraad scowled. “You cannot dictate what is done with him.”

“Neither can you! Look—this mage has no training. He’s going to cause an accident if he continues like this. If you don't care about anything else, pay attention to facts! Treating your mages like this is dangerous to you.”

“You know not what you speak of,” Arvaraad proclaimed. “You are unknowing basra. You claim to speak of danger, yet you willingly leave yourself open to it.”

Abigail straightened her back. “This—this is more dangerous than every mage in the Circle,” she said, gesturing to Ketojan. “Have you ever been to the Sundermount? That's what happens when the Veil gets too thin, and if this mage here is any indication, your mages are liable to rip the Veil open by accident at any time.”

“Wait...” Isabela said, tapping her hand on her thigh. “Why are you even here? It's not like the Qunari to just wander around on the Wounded Coast, is it?”

“This Saarebas' karataam were killed by Tal-vashoth,” Arvaraad explained. “Their disposal leads only here, to Saarebas and to you, but you have only just arrived, and from the wrong direction.” Arvaraad tilted his head back. “There is something else at work here.”

“Definitely,” Isabela said, exchanging a look with Varric.

“That can be dealt with at another time,” Arvaraad said. “My role is to confine the Saarebas, it is the role of another to deal with the perversions of basra.”

“No,” Abigail snapped. “You and your people are wrong. This is dangerous and I am not having it.”

“Let your mages doom you if you wish,” Arvaraad said, taking a long rod that gleamed with magic from his belt. “Reason will be forced upon you!”

Before Arvaraad could do anything, Abigail slammed the Qunari with a Firestorm spell, allowing her and her companions to get back. The Qunari were vicious fighters, but weak to Abigail's spells—they wore no enchanted armor to protect against magic, and they didn't have dwarven tolerance of it.

Abigail shook her head when the last Qunari fell. “What a waste,” she said, picking up the rod that Arvaraad had held. It was the only enchanted item the Qunari had, but when she took it, it shattered in her hand.

Ketojan made a strange growl again, and shook his head. “I am...unbound,” he gritted, voice obstructed by the stitching on his lips, but intelligible. “It is...odd. Wrong.” he looked at them. “But you deserve...honor. Your intent deserves honor, even if it was...wrong.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Abigail said. “Fenris?”

“I can hardly know every nuance of Qunari culture,” Fenris snapped.

“I know the will of Arvaraad,” Ketojan said. “I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom of the Qun.”

“Did you not hear any of what I said?” Abigail demanded.

“I heard. I do not believe. That does not matter, in any sense.”

“Why?”

“I must return to the Qun. But I am outside my karataam. I may be corrupted, I cannot know. So the Qun demands my death.”

Abigail shook her head. “No,” she told Saarebas. “I won't let you kill yourself just because you want to be in chains again!”

“You want for choice. Is this not my choice? If you force choice, it is no longer choice. Your doubt does not make me wrong.”

“It absolutely does, because you are wrong,” Abigail said.

“This is ridiculous,” Isabela said. “What are the Qunari, a bloody death cult?”

“It is more complex than that,” Fenris said. “Death would eliminate the problem...” he shook his head. “But suicide...no. Simply because it solves the short-term problem does not make it right.”

“Well, what can we even do?” Aveline asked.

“There is one thing,” before Ketojan could respond, Abigail struck him with a stunning spell, and then a heavy sleep one in quick succession. The large Qunari collapsed, out cold.

“This...was not a good idea,” Aveline said, eyeing Ketojan.

“And why not?” Abigail asked, jutting her chin out.

“The Qunari are already annoyed enough,” Aveline rubbed her forehead. “We don't need to give them any more reason to have problems with us.”

Abigail frowned. “Why are they annoyed with us? I mean—besides this. They wouldn't even know about this yet.”

Aveline sighed. “Some idiot merchant, Jevaris Tintop, figured he could get something from them,” she explained. “Some kind of blasting powder. He kept bothering the Arishok until the Arishok threw him out, and he came to us.”

“Everyone seems to really enjoy bothering the Qunari,” Varric said. “Not the greatest idea I've ever heard.”

“Well...what do we do with him now?” Aveline asked.

“Here—Isabela, give me your blade. At least I can cut this off of him.” Abigail gestured to his face, the mask and stitches. Isabela obliged, and Abigail cut the mask from his head, then delicately worked to remove the stitches. “Maybe once he can see clearly, he'll see more clearly.” she said.

“What about that collar?” Isabela asked. “What can we do about that?”

“Perhaps I can break the chains with a spell?” Abigail said. “I do not know for certain.”

“We could take him to that Vashoth merchant,” Isabela suggested. “Her whole crew is Vashoth. Maybe they can help.”

“What's her name?” Aveline asked. “Perhaps I know her...”

“Captain Revnas,” Isabela said. “She doesn't have a surname.”

Aveline nodded. “I think I've heard of her. But how do we get him back?” she nodded at Ketojan.

“I can go get her,” Isabela said. “Just give me a few hours, I'll bring her here.”

Revnas was a Vashoth woman with long white hair that flowed freely down to her waist. She had scars around her mouth that resembled the wounds around Ketojan’s, and her horns had been cut off at the base.

She balked when she saw Ketojan.

“Oh, Maker's balls,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Isabela--”

“I told you it was important,” Isabela said. “We don't know what to do with him. The Qunari would've killed him.”

“Yes, I figured,” Revnas said, and shook her head. “Did he want to escape? Then I can help.”

“It's a complex situation,” Abigail said. “A Chantry Sister wanted our help to lead him out of the city--”

“What?” Revnas started and frowned at her. “Why?”

“We are going to ask her that same question,” Aveline said. “For now, can you help him?”

“Look, it's not that I don't feel for him,” Revnas said, glancing at Ketojan. “We just—we aren't equipped to deal with this sort of person, if he didn't escape voluntarily.”

“Well, is there someone who is?” Abigail asked.

Revnas stroked her chin. “There's a couple people who specialize in helping Saarebas,” she said after a moment of thought. “Even voluntary escapees have problems.”

“That makes sense,” Abigail said. “He barely has any control over his magic.”

“Believe me, I know,” Revnas said, grimacing. “Tell you what—there's a woman who helped me, but she lives in Ferelden. I can get him there.” she looked down at Ketojan. “Why'd you knock him out?”

“He wanted to kill himself,” Abigail said.

“His Qun wouldn't allow him to live,” Fenris said. “So he wanted to choose to take his own life.”

“Mm,” Revnas nodded. “Yeah, that can happen.” she sighed. “Listen—Isabela, you owe me a favor for this,” she said. “But I'm not going to abandon him. I'll take him to the Keeper in Ferelden--”

“Keeper?” Varric piped up. “Like a Dalish Keeper?”

“Yeah—her Clan's pretty weird. About half-Vashoth, if you can believe it.”

“I can't, actually,” Aveline said.

Revnas shrugged. “Well, whatever, she can help. Like I said, she helped me and a whole mess of other Saarebas. She can probably help him.”

“What if she can't?” Abigail asked.

“She hasn't failed yet,” Revnas said. “I'd be hopeful. But either way, he's not your problem anymore.”

They got Ketojan onto Revnas' ship by Revnas simply taking her ship up the coast. Abigail had to cast another sleep spell on him, so Ketojan wouldn't wake and try anything, but they got him onboard alright. Revnas' crew was entirely Vashoth, one other man with the same scars and cut horns as Revnas and Ketojan. The whole crew had sympathetic but wary looks for Ketojan.

“I'll let you know how it turns out,” Revnas said. “Me? I'm not coming back here till those damn Qunari are out of the city. Can't do any business with Qunari breathing down your neck.”

“That might not be for a while,” Aveline said.

“Ah, well, do your best,” Revnas told her. “See you around, Isabela,”

Isabela gave a wink and a wave, and Revnas and her crew were off.

“Now we just have to deal with Mother Petrice,” Aveline said.

They went to the place Petrice had given them, to find that she was surprised that they even showed up.

“You...took the Qunari from the city?” Petrice asked. “Without incident?”

“Not exactly,” Fenris muttered.

“The bodies of his karataam lead right to me,” Abigail said. “And the Qunari realized it was a trap, too—they are far too dead to do anything about it now, but they were not exactly stupid.”

“You come back speaking their language and think to lecture me?”

Aveline stepped forward. “Yes,” she said. “We do. What were you doing?”

Petrice folded her hands into her sleeves. “If such a false trail existed, and then if the Qunari had killed you for trying to help their slave mage, then yes, someone might have found that useful. It would have cast doubt on appeasement--”

“Do you want to start a war with the Qunari?” Aveline demanded. “This behavior is inexcusable.”

Petrice glared at her, haughty and imperious. “Who are you to lecture me so?”

Aveline drew herself up to her full height. “Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen,”

Petrice and her Templar looked at each other.

“You have tried to interfere with the Chantry once before,” Petrice said with a scowl. “It did not work then and it will not work now.”

“You are trying to agitate the Qunari,” Aveline snapped. “I won't have it.”

“Then perhaps we should take the matter to The Grand Cleric,” Petrice said.

“Perhaps we should.”

Elthina was just as uncooperative this time as she had been the last time.

“Some members of the Chantry take the Qunari's presence far too personally,” Elthina said. “It is, as I have said before, little concern of yours, Guard-Captain.” she looked at Petrice. “And you should not agitate the Qunari,” she said, her voice stern.

“Grand Cleric--”

“It is unbecoming to involve yourself in such matters. The truth of the Maker will show itself soon enough.”

Aveline put her hands down on the table. “Grand Cleric, this woman has endangered our relations with the Arishok,” she said. “If this happens again, the Qunari would see it as well within their rights to attack us.”

“Then it will not happen again.” Elthina leveled a hard stare at Petrice, who looked away.

Aveline gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Grand Cleric,” she said. “How will you ensure this?”

“I believe restriction of Petrice’s movements would be necessary,” Elthina said. “Sister, you are not to leave the Chantry without due permission. And no use of Templar resources—this is quite enough.”

Petrice frowned and folded her arms. “Is that enough for you, Guard-Captain?” she hissed.

Aveline stared at them both, shocked. “No!” she said. “It is not enough! This woman broke Chantry law—jeopardized our diplomatic relations, and assisted an apostate in escaping the Circle! I would see her jailed or sent to Aeonar—at the very least, she will not stay in Kirkwall!”

“Where she is is not for you to decide, Guard-Captain,” Elthina said, her voice utterly impassive. “And I understand that you yourself aided in removing the apostate from Sister Petrice’s care. Are you to be arrested as well?”

“Don’t think to lecture me on the law,” Aveline snapped. “It was a delicate situation, and I did as I saw fit. In any case, the apostate is dead now, killed by his own people.” it was the lie they had decided upon.

“So you understand why Petrice felt the need to act the way she did.”

“No, I absolutely do not!”

“Guard Captain,” for the first time, a flash of anger crossed Elthina’s face. “As I understand it, you saw what Sister Petrice did was wrong, yet you did not correct it until the damage had been done.”

“But--”

“You have no business interfering in Chantry affairs when you abuse the laws yourself,” Elthina got to her feet. “In the interests of keeping the peace, I suggest you make no more of this, unless you wish for the Viscount to be involved.”

Elthina and Petrice left her there in the office, Petrice smirking over her shoulder. Aveline wrapped her hand around the back of her chair, and held it so tightly that the wood creaked.

“The bloody Chantry will plunge the city into chaos!” Aveline exclaimed, slamming the door to Isabela’s house behind her. The others had all gathered there, and by the time Aveline got to the docks, she was fuming.

“Oh, what a surprise,” Isabela rolled her eyes. “Don’t slam my doors, this place is enough of a wreck already.”

“Yeah, they kind of have a habit of that,” Varric said with a grimace. “I mean—Velanna and Merrill'll tell you all about it.”

Aveline shook her head. “This isn't right,” she growled. “This is not how the Chantry should be. This is—chaos.”

“Calm down,” Abigail said. “Tell us what happened.”

“She isn’t going to arrest Petrice, she’s not going to send her to another Chantry—she’s going to simply restrict her movements to the Hightown Chantry and oh, she’s no longer allowed to use Templar resources!” Aveline rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “And when I told her that Petrice broke the law, Elthina accused me of breaking the law by not immediately turning the Qunari in! Never mind, of course, that I was doing an investigation--!”

“Well, that gets Petrice out of our hair for the time being,” Isabela said with a shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“This city's in a delicate enough position as it is without idiot Sisters barging around and thinking they know better,” Aveline said. “The Kirkwall Templars can't even get their own jobs right—what business does the Chantry have thinking they might do the work of a diplomat?” she collapsed at Isabela’s table. “And if Petrice is still there, she might entice other Sisters to do the same thing as her.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do about it?” Isabela asked. “apart from get out of town, anyway.”

They debated more on the subject, but no one could come to a proper agreement on the best course of action. They ultimately decided that they would need to wait for something else to happen, though no one was pleased with this idea.

Chapter Text

It was a week later that Varric informed Abigail he had some news for her.

“I do have some good news for once,” Varric said. “We managed to scrape together enough money for the expedition. Guess all those bounties actually did pay off.”

Abigail sat down, dumbfounded.

“Really?” she said.

“Really.”

She shook her head, amazed. He'd told her before, but it hadn't really sunk in. “Then—what do we do now?”

“I make arrangements with Bartrand, you scrape up whoever wants to come along.”

“Who do you think I should ask?”

“Anders,” he said immediately. “Well—any of the Wardens, really, but Anders is the healer. Isabela would probably want to come just for the gold, which she's pretty good at finding. Merrill and Fenris...” he shrugged. “Hey, if they want a change of scenery, I won't complain.”

“And Aveline will refuse to go, of course.”

“Of course.”

Abigail ended up getting Anders, Isabela, Nathaniel and Merrill to come with her and Varric on the expedition. Anders loudly complained about the thought of visiting the Deep Roads, but the Templars had practically been on his doorstep recently, so leaving the city would probably be a smart move. Nathaniel had come because Anders was going, Isabela was hoping for treasure, and Merrill wanted to see if she could find any interesting artifacts.

“I don't know much about dwarves,” she said as an explanation. “There's no reason not to look.”

Bethany and Carver were staying behind, and Carver was furious.

“Bethany, Carver, you need to stay here, and look after Mother,” Abigail instructed.

“But--!” Carver protested.

“No arguments. Just do it.”

“Of course!” Carver threw his hands in the air. “We've only been slaving away for years on this expedition, and now that it's time to go, you don't want me to! Bloody typical!”

“I don't want you to go because there's a good indicator of a high mortality rate,” she said. “You need to make sure Mother and Bethany will be alright.”

“I could go, and you could stay!”

“That would end well,” Abigail said, her voice dry. “Let the two apostates try to support the family.”

“It's your bloody Templars the family has to hide from—I should be going, and you should be hiding!”

Abigail put her hands on her hips and looked at him silently for a very long moment, so long that he shifted uncomfortably.

“I hope you realize how stupid what you just said was,” Abigail said at last. “And I hope you don't say anything like that to Bethany.”

“I--” Carver stammered. “I wouldn't--”

“Then look after her and Mother. Aveline will help, you know she will.”

“I—of course,” Carver sighed. “There's no changing your mind, is there?”

“Maybe if you acquired better arguments, there would be,” Abigail said, slinging her pack onto her back. “Since you haven’t, there isn't.”

She said goodbye to Leandra and Bethany (Gamlen didn't care one way or the other if she stayed or went). She also looked in on Fenris to tell him goodbye, something he seemed to appreciate. Velanna, Sigrun and Aveline all came to see the expedition off, Velanna fussing over Merrill like an angry mother hen.

“You lot be careful, alright?” Aveline said, drawing Abigail into a quick, bone-breaking hug.

“We will be.” Abigail patted her on the shoulder in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

“Come back in one piece!” Sigrun advised, exchanging a swift hug with Merrill.

“We'll definitely try to do that,” Merrill assured her with a smile.

“If you don’t, I will—I will go find Falon’din himself and command that he bring you back!” Velanna proclaimed, pulling Merrill into a very tight embrace.

Merrill laughed and patted Velanna on the back, before they parted again. Sigrun slipped a comforting arm around Velanna’s waist.

The expedition was soon off.

“I cannot believe we're doing this,” Anders muttered as the expedition began to move. “This is ridiculous and you're all crazy for it.”

“You’re the one coming with us,” Varric pointed out. "You didn't have to. You could've said no."

“You need a healer, and I wasn't about to let Bethany wander around down there,” Anders said.

“I suppose you're stuck now, then,” Abigail told him.

“S'pose I am.”

“Oh, cheer up, Anders!” Merrill patted him on the shoulder. “I'm sure it will be very exciting.”

“That's what I'm worried about.” Anders muttered. “Since when is 'exciting' a good thing in our line of work?”

The Deep Roads were hot. The tunnels that lead down into them were cold, bare rock, foul-smelling and dug by darkspawn, but the Deep Roads were very different.

When the darkspawn tunnels ended, they came into an enormous hall, lit faintly with dull red light, with a vaulted ceiling and a smooth stone floor. The walls were covered in carved pictures and decoration, enough to rival even that of the finest Chantry hall. It was so huge that the ceiling vanished into darkness overhead, and the far end of the hall was difficult to see.

“Maker...” Abigail breathed, looking at all of it.

“Oh, it's beautiful!” Merrill proclaimed, rushing to one of the walls.

“Beautiful?” Anders asked her, incredulous.

“Yes, of course!” Merrill reached out to trace one of the carvings. “Can't you see? It's lovely.”

“Right,” Anders drawled. “You'll probably rethink that opinion pretty soon.”

Merrill laughed a bit at that, and started to take rubbings of the carvings.

“Why are you so interested?” Abigail asked. “This doesn't have anything to do with the elves.”

“There are Dalish are allied with Orzammar, now,” Merrill reminded her. “So it does have a little to do with us. Anyway, all history is important. I can't just leave all of this.”

Abigail nodded, satisfied. “I would be a shame to leave all this to the darkspawn,” she agreed.

They encountered some darkspawn, but there weren't as many as they'd feared. They came across a number of artifacts that could be sold (any one of which could easily pay the rent on Gamlen's house for a month), but nothing that anyone deemed of extreme importance. Isabela was disappointed with the lack of gold.

Eventually, their path was blocked by fallen debris, and Abigail and her people were tasked with clearing a way down a side path. In addition to this, Abigail also promised to find a missing member of the party, a young dwarf named Sandal.

The side path swarmed with more darkspawn than they had previously encountered, but they made their way through.

“Did any of their blood get on you?” Anders demanded, examining each of them intently after a fight.

“No,” Isabela said, pulling her arm out of Anders' grip. “Why?”

“That's how you get the Blight,” Nathaniel explained. “Their blood mixes with yours.”

“Keep your fighting long distance,” Anders said, with a glare at Isabela, who had been using her blades. “We don't need to risk anyone getting the Blight. We don't even know where the nearest Warden outpost is.”

“Could you help Blight, Merrill?” Abigail asked.

“I’ve tried before,” Merrill said. “It doesn’t work.” she looked at the ground and didn’t say anything else.

They found Sandal, who had used an unfamiliar rune to destroy a large group of darkspawn and somehow freeze an ogre in place. No one quite knew what to make of this, as Sandal offered no explanation, so they pointed him back to the camp and urged him to hurry.

Finally, they made their way past the obstruction, and the party could continue onwards. Bodahn, Sandal’s foster-father, was very happy to see Sandal again, even though he couldn't explain how the dwarf had used his runes either.

Another week of travel found them in a Thaig very, very deep below anything else. The architecture was alien and unfamiliar, resembling dwarven cities in only the barest of fashions. It was cold, very cold, dark and lonely, and every sound echoed tremendously off the walls.

Formations of lyrium twined over and around enormous columns that lead their way to the ceiling, looking like huge trees or the veins of a great animal, and where the lyrium was not blue it was tinged a brilliant red. The red lyrium gave off a strange, sickly sort of feeling, and no one wanted to get close to it.

“Where are we?” Merrill asked, looking at it, her bright eyes enormous. “Why does all the lyrium look like that?”

“This place isn't on any Orzammar map,” Bartrand said. “Older than anything else. Heard about it from two explorers who found it after an earthquake. It was totally sealed up. There's probably a fortune down here.”

“The Veil is...weird,” Anders said, eyeing the red lyrium veins warily. “I don't think we should be here.”

“I think there's something very bad here,” Merrill agreed in a soft voice, rubbing her arms. Even Merrill’s curiosity was tempered by the unpleasant feeling about the thaig.

Abigail could feel it too, a coldness in the pit of her stomach, a bitterness at the back of her throat, a feeling of trespass in the deep parts of her brain. The Veil felt...wrong, calling to mind sour milk and vinegar, rotting flowers or metal worn through with rust.

“There is,” she agreed. “We shouldn't stay here long—or at all.” she looked to Bartrand. “We should go back.”

Bartrand snorted. “A couple of mages belly-aching isn't gonna make me turn us around,” he snapped.

“But--” Merrill started.

“C'mon, Daisy,” Varric urged, patting Merrill on the back. “Let's take a look around, at least.”

Merrill, Anders and Abigail all exchanged uneasy looks, but Abigail's group went to explore the thaig anyway.

The feeling of something bad only grew the more they explored. They found many a curious artifact, and Merrill was fascinated by the carvings, but the sour feeling refused to lift. The strange, red lyrium became more prevalent, and the air was tinged with its smell, a strange coppery scent entirely unlike the lightning smell that normal lyrium had. Eventually, they came to a huge room that looked to be some kind of chapel or temple hall.

The room was enormous, completely covered with lyrium veins, both the red and normal kinds. There were so many lyrium veins that they lit up the room, so bright it was almost like sunlight. The ceiling arched high overhead, but was carved unevenly, the rock walls raw and unpolished, clearly indicating a natural cave rather than one that had been created.

Everything in the room pointed towards the center, where sat an altar carved out of pale stone. The altar was the only thing in the room that was refined at all, smooth and clean.

On that altar was a statue, and the closer Abigail got, the more keenly she felt that sense of wrongness.

The statue was a curious thing, carved entirely out of the red lyrium. It depicted a woman being embraced by a man, the man's back skeletal and the woman's face skull-like, with hollow eyes. Their bodies fused into one at the base, and the two figures were connected by a strange swooping addition that curved from the woman's hand to the side of the man's head. The woman cradled the man's head in her other hand, and the man's arms were wrapped around her waist. Their bodies were both too elongated to be depictions of dwarves.

The statue was large, easily as tall as Abigail's forearm, and It sparked with red lighting, like the blue flashes of untreated lyrium. The Veil around it warped and twisted, angry and rotten.

“What is that?” Anders murmured.

“Definitely something fancy,” Isabela said, eyes tracing the statue's lines.

“Does anyone else hear this—weird noise?” Varric asked in an undertone. “Like...music.”

“No...” Nathaniel said, his eyes riveted on the statue.

“We should get Bartrand,” Abigail said. “He'll want to see it.”

Varric went and fetched Bartrand, who looked awestruck upon entering the room. His eyes immediately landed on the statue. “Look at that,” he breathed.

“What d'you think it is?” Varric asked.

“Don't know,” Bartrand said. “Looks like it's made out of that weird red lyrium.” he reached out to grab it.

“Don't,” Anders said, putting out an arm to stop him.

“Why not?” Bartrand demanded, glaring at Anders.

“There's something wrong with it,” Merrill said, exchanging a worried look with Abigail.

Bartrand snorted, and wrapped his hand around the statue's base. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, showing the angles of both the people's anguished faces.

“I wonder who they are?” Merrill whispered, her green eyes intent and fascinated, despite her worry.

“Looks like you folks really came through with this one,” Bartrand said. “Tell you what—I'll take it back to camp, you see what else you can find.”

“That seems fair,” Abigail agreed.

Bartrand went to the door, but when he left, the door slammed shut behind him. Varric immediately went over and tried to pull the door open, but to no avail.

“Bartrand!” Varric banged on the door. “The door closed—get someone from your side to get it open!”

“I don't think so,” Bartrand said from the other side.

Varric went white and slammed on the door, pounding on it with his fists.

“Open the door, you bastard!”

“Sorry, Varric,” came Bartrand's voice, sounding more distant all the while, as if he were walking away. “But I'm not gonna split this with anybody—least of all you.”

Varric called for his brother again and body checked the door, throwing all his weight against it, but it didn't budge.

“That rat!” Isabela exclaimed.

“Can we blast the door open?” Nathaniel asked. “Abigail? Merrill?”

Abigail, Merrill and Anders all tried blasting it, but the door was both fireproof and clearly built to withstand an earthquake. It didn't move in the slightest.

“There's another door at the other end,” Abigail said, pointing to the door behind the altar. “Maybe there's a way out through there.”

They went to the door and Abigail pushed on it. It didn’t move either for a terrifying moment, but when Nathaniel and Varric added their strength, it finally creaked open enough to let them past. They slipped through the door and into more strange, winding tunnels, cluttered with the veins of lyrium.

“Did you guess Bartrand was going to pull that?” Anders asked.

Varric shook his head. “I know he's a bastard, but just leaving us down here...” he shook his head.

“We can find out what happened later,” Abigail said. “For now, we should just just focus on getting out of here.”

They agreed, and continued on further into the thaig. The Veil was so strange down here, soft and rotting and almost malleable, that feeling of utter wrongness permeating the whole place.

They came across Rock Wraiths. None of them had known what they were, at first, as they were strange creatures of disparate stones bound together by magic, but once one died, Varric remembered where he had heard of them.

“They're legends,” he said, looking down at a pile of broken stones that was a Rock Wraith's corpse. “They're not supposed to be real.”

“Believe me, a lot of things aren't supposed to be real that absolutely are,” Nathaniel said, exchanging a dark look with Anders.

They wandered the tunnels for some time, but found no way out. They were beginning to become more worried when they found the man.

Deep in a cavern filled with red lyrium, the man kneeled by a pile of fallen rocks, presumably a Rock Wraith corpse.

He was enormous, for one, twice the size of Anders, who was the tallest in their party. His skin was utterly pale, white like a corpse, and he wore long robes that were ragged and decorated with bone.

“Oh, no,” Anders whispered, grabbing Nathaniel's arm.

“What is it?” Abigail asked.

The man looked up at them, his twisted features coming into sharp relief. On his face was a metal mask, and it looked half-melted into his skin. He moved slowly, easily, darkness enveloping his figure.

“I see you've returned to the Deep Roads,” the man said, speaking to Anders and Nathaniel. His voice was light, but thick, the words coming very slow, as if he had trouble wrapping his tongue around them.

“Abigail, we need to leave, right now,” Nathaniel said, grabbing Abigail's wrist so tightly he was sure to leave a bruise.

“There is no need for that,” the man said. His voice dripped like fluid, like a strange, soft poison. “I mean you no harm.”

“Decided to stop kidnapping Wardens, then?” Anders snapped, his face gone utterly white.

The man straightened up, all his bones unfolding, his expression forlorn. He towered over them, and his height became quite evident, as tall as a bear on its hind legs. “Yes,” he said. “I thought to use your blood to help my people—but it did not work. Your Commander was right. The idea was...flawed.”

“I could've told you that,” Anders muttered.

“Does someone want to clear up what's going on?” Isabela asked. She held her daggers so tightly that her knuckles were pale, and there was sweat on her upper lip.

“I am the Architect,” the man said.

“He's one of the talking darkspawn that caused a bloody great load of trouble for us in Amaranthine,” Anders said.

“And we should definitely leave,” Nathaniel said.

“Why are you here?” the Architect interjected. “This place is not safe, for my kind or for yours.” he looked at Varric, eyes unreadable behind his mask. “Not even your people would be safe here.”

“My people?” Varric put a hand to his chest. “What do dwarves have to do with this?”

“This is one of their ancient cities, is it not?” the Architect said, gesturing at the hall around them, arm reaching out to encompass the walls. “But the darkspawn avoid it, as does everything else. This is a terrible place.”

“We know,” Merrill said quietly. “Why are you here?”

“Merrill!” Anders hissed.

“I felt a strange presence here,” the Architect said, looking down at the body of the rock wraith, head tilting with the effort. “Something very old. And there is this, of course,” he gestured to a vein of the strange, red lyrium.

“What is it?” Abigail asked.

“Blighted,” the Architect murmured, touching the vein with one long, delicate claw.

“Blighted?” Varric said, furrowing his brow. “It's a rock.”

“It sings,” the Architect says. “It is no mere mineral. The lifeblood of the mountains...”

Anders was shaking. “We need to leave,” he hissed.

“If you wish to leave this place,” the Architect says. “There is a path out of these ruins through that gate,” he pointed towards a door at the back of the room, his long arm unfolding ponderously. "A demon guarded it, but I removed it." he shook his head, his expression sorrowful. "It could not be trusted."

“Wait,” Abigail said, a thought coming to her. “Can you tell us more about these creatures?” she pointed at the fallen corpse of a rock wraith.

“Only a small amount.” the Architect turned his massive head to look at her. She couldn't see his eyes behind his mask, but she felt them pierce her nevertheless. “Old and restless dead, shadows bound in madness and betrayal and hunger—that is all I can understand from them. Who they once where, why they were here—that has been lost. They are only echoes now.” he tilted his head up, towards one of the holes in the ceiling. “Dwarves leave many echoes behind—ghosts and visions who reenact the past. Perhaps these are like them.”

“Ghosts?” Varric raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Oh yes. Wander the Deep Roads enough, and you will find many such creatures.”

“That's true, actually,” Nathaniel murmured in Varric’s ear. “In Kal-hirol, there were lots of them. They showed us what happened before the city fell. Now will you please come on?”

“The Blighted lyrium is dangerous,” the Architect told them as they made their way towards the tunnel he had indicated “There is something wrong in its music. Avoid it if you can—take none of it with you.”

“That might be a problem,” Varric said with a grimace.

The Architect turned his head, examining Varric. “Why?”

“My brother already took an idol made out of the stuff.”

The Architect tilted his head down. “Then I fear your brother may be doomed,” he said. “Perhaps it is good you are separated. You will not share his fate.”

With those parting words, they left the Architect. They found a way out of the thaig, the winding tunnels leading up to the more regular tunnels and halls of the proper Deep Roads. They also found a treasure trove, enough for Abigail to buy back the Amell name five times over. It would probably be enough for Isabela to get a ship of her own, as well, and there was plenty left over for everyone else.

“If we ever get back topside, you can buy your own house,” Isabela told Merrill, nudging her with an elbow.

“Oh—do you think I should?” Merrill asked. “Sigrun and Velanna are ever so lovely—I don't know that I'd want to live on my own.”

“Give it a try. It's not so bad.”

Chapter Text

It took them six weeks to get out of the Deep Roads. There were some nasty close calls, and a great deal of deepstalker eaten, and one of Isabela's blades was swallowed by a spider, but they made it out in one piece.

Exhausted, they dragged themselves back to Kirkwall. Nathaniel, Anders and Merrill decided to all go to the Alienage to stay with Sigrun and Velanna, Isabela went home, as did Varric, and Abigail went back to Gamlen's to give her family the good news.

She was just in the square where Gamlen's house stood, when she stopped dead in the street.

There were Templars outside of Gamlen's house. Abigail swore and ducked behind a wall. She peered around the corner—the Templars didn't seem to be inclined to leave. They were unfamiliar to her.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her to the Hanged Man, where Varric had only just taken off his traveling coat.

“Abigail, what--?”

“Templars,” Abigail gasped. “There are Templars at Gamlen's house.”

“Oh, shit,” Varric said. “How many?”

“Two outside, I don't know how many inside,” she said. “Don't know how long they've been there—they've got to be there for Bethany, but I can't find out! Who knows if they'll be looking for me, too?”

“I'll go,” Varric promised. “You--” he sighed, trying to think. “The docks,” he said. “Go to Isabela's—I'll meet you there.”

“What about Anders and Merrill and Velanna?” Abigail asked. “The Alienage is so close—shouldn't I tell them too?”

Varric ran a hand through his hair and hissed through his teeth. “I don't know,” he said.

Abigail bit on a fingernail. “More people might draw attention,” she said. “Ah, dammit!” she rubbed her forehead. “Just after the Deep Roads and now this--!”

“I'll go see what's up,” Varric promised her. “You go see Isabela, and figure out how to tell the others from there.”

Abigail nodded. “Alright, go, hurry!”

While Varric went to Gamlen's, Abigail ran to Isabela's. Isabela had only just gotten in the door.

“Bloody Templars,” she said, shaking her head at the news. “Can't let us sit for ten minutes—wait here, I'll be to the Alienage and back, grab those mages of ours.”

“Wait--” Abigail bit her lip. “Templars sometimes investigate friends—what about Fenris? He's had trouble with them before...”

“Later,” Isabela said. “Or—wait, I'll get Sigrun or Nathaniel to get them, and—you know what? I might as well grab the big girl too, she'll probably want to hear about it.”

Abigail nodded and paced, nervous, as she waited for Isabela to return. Within half an hour she was back, with Merrill, Velanna and Anders in tow.

“Sigrun's gone to find Aveline, Nate's going to get Fenris,” Isabela said. “I didn't go past Gamlen's, so I don't know what the situation is there.”

Anders kept periodically glowing blue. The most recent time he did it, Nathaniel snapped at him to stop.

“Can't help it,” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Justice is angry, and I'm exhausted. And angry. I can't—I can't calm down enough to stop it.”

“Deep breaths,” Merrill advised.

“Tried,” Anders said. “Doesn't work on him for some reason.”

“You tried getting drunk?” Isabela said.

“How about actually getting some sleep?” Nathaniel said. He rubbed his face. “We could all do with sleep—that's what we were going to do before Isabela banged on the door.”

Velanna crossed her arms. “Of course the Templars would show up just the day you came back,” she said with a scowl. “Why should they do anything that makes things easy for us?”

Fenris and Aveline turned up with Sigrun.

“Templars?” Avelin asked, wasting no time.

Abigail spread her hands. “They were right outside Gamlen's house—I couldn't go back!”

“I didn't even know you were back in the city, and now this?” Aveline sat down.

“The Templars were at your house while you were not there?” Fenris said, his expression troubled. “Then they must be there for Bethany.”

“That is my concern,” Abigail said.

“How do you think they know?” Fenris asked. “She is hardly the most dangerous or uncontrolled of a mage.”

Abigail nodded in agreement. “And she tries to avoid using magic in public,” she said. “I'm uncertain how they even discovered her in the first place...”

“Do you think one of your smuggler friends could have told them?” Aveline asked.

Abigail shook her head. “If Athenril had told the Templars, she would have to tell them about all the other mages with her,” she said. “And she would have had the same problem if someone under her told them—that person would probably get a knife in the back. Athenril does not like it when people go behind her back.”

“Then who--?”

Aveline was interrupted by Varric's return. They all turned their attention to him.

“What is it?” Abigail asked. “What's going on?”

“It's Bethany,” Varric said. “You were right. Someone figured out Bethany was an apostate and reported it.”

“Oh, no,” Merrill said, putting a hand over her mouth. “Did they take her?”

Varric nodded. “I came in while they were talking—we all tried to tell them she wasn't a mage, but they weren't having it.” he scowled in disgust. “One of the Templars wanted to test her being a mage—so he put one of those Silences on her. Just about made her lose her lunch, and then they dragged her out.”

“Only mages react to Templar abilities,” Anders muttered, his eyes flashing blue again.

“They just took her?” Abigail asked. “What did Carver do?”

“He was pretty angry, let me tell you,” Varric said. “Probably a good thing I was there—he almost pulled his sword on one of them.”

“Maker,” Abigail shook her head. “Idiot.”

“He didn't though,” Varric said.

“Are they gone?” Abigail asked. “Did they know about me, too?”

“Just Bethany,” Varric said. “But if I were you, I'd buy back the Amell title pretty quick—they're probably going to find out soon, if they know about Bethany.”

“Oh, poor Bethany,” Merrill said. “Is there something we could do? Anders?” she looked at Anders, who sighed.

“We won't be able to do a bloody thing until she's already in their records, with a phylactery and everything,” he said. “They keep new apostates locked up, so their friends can't get them out.”

“Are you sure there's nothing we can do?” Aveline asked.

“Not nothing—but we can't do anything yet.” Anders had a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Why are they going after Bethany when there are more dangerous mages they could be dealing with?” Fenris wanted to know. “I have not forgotten the fiasco with the escaped healers...”

“Maybe they're worried about that incident repeating itself,” Aveline said. She grimaced. “That might mean they're specifically looking for healers—you'll want to watch yourself, Anders.”

“Oh, that'll be a huge change,” Anders said, rolling his eyes.

Abigail didn't go back to Gamlen's until a day later. Leandra was still upset, weeping profusely, and Carver was furious. He demanded to know why Abigail hadn’t helped, somehow.

“Tell me, Carver, exactly what should I have done?” Abigail asked. “Attacked them, like you almost did? That would've gone over well.”

“You could have done something!” Carver snapped. “You--”

“You're the one who's always saying you want to be in charge,” Abigail said. “So stop looking to me for answers if you don't think I have any.”

Carver growled to himself and kicked a nearby crate. “You always have to be bloody right, don't you?” he snapped.

“I don't have to be right. I am right.”

“If you'd let us come on the expedition--”

"But I didn't. I can't do anything about that now.” Abigail ran a hand through her hair. “I’m going to go to the Viscount and petition for our name back—we have money now, we can do that. We’ll get some legal protections and we might be able to get Bethany out somehow.”

“You know that won’t happen,” Carver rolled his eyes. “Being an Amell didn’t stop our cousin from being sent to the Circle.”

“No, but her family isn’t ours. So we might be able to do something.”

“Like what?”

“Anders had some ideas...” Abigail shook her head. “Either way, if we get back the title, I’ll be in less danger and you and Mother won’t have to live here anymore.”

Carver seemed dubious, but he didn't have any other ideas. So, before doing anything else, Abigail and Leandra went to the Viscount to reinstate the Amell name. The Viscount was quite happy to do this, once Abigail gave him enough money. Abigail felt a great deal more secure with a noble title under her belt.

After that, they went to the Gallows (Carver deciding to accompany them), and petitioned the Templars for a visit with Bethany. Despite the Amell name, they were denied. Knight-Captain Cullen refused to even let them inside the main building, and after an hour of arguing, Leandra lost her temper.

“Let me see my daughter, you jumped-up excuse for a Guard!” Leandra cried.

“No,” the Knight-Captain said again, folding his arms.

“Ser, she's our sister,” Carver insisted, gesturing to himself and Abigail. “She's my twin--”

“I don't care who you are, mages aren't allowed visits,” Cullen insisted, rubbing his temples as if feeling a headache coming on. “Maker willing, we can transfer her soon so we don't have to deal with her bloody family!”

“Transfer her?” Leandra's voice was high and distressed. “As if she's a convict?”

“She is a mage.” he said, as if his point were obvious. “She is dangerous, and contact with you will put you at risk.”

“She's a healer!” Carver protested.

Cullen looked at Abigail. “You were with the Guard-Captain, helping her investigation,” he said. “You know the dangers apostate healers can pose.”

“Bethany's never hurt a soul in her life!” Leandra said.

“And now, she won't be able to.”

Leandra slapped him, hard enough to leave a mark. “I want to see my daughter!” she shouted again, on the verge of tears. Cullen didn't say anything, looking rather shocked, and Leandra continued. “I didn’t escape from the Blight just for her to be snapped up by the Circle!”

“Excuse me,”

They all looked round to see Knight-Commander Meredith coming towards them.

“Knight-Commander,” Cullen saluted, his face still red with Leandra’s slap.

“What is going on here?” Meredith asked, her eyes narrowed.

“This is the Amell family,” Cullen explained. “They wish to see Bethany Hawke.”

Meredith blinked in confusion. “Why?”

Leandra angrily scrubbed at her cheeks. “My married name is Hawke,” she snapped. “But I am an Amell from birth. Bethany is my daughter, and I won’t have you locking her away where I can’t see her!”

“It is for the protection of you and her that she is here,” Meredith said.

“How can she hurt me with just a visit?” Leandra demanded. “I’m her mother, for the love of the Maker!”

There was more arguing, but ultimately, they didn’t let them see Bethany. Leandra and Carver were both distraught, and Abigail was furious, but tried not to show it. Abigail decided that practical solutions were the best ones, so she arranged to buy back the Amell properties immediately. Several of the administrators even knew Leandra and had known her parents, and one woman even expressed her regret for the way everything had turned out.

Abigail felt a great deal more secure with a house that they owned and a noble title that could protect them from possible harm. Leandra, Abigail and Carver left Gamlen's house to go to the Amell manor in Hightown. Leandra, still angry with Gamlen over the will, refused to let him come with them and Carver and Abigail had no problem with it.

Abigail and Carver had only been to the Amell mansion the once, and then, only seen part of it. Leandra had grown up there, but it had changed greatly since she was last there.

The mansion was located quite near to Fenris' home, which was fairly convenient, and the cellars still went all the way to Darktown, which meant that Anders at least had somewhere to go when the Templars were nosing around.

The house wouldn't bring Bethany back, but hopefully owning property and a noble title would prevent any other member of their family from being taken away.

Merrill got a new house as well, the tenement right next door to Velanna and Sigrun's, so they could all have more space (and so the eluvian would stop keeping Sigrun up at night with its peculiar noises).

Isabela got a ship, a modest but sturdy sailing vessel. She immediately moved from her tiny dockside house to the ship itself, but was still in the process of finding crew to sail it.

“I tried to pay off Castillon, too,” she told Abigail “But I couldn't find any of his people.”

“Are you worried he'll still come after you?” Abigail asked.

“A bit. I'm hoping he thinks I'm dead.” Isabela looked edgey, as she always did when the business of Castillon and the relic was brought up, so Abigail quickly dropped the subject.

Bartrand appeared to have skipped town. Varric couldn't find him, although he hunted with the energy that only someone betrayed by their family could manage. He kept an eye out for any strange red lyrium popping up, but so far, there was nothing.

So things went, for a time.

Chapter Text

It was the middle of the night when a knock came at Merrill's door. Merrill was awake (as was fairly regular for her), but it wasn't common for someone to arrive at this hour.

She went to the door and found a tearful Arianni standing there, wringing a handkerchief between her hands.

“Arianni!” she exclaimed. “What's wrong?”

“It's Feynriel,” Arianni brought the handkerchief to her mouth. “Marethari told me—” she hiccuped and burst into tears again.

“Oh dear,” Merrill fretted. “Why don't you come inside?” she put an arm around Arianni and guided her to the table. “Could I get you anything? I have water, and—well that's it, really, I'm sorry.” she sat down. “Tell me what's wrong, lethallin, please?”

“Marethari sent me a message—she told me that Feynriel went to sleep and hasn't woken for days,” Arianni said tearfully. “They've been trying to help, but they just don't know how!”

Merrill patted Arianni's hand. “There, there,” she said. “Feynriel's a dreamwalker—he's bound to get lost every once in a while. It happens to lots of mages. That happened me once, I was lost in the Fade for three days, I scared the life out of Marethari.”

“Marethari says it's been a week,” Arianni wailed. “His body will die if he doesn't come back to it!”

“Isn't there something we could do?” Merrill asked.

“I don't know,” Arianni sniffed into her handkerchief. “Marethari said she and the other mages have been trying to find him in the Fade, but he's...lost. He's not anywhere near where he should be—she said she worried a demon had gotten to him.”

“Oh no,” Merrill said softly. “That could happen—ooh, I'm so stupid, we shouldn't have told him to go Sundermount!” she shook her head and tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “Maybe—Maybe he could find his body if it were somewhere familiar,” Merrill suggested. “He's lived here his whole life, hasn't he?”

Arianni nodded.

“You should tell Marethari to bring him here,” Merrill said.

“Would that be safe?” Arianni asked, pressing her handkerchief to her mouth. “With the Templars and everything...”

“We can keep him safe,” Merrill promised. “It would just be for a day or two. Can you send a message back to Marethari?”

Arianni nodded. “She sent me one of her messenger birds, it's still here,” she said. She wiped her nose. “It's such a little thing—are all Sabrae's birds so small?”

“They have to be,” Merrill said, patting Arianni's arm. “How else can they get anywhere quickly?”

“My Clan used falcons,” Arianni said. “Great big ones.”

“I'm sure the smaller ones are much nicer,” Merrill assured her. “Go—tell Marethari to bring Feynriel here, and I'll see if I can find some other mages to help.”

“Like Velanna?”

“Yes, like her.”

Abigail was a little uncertain when Merrill explained everything. “Does Marethari want my help?”

“I don't know,” Merrill said. “But it can't hurt, can it?” she shook her head and sighed. “No one else but me knew much dreamwalking,” she said. “And I wasn't very good at it—I'm worse now, because I use blood magic.”

“Merrill, I don't know dreamwalking either,” Abigail reminded her.

“Oh, I know,” Merrill said. “I just thought we could use all the hands we could get. I'm going to ask Anders and Fenris, too.”

“Fenris?” Abigail blinked. “Why?”

“Well—you can feel him,” Merrill said. “He's halfway into the Fade as it is. I bet he could help.”

“But would he?”

“I don't know. That's why I'm going to ask.”

Fenris only barely agreed to hear Merrill out, and looked very dubious when Merrill explained why she needed his help. “Why would I help at all?” Fenris asked, his arms folded and his expression dour.

“Because you don't like demons.”

“Every mage is a potential demon.”

“Well, that's just not true,” Merrill said. “If that's the case, then you might be a demon too, Fenris.”

He stared at her, green eyes narrowed. “What.”

“With all that lyrium—you keep denting the Veil around you. Oh, I'm sure I've told you this before. If anyone's going to attract demons, it'd be you.”

He scowled at her. “I am not a demon.”

“Neither is Feynriel—but one might have snared him in a trap. Why don't you see if you can help?” she cajoled. “You'd get to fight a demon, I bet. That'd make you happy, wouldn't it?”

Fenris sighed. “Fine.”

Merrill beamed. “Good!” she said.

“Only because I am sure you will do something idiotic and unleash a demon on the Alienage.”

“You're wrong, but that's alright,” Merrill patted his hand. “I'm glad you're going to help.”

He shook her off. “Out, witch. I will be there when you have need of me, not before.”

“Alright—but you know, it couldn't hurt you to be a bit nicer once in a while.” she informed him.

“Go away.”

Anders was next, and was a much easier sell than Fenris.

“I'm no good at dreamwalking, but I'm sure Justice can help,” Anders said.

“That's what I thought,” Merrill said. “You said he’s a good spirit, didn’t you?”

“He is. He should be.”

“Then he'll be a great help, I'm sure,” she said.

Anders considered. “Alright,” he said, sounding doubtful. “But only so you don't do any blood magic nonsense.”

Merrill laughed. “How many times have I told you, blood magic doesn't help at all with the Fade!” she said.

Velanna, of course, agreed immediately.

"How could I not help?" she asked, shaking her head. "Creators know Marethari's going to be of no help--"

"Velanna," Merrill sighed.

"--well, I shall help. That is the important part."

Marethari had gotten Arianni’s message, and agreed to bringing Feynriel to the Alienage. She brought Feynriel’s body to Arianni’s house, and Merrill, Abigail, Fenris, Velanna and Anders met her there.

“Ander'an'atish'an, Keeper,” Merrill said.

Marethari gave a tight, tiny smile. “Ander'an'atish'an, da'len,” she said. Marethari looked at Velanna, who simply glared at her until Marethari looked away again. They all went to Feynriel’s bedside.

Feynriel was pale and wan, his blond hair lank and greasy. Arianni brushed his hair away from his forehead.

“What do we do now?” she asked, looking up at them.

“Here,” Marethari offered a cup of a very pungent liquid to each of them. “It will help you sleep, and to reach the Fade. You--” she pointed at Fenris. “May not be able to help. Perhaps it will merely send you into a normal sleep, but it will do you no harm.”

Fenris looked down at the cup, frowning skeptically, but took a draught from it anyway. The liquid took effect almost immediately, and they all felt the immediate need to lay down and close their eyes.

“You need to lend me the recipe for that,” Anders murmured sleepily, eyes already closing as he sank onto a nearby chair. “Could use it...I always need better...sedatives...”

Everything dissolved, and Abigail opened her eyes again to find herself in the Fade.

The Fade was misty and faint, and it was dizzying just to look at. Abigail felt most peculiar, almost more awake than normal.

“Hello?”

Abigail turned to see Merrill had appeared behind her. Merrill's outlines were vague and hazy, but she mostly seemed like Merrill. Abigail could feel nothing particularly spirit-like about her.

“Is that you, Abigail?” Merrill asked.

Abigail nodded. “It's me.”

“Hm,” Merrill considered her. “Well, you don't feel like a demon, or a spirit, but you can't be certain.”

“Ah,” Abigail nodded. “That's true. Well...you seem like Merrill, and not like a spirit or demon, so I suppose I'll just act like you are.”

Merrill nodded. “Alright. Should we look for the others?”

“I think I see Anders over there,” Abigail pointed, and indeed, Anders had begun to take shape in the mists of the Fade.

He saw them and nodded.

“Anders!” Merrill beamed. “You made it!”

Anders’ eyes gleamed softly, and he had a white, misty aura about his person.

“Anders?” Abigail asked, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you look different?”

“I am Justice,” he boomed, voice rumbling.

“Oh,” Abigail said. “A pleasure to meet you. Is Anders there? Or is it just you?”

“I'm here,” Anders' eyes went back to normal for a minute. “It's just easier for Justice to be here than me.”

“Ah,” Merrill nodded. “because he's a spirit.”

Anders' eyes glowed again, and he inclined his head gravely.

“There you are,” they looked over to see Velanna striding towards them, looking cross.

“Velanna?”

Velanna gave a stiff nod. “Yes, yes,” she waved a hand. “Here I am.”

Merrill beamed.

“I believe that is Fenris,” Justice boomed, and pointed. Indeed it was, or a shape who looked like Fenris.

As he caught sight of them, he was suddenly closer to them, without moving at all.

“Everyone's here!” Merrill said, pleased, looking around at them. “Fenris—are you alright?”

“I am fine,” Fenris grunted. His brands glowed even more brightly in the Fade than in the physical world. “This is no different from a normal dream.”

They all looked at him, even Justice, with a slightly surprised expression.

“This is something only mages can do normally, Fenris,” Merrill said.

"I am no mage.”

“So you have said,” Velanna rolled her eyes.

Anders' eyes returned to normal for a moment. “You're in bloody denial, is what you are,” he informed Fenris, before the glow returned to them.

“Alright, everyone,” Abigail said. “Let's see if we can find him.”

“Maybe we can ask a spirit,” Merrill suggested.

“No,” Fenris snapped.

Merrill sighed, a forcibly patient expression on her face. “Well, how else do you think we should find him?”

“I think we should abandon this foolish task,” Fenris snarled, and folded his arms.

Merrill sighed. “Fenris...”

“What are you all doing here?” came an unfamiliar voice.

They all looked up. A being in a vague elvhen shape was close to them, staring at them with brilliant blue eyes. It was far less solid than any of them, shape warping and misty.

“Who are you?” the spirit asked. “I’m Curiosity. Where are you from? What’s it like? Why are you here?”

“Away, spirit,” Fenris snapped.

“Fenris, don’t,” Merrill said. “It’s a good spirit, not a demon.”

Fenris folded his arms. “There are no good spirits,” he snapped.

Curiosity peered at him. “Oh! Are you a mage?” it asked.

“No,” Fenris snapped. “Why does everyone insist upon asking me that?”

“You feel like magic!” Curiosity said. “If you aren’t a mage, what are you?”

Fenris growled, but Abigail cut him off.

“How are we sure you’re friendly?” she asked Curiosity.

“That is easy enough to tell,” Justice rumbled.

“Oh!” Curiosity turned its attention from Fenris to Justice. “Hello! Are you in a mortal body? I thought about being in a mortal body. Is it true you can’t change shape? I’d hate not being able to change shape. Is it boring?”

“I am afraid there is little time to answer your questions,” Justice said. “We are searching for someone.”

“Who?"

“A dreamwalker. A half-elvhen man, young, but with old blood.”

The little spirit gave a pulse of excitement. “I know who you’re looking for!”

“Do you?” Merrill asked.

“Yes, yes, a dreamwalker! He’s a friend—you know I don’t see so many dreamwalkers anymore? I miss them, there used to be so many more...”

“Can you tell us where he is?”

Curiosity hummed to itself. “I think he’s—oh yes, he’s this way!” Curiosity pointed them down a misty path that appeared before their eyes. “This way, this way!” Curiosity continued to hum happily to itself as it lead them down the path. “Your dreamwalker went a long way! Very long...maybe he went to meet another dreamwalker!"

"Are there many of those?" Abigail asked.

"Oh, I haven't talked to any in a long, long time," Curiosity said, a little downcast at that. "There used to be so many. People used to talk to me all the time! Dreamwalkers or spirit-born or sleepers--oh, but you already know about them, don't know?"

"Know about who?" Merrill asked.

"The ones in uthenera."

They all stared at Curiosity, who didn't seem to have realized it had said anything surprising.

"I used to talk to them all the time! But they're all gone now. Well, mostly, I think, I'm not sure..."

“That is ridiculous,” Fenris growled. “The legends of elvhen who lived forever are just that—legends.”

Curiosity laughed. “Oh, you're funny!” it said. “'Real--'” it laughed again. “What is real, anyway? Either way, you should know—you smell like one of those arcane warriors!”

Fenris blinked, and everyone stared at him.

“Don't you know them?” Curiosity asked. “I've met a lot of them before!”

“I think this might be a discussion for another time,” Abigail said. “Right now, we're just looking for Feynriel.”

Curiosity nodded. “Fine, fine,” it said. It paused for a bare moment, before plowing on ahead. “Have you seen the white wolf?” it asked.

“What?”

“The white wolf,” it repeated. “Have you seen it?”

“Why do you ask?”

Curiosity hummed. “Well, it's been around a lot—it's not a mortal, or a spirit. It feels a bit like one of the sleeping elves or one of the other old things here.”

“What does it do?” Merrill asked, exchanging a worried look with Velanna.

Curiosity shrugged. “Mostly asks questions—oh, look, there's your friend!”

They found a blond man surrounded by spirits, looking a great deal more solid than the rest of them.

“There he is!” Curiosity said. “Hello!”

The blond looked up, towards them, his eyes narrowed. Thought his face was hazy and vague, moreso than any of the others, he was clearly Feynriel. “Hello?”

“Feynriel?” Merrill said.

“Yes, I—yes,” Feynriel nodded. “Are you—Merrill?”

“Yes,” Merrill nodded.

“And there’s—you’re different, aren’t you?” Feynriel looked at Fenris, who scowled back.

“Is this your friend?” Curiosity asked. “Did I help find him? Oh, I hope I did.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Anders said.

"I can't do that," Curiosity said. "I'm Curiosity, not Hope."

"Not what I meant." Anders sighed.

“Feynriel, you need to come back to your body,” Merrill said.

Feynriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh—yes, yes, I do,” he said. “Maker above, I--” he shook his head. “I don't know how.”

“Come with us,” Merrill said. “We can take you back.”

“How can you figure that out when I couldn't?” Feynriel blinked at her. “Aren't I the somniari here?”

“Of course!” Merrill said.

“So how come you would know better than me?”

“Because I'm a blood mage,” Merrill explained patiently. “You go into the Fade, and I go back. Do you see?”

Feynriel considered that. “Well, if you're a demon, that's more reasonable than the things I've heard recently,” he said. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Merrill smiled. “Good,” she said. “Come on—now don't get lost.”

They began to walk back, following Merrill, and the Fade slowly started to dissolve around them. After a while, everything vanished into mist, and Abigail found herself blinking awake. She sat up, somewhat dizzy, and was relieved to find that she was back in Arianni's house. The others were all beginning to wake up as well, and she realized Feynriel was awake already. He was sitting up and looking bleary-eyed.

“Hello?” Feynriel wiped his eyes, staring at them all intently. “Oh, please tell me you're real,” he muttered to himself.

“Feynriel!” Merrill exclaimed. “Here,” she held up her hand to him. “Count my fingers.”

“One, two, three, four...five,” Feynriel sighed with relief and sat back, and Merrill put her hand down. “Thank the bloody Maker for that.”

Arianni threw her arms around Feynriel’s neck. “Oh, ma’da’ean!” she cried, and started crying in Dalish, while Feynriel patted her back and buried his face in her shoulder.

“I’m fine, Ma,” he mumbled. “Promise.”

“Where were you, da'len?” Marethari asked. “What happened?”

Arianni collected herself enough to pull back and allow Feynriel to give an explanation.

Feynriel shook his head. “It was the strangest thing,” he said. “I was just—looking through memories, on the Sundermount, going back, further and further—“ his gaze took on a starry look. “I saw things no one would even know about—but I must have gone too far. Something...pulled me towards it.”

“A demon?” Arianni asked, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Feynriel shook his head. “No, it was like—like—you know I sometimes get pulled into other people's dreams by accident? This was like that. Only it wasn't someone's dream. I thought maybe it was another dreamer, Jathianni, maybe, but it wasn't.”

“What was it?” Merrill asked.

“I—I don't know,” Feynriel said. “It pulled me to somewhere in the Fade, somewhere far away—it's hard to describe. It's like someone built something, deep in the Fade. It was a—a prison, or a room, or...something. Something was being kept back, and I could hear it...dreaming.”

“You could hear it dreaming?” Abigail asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Like—have you ever stood next to someone when they're asleep, and watched them breathe?”

“I can't say that I have.”

“Oh,” Feynriel flushed. “Or just—heard someone breathe while they're asleep. Deeply asleep, not napping or anything like that.”

“Yes...”

“It was strange, it was like that, like there was something massive just breathing, but it wasn't real breath, it was more like...the Fade moved around it, in time with it.”

“I have never heard of any demon like that,” Marethari said, her voice soft and her brow furrowed.

“It spoke to me,” Feynriel said. “I mean—it did, but it didn't. Not in words. It was...angry. And confused. And...poisonous.” he shuddered.

“What did it ask of you?” Fenris asked, jerking his chin up.

“Nothing, actually,” Feynriel said. 'I thought that was strange. It was surprised I was there, and then...” he took a breath. “I don't really know. I think it did want me to do something, but I had a hard time understanding what it was.”

“What else happened?” Abigail asked. “Did it trap you?”

Feynriel nodded. “It was—it pulled me in,” he said. “He was...magnetic. And around him was...dark. Terrible.”

“'He?'” Marethari asked.

“Well—I suppose. It felt kind of like a 'he.'”

“And he was not a demon, but he did not feel benevolent either,” Marethari said.

Feynriel nodded. “Not at all. Then I felt you, looking for me, and Curiosity found me,” he looked at his rescue party. “And then I came back.” he looked down at the ground. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know I'd been gone that long,” he said.

“You need to be more careful,” Marethari instructed. “Perhaps this creature did not hurt you, but that does not mean it could not have done.”

“I don't know how to be careful!” Feynriel protested. “Are you sure there aren't any other Fadewalkers you know?”

Marethari sighed, and she and Merrill exchanged a look.

“No,” Merrill said. “I'm sorry, Feynriel.”

“If we knew any, we would have sent you to them,” Marethari said. “I can only advise the same kind of caution I give any aspiring dreamwalker.”

“But a somniari isn't quite the same, is it?” Feynriel asked.

“No,” Merrill said. “Not quite. I think—why don't you just stay very close to your body when you sleep?” she suggested. “And be more careful around the Sundermount, for the Creators' sake!” she frowned at Marethari. “You should have moved on by now,” she told her.

“Our movement is still limited,” Marethari said. “We will be leaving soon, when we are able.”

“Perhaps there is another Clan you could go to,” Arianni suggested. “One with a more experienced dreamwalker?”

They all looked at Marethari.

“I will see who I can find,” she said. “But I am unsure if we will find a suitable teacher.” she looked at Feynriel. “The best advice is to be cautious.”

“Curiosity said something about meeting another dreamwalker,” Abigail pointed out. “Remember? Maybe there's another somniari out there somewhere.”

“We can hardly trust a demon’s word,” Fenris snapped.

“And anyway, spirits don’t really have the same ideas about time and space that people do,” Anders said. “The dreamwalker it was talking about might be in the Wilds, or a desert somewhere, or might be long dead for all we know.”

Feynriel sighed. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. When I’m in the Fade, sometimes spirits talk about other dreamwalkers or somniari, but I don't know...I've never met any myself." he hesitated. “And...there was something else,”

“What was it?” Merrill asked.

Feynriel rubbed the back of his head. “It's...not good.”

“What?” Merrill leaned closer.

“Did you hear—did any of the spirits mention a wolf?”

Anders nodded. “Curiosity asked us about a wolf. I thought it was just the normal sort of tangents spirits go on."

Merrill nodded, covering her mouth. “A white wolf...” she murmured.

“So?” Anders asked. “What does that matter?”

“When spirits start talking about seeing wolves in the Fade, it's hardly a good thing,” Velanna said. “The best case scenario is that it isn't Fen'harel.”

“Fen'harel?” Fenris said with a frown. “How did you make the leap from spirits to your legends?”

“Do you know anything else that frequently takes the shape of a wolf?” Velanna demanded. “The Fade shapes itself to the ideas of mortals. Enough elvhen believe in the wolf that even if it isn't the real Fen'harel, something is taking his image. What kind of spirit would take the image of the Dread Wolf?”

“...ah.” Fenris scowled. “Some variety of demon?”

“Maybe. Or something worse.”

Marethari got to her feet. “The other Clans need to hear of this,” she said.

“You can't seriously believe it's your Fen'harel,” Anders said. “...can you?”

“What else would be a wolf?” Merrill asked.

“Couldn't a lot of spirits take the shape of a wolf?” Abigail asked.

“Whatever it is, it is dangerous,” Marethari said.

“It is,” Feynriel agreed. “The spirits have...started talking about it a lot more, recently. And that thing, I found...it was asleep, but I think it was waking up.”

“What do you mean?” Marethari asked.

“I think there's—there's more than just one thing we should be worried about,” Feynriel hunched his shoulders.

Marethari pursed her lips.

“Surana said much the same,” Velanna said with a slight frown.

“Who?” Feynriel asked.

“The Warden-Commander. Do you remember?' she asked Anders, who nodded, his expression grim.

“And you don't need to be a dreamwalker to see that the spirits keep saying...strange things,” Anders said. “Apart from the wolf motif.”

“What is there to do about it now, if anything?” Fenris interjected.

“There's nothing at the moment,” Abigail pointed out. “We don't even know what the problem is.”

“Besides the possibility of the Dread Wolf, that is,” Velanna said.

“Well, yes, besides that.”

Feynriel rubbed his forehead. “Well—before we do anything, can I get something to eat?” he asked. “I think I've been away from my body for too long—I'm starving.”

Arianni immediately started fussing over Feynriel again, and Marethari came to speak to Merrill as Feynriel rested and ate, and the others recovered their strength as well.

“Merrill, you may still return if you wish,” Marethari said.

“Would you want to see my eluvian if I did?” Merrill asked.

“Da'len...” Marethari sighed.

“Then I'll stay here, thank you, Keeper.” Merrill folded her arms and turned away.

“That thing will be your ruin, da’len,” Marethari said.

“You don’t know that,” Merrill said.

Marethari just shook her head, looking stricken, and they both returned their attention to Feynriel.

After he had recovered his strength, Feynriel returned to Clan Sabrae with Marethari, and this time Arianni came with him. There wasn't much else they could do. Apart from the strange visions and warnings he had, there wasn't much else for them to go on, so they were forced to wait and see what might happen next.

Chapter Text

About a week after the affair with Feynriel, Abigail went to see Merrill. Merrill's new house was quite nice for an Alienage residence, a small tenement right next to Velanna and Sigrun's, and Abigail had not had a chance to visit it yet without being on business.

“Oh, Abigail!” Merrill exclaimed when she opened the door. “I wasn't expecting you.”

She invited Abigail inside.

“What do you think of your new home?” Abigail asked, looking around the house. It was a little dark and shabby, with a potted plant under the lone window, but it seemed cozy enough.

“It's nice,” Merrill said. “A bit lonely, but Sigrun and Velanna are right next door, so that's good.”

They sat at Merrill's table. “Sorry,” Merrill said. “I don't really have anything to offer you other than water—I keep forgetting to buy tea.”

“That's alright,” Abigail assured her. “I'm not much of a tea drinker anyway.”

“What about your house?” Merrill asked, perking up excitedly. 'It must be so different, living in that great big house in Hightown...”

“It's nice,” Abigail said. “Mother loves it—Carver is getting cabin fever, but every time he complains about how bored he is I tell him to go out and find a job. He never does.”

“Poor Carver,” Merrill sighed. “Have you heard from Bethany at all? You must be terribly worried. I am.”

Abigail shook her head. “We have been trying, but nothing yet,” she said. “Mother appealed to Grand Cleric Elthina to make an exception, but Elthina wasn't having any of it.” Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose. “She even went to the Viscount, but he told her to go back to the Chantry.”

“And even after you helped the Knight-Captain find his missing recruits, too,” Merrill said with a scowl. “What an awful man!”

“I don't understand it,” Abigail admitted. “I mean—we couldn't just see her, or even get a letter from her? Apparently even that is too dangerous, even with the Templars around?” she shook her head. “It's absolutely ridiculous.”

“Well, we knew the Templars weren't too bright,” Merrill said. “Maybe they're cruel on purpose, too.”

“What possible reason could they have for this—petty nonsense?” Abigail asked. “It doesn't make any sense!”

Merrill shrugged. “Maybe Anders has a better idea,” she said. “He was at the Circle, he'd know what Templars were like.”

“I suppose,” Abigail looked downcast, and searched for a topic change. “So...how will you know when the eluvian is working?” Abigail asked. “It's already making those odd sounds. Maybe you really do just need two to make one work.”

“I don't really know,” Merrill said. “It's just...not doing what it's supposed to.” she glanced towards the door that lead to the room where the eluvian was kept. “Maybe I do need two...” she sighed.

“Perhaps,” Abigail said. “You said it was for communication?”

Merrill nodded. “Long ago, in Elvhenan, the cities all had eluvians, so they could speak to each other.”

“Well, it sounds like that might be exactly the problem, then.”

“Oh...where would I even find one?” Merrill fretted.

“Maybe you can figure out how to build a new one from this one,” Abigail suggested. “What's it made out of?”

“Metal,” Merrill said. “Ironbark. I made the frame myself. The mirror has spells on it, all sorts. I worked them out from the shards.”

“How?”

“Oh, well, that took quite a bit of work, actually!” Merrill got to her feet. “I can show you, if you want!”

“Of course,” Abigail stood up as well, and Merrill lead her to the room where the mirror was kept.

“You see, I collected all the shards I could,” she pointed to the eluvian’s smooth surface. It looked as if the glass had never been broken. “I needed to piece them together. Some were broken, but whenever I put one piece to another, they just became whole again.”

“Just like that?”

Merrill nodded. “There are an awful lot of self-repair spells on the glass. I even went into the Fade and double-checked every spell, to make sure I’d cleaned it up properly.”

“There’s a—double of it, in the Fade?”

“Oh, yes! You know how there tends to be a double of everything?”

“I’m familiar with it, yes.”

“Well, an eluvian has a very solid double—it’s tied exactly to where the eluvian is in the physical world.”

“Hm,” Abigail brushed the frame of the eluvian. “I see.”

“The only problem is, I'm having a hard time working out where the problems are, if you see what I mean,” Merrill tapped the frame. “I think there's a problem with the connection between here and the Fade, but I don't know for sure.”

“I'm sure you'll figure it out,” Abigail assured her.

“You think so?”

“Why not?”

Merrill laughed. “Why not! Well—all sorts of reasons, really, but...” she sighed. “Maybe.”

They continued talking well into the night, until Abigail needed to return home.

The news about Bartrand was ignoble and not nearly as satisfying as anyone would have liked.

“You found Bartrand?” Abigail asked.

“Yeah,” Varric said.

“What do we do now?”

“Nothing,” Varric said. “He's dead.”

Abigail stared at him for a long moment. “What?”

“Turns out, when he left town, he went crazy and killed half his staff,” Varric said, looking into the middle distance. “They had to call the Guard on him.”

Abigail sat back in her chair. “So...what next?”

“I sort through his will, I guess,” Varric siad. “One of the servants who was still alive told me about that idol we picked up—thought it was that thing that drove Bartrand crazy.”

“Do you remember what the Architect said?” Abigail asked suddenly. “About the red lyrium being...wrong?” she leaned forward. “Varric, where's that idol now?”

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't know,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe it's still in with Bartrand's things, I have no idea. A lot of his stuff was confiscated by the Guard.”

Abigail was quiet for a long moment. She leaned forward and steepled her fingers. “Well...what do we do now?”

“I can look for the idol,” Varric said. “Make sure it didn't get into the wrong hands. Other than that...” he shrugged. “Not a lot else to do, really.”

“Oh.” she and Varric were quiet, and Abigail sighed. “I’m sorry to hear about Bartrand,” she said quietly. “Maybe we can talk to Aveline about his things.”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “Maybe.”

A few weeks after that, Aveline came knocking on Abigail's door in the middle of the night. Oddly, she had Fenris in tow.

“What's the matter?” Abigail asked, rubbing her eyes.

“I need you,” Aveline said. “Right now.”

Abigail noted the urgency in Aveline's voice and yanked on her armor. “What's going on?” she asked.

“Someone poisoned a city block,” Aveline said. As soon as Abigail had her armor on, Fenris and Aveline both immediately left and went down the street, Abigail jogging to keep up.

“What?” Abigail exclaimed, hurrying to catch up with Aveline.

“There's some sort of poisonous cloud over a street in Lowtown,” Aveline explained.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I need someone with magic,” Aveline explained. “Merrill, Velanna and Anders are too far away for them to get here quickly.”

“I don't have magic,” Fenris insisted. “I can hardly be of that much assistance in a magical matter.”

Abigail and Aveline looked at him with dubious expressions.

“Whatever you say,” Aveline said, while Fenris scowled. “The point is, I need someone with unusual skills.”

“Any skills in particular, besides magic?” Abigail asked.

“Anything at all,” Aveline gritted. “Come on.” she lead them down a side street, and immediately the smell was apparent, like rust and vomit and rotting meat. At the end of the street was a cordon watched by several Guards who were keeping the citizens out.

“Any change?” Aveline asked them.

“None, Guard-Captain,” one of the Guards said.

“Alright—you lot, come with me,” Aveline instructed her companions. She pulled her scarf up over her mouth and nose. “Try not to breathe the stuff.”

Fenris and Abigail likewise pulled scarves over their faces, and headed in. The smell was terrible, even with the scarves, and they all made an effort to try and breathe shallowly while they looked for the source of the gas. Abigail could keep most of the gas off of them with a powerful Barrier spell, but it wouldn't last forever, so they had to work quickly.

The gas was a sickly green color, and it could be found pumping from several barrels placed around the square.

“Someone’s been raiding the Merchant’s Guild,” Aveline said, breaking one of the pumps and leaning in to examine it.

“Dwarven work?” Fenris asked.

Aveline nodded. “Though I don’t think any dwarf did this.”

There were four barrels, and it took a long time to break all of the pumps. At last, however, they did.

Abigail gasped and leaned heavily against her quarterstaff, exhausted by the Barrier.

“Are you alright?” Aveline asked, lending her a skin of water.

Abigail nodded. “Fine,” she said.

“So, someone has come to stop my work,” an elf strode out onto a landing above their heads. She had wild blonde hair and enormous green eyes.

“If by 'work' you mean 'killing everyone in a city block,'” Abigail said, still trying to catch her breath. “Then yes.”

“Why did you do this?” Aveline demanded, stepping forward.

“It wasn't what I meant to do,” the elf said, looking around at the bodies. “These poor people...”

“What else could you possibly have been trying to do?” Abigail asked, spreading her arms.

“The mixture wasn't supposed to be a gas—it was supposed to be for that Qunari blasting powder!” the elf exclaimed.

“And how would that have been any better?”

“It would have destroyed the block, not poisoned it!”

“Well,” Fenris said. “It's good to know she's mad, I suppose.” he narrowed his eyes. “Where would you have gotten any Qunari recipe?” He asked.

Aveline cursed. “I bet it was that useless dwarven merchant—Tintop.”

“It was him,” the elf said. “But he sold me the wrong thing! Doesn't matter—it doesn't matter what you do, the Qunari will still be blamed!”

“And what do you care?” Abigail asked.

“The Qunari take my people!” the elf exclaimed. “They lose their culture, then go to the Qun for purpose!” she shook her head.

“Wait,” Aveline frowned. “Do you mean they convert, or that they are literally taken?” one of those was definitely illegal, the other was not.

“Converts,” the elf spat. “Willing to give up their families and their minds because they are lost otherwise!”

“I still don't see how that corresponds to you killing all these people,” Fenris said.

“Don't you see? If the Qunari are blamed, then they will have to leave! If they leave, they can't steal my people!”

“I’m uncertain if you've noticed, but the Qunari aren't exactly keen on leaving,” Abigail said.

“It's not just me that wants them out of here,” the elf said. “There's others too! Lots of people want them gone, and you should too!” she pointed at Abigail. “I saw you spell yourself and these others—you know what those scum do to mages!”

“This won't help,” Abigail insisted.

They argued with the elf some more before Aveline managed to get close enough to bind her hands and arrest her. She was still screaming and cursing as the Guards carted her away.

Aveline shook her head as they watched her go. “Fenris—you know Qunlat. Come with me, we're going to talk to the Arishok about this.”

“I'll come too,” Abigail said. “Since I was involved with the thing to begin with.”

“Should you not speak to the Viscount first?” Fenris asked Aveline. “This criminal is a citizen of Kirkwall.”

“And her poison came from the Qunari,” Aveline said. “They don't let people steal from them, and last time I heard, they weren't going to give Javaris Tintop their blasting powder. Something else must have happened.”

The Qunari compound was in the docks, a small collection of buildings now surrounded by spiked walls and covered in Qunari symbols.

The guards at the entrance weren't too keen on letting them inside at first, but once Aveline explained who she was, the Arishok deigned to see them.

The Arishok was enormous, even for a kossith. He was easily three feet taller than Aveline, his horns swooping back dramatically over his head. He was approximately the size of a barge, larger even than the other Qunari warriors.

“Arishok,” Aveline said. “Fenris, could you please introduce us?”

Fenris did so. The Arishok regarded Fenris with an unreadable expression.

“You are aware I speak Common, Guard-Captain,” the Arishok said, his voice deep and rumbling.

“I thought it best to have an interpreter,” Aveline said. “Perhaps we could avoid some of the misunderstandings we've had in the past.”

“If you have misunderstood, it is not due to an error of language.”

Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. Before she could say anything, Fenris spoke in Qunlat again, evidently explaining the situation.

The Arishok did not react. He responded to Fenris, also in Qunlat, and they had a back-and-forth for several moments.

“Aveline,” Fenris said when they were done.

“Yes?”

“The Qunari knew about the poison. The merchant you spoke of—Tintop? He could never buy it off of them, so he attempted to steal it.”

“We did not wish him to do this,” the Arishok said. “So we instead allowed him to steal the saar-qamek formula instead.”

“And you didn't think that was of the slightest importance to the Guard?” Aveline said through gritted teeth.

“We had assumed the thief would kill himself trying to replicate the formula,” the Arishok said. “We did not think him so rash as to start selling it immediately.”

Aveline closed her eyes. “Arishok,” she said. “The elf who used that formula was actively trying to make things worse between your people and the city—she knew you would be blamed for any deaths that occurred.”

“This is not our concern.”

“It is your concern!” Aveline snapped. Fenris made a gesture for quiet, and spoke in Qunlat to the Arishok again. The name 'Petrice' was mentioned.

The Arishok's expression grew darker.

“It is not our concern what bas think,” the Arishok said, switching back to Common again. “We cannot leave.”

“Why not?” Abigail asked.

The Arishok’s lip curled. “Something was stolen from us—not now, not the saar-qamek. A different item, one much more important, stolen years ago. And we cannot return until we have it back.”

“What is it?” Abigail asked. “Perhaps we can help you find it, then you could leave.”

The Arishok shook his head. “No.”

“You clearly don't want to be here,” Abigail said. “Maybe if we just--”

“Such an artifact is not for the eyes of bas,” the Arishok said with a scowl. “Already it has been polluted by thieves. We will find it ourselves.”

“You've been here for years,” Aveline said. “Why are you so sure it's even still here?”

“We search not only for the artifact, but for the thief,” the Arishok said. “This is our concern, not yours.”

The moment they left the compound and were out of sight of the Qunari, Aveline slammed her fist into a nearby wall.

“Every bloody way I turn, someone with too much power and not enough sense is blocking me,” Aveline snarled. “The Grand Cleric, and now the Arishok...”

“The Qunari can be persuaded,” Fenris said. “I am more concerned about what the Chantry might be doing.”

“Me as well,” Abigail said, her eyes narrowed.

Chapter Text

Merrill was unhappy when Abigail next came to see her.

“I still can't get the mirror to work,” Merrill said. “But I think I know what might help.”

“What's that?” Abigail asked.

“I need an arulin'holm,”

“What is that?” Abigail asked.

“A tool, held in my Clan for many years,” Merrill explained, gnawing at her thumbnail. “An artifact from Elvhenan we recovered and restored, like the eluvian. And Marethari has it."

“Then you can go and ask her, can't you?”

Merrill bit her fingernail off all the way, and Abigail realized that her nails were so chewed down they were only stubs. She shook her head. “Oh, no, we'll talk circles around each other, and she's got this disappointed frown that could turn your legs to jelly—please come with me, Abigail?”

“That hardly sounds like the Merrill I know,” Abigail cajoled, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You came to the Deep roads with us, and you don't want to see Marethari?”

Merrill shook her head again. “Please, Abigail? I don't want to go on my own, she won't listen to me.”

“Well...” Abigail rubbed the back of her head. “Alright. I'll come. I don’t know how much help I'll be, but we can at least see Feynriel and Arianni, can’t we?”

Merrill nodded. “Mas serannas, Abigail,” she said, clearly relieved. “We should bring someone else, too—it's the Sundermount, after all...”

“I'll see who I can find,” Abigail said. “Isabela and Varric could probably come.”

“What about Carver? He could too, couldn't he?”

Abigail grimaced. “He and I...haven't been getting along so well,” she said.

“Oh dear,” Merrill said. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” Abigail patted Merrill on the shoulder. “We'll get you your arulin'holm, don't worry.”

Merrill smiled at her, and Abigail felt something in her chest grow tight.

It was Varric and Isabela who joined Abigail and Merrill on their way up Sundermount.

“Your Clan lives up here?” Isabela said with a shiver, staring around at the trees. “Ugh—I can feel there's something wrong with it.”

“I know,” Merrill said, with a troubled frown. “I don’t think they should be here still...but they probably had trouble moving, because they don’t have halla.”

“They couldn't just use horses?” Varric asked.

“Oh, no, most horses aren't made for the kind of travel we go on,” she said. “It's why we use halla or harts—horses just aren't sturdy enough. Some Clans in Antiva or Nevarra, in the desert, you see, don't use halla either, because it's so dry...they use these funny animals with with humps on the back. Like a big horse, but with a different shaped head.”

“Have you seen animals like that in person?” Abigail wanted to know.

“Oh, yes, at the last Arlathvhen—there were a few Clans that didn't even use halla or harts at all, just those great big...I think they called them camels? They were enormous, bigger than a hart, even!” Merrill chuckled. “One Clan, from the Frostbacks, had a moose with them. Can you believe that? A moose? Their halla-keeper was ever so proud, because no one else had a moose.”

“So none of you use horses at all?” Isabela asked.

“No, not really. I mean, I suppose some could—maybe if there was a Clan on a grassland, they could use ponies? But most of the grasslands are nearer Tevinter, so we don't go there.”

They spoke a bit about the differences between riding a halla or a hart and riding a horse. Merrill was apparently not the best at riding any of them, but all Dalish children learned how to ride from when they were small.

“I’m not a big horse person,” Isabela said. “I like ships much better.”

“Most dwarves are too short for anything but ponies,” Varric said. “And I haven't really needed to learn.”

They came to Clan Sabrae, to find two Templars bothering a pair of hunters who guarded the entrance to the main camp.

“Oh no,” Merrill whispered.

“Don't worry, Daisy,” Varric assured her quietly. “We can handle it.”

They approached the Templars.

“No,” the Dalish guard insisted. “We have no mages here.”

“I know you do!” one of the Templars said. “Everyone knows about you bloody heathens--”

“And I'm pretty sure everyone also knows you can't believe what you hear,” Varric interjected. Everyone turned to look at Abigail and her group, surprised.

“Merrill!” exclaimed one of the Dalish guards. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to see the Keeper,” Merrill said. “Is—is everything alright?”

“That's all we need,” the other hunter muttered. “First the Templars, now her.”

“You hush,” the first hunter elbowed him with a scowl. “Anyway—you two. Leave here.” he told the Templars.

“No,” the Templar snapped.

“Pardon me, Ser Templars,” Abigail said. “But we have business here. I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't harass my--” she thought for a minute. “Business partners.”

“Business partners?” both the hunters and the Templars exclaimed in surprise.

“Oh, yes,” Varric said, catching on quickly. “See, this Clan is allied with Queen Aeducan—we're here to do some trading. And the Queen gets pretty testy when she doesn't get her shipments of furs and wood—you know how Orzammar is.”

“Oh, of course!” the friendlier Dalish hunter said, a look of understanding crossing his face. “Yes, we're attempting to trade, Ser Templar, and you are not helping.”

“Queen Aeducan doesn't really like Templars scaring her trading partners,” Varric said, folding his arms in a disapproving way. “And look—I know the Templars do a lot of Trade with Orzammar. So you don't really want to mess up that relationship, right?”

“I—Lady Hawke,” the Templar implored, apparently having recognized Abigail. “Please, there might be dangerous apostates in--”

“Don't be silly,” Merrill said, waving a hand. “Dangerous magic? That'd be a bit stupid, wouldn't it?” she winked at the hunters. “Because we don't have Templars to watch the mages and all.”

“But...” the Templar said. “Everyone knows the Dalish--”

“Last I heard, everyone knew that all the Templars liked to loiter around the Rose and not pay,” Isabela piped up with a wicked grin “But, I mean, that could just be a rumor.”

Both Templars went very red.

“This isn't the end of this,” the Templar snapped, but the pair of them turned and headed away.

Once they were out of earshot, both hunters let out a relieved breath.

“Has that happened before?” Merrill asked urgently.

“It’s the second time,” the friendlier hunter said. “The first was three months ago. I think someone might have spotted Feynriel one of the others or something.”

“Why doesn't Marethari leave?” Merrill asked. “If it’s so dangerous--!”

“As if you care,” the unfriendly hunter snapped. “You left.”

“Will you hush, Sylvas?” the other one huffed. “Honestly—you know Merrill has her reasons. You heard what Arianni said—Feynriel wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for her.”

Sylvas folded his arms. “Fine,” he gritted. “I'll go tell the Keeper you're here.” with one last glare at Merrill, Sylvas left.

“Sorry, Merrill,” the remaining hunter said.

“It's alright, Fennirel,” Merrill said softly.

“Look—you can see the Keeper if you want,” Fennirel said. “But it's...not exactly going to be warm.”

“I thought so,” Merrill said with a sigh.

“No, I mean—Marethari's still banging on about you using dangerous magic,” Fennirel said. “It's got half the bloody Clan scared of you, which personally I think is stupid, 'cause Arianni told everyone how you helped Feynriel, but still,” he grimaced. “It's not pretty.”

“Oh, dear,” Merrill said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Is that—is there anything else the matter?” she asked.

“There's a varterral in one of the caves,” Fennirel said. “Last thing we needed. And—ah—if you hear Vinell and Marethari shouting at each other, please, please don't get involved.”

Merrill furrowed her brow. “Why not? Why are they angry with each other?”

“Ask Vinell, not me,” Fennirel said. “Anyway—you can go in. Oh—and don't bother Ilen. Doesn't have anything to do with you—any of you—he's just in a mood.”

“He's always in a mood.”

“Yes, well,” Fennirel said lamely. “Go on, alright? I can't just keep chatting forever.”

“Alright,” Merrill said. “Mas serannas, Fennirel.”

“Da'rahn, lethallin.”

They continued on into the camp. They were immediately greeted by Arianni, who came up to them with a smile.

“Merrill!” she exclaimed. “Serah Hawke!”

“It’s lovely to see you, Arianni,” Abigail said with a pleasant smile.

“How are you, Arianni?” Merrill asked. “Is everything alright? Is Feynriel doing well?”

“Yes, yes, we're fine,” Arianni said, looking back and forth between them. “Why are you here? Is there something wrong?”

“I need Marethari to give me the arulin'holm,” Merrill explained. “I think it will help me fix the Eluvian.”

“Oh,” Arianni's face fell.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

“Marethari won't be happy to hear that,” she explained. “Merrill—I think—I don't know, she hasn't appointed a new First yet--”

“What?” Merrill exclaimed. “But—what about Jathianni, or Vandathdin, or Eliovron? She likes Eliovron. I haven't been back here for such a long time, why wouldn't she--?”

“I don't know,” Arianni said, shaking her head. “She and Vinell keep arguing about it, but she just hasn't yet. It's making everyone nervous.”

“Fennirel said that she's been telling the Clan about my work,” Merrill said.

“Yes—she can't stand the—the blood magic,” Arianni said in a whisper. “But I don't know, Merrill—it doesn't seem right for her to criticize when you're not even here.”

“Why don't we go speak to her?” Isabela urged.

“Yeah, maybe we can help sort this out,” Varric said.

Arianni nodded. “She's just over there, by the fire.”

They walked through the camp, and had a...mixed reaction. One elf waved cheerfully at Merrill, but most of the others glared or shied away. One pair spoke in hushed tones, anxious about something, but hardly even noticed when Merrill passed. Marethari was by the firepit, arguing softly with another man, but they stopped when Merrill approached.

“Keeper,” Merrill said. She nodded to the man, a middle-aged elf with long, steel-gray hair. “Ander'an'atish'an, Vinell.”

Vinell inclined his head.

“You return to us, da'len,” Marethari said. “Have you reconsidered this path at last?”

“Marethari...” Vinell muttered in a warning tone.

“No—I...” Merrill trailed off, looking away. Abigail put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and both Isabela and Varric stood a little closer to her.

Merrill took a deep breath. “I need the arulin'holm,” Merrill said.

“Merrill!” Vinell exclaimed. He spoke to her in Dalish, surprised.

“Vinell, could you switch to Common?” Merrill asked. “My friends don't understand.”

“Da'len, really,” Vinell said, glancing at Abigail, Isabela, and Varric. “You know Ilen isn't going to part from it.”

“I need it to try and fix the eluvian!”

“You still wish to rebuild it?” Marethari said with a sigh.

“You don't have to approve of it,” Merrill said, folding her arms. “I'm invoking vir sulevanan.”

Vinell gave a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the love of all the Creators,” he muttered.

“What?” Merrill said. “I can if I want to.”

“Ilen is going to throw a fit,” Vinell said. “You know how he is, Merrill.”

“I still need it.”

“Will it even work? Do you know?”

“She's already got that mirror to start making weird sounds,” Varric said. “Seems to me like it's halfway to being fixed already.”

“Oh, and you'd know so much about it, I'm sure,” Vinell said, his tone very dry. “I’m positive that a dwarf from Kirkwall is just overflowing with information.”

“Vinell, please,” Marethari said.

“Fine, fine,” Vinell grumbled. He threw up his hands. “I suppose I'll just go warn Ilen then...”

He left, and Marethari folded her arms. “Vir sulevanan is your right,” Marethari said with a scowl. “There is a service you can perform for us, if you insist.”

“I do.” Merrill's chin was stubborn, and her voice was steady as she spoke.

Marethari paced, thinking. “A varterral has taken the lives of three hunters,” she said.

“Fennirel told me about the varterral,” Merrill said. “We can kill it for you.” she glanced at the others, who nodded.

“Nuvas ema ir'enastela,” Marethari said. “Nuva mar'shos'lahn'en ir'tel'dera Fen'harel, da'lath'in.”

“Sathem lasa halani, Keeper,” Merrill said. “Sule tael tasalal.”

“Ea son, Merrill.”

Marethari marked the cave of the varterral on a map for them, and they were off. They climbed the mountain, the Veil twisting and thinning around them.

“Who was that?” Abgail asked. “The man she was talking to?”

“That was Vinell,” Merrill said. “He’s an old friend, an elder. He's a bit like—well, I suppose if you imagined Fenris with a dozen grandchildren, he's a bit like that.”

Varric and Isabela both laughed, surprised.

“That'd be a sight,” Varric said with a grin.

“He was fighting with Marethari, though,” Merrill said, her expression troubled.

“Do they fight often?” Abigail asked.

“No, not at all. Something must be wrong...”

“You said they shouldn't still be here,” Isabela pointed out. “Maybe he's unhappy about that.”

“Maybe,” Merrill said. “I still don't like it.”

They came to the cave, from which a truly awful smell emerged. The cave was full of spiders, and they had to fight through them to get through. Luckily, there were no undead there, the way there were on top of the mountain.

They went through the caves, not finding the varterral, but finding someone else. A slight, redheaded elf peered at them from around a door.

“It's safe,” Abigail called. “You can come out!”

The elf came out. “Oh, praise Andras—or, thank the Creators, whatever—I thought I'd never get out of—oh no,” he caught sight of Merrill.

“Pol!” Merrill exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”

“What are you doing here?” Pol exclaimed, stepping back.

“I'm here to help, Pol.”

"Don't,” Pol snapped. “Stay back!” the elf turned and made to run back in the direction he had come from.

“Pol, no!” Merrill reached out and managed to grab his arm, jerking him back.

“Let go!” Pol exclaimed, trying to yank out of Merrill's hold.

"Don't be an idiot," Abigail snapped. "There's a varterral loose in the caves, you'll just run right at it!"

"Better the varterral than her!" Pol still tried to pull his arm out of Merrill's grasp, but she held on tighter.

"What are you talking about?" Merrill exclaimed.

“She's a blood mage!” Pol said, finally pulling away from Merrill.

“Do you seriously care about that?” Isabela asked, but Pol was already hurrying in the other direction. They raced after him, and came to a steep flight of stairs that lead into a huge cave. Pol was at the bottom of the stairs, frozen, while the varterral advanced upon him.

"Oh, Andraste's tits," they heard Pol mutter, and Merrill fairly jumped down the stairs while the others were hot on their heels.

“Out of the way, Pol!” Merrill exclaimed when she got to the bottom of the steps, and the elf obligingly moved behind her.

The varterral reared up, and Abigail seared its underbelly with a gout of flame. It was an enormous, spidery thing, with too many legs and tough skin. Varric’s arrows bounced off its hide, and Isabela’s attempts to cut its legs didn’t work. The only thing that helped was Merrill and Abigail’s magic, and even then, only blasts of fire and arcane bolts. Merrill tried blood magic, but it just made the creature stagger a bit before righting itself.

Finally, however, the varterral was dead, collapsing on the ground.

“Andraste's ass, that thing is enormous!” Isabela said.

“It's like some kind of bug,” Varric said, kicking it.

“It’s too huge to be any bug, even a spider!” Isabela grabbed the back of Varric’s coat. “Stop touching the thing, for the love of the Maker, it’s disgusting.”

"Come on, Pol," Merrill said, putting a hand on the other elf's back. "Let's get you back to the Clan."

Pol nodded. "Thank you, Merrill." he said in a very small voice. His skin was still bloodless, and he visibly shook.

“Lasa halani, Pol.”

“Why in the name of the Maker did you run at the thing?” Isabela demanded, catching up to the two of them. “That was bloody stupid—if we hadn't caught you, it would have eaten you!”

“You ran from Merrill,” Abigail said, frowning. “What exactly is so frightening about Merrill?”

“He's scared of the blood magic,” Varric reminded them.

“Marethari told us,” Pol said. “You're a blood mage.”

“Now, Pol,” Merrill said with a disapproving frown. “You don't think that means I summon demons and everything? That's silly Chantry nonsense.”

“She said you're trying to do something dangerous,” Pol explained. “That thing you want to fix—that mirror—killed Tamlen and Mahariel.”

Merrill sighed. “Well, it's not anywhere near any of you,” she said. “Is it?”

“But the blood magic--”

“I think maybe you should pay a bit more attention in lessons,” Merrill said. “Marethari may not approve of blood magic, but she wouldn't approve of you running at a varterral, either.”

“I—I'm sorry,” Pol said. “I—I mean, ir abelas.”

“Enaste,” Merrill said with a tiny smile.

“Oh—Radha, Harshel and Chandan's amulets are still here,” Pol said. “That's why I was here. I thought maybe I could go and find them.”

“Oh, Pol—that was dangerous!” Merrill exclaimed.

“Well, I know that now,” Pol said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very sheepish. “I thought I could sneak past the varterral.”

They went looking for the hunters' bodies, and recovered the amulets. “There,” Merrill said, handing the amulets to Pol. “Now your job is done. Let's go back to the Clan.”

“Alright,” Pol said softly.

They left the cave and went back down the mountain, to go meet with Marethari.

“The varterral is dead,” Merrill said. “And we found Pol, too.”

“And these, Keeper,” Pol handed her the amulets.

“Thank you for bringing Pol back to us,” Marethari said. She glanced down at the Hunter's tokens in her hand and sighed. "And my thanks for these. Their families will be informed of their passing. I will breathe easier knowing the varterral will take no more of our people."

Both she and Merrill were quiet for a long moment.

“Pol almost ran into the varterral,” Merrill said, her brow furrowed. “He ran from me.”

“It was stupid,” Pol said quickly, shaking his head. “I—I didn't think--”

“Many of the Clan fear you will bring the corruption, or worse, from the eluvian,” Marethari said, cutting across Pol.

“You can't get the Blight from a mirror!” Merrill exclaimed. “It's a mirror!”

“So then Tamlen and Mahariel were not killed by it?”

“No—they were attacked by darkspawn!” Merrill said. “Anyway—the eluvian's not here now! There's no reason to be afraid!”

“There are things worse than the Blight,” Marethari said. “Things you can carry with you.”

“No demons will possess me, and you know it, Keeper!” Merrill said. “That's the whole point of blood magic--”

“It is?” Pol said.

“That is not true,” Marethari insisted. “Toying with instruments such as the eluvian makes you prey for demons--”

“So does living on the Sundermount for years!” Merrill shouted. Everyone went quiet, and people began to stare. “Um—anyway—can I have the arulin'holm? I'll bring it back soon, I promise. We've done as you asked.”

Marethari frowned, and her eyes flickered to Abigail. “Because Merrill won't listen, and you too helped to slay the varterral, I will give you the arulin'holm.”

“Ah—wait a moment--” Abigail said, holding up her hands. “I—Merrill's the one who made the bargain, not me.”

“Keeper, what are you doing?” Merrill demanded. “Abigail is human—“

“We just killed a giant bug for you, and saved one of your men,” Isabela said. “You said if Merrill did this, you'd give her the knife.”

“Merrill saved me,” Pol said. “Keeper—if you did promise--”

“I can't let Merrill do this,” Marethari said.

“Don't talk about me like I'm not here!” Merrill snapped. “Marethari, please, give it to me, or—or I'll tell Ilen you gave it to a human!”

That gave Marethari pause. “No,” she said at length. She held out a small blade in an ornate sheath to Abigail. Abigail took it.

“I can't take this,” Abigail said. “It's Merrill's.” she handed it to Merrill. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Merrill said, scowling at Marethari. “Come on—we need to go see Ilen.”

“Merrill--” Marethari started.

“You wanted to give something of Ilen's away to someone he doesn't even know,” Merrill said, folding her arms. “He should be told about that.”

They went to Ilen, who was a short, stocky elf with long, graying hair. They informed him that Marethari had attempted to give Abigail the arulin'holm, and he was furious.

“Oh, for—Marethari dhava 'ma masa,” Ilen cursed.

“Ilen!” Merrill exclaimed.

“First she wants to give it to you,” Ilen snapped. “Then this shemlen?” he gestured at Abigail. “Lost her bloody head, I swear...”

“She's just worried,” Merrill said.

“Oh, right, worried,” Ilen rolled his eyes. “Merrill, I tell you—you should come back.”

“Why? Half the Clan doesn't even want me here. Pol was terrified of me!” Merrill folded her arms.

“Pol is a bit dim,” Ilen said, ignoring Merrill’s admonishing look. “And if half the Clan doesn't want you, the other half knows Marethari is damn well losing her bloody mind,”

“No, she isn't!” Merrill exclaimed, stricken.

“Every time we try to bring up leaving, she refuses!” Ilen said. “Feynriel needs to get out of here, everyone knows that—don't want any damn demons sneaking up on him in his sleep—and we've had to fend off Templars, and she still won't let us leave!”

Merrill stared at him. “What is she waiting for?”

“I haven't the faintest idea,” Ilen said. “But maybe you could talk some sense into her.”

“She wouldn't listen to anything I said,”

“No, but if you were here, you and Vinell could override her,” Ilen explained. “He’s been trying, but you know that he can’t override a damn thing without the support of the First...”

“And she hasn't appointed a new First,” Merrill breathed.

“Exactly.”

Merrill bit her fingernails. “Ilen, I can't come back till I've finished with the eluvian,” she insisted.

Ilen rolled his eyes. “Oh, not that damned mirror again! Who cares about the bloody thing, the Clan needs you!”

Merrill ran a hand through her hair. “I don't want to barge in uninvited,” she said. “If things are bad now—half the Clan is still terrified of me, what happens if I come back, Vinell and I override Marethari's decisions, and the Clan doesn't like it?”

“Who cares?” Ilen waved a hand. “We all want to get out of here.”

“Then signal a nearby Clan for help!”

“We tried that, too! Clan Lavellan came by, offered us a halla and everything, but Marethari turned them down!”

“What?” Merrill whispered.

“I tell you, there's something the matter here!”

“Ilen, I—I'll have to think about it,” Merrill said. “I don't want to risk splitting the Clan in half. You should tell Marethari how you feel—I'm sure she'll see sense soon. Maybe it's better if I stay away...”

Ilen snorted and folded his arms. “Think quickly, Merrill,” he said. “We've all been having bad dreams.”

They left quickly, Fennirel spotting them and giving them a parting wave when they exited the camp.

“That sounds bad,” Varric said. “It sounds like things are kind of a mess with them.”

“I don't understand it,” Merrill said shaking her head. “Marethari is sensible, I don't know why she'd act like this.”

“Why doesn't Marethari like your blood magic?” Abigail asked. “It doesn't seem so bad at all.”

“I learned about blood magic in the Fade,” Merrill said. “I couldn't cleanse the mirror without help, so I went dreamwalking, trying to find something that could help me. I found a memory of blood magic, but Marethari thought it might be a demon, tricking me. I suppose she still thinks that.”

“That doesn't really explain why she's doing everything else,” Isabela said.

“I don't know,” Merrill said, shaking her head.

“Maybe something on the Sundermount got to her,” Abigail suggested.

“No, she wouldn't let that happen!” Merrill snapped. “I'll—when I give the arulin'holm back to Ilen, I can ask more about it then.”

They returned to the city.

Chapter Text

Everything was quiet for a few days, until Abigail happened across Fenris and Aveline arguing with each other outside the barracks.

“What happened?” Abigail asked.

Fenris folded his arms. “I told you, he would not accept it,” Fenris said to Aveline.

“He is in our city—they broke our laws!”

“What are you two talking about?

Aveline sighed. “More trouble with the Qunari,” she said.

“Oh, not again,”

“Yes, again,” Aveline said.

“Two criminals took refuge with the Qunari,” Fenris explained. “They converted to the Qun. Aveline wished for the Arishok to allow the Guard to take them.” he glared at Aveline. “However, they were only there because the negligence in the Guard in the first place.”

Aveline rubbed her forehead. “The laws are murky,” she said. “And if the two lads really did have a complaint that was ignored—I need to speak with my own men about it.”

“What did they do?” Abigail asked.

“They attacked and killed a man,” Aveline said with a shrug. “According to them, he had forced himself upon their sister. They reported him to the Guard, and apparently we did nothing about it.” she glared at Fenris. “Vigilantism is illegal, however, and that's apart from attacking the man.”

“The Arishok refused to hand them over,” Fenris said. “Which I believe he is within his rights by the laws of the Qun.”

“This is Kirkwall, not Par Vollen!” Aveline said.

“Do you really think it a good idea to antagonize them further?” Fenris demanded. “You know the Viscount doesn't have the stomach to fight them should he need to—and the Guard would hardly be able to stand up to them should they prove hostile.”

“I don't care how good their military is, they're not backed by Par Vollen,” Aveline snapped. “They're not an official diplomatic group, so they don't have immunity, so they are subject to our laws, not theirs.”

“So...you left the criminals there?” Abigail asked.

“For now.” Aveline said with a scowl. “I'll see if I can do anything else about this...”

“I would recommend not doing anything about it for now,” Fenris said. He and Aveline went up the steps to the Keep, arguing with each other the whole way. Abigail left them to it.

Things were quiet again for some time until Fenris ran into slavers again. They'd found where he lived, somehow, and he had fought his way through them until he got to Abigail's.

He didn't even bother knocking, just kicked the door in and slammed it behind him. He was covered in blood, naked sword gripped tightly in one hand.

“And what a pleasure it is to see you too, Fenris,” Abigail drawled.

“Hadriana,” Fenris gritted, slamming his sword down on a nearby sidetable.

“I beg your pardon?” Abigail said, delicately picking the sword up and placing it on a proper weapons rack.

“Hunters,” he snarled. “Found me—Danarius wasn't with them, it was Hadriana who sent them.”

“You need to slow down, and back up,” Abigail said. “Who is Hadriana?”

Fenris slammed a fist into the wall. “Danarius' apprentice,” he was shaking, Abigail noticed. “I was a fool to think I was free—they'll never let me be!”

“Why would he send his apprentice after you?” Abigail asked with frown.

“She probably volunteered to please Danarius—she would sell her own children if she thought it would please him.” his mouth was twisted into a scowl.

“Where is she?” Abigail asked, taking her armor off its stand and beginning to strap it on. “Do you know?”

“There's a system of caves outside the city,” Fenris explained. “They used them to hold slaves when Kirkwall still belonged to Tevinter.”

“And she's there?”

“Yes,” Fenris snapped. “We must go quickly, and find her before she has a chance to prepare, or flee.”

“We should get some help, first,” Abigail said.

“Aveline and Isabela,” Fenris said. “None of the others.”

“Any particular reason?”

“The others would take too long. Aveline and Isabela are the most trustworthy.” he stalked back and forth while Abigail finished putting on her armor and grabbed her staff.

“You don't think Carver's trustworthy?”

Fenris snorted. “Not enough.”

“Take your sword,” she gestured to where she’d put it. “And we’ll go find them.”

They left, Fenris going to get Aveline and Abigail racing for Isabela. They quickly reunited and Fenris and Abigail explained the situation, and they set off for the caves outside Kirkwall.

The slaver caves were occupied, fires burning and lanterns lit. Oddly, they seemed to be built on ancient dwarven ruins, Tevinter architecture mixing uncomfortably with a strong dwarven base.

“They're still here,” Fenris growled at seeing the lights. “Good.”

There were more slavers inside, and corpses bled dry for their blood.

“Hm,” Aveline prodded a body that had been carelessly laid on a table, the last remnants of blood dribbling from open wounds in the throat and wrists. “Wonder what Merrill would have to say about this.”

“Probably a lengthy talk about the minutiae of blood magic, actually,” Isabela said. “She'd tell you if you asked. Or even if you didn’t ask.”

“I hardly wish to hear about it,” Fenris snapped.

Deep in the tunnels, they found one lone elvhen woman, cowering against a back wall. She was blonde and very thin, her cheeks and eyes hollow. She shook when they approached her.

“Easy,” Abigail said, holding a hand out. “You're safe.”

“Are you hurt?” Fenris asked, pushing ahead of Abigail. “Did they touch you?” his eyes raked over her, checking her for injuries, but he didn’t come closer than a few feet.

“They've been killing everyone!” the woman burst out. “They cut Papa, bled him...” she brought clenched hands to her mouth.

“Why? Fenris asked. “Why would they do this?”

“The magister, she said she needed power,” the woman said. “Someone was coming to kill her!”

Fenris looked away.

“This isn't your doing,” Aveline murmured to him. He avoided her gaze, hand tightening around his sword hilt.

“We tried to be good,” the woman turned and began to pace. “We did everything right, she loved Papa's soup, I don't understand...”

“Some things don't need to be understood, dearheart,” Isabela said, her tone gentle.

“Is the magister still here?” Abigail asked. “We need to know.”

“I—I think so,” she said. “She was preparing for battle, she said—I think she's very frightened!”

“She has every reason to be,” Fenris growled.

The woman gasped. “Please, don't hurt her!” the woman begged. “She'll be so angry if you hurt her!”

“This must be awful,” Isabela said. “I'm sorry this happened to you.”

The woman scrubbed at her cheeks, her voice choked with tears. “Everything was fine until today!”

“It wasn't,” Fenris said, his voice soft. “You just didn't know any better.”

She looked at him. She was a little taller than he was, but she still somehow managed to look up into his eyes instead of down. “Are you going to be my master? If you kill her?”

“What?” Fenris exclaimed. “No!”

“But—I can cook, I can clean,” she said, almost indignant. “What else will I do?”

“There's lots of jobs someone with those skills can do, and be paid for it,” Abigail said.

“There's an awful lot of ships who could use a good cook,” Isabela pointed out. “As a matter of fact—I'm in need of one, actually.”

“You still don't even have half a crew,” Abigail pointed out.

“So she'll be one more,” Isabela said with a shrug. “If she wants to. How about it?” she asked. “It's not the best job in the world, but I'm going to have to say that getting paid at all probably beats not getting paid.”

“I—oh—thank you,” the woman said, blinking.

“Wait here,” Isabela said. “We'll come back, clear out the rest of those slavers, and come back for you. Stay out of sight.”

The woman nodded.

They left, the explore the caves further.

“You will pay her, yes?” Fenris asked Isabela.

“Of course,” Isabela said. “Why shouldn't I?” her tone implied that she thought he should know better.

“I—you are right. I am sorry.”

“It's only natural to be concerned,” Aveline assured him in a soft voice. “That poor woman has been through enough.”

“Perhaps if—I had not attacked so openly--” Fenris stumbled over his own words, and clenched his fists.

“You know yourself what these magisters are like,” Aveline said. “It would have happened someday, even if not today.”

“Yes. I know.”

Most of the slavers were cleared out by now, having gone to the front of the caves to be cut down by them.

“What kind of magic can she use?” Abigail asked. “This Hadriana woman? Merrill showed me some ways to counter blood magic spells--”

“Hadriana's spells will be far more powerful,” Fenris gritted. “And...clumsy,” he admitted. “Explosive.”

“Interesting,” Abigail murmured. “Are all magisters like that?”

“Those who practice blood magic, yes. They enjoy showing off, letting all who see them know their power. They do not feel the need to learn anything other than power.”

“When you say explosive, does that mean I need to do anti-fire spells, or--?”

Fenris ground his teeth. “Do what counterspells the witch taught you,” he said. “If you truly must.”

“We know a lot of witches,” Abigail said, her tone forcibly light. “You at least have to clarify which one you mean.”

Fenris snorted, and they continued to move.

They found Hadriana at the back of the cave systems. She was surrounded by fresh bodies that she reanimated aggressively, like she was a puppetmaster and they the marionettes. She managed to down Aveline by making a wound tear open on her leg, but before she could do too much damage, Fenris got her staff away from her and slammed down on her collarbone with his sword, breaking it.

She collapsed to the ground with a cry, her marionettes falling as well. Fenris raised his sword again, this time to strike a more deadly blow.

“Wait!” the woman held up her hands. “You do not want me dead!”

“There is only one person I wish dead more,” Fenris snarled.

Abigail looked down at her, expression glacial. “I hardly think I much want you alive, either.”

"Agreed," muttered Isabela, and Aveline nodded.

“I have information,” Hadriana hissed, clutching at her collar. “I will trade it in return for my life.”

Fenris snorted, still not lowering his blade. “What, the location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I would rather he lose his pet pupil.”

“You have a sister!” Hadriana exclaimed. “She is alive!”

Fenris froze, and his sword slipped from his hands to land with a clang on the floor.

“Liar,” Isabela said.

“Fenris, don't listen to her,” Aveline said with a hiss of pain, as she tried to stand on her bad leg. Isabela tried to help hold her up, but Aveline was a lot bigger than she was, and they both staggered a bit before Aveline had to sit back down. Isabela tore a strip from her tunic and began to bind up Aveline’s leg.

“You wish to reclaim your life?” Hadriana said, ignoring them. “Let me go, and I will tell you where she is.”

“She is lying, Fenris,” Abigail said, her tone icy. “She’s lying to save her skin.”

Fenris didn't say anything. His eyes were very wide, white showing all around the iris.

“If you want to know who you were, you'll let me go,” Hadriana said.

“Fenris...” Abigail warned, as Fenris stepped closer.

“Tell me,” Fenris said, his voice harsh. “And I will let you go.”

“Fenris, don't,” Aveline said.

“I have your word?” Hadriana gasped.

Fenris leaned down close to her. “You do.”

Hadriana let out a breath and closed her eyes. “Her name is Varania. She is in Qarinus, serving Magister Ahriman.”

Fenris tilted his head. “A servant. Not a slave.”

“She's not a slave.”

“I believe you.” his brands lit up, the Veil twisting and responding to his manipulations, and he drove his hand into her chest. She gasped, and her eyes rolled up in her head. He pulled his hand out, leaving a gaping wound, his hand covered up to the elbow in gore. She fell backwards, very dead.

He straightened up and retrieved his sword.

“We are done here,” he growled.

“That woman was a bloody liar,” Isabela said. Abigail came to help her support Aveline, and they both managed to get the larger woman on her feet. “Tell me you didn’t believe a word of that rubbish!”

“Fenris...” Aveline said, hissing with pain from her bad leg. “What are you thinking?”

“Danarius could have set a trap,” Fenris snarled, pacing back and forth. Aveline was moving slowly, and he seemed unwilling to leave, but didn't want to slow down. “He could have sent Hadriana to tell me about this—sister--” his lip curled into a sneer. “Even if he did not, trying to find her would be suicide. If Hadriana knows about her than Danarius knows...” he trailed off.

“Exactly,” Aveline limped on, Abigail under one arm and Isabela under the other. “But I am sure there is some way to find out if she's real or not.”

“I don't buy it for a moment,” Isabela said.

“Neither do I,” Abigail agreed.

“But if she is real, we should search for her,” Aveline said.

“What good would that do?” Fenris demanded. “Even if we found her, who knows what the magisters have done to her? What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?”

“Quite a great number of things, actually,” Abigail said, raising her eyebrow.

Fenris growled.

“Even if they did something to her,” Aveline said, with a glare at Abigail. “If we found her, we could help.”

“We've put up with you this whole time,” Isabela pointed out to Fenris.

“Isabela!” Aveline hissed. “We could either find the real woman, or we could deal with the trap Danarius set. Either way, it would be a good idea to look into it.”

“I--” Fenris paused. “I need to go.” he hurried out of the caves, out of sight.

“Damn,” Isabela muttered. “Should we go after him?”

“He can take care of himself,” Abigail said. “Anyway, neither of us can carry Aveline alone.” she shook her head. “I’m sorry I don’t know more healing,” she told Aveline.

Aveline just sighed. “I’ll find him when we get back to Kirkwall,” she said. “Hopefully he won’t do anything too stupid.” she stared after where he had gone, expression concerned. Isabela exchanged a knowing look with Abigail.

They left the caves, and found the elvhen woman sitting near the entrance. She brightened when she saw them.

“You're back!” the woman got to her feet. “I thought—I thought Mistress had killed you—”

“Us? Not to worry, dearheart, we got rid of her,” Isabela said with a grin and a wave with her free hand. “Now—why don't we get out of here and actually learn each others’ names?”

The woman tried to help hold Aveline up as well, but Aveline waved her off. The woman wrung her hands, not quite sure what to do with herself.

“Where did Ser Fenris go?” the woman asked as they left the tunnels.

“You know his name?” Abigail asked.

“Yes,” she nodded, her expression solemn. “I knew him a long time ago.”

“He went on ahead,” Isabela said. “Well—I'm Isabela, that's Aveline, and that's Abigail. And what's your name?”

“Orana.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Aveline said. She winced, bumping her bad leg.

“Oh, Mistress, please, let me help!” Orana implored, again trying to come to Aveline’s side.

“No,” Aveline waved her away. “I’m fine.”

“She has us,” Abigail said. “We can carry her.”

“I'm sure staying here isn't fun,” Isabela told Orana. “Come on—it's just a short way back to Kirkwall.”

“Mistress, if you just let me look at it—I’m sure I can do something--” Orana worried her hands. “I’m no healer, but I...” her lip trembled. “I should do something!”

“It’s quite alright,” Aveline assured her. “We know a healer. You don’t have to do anything.”

Orana still seemed very uncertain, but joined them as they went back to the city. Abigail brought Aveline to Anders' clinic while Isabela brought Orana to her ship. Anders fixed Aveline's leg with some minor complaints (“You slashed the tendon here—this is bloody ridiculous, you do understand that?”) and everyone returned home.

It was the middle of the night when Fenris came to see Aveline in the barracks.

“What are you doing here, Fenris?” Aveline asked.

“I...” he looked at her leg. “Are you...well?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” she assured him. “We went to Anders and he patched it up.”

Fenris scowled at the mention of Anders, but he didn't say anything about him.

“What about you?” Aveline asked. “Are you alright?”

“I—have been thinking of what happened, with Hadriana,” he stumbled a bit over his words. “I took out my anger on you, and the others. I was—not myself. I apologize.”

“No apology needed,” Aveline assured him. “Anyone would be angry about that. If some slaver brought up Wesley...” she shook her head.

He glanced at her. “Wesley was your husband, yes?”

“Yes.” Aveline sighed. “What about you? I was—we were worried when you took off. We didn't know where you'd gone.”

“I—needed to be alone,” he turned away and began to pace. “When I was a slave, she reveled in tormenting me.”

“You don't need to tell me this, Fenris,” Aveline told him softly.

He shook his head and gritted his teeth. “The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now...”

“But she didn't. Not in the slightest.”

“I wanted to let her go, but I couldn't.”

Aveline frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Seeing her again—knowing she was there—this hatred, planted inside me, knowing it was they who did it—it was too much to bear.”

“It would be difficult for anyone to do,” Aveline said. “I can't say I approve—it's not exactly what I'd call legal.”

“Not particularly, no.” he waved a hand. “But I did not come to burden you further...”

“A burden isn't so heavy when it's shared,” Aveline told him.

He gave her a tiny smile. “Perhaps. But I am not entirely sure of that.” he sighed. “No, but I did have another purpose for coming here.”

Aveline raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”

“Your...job. For an official interpreter for the Qunari. Is it still available?”

“Yes,” Aveline said. “Have you reconsidered?”

“If I worked for the city, you would be able to assist me in avoiding Tevinter hunters?” he asked.

“Slavers are not welcome in Kirkwall, first of all,” Aveline said. “As far as we're concerned, you're a free man. If you work for us, you become a citizen of Kirkwall, which renders any potential ownership of your person void.”

Fenris’ shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit. “Then—I suppose I will do it,” he said.

Aveline smiled.

Chapter Text

Anders needed to see Abigail next.

He actually came to her home, instead of asking her to come to the clinic. He and Nathaniel had both been up to the Hawke mansion more often lately, as the Templars had been sniffing around the clinic more and more often. They'd already had to move the clinic's location twice before.

“You know about the Circle misusing the Rite of Tranquility,” Anders said, pacing back and forth.

Abigail nodded with a scowl. “I remember.”

“There's been more Tranquil in the Gallows lately,” Anders said. “The underground—there are people who keep track of this sort of thing, and there's definitely more than there used to be.”

“The underground? What does that mean?”

“There are mages who help other mages,” Anders explained, waving a hand. “People who aren’t happy with the Circles, who want things to change. I can’t tell you much more than that.”

“Why not?”

“Bethany,” he said. “If Meredith were to find out that you know too much about us, she could hurt Bethany to get to you.”

Abigail looked away. “I—yes. She could.” she furrowed her brow, then looked back at Anders. “Is it possible these people of yours could—help Bethany?”

Anders grimaced. “We’ve been trying,” he explained. “But they’re keeping a tight hold on her, moreso than the other mages. I think they do want to use her as a means to get to you, but you haven’t done anything too suspect yet.”

Abigail bit her lip. “Alright,” she said. “Alright. What’s this about the Tranquil?”

“Since we already know the Templars have used Tranquility illegally before, we’ve been keeping track of it,” he explained, chewing on his lip. His brow was furrowed and he was restless, unable to stop pacing. “And there’s definitely some mages who were already Harrowed.”

Abigail drummed her fingers on her desk, her brow knitted. “Who told you?” she asked. “Are you sure the information is good?”

Anders waved a hand. “A Templar—ser Thrask. Or—he was a Templar, until his daughter came up with magic, and he helped her escape.” he gave a cold smirk. “I suppose he didn't care until it happened to his own kin.”

Abigail closed her eyes. “That is how it can happen, it’s true.”

“Either way, this Ser Thrask, he's been in contact with the underground, and he can give us lists of Tranquil mages.”

Abigail steepled her fingers. “Is there any possibility of a genuine mistake?” she asked. “Elthina was able to claim what happened to Karl as an accident. Is there any way they could claim these as accidents too?”

“I don’t see how, not if there’s a shred of decency in them,” Anders growled. “But it’s possible they could claim a mistake. There’s a lot more mages than there used to be—Thrask has given us population numbers, and I’m honestly not sure how they’re feeding everyone. With that many people, it'd be easy for them to say their records got mixed up.” his lip curled and his eyes flashed blue for a moment.

Abigail raised her eyebrows. “Do you think we could bring that to someone in authority?” she asked. “Would overcrowding count as mistreatment?”

Anders shook his head. “No,” he said, then paused. “Well, if you could prove it was dangerous—the entire point of Circles is that too many mages unsupervised in one place is dangerous.” he rolled his eyes. “But on a basis that mages deserve not to be in bad living conditions? You’d never sell it.”

“It might be something to note,” Abigail said. “Why are there so many more mages in the Gallows now?”

At this, Anders looked pensive. “They've been at the Vashothari communities, I’m not sure why. And I hear they’ve been at the Dalish, too.” he frowned. “We're keeping an eye on that, too. But no, we've been counting, and not only are there more Tranquil every day, some of them are definitely Harrowed mages. At least one of them was a contact of ours.”

“And it's still illegal to perform the Rite on a Harrowed mage.”

“Yes.” Anders chewed on his fingernails. “We think they've been doing it to anyone who speaks out against them—and Ser Thrask believes there's at least one Templar who's brought the idea of turning every mage in Kirkwall Tranquil to the Grand Cleric.”

Abigail looked at him sharply. “Who?”

“Ser Alrik,” Anders said with a sneer. “Nasty piece of work—I've had a run-in or two with him myself. Likes to make mages beg.”

“Alright, but that's one Templar,” Abigail said. “One Templar doesn’t have much influence. Who's been doing the illegal Harrowings?”

“Meredith and Orsino are the only ones who can ratify an order for the Rite,” Anders said. “Just like Meredith and Orsino are the only ones who can sign off on a successful Harrowing. But that doesn't matter!” Anders insisted. “Ser Alrik has supporters—if he gets Meredith or Cullen on his side, the Grand Cleric would hear them out. They're already using the Rite more than they should be doing—we have to take care of this! You know using the Rite more widely is something that would make sense to them, especially with the way things are now!”

“Then we should speak to the Grand Cleric first,” Abigail said. “I don't want to go tearing off with no proof--”

“Oh, you know what she'll say!” Anders burst out. “She won't give a damn! She doesn't even care that Templars were disappearing under her watch—what makes you think she'd care anything about mages? We've told her, over and over again, that Meredith breaks the laws and she doesn't care!”

“Anders,” Abigail said. “It can't hurt to double check. And the more evidence we get—well, Aveline might be able to bypass the Grand Cleric altogether and appeal to the Viscount.”

“We've tried that before,” Anders insisted. “It never works!”

“Then we can send off to the Grand Cathedral for the Seekers,” Abigail said. “I'm a noble, I can do that, and it's the Seekers' job to stop the Templars breaking Chantry law. It's not a perfect solution, but--”

“It's not a solution at all!” Anders snapped, his eyes gleaming for a moment. “The moment the Templars knew the Seekers were coming, they'd shut down the Circle—they’d close it off completely until they had their story straight.”

“If they turned Seekers aside, that's as good as waging war on the Chantry itself. They would be seceding. They would have to be committed to a siege.” she shook her head. “That would be insane, no matter how wild these Templars have gotten, they would never go against the Chantry like that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Anders’ tone was dark.

Abigail shook her head again. “Surely they wouldn’t be that mad,” she insisted. “It would make no sense.”

“The Seekers don't matter anyway,” Anders waved a hand. “They're the ones who chased Surana—and the rest of us—out of Ferelden! It'd probably be a load off the bloody Lord Seeker's mind if the Kirkwall mages were all Tranquil!”

“Yes, but it's their law,” Abigail insisted. “I mean—they'd care about Chantry law being broken, surely?”

Anders gave a dark laugh. “Spoken by a mage who's never been in a Circle,” he said. “When it comes to mages, the Seekers don't give a damn how many laws they break.”

“We should go to the Grand Cleric,” Abigail said again, placing her hands flat on the table. “Anyway, if this—Tranquil solution—is really going to happen, we won't stand a chance trying to fight all the Templars in the Gallows. If we go to her, and Aveline, and tell them both about our suspicions, we'll look a lot less like mad apostates and a lot more like concerned citizens.”

Anders took several deep breaths. “Fine,” he raised his hands. “Fine—but if it doesn't work, I'll bloody well kill Alrik myself.”

“That seems fair enough,” Abigail said.

They went to Aveline first and explained he situation. She recommended they talk to the Grand Cleric as well, and came with them to the Chantry.

Aveline's presence was what got them in to see the Grand Cleric sooner rather than later.

“Guard-Captain,” Elthina greeted them with a soft smile. “What a pleasure to see you again, my child. And...Abigail Hawke, I believe.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Abigail said.

“Leandra Amell's daughter.”

“Leandra Hawke is her married name,” Abigail corrected. “But yes.”

“I had not realized, at our last meeting, you came from such a prestigious family,” Elthina said. “I knew your grandparents well.” she turned to Anders. “And you, Ser?”

“Anders,” he gritted.

“Just Anders?”

“Yes.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lad. Now, what is it you three might need? I hope it is nothing too worrisome.”

“Do you know of a Templar by the name of Ser Alrik?” Abigail asked.

Elthina pursed her lips, and a shadow passed over her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “He has sent Meredith and myself several missives.”

“What about?” Abigail asked, leaning forward.

“It matters little,” Elthina said. “He is an older man, you know. He has been in the Order almost his entire life. His mind begins to fail him.” she sighed, looking immeasurably sad. “Any changes he would wish to implement are impossible—ridiculous, even.”

“The Templars have broken Chantry law before this,” Abigail said. “Don't you worry that he might, too?”

Elthina’s gaze was sharp. “Why do you ask?”

Abigail shrugged. “Past behavior is the best indicator for future behavior.”

“We have reason to believe Alrik, and the Gallows Templars, have been implementing unnecessary uses of the Rite of Tranquility,” Aveline said. “Chantry law is very clear that a Harrowed mage cannot be made Tranquil, and yet at least one has been.”

“I remember,” Elthina said. “You brought this to my attention some time ago.”

“And is that not a source of concern to you?”

“Karl Thekla being made Tranquil was a tragic accident, as I have told you,” Elthina said. Anders flinched. “His identity was confused with another mage's, and the Rite of Tranquility was performed before the mistake could be rectified. It was an accident.”

“How could you possibly mistake his identity?” Anders snapped. “You have phylacteries!”

Elthina regarded Anders with a sad expression. “Accidents will happen,” she said. “Templars are by no means perfect.”

“How can you say that?” Anders demanded, getting to his feet. “Other Harrowed mages have been made Tranquil—Karrace Minris, Serena Chandler, Janice--”

“And do you have any proof of this?” Elthina asked. “This is a very serious claim.”

“Proof?” Anders snarled. “Is it not enough for--”

“Anders,” Aveline said, putting a hand on his arm. She looked at the Grand Cleric. “Please, if you could just look up the names--”

“I know the names,” Elthina opened a drawer in her desk and took out a book with the symbol of the Circle on it. She thumbed through it, her brow furrowed. “You are mistaken, Ser.” she told Anders. “None of those mages passed their Harrowing.”

“But--!”

“I understand you are concerned,” Elthina said. She leaned forward over the desk. “Ser, I believe I recognize your name. I know you do a great deal of good for Darktown,” she said. Anders went white. “A decent apothecary is sorely needed. I suggest you do that, instead of bothering the Templars. Believe me, my son,” she smiled gently. “We can take care of our own.”

They left the Chantry then, Elthina claiming that she had other appointments. When they were several blocks away from the Chantry, Anders had to stop and catch his breath. He was so pale that he'd gone gray, and there was a tinge of green about his lips.

“Maker,” Anders dug his fingers into his chest, shoulders heaving. “Oh, Maker, she knows—how does she know--”

“If she knows, Why hasn't she sent the Templars right to you door?” Aveline asked with a frown.

“I don't know,” Anders shook his head and leaned heavily against a nearby wall. “I have no idea—what is she waiting for, what is she doing—?”

“Maybe she actually does appreciate the work you're doing in Darktown,” Aveline bit her lip in thought. “The Grand Cleric has said she is moderate when it comes to mages--”

“But she isn't,” Abigail said. “If she were moderate, this wouldn't be happening. That was a threat.”

“But why would she threaten me when she could just drag me to the Templars?” Anders demanded.

“What possible reason would she have for letting an apostate run loose?” Aveline pointed out.

Abigail went pale. “Anders. She knows about the underground.”

Anders stared at her, his face bloodless. “What?”

“She has to,” Abigail said, grabbing his arm.

Anders shook his head. “If she did, why wouldn't she just send in her Templars?”

“If she did that, you would just set up somewhere else,” Abigail's mind raced, horror making her gut churn. “It'd take months to find them again. If they got you specifically, Darktown would be angry about their missing healer.” she looked at him. “And now she knows you know. She's telling you not to do anything suspicious—because she knows everything.”

"But what would be the point?" Aveline demanded.

“How could she know, anyway?” Anders demanded.

“I don't know,” Abigail shook her head. “Wait—what about Thrask? That Templar you said was sympathetic, what about him?”

“Oh no,” Anders ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide.

"If there's a Templar informant, mages that you help would just go right back to her," Abigail breathed. "And--and if she doesn't want to chase you off--"

"She'd want me to keep going," Anders was shaking. "And she knows me. And she knows I know--so I can't--"

“Anders, if the Grand Cleric knows about you, you can't go after Alrik,” Abigail said, her face pale.

“I cannot let him do as he pleases!” Anders' voice took on Justice's echoing quality, and his eyes gleamed bright blue.

“Anders,” Aveline said, grabbing his arm. “Enough.”

Justice snarled at her, shaking her off.

“We need to see Nathaniel,” Abigail said. “Sigrun and Velanna, too.”

“What have they to do with it?” Justice demanded.

“Anders,” Abigail hissed. “Breathe. We’re still in Hightown, for the Maker’s sake!”

Anders closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly, the blue light died. “Why do you want to see them?” he hissed.

Abigail frowned. “If she knows about you, she might know about them,” she said. “And if she knows about them and she hasn’t called the Templars...”

“Something else is going on,” Aveline said. “You’re right. We have to talk to them.”

They all gathered at Sigrun and Velanna's house. Velanna was furious, pacing back and forth and worrying at her fingernails.

“How could you just go to her?” Velanna demanded of Anders. “Just go and talk with that dratted woman? You—you--”

“If I hadn’t, I’d never know that she knew who I was,” Anders snapped.

“And what do we do about that?” Sigrun asked, looking nervous and shifting from foot to foot.

“You should run,” Abigail said. “Leave Kirkwall.”

“And go where?” Anders demanded. “Orlais? Back to Ferelden? Antiva? That is if we could even get out of the city--”

“There's got to be a way to leave,” Abigail chewed her fingernail.

“I can't just leave!” Anders snapped. “I won't run away—not again! Not after Vigil's Keep, and not when these people need me!”

“We can’t stay here anymore,” Nathaniel shook his head. “This mess—it’s like a pit of vipers.”

“Nathaniel, you can’t be serious!” Anders exclaimed.

“If she knows about you, she’s going to know about the rest of us soon, if she doesn’t already,” Nathaniel pointed out. “We need to leave.”

“What about all these people? What about everyone here who needs us?” Anders swept his hands outward.

“We’re no good to anyone dead,” Sigrun said.

Anders laughed. “That’s rich, coming from you!”

“Maybe,” Sigrun shrugged. “But it’s true.”

“Where would we even go?” Anders demanded again. “Back to Ferelden? One of the Dalish Clans? Orzammar? We already tried that before--”

“Maybe we can get to Rivain,” Sigrun said. “They’re pretty friendly to mages, and you can catch ships there from here--”

“And then what?” Anders snapped. “Spend the rest of our lives running from Templars?” he shook his head, and his eyes gleamed blue. “No, no. Not again.”

“What is her game?” Abigail paced back and forth.

“What?”

“What is the Grand Cleric planning?” Abigail muttered.

“What does it matter?” Velanna asked. “All we know is she is set against us.”

“But she knows you’re here,” Abigail said. “And she might know about your underground. Why does she not just arrest you now? That would get a lot of mages at once...”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Anders threw up his hands. “Maybe she’s a bloody lunatic—it would fit the pattern well enough.”

“There’s got to be a larger plan here,” Abigail said, shaking her head.

“Why?” Sigrun asked. “Maybe she’s not on anybody’s side. Maybe she’s playing both sides against the middle. Who knows? All I know is, we have to get out of here.”

“Where are you going to go?” Anders snapped again.

“Orzammar?” Sigrun suggested. “Maybe we can leave with one of the Vashothari groups--”

“As if we’d ever pass for Tal-Vashoth,” Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “Not with the tattoos the two of you have.” he pointed at Velanna and Sigrun.

“Maybe we could find one of Surana’s friends,” Nathaniel tried.

“Why not find Surana herself?” Abigail asked.

“We have no idea where she is,” Anders shook his head. “The last was saw of her, she was riding off with her witch.”

“She left so the Templars would follow her, and not us,” Sigrun said, putting a hand on Anders’ shoulder. She spoke as if she had explained this time and time again.

“Witch?” Aveline asked.

“Asha’bella’nar mentioned her, I believe,” Velanna said with a frown. “A woman named Morrigan. She aided Surana during the Blight. The point of the matter is, we have no idea where she is.”

“Chances are, she either headed to Orzammar, or lost herself somewhere far away from any of this,” Nathaniel said, rubbing his forehead. “Which is what we should have done.”

“Orzammar is probably our best bet,” Sigrun said with a sigh.

“And how exactly would you get there?” Anders wanted to know, waving his hands. “We tried to get there the first time, remember? What exactly would be different now? If anything, there’ll be more darkspawn in the Deep Roads!”

“Weisshaupt?” Sigrun said. “We could go to the other Wardens--”

“Then you’d run into the same problem again, wouldn’t you?” Abigail asked. “If they drove Surana out of Vigil’s Keep, they’d be coming for the rest soon enough, wouldn’t they?”

Sigrun sat down and heaved a sigh. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe we should just take our chances in the Deep Roads. Kal’hirol is friendly enough.”

“With the Architect down there?” Anders snorted. “Right. And Kal’hirol is too close to Vigil’s Keep, you know that.”

“Well, what do you suggest, Anders?” Sigrun demanded.

“I suggest we not run with our tails between our legs,” Anders snapped. “I suggest we stay and fight the Chantry. Let them know they can’t do this.”

“And how do we do that?” Nathaniel asked. “We can hardly help anyone if the Chantry knows we’re here.”

“Velanna, what about you?” Anders asked, rounding on her. “You hardly have any love for the Chantry—why don’t you want to stay?”

Velanna put a hand on Sigrun’s shoulder. “If I were by myself, I would stay, and defend against those bloodthirsty dogs,” she said. “But I am not by myself.”

Anders stared from her, to Sigrun, to Nathaniel.

“Anders,” Nathaniel said. “We can’t stay here.”

Anders folded his arms. “Leave if you want,” he snapped. “I won’t.”

After much debate, it was decided that Velanna, Sigrun, and Nathaniel would make a break for the Deep Roads, trying to get to Kal’hirol and perhaps eventually to Orzammar. They knew Queen Aeducan probably wouldn’t like it, and if the Chantry learned the Wardens were there, there was no telling what would happen, but it was their only option.

Anders was unhappy about this.

“I’m not going,” Anders growled. “It’s an idiot decision.”

“Anders--” Nathaniel grabbed his arm. “--Justice--please, think, for a moment--”

“I am thinking,” Anders yanked out of Nathaniel’s hold. “And I am not going.”

Nathaniel sighed. “If—if you truly don’t want to, I suppose I can’t force you,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

‘You can’t.”

“Anders...” Nathaniel put a hand on Anders’ shoulder. “Please, look after yourself, will you?”

Anders softened, and sighed. “I will, Nathaniel,” Anders murmured.

No one was happy to hear the Wardens were leaving. Merrill came over to Velanna and Sigrun’s to try and help them pack.

“Oh, I wish you didn’t have to go,” Merrill said, hugging Velanna very tightly.

Velanna patted her back. “It—it will be alright,” she said, the tremor in her voice giving her thoughts away.

“Are you sure?” Merrill held onto Velanna even more tightly. “Oh—Velanna, this is terrible.”

“I know,” Velanna soothed. “Ir abelas, lethallin.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sigrun assured her, ruffling her hair. “Won’t we, ibine?”

Velanna gave a slightly watery smile. “Of course.”

Merrill sighed and pulled away from Velanna. “Don’t make promises you might not keep,” she said, her tone serious.

“Maybe I want to promise to myself I’ll be fine, too,” Sigrun said. She smiled, but there was an edginess to her smile.

Chapter Text

The Wardens left under cover of night, out a side way that was guarded by the Guards Aveline trusted.

It wasn’t until morning that Aveline knew something had gone wrong.

Abigail awoke to someone pounding on the mansion door. Carver came to open it, grumbling, Abigail close behind.

Carver opened the door, and Aveline fair fell through.

“Aveline!” Abigail exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

“Abigail,” Aveline gasped, hanging onto the door. “They caught the Wardens.”

“What?” Abigail breathed.

Abigail followed Aveline out the door at her urging.

“They caught them trying to leave the city,” Aveline shook her head. “I posted Guards I trusted, but they were ready—there were Templars patrolling, and they cast a Silence on Velanna--”

“Oh no,” Abigail whispered. “They got all three of them?”

Aveline nodded. “They’re in custody now,” she said. “I’m stalling, but the Templars want Velanna, and they’re getting pushy about Nathaniel and Sigrun too.”

Abigail finished shrugging on her overcoat, and jogged to keep up with Aveline. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “My family hardly has any authority--”

“You have some,” Aveline snapped. “And even a little is better than nothing.”

“Is there anyone else willing to defend them?”

“King Alistair and the Ferelden nobility might,” Aveline said. “I sent out a messenger bird just a little while ago, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Just be there while we talk with Meredith—any weight you have will help.”

“Are you sure? Bethany’s in the Circle, that will lower my family’s credibility in the eyes of the other nobles. One mage cousin is bad enough--”

Aveline sighed. “Abigail, I don’t know,” she said. “We just—need to try.”

Meredith was in full Templar plate armor, and her gaze was steely as she watched Aveline and Abigail enter the room.

“I see you have brought reinforcements, Guard-Captain,” she said, eyes flicking over Abigail.

“Knight Commander,” Abigail said.

“Lady Hawke.”

“I have heard there are Wardens in the city,” Abigail said. “What is this about arresting them?”

“These Wardens have committed crimes against Ferelden and the Chantry,” Meredith proclaimed. “As such, they are under Chantry jurisdiction.’

“Since when are Wardens Chantry jurisdiction?” Aveline demanded. “Legally, the Chantry holds no sway over any Warden, even criminals or apostates.”

“Incorrect,” Meredith waved her hand. “Divine Beatrix proclaimed that in extreme cases, such as maleficars or wrongdoing against the Chantry, the Chantry has oversight over the Wardens.”

“When did she do this?” Aveline asked, eyes narrowed. “I haven't heard of this.”

“It applies strictly to Templars and Seekers, not local Guard,” Meredith said. “You would not have needed to hear of it. As for when she did it...” Meredith produced a sheaf of parchment. “Here,” she slid the parchment across the table for Aveline to read.

Aveline scanned the parchment. “Divine Beatrix is dead,” she said. “Has this been challenged by Divine Justinia?”

“No.”

Aveline scowled and read through the parchment, while Abigail leaned forward.

“Are any of the Wardens apostates?” Abigail asked.

Meredith pursed her lips, her gaze level with Abigail’s. “One mage is among them,” she said. “A Dalish cast-off, I believe. That alone is enough to hold them.”

“What about the others? Why would you hold them if they’re not mages? What crimes have they committed?”

“These three Wardens were complicit in, and participated in the destruction of Amaranthine,” Meredith explained. “Nathaniel Howe was already wanted for crimes against Ferelden.”

“Then send word to King Alistair,” Aveline said, looking up from the parchment and folding her arms. “This sounds as if it has little to do with the Chantry. Ferelden and Warden authority supersedes yours.”

“It does not,” Meredith gave Aveline another sheaf of parchment “This documentation from Divine Beatrix and Lady Seeker Nicolene proclaims that all Warden mages must be recalled to the Circles upon the end of a Blight. Since there is no Blight, it is illegal for the mage to be outside of a Circle.”

Abigail flipped through the pages. She had never heard of such a thing—none of the Wardens had ever mentioned it.

“When was this--?” Abigail frowned.

“After Enchanter Surana fled the Templars,” Meredith explained. Neither Abigail nor Aveline missed that Meredith did not use Surana’s Warden title.

“Why was she being chased by Templars?”

“She was impelled to return to the Circle by the King,” Meredith said. “She did not. So the Divine ordered it formally.”

“And what of the other two Wardens?” Aveline rubbed her forehead and took the order from Abigail’s hand. “They haven’t anything to do with this.”

“They were sheltering the mage.”

“Templars hold no sway over non-mages.”

“Perhaps not—but it is possible they have information on other apostates, namely one spirit healer who has long been sought by the Chantry, and Enchanter Surana herself.”

“Yes—can you explain that part about Surana again?” Abigail asked. “Why would the King want the Hero of Ferelden to go back to the Circle?”

Meredith inclined her head. “The Lady Seeker under Divine Beatrix was the first who requested that Surana return to the Circle, as at the time her absence was causing...disruption. King Alistair requested she comply with the Lady Seeker’s wishes. Surana was said to have agreed, but she escaped Templar justice in any case.”

“Disruption?” Abigail shook her head. “Do you have any proof of this?” she asked. “Without proof, you can hardly just arrest Wardens on a whim.”

Meredith tapped the parchment. “The orders come from the Lady Seeker, and were ratified by Lord Seeker Lambert when he took charge.” she said. “And none of this was contradicted by Divine Justinia when she took over for Divine Beatrix.”

Aveline shuffled through the papers. She sighed. “This hardly gives you leave to arrest the non-mages,” she tried again.

For another three hours, they argued in circles around each other, until Meredith called for a break. Aveline and Abigail immediately went to see Anders.

“She said the King had told Surana to return to the Circle, and she refused,” Aveline said.

Anders shook his head. “No, that’s wrong—they threatened the King into ordering her back, saying they’d excommunicate the Theirin line unless they did what they wanted. Then she gave the Templars the slip, to come and warn us.”

Aveline began to pace. “Maker,” she breathed. “They—threatened the King?”

“That’s what Surana told us,” Anders said. “She didn’t have a reason to lie about something like that.”

“Why would they want her back so badly they’d threaten the King?” Aveline asked. “She saved Ferelden. They shouldn’t be hunting her down.”

“I know that as well as you do,” Anders said, and a ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know the whole story,” he confessed. “But after the Blight, King Alistair declared Surana the Arlessa of Amaranthine. The Chantry didn’t like that much, because mages can’t hold titles, even Warden mages who’ve saved everyone’s skin, I suppose. So the King backed down, and made someone else Arl. Then, Amaranthine was burned, and I suppose the Chantry took exception to that, too.” his mouth twisted. “I guess they didn’t want a powerful mage out and about and able to do as she pleased, so they threatened the King with excommunication if she didn’t go back to the Circle.”

“Then what?” Abigail asked. “She gave them the slip?”

Anders nodded. “Not sure how, but she got to us ahead of the Templars. We knew if they wanted her, they were going to come after me and Velanna, too—Lambert wasn’t happy about us at all.”

“Wait—the Lord Seeker knew of you?” Aveline asked.

“He wasn’t Lord Seeker then,” Anders corrected. “But yes, he knew about us. He came to Vigil’s Keep and everything.”

Abigail ran a hand down her face. “This is bad,” she said, exchanging a look with Aveline. “That—Aveline, this is very bad.”

Aveline nodded. “If we contact Lambert, but he already wanted the Wardens--” she sighed. Aveline shook her head. “I’m stalling as best I can, but I can’t keep this up forever,” she said. “We need more help.”

“Can you break them out?” Anders said. “Let them escape?”

“There’s Templars constantly watching them,” Aveline ran a hand through her hair. “I told you, I got a message off to Denerim, but I don’t know when it will arrive.” she shook her head. “This doesn’t make sense—as far as I knew, the Wardens and the Chantry weren’t this opposed.”

“It’s hardly something they’d want to advertise,” Anders snorted. “How would that look, the Chantry and the Wardens going at each other’s throats?” he shook his head. “Surana told us that the Lady Seeker had some ridiculous idea that the Wardens were trying to get control of the Ferelden government, and...” he rubbed the back of his head. “The fact that King Alistair is a Warden, and he made Surana an Arlessa, and that Queen Aeducan and Surana are allies...none of that really contradicted her.”

“That’s insane,” Aveline said. “What possible reason could the Wardens have for stealing the Ferelden throne?”

“That’s what we thought,” Anders growled. “But that’s why the Chantry is after the Wardens.”

“People think mad things during a Blight,” Abigail reasoned. “And the Chantry is used to having control over everything. If it looked like the Wardens were challenging them…” she shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know.” she shook her head. “I just know we can’t let the Chantry take them.”

Aveline managed to prevent Meredith sending the Wardens to Val Royeaux on the basis that if they had committed crimes against Ferelden, a Ferelden representative should be there to have a say. Meredith was displeased, but Abigail backed her, and this seemed to suit the other nobles as well.

Velanna was kept under constant Templar watch, away from Nathaniel and Sigrun, and prevented from having visitors under the suspicion that she was a maleficar. They could, however, visit Nathaniel and Sigrun.

“You can’t let them take Velanna to the Circle,” Sigrun pleaded when Abigail came to see her, reaching out through the bars of her cell to put her hand on Abigail’s arm. “They’ll hurt her, I know it!”

“We will do what we can, Sigrun,” Abigail told her, patting her hand. “But I cannot promise anything.”

Merrill and Anders were both distraught.

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Merrill pleaded with Aveline over and over again. “Some way to help them?”

“I’m doing my best,” Abigail promised. “But I can’t do a lot.”

Truth be told, Abigail was frightened for Velanna as well. She worried that Velanna would be hurt or even killed by the Templars while in their custody, and she wasn’t sure what she could do to stop it. Aveline’s Guards kept a close eye on the Templars, insisting on making sure there were Guards watching the Wardens as well as Templars, but even Aveline couldn’t watch everyone at once.

The Wardens were in Kirkwall’s prison for three months when the Queen of Ferelden arrived.

She made her presence known the instant her ship docked. She and her entourage immediately demanded a meeting with the Viscount, Meredith, Aveline and all other appropriate parties.

She was a regal, severe woman with blonde hair pulled back in a bun. She wore a metal chestplate and vambraces over a green riding dress, and though she did not have a sword, she wore a shield with Ferelden heraldry on her back.

“Your Majesty, I hadn’t realized you would become personally involved--” Viscount Dumar started, but Anora cut him off by raising her hand.

“These Wardens are under Crown authority,” Anora said, folding her hands. “As they have committed crimes against Ferelden, but have also been deeply involved in saving my country from the Blight, they must be let into Ferelden custody.”

“The mage--” Meredith started, but Anora cut her off as well.

“All three of them were under the command of Warden-Commander Surana, the hero of Ferelden and a Ferelden citizen,” Anora snapped. “They are our responsibility, not yours.”

“Enchanter Surana is wanted by the Chantry, as are any Wardens under her command,” Meredith said, folding her arms.

Anora hesitated, just for an instant. “And what is your proof of this claim?”

“This writ from Divine Beatrix, and this request from Lord Seeker Lambert,” Meredith pulled out the appropriate documents.

Anora gave a tight, small frown. “And why exactly do you want them?” she asked.

“The Chantry wants them for the crime of heresy, apostasy, and possible conspiracy against the Chantry,” Meredith put the papers on the table.

“Conspiracy against the Chantry?” Dumar gasped, disbelieving. “The Wardens?”

“That makes no sense,” Aveline threw up her hands.

“They saved Ferelden from the Blight,” Dumar said, blinking in confusion. “This—Knight-Commander, why have you not brought this to my attention before?”

“It was not necessary to bring it to your attention, as this is a Chantry affair,” Meredith said.

Aveline leaned back in her seat with a scowl, folding her arms. “That is a pattern with your people, is it not?”

“Excuse me?” Meredith hissed.

“The Kirkwall Templars have let four dangerous apostates loose in the past five years—some of which killed at least two of your own Templar recruits,” Aveline snapped, slapping her palm on the table. “Now we are supposed to believe you are sufficient to keep watch of three Wardens, one of which is a lifelong apostate?”

“Is this true?” Anora raised an eyebrow.

“It is a pattern for the Kirkwall Templars to be incredibly incompetent,” Aveline said. “Yes, that much is true.”

“That is hardly the issue here,” Meredith snarled, curling her hands into fists. “The issue is that of jurisdiction. Your Highness--” she addressed Anora with a cursory glance. “It is admirable that you take such interest in these threats, but you are not needed here.”

“Surana, and her Wardens, are Ferelden, and as such are our responsibility!” Anora exclaimed. “You cannot claim otherwise!”

“The word of the Divine and the Lord Seeker--”

“The former Divine!”

“Divine Justinia has never contradicted this order, therefore it is still in effect,” Meredith hissed.

“Why don’t we contact the Divine herself with this issue?” Abigail suggested, a thought striking her. “She can resolve this easily.”

All parties turned to her and began talking at once.

“We cannot trouble the Divine with--” Meredith started.

“Abigail, that will take too long--” Aveline said.

Anora held up a hand for silence. “Lady Hawke,” she said. “This is a drastic idea, but a sensible one. The Divine’s order would resolve this at once, you are correct.”

Meredith sat back in her seat, looking sullen. “We should not concern the Divine with such affairs,” she growled.

“When affairs such as this become so complex, we can only appeal to a higher authority,” Anora said.

They decided to send a missive to the Divine. The meeting broke apart afterwards, and Queen Anora came to meet Abigail.

“Lady Hawke, What stake do you have in this?” Anora asked, staring at Abigail, her dark blue gaze intense.

“Aveline—Guard-Captain Vallen—is a friend of mine,” Abigail said. “She wanted me to...assist.”

“Assist how?”

“By throwing my weight against the Knight-Commander.”

Anora sighed and looked away. “The Templars have been giving the Guards grief here, have they?”

“Yes. Why?”

Anora shook her head. “We have had our own conflicts with the Chantry. Ever since the Blight...” she trailed off. “The Chantry is supposed to be our ally,” she said, righting herself. “This nonsense with the Wardens has gone far enough.”

“You don’t blame them for Amaranthine?” Abigail asked, surprised.

“Of course I do. That was Surana’s decision, she admitted it freely. But it was either that, or let darkspawn overrun the entire area. It was already destroyed when she got there, but the Chantry will not hear it. The Lady Seeker at the time insisted that the Wardens, and Surana especially, would go the way of the Tevinter magisters if not put into check. The current Lord Seeker agrees.”

Abigail examined Anora’s face. “And you disagree?”

“Yes. I saw for myself the Archdemon and the army of darkspawn it brought—the Wardens are on our side, and Surana is an ally and friend we cannot afford to lock away in a Circle.” she closed her eyes rubbed her temples.

“So what should we do?”

“I suppose everything hinges on the decision of the Divine,” Anora breathed out heavily through her nose. “How I detest that this has spun so quickly out of control. Were it not for the Wardens, Fereldan would be no more, but the Lord Seeker sees only the threat a free mage might serve.” she shook her head. “I will remain here until this is resolved. I can do no less for the Wardens Surana chose to defend the land.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Abigail said, her tone earnest. “I greatly appreciate it.”

Although Aveline was not able to visit the Wardens herself, Anora was quite capable.

Anora breezed past the Templars to visit the Wardens, including Velanna. She informed Aveline that Velanna was alright, if scared and angry, which was a great relief for everyone to hear. She had fought the Templars when they first captured her, and she still had old bruises and cuts, but apparently they had not hurt her while she was in prison.

The Divine’s answer took a month to come through. Meredith and Aveline both got copies of the notice, as well as Anora and the Viscount. It was Aveline who brought the news. She turned up at Abigail’s house early in the morning.

Aveline looked haggard, her hair unbrushed and her eyes exhausted. Abigail furrowed her brow.

“What’s wrong, Aveline?’

“Abigail...”

“What is it?”

Aveline held out a piece of paper. “The judgment of the Divine came through,” she said, her voice soft.

Abigail read it. “Oh.”

Aveline nodded. “We’re to send them to Val Royeaux,” she said. “There’s nothing else I can do.”

“There has to be—there’s got to be something,” Abigail clenched the letter so tightly in her hand that she tore a hole in it. “We can’t let this happen.”

“There’s nothing we can do against the word of the Divine,” Aveline’s voice was still quiet, and she rested her head in her hands. “We can just—we can just hope that they will see...justice.”

“But they haven’t done anything!”

“Velanna being a free mage is enough for them,” Aveline snapped. “And the business in Amaranthine--”

“The Divine isn’t even Fereldan!” Abigail threw up her hands. “They hardly gave a damn when darkspawn were swarming over the countryside, when the Archdemon was tearing up Ferelden, now they suddenly care?”

“I don’t like it any more than you do!” Aveline snapped. “I was there at Ostagar, and I saw the ruins of Lothering, and I know the Chantry has hardly lifted a finger to help—but there is nothing I can do about this!”

“We have to rescue them,” Abigail determined. “We--”

“Oh, a brilliant move, get yourself locked up as well!” Aveline said. “We can’t do it, Abigail. I’ve looked for hundreds of ways—there isn’t one.”

“Are you sure?”

Aveline looked her in the eyes. “I am sure.” she said.

The breath left Abigail.

“Then...what do we do?”

Aveline looked away. “I don’t know.”

Anders was outraged when he heard. His eyes glowed a bright, Justice blue.

“The Divine would just...toss us away like this?” he growled, his voice echoing with Justice’s.

“Anders...” Abigail said, holding out her hands.

“Of course,” he hissed. “Of course, of course...mages, mages, always mages! Why bother with mages? Cursed of the Maker, fault of the Blight and the First Trespass...” he paced.

“Anders, don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Abigail told him.

“And why not?” he snarled. “They deserve to be punished for what they have done!”

“Anders, don’t,” Abigail said. “There’s no point to getting you locked up as well!”

“Isn’t there?” Anders snarled. “How do you know I’ll fail?”

“It doesn’t matter if you will or not!” Abigail said. “If you look dangerous to them, they’ll kill you or imprison you, same as the others—and you won’t help anyone else if you’re dead or locked up!”

Anders’ blue glow died. He leaned heavily against a nearby table.

“What do I do, then, Abigail?” he asked softly. “They’re my friends. What do I do?”

“I--” Abigail faltered. “I--”

He stared at her. “You don’t know, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

Anora was silent, reading over the writ for the hundredth time.

“I will inform my lord husband of this immediately,” she said, her cold blue eyes flicking to Meredith’s face. “And we will inform Queen Aeducan and the Dalish Coalition of this...choice...as well. This will not be the last you hear of it. The Wardens are not only your concern.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Meredith did not so much as blink at the ice that radiated from Anora. “They are.”

“Your Majesty, why would the dwarven Queen care about the fate of the Wardens?’ Abigail asked. “Much less the Dalish...”

“Both the Dalish Coalition and Orzammar and Kal’hirol were allied with the Wardens during the Blight,” Anora explained. “Queen Aeducan is a personal friend of Surana’s. She will hardly be pleased to hear this.”

“Will she do anything?” Dumar asked. “We hardly wish to instigate conflict...”

“That will be dependent on Queen Aeducan,” Anora said, getting to her feet. “We will not keep you any longer than is necessary.”

They went to the Wardens for one last visit before they were transferred to Val Royeaux.

They couldn’t see Velanna, of course, but they could at least visit Sigrun and Nathaniel. Aveline managed to get the Templars away for a short visit.

Merrill was in tears, which soon made Sigrun start to tear up as well. Sigrun grabbed her hand through the bars.

“Velanna won’t ever let them take her alive, Merrill,” Sigrun choked. “You know she won’t.”

Merrill grasped Sigrun’s hand very tightly. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

“This isn’t fair,” Sigrun squeezed her eyes shut. “After the Architect and the darkspawn and—and everything, oh, Merrill, I can’t lose her--”

“It will—it will work out,” Merrill said. “I’m sure—I’m sure something good will come of this.”

Sigrun laughed and leaned her head against the bars. “That’s Merrill,” she said. “Always looking up.”

“I can’t give you any more time,” Aveline said, standing in the doorway. “The Templars are coming back.”

“Tuelanen ama na,” Merrill said, squeezing Sigrun’s hand one last time before pulling away.

“Atrast nal tunsha,” Sigrun said. “Be careful, Merrill.”

“Farewell,” Nathaniel said. “I hope we meet again.”

“I hope so too,” Abigail murmured.

Chapter Text

The night the Wardens were taken away, Merrill came to Abigail’s home. She hovered in the foyer, pacing back and forth.

“Merrill?” Abigail asked, coming into the foyer.

“Oh! Abigail!” Merrill startled at the sound of her voice. “I—I was looking for you,” she said.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

Merrill shook her head and wrung her hands. “I—no, not really,” she said. “I just...”

“What is it?”

“I keep thinking about Sigrun and Velanna and—and the eluvian, and the Clan--” she pressed her hands against her head. “I can’t stop thinking, Abigail.”

“Merrill, it’s alright,” Abigail put her hand on Merrill’s shoulder.

“It isn’t!” Merrill insisted. “It’s all—how can this have happened? Everything gone so wrong?”

Abigail pulled her into a hug, and Merrill rested her head on Abigail’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Abigail said. “I don’t know how all this happened.”

“I just want to stop thinking about all of it,” Merrill said. “I want to go back. I want to fix it.”

“Merrill...” Abigail tilted Merrill’s head up. “I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” Merrill breathed. Ever so gently, Merrill leaned over, and planted a kiss on Abigail’s lips.

“Oh,” Abigail breathed when they broke apart. “Oh.’

“Is something wrong?” Merrill said, eyes wide and worried. “Oh no, I did something wrong, didn’t I?”

Abigail gave a small laugh, that sounded desperate even to her own ears. “No, no,” she said. “Nothing wrong at all.” she pulled Merrill into a harder kiss, that Merrill returned enthusiastically.

She wasn’t the only one who wanted to stop thinking about all of it.

They broke apart again, panting for breath, and Abigail smiled. “Upstairs,” she whispered.

Merrill gave a slightly nervous giggle. “I’ve never seen your bed, you know,” she said. “Is it a nice bed?”

Abigail laughed again, more genuinely this time, and leaned her forehead against Merrill’s. “The best.”

She lead Merrill up to her room by her hand, and closed and locked the door behind her.

A great while later, they were still in Abigail’s bed. Neither of them particularly felt like moving, and they clung to each other. Merrill had pulled all the covers up and over both of them.

“I love you,” Merrill breathed.

Abigail glanced at her.

“Oh dear, I probably shouldn’t have said that,” Merrill fretted, making to pull away from Abigail, but Abigail held her fast.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Abigail said. “I--” she halted. “It’s alright.”

Merrill giggled nervously and pulled the blankets closer around them.

“I don’t know about love,” Abigail said. “But I definitely do enjoy your company a great deal.”

Merrill laughed outright. “Ooh, how flattering,” she said. “You certainly know how to charm someone, don’t you?”

Abigail laughed as well, but then her face fell. “I feel as if...if I say how I feel, I’ll—I’ll break it,” she admitted, softly. “As if if I say I’m happy, I’ll curse it. I’ll make something happen.”

“Oh, Abigail,” Merrill murmured, and tilted her face to hers. “That’s alright. I’ll just say how happy I am enough for the both of us.”

Abigail smiled, and pressed her face to Merrill’s shoulder. “You could do that,” she whispered. “You could do that.”

“Are you sure you need to leave so soon?” Abigail asked the next morning, when Merrill was busy getting ready to leave.

Merrill gave her a smile. “I need to go home,” she said. “I’m not big enough to wear your clothes all day, vhenan, and I’m too tall besides!”

Abigail laughed. Merrill was indeed much skinnier than she was, but a few inches taller. Abigail’s tunics swamped her while their sleeves fell short of her wrists, and her breeches hadn’t a hope of staying up.

Merrill finished getting ready, and Abigail walked her to the door. Merrill kissed Abigail’s cheek, and turned and left. Abigail gave her a tiny wave, and leaned against the door with a sigh.

“And here I was, thinking of arranging a husband for you,” Leandra said from behind Abigail.

“Mother!” Abigail exclaimed, turning to see Leandra who stood in the doorway. She had a coy smile.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Leandra said, coming to stand beside Abigail. “Maker only knows what the neighbors will say if you’ve taken up with an elf, but...” she sighed. “If she makes you happy, dear, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“She does,” Abigail said. “She does make me happy.”

Leandra patted her arm. “Then that is a blessing,” she said. She looked pensive. “I got the strangest delivery, you know,”

“What is it, Mother?”

“These,” she pointed to a bouquet of white lilies that lay forlorn on a nearby sideboard. They hadn’t even been put in a vase.

Abigail raised her eyebrows. “Oh, my—who are those from? That’s a bit forward, isn’t it?”

“That’s the thing,” Leandra said. “They’re anonymous.”

“Seems a little rude,” Carver appeared in the doorway, staring at the lilies with a suspicious gaze. “To just leave that without saying who it’s from.”

“It really does,” Leandra looked troubled.

“Is something wrong?” Abigail asked.

“Well, I...it’s rather unnerving, don’t you think?”

Abigail took the lilies and looked through them. “A bit,” she said. “Are you worried?”

“Perhaps,” Leandra admitted. “I don’t like the thought that some stranger feels that he can be so...open, and not even tell me his name.”

“Well, I’ll tell Aveline about it,” Abigail said. “Maybe she’s heard something. Carver? Can you keep an eye out for—I don’t know, strange men?”

“Sure,” Carver shrugged.

The strange delivery of white lilies had actually happened to three other noble women, as Aveline later explained to Abigail. The Guard was looking into it—one of the noble ladies had been extremely offended by the forward nature of the flowers, and wouldn’t stop bothering the Guard about it.

Aveline was also a bit unnerved. There had been a minor noble woman who had disappeared a year or so ago, who had gotten just this sort of arrangement of flowers from an anonymous suitor.

She promised to look into it, and in the meantime, increased the amount of Guard in Hightown.

The flowers were eventually tracked down to an apostate blood mage who seemed to revel in attacking women. He was clearly ill, violent, and perhaps most importantly, had never been found or even tracked by Templars.

Aveline was furious, and railed at Meredith about it, but in the end she couldn't do much else.

It was two months before they received word about the Wardens. When Aveline got the news, she immediately went to tell Abigail about it.

“The Wardens escaped!”

“What?”

Aveline brushed a stray strand of copper hair out of her face. “Someone helped them escape the Val Royeaux prisons—they’re gone!”

Abigail let out a startled laugh. “Oh that—that’s wonderful news! How did it happen? We couldn’t break the Wardens out of the Gallows--”

“I’m not sure,” Aveline admitted. “All I know is that they were about to have the trial, when they went and found the cells empty.”

“Even Velanna?”

“Even her.”

The news of the Wardens’ escape, though it was good, put the Templars on edge and made Meredith even more testy than normal.

Nothing much came of it, but it meant that Merrill and Anders both spent a lot more time at the Hawke residence, for fear of Templars knocking on their doors in the night. It was harder to get out of the city, and according to Anders, there were even more mages crowding the Gallows.

“It’s lucky they have so many healers,” he grumbled one evening. “Otherwise they’d have as much disease as any refugee camp.”

Anders still tried to get mages out, even with the threat of the Grand Cleric hanging over his head. The others tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn't be moved. Elthina had not yet made good on her threat, but Abigail worried that it would only be a matter of time.

The Templars, increasing their hunt for mages and magic, even impelled the Guard to search for apostates or stray magical artifacts. Aveline personally thought it was a waste of time to search for magical artifacts, but the Viscount desperately wanted to try and keep the peace between the Templars and the Guard, and urged Aveline to do what Meredith wanted.

Amidst all of this, the Viscount sent a request to see Abigail. When she arrived, she was surprised to see Fenris and Aveline waiting outside the Viscount's office as well.

“What's this about?” Abigail asked them, looking from one to the other. Aveline was tense, and Fenris had his arms folded.

“I’m not sure,” Aveline said. “It’s something to do with the Qunari.”

“It's possible the Arishok was not pleased with what the ambassadors returned with,” Fenris pointed out.

“Ambassadors?” Abigail wanted to know.

Fenris inclined his head. “The Arishok seems to have been persuaded to attempt diplomacy. The meeting went well enough. I do not know what the Viscount could want.”

The Viscount soon let them into his office. He paced back and forth, nervous.

“The Arishok sent ambassadors to speak with us,” the Viscount said. “I suppose your meetings with him impressed something vital upon him.”

“Well, that sounds good,” Abigail said.

“No—the ambassadors met with us, but when they left, they never reached the Qunari compound,” the Viscount explained. “They practically vanished off the doorstep.”

“What?” Aveline exclaimed.

“How did it happen?” Fenris asked, his brows drawn together in worry. “Do you know if someone might have ambushed them?”

“That is one of the problems, isn't it?” Dumar said. “A great number of people could have done so.”

“So you want us to look for them?” Abigail said.

“Quietly,” Dumar clarified. “They know you, and Messere Fenris would be a great help in speaking with them if you can find them. You'd help prevent greater conflict.”

“Do you have any leads?” Aveline asked.

Dumar shook his head. “Nothing. It is as if they simply vanished.” he sighed and spread his hands helplessly. “We don't know how two Qunari could have simply disappeared. Mercenary groups are more obvious than that, and the city guard--” he looked at Aveline. “If I believed your people did this, I would hardly be asking you to investigate.”

Aveline was frowning in thought. “There are many who dislike the Qunari,” she said, and began to pace. “But not to this extent...they know full well the consequences of aggravating them.”

A thought struck Abigail. “Unless a higher authority told them to,” she said.

Aveline looked at her, eyes narrowed in thought. “What are you thinking?”

Abigail jerked her head towards the door. Saying their goodbyes, they left, and Aveline and Fenris leaned in close to hear what Abigail had to say.

“Sister Petrice has already tried to aggravate the Qunari,” she muttered. “And there's definitely some Chantry people who don't like them.”

Aveline's eyes grew wide.

“You believe that the Chantry could have coerced a Guard into abducting these ambassadors?” Fenris said, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “The business with the Sister was so long ago--”

“I'm not sure,” Abigail said. “But there's at least one Chantry member who's gone to lengths to try and start something with them before.”

“The Qunari mage was very risky,” Aveline agreed. “And in opposition to all the Chantry's teachings.”

“Yes, that was troubling,” Fenris said. “But quite some time ago. Do you think she would do such a thing again?”

“Kidnapping ambassadors seems a bit out of the way of a Chantry Sister,” Aveline said. “Why would she even do it?”

“We have nowhere else to start as of yet,” Abigail pointed out. “There’s no reason we shouldn’t try every possibility.”

Aveline and Fenris glanced at each other, skeptical, but they both had to agree.

“I think I should ask some of my Guards, first,” Aveline said with a scowl. She did question the other Guards, and was informed about Orwald, a Guard who hadn't reported in since the Qunari had gone missing. They found him in the Hanged Man, boasting about money he'd earned merely for turning his head. As it turned out, a Chantry member had paid him, showing him a seal of the Grand Cleric. Aveline took the seal back and dismissed Orwald, who slunk out of the Hanged Man.

“The seal of the Grand Cleric?” Abigail asked, raising her eyebrows and turning the seal over in her hand.

“Where would he get such an item?” Fenris asked.

“Only from Chantry personnel,” Abigail said.

Aveline scowled. “He said it was from a Templar.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “And that does bode ill.”

“It really does,” Abigail said. “If the Templars are getting involved in this--”

“It may be one lone Templar,” Aveline suggested. “A rogue. There are a lot of people in this city who dislike the Qunari—a Templar wouldn’t be so unusual.”

“It matters little if this Templar is acting on his own or not,” Fenris said with a scowl. “It is a diplomatic incident in any case. Qunari consider all representatives of organizations to be representing their organization at all times, such as the Qunari do the Qun.”

“Then if they found out it was a Templar, they'd blame the Chantry,” Aveline said.

Fenris inclined his head. “They would.”

“Should we speak with the Grand Cleric or the Knight-Commander?” Abigail asked. “If it is a Templar--”

“He had the Grand Cleric's seal, we'll talk to the Grand Cleric,” Aveline said.

“That hasn’t exactly gone well for us in the past,” Abigail said with a grimace.

“This has precedent,” Aveline said, her expression dire. “If nothing else, perhaps we can head off a conflict with the Qunari.”

They went to the Chantry. An audience with the Grand Cleric could not be granted at that time, instead, it was Mother Petrice who came to see them.

“Is there some reason we are seeing you and not the Grand Cleric?” Abigail asked.

“The Grand Cleric cannot grant an audience to simply anyone,” Petrice said. “Particularly...troublemakers.”

Aveline scowled.

“Mother Petrice, a Qunari delegate and his entourage are missing.” Aveline said, folding her arms. “A Templar with the seal of the Grand Cleric is responsible. I have brought the legality of the Templars' actions to the grand Cleric time and again, and every time she has ignored them. She cannot ignore this.”

Petrice paused, choosing her words carefully. “No,” she said. “This need not be ignored. But it need not be brought to her attention, either.”

“What do you mean?”Aveline wanted to know.

Petrice sighed, and glanced to one side. “Perhaps I...may know something of this situation.”

“You knew about this?” Abigail asked, aghast.

“No,” Petrice snapped. “I did not. However, there is a Templar I know of who might perform such a thing—he is a radical, who detests the heathen Qunari. I might know where you could find him, provided you handle this quietly.” she narrowed her eyes and folded her hands within the sleeves of her habit.

“Why would you know where he is?” Fenris asked.

“Consider it a peace offering,” Petrice said.

“This is not a peace offering,” Aveline snapped. “If you know where he is, you know what he's done—you allowed this to happen.”

“I allowed nothing,” Petrice said. “Ser Varnell is radical, as I said—an unstable element. In any case, policing the Templars is not my responsibility, it is the Knight-Commander’s.”

“But you know what he is doing,” Fenris growled. “Do you have no comprehension of what this could do?”

“It could show the Qunari that the followers of the Maker do not want them here,” Petrice said.

“No,” Fenris shook his head. “It shows them that your Chantry is an enemy, an aggressor—and you should be aware of what they do to their enemies.”

“Then perhaps you wish to find Varnell, and prevent what you believe will happen,” Petrice said silkily.

“An excellent idea,” Abigail said. “Take us there, if you know where he is. He's your man, you can get him to stop.”

Petrice folded her arms. “I have nothing to do with this.”

“Yes, you do,” Aveline snapped. “And unless you wish me to force myself into the Grand Cleric's office, you'll take us to Varnell before this gets any worse.”

“Stubborn...” Petrice gritted. “Fine. But I am no fighter.”

“Hopefully, a fight will not be needed,” Aveline said. “Quickly, now.”

Petrice lead them out of the Chantry and through the streets in a winding and roundabout route, finally to come to a back alley in Darktown. A mob of people had gathered before a Templar, and behind him was a makeshift stage upon which the three Qunari delegates were bound.

Varnell was shouting something to the crowd about the Qunari being heretics and whatnot, but stopped when he saw Petrice.

“Take a knee, faithful,” he said. “The Chantry blesses us!”

“A blessing?” Abigail snapped before Petrice could say anything. “Do you have any idea what will happen if you so much as touch them?” she pointed to the delegates.

“The Qunari will not take this lightly,” Fenris said. “We would be lucky if they chose only to burn Kirkwall to the ground.”

“You speak their tongue,” Varnell snapped, pointing his sword at Fenris, who laid a hand on his own. “You, elf, have had much contact with them—who is to say you are not as polluted as they are?”

“I am as faithful to the Maker as any of you,” Fenris growled. “Not being a fanatic does not mean I am wrong.”

“It hardly matters the political implications,” Aveline said, stepping forward, the symbol of the Guard on her breastplate catching the light. “Because this is unbelievably illegal.”

“The laws of men hold no sway over the law of the Maker,” Varnell informed her. “As I'm sure you are well-aware of, Guard Captain.”

“Varnell, how could you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly?” Petrice demanded. “This will reflect poorly on Her Grace, and your Commander as well.”

“What does that matter?” Varnell asked. “You of all people should know what is at stake here.”

“I do,” Petrice said. “But this is not the way to accomplish your goal.”

The negotiations devolved into violence, with Varnell cutting the throat of one of the Qunari and the mob attacking the other two. However, all it took was a show of force from Abigail, Fenris, and Aveline, and the mob was dispersed. Varnell fought, until Aveline brought him down with a hamstrung leg.

Petrice fled in the chaos, presumably to return to the Viscount. The three Qunari were all dead.

Aveline shook her head. “This will not end well,” she muttered.

“Curse you,” Varnell snarled. “The pollution of this city will be on your head!”

They ignored him. “Come on,” Abigail said. “We have to take this to the Viscount.”

“We cannot avoid telling the Arishok,” Fenris pointed out. “He will learn of it, and if not from us, he will be...displeased.”

“We can talk about it with the Viscount,” Abigail insisted. Fenris and Abigail stayed with Varnell, who ranted and raved about the heresy of the Qunari, until Aveline returned with Dumar in tow.

Dumar was aghast. He stared down at Varnell. “This Templar was involved?” he asked.

Abigail nodded. “Ser Varnell abused the power of the Grand Cleric. One of the Mothers knew about his extremist leanings but did not do anything about it.”

“Oh, this could not be worse,” Dumar pinched the bridge of his nose. “We'll need to bring this to the Grand Cleric's attention before anyone else.”

“What about him?” Abigail pointed to Varnell.

“We need to return him to Knight-Commander Meredith,” Dumar said. “The statutes are quite clear on Templars who have broken laws.”

“He may have instigated a war, Your Grace,” Aveline said, her voice quiet.

“After that business with the Wardens, we can hardly push the Chantry on legal terms, Guard-Captain,” Dumar said, closing his eyes. “He goes back to the Knight-Commander.”

They informed Meredith of Varnell’s crimes, and returned him to the Gallows. Meredith, to her credit, said he would remain in the dungeons and be removed from active duty.

“This business with the Qunari is not the affair of the Templars,” she said with a scowl aimed at Varnell. “This must stop before it goes too far.”

“I could not agree more, Knight-Commander,” Dumar said, sighing in relief.

The Grand Cleric was another matter. She refused to have anything to do with the incident.

“Grand Cleric, your cannot allow this to stand!” the Viscount exclaimed. “Templars incited a mob to kill the Qunari ambassadors—we're lucky the Qunari haven't declared war on us already!”

“The Arishok's group are separate from the larger Qunari,” Elthina said calmly. “They cannot declare war on us. In any case, the Templar was acting alone.”

“The Qunari will care very little,” Fenris said. “Especially considering that the Chantry, or operatives of it, have already antagonized them before. They consider the Chantry an enemy, as much heresy to them as they are to you.”

“And that hardly begins to cover the actions of Mother Petrice,” Aveline said. “She knew about Varnell's extremism, but did nothing to stop it.”

“If we cannot rely on your Templars, Grand Cleric--” Dumar said, but Elthina held up a hand.

“This is an isolated incident,” she said. “It will be dealt with, Excellency. You have my word.”

“You've never dealt with any of the Templars breaking laws before,” Abigail pointed out.

“Might I remind you, Lady Hawke, that your position here is somewhat precarious?” Elthina said. “I mean no offense, of course, but your family has only recently been reinstated. I would think it prudent to pay attention to your own affairs before trying to assist with the problems of others.”

“This problem affects the whole of the city, my family included,” Abigail said, trying to sound calm. “If the Qunari take offense--”

“The will of the Maker guides all of our actions,” Elthina interrupted her. “And it is the will of the Maker that we shall take care of this ourselves.”

“No,” Aveline snapped. “This has gone on too long! One of your Templars incited a riot and caused a diplomatic incident—Viscount, you cannot let this continue!”

Elthina looked at Dumar.

“Enough, Guard-Captain,” Dumar said with a sigh. “Grand Cleric, please take heed of our words.”

“I will, your Excellency.”

“Aveline, you need to call the Seekers,” Abigail said as soon as they were away from the Chantry.

“Tell me something I don't already know,” Aveline snapped.

“Are you so sure the Seekers are necessary?” Dumar asked, worry coloring his voice. “The Grand Cleric said she had it under control--”

“Do you really believe that, Excellency?” Aveline's tone was brittle. “Please—let me contact the Seekers. Then they will see if there is anything to be concerned about.”

“You say that Templars have broken laws before?”

“Many times. I have documentation and evidence to prove it.”

Dumar ran a hand over his head. “After we contacted the Divine herself in that business with the Wardens? I hardly think that this is appropriate.”

“Why don’t we ask Meredith?” Abigail suggested. “She didn’t approve of Varnell’s actions any more than we did.”

To their surprise, Meredith agreed with them when they questioned her about it.

“Call the Seekers if it pleases you,” Meredith said. “They can take Varnell and deal with him properly. That is their duty, after all.”

“And what of the actions of your Order?” Aveline asked.

“The Seekers will see what is right,” Meredith said. “We have done nothing wrong. However, this situation with Varnell must be resolved. The Seekers have the authority to deal with rogue Templars more effectively than any local Chantry.”

Abigail was suspicious. “You are sure?”

“I am quite sure, Lady Hawke.”

It took some weeks for the Seekers to get back to them, and they replied in the form of a brusque letter.

Aveline was appalled by what they had decided.

“They—the message informed us that the legality of actions made by Chantry personnel are not to be decided by any local Guard,” Aveline explained to Abigail, still shocked. “They are going to take Varnell, because he violated local law, but other than that, they aren’t taking any action.”

“But—if this happens again, it doesn't matter how far away Par Vollen is, they won't stand for another diplomatic incident!” Abigail exclaimed. “How many laws have the Templars already broken?”

“Apparently it doesn't matter unless the Templars or other Chantry personnel themselves report a law broken,” Aveline said, her voice utterly incredulous.

“How are they supposed to get any wrongdoing punished, then?” Abigail asked, furrowing her brow.

“They don't,” Aveline said. “I can't believe this—the Ferelden Chantry isn't like this, I'd swear to you--”

“Don't be so sure,” Abigail said. “Anyway...what do we do now?”

Aveline shook her head. “I don't know,” she said. “I simply do not know.”

The Grand Cleric summoned them, this time.

“Lady Hawke. Guard-Captain Vallen.” Elthina looked at them.

“Grand Cleric,” Aveline inclined her head. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“You contacted the Seekers of Truth.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I believe I've made my feelings on the matter extremely clear,” Aveline said, her voice frosting over.

“Ah, yes—the supposed lawbreaking my Templars are committing.”

“And Petrice,” Abigail added quietly.

“The Knight-Commander herself recommended we contact the Seekers to remove Ser Varnell,” Aveline pointed out.

The Grand Cleric inclined her head. “This is something I agree with. However, I do not agree with you going about it without informing me, as well as accusing the Templar order as a whole of lawbreaking.”

“I informed you I could not let your inaction stand,” Aveline said, tone very stiff. “I did what I thought was best.”

“I am sure you did.” Elthina looked at Abigail, her eyes intense. “Lady Hawke. I understand your sister Bethany attends the Circle.”

Abigail sat up straighter. “Yes.”

“I recognize why you would be concerned for the Circle, but understand, please, my child, that if you continue to pry into the business of the Chantry, your sister may suffer for it,” she said, her tone as gentle as ever. “The Templars cannot all be watched. And they do not like their work being examined so closely.”

Abigail went dead white.

“Of course, Your Eminence,'” she said, inclining her head.

Abigail was quiet until they returned to her home. The moment they were both inside, she kicked the front door closed. “She threatened my sister!” she slammed a fist into the wall.

“I know,” Aveline raised her hands. “Abigail, please,”

Abigail kicked a chair. “She threatened Bethany!”

“Who did what to Bethany?”

Carver stood in the doorway, scowling, Leandra right behind him, pale and worried.

“The Grand Cleric made veiled threats,” Aveline explained. Leandra gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth.

“And why did she do that?” Carver gritted.

“Because we told that bitch about all the damn laws the Templars have been breaking!” Abigail snarled. “She found out that we'd written to the Seekers--”

“So it's your fault?” Carver stepped forward, hands balled into fists.

“How is it my fault?”

“You've been poking your nose in their business again!” Carver accused. “You know you need to stay out of it--”

“Not when laws are being broken, Carver,” Aveline said.

“Abigail isn't a Guard!” Carver snapped. “She doesn't have to get involved, but she did, and now it's your fault if Bethany gets hurt!” he jabbed a finger at Abigail.

“Maybe if you did a damn thing in your life other than whine and follow me around, Bethany wouldn't even be in the Gallows to begin with!” Abigail snarled.

“No,” Carver swiped a hand down. “No, you don't get to blame this on me! You're the one who went gallivanting off to the Deep Roads, you're the one getting the Templars all riled up--”

“I'm the one who makes sure you can eat!” Abigail snapped. “Because you damn well won't do it for yourself!”

"Stop it, both of you!" Leandra exclaimed, her eyes overbright. "What is the matter with you two, arguing when your sister could be--could be--" she covered her mouth with both hands again and her eyes overflowed.

“Enough!” Aveline raised her hands. “This won't help anyone!”

“Then what do we do?” Abigail demanded. “If the Seekers won't come--”

Aveline sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I'll see if Fenris and I can smooth things over with the Viscount,” she said. “Then...I don’t know. Perhaps Anders knows some way to get Bethany out of the Circle, or he can have someone protect her, or...” she sighed and closed her eyes.

“Or what?”

“I don’t know, Abigail,” Aveline said again. Leandra let out a sob, and Carver put a hand on her shoulder, glaring at Abigail.

Abigail snarled to herself. “Maybe I should bloody well try and get Bethany out myself--”

“Don’t,” Aveline put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll end up fighting all the Templars of the Gallows.”

“I don’t care.”

“Abigail, don’t,” Aveline said. “There’s still a way to resolve this in a legal matter. There has to be.”

Abigail’s hands shook. She nodded jerkily. “Fine,” she gritted. “Fine. But if this goes on much longer...” she trailed off.

“I know,” Aveline said, looking exhausted. “Just...don’t do anything you’ll regret. Either of you.” she gave Carver a hard look.

"We won't," Abigail said slowly, looking at Carver and still-crying Leandra. "I--we won't."

Chapter Text

Merrill touched the frame of the eluvian, her lips pursed. It was so...uncooperative. She had cleansed it with blood magic, but it hadn't responded very well, apart from being rid of the more dangerous, rotten magics that afflicted it.

Spirits and demons alike were attracted to the eluvian, but Merrill's blood magic tended to ward them off. In particular something very nasty had been near it when Merrill had first come across it in the Brecelian, but it was long gone by now. Blood magic, when put to constructive use, was very helpful.

Magical artifacts in general attracted spirits, as they blazed with energy and had a direct connection to the Fade. What kind of spirits depended upon the artifact itself and the mage or mages who had made it.

The older a magical artifact was, the better integrated it was into the Fade. For some reason, Tevinter artifacts, especially pre-Blight ones, were the exception, barely making a dent in the Veil. It meant that Tevinter artifacts, unlike elvhen or dwarven ones, barely lasted longer than a century, and older artifacts were purely for archaeological and not magical purposes.

On the other hand, ancient elvhen artifacts, particularly those rare items recovered from Elvhenan itself (often stolen by the Tevinters and then stolen back by escaping slaves), felt as if they bypassed the Veil entirely. There was simply no break in the magic, as if when they were created, the Veil had not been present.

The eluvian very unique, however, operating differently than any other magical artifact Merrill had ever seen, and this made its repair much harder. It connected to the Fade, but it connected somewhere else, a very strange feeling that Merrill wasn't sure how to articulate. If the physical world were on one plane, and the Fade on another, then this third place was another plane entirely.

She was quite certain that everyone who understood magical artifacts would be very excited to know about this. She was even more positive that the Circle would destroy such a thing if they ever found it.

She felt that if she managed to get the eluvian to cooperate with the Fade and the third place, she could make the mirror work. The connection between the three was the problem, not the mirror itself.

She had repaired the physical entity, but the eluvian remained dark in the Fade, the enchantments not working. Blood magic would be of no use, because the artifact wasn't entirely in the physical world.

The connection was easy enough to locate, even if it didn't function. There was a copy of the eluvian in the Fade as well as the physical world, and there was a connection between the two via a cord. It was the oddest thing, because the copy of the eluvian always stood a little to one side of where it actually stood in the physical world, as if it had been designed that way so the cord was easier to access. The cord was dark, and there was another connection that lead off to the third place, one Merrill couldn't get to in either her physical body or her Fade self.

Merrill had repaired the cord between the physical eluvian and its Fade copy, and magic flowed easily along the path. It was the second cord that was the tricky one, the one that lead to that strange other place. It seemed to be made of many knots or links in a chain, and even if she repaired all of them, the cord soon went dark again, and her magic was stopped.

It felt almost as if there was a lock, keeping it closed.

Merrill regarded the eluvian with a scowl, tapping one foot on the ground. Every time she reached out to it with her inborn magic, she could feel the connection to the Fade and that strange third place, and the energy being blocked, like a dam.

Already she had repaired much of the connection, but it still wasn’t enough. The knot needed to be undone.

With a sigh, she sat on the floor before the mirror and closed her eyes. Maybe this time, the Fade would be different.

Entering the larger Fade when one was not a natural somniari was always a trying experience. Not only did one have to go to sleep, but one had to maintain their lucidity in their own dream, and then make their way out of their dream to the larger Fade. This was even more difficult when one was a blood mage.

Provided a blood mage did not want to blow a hole in the Veil and brute force their way into the Fade, reaching the Fade was far more difficult for a blood mage to do. Merrill, however, felt that she had achieved a decent balance between blood magic and her inborn magic, and was reasonably adept at getting into the Fade despite the blood mage handicap.

She wandered into the Fade, searching intently for the eluvian's Fade twin. She found it quite easily.

She held the connection to the other in her hands, examined it yet again. It was an ancient spell, deteriorated and worn, but she had repaired its shape well enough.

The arulin'holm had been of little use in the physical world. The repairs needed to happen within the Fade, with no physical instrument, no matter how magical. However, there was a copy of the arulin’holm in the Fade, and it had proved to be invaluable, a tool that could manipulate the delicate strands of the connection spell with ease, and perhaps be a way of picking the lock, so to speak.

The connection had been dim and cold when she first spied it. Now it thrummed with magic, brighter than it had ever been. When she reached it, it responded to her touch, sending a jolt of magic through her dream-hands, but it went dark again.

Slowly, she went over the connection again, from the eluvian, to the impassable wall at the other end. Somewhere in there was one last problem to solve, and then it would wake up.

Her hand passed over a dark link in the chain, one that felt a bit darker than the rest, and she breathed life back into it, as one would breathe over the dying embers of a fire.

The connection lit with light, and the lock was fully illuminated. She examined it closely, looking over the strange puzzle which held it closed.

She might need a key. But a key was something she didn't have, so she was just going to have to do without.

The knot took some careful undoing—she wouldn't even have been able to manipulate it if she hadn't repaired everything else. The Fade-image of the arulin'holm was invaluable, slowly turning into just what she needed as she realized she needed it.

Some locks needed keys. Some just needed to be picked.

She didn't know how long she was there, picking at the lock, but something clicked and whirred, and the lock was undone.

The effect was immediate. The Fade thrummed around her, and the dark shadow of the eluvian's twin suddenly blazed with light. She was so startled she tripped back into her own mind and shocked herself awake. The eluvian made different noises now, less like whispers and more like running water. She opened her eyes, and found the room enveloped in a violet glow.

The eluvian gleamed, the purple light it emanated soft and gentle and welcoming.

“Oh...” Merrill whispered. Gingerly, she got to her feet. “Creators.”

With one delicate hand, she reached out to touch the surface of the mirror.

Her hand went in.

She jerked back, shocked, and examined her hand for any damage. It seemed perfectly fine, and felt fine as well, save for a slight tingliness. She eyed the mirror, circling it, probing it with her magic for any signs of something being wrong.

There was nothing that jumped out at her for being wrong. All appeared well. Any nearby spirits appeared to be gone, startled away.

Coming back around to the front of the mirror, she pressed her hand in again. It went in again, and came out fine. Slowly, she eased her entire arm in, then her shoulder, and pulled them out. She was still fine.

With a deep breath, she stuck her head in.

On the other side of the mirror was a foggy landscape, over which the early morning sun shone. She frowned, and pulled her head back out. She went to the front door and looked outside, then nodded, her suspicions confirmed. It was a bright, cloudless midday in Kirkwall.

She went back to the eluvian and stepped through the mirror fully, to stand on the other side. She was amidst a large number of other mirrors, most dull, one or two gleaming like her own. The glowing ones shone with light that was purple, blue, green, or silver, and one was even a pale gold.

The area she stood in was rather pleasant, if empty of people. There were benches and large stone statues around the area, reminding her of a courtyard or decorative garden, but a little dreary with few plants or flowers. There were curious stone trees and the huge carved figures were of men and women both, some in armor or in long robes. She wandered about the courtyard, looking at the other mirrors.

She pressed her hand to one of the ones that glowed blue. Her hand went through, to somewhere very cold. After a moment's hesitation, she walked through the mirror, and found herself barefoot in a massive, icy cavern.

Icicles dripped from the ceiling and ice covered the floor, and under the ice she could see the remains of stone carvings. More ice covered large statues, and there was a mosaic on the far wall that was made up of thousands of tiny, colored tiles, all preserved by the ice. She walked over to the mosaic, and saw a rather marvelous scene depicting people braving a snowy wilderness. It did not escape her notice that the people were all clearly elvhen, with pointed ears and even vallaslin etched out in miniscule tiles no larger than her fingernail.

Overwhelmed, She let out a startled laugh and quickly backed through the eluvian again. She shook her head. She certainly wasn’t dressed to be wandering around a snowy cave, that was quite clear.

She walked into another eluvian, this one a pale green. It opened into a closed and dusty hallway that felt of magic, and she could hear the whisper of spirits near her, but couldn't see them. On the floor were discarded books, piles of cloth and dusty cushions, and articles of clothing, all of which was which was surprising--after so long, shouldn't cloth and paper have rotted? More art lined the walls, this time paintings, not a mosaic. The paintings depicted elves building a huge fortress on a mountain, the sun rising over them as they worked. Interestingly, none of the elves had vallaslin, and Merrill raised her eyebrows as she saw a large white wolf with six blue eyes feature heavily in many of the images.

She returned to the courtyard again, and spent a few moments wandering in and out of other eluvians, still not sure what she was seeing. One eluvian lead to a forest ruin, one to a small hut in the middle of a pond. Another opened into a massive building that, after a few moments, Merrill identified as a library. That was one was very odd, as it was not in the physical world as the other places had been, but seemed to be another section of the courtyard. Merrill wondered just how large the space the eluvians opened into was, and contemplated that she might have to make a map.

She had thought the eluvians to just be a method of communication, but it appeared they were something quite different. There were so many, and most of them had gone dark--could she fix them? She had fixed her own, perhaps she could open the others. What would the others think of this!

Merrill walked out of her eluvian and returned to her home, giddy with discovery. Marethari couldn't doubt her now—she had to return to her immediately, show her what this was. She would understand at last.

First, she had to show someone in Kirkwall.

She ran to Abigail’s house and burst through the door.

“Abigail?” Merrill called.

“Merrill?” Abigail came down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, vhenan, I have to show you something,” Merrill said, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

“What is it?”

“Come on, to my house!” she grabbed Abigail's hand.

“If it's so important--” Abigail said, surprised.

“It is!”

Merrill and Abigail hurried back down to the Alienage and to Merrill's home.

“What's that noise?” Abigail asked once they were over the threshold. The familiar whooshing and whispering noises of the eluvian were replaced by a strange sound, like rain on the surface of a pond.

“It's the eluvian,” Merrill said. “Come see, come see!”

She took Abigail to the room where the eluvian was kept, and showed her the softly glowing mirror.

“I got it to work,” she said, a grin spreading across her face. "I fixed it!"

Abigail was dumbstruck for a minute. “So...how did you do it?” Abigail asked after a long, shocked silence.

“I was working in the Fade,” Merrill said. “The mirror's spells aren't just physical—someone enchanted its duplicate in the Fade.'

“What does it do? Does it talk to people like you thought?” Abigail reached out and touched the mirror, and her hand sunk in. “Oh!” she pulled back, startled. “Is that supposed to happen?” she asked.

“Yes,” Merrill nodded. “Come on, come on—follow me!” she took Abigail's hand and walked through the mirror, ignoring Abigail's surprised gasp. They came out the other side, Abigail stumbling a little bit.

“Look at it!” Merrill spread out her arms to encompass the courtyard. “Isn't it the most amazing thing?”

“It's...lovely,” Abigail grabbed onto Merrill's arms. “But I feel absolutely sick.”

“Oh no,” Merrill said, taking Abigail's elbow. “What's wrong?”

Abigail grimaced and shook her head. “Don't know,” she croaked. “I feel like—like I'm not supposed to be here.”

Merrill nodded and guided them out of the mirror. Abigail let out a breath, immediately feeling much improved.

“Maybe it's not good for humans to be there,” she suggested. “I feel fine now.”

“Oh, dear,” Merrill fretted. “Oh no—that means it'd make most everyone else sick, too, except for Fenris, and Velanna, and the Clan--”

“Don't worry about that,” Abigail laughed. “It's—amazing, Merrill.” she said. “You are absolutely amazing.”

Merrill laughed and went very red. “Oh—no, you don't mean that,” she said. “You're too good to me.”

“And you are too brilliant by half,” Abigail said. She pulled Merrill close and kissed her, a gesture which Merrill eagerly returned. “Maker, that's amazing,” Abigail said when they broke apart. “I just—that's amazing. Do you know where the other mirrors connect to?”

“Most of them are broken,” Merrill said. “Some still work, though. I don't know where they all come out.”

“Have you gone through them?”

Merrill nodded. “One was in a cave somewhere—it was very cold. Another was in a huge ruin, in a forest, but I'd never seen it before. Some others--I saw the most beautiful paintings, Abigail, you need to come sometime!”

“Hm,” Abigail chewed her lip. “Maybe the cold one was in the Frostbacks somewhere? It'd have to be further south than Kirkwall anyway, wouldn't it?”

“Maybe...I need to tell Marethari,” Merrill said.

“Yes, absolutely,” Abigail agreed, then paused. “Would she even want to hear about this?”

"Of course she would!” Merrill said, then looked away. "Well...I think she would. But I'm not...entirely sure." she admitted. “But she should. And I think—I think I'd need to tell the Coalition, the allied Dalish, and Marethari is the only way I could reach them.”

“Well, I'm sure that no matter what Marethari thinks, they'd want to hear about this,” she said, reading out for the mirror, but stopping before she could touch it.

Merrill had no such compunctions, and ran her hand along the frame. “Ilen said I should come back to the Clan,” she said. “Well, I’m finished with this, and there’s nothing at all wrong with it, so I can.”

“Do you think--”

Abigail was interrupted when someone knocked on the door.

“Who's that?” Abigail wondered.

“I don't know,” Merrill said. “I'm not expecting anyone...”

She opened the door, to see Fenris standing in the doorway. He breathed hard, as if he’d run a long way.

“Fenris?” Merrill blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“Have you seen--” he spotted Abigail over Merrill’s shoulder. “Good, you are here.”

“What is it?” Abigail asked, her brows knitted in concern.

“Aveline needs you,” Fenris told her.

“What’s wrong?”

Fenris shook his head. “Not here,” he gestured for her to follow him. “Come with me.”

“Should I come too?” Merrill asked, worried.

“No,” Fenris said. “More people would just make it worse.”

Her gut churning, Abigail raced after Fenris, who took her to the Guard’s barracks. Fenris bolted off again, before Abigail could ask him where he was going, leaving Abigail to find Aveline on her own.

She went to Aveline’s office, and found the woman pacing, her shoulders tense.

“Seamus Dumar is dead,” Aveline said.

“What? How?”

Aveline shook her head. “Petrice,” she growled.

Abigail rubbed her forehead. “That makes no sense. Why would Petrice kill the Viscount's son?”

“It's a long story,” Aveline sighed. “Saemus was converting to the Qun—Fenris and I were dealing with both Dumar and the Arishok, but then Seamus up and vanished. Didn't show up to one of the meetings.”

“And then...?”

“We got a message,” Aveline said. “Apparently Seamus wanted to meet with us, privately.”

“You and Fenris?”

Aveline nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Abigail bit her lip. “That sounds like a trap to me.”

“It did to us, too. We told the Viscount, but not the Arishok.” she sighed. “Might not have been the best idea, but we didn't need to give him any more reasons to attack us. We told Dumar to let us handle it, so we went to meet him.”

“And...?”

“We found his body. In the Chantry.”

Abigail gave a vulgar swear. “Is that where Fenris is? Keeping an eye on things?”

Aveline nodded. “We're trying to keep it quiet, which is why we need to hurry,” she said.

They came to the Chantry, where Fenris was busy scaring everyone away from the body. He looked frazzled, his silver hair pulled away from his face in a loose ponytail, his hands grasping for a weapon that wasn't there.

“How is everything here?" Aveline asked.

“No one is too suspicious yet,” Fenris said. He glanced at Abigail. “We moved the body,” he said. “Here.” he tapped on the door to a small side room.

“We couldn't risk removing it from the building and letting the entire city know,” Aveline said as an explanation.

Abigail went into the room, and saw the body of the young man. His throat had been cleanly cut, and he was bled absolutely white, blood staining the front of his shirt.

“Oh, no,” Abigail breathed, looking down at Seamus' body.

“Oh no is putting it lightly,” Aveline said. She covered her mouth and turned away, thinking.

“What do we do?” Abigail asked. “If the Arishok finds out--”

“It is another death on the hands of Kirkwall,” Fenris said. “He would be entirely justified in attacking the city, at least according to the laws of the Qun.”

“This is practically a declaration of war anyway,” Aveline said, shaking her head. “If it was a noble from any other country—especially after three of their delegates were killed--” she pressed her hands to her temples.

“Would Par Vollen declare war on Kirkwall?” Abigail asked. “If someone in Kirkwall had killed an Orlesian or Ferelden diplomat, they definitely would. I know Orlais at least has gone to war over less before.”

“Par Vollen is not interested in the south, at least not as of yet,” Fenris said. “They wish to deal with Tevinter first. However an incident such as this would bring their attention—there have already been Tallis in the city, you could be assured than Ben-hassrath would arrive here as well.”

“Spies?” Abigail asked. Fenris nodded. “That’s the last thing we need,” she muttered, starting to pace.

“This might be just what the Chantry radicals want,” Aveline said. “Perhaps they aspire to one of the Exalted Marches, but need a reason to conduct one. Par Vollen declaring war, or the Arishok attacking Kirkwall, would be an excellent reason.”

“But what's the point of an Exalted March?” Abigail asked.

“Why, I am surprised you could not put it together,” came a voice from behind them, and they saw Mother Petrice step into the doorway.

“Petrice!” Aveline growled.

“It seems as if you have killed the poor lad,” Petrice shook her head. “What a shame.”

“This was your doing, Petrice, and you know it!” Abigail pointed an accusing finger at her. “What did you do this for? The Arishok--”

“Will be furious, and attack Kirkwall, and will be struck down by the righteous,” Petrice said, a cruel smirk gracing her severe features.

“This man had done nothing to you,” Fenris said, his eyes flashing. “There was no need for you to do this.”

“Hm. Fine talk coming from you.” Petrice eyed the lyrium brands on Fenris' neck and forearms, her glance darting to the marks on his forehead. “You take killing so casually. Why should you care?”

Fenris stiffened, and opened his mouth, but Aveline cut him off.

“We can't stand against the Arishok, Petrice,” she snapped. “And even if we could, this is enough for Par Vollen to declare war on us. Is that what you want?”

“They may declare war, but they would never defeat us,” Petrice said, swiping her hand down. “The Maker is on our side.”

“This is insane!” Aveline said. “Absolutely insane!”

“We need to see the Arishok before word of this gets to him secondhand,” Fenris said.

“I don't think so,” Petrice said.

Aveline stepped forward. “Out of my way, Petrice,” she growled.

“That would be a very poor decision, Guard-Captain,” Petrice said.

Aveline shoved past Petrice, Fenris and Abigail at her heels. Templars met them immediately, naked swords in their hands.

Templars or not, they didn't stand a chance against the three of them. Aveline slammed two with her shield, Abigail broke one's leg and another's sword arm with her staff, and Fenris drove his hand into the last one's chest.

When the last Templar fell, they stood, staring at each other.

Aveline shook her head. "This is absolute chaos," she said. She was sweating, pale and worried. "This will not continue."

“We need to see the Arishok,” Fenris said, shaking some of the gore off his hand.

“And the Viscount,” Abigail added.

Chapter Text

The Viscount could not quite believe it when they told him.

“The Chantry?” Dumar mouthed. “A Mother—Templars—killed Seamus?”

“The same radicals who attacked the delegates,” Aveline explained, closing her eyes. “Yes.”

“This could not be worse,” Dumar breathed. “I—I do not have the authority over the Chantry to--”

“Surely the Seekers would come for this,” Abigail said. “If nothing else, a noble is dead. Not a Qunari, not a mage.”

“Do we have enough time to notify them before the Arishok finds out?” Dumar asked. “We can't possibly hide this—I--” he trailed off, eyes overbright.

“We will take care of it, Your Grace,” Aveline assured him. “We will speak to the Arishok.” she sighed. “Maybe we can salvage this, somehow.”

It was too late. The Arishok already knew about Seamus' death.

“If you have come to inform me of the death of one of our viddethari, you are late,” the Arishok said when he saw them approach.

“You...already know?” Aveline asked.

The Arishok inclined his head. “We looked for him ourselves. We found him to be dead, at the hand of one of your people.”

“Not us,” Aveline swiped her hand down. “An extremist--”

The Arishok scowled. “It does not matter what organization the killer belongs to. An attack on one of us is an attack on all,” the Arishok rose to his feet. “We did not allow the death of two of our own to go unpunished, but neither did we realize the full extent of the problem.” he walked down the steps, and Abigail and Aveline stepped back. “Your Chantry attacked and killed three of our own. It is reasonable to assume they killed the viddethari as well.”

“It wasn't the Chantry!” Aveline told him. “Petrice acted on her own--” she stopped when the Arishok tilted his head up, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

“For a second time,” the Arishok said. “We are aware of this woman, and that is by her hand that two of our own are dead. It is also by her hand—and yours—that one of our saarebas escaped.” he pointed to Abigail, then Aveline. “We have allowed your city, this reeking pustule, to attack us for the last time.”

Fenris spoke quickly in Qunlat, which the Arishok rebuffed.

“Arishok, it doesn't have to come to this--” Aveline protested.

“Your city has attacked us since we arrived here,” he said. “Your Chantry has killed several of our own. By your own laws, this would mean war—by the law of the Qun, we should have destroyed your festering city long ago.”

He signaled to the warriors surrounding them, and Abigail sent up a barrier spell just in time for a spear to glance off it.

The three of them ran, tearing out of the compound as fast as they could.

“Where to?” Abigail demanded. “Aveline--”

Before they could decide, the Qunari came bolting out of the compound, right on their heels. Without making a conscious decision, they ran to Isabela's, which was at the far end of the docks and out of the way.

“Maker's ass, what's going on?” Isabela demanded once they were inside.

“The Qunari,” Aveline said. Isabela went pale.

“Oh, shit,” she said. She peered out of a window. “What are they doing? Are they looking for someone or just attacking the city?”

“Attacking the city,” Fenris said.

“Why would they be looking for someone?” Aveline asked.

Isabela sighed and closed her eyes. “The whole reason they're here at all—might be my fault,” she said. “Just a bit.”

They all stared at her.

“What.” Abigail said.

“I stole a relic of theirs—some book or other,” Isabela explained. “The only thing is, they came after me for it, we fought, and now the damn thing's probably at the bottom of the ocean or some Tevinter collector's library, but they still think they can find it here.”

“So this entire issue—this entire situation—is your fault?” Abigail said, incredulous.

“Petrice didn't exactly help,” Aveline said.

“No, but--”

“Is there any way you might be able to recover the relic?” Fenris asked.

Isabela shook her head. “Like I said—it's been three years. The last I saw it, my ship was on fire and getting tossed in a storm. If it didn't fall in the ocean, then whoever has a hold of it is long gone by now.” she tisked to herself. “I don’t know why they haven’t moved on by now...”

“None of this would have happened if you had just decided not to steal from the Qunari!” Abigail exclaimed.

“The Qunari coming here is my fault,” Isabela agreed. “But them staying isn’t. I don’t bloody know why they’ve stayed in the city for years! And anyway, do you seriously think the Chantry would be any better without them here? Even before the Qunari were an issue--”

“Maybe Seamus Dumar wouldn't be dead if they weren't here!” Abigail snapped. In a blink, she pushed Isabela against the wall. Isabela grimaced.

“Maybe,” she shoved Abigail off her. “But I don't know how much that matters right now.” she looked at Aveline. “We need to do something,” she said. “What?”

“We need to get to the Viscount's Keep,” Aveline said. “Maybe—if we can get to the Guard...” she trailed off.

“Qunari warriors are better than yours,” Fenris said. He closed his eyes, and with great reluctance, he added “The only chance you have against them is in contacting the Circle.”

“You're sure?” Aveline asked.

Fenris gave a stiff nod. “Yes.”

“How?” Isabela asked. “The Qunari are always fighting with the Tevinters, and they haven't lost.”

“They have not won, either,” Fenris said. “A battle mage would stand a much better chance than a simple Guard, believe me.”

So, they went to the Gallows. Isabela came with them, to provide backup, even though Abigail would have liked nothing better than to see her leave on her ship instead.

The city burned. The Qunari had already fought their way from the docks to Hightown, inciting a great deal of damage as they went. The Qunari were making their way steadily to Hightown, not stopping for anything, which was fortunate in a way, but unfortunate in that they were heading right for the seat of government and the Guard.

About halfway to the Gallows, they found Merrill.

“Merrill!” Abigail exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Merrill said, taking Abigail’s hands. “Oh, ma vhenan, I was worried! Are you alright?”

“You should go back to the Alienage, Merrill,” Abigail said. “It's safer--”

“Not for long,” Merrill pointed out. “They’re trying to protect it, but if the Qunari come the protection won't hold for long. I came to find you to see if you were trying to stop them.”

“We're going to the Circle,” Abigail said. “Fenris says that mages have a better chance fighting Qunari than ordinary warriors.”

Merrill nodded. “Oh—that's good news, then,” she said. “Anders should be alright.” she took Abigail’s arm. “I’m coming with you,” she said. They couldn’t dissuade her, so she came along.

The Gallows was blessedly free of fires, and Templars were out in force in the courtyard.

Meredith met them at the gate. “Lady Hawke,” she inclined her head. “Guard-Captain Vallen.”

“Knight-Commander,” Aveline said, stepping forward. “We need help against the Qunari. The mages are the only ones who could fight them.”

Meredith raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really.”

“This is not the time for a lesson on the culture and history of the Qunari,” Fenris cut in. “Simply know that mages are your best defense against Qunari warriors.”

“Even against their own mages?”

“Yes.” Fenris considered. “Templars would be very effective against their saarebas, however.”

Meredith gave a sharp nod. “And you are quite sure of this?”

They all assented.

Meredith closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “We do not have many mages trained in battle magic,” she explained, gesturing for them to come deeper into the Gallows. “The First Enchanter will know who is best suited for battle.” she glanced at Abigail. “I believe your sister has some experience in combat, doesn't she?”

Abigail's back straightened. “Bethany? Is she alright?”

“Of course. Is there a reason she would not be?” Meredith’s eyes glinted with an expression Abigail did not like, but could not examine.

“Can we see her?”

“We must see Orsino first,” Meredith said. She brought them to Orsino, a tall elvhen man with brilliant green eyes.

“We don't have many battle mages,” Orsino said, reiterating what Meredith had already told them. “We have more healers—we are hardly a group of warriors.”

“You must have someone,” Aveline insisted.

Orsino inclined his head. “There are some individuals who may be able to help,” he said. “But I am not sure how much good it will do.”

“Better than none,” Aveline said.

Orsino rounded up a number of mages who would be good in a fight, as well as several healers, which included Bethany.

“Bethany!” Abigail exclaimed, running to envelop Bethany in a tight hug. “Are you alright?”

“Abigail!” Bethany held her sister tightly. She was thinner than she had been (which was alarming, considering how little food they had had when they were still living with Gamlen), paler, her hair somewhat mussed. “How's Carver? Where is he?”

“Probably back at the house with Mother,” Abigail explained. “What about you? How are you?”

Bethany's eyes flicked to Meredith, standing in the doorway. “I'm...alright,” she said. She drummed her fingers on her sister's arm. “That doesn't matter right now. What are we doing?”

“Taking back the city from the Qunari,” Abigail explained.

They and the rest of the mages went back to Aveline and Meredith, who were currently arguing about Templar and mage involvement.

“This is partially the Chantry's fault to begin with,” Aveline insisted. “It's been Chantry personnel inflaming the issue!”

“Extreme outliers are not the fault of the Chantry,” Meredith said. “Letting too many mages out will endanger the mages and the populace, and risk apostasy, as it did during the Ferelden Blight.”

“The city is on fire, and you're worried about apostates?” Aveline said, incredulous. “You're a little late for that!”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Maybe the several apostates your Templars didn't bother to investigate properly until they'd killed Templar recruits?” Aveline said. “Your Knight-Captain,” she pointed at Cullen, who startled at being acknowledged. “Is so wildly incompetent he let four apostates attack multiple recruits—the apostates weren't even hiding! He just didn't want to question the workers at the Rose!”

Cullen stammered, flushing and shamefaced, and Meredith glared at him. Orsino had the strangest expression on his face, as if he were struggling to hold back a smile.

“Then it is even more imperative that we maintain our guard against dangerous magic,” Meredith insisted.

“This isn't a time for debate,” Abigail said. “If we don't do this, the Qunari will take the city. The Guard cannot stand up to them—they have that blasting powder, and they can make poisonous gases, and Maker only knows what else. The only chance we have is to use the mages!”

Meredith pursed her lips. After long consideration, she nodded. “If you insist,” she growled, sending a scowl Orsino's way. Orsino glared at her right back, the animosity between them almost tangible.

They left the Gallows, and found the streets mostly empty, everyone having run or hid. There were no Guards or Qunari out in force as they went through the docks and took the roads from Lowtown to Hightown. Fires burned unattended, although the mages did put them out where they could with some well-placed freezing spells.

When they got to Hightown, things were a different story.

Immediately, they were set upon by a group of Qunari, several warriors and one saarebas.

The Templars slammed several smites down at once on the saarebas, sending her reeling. A warrior landed a hit on one of the Templars, however, allowing the saarebas to recover somewhat. One of the mages flung the Qunari away, leaving him in a crumpled heap on the side of the square.

Abigail and Merrill were soon forced to openly use their magic, as neither of them could stand up to a qunari with conventional tactics alone. Merrill was careful enough to stick to nature magic at first, but there was one frightening instance where a warrior powered through her defensive spells and was dangerously close to landing his sword on her and she was forced to use aggressive blood magic, boiling the blood in his head.

The Qunari fell in a smoking heap, hemorrhaging from all orifices in his head, and several Templars let out a gasp.

When the fight was over, Meredith loomed over Merrill.

“Blood mage,” she hissed, raising her sword.

Abigail came between Merrill and Meredith, Isabela right behind her.

“Don’t you dare,” Abigail snarled, jabbing Meredith with the end of her staff.

“Merrill,” Isabela whispered, taking Merrill's wrist. “Don't.” Merrill had one of her knives out, and it hovered over her wrist, ready for her to cut herself and perform a spell.

“You claim to only want to defeat the Qunari, but you have a blood mage in your midst?” Meredith hissed, trying to step forward, but Abigail shoved her back again.

“Blood magic?” Abigail snarled, thinking quickly. “Did you see any demons?”

Meredith glared at her. She hesitated, seeming to struggle with herself. “Either way, she is an apostate--”

“This doesn’t matter right now!” Aveline declared.

“You are hiding this mage, and you dare presume to order us about?”

“Do you know what I've seen, Commander?” Abigail said, pushing Meredith back again. “I've seen bad magic of all kinds—but you know what's done the most damage? Your people actively lying to us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You've routinely hidden information about magic and apostates from the Guard,” Aveline said, stepping in. “There were four healers attacking your own people and you didn't tell us!”

“Then the falsehoods lie on both sides, for you have hidden this mage from us!” Meredith narrowed her eyes at Abigail. “And you--”

“As valid as this argument might be,” Orsino cut in, his eyes darting to Merrill. “That isn't exactly the issue at hand, is it?”

“It will be when she summons a demon,” Meredith said, pointing at Merrill.

“I wouldn't do that!” Merrill protested.

“We need to keep moving,” Fenris said. “We do no one the slightest good by standing here and arguing.”

There were heated glares all around, but they kept moving, Isabela and Abigail sticking close to Merrill's side. Hightown was full of Qunari, and it did indeed prove to be a good move to have gotten mage assistance. The Templars, Fenris and Aveline had a very hard time standing up to the warriors, although the Templars could take out saarebas. It was only with mage support that they were able to move as quickly as they did.

They found Carver fending off two Qunari warriors in a sidestreet, and the instant Bethany saw him she went to his aid, attacking the Qunari. When the fight was over, Carver swept Bethany up in a hug, and she hugged him just as tightly back. “What’s going on?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help,” Bethany said.

“What’s going on?” Carver asked. “The Qunari just started attacking out of nowhere--”

“It’s a very long tale,” Abigail said. She looked around, not seeing Leandra. She frowned. “Where’s Mother, Carver?”

Carver went pale. “The Qunari got her,” he said. “They were going around, rounding up all the nobility—I escaped, but Mother didn’t.”

Abigail had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Where are they now?”

“Viscount’s Keep.”

Abigail nodded. “Then that’s where we need to go. If they have the other nobles, they have the Viscount.”

They encountered no civilians on their way to the Keep, and deduced that everyone was either hiding or the Qunari had taken them all to the Keep for some unknown purpose.

There were a large number Qunari guards outside the Viscount's Keep, but there was no one else in sight.

“How are we going to get in without letting them all know we're here?” Abigail asked. “We've been good with small numbers of guards, but all of them...?”

“Distraction,” Meredith said immediately. “One of us grabs their attention and allows the others to get inside.” she frowned to herself. “But how to get all of their attention at once...?”

“Have confidence, Knight-Commander,” Orsino said, with just the slightest smirk to his lips.

He took the staff off his back and summoned a barrier spell before walking out of cover and approaching the guards openly, lightning crackling at his fingertips. He created a very attention drawing lightshow that had all the Qunari guards running to him, and he lead them around the corner, giving the rest of them the ability to move inside the Keep. They had to fight their way through, until they reached the main hall, where the Qunari had gathered the bulk of the nobility. The Viscount couldn't be seen, but the Arishok spotted them immediately. He stood at the top of the steps, just before the Viscount's throne.

“And now you are here,” the Arishok said, as calm as he always was.

“Where's the Viscount, Arishok?” Aveline demanded. The Arishok threw something at them—the Viscount's head. It tumbled down the steps and came to rest at Abigail's feet.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“That is the fate of your leader,” the Arishok said. “It will be your fate as well if you continue to interfere with us."

“So you won't leave?” Aveline said.

The Arishok shook his head with a scowl.

“This isn't your city,” Abigail said, swiping her hand down. “You do not have any authority from Par Vollen to invade us!”

“Par Vollen would take what your Chantry has done as an excellent reason to invade,” the Arishok said, utterly dispassionate.

Meredith clenched her teeth.

“You have attacked us, multiple times, even killing one of your own in the process,” the Arishok said. “This city is a reeking sore—be grateful that we are doing something about it.”

“Heathen,” Meredith accused. “You cannot hold us to the standards of your Qun!”

“You attacked us,” the Arishok reminded her. “You have stolen our saarebas from us, killed our people, killed one who was of your own whose only crime was to choose to become viddethari—can you give me a reason we should not invade you?”

“This is not your city!” Meredith pointed her sword at the Arishok. “Leave, or we will force you to leave!”

The Arishok tilted his head, and raised his weapon.

At once, all the Qunari in the room attacked. The Arishok stepped back, leaving the Qunari troops to deal with them.

After a lengthy fight, however, Abigail, Merrill and Fenris began to turn the tide. Eventually, all of the attacking Qunari were dispatched, dead or otherwise incapacitated. Fenris was covered in blood—he'd torn out the hearts of several of the Qunari, getting absolutely drenched in gore in the process. Meredith and Aveline were little better.

The Arishok scowled. He moved forward himself, and Abigail knocked him back with a force spell, sending him slamming into the back wall.

“Get out of Kirkwall,” she snarled, and the Arishok surged to his feet, appearing little the worse for wear.

He didn't reply to her, just attacked with little warning. The others tried to attack as well. Fenris, the first to reach him, was bodily lifted up and slammed against the ground. Aveline immediately went to his side, and the Arishok slammed his sword down on her shield, shattering it and making her cry out.

Meredith charged, but the Arishok batted aside her sword with his own and then cracked the sword down on her arm, breaking it. She let out a yell and fell back, unable to stand.

Merrill and Fenris were both occupied with large numbers of Qunari, and so it was that Abigail found herself facing the Arishok.

The Arishok raised his weapon to jam it into Abigail's chest, and Abigail saw an opening. She pressed her hand to his bare chest, and sent an entire lightning storm racing through him.

He looked—surprised. He fell back, his sword dropping from nerveless fingers. He stared at her, eyes wide, before his head fell to one side, and it was very clear he was dead.

Everything was very silent for a long moment.

“Lady Hawke...” one of the nobles breathed.

The other Qunari that remained standing looked frozen, unsure what to do now that their leader was dead.

“I...” Abigail said. “He is dead,” she declared. “The Qunari have no more hold over the city.” she looked to the remaining Qunari. “You need to leave,” she commanded.

The Qunari looked angry, but another look at the dead Arishok, and they did turn and leave.

Abigail looked around. No one quite knew what to do.

“...what do we do now?” Abigail asked.

“Lady Hawke?” called one of the nobles. “You—you may need to see...”

“See what?” Abigail turned, and her heart stuttered.

Leandra lay between two noble women, a bloody wound in her chest. She was almost bled white, and her breast did not rise.

“Oh...” Abigail breathed. “Mother.”

“She fought them,” said one of the noble women, a short blonde dressed in ruined brocade. “She—she tried to fight.”

Abigail put her arms around Carver and Bethany. Bethany turned away and covered her face, and Carver seemed frozen. Abigail found she couldn’t move her feet.

“Let us take her,” Aveline said quietly.

“Of course,” one of the other nobles said. “Of course.”

“She—she was brave, Lady Hawke,” the blonde spoke up.

Abigail nodded, words failing her.

“Oh, ma vhenan,” Merrill breathed, coming to stand by Abigail’s side. “I’m sorry.”

Abigail didn’t say anything.

Chapter Text

Grand Cleric Elthina declared the defeat of the Arishok a victory for the Chantry. As far as Abigail knew, Mother Petrice had died in the Qunari attack, the Qunari going after her immediately.

Several Qunari had attacked the Chantry, trying to kill Elthina herself, but a contingent of Templars had prevented them from getting too close.

Messages had been sent to Par Vollen, but they never responded, either to declare war or promote peace. It was a tense, unpleasant feeling, and one couldn't help but wonder if the Qunari were queuing up for an invasion.

Abigail, Carver and Bethany held a funeral for Leandra. Gamlen came, as well as Aveline, Merrill, Varric, Anders, Fenris, and Isabela.

They held a cremation in the back garden. The garden was overgrown--Leandra had always meant to start tending to it again, but had never done so. The weeds and grasses just made both Abigail and Carver feel even worse.

Abigail at least waited till after the ceremony was done to confront Isabela.

“Why are you here?” Abigail growled.

“She was a good woman,” Isabela said. “I should pay some respect, shouldn’t I?”

“This is your fault,” Abigail hissed.

Isabela said nothing, her lack of response infuriating Abigail even more.

“If you had never stolen that damned book, none of this would have happened!” Abigail shouted.

“And if that storm hadn’t waylaid me here, the Qunari would have bloody well settled somewhere else!” Isabela snapped.

“But they settled here!” Abigail snarled. “And that is your fault!”

“It isn’t my fault they stayed!”

“But it's your fault they're here!”

The others were staring, and Merrill looked between the two of them, worried. Isabela's chest heaved, and suddenly, she turned and bolted out the door.

“Isabela, wait!” Merrill cried, and before anyone could stop her, she chased after Isabela.

“Merrill!” Abigail called after her. Merrill ignored her, and caught up to Isabela, who was halfway down the street at this point.

“Isabela...” Merrill caught Isabela’s arm. “Don’t leave. Please?”

“Oh, Kitten,” Isabela sighed and wrapped Merrill in a hug. “You’re too bloody good to a pirate like me,” she sighed.

“She shouldn’t blame you,” Merrill said. “She should blame the Qunari. And so should you.”

“I do blame them,” Isabela said. “But it’s my fault, too.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Isabela sighed and pulled away, patting Merrill’s cheek. “You look after Abigail, will you?” she said. “I’d tell you to look after Fenris and Aveline, too, but they can look after themselves.”

“What do you mean?” Merrill said. “You say that like you’re going somewhere.” Isabela didn’t say anything. “You aren’t, are you?”

“Kitten...”

“Are you?”

“I can’t stay here,” Isabela said, and her voice broke. “I’m sorry. I can’t...”

“Isabela...”

Isabela turned on her heel and walked away. Merrill didn’t follow.

After some time, she returned to the house. The others were milling about in the entrance hall, but Abigail was nowhere to be found.

"Where is Abigail?" Merrill asked.

"Upstairs," Bethany murmured.

Merrill patted Bethany on the shoulder, then raced upstairs to Abigail's bedroom. Her door was unlocked, and Merrill pushed it open. Abigail stood facing the window, and didn't look up when Merrill came in.

“Isabela’s leaving,” Merrill said.

“Good,” Abigail snapped.

“No, it isn’t good!”

“Why do you care so damned much about her?” Abigail raged, turning around and kicking the bed.

“Because she’s my friend, Abigail!”

Abigail froze and sat down very heavily on her bed. “I know,” she said. “I just...” she closed her eyes.

“Just what?” Abigail was silent, and Merrill sat down on the bed next to her. “Just what, Abigail?’

Abigail began to weep, great gulping sobs, and Merrill pulled her to her chest.

“Oh, no, shh,” Merrill soothed, running a hand through her hair. “Shh. Ir abelas, ma vhenan.”

“This isn’t fair,” Abigail wept, holding Merrill so tightly that it hurt. “After the Blight and the Deep Roads and everything--”

“I know, ma vhenan,” Merrill murmured.

“She never even got to see Bethany again.” Abigail said. “And Isabela...I just...isn’t she supposed to be my friend?”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Merrill said. “The Qunari aren’t something she could control. I don’t really think anybody can.”

“I know,” Abigail pressed her forehead to the crook of Merrill’s neck. “I just...”

“Oh, ma vhenan,” Merrill murmured. “It just hurts. I know.”

No one was in line for Viscount. With both Dumar and Seamus dead, there were many cousins and extended family that could claim the title, but no one did. Some nobles attempted to claim the position, but Meredith issued a moritorium on the position, claiming martial law, and there was no one who would contradict her. One woman tried, but within a week dropped the claim, and was last seen heading for the coast. After that, no one followed up.

Aveline contested the martial law, as did Abigail and several other nobility, but as there was no one in charge and no one qualified truly willing to fight Meredith on the position, there wasn't much to be done about it. Grand Cleric Elthina upheld Meredith's rule, despite the unrest it caused.

There was a very vocal number of people who thought Abigail should be arrested by the Templars, even executed as a maleficar, but there was also significant number of people who saw her killing of the Arishok as heroic, even if it was a mage who did it.

Despite Meredith protesting it, Abigail was given the title of Champion because of nobles who had been friends of Leandra’s. Perhaps they couldn’t regain control of the city, but they could at least do this for the person who had saved it.

Merrill was also in danger from the Templars, as she had done magic right in front of Meredith. However, Merrill was staying at Abigail’s now, and had brought the eluvian there, and the Templars weren’t going to storm the house of the Champion. Bethany still couldn’t be rescued from the Circle (Meredith made absolutely sure of that), but Merrill could still be safe.

Merrill desperately wanted to get out of the city, to try and visit Clan Sabrae, but the borders had been closed tightly and she hadn’t been able to. Aveline was trying to work around it, but with little success. Merrill hoped they wouldn't leave before she had a chance to show them the eluvian.

Speaking of the eluvian, it still worked just fine. Most everyone else thought the thing was wildly dangerous, but it didn't seem to be. It had a very strong feeling of magic about it, but other than that, it seemed perfectly safe.

Merrill mapped out a few other functional eluvians that hers was connected to. One opened into a ruin, one into a snowy cave, one into a cliff overlooking the ocean—there was very little consistency between them. She wasn’t positive where all of them were, and it was going to take some time before she would be able to mark their locations on a map.

Abigail had tried going through the eluvian again, but any time she did, she felt absolutely terrible, as did any other human that went through them. Humans were immediately fine after leaving an eluvian, which meant that something inside the eluvian network was affecting them.

“I don't understand it,” Merrill admitted. “Why would humans have such a hard time with them?”

They had larger problems than the eluvian, however.

Meredith's appointment as effective ruler of the city was causing a great deal of tension. According to Abigail's noble contacts, other cities were starting to grow concerned, and even Val Royeaux wasn't backing it.

By all rights, that should have meant that the Chantry should have dismissed Meredith's authority, but for some reason that wasn't happening.

Apparently relations with Orzammar had suffered as well, with loud arguments between the Orzammar ambassador and Meredith frequent. This was a problem, considering that tempers were so bad between Meredith and Orsino that they had taken to screaming at each other in the street on at least one occasion.

Aveline couldn't do much. The Grand Cleric had quite firmly established that the Guard held no authority over the Templars, and no Chantry member thought the Templars of Kirkwall were doing the slightest thing wrong.

“It's infuriating,” Aveline said one night, while the group was gathered in the Hanged Man.

“Now you know how I feel,” Anders told her loftily.

Aveline rolled her eyes. “It isn't the same thing,” she told him. “Circle laws are laws—if they're following them, the Templars shouldn't pose much of a problem.”

Anders snorted. “Is that right? So I suppose it's legal for the Chantry to perform blood magic, but everyone else it's a sin?”

“The Chantry does not perform blood magic,” Fenris said, rolling his eyes.

“Phylacteries,” Anders sighed. “I know I've told you about them—those vials of blood that let them track lost mages?”

“Oh, yes, that's definitely blood magic,” Merrill said.

Aveline sighed and massaged her temples. “It doesn't matter,” she said. “The point is right now, the Chantry is in the wrong legally, and no one seems to mind!”

“Not even the Seekers?” Varric asked.

Aveline shook her head. “I swear to you, something is going on within the Chantry itself,” she said.

“The Grand Cleric threatened Bethany when we tried to get the Seekers to come and investigate, anyway,” Abigail grumbled. The others had heard about it before, but it still seemed shocking that the Grand Cleric would say such a thing.

“Well, I'm not exactly surprised,” Anders said, his expression baleful. “They threaten any mage in their prisons if an outside party does something they don't like, you know. Happens all the time.”

Fenris shook his head. He’d always thought of southern Templars as just and good, keeping mages safe from themselves and those around him, but the Kirkwall Chantry made him think more and more of Tevinter.

“I simply do not understand why they see fit to neglect their duty,” Fenris said. “What purpose does threatening mages in Circles provide?”

“Well, it’s a hostage situation, basically,” Anders said. “I have an idea that the Chantry actually loves it if a noble family has a mage. Lets them get a hold over the family, you see? It must make them annoyed that the Theirin family doesn’t have any mages in it, considering how much trouble the King gave them.”

Everyone rolled their eyes, but had to admit he probably had a point. Anders’ paranoia could be grating at times, but considering that his fellow Wardens had almost all been hunted down and arrested by the Seekers, he was most likely justified in it.

It was about three months after the Viscount's death, and the Orzammar embassy was celebrating something that they hadn’t seen fit to explain to anyone else. Whatever it was, it had the entire embassy awake and loud late into the night.

“Oh, Creators, what a racket!” Merrill said, peering out the window to try and get a glimpse of the embassy.

“What are they doing?” Abigail wondered, coming up behind Merrill to look as well.

“Something very good must have happened,” Merrill said. She hummed to herself, considering the possibilities. “Or very bad?”

“It’s most likely good, the way they're carrying on,” Abigail said. “Do you want to go see what it is?”

“Oh, yes!” Merrill said, her eyes lighting up. “Do you think Carver will want to come too? He might enjoy it.”

Carver had been distraught over Leandra’s death, as Abigail had, and was heartbroken that Bethany went back to the Circle. Abigail considered that.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think he’d appreciate us waking him up in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll go and ask him anyway,” Merrill decided. “He might really enjoy whatever it is!” Merrill didn’t approve of the tension between Abigail and Carver, and was constantly trying to get them to do things together.

Merrill woke Carver up, and to Abigail’s surprise, he decided to come to the embassy with them.

“I just want to know what’s making that racket,” he grumbled. “Took me ages to get to sleep.”

They went out and walked to the embassy. Several other nobles were out front, complaining about the noise to the dwarrowdam at the door.

Abigail, Merrill, and Carver went past the other nobles to ask what was going on.

“Queen Aeducan got married!” the dwarf explained, a broad grin on her face.

“So you're having a party for her?” Carver asked.

The dwarf nodded. She caught sight of Merrill, and her face lit up even more. “Oh—you'll be happy to hear this too!” she said.

“Oh yes?” Merrill asked. “Why me?”

“The Prince-Consort's an elf!” the dwarf said. She sighed dreamily. “He rescued the Queen from the Deep Roads during the Blight, and helped the Warden-Commander defeat the Archdemon. He's half-Dalish, too! That'll make the Dalish happy, won't it?”

“An elf?” another noble exclaimed, shocked. “Since when does a Queen marry an elf?”

The dwarf sniffed. “The Queen can marry whoever she feels like,” she said loftily. “If she wants to marry an elf, she can marry an elf, and shame on people who say she can't!”

“But why would she?” the noble demanded, propping his hands on his hips. “I mean, an elf, really...” he glared at Abigail in a significant way. Carver and Abigail both glared right back at him, and Abigail put an arm around Merrill.

“Something to say about my sister?” Carver growled.

The noble flushed. “I only...well...” he turned to the dwarf. “It’s not very proper, is it?” he snapped.

“The Queen loves him!” the dwarf said. “Isn't that romantic? She's marrying for love after he saved her from the darkspawn!”

“That is romantic,” Merrill agreed. “It's very sweet.”

“However romantic it is, could you please keep it down?” Another noble asked. She was wrapped in a woolen bathrobe and looked grumpy. “People are trying to sleep!”

“It's not every day the Queen gets married,” the dwarf said seriously. “Come on—you can celebrate too, if you want! Actually--” the dwarf looked at Merrill again. “Why don't you come in, salroka? Any Dalish is a friend of ours.”

“Really?” Merrill looked surprised, and glanced at Abigail. “Oh, that sounds lovely,” she said.

“Yes, really!” the dwarf nodded. “You should come in!”

“Oh—well, alright,” Merrill said with a smile. “Come on, Abigail! You too, Carver!”

“Merrill, I don't know--” but Merrill had already grabbed her hand and they were headed inside the embassy, Carver right on their heels.

The embassy was bright, loud, colorful and everyone looked like they were having a marvelous time. There was food and wine and a pair of dwarves seemed to be having a contest involving throwing axes. Several dwarves came up to Merrill immediately and struck up conversation, while Abigail and Carver were mostly left alone.

That is, Carver was left alone until a dwarrowdam in a low-cut brocade dress took an interest in him. Carver seemed very shocked by the attention, but not at all displeased. Eventually he and the dwarrowdam disappeared, and Abigail shook her head. She had no idea Carver was so fond of dwarves.

Merrill and the dwarves who had drawn her into conversation talked happily, Merrill asking them about the details of the Queen's marriage. Abigail listened, fascinated, as the dwarves explained.

According to them, Queen Aeducan had married an Antivan elf who had come to Orzammar with the Warden-Commander while she was trying to stop the Blight. The Queen had been betrayed by her brother, and had been accused of killing her other brother, and thrown into the Deep Roads.

“But the Prince-Consort knew Bhelen was a liar,” one of the dwarves said. “So he and the Warden-Commander went into the Deep Roads to rescue her!”

“Then they met and fell in love,” said another dwarf, a little younger than the first one. “She rescued him from a Broodmother.”

“A Broodmother?” Abigail asked.

The dwarf nodded. “The things that make more darkspawn,” she explained. “They're horrible.” all the dwarves nodded in agreement. “When Prince-Consort Arainai and the Warden-Commander were attacked by one, the Queen killed it!”

“And...then they got married?” Abigail asked.

“No,” the dwarf laughed. “The Prince-Consort helped defeat the Archdemon, of course! Then they got married.”

“After he fought with the Antivan Crows,” another dwarf pointed out. “See, the Prince-Consort used to be an assassin,” he explained. “But, since he turned out to be much more honorable than the Crows, they decided they had to kill him. So, he got them first.”

“I...see.” Abigail said, blinking. “And your Queen doesn't have any problem marrying an assassin?”

The dwarves all gave shocked exclamations.

“He's no assassin now!” a dwarrowdam in armor said. “And anyway, he's too honorable to be an assassin. What kind of assassin saves a Queen and then helps kill an Archdemon?”

“I...don't know,” Abigail admitted.

“Oh, that's so sweet!” Merrill said, delighted. “Did you say he was half-Dalish?”

“Oh, yes!” the armored dwarrowdam said. “I guess the Coalition thinks he's...a cousin, or something like it? His mother was Dalish, though he never knew what Clan she was from.”

Merrill nodded. “I suppose he'd be like a cousin,” she said. “That's good, isn't it? Does it help the alliance between the Dalish and Orzammar?”

“Yes,” the dwarrowdam nodded. “The Coalition wasn't sure to accept him as Dalish or not at first, but they decided that even if he didn't grow up in a Clan, since his mother was
Dalish, he was basically a relative.”

The party lasted well into the early hours of the morning, and eventually Abigail and Merrill stumbled home. Carver came back the next morning, looking disheveled but very pleased.

“I’d no idea you were so fond of dwarven ladies,” Abigail said with a smirk when she spotted him.

Carver shrugged. “And I hadn’t any idea that dwarven ladies were so fond of human men,” he said. “But it worked out.”

Chapter Text

Then there were the assassins.

Carta assassins had been after Abigail, Carver, and most surprisingly, Bethany. They'd snuck into the Gallows and attempted to find and kill her, but were detected and thrown out by the Templars instead.

It didn't make sense. The Hawke family wasn't an enemy of the Carta, as a matter of fact, Varric had a pretty decent relationship with them. The Amell name had never had any dealings with them, so it wasn’t as if it was a debt that had been inherited somehow.

The Carta also weren't known for assassinations. Smuggling, drug dealing, general violence, yes, but not assassination. And they never attacked a Circle—nobody attacked Circles. If the Templars didn’t get you, the mages certainly would.

Varric questioned the local Carta head, but apparently none of them knew why the Hawkes were being targeted. As far as they knew, no one had even put out a hit. They were just as confused as Abigail and Varric were.

One of Varric's Carta contacts managed to identify one of the assassins, however. Abigail had killed him, but he was still recognizable enough for the contact.

The dwarrowdam had frowned at the body. “I haven't seen him for weeks,” she said. “Thought he was dead already—he shouldn't be anywhere near here.”

“Why's that?” Varric asked.

“Well—he mostly does business with the Orlais Carta. We have different chapters, y'see.” she narrowed her eyes. “Looks like he caught the Blight.” she crouched down next to him, and pointed to the black veins trailing from his eyes. “See these?”

“Maybe he was sick with it,” Carver suggested. “So he...went crazy?”

The dwarrowdam shook her head. “That doesn't make sense either. Blight sickness doesn't make you seek out specific people to kill. It's like foaming sickness—just rage and violence.” she stood back up. “I'll look into it,” she said. “This is strange—we should know what it's all about.”

A few weeks later the contact informed them that she'd located where the assassins were based. The Carta sent a few people along with Abigail, Carver, Varric, Anders and Merrill to see what the problem was.

“They shouldn't be acting like this,” was the explanation that Tohnen gave. Tohnen was one of three Carta members who came with them, experienced with a crossbow like Varric was. “We don't know what they're doing, and we don't much like it.”

“I can't say I much enjoy it either,” Abigail said, her voice dry.

Tohnen came with two other Carta members, Renn and Malickha. Malickha, like Tohnen and Varric, used a crossbow, and Renn used daggers. All three had a fondness for explosives as well, and had several enchanted items that could make a large explosion when they wanted them to.

“So, where's their base?” Carver asked.

“'S weird,” Tohnen said. “It's some big ruin in the Vimmarks—one of the scouts we sent said the ruins looked dwarven, but there's no ruins on any map, Carta, merchant, or Orzammar. Have any of you heard of it?”

No one had.

“Whatever it is, it's not on Warden maps either,” Anders said with a frown. “I've never heard of anything out there.”

“My people don't much like these mountains, so we never explored out here,” Merrill said.

“Why don't the Dalish like going there?” Varric asked.

“It’s too rocky, and not a lot grows there. Antivan and Nevarran Clans, who love the desert, don't come this direction either, though. There's so many darkspawn there.”

“Maybe there's a Deep Roads entrance somewhere?” Carver suggested.

“If there was, it'd be on someone's map,” Anders said.

Carver sighed and shrugged. “Does it really matter? We just need them to stop killing us.”

“It matters, alright,” Tohnen said, her tone dark. “We can't have people claiming to be Carta just doing whatever they want.”

“I thought that was the point of the Carta,” Anders said, raising his eyebrows.

Tohnen and the other dwarves laughed.

“If you think that, you don't know nearly as much about us as you claim to,” Malickha said.

After about a week of travel in the mountains, they came to where the scouts said the base was. It was a massive crumbling ruin, built right into the side of the mountain.

“How can something this big not be on a map?” Anders asked, looking out over the ruins.

“It doesn't make any sense,” Varric agreed.

Anders grimaced. “This entire place has a nasty feeling,” he said. “I can sense darkspawn somewhere—and there's something else..” he shook himself. “I don't know what it is, but there's something very bad down here.”

“Then we should probably find what it is before it kills us,” Abigail said.

They set off into the ruins, which were full of dust and sand, but had clearly been magnificent at one time. The buildings were half sunken into the desert, their decorations and carvings worn away, but one could see the remains of statues and the signs of ancient dwarven architecture.

“Why haven't any Orzammar archaeologists been here?” Varric asked Tohnen. “They'd have a field day.”

“I don't know,” Tohnen said, chewing her lip. “You're right, they'd love it—it doesn't make sense for this place to just be abandoned.”

“Maybe darkspawn drove them off,” Anders suggested. “I can still feel them. They aren’t close, but they're here.”

“But why would this place not be on any maps?” Abigail asked.

“Could be that it's a way of trying to make people stay away,” Tohnen suggested. “A bad way, 'cos, well, it wouldn't work, but...”

“That’s possible,” Varric said with a nod.

They were deep into the ruins when they encountered the first of one of the hostile Carta.

“You--” the dwarf pointed one shaking finger to Abigail, then Carver. “Brother and sister! You've come!” other dwarves began to come up behind them, and Anders let out a warning hiss.

“Abigail...” he said. “I can feel a lot of Blight around here...”

“The children of Malcolm Hawke,” one of the Blighted dwarves breathed. “You've come to us!”

“What does our father have to do with this?” Abigail demanded.

“It begins with him, and ends with you! Blood for blood!” one of the other dwarves said. “That's what we were told!”

“Who told you?” Carver asked. “Did Father cross the Carta somehow?”

“Your father's years dead,” Tohnen said. “Any debt he had with us would've been long since paid before now.”

“It doesn't matter,” one of the Blighted dwarves said. “We must have the blood!”

“What for?” Abigail asked.

“So Corypheus may walk in the sun once more!” the dwarf insisted.

Everyone looked at each other blankly.

“Anyone know who that is...?” Varric asked.

“The name sounds Tevinter,” Anders said. “But other than that, I have no idea.”

“The only Tevinter we'd be having trouble with is that magister Danarius,” Abigail said. “And I think he's more interested in Fenris than us.”

“You must give the blood!” the dwarf insisted.

“What happens if we don't?” Abigail asked.

“Then we will take it!”

“Wait,” Abigail held out a hand. “You don't have to do that.” she and Carver exchanged a look. “If you explain this to us, properly, maybe we can help.”

“Can't—can't explain,” the dwarf said, pressing a hand to his head. “The Master—he needs the blood.”

“Why can't you explain?” Tohnen demanded. “Dammit, what happened to you people out here?”

“Darkspawn blood,” the dwarf said, his voice strangled. “Fought darkspawn—but they were—different. They heard different music.”

Anders narrowed his eyes. “Now, where've I heard this before?” he muttered.

“A taste of the blood—and you hear the music they hear,” the dwarf said. “And we need your blood, now.”

“I think I see the problem, Abigail,” Anders said. “Sort of, anyway—we saw something...well, not the same, exactly, but definitely saw some weird behavior from darkspawn and people with the Taint in Amaranthine.”

“That place with the smart darkspawn?” Tohnen asked, horrified.

“That'd be the one,” Anders said. “We might be looking at a similar situation.” he pursed his lips. “Remember the Architect, in the Deep Roads? This might be another one of his...experiments.”

The dwarf shook his head. “We are beholden to no one but the Master!” he exclaimed.

“Calm down,” Varric held out his hands. “Look, is this the kind of situation where you really need to kill the Hawkes? Merrill, how often does blood magic seriously need sacrifice?”

“Not often,” Merrill said. Her expression was pensive. “But...Tevinters do it all the time. Anders, you said the name Corypheus was Tevinter?”

“Sounded like it.”

“Then maybe, yes, that's the kind of spell that'd need a sacrifice.”

“That sounds very unpleasant,” Abigail said. “So, do you need an entire sacrifice?” she asked the dwarves.

They looked at each other, uncertain.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Abigail asked.

“Perhaps...perhaps not,” the dwarf said, narrowing his eyes.

“Who cares?” Anders asked. “It's most likely some kind of darkspawn experiment—don't give it to them, Abigail. It doesn't matter how much blood they need, it's not exactly in a good cause.”

“If you don't give, we will take!” the dwarf said, drawing a blade. Immediately a fight started, but the dwarves were clumsy and uncoordinated with Blight. They soon finished the fight, Abigail wiping sweat from her forehead.

“This is bad,” Tohnen said. “Very bad.”

“Well, they did try to kill us,” Carver pointed out.

“Not that!” Tohnen rolled over one of the dwarf corpses. “This—this here, is wrong. You, Anders—what do you know about smart darkspawn?”

Anders shrugged. “Not too much. We met some that could talk, and a few warring factions. The Architect—one of the faction...heads, I suppose—did manage to get a few people who weren’t darkspawn on his side, but that wasn’t quite the same thing.” he shook his head. “I don’t know what this is.”

“A Warden who doesn’t know what’s going on with the darkspawn,” Varric hissed through his teeth. “That’s an encouraging sign.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Anders said.

They came across a dwarf named Gerav, a man that both Varric and the Carta knew. He was the man who had built Bianca, and was an intelligent inventor and mechanic. Varric attempted to speak reasonably with him, but he wouldn’t be reasoned with. He attacked them, and they were forced to kill him.

“What was he doing here?” Tohnen said, her brow furrowed. She looked over his body. “We bought some weapons off him not three months ago—what would he be doing here?”

“Who knows?” Varric shrugged.

“He probably got caught up in a darkspawn attack, got whatever Blight drove the rest of these poor bastards crazy,” Anders said. “That, or the Architect's been experimenting on all of them.”

They continued on further into the ruins. They came to an ancient mining facility, clearly out of use for hundreds of years. The enemy Carta were based there, and attacked Abigail and Carver on sight. Apparently they didn't take kindly to having their own people attacked—or perhaps they simply needed the blood of a Hawke.

When the fight was over (their enemies' weapons ill-kept, their armor ill-fitted), Abigail saw something shining by the side of the leader. She went over to it, and to her surprise, felt a pulse of magic in the air. The thing was a staff.

Abigail picked up the staff. It was short for a staff, maybe only four feet long, with a heavy red figurehead on one end. It was inlaid with gold, elegant and twisting.

Once she held it in her hands, magic twined its way around her, burning through her veins.

She gasped, and tried to let go of it, but her hands wouldn't open.

“Abigail!” Merrill exclaimed, one of her knives at the ready.

Just as soon as it started, the magic stopped. Abigail leaned forward, gasping, and let the staff fall from her fingers. It clattered to the ground, the Veil bleeding around it.

“What...was that?” she gasped.

Merrill reached out to the staff, but didn't touch it. She shuddered. “This can help us find out what's happening,” she said. “It's—I don't know, it's connected to other places. Through there.” she pointed to the mouth of a cave that lead deep into the mines.

“Then we go there,” Carver said.

“Wait—no, that wouldn't be a good idea,” Merrill said. “There's something very bad down there. I feel...something.”

Anders nodded. “Whatever it is, we're probably better off staying away from it.”

“We have to find out what's going on!” Carver insisted. “We can't just quit now!”

“If we turn back, we'll never know what they wanted,” Abigail pointed out. “And they'll probably just send more assassins after us.”

After some more hemming and hawwing, the group went into the cave. Tohnen and the other two Carta members stayed behind, so that a message could be gotten out in case the worst happened.

Once they stepped over the threshold, the Veil twisted around them, and a barrier sprang to life over the door.

“Oh—dammit, the whole thing's sealed over!” Varric reached out to touch the barrier, and pulled his hand back with a yelp.

“Electricity spell?” Anders asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess so,” Varric said, shaking out his hand.

“That's why you ask the mages about this sort of thing first,” Anders chided. He, Abigail and Merrill examined it.

“I don't recognize this spell,” Anders said.

“It's blood magic, I can feel how it was made,” Merrill said with a frown. “Let me see if I can--” she opened up a cut on her arm (making Carver and Anders both flinch), and tried to bring the barrier down, but nothing happened. She frowned, a line appearing between her eyebrows. “I don't know why it won't work,” she said.

“Think maybe that Corypheus they were talking about has something to do with this?” Varric wondered.

"Could be,” Anders said. “The Architect had a lot of magic we'd never see before.”

“I suppose we should just keep going, then,” Abigail said. They turned to the rest of the ruins.

They were absolutely enormous. The group stood in a huge cave, in the center of which a giant tower went up further than they could see. The ruins they were in now were a building near the tower, connected to it by a bridge further ahead. The ruins were filled with sand that must have trickled in from the desert. Some natural light filtered in through the top of the cavern, but it was weak and wan. Most of the light came from huge torches that lined the walls. They were filled with bright green phosphorescent crystals, giving off a pale green glow. Some of the torches were broken, some dark, but the ones that remained gave enough light to see by.

They pushed on ahead, encountering the darkspawn that Anders had first felt upon the surface. There weren't too many of them, which was good, and it was easy enough to get rid of them.

They encountered the strangest room. Two enormous shields were hung on the ancient walls, each bearing a griffin. In the middle of the room was a cage, holding a Hunger demon that seemed to take no interest in them.

Anders approached one of the shields with a frown. “This is the Wardens' sigil,” he said, touching one. At his touch, a voice emanated from the walls.

“...be bound here for eternity—hunger smothered, rage silenced, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be.”

Abigail and Carver both froze.

“That's Father's voice,” Abigail breathed. “I—that doesn't make any sense.”

“Those Blighted dwarves said something about our family,” Carver said. “Maybe—he didn't owe the Carta a debt, but...something else.”

“Why is there a demon trapped here?” Merrill asked, looking at the Hunger demon. “Why would he trap it instead of killing it or using it for something?”

They looked at the demon.

“I don't know,” Abigail said. “He wasn't much for demon-summoning. He would have killed it, not trapped it.”

“Maybe the Wardens wanted it for something,” Varric suggested. “Blondie—you said this was Warden heraldry?” he pointed at the shields.

Anders nodded. “Wardens can go to extremes to fight the darkspawn,” he said. “But I don't know why they'd just—summon a demon and not do anything with it. Especially since this isn't even a warden outpost.”

“Maybe you could ask the spirit about it,” Merrill suggested. She turned to the demon, careful not to touch the cage. “Hello? Can you tell us why you're here, please?”

“Tainted blood wanted to know us,” the spirit breathed, its voice barely a whisper. “They hungered for knowledge—they wanted to know so badly—but it was not them. Something wanted through them.”

“What does that mean?” Varric asked.

“Why was our father here?” Carver demanded.

“You want to know,” the demon's voice grew stronger. “You hunger for it. Let me out, and I shall tell you.”

“Don't,” Anders snapped. “It's too dangerous.”

Merrill nodded sadly. “I'm sorry,” she told the demon. “We can't do that.”

“I know what it is you starve for, old blood,” the demon tilted its head towards Merrill. “Let me out, and I will show you all the wonders of your ancient mothers and fathers.”

“No, I don't think so,” Merrill said. “Come on,” she told the others. “We should go.”

“Definitely,” Anders said, keeping an eye on the demon.

They continued through the ruins, until they came to an enormous bridge that lead from their side of the cavern to the tower in the center.

“There's something here,” Anders said, his face screwed up in concentration. “I—don't quite know what it is. It feels like a darkspawn, but...”

“But what?” Abigail asked.

Anders shook his head. “I don't know. We should be careful, though.”

They weren't halfway across the bridge before they encountered something different. A man, hunched and pale, was scuttling towards them. He wore tarnished plate armor and his hair was falling out in patches.

When he tilted up his head to look at them, his eyes were cloudy with cataracts, and black veins wove their way across his face.

“That's what I felt,” Anders said immediately, taking out his staff. They all collectively took a step back from the man. “He must have Blight sickness--”

“That's a griffin on his armor,” Varric pointed out. “Warden signs, like the shields.”

The man approached them, peering at Abigail through his cloudy eyes. “The key!” he said, his voice raspy and old. “Did they find it? The dwarves? I heard the dwarves looking...digging for it.”

“Digging for what?” Abigail asked slowly. “A key? What key?”

The man pointed to Abigail, then Carver. “That—stave you carry,” the man croaked. “And the magic, the old magic, in the blood...”

Abigail held the staff out. “How is this a key?”

The man looked away from them, his hands jerking and twitching. “Old magic, old spells,” he muttered. “It made the magic seals—it can break them.” he peered at it. “How did you get it? It should be...locked away, far away, under the ground.”

“The dwarves probably found it and took it out,” Carver said.

“They—they shouldn't have...couldn’t have...left,” the man said, looking furtively to the right and left. “How did they—oh. The voice, the sleeper—he must have let them out, yes, can't wake himself but he can free others--”

“Who are you talking about?” Abigail asked, and a thought struck her. “Is this about that Corypheus person?”

“Don't say his name!” the man exclaimed, voice echoing in the cavern. “Not while you hold the key! You will wake him!”

“Wake him?” Abigail raised an eyebrow. “How can I do that, just by saying his name?”

“Not the Architect, then,” Anders said. “He was pretty awake when we last saw him.”

“Is there another way out of here?” Varric asked. “The door sealed behind us--”

The man shook his head. “No way out while the center holds. The Wardens build their prisons well—but it is crumbling. The dwarves got out, the sleeper turns over in his sleep...”

“So does that mean there is a way out of here?” Abigail asked.

“We can't leave till we deal with this Corypheus problem,” Carver said.

“Every time you speak his name, he wakes a little more!” the Blighted man snapped. “Do not say it! Can't you hear him, talking to himself?”

“No, I can't say that I do,” Carver said, eyebrows raised.

“You will,” the man nodded. “You will.”

“You said this was a Warden prison?” Anders asked. “Why isn't it on any maps? I've never heard of this place.”

“Secret, secret,” the man said. “Even among Wardens, secret—terrible things sleep in the pit, they built the prison to keep him trapped.”

“Why wouldn't they tell other Wardens about it?” Abigail asked.

The man shook his head. “Secret, secret,” he insisted. “Even Hawke knew the secret must be kept.”

“Hawke?” Carver said. “Malcolm Hawke?”

“Yes, yes—like you,” he said. “I can smell the blood—the magic is the same on you as it was on him.” he pointed to Abigail.

“Why did they get our father involved in this?” Abigail demanded. “If they didn't even tell other Wardens--”

“Blood too Tainted for the spell,” the man said. “Couldn't be Wardens to fix the seals. Couldn't be Dalish, nor Avvar nor Tevinter nor Vashoth—they would know what it was, they would stop the Wardens. No Circle mage would ever touch this place. They could all smell the terrible magic—the sleeper.”

“So they needed an apostate,” Anders said slowly, a dawning horror on his face. “Who wasn't attached to any other group.”

The man nodded. “Yes, yes! Alone, disconnected, afraid of magic but not too afraid—perfect.”

“Afraid of magic?” Carver furrowed his brow. “He wasn't afraid of his magic.”

“He was proud of it,” Abigail agreed.

“You can hear his words, echoes left,” the man said. “All things leave echoes here, in the deep places. He wished for his children to not have magic. He was afraid.”

“This isn't getting us anywhere,” Anders said. “We need to move on. We should get out of here.”

“You can't go back,” the man said. “You need to go to the heart—down and in. You need to undo the seals with the key.”

“Which way do we go?” Abigail asked.

“You can feel it,” the man said. “Hear the magic—hold the stave, you can smell it on the air. That way,” he pointed down the bridge, to the tower.

“Well...” Abigail rolled her shoulders back. “If there's no other way out of here...”

“I don't know, Abigail...” Anders said, eyeing the man.

“You are Tainted too,” the man said, looking at Anders. “You smell of dreams and the Blight—you will hear him. He will want you.”

“Want me?” Anders pressed a hand to his chest. “Want me for what?”

“Waking, of course.”

They all looked at each other, and after some deliberation, continued on into the tower. The man followed them at a distance, but soon vanished back into the ruin.

In the tower, they found a large, circular room with a vast glowing plinth in the center. The plinth oozed magic, clumsy and bloody, and there was something very large and very nasty held within it.

With a great deal of caution, Abigail reached out with the stave, and touched its figurehead to the plinth.

The binding spell burst, and a huge Pride demon came to light. It tilted its head to look at them with one of its sets of many eyes. They all stepped back, weapons drawn, but the demon made no move to step off the plinth.

“You have the blood of the one who trapped me here,” the Pride demon growled. “But you are not him.”

Abigail shook her head. “No,” she said.

The demon rumbled to itself. “You believe you are strong enough to get out,” it said. “But how can you, when one such as I never has?'

“Because I have the key.”

The demon let out a low laugh. “Clumsy blood magic and a mage, frightened by the Wardens into shoring up their broken prison? A key is no good when the lock is broken.”

“It doesn't seem very broken.”

“No? Then let me loose.”

“Why would I do that?”

The demon peeled its lips away from rows of jagged teeth in a mocking parody of a smile. “You cannot pass until you defeat me, or until Corypheus guides you with his dreams.”

“Can you tell us about Corypheus?” Merrill asked. “Who is he?”

The demon tilted its head to the other side, peering at her. “Little blood mage,” it said. “You smell of old magic, from those who are long gone. You have already done the impossible. He is another who has done impossible things.”

“Stop talking to it,” Anders said.

“And you,” the demon looked at him. “Ah—what a curious thing you are. You smell of the Blight, but Justice as well.” it bore its teeth further, showing that they were each sharp as a blade and as long as one's hand. “You are not proud. You are angry. Fascinating—your path leads only into darkness, but you have such high hopes...”

Anders paled and stepped back. “Stop talking to it!” he insisted.

The demon reached out, and prodded the barrier with a claw. Its grin widened. “Ah—I don't believe I need you any longer,” it said. “For you have set me free.”

There was a crack, and the barrier shattered, sending shards in all directions to fade like starlight.

The demon stood upright, its form wavering. The group readied their weapons, but the demon made no move to attack.

“How fascinating it will be, to see you fail,” it told them. “They call me Pride, but I think there are others to live up to the name better than I do.” it rumbled a deep laugh. “'Pride crushed?' Your kin built a dam that could not hold back the flood. His Maker gave him no strength in this place.”

The creature burst into a thousand points of light, and vanished.

The Blighted Warden came shuffling into the hall. “Two thousand years, the magic holds,” he said. “Never broken. Never broken. But crumbling—a cliff when the waves smash against it.”

“So...it was always going to get loose?” Abigail asked. “Whether or not I was here? Is that what you mean?”

“The dead gods still dream. Dead spirits still whisper. Dead and dying spells stay dying and dead unless a hand comes to save them. And the only hand that came was of your blood. It was not enough.”

“Why not?” Carver asked.

“What is one frightened man against someone who has died and still dreams?” the Warden asked. “Nothing, nothing, nothing. The Wardens chose poorly.”

“That's our father you're talking about,” Carver snapped.

“Doesn't matter who he is—what I say is true. Your blood shatters the bond because the bond was poor.”

Abigail frowned. “Who are you?” she asked. “We don't even know your name.”

“Name?” the man's eyes darted sightlessly back and forth. “It's been a long time since I've said my name. I think—they used to call me--” he stumbled for a bit. “Larius! I was Larius. And a—a title, as well. Commander. Commander of the Grey.”

“Commander Larius?” Anders frowned. “I've never heard of a Commander Larius.”

“You wouldn't know. Too young.”

“Too young?” Anders glanced at his companions. “How's that?”

“The Warden's life is one half-lived,” Larius said. “But the Blight brings a long, long death without dying. Very long. I was there when the Hawke held the seals—half-dying, still alive, but not quite. Before I was this.”

“So...you were the one that did this?” Abigail asked.

Larius shook his head. “Not me. We needed—there was--” he choked on his words. “I—it doesn't want me to remember. Doesn't want me to tell you. He hates the prison, doesn't wish to speak of it. Can't you hear him?” he asked Anders. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “He calls—from the darkness. What waits there?” he stumbled away, vanishing into the ruins again.

“Wait--!” Abigail said, but Larius was gone.

“We have to keep going,” Carver said.

They went on, the broken seal having opened the way further down, but not back. There were more darkspawn here, enormous beasts in clumsy armor. They were dispatched well enough, but Abigail still worried about the possibility of Taint.

In the next level, they found another caged demon, like the first. This one was a Sloth demon, slow and huge, its body a bare facsimile of a person’s. It was curled up and asleep at first, but when they approached it opened one baleful red eye and slowly got to its feet.

“You have the blood of him who imprisoned me,” the demon said, its voice thick like syrup. “And you—you have magic.” it pointed to Abigail. “Perhaps you are braver than he? He refused to release me or to kill me. The Wardens wished for me to be imprisoned, and he obeyed them, though I could feel he did not want to.”

“Why did the Wardens want you here?” Merrill asked.

The demon looked at her with its one red eye. The other eye was grown over by flesh. “Hmm,” it rumbled. “If you release me, perhaps I will tell you.”

“I don't think so,” Abigail said.

“Maybe they were studying them?” Merrill suggested.

“Or maybe it's some kind of side effect from the other seals,” Anders said. “The last one had a demon in it. Maybe summoning demons to the seals summoned other demons by accident?”

“But this isn't a seal,” Abigail said. “It's a cage—that's different. Why would they cage the demons but not get rid of them?”

“The staff works on both, doesn't it?” Varric said. “I bet they’re connected somehow. Maybe...can a demon fuel another spell?”

Anders hummed to himself. “Maybe it’s like a combination lock,” he suggested. “A demon in a cage has the power to fuel the seal, and the demon in the seal fuels...something else?”

“Clever, clever,” the demon yawned. “A large lock, yes, yes, but futile. Your blood is in all the spellwork, cage or seal or lock. Too much effort to get more than one mage to do it. It’s foolish—locking the sleeper away with a spell from blood, and just one person’s blood at that. He already knows blood magic.”

“What do you mean?” Merrill asked.

The demon closed its eye and waved them away. “If you will not release me, you have no reason to be here,” it proclaimed. “Leave me to my sleep.”

They turned away, and it curled up in its corner, seeming content to sleep again. They walked away, deeper into the ruins.

“'He already knows blood magic?'” Varric said. “That—Corypheus thing?”

“The Architect used blood magic,” Anders pointed out. “Maybe this thing is some kind of powerful darkspawn, like the Architect is.”

“Can you hear any of what Larius said he heard, Anders?” Merrill asked.

Anders shook his head. “No—I don't think so,” he said with a frown. “Maybe—I hear something, like something whispering, right at the edge of my hearing, but it's—well, it could actually be anything. There could be more spirits here, or ghosts, or these bloody darkspawn are the talking kind. I either haven't been here long enough or you need to have the Calling to hear what Larius heard.”

Merrill nodded. “Well—if you hear anything nasty, you'll let us know, won't you?”

“You'll be the first to know,” Anders sighed.

Chapter Text

They came across another strange demon cage before they found the next seal.

A Desire demon watched them from the cage, violet eyes burning in the dim light of the ruins. It peeled its lips back from its long, sharp teeth, spotting Carver and Abigail.

“You are the kin of him who locked me in here,” it said. “And—oh, you have magic,” it looked at Abigail. “How funny!”

“Why is that funny?” Abigail asked.

“Here,” the Desire demon said, its teeth like a row of needles. “I heard what he said, when he locked me away. You want to know, so I’ll tell you.”

The demon waved a hand, and a cloud of blue smoke appeared outside the cave, forming the vague shape of a man. The figure walked to one of the Warden shields, and reached out to touch it.

“I've bought our freedom, Leandra,” he said. “We can go home now—us and the baby. We can be safe, and together.”

The figure lowered his arm. “I hope it takes after you, love.” Malcolm's voice wavered. “I would never wish this magic on anyone.”

Abigail's hand tightened around her staff.

“May they never learn what I've done here...”

The voice faded, and all was quiet for a moment.

“He was so frightened,” the desire demon chuckled. “Terrified of himself, of the Wardens, of his magic, for his woman, for his children—the Circle sank its claws in deep. I could feel his desire, so strong, to be rid of his magic. What a foolish little man.”

“Be quiet,” Abigail snapped.

“Father...didn't want a child with magic?” Carver breathed. “I supposed he failed that twice over. Makes my lot seem better by comparison.”

“And I suppose he wanted the only child without magic to gloat over it when his sister is sent to the Circle?" Abigail snapped. Carver flinched.

“Abigail,” Merrill said softly.

“He bought his freedom by doing things he hated to do,” the Desire demon interjected. “But the Templars were on him, and the Wardens gave him the thing he wanted.”

“Templars?” Carver furrowed his brow. “Father was never hunted by Templars...”

The Desire demon laughed. “The Wardens protected him, in return for him doing their work,” it said. “They were the ones to make him vanish.”

“I never even heard of this...” Anders muttered.

“Why would you? The Wardens here are not like your Surana,” the demon said. “You want for freedom, for...justice. I can feel her wants through you—she wants the same thing. The Wardens here want something very different.”

“Why are you telling us all this?” Varric asked.

“Because it's funny. Because I am bored. Because feeding your wants makes them grow.” she grinned at them. “Pick any reason.”

“We should leave,” Anders said. “It's just trying to bait you.”

Abigail's fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palm. She glared at the demon, then gave a jerky nod.

“Let's go,” she said.

The demon cackled as they left, not seeming put out in the slightest by their absence.

Merrill came to Abigail's side, slid one arm in hers. “It’ll be fine,” she assured Abigail softly.

Abigail snorted softly. “How are you so sure?”

“Sometimes it's just better to hope,” Merrill told her. “I'm sure he meant the best.”

“Maybe,” Abigail said. “I know—I know he loved me and Bethany,” she confided quietly in Merrill. “He was a good man. He loved Mother and Carver—he'd do anything for us.”

“I'm sure he was,” Merrill said.

“But seeing this—hearing these things. They don't sound like him at all.” she shook her head. “My father wasn't a coward. He wasn't afraid of his magic and he wouldn't be afraid of Wardens. He was proud of his magic.”

“It was a long time ago,” Merrill said. “Maybe when you knew him, he learned that it was better to be proud of yourself than to fear yourself.”

“Maybe,” Abigail said. She glanced at Carver over her shoulder.

“You should talk to Carver about this,” Merrill said, following Abigail’s gaze. “Shouldn't you?”

Abigail looked away. “I don't know, Merrill,” she said. “He—I think we're too different. He won't ever stop seeing magic as something terrible.”

“Even after all this time?” Merrill looked Abigail in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

Abigail shrugged. “I don't know.”

“I know it's hard,” Merrill said. “Keeper and I always fought. But you should try and talk to him.”

“I'll—maybe later.” Abigail said. “When we're through with this.”

Deeper in the ruins, back in the central tower, they found another one of the seals. The demon locked inside was an enormous Despair demon, tears dripping from under the shadows of its hood.

It wailed when it saw them. “Let me out!” it demanded, its voice piercing like a baby's cry. “I wasn't like this!”

“Wasn't like what?” Carver asked, raising an eyebrow.

The demon gave out another wail. “I didn't want to come here! You—your kin pulled me through, to lock the sleeper in his cage!” it pointed one long claw towards Abigail, then to Carver.

“You didn't want to be here?” Anders raised his eyebrows. “That's the first I've heard a demon saying that.”

“Pulling a spirit through the Veil can damage them,” Merrill said. “They're not all demons who want to possess you. This one just remembers that it used to be something different.”

“What should we do with it?” Abigail asked.

“Let me out!” the Despair demon cried again. “You—Justice! You have the way home, in your head! Let me out!”

Abigail sighed. “I need to break the seal anyway,” she told her companions. “We're going to have to let it out.”

Abigail gingerly touched the staff to the plinth on the floor, and the spellwork vanished. The Despair demon let out a long sigh, and collapsed, its shape changing to a more humanoid one, resembling a Vashoth woman with burning blue eyes.

“Justice...” she whispered. “Help me.”

Anders reached out a hand and halted. “What am I meant to do?” he asked. “Are you truly a spirit, and no demon?”

“You know what I am.”

Anders' eyes gleamed blue. “Yes.” his hand lit with blue light, and he reached out and cradled her face in his hand. She sighed and closed her eyes, and her form dissolved into ashes and vanished.

“Well,” Varric said when she was gone. “You don't see that every day.”

“She was Compassion,” Anders rumbled, his voice thrumming with Justice's. “It was unjust what was done to her. This world turned her to Despair.” his eyes faded to normal again, and he pressed a hand to his head. “I...didn't know that could happen,” he admitted.

“It's not often,” Merrill explained. “The poor thing—it must have been an accident. There's lots of spirits who want to come to the physical world, but if you catch the wrong one, you can pull one through that was just fine in the Fade. It hurts them.”

“And that turns them hostile?” Abigail asked.

“Sometimes. Not always.” Merrill shook her head. “Despair sometimes is just a danger to itself.”

Larius shambled into the room, and they all glanced at him.

“He is waking,” Larius said. “He can feel the magic waning, can feel you walk in the shadows.”

“The...sleeper,” Abigail said. “The one who—whose name you don't want us to say.”

Larius nodded. “He's Calling,” he said. “Like an Old God. He can mimic their cry. He Calls them to free him—any with the Taint in their blood.” he eyed Anders. “Can you hear him? Surely he will Call to you soon.”

“Just—just whispers,” Anders said. “Only whispers.”

Larius looked at Anders, his filmy eyes strangely knowing. “Ah, but you know they are from him.”

“Yes,” Anders whispered, putting a hand to his head. “I can—now that the seal is broken...”

Larius nodded. “He is more than darkspawn—more than man. He dreams...”

“Like the Architect. But the Architect was never a dreamer...” Anders furrowed his brow.

“Maybe the Architect and this...dreamer...used to be human,” Abigail suggested. “They just got so infected with Blight they stopped.”

“That’s never happened to anyone else,” Anders said.

“The sleeper isn't anyone else,” Larius said. “He is different. His poison was not diluted.”

“What does that mean?” Carver asked.

Larius shook his head. “You must hurry,” he said. “The seals weaken, and he wakes. If you were wise, you would not break them. But you must break them to leave, so you must be ready to kill him. On, that way,” he pointed them deeper into the ruins.

The ruins were huge, elaborate. They walked, deeper and deeper, finding the bodies of explorers who had come and been trapped within. Mostly dwarves, some others in Warden armor, some in plain wanderer's clothing.

They were closer to a new seal when Anders let out a cry, putting his hands against his head.

“What's wrong?” Merrill fretted, going to Anders' side.

“Voices,” he gasped. “I can't—I can hear him—he wants--”

“Easy, Anders,” Abigail said. “You don't have to listen to him.”

Anders' eyes gleamed blue, and Merrill stepped back. “I will not be controlled,” Justice growled, voice reverberating off the cavern walls.

“Easy,” Abigail put out a hand. “It's alright.”

Justice took a deep breath. “I hear him in my mind,” he growled, and paced back and forth. “Like an Archdemon—I will not be swayed by him.”

“You won't have to be,” Abigail said.

“What is he telling you?” Merrill asked.

“He wants to be free,” Justice rumbled. “His mind is—foggy—poisoned—like no man or spirit I have ever known, except for one.” the blue light died suddenly and Anders pitched forward with a gasp, to be caught by Merrill.

“Are you alright now?” Abigail asked.

Anders shook his head. “I can hear him,” he whispered. “Like—like something in the back of my head. Justice helps, but he can't help the whole time. We have to hurry,” he said. “We have to kill him. Or—no. That's wrong.” he reached out, and grabbed Abigail's shirt. “kill him, please,” he said. His eyes flickered blue again. “You can't hear him. Horrible, horrible—blood and darkness, and cold...”

“It'll be alright, Anders,” Merrill said, patting his back.

“C'mon, Blondie,” Varric urged. “Get a hold of yourself. It's just a bit longer.”

Anders took several deep breaths and brushed his hair out of his forehead. He nodded, eyes darting left and right. “We have to hurry,” he said again.

“We will,” Abigail assured him. Anders stood up straight, his legs shaky, but Merrill no longer had to hold him upright.

The next demon was a huge Rage demon, screaming against the bonds of the seal. It was the first demon who did not speak to them, but instead roared obscenities and spewed fire from its mouth. When the seal was broken, it attacked immediately, and they were forced to kill it.

After they killed the rage demon, Larius came shambling towards them again.

“He can feel the seals weaken,” Larius said. “He knows you are close. Be ready...”

“Are you sure there's no other way out?” Abigail asked. “This is dangerous.”

“No, no other way,” Larius shook his head, then sucked in a breath. “Oh no—they're coming!”

“Who is? More darkspawn?”

“No, worse! There are other Wardens,” Larius hissed. “Treacherous—dangerous! No Calling, but they hear his voice in their minds anyway! You must stop them. Don't let them bring him the light.”

Larius hurried away before they could say anything.

“The prison's breaking down,” a woman's voice came around the corner, and several Wardens came into view. “I don't understand, it's stood up to tunnelling before--”

They came to a halt when they saw Abigail and her companions.

The woman at the head of the group frowned. “You—how did you get here? Are you the ones breaking the seals?” she looked at the staff in Abigail's hand. “Are you—Malcolm Hawke's kin?”

Abigail inclined her head. “My brother and I.” she pointed to herself and Carver.

“The Carta said they were close...” she muttered to herself and exchanged a look with the other Wardens. “I am Janeka. I lead this unit of the Gray Wardens.”

“Never heard of you,” Anders said. He was leaning heavily on his staff, his face pale and covered with a sheen of sweat, but his eyes were piercing as he looked at her. “Or this place.”

“Who are you?”

“Anders,” he said. “I was at Amaranthine, under Commander Surana—till the Chantry chased us out.”

“We built this place to prison one of the most powerful darkspawn ever encountered,” Janeka explained. “It has to be secret. Surely you've felt the effects yourself?”

“So you didn't even tell the last person to kill an Archdemon?” Anders demanded.

“There was hardly a need for her to know.”

“I don't know, maybe she could have killed your darkspawn here,” Anders snapped.

“Wait,” Abigail held out a hand. “Why was my father here? You had to shore up the seals, we know that, but why him?”

“None of the Wardens could do it,” Janeka said. “The seals are old magic, blood magic, from another non-Tainted mage. We needed someone non-Tainted, and flexible. Without him this prison would have fallen thirty years ago.”

“What about the Carta?” Abigail asked. “Why were they after us?”

“All of them just about went crazy,” Varric said. “Wanna tell us what that's all about?”

Janeka shook her head. “Some can be...susceptible to the darkspawn's mind,” she said. “It seems he's some sort of—rudimentary somniari. He can influence the weak-minded.”

“So why haven't you just killed it yet?” Anders demanded. “Find the Warden-Commander and have her do it, if you're too scared to.”

“You don't understand,” Janeka said. “I've spent years researching this darkspawn. He's not a threat—he's our greatest opportunity. A darkspawn who can talk, feel, reason--”

“We've already met one of those,” Anders said. “In Amaranthine. And it didn't end well there.”

“This is different,” Janeka insisted.

“Corypheus cares nothing for Blights,” Larius came shambling back, his face contorted in anger. “He is using you already! His thoughts become your own!”

“Larius...I thought you long gone...” Janeka breathed, then shook her head. “It doesn't matter. Don't listen to him—he's half darkspawn himself.” she turned back to Abigail. “I know how to use Corypheus' power to end the Blights!”

“And how's that?” Anders demanded, raising an eyebrow.

“I—he would want the Blights ended as much as we do,” Janeka said. “The search for the Old Gods comes at great cost to his people, as much as ours!”

“You sound like the Architect,” Anders said, his knuckles gone white on the handle of his staff. “Abigail—Larius is right. It got to her.”

“No,” Janeka snapped. “I have a spell which can control Corypheus—bind him to my will!”

“What spell is that?” Merrill asked. “Unless you're a very good blood mage, it won't work for long.”

Janeka made a dismissive snort. “It does not matter my experience with blood magic. It will work.”

“Bad sign,” Anders croaked. “Very bad sign.”

“We can't do this,” Abigail said. “Can't you see? He's manipulating you like he did the Carta!”

“We will do this with or without you, Hawke,” Janeka said. She raised her staff, and brought up a broad line of fire between her group and theirs. When the fire cleared, she was gone.

“You cannot let her wake him!” Larius insisted. “His voice is stronger now—she will move as you do!”

Abigail nodded. “We need to get moving,” she agreed. They hurried through the ruins, though now instead of going down, they went up.

They found the last remnants of the Carta who had been ensnared by Corypheus.

“Why do you do what Janeka says?” Abigail asked them. “You're Carta—you don't have any reason to obey the Wardens.”

“We heard Corypheus call,” one of the dwarves said. “And then the Wardens showed us the music. We follow him.”

“Why?” Abigail demanded. “What's the point? What do you gain from it?”

“You won't get anything out of them, Abigail,” Anders was increasingly weak, looking quite ill at this point and leaning on Merrill for support, but he was still lucid. “I've seen it happen before. They worship him like a god—it doesn't matter what they get out of it or not.”

The Carta attacked them, but they were clumsy and slow, and were easily defeated. They went up through the ruins now, and came out above ground. It was night at this point, the sky overhead filled with stars, and it was very cold.

They came to what must have been the top of the tower, a huge structure buffeted by the icy wind. The wind was harsh and dry, and cut through clothes and even armor to chill one to the blood.

Janeka and her Wardens were already there.

“You shouldn't have followed unless you mean to give your blood,” Janeka said, looking over her shoulder as they approached.

“Well, I certainly do not mean to do that,” Abigail said. “I mean to stop you.”

“You won't stop me, and you won't stop him,” Janeka hissed. “He won't be stopped. You—listen to this crumbling idiot, who forced your own kin into helping him?” she pointed to Larius.

“I'm not listening to him, I'm listening to sense,” Abigail said.

“And to people who aren't mad with Blight,” Anders pointed out. He used his staff as a crutch now and was incredibly pale, but he still mustered up the strength to speak. “It doesn't matter what Larius says—it matters what we know. And we know releasing something like this won't make things better, it'll make them worse.”

“He is already waking,” Janeka snapped. “Can't you see?” she pointed behind her, to where a large structure like a casket or sarcophagus stood in the center of the tower top. The golden light of spellwork surrounded the casket, the Fade twisting and wending about it. “Can't you feel him? He is waking up, with or without your blood.”

“Then you must slay him now!” Larius said. “While he is weak—otherwise you never will!”

“Too powerful for you to kill, wasn't he?” Janeka said, a smirk twisting her lips.

“Yes!” Larius snapped. “Too strong, too strong—full of poison and old magic. Something dark and terrible, different than anything else.”

Just then, the seal snapped.

Everyone was blown back by the sudden surge of magic, the smell of lyrium and electricity and blood permeating the air.

“Ha,” Janeka grinned and got to her feet. “I didn't need you after all, Hawke—you destroyed the rest of the prison. This couldn't possibly hold.”

There was another burst of golden light from the casket, and a shape like a man materialized.

The golden light died, and the man...unfolded himself. He was enormous, taller than a bear on its hind legs, easily as broad as Aveline and Fenris standing shoulder-to-shoulder. His hands ended in wicked claws, long and sharp, and his face was twisted with strange and horrible growths. He was clad in the tattered rags of a mages' robe, the shredded remnants of a cape around his shoulders.

No one spoke.

Janeka's eyes widened, and she let out a huff of laughter. Abigail raised her staff, as did Anders, but no one moved. They were all frozen, a feeling of dread sweeping over them all.

The darkspawn blinked, his eyes clear, but the irises a strange, reflective silver. He looked around, seeming confused.

“Be this some dream I wake from?” his voice was deep, rusty and unused, his accent unfamiliar. It scratched at the inside of the mind, sounded like something that shouldn't be heard. “Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?”

He looked down, eyes surveying the room. He scrutinized them all carefully, expression uncomprehending.

His gaze landed first on Larius, then Janeka, then Anders, and then the rest of the Wardens.

“You are no humans, surely,” he said with a frown twisting his scarred lips. “What are you, that feels of poisoned blood? What magic has been made of you?”

“What are you talking about?” Abigail asked. “How do you know about that?”

“Of course he knows,” Anders muttered. “He's a darkspawn.”

Corypheus paid Anders' words no heed. He looked intently at Abigail. “I know you,” he said. “I felt your blood, the blood of your kin, bind me where I was. But where am I now? Where was I before?” he shook his head, staring around.

“He doesn't seem much like a darkspawn,” Merrill whispered. “He feels—very wrong. Very bad.”

“Don't need magic to tell you that, Daisy,” Varric said.

Corypheus looked up and called to the sky. “Dumat—lord! Tell me, what waking dream is this?”

“He's talking about the Imperium,” Merrill said softly. “The terrible gods of Tevinter.”

“The Archdemons,” Anders muttered.

There was silence, while Corypheus waited for an answer he did not receive. He looked down.

“The light,” he said softly. “We sought the golden light. You offered—the power of the gods themselves.” he turned away from the sky, to face inward at the tower. “But it was black. Corrupt. Darkness...ever since. How long?”

“The Golden City,” Larius mumbled. “The first violation. The magisters who brought the Blight.”

“That's nonsense,” Anders hissed. “A story the Chantry uses to cage mages!”

“He speaks through all those who carry the Blight,” Larius said. “Darkspawn, Wardens—he brought us all here.”

“What's his plan, then?” Merrill asked. “He seems a bit confused.”

“He slept,” Janeka said softly. “Locked, in the seals. He couldn't wake—only reach out to others through his dreams.”

“You must kill him now, before he comes to!” Larius insisted.

Corypheus' head snapped to Larius—he had clearly been listening to their conversation. He narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, his massive body overshadowing them.

“You would kill me?” he hissed. “You, poisoned, tainted thing—I can smell the rot inside you.” his gaze flicked to Varric, then Merrill. “And what of you, dwarf? Or you, rattus? You would dare to try?”

“Excuse me?” Merrill exclaimed. “I'm an elf. That—that's quite rude.” she stepped back, but didn't look away as Corypheus stared at her with his penetrating silver gaze.

Corypheus narrowed his eyes. “I felt something like you,” he breathed. “In that prison. Was it you, perhaps? No—no. You smell of blood—I remember--” he faltered. “The howling of wolves...”

“Wolves?” Merrill breathed. The blood drained from her face. “Fen’harel?”

“There was no name such as that.” he took another step towards Merrill, looming over her. “Why would you know this?”

Anders' nose began to bleed. “Stop asking it questions,” he snarled, pressing a hand to his head. “I can—hear it--”

Corypheus turned his head to Anders momentarily. “What poison is this, that runs so freely through you?” he demanded. “How have I been kept trapped by those such as you?”

“We were trying to free you,” Janeka said. She did not even make an attempt at her claims of controlling Corypheus. “We—we were--” she trailed off, and stumbled. Her nose was bleeding as well, and two of the other Wardens’. She collapsed, her legs going out from under her.

Corypheus tilted his head up and twisted his lip in disgust. He moved forward, ignoring them completely.

“Wait--” Abigail stepped forward, her staff up. “What are you doing?”

“I seek the light,” he said. “None of you is worthy to assist me.”

Abigail frowned. “No,” she said.

He looked at her, flabbergasted. “No?”

“The Wardens built this prison for a reason,” she told him. “I don't care who you are or where you come from—you're dangerous.” she tried to appeal to his reason. “Is this—any of this—normal to you?” she demanded, pointing at the ailing Wardens.

“They are already poisoned,” Corypheus informed her. “Their ailment is not my doing. They connected themselves to me—not I to them.”

“Abigail, don't bother,” Anders gritted.

Corypheus brushed past her. Despite his massive size, he was light on his feet, not making a sound as he walked. She pushed in front of him.

“I won't let you leave,” Abigail said.

Corypheus looked down at her, a sneer twisting his features. One of his long hands shot out and he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air.

She choked and struggled, her feet completely off the ground as he brought her to his face, his long claws digging into her skin.

An arrow landed in Corypheus' back, and he whirled, not dropping Abigail. Varric hastily loaded his crossbow with another shot, but Corypheus pricked his free hand with one of his claws. Blood dripped from his palm, and he clenched his hand, and Varric was driven to his knees.

“Varric!” Merrill cried, and darted to his side. She slashed open her arm and broke Corypheus' spell, just as Carver charged the magister with his broadsword.

Corypheus promptly kicked Carver, who landed in a clattering heap. He dropped Abigail, who landed hard on her arm. She felt a searing pain and a nasty crack was heard, but she didn't care, as she could breathe again. Anders held up his staff, but Corypheus only flicked his silver gaze to him and Anders buckled with a cry, pressing his hands to his ears.

Larius had acquired a sword from somewhere, but Corypheus looked at him and he collapsed, blood gushing from his nose, mouth and eyes.

Merrill stood up, both her arms bleeding from long cuts she'd dug into them. Corypheus ignored her, and began to walk away again. She raised her hands, the Veil warped, and he halted in his tracks.

“Don't,” she said.

With an effort, he turned his head to her, silver eyes narrowed in hate. He clenched his hands, and blood ran from his palms.

“Don't,” Merrill said again.

He relaxed his hands, and Merrill was forced to the ground.

With a gasp, Carver pulled himself to his feet. He grabbed his sword from off the ground, and staggered towards Corypheus.

Corypheus clenched his fist, and pulled.

Carver choked, and suddenly his mouth, eyes, nose and ears gushed blood. He fell to his knees, spitting up blood

“Carver!” Abigail cried. She got her arm underneath her, but bumped the broken one and cried out in pain. “Anders—Merrill--”

“I'm trying,” Merrill gasped. “But I—I can't--”

The Veil cracked, then, and there was a sound like a thunderclap, and a terrible pressure bore down on all of them. Corypheus turned away, and walked away.

“Wait--!” Janeka called. “No--!”

“Wait!” Abigail croaked and tried to get her feet under her, but stumbled, the movement bumping her broken arm. Corypheus paid her no heed, and strode out of the tower. He walked across the bridge, and was gone. The pressure vanished, allowing the uninjured members of their party to get up. Merrill rushed to Carver's side, and after a moment, Anders pulled himself over as well.

Carver was covered in blood, and when Merrill reached him he gleamed with magic. The blood was drawn back into him, and he shuddered and jerked.

“Anders--” Merrill said.

“Here,” Anders put a gleaming hand on Carver's chest. They exchanged concerned looks.

“Abigail,” Merrill said.

“I'm—trying--” Abigail snarled, her broken arm making her sick. Varric came over and helped her stand. She staggered over to Carver and kneeled down beside him. He coughed, blood spattering from the corner of his mouth.

“I'm sorry, Abigail,” Carver whispered.

Abigail grabbed his hand with her good one and shook her head. “Don't be sorry,” she said. “Don't—don't be.”

“You'll have to tell—Bethany--”

“Tell her yourself,” Abigail choked. “Idiot—you'll be fine. You'll—you'll be fine. Won’t he?” she looked at Anders, then Merrill. “Won’t he?”

Anders was still trying to heal him, his arms gleaming with healing magic, and Merrill's gaze was focused intently on Carver's face, holding his head in her hands, but nothing seemed to be changing.

Carver’s eyes grew unfocused. A long, terrible gasp came from his throat, and his chest rose—fell—and did not rise again.

“Carver?” Abigail whispered. “Carver?”

“Abigail...” Merrill said.

“No,” Abigail shook her head. “No, no, no--”

“There’s nothing else we can do,” Anders said. He pulled away.

“Anders—no, dammit, don’t--!”

“Ma vhenan...” Merrill laid Carver’s head on the ground.

“Why can't you heal him?” Abigail demanded.

“He tore through everything in Carver's body,” Merrill whispered. “His blood came out faster than I could put it back in.”

“But you—you did put his blood back in him!” Abigail exclaimed. “I saw it!”

“It takes a moment to blow a hole in a wall, but hours—days—to fix it!” Anders snapped. “Carver didn't have that kind of time.”

“But--” Abigail hadn’t let go of Carver’s hand. She looked down at his pale face, his blood-spattered lips gone blue. “But--”

Merrill put a hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “Ma vhenan,” she whispered. “We need to go.”

Abigail ran a hand over her forehead and took a deep breath. “Father and Mother—and now Carver too--”

“Abigail--” Merrill reached out another hand but Abigail pushed her away.

“Don't touch me!” she snapped. “We—we have to--” she took a deep, shuddering breath. “We—” she faltered.

“We need to get out of here,” Varric said, voice as steady as he could make it.

“The Warden-Commander needs to know about him,” Anders said. “Corypheus, I mean, but—I don't even know where to start looking for her.”

“Isn't there anyone else you could talk to?” Varric asked.

“The Warden-Commander in Orlais, or Weisshaupt,” Anders said. “But they're further away—and I wouldn't trust them, not after this.”

“We could go to the Orzammar embassy,” Merrill suggested. “They'd know what to do. They fight darkspawn, don't they, Varric?” she wrung her hands, still stained with Carver's blood. “The Coalition should know, too--”

“Abigail?” Varric said quietly.

Abigail didn’t look at him. She was still holding Carver’s hand, frozen.

“We need to take Carver out of here, too,” Varric decided, looking down at him.

“And how exactly are we going to do that?” Anders asked. “We’re hardly in a shape to get down ourselves, let alone with...” he looked at Carver.

“I can do it,” Varric said. “At least...let me do that much.”

“Ma vhenan?” Merrill murmured, gingerly reaching out to touch Abigail’s shoulder again. This time, Abigail didn’t shake her off. “We need to take him. And Anders needs to look at your arm.”

Numbly, Abigail nodded, and let go of Carver’s hand. Anders saw to her arm, giving it some basic healing before binding it up in a sling.

Ultimately, they climbed down the tower by hand, Varric carrying Carver's body. They met the three Carta members back down in the ruins, who all told them they had seen some huge magical working happening. They dragged themselves back to Kirkwall, and Abigail brought Carver back to the house. Abigail made arrangements for the funeral (including trying to get Bethany out of the Circle), and the others had other errands to do.

Anders had no idea idea where Surana might be, or even where to start looking. After the business with Corypheus, it seemed to him that Free Marches Wardens could not be trusted, so he couldn't ask them.

Merrill came up with a compromise by sending a message to Queen Aeducan via the Orzammar embassy. After all, she reasoned, the prison was built in Deep Roads ruins, and the Queen and the Prince-Consort were both friends of Surana and the Dalish Coalition, so they would be able to get the message across.

It took some doing, but the Templars let Bethany attend Carver's funeral. They held it behind the Amell estate, in the same part of the garden they'd used for Leandra's funeral.

Carver's funeral was small, and private. Bethany, Abigail, Merrill, and Aveline attended. Bethany and Abigail didn't want anyone else, not even Gamlen.

They watched the pyre burn, Bethany wringing her hands.

Bethany shook her head. “First Mother and Father--” she choked. “Now Carver too--”

Abigail pulled Bethany to her side.

“I know,” she said.

The fire leapt high, into the sky, the plumes of smoke obscured by the darkness.

The Templars didn’t let Bethany stay for more than few hours. Abigail shouted at them, but it didn’t make any difference.

Now Abigail, Merrill, and Aveline sat in the living room, Aveline looking out the window, and Abigail leaning on Merrill’s shoulder.

“I'm sorry I didn't save him,” Merrill said. “I tried—Anders and I both tried--”

“I--” Abigail's words stuck in her throat. “I--” she closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Merrill leaned over and pulled her into an embrace.

Abigail sobbed against Merrill's shoulder. “I should never have asked him to come,” she whimpered. “It's my fault.”

“It isn’t your fault, Abigail,” Aveline said, closing her eyes.

“No, it's not,” Merrill said. “It's the fault of—of that darkspawn thing, and those Wardens. It's not your doing, ma vhenan, not at all.”

Abigail shook her head. “Why him?” she asked. “Why did it do that to Carver, and not me?”

Merrill held Abigail at arms' length, and looked at the bruising on her throat. Anders and Merrill had both healed most of Abigail's injuries, but her throat was still bruised and her voice still scratchy from where Corypheus had grabbed her.

“He hurt you, too,” Merrill said. She reached up and gingerly touched Abigail's bruises. “And your arm--”

Abigail scoffed. “A broken arm and—and a few bruises!” she said, shaking her head. “That's not—that's not anything real.”

“Abigail...”

Abigail wiped her eyes. “I—it should have been me,” she insisted. “I'm the one who dragged him there, I'm the one who—I'm the mage, I--”

“Abigail, no,” Merrill took her shoulders. “You can't change what happened.”

“It shouldn’t have been either of you,” Aveline said. “Neither of you deserved any of what happened.” she covered her eyes with one hand.

Abigail tried to speak, but choked on a sob, and leaned forward so her forehead rested on Merrill's shoulder. Merrill stroked her short black hair, her own sobs caught in her throat.

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” Merrill whispered. She murmured soothing things in Dalish as Abigail continued to cry, and they stood like that for some time until Abigail finally caught her breath.

Aveline came to join them on the couch, putting an arm around them both. She didn’t say anything, but, she didn’t need to. They stayed like that for quite some time, until it grew dark outside.

Aveline had to leave.

“Where are you going to go?” Merrill asked.

Aveline paused. “I...don’t know,” she admitted.

“Maybe you should go and see Fenris,” she suggested. “You shouldn’t be alone. And he shouldn’t either.”

Aveline gave a bare smile. “Merrill,” she shook her head. “You just look out for everyone, don’t you?” she sighed. “Foolish habit.”

“I suppose we’re all fools in it together, then,” Merrill said.

Aveline chuckled. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose so.” and she left.

Merrill and Abigail curled up on the couch, both of them exhausted.

“Don’t leave me, Merrill,” Abigail murmured, holding Merrill close. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Of course,” Merrill said. “Of course, ma vhenan. I’d never leave you.”

Merrill brought Abigail to bed, and she slept fitfully, Merrill staying by her side all the while.

When Abigail woke, she saw Merrill at the window, looking out at the garden, at the remains of Carver’s pyre. Abigail came to join her.

“The Dalish plants trees to commemorate the dead,” Merrill said. “Maybe we could plant flowers for Carver? Would he like those? Everyone likes flowers, don't they?”

“Mother loved flowers,” Abigail whispered. “She loved the garden. But I couldn't tend to it after she died.”

Merrill nodded, coming to a decision. “Velanna showed me a bit of plant magic,” she said. “I could make flowers bloom in your garden again, Abigail.”

“You could?” Abigail looked out at the garden, which was dull and overgrown. “I’d—I’d like that, Merrill.”

Merrill smiled, and took her hand.

Chapter Text

“So, why am I having trouble getting things from Orzammar?” Varric asked.

Ignazeda Torror, intermediary between Orzammar and the Kirkwall Merchant's Guild, sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“Look, Tethras...” Ignazeda pinched the bridge of her nose. This was the third time Varric had been at the Merchant’s Guild because of difficulty with shipping, and he wasn’t the only one.

“Just tell me anything,” Varric leaned forward. “And don’t give me that line about weather delaying the caravans. We both know that isn’t true.”

Ignazeda glared at him. “Alright,” she said. “Fine. The Queen's considering ordering sanctions on Kirkwall, and possibly the rest of the Free Marches.”

“What?" Varric stared at her, shocked. "Why?”

“She got the message about that thing in the Vimmarks,” Ignazeda explained. “She sent people to investigate, and found the whole thing filled top to toe with darkspawn and red lyrium.”

Varric blinked. “It wasn’t like that when we were there,” he said. “The red lyrium part, I mean. What's that have to do with us anyway?”

“Red lyrium's infectious, Tethras,” Ignazeda hissed. “She's had people studying it—it's more dangerous than normal lyrium, as I'm sure you know.”

Everyone knew the story of Bartrand Tethras, and Varric’s expression grew stormy at her words.

He folded his arms. “...and...?”

“And, she knows your brother brought some into the city,” Ignazeda explained. “And she knows the whole story. She thinks there's no real infection here, yet, but that ruin in the Vimmarks being so close, and then the Thaig with the nasty infection being just two weeks underneath you...?” she shook her head. “Already the Dalish ambassador told us they've been warning Dalish Clans away from here, except for those lunatics on the Sundermount. The Queen—well maybe sanction's the wrong word for it. Maybe quarantine is better.”

“Look, if you stop trading to Kirkwall, that's bad enough,” Varric said. “But if you stop trading to the Templars...?”

“Not all of them,” Ignazeda explained. “Just the Kirkwall Order. We can't risk them getting infected and infecting other people, especially our own.”

“You can't just stop trading to us based on some darkspawn rumors!” Varric half-laughed.

Ignazeda spread her hands. “Look, I can't do anything about it,” she said. “Maybe the Queen got the word about that darkspawn thing to Warden-Commander Surana, and this is Surana getting bent out of shape about it—but it's not my doing, Tethras.”

“Oh, tell me you’re not going to give that excuse to the Templars when they start demanding answers,” Varric groaned.

“Of course not. We’re not bloody stupid, Tethras, despite what you might think—we know what would happen if we started shooting our mouths off about Warden involvement.” she gave him a significant look.

Varric closed his eyes. “Look, this is just going to make Meredith crazier than she already was—pretty surprised she hasn't come storming in here already--”

“She can try,” Ignazeda gritted. “Look, Tethras, I won't lie—the Merchant's Guild is pretty close to packing up and leaving Kirkwall altogether. This scare with the red lyrium is just too much.”

“Leave?” Varric was aghast. “Leave the city?”

“Is your hearing deficient? Yes, Tethras. We're not liking the way things look, not one bit.”

Varric ran a hand over his hair. “You can't—I mean, that would destroy your businesses too, wouldn't it?”

“Better than getting some kind of red lyrium madness,” Ignazeda pointed out, her voice grim. “And better than having the Chantry on our backs.”

“That would practically get them to declare an Exalted March on you!”

“Never happen,” Ignazeda snorted. “And if it did? We’d be damn well ready for them. We just can’t take the risk, Tethras. I’m sorry.”

Varric left the Merchant's Guild far more unsatisfied and worried than when he entered it. Meanwhile, Isabela returned quietly, and only to see Merrill. Her ship docked, and she turned up at the Hawke residence.

“Isabela!” Merrill cried upon seeing her, and wrapped the large woman up in a back-breaking hug.

“Good to see you too, Kitten,” Isabela said, returning the hug and ruffling her hair.

“Where have you been?” Merrill asked, pulling away from her and leading her into the house. “Are you going to be staying long? Tell me what you’ve seen!”

Isabela laughed. “One thing at a time!” she said.

“Here—I’ll go get us some tea,” Merrill said, and went to the kitchen.

Abigail hovered in the doorway, uncertain.

“Abigail,” Isabela inclined her head.

Abigail took a deep breath.

“It...I know it wasn’t what you wanted,” Abigail said. “I know...I know it wasn’t on purpose.” she looked away. “It’s—it’s still your doing. I know—I know you couldn’t have stopped them. I know...” she covered her eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Isabela told her quietly, holding up a hand. “I—I just came to see Merrill. You don’t have to see me at all if you don’t want to.”

“I--” Abigail sighed. “You’re her friend,” she said. “I’d never keep a friend of hers away.”

Isabela smiled. “That’s because you’re a good woman, Abigail.”

“Is that so?” Abigail closed her eyes. “I don’t often feel it.”

“I wouldn’t know what it feels like to be good, exactly.”

They both fell silent.

“Carver’s dead,” Abigail said.

Isabela jerked in surprise. “What? I hadn’t heard--”

Abigail nodded. “Some—some darkspawn thing killed him,” she spat out the words. “It’s—have you seen or heard of any strange darkspawn?” she asked in a rush, a thought coming to her. “What we found—what it did—it wasn’t normal, it was--”

Isabela shook her head, frowning. “No, I don’t...” she pursed her lips.

“What is it?”

She began to pace. “Nothing, just rumors. You know how sailors are.”

“It might be important.”

“I know, that’s why I’m trying to sort out the bullshit from what might be real.” she fingered her lip piercing. “Strange darkspawn, you said?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll ask around. Friend of a friend said he thought the Wardens were on the move again, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair.”

Abigail ran a hand through her hair. “If you find anything, tell me,” she said. “Varric’s keeping an ear out, but...”

Isabela nodded.

Merrill came back in, bearing a teapot and three cups. She looked between Abigail and Isabela, her expression suspicious, but when they both smiled at her, she relaxed.

“Now,” she said, sitting them all down at the table. “Isabela, why don’t you tell us everything that’s been going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me about Kirkwall?” Isabela asked with a grin. “I haven’t been here in a while.”

Both Abigail and Merrill’s faces fell, and they glanced at each other.

Isabela narrowed her eyes. “You know,” she said quickly. “I’ve just remembered—we were docked in Val Royeaux a few months ago, and you know Orana actually slapped someone?”

Merrill giggled, and even Abigail was shocked.

“Orana?” Abigail gasped. “The woman who--?”

“She used to be a slave, that’s right!” Isabela said, positively gleeful. “Makes a bloody great pirate, she does.”

Isabela regaled them with the tale of how, when stopped in Val Royeaux, Orana was propositioned by one particularly foul and perfumed nobleman, who ended up getting a wicked backhand for his trouble. She followed it up with several other amusing tales that involved Red Jennies or drunken escapades or places of ill repute—nothing unpleasant or troublesome to be had. Soon, both Abigail and Merrill were laughing, troubles forgotten for the moment.

Chapter Text

In the end, it was Clan Sabrae who came to Merrill. Pol turned up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, bedraggled and worn.

“Pol!” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “What are you doing here?” she invited him inside, where he looked around with interest.

“I need to talk to you,” Pol said.

“Of course!” she said. “But—oh, you must have come such a long way!” she lead him to the dining room to sit down at the table table.

“What's that noise?” Pol asked, looking around.

“That's the eluvian,” Merrill said.

Pol swallowed. “The—the mirror?”

Merrill nodded. “I got it to work!” she said. “Do you want to see?”

Pol stared at her, mouth agape. “I—yes, of course!” he said. She showed him to the eluvian, and lead him through to the crossroads. He stared around at it, stunned.

They came back out, and Pol let out a long breath. “This—this might be the thing the Clan needs,” he said.

“Oh—yes, what was it you needed, Pol?” Merrill urged. “You said you had to talk to me about something...”

“Keeper Lanaya's told everyone to stay away from Kirkwall,” Pol said in a rush. “All the Free Marches Clans are going south, to Coalition friendly country.”

Merrill chewed her lip. “Varric said Queen Aeducan wanted her people to stay away from Kirkwall too,” she said.

Pol nodded. “We heard from a messenger that Queen Aeducan told Lanaya that Kirkwall was dangerous, and she told everyone else.”

“And...?”

“And Marethari ignored it.”

“Marethari wasn't ever—well, she never really liked the alliance with the dwarves...” Merrill told him.

Pol shook his head. “It's more than that—she's not even listening to Vinell anymore.”

Merrill blinked. “Oh dear, are they fighting? What do you mean?”

“Merrill, we haven't even left the Sundermount for years,” Pol said. “All the others are getting—nervous about it. The others tries to tell her, over and over again, that we should leave, but--”

“Wait,” Merrill narrowed her eyes. “You—you haven't moved?”

“No.”

“You haven't left and come back? I thought--”

Pol shook his head.

“Oh, Pol,” Merrill breathed. “What's wrong? Do you still have no halla?”

Pol shook his head again. “No—and Marethari won't take any from other Clans.”

Merrill frowned. “That doesn't make sense. Most Clans don't like the Sundermount—maybe--”

“Merrill, you know that Clan Lavellan offered us help--”

“Yes, Ilen told me Marethari turned them away,” Merrill said, a troubled frown on her face. “Why?”

“Clan Lavellan tried again. They sent hunters to try and help, but Marethari turned them away, again.”

“What?” Merrill breathed.

Pol nodded.

Merrill got to her feet and began to pace. “But that—that doesn't make sense,” she said. “Who came from Clan Lavellan?”

Pol shrugged. “I don't know who, exactly, but Aenorean said they offered to help, and Marethari sent them away again.” he got to his feet and took her shoulders. “Merrill, you have to come. You have to do something.”

“Pol...are you sure?”

Pol nodded.

“What can I do? Half of them are still afraid of me, I'm sure--”

“I'm not,” Pol pointed out, a little sheepishly. “Look, Merrill—she hasn't even started to pick another First.”

Merrill looked at him, startled. “It's been years—Pol--”

“I know, I know—Ilen and Vinell are on her case about it, but she hasn't yet.”

“But--” Merrill's brow was furrowed. “You have Jathianni, and Vandathdin, and I thought for sure Eliovron was showing magic when I left...”

“She was,” Pol said. “She's a mage—a spirit healer, even!”

“Then why--?”

Pol shook his head. “I don't know. I don't know what she's thinking.”

Merrill bit her lip. “I need to see her,” she decided. “Something is very wrong.”

“She'll want to see the eluvian, too, I bet,” Pol said. “And Ilen probably wants the arulin'holm back.” he winced. “He definitely wants that back, actually.”

“Oh, dear,” Merrill grimaced. “I've been trying, but—well, there was the Qunari attack, and then Abigail had assassins after her, and--”

“I don't care what happened, as long as you come back up the Mount and—and—I don't know, talk some sense into the Keeper!” Pol said. “If—if the Hahren of the Alienage was acting like her, I—I don't know, but it wouldn't be any good!”

“No, it wouldn't be,” Merrill agreed. She rubbed her forehead. “I'll come as quick as I can,” she assured Pol.

“I'll come with you,” he said. “I shouldn't really be by myself, anyway.” he grimaced. “That's how I almost got swiped by that varterral.”

“That's true,” Merrill agreed. “Abigail should be home in a bit—we can talk to her about trying to get up the mountain.”

When Abigail returned, she was uncertain about making the trip.

“Abigail, I have to see to the Clan,” Merrill insisted. “They need me!”

“But--” Abigail started. “There’s Templars still patrolling the borders, and Maker only knows what’s on the mountain...”

“That’s why I need to go, Abigail.”

“I just--” Abigail closed her eyes and pushed her hair off her forehead. “I don’t want—I don’t want to lose you, too.” she whispered.

Merrill took her hand. “You won’t,” she promised. “You won’t.”

Abigail looked at Pol and bit her lip. “Well—at least let me go with you,” she said.

“That won't make them very happy,” Pol said with a grimace.

“Then I'll bring Varric, too.”

“I don't think that would help much,” Pol admitted.

“I'll bring him anyway. It's always good to have an extra hand, isn’t it? And he's—likable.”

“Ask him,” Merrill agreed. “And--” she thought. “I'll go find Isabela,” she decided.

“Isabela?” Abigail asked with a frown. She and Isabela were still not on the best terms with one another.

“Yes, Isabela,” Merrill insisted.

“Who’s Isabela?” Pol asked, looking from Abigail to Merrill.

“She’s a friend,” Merrill said. “She’s another human, but she’s a friend.”

Pol sighed. “Don’t you have any elf friends?”

“I don’t know where Velanna is, and Fenris doesn’t like the Dalish.”

“Well, I suppose...” Pol rubbed the back of his head. “We have to hurry, though.”

“We can do that,” Abigail said.

It took them three days to get out of the city. Aveline had to arrange Guard patrols just so, and Anders managed to direct them to somewhere safe-ish, where hopefully Templars would not be patrolling. They were lucky, and got out of the city with little trouble.

The climb up the Sundermount was tense. Pol and Merrill were both jumpy, and Abigail could feel the Veil wending and warping as they climbed. It seemed as if the Veil was even worse off than the last time they'd been here.

There was one lone guard at the border of Clan Sabrae's camp, and upon spotting Pol and Merrill, his face lit up.

“Oh, thank the Creators,” he said as a greeting. “Merrill—you should go in right away,” he said.

“You want me here too?” Merrill asked in surprise.

“I figure even a blood mage can't make things much worse,” he said with a shrug.

“So it's very bad then, is it?”

“Feynriel's been having bad dreams for months,” the guard said. “And so has everyone else. It's bad, Merrill.”

They walked into the camp, which was unusually quiet. The Dalish muttered to each other, some casting glares in Merrill's direction, others looking relieved. The mood set all of their teeth on edge. One moment a woman would be giving Merrill a dirty look, and in another moment, a pair of teenagers would breathe alarmingly relieved sighs.

“Merrill!” Vinell, looking frazzled and sleepless, came trotting up to them.

“Vinell!” Merrill exclaimed.

They had a short conversation in Dalish, and Vinell pointed up the path up the Sundermount. Merrill went pale.

“What is it?” Abigail asked.

“She's gone up the Sundermount,” Merrill said. “Vinell—what's she doing there? What are you all still doing here?”

Vinell just shook his head. “Pol must have told you—something's gone wrong in that head of hers,” he said. “Hunters from Clan Lavellan came by, and she just turned them away. An ambassador from the Coalition came, saying they were trying to ally with Free Marches Clans—oh, never mind. Merrill, you need to find her, and hurry!”

“Why me?” Merrill asked. “She'd never listen to me.” she wrung her hands.

“The only other one she'd listen to now is Sarel,” Vinell said. “She just—Merrill, she says that she doesn't want to leave till you come back.”

Merrill stared at him. “Vinell--”

“I know, I know!” Vinell threw up his hands. “You left—and I thought it was pretty clear you didn't want to come back till you'd gotten that cursed mirror sorted out, or whatever it was--”

“Marethari didn't want me back!” Merrill wrung her hands. “This doesn't—this doesn't make any sense,” she shook her head.

Vinell took her shoulders. “Merrill—listen, Feynriel says he's felt something bad in her dreams,” he said in a hushed tone.

“A demon?” Merrill gasped.

“Creators forbid it, I hope not,” Vinell said. “But you need to find her—Feynriel's been in a right state about it, he's one of the ones who said we should send someone to find you.”

Merrill nodded. “She went up the path?”

“Right up the path that'd take you to Asha'bella'nar's resting place,” Vinell pointed.

“Mas serannas, Vinell,” Merrill said. “I'll do what I can, I promise.”

“I don't doubt it. Be careful, Merrill.” he said.

They went up the path.

“That didn't sound good,” Isabela said.

“It isn't,” Merrill said. She glanced down at the Clan's camp below her, and saw several elves looking up at them, tracking their progress. “He said she’d only listen to Sarel...”

“Who’s Sarel?”

“Marethari’s husband.” she looked at Isabela. “He’s been dead for years.”

Isabela let out a long breath. “Ah.”

“Feynriel’s been having bad dreams, too,” Abigail muttered.

“We all know how well that went the last time,” Varric said, his tone dark.

“Come on,” Merrill said. She bit her lip and pulled her staff off her back, her shoulders tense.

They walked up the Sundermount, and it was similar to when they had first climbed it, all those years ago. The Veil warped and thinned, and something unpleasant bore down on them.

Marethari was not at the site of Asha'bella'nar's resurrection. Merrill cast about, her expression desperate.

“Maybe--” she said. “Maybe she's--” she cut herself off, a look of sudden realization crossing her face.

“What is it?” Abigail asked.

“Blood magic—I saw the memory--” she hurried ahead along the path, her companions trotting after her.

They came to the mouth of a small cave.

The Veil was thin and worn by the cave entrance, feeling like rotting silk against their skin. Enormous statues flanked the entrance, covered in moss, clearly ancient and worn away by time.

“This is very bad,” Merrill said, biting her lip, her green eyes wide with worry. “Very, very bad.”

The cave was large, and felt as if it held many memories. The Veil was misty and thin, almost as if it wasn't there at all. Being there felt like a waking dream.

“There's a demon held here,” Merrill said softly. “Something very old, and very bad, from long ago when my people fought the Tevinter Imperium. It's said that it was drawn to the death in this place—and someone bound it here.”

“I don't feel anything,” Abigail said. She could feel the Fade, very close, but she could feel no demon.

Merrill nodded. “I—I don't either,” she said. “And that doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't have been able to leave--” she froze. “Marethari?” Merrill called.

“Merrill,” Marethari stepped out of the shadows of the cave, and immediately the mages in the party could feel something very wrong.

“There's a demon,” Merrill breathed, and stepped back from Marethari. “Ab—Abigail. There's—the demon--”

“I know,” Abigail held out her staff.

“Merrill--” Marethari reached out a hand.

Merrill shook her head. “Keeper—what have you done--?” she drew her blade and held it to her arm, but didn't cut yet.

“Merrill, that's not the Keeper,” Abigail said.

Merrill closed her eyes, pressed her blade down, and blood sluiced from the cuts in her arms.

“Don't--!” Marethari hissed, but the blood magic bore down on her. The Veil rippled, then bucked, like an unhappy animal, then settled again. Marethari was driven to one knee.

“Keeper...?” Merrill tried.

Marethari was silent for a very long moment, taking deep breaths. “I wanted to protect you,” Marethari said eventually. “It said it could—I thought it would have gone after you. It said it wanted the mirror...”

“It didn't,” Merrill said. “It could never have used it, Keeper.”

“You were vulnerable, da'len,” Marethari sadi. “The blood magic--”

“It doesn't work like that!”

“I know that,” Marethari said. “Now.”

“Why didn't you know that when I told you?”

Marethari closed her eyes. “How could I trust the memories of this place?” she asked. “The mirror took Tamlen—it took Mahariel—nothing good could come of it. The demon—it only made sense that it would want such a terrible thing...”

Merrill knelt by Marethari, who was shaking and frail.

“It was just memories, Keeper,” Merrill whispered, her voice trembling. “Just...just memories. Demons lie—you know that. It didn't want me. It wanted you.”

“Ir abelas, da'lath'in,” Marethari whispered. She reached out with one trembling hand and brushed Merrill's cheek.

“Nae, nae,” Merrill said, pressing Marethari's hand to her face. Tears began to spill from her eyes “Nae, Keeper, ir abelas, I should have—I should have--”

“It is my doing,” Marethari said. “Mine. I should have trusted you. I should have...” she closed her eyes.

“Keeper?”

“Everything is waking up, da'len,” Marethari said, her voice so soft it could barely be heard. “Wolves and warriors and emperors—everything is coming back.”

“Marethari?” Merrill whispered.

“A warning...from the demon...” her hand fell. “It heard...Fen'harel...” She closed her eyes, and listed to one side. Merrill caught her before she could collapse.

“Marethari?” she asked. Marethari didn't respond. “Nae—nae, Marethari--” more blood flowed from Merrill's arms, but her magic did nothing.

“Merrill...” Abigail reached out and took Merrill's shoulder.

“I don’t—she wasn’t hurt,” Merrill insisted. “I don’t--”

“Merrill, what do we do now?” Varric asked.

“We—we need to take her back,” Merrill said. “The Clan will—they need to see--”

“Of course,” Isabela said softy. “Do you need help carrying her or--”

“I can do it,” Merrill said. She lifted Marethari into her arms, and they left the cave.

At the mouth of the cave, the hunter Aenorean came to greet them. He stopped dead when he saw Marethari in Merrill's arms.

“Keeper...?” he breathed.

Merrill shook her head. “She's—dead.”

“You killed her!” Anorean accused, jabbing a finger in Merrill's face.

Merrill stiffened. “No, I didn't!” she said. “The demon--”

“The demon you learned blood magic from?”

“That’s not how it works!” Merrill insisted. “Why won't any of you listen?”

“Because that mirror you love killed Tamlen, and Mahariel, and you still took it with us!” Aenorean said. “And now—now the Keeper is dead, from the demon that lived in that cave!”

“That doesn't have anything to do with me!”

“You can't trust the things you learn here, any fool knows that! This is your fault!” Aenorean exclaimed.

“It isn't my fault that she decided to abandon her duty!” Merrill snapped back, and they devolved into Dalish too quick for any of the others to follow.

Eventually, Abigail felt she had to step in. Abigail stepped forward and grabbed Aenorean's tunic. “Out of our way,” she growled.

“Abigail, don't--!” Merrill said.

Aenorean shoved Abigail off of him. “You would hold with this—shemlen filth?” he snarled at Merrill.

“Aenorean, don't,” Merrill snapped. “Both of you, stop it! We need—we still need to bring Marethari back to the camp.”

Aenorean held out his hands. “I'll do it,” he snapped. “Your bloody hands don't need to be touching her.”

“No,” Merrill insisted, holding Marethari close. “She named no First after me. This is my right, my duty, not yours.”

Aenorean's face fell for a moment, stricken, then soured again. “Fine,” he snarled. He stalked ahead of them, down the mountain path. They hurried to follow. Aenorean reached the camp before they did, and as they came down, they realized the camp was in uproar.

Several people came to meet Merrill, many others were crying, Aenorean was arguing with some of the other hunters.

The people who came to meet Merrill included Feynriel, Vinell, Arianni, Pol and an entire crowd of other elves that Abigail didn't recognize. Someone brought a cloth to wrap Marethari in, and Merrill laid her body down while speaking rapidly with the other elves, in Dalish too fast to follow.

Abigail, Isabela and Varric hung off to the side while the arguments and the grieving grew more intense, Merrill caught in the middle of all of it. All three of them had picked up some Dalish, but none of them were fluent, and even if the Clan had been speaking Common it would have been confusing.

Eventually, Feynriel came to explain what was happening. There was an enormous dispute over who was at fault for Marethari's death—Aenorean and his supporters believed Merrill was to blame, whereas Merrill had her own supporters who claimed that Marethari had endangered herself and her Clan.

There was no clear line of succession—Marethari had no Second, as her husband Sarel had died long ago, and Merrill was still technically the First even though she no longer considered herself belonging to Clan Sabrae. None of the other mages in the Clan, even the adults, had Keeper training of any kind. Marethari had not so much as begun to teach them.

Aenorean, Merrill, Vinell and several others including Ilen the craftsmaster and Maren the Halla-keeper were arguing over who was in charge.

“So what should we do?” Abigail asked.

Feynriel shrugged. “No idea,” he admitted. “My mother wants to get help from some other Clans—Vinell and Maren do, too, but there aren't any nearby for miles. A lot are heading away from Kirkwall and the Sundermount.”

“So, what are we waiting for?” Abigail asked.

Feynriel shrugged.

Merrill came up to them. “We're leaving,” she said.

“What?” Abigail said. “Why?”

“We can't—we need--” Merrill faltered. “We don't have a leader,” she said. “So—Aenorean is going to take his people further north, so maybe they can find another Clan.”

“And what about everyone else?” Feynriel asked.

“Well—Pol and some others want to come with me,” Merrill said, shifting from foot to foot. “Back to Kirkwall—and the eluvian.”

Feynriel and Merrill started to speak in Dalish (Feynriel's more clumsy and accented than Merrill's, but reasonably fluent), and the thread of the discussion was lost again.

Eventually it was decided that the bulk of the Clan (so to speak) would follow Aenorean to try and seek aid from other Clans. However, some people would follow Merrill. Pol, Feynriel, Arianni, Ilen, Maren, as well as Ashalle (the rough equivalent of Merrill's aunt), Paivel the storyteller, Sylvas and Syrillon, twin hunters, Fenirrel, one of the other hunters, Jathianni, one of the mages, Vandathdin, another mage, and Variel, a tanner. Several younger children came with them as well, accompanying their parents, as well as several teenagers. Vandathdin and Variel were both skeptical of following Merrill, but trusted passionate and brash Aenorean even less.

“Where are they all going to go?” Abigail asked.

“Well, they can live in the Alienage for now,” Merrill said. “I don’t—I don’t think they could all fit in your house, Abigail.”

“They certainly can for a few days,” Abigail said. “Just until you all get on your feet.”

“Really?” Arianni said. “Don’t you live in Hightown?”

Abigail shrugged. “At least let me help shelter you,” she said. “It’d be cramped, but..." she heaved a sigh. "Just let me help.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Merrill said. “At least until they can find houses in the Alienage.”

"I've never lived in an Alienage before," Ashalle said with a tiny smile. "I suppose it will...be an experience."

"It's certainly something, all right," Feynriel muttered.

“Oh, we wouldn’t stay in the Alienage forever,” Merrill assured them all. “We can use the eluvian to find somewhere new to stay!”

“I want a look at that thing, by the way,” Vandathdin piped up. She was a chubby woman with long black hair, pale green vallaslin and a disapproving frown. “I want to be sure it's safe.”

“It's safe,” Merrill said. Vandathdin didn't look convinced.

“What about Marethari?” Abigail asked.

The group looked downcast.

“We can't bury her here,” Merrill said. “Everyone agreed about that.”

“She would never have wanted to be buried in a city,” Vinell said. “So Aenorean and his people are going to take her up north, away from here.”

“North—towards Antiva?” Abigail asked.

Merrill nodded. “Elrogathe has a second cousin in one of the Antivan Clans,” she said. “Well—when she last checked, she did. They're going to try and see if they can find her.”

“And what about you?” Isabela asked. “You don't want to find an Antivan Clan?”

Everyone looked away, not meeting Isabela’s eyes.

“Not really sure how far they're going to get, really,” Ilen said quietly after a long moment of silence.

“What do you mean?” Abigail wanted to know.

“It's miles of mountain between us and Antiva, and Marethari refused any help fro the other Clans when they were still here—and that includes halla,” Maren said. “They hardly have the supplies to make it over the mountains, much less through the desert.”

“So you’re going to just let them go?” Abigail asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“They're more scared of me than they are the desert,” Merrill said, her tone uncharacteristically bitter.

“Foolish,” Vinell muttered, shaking his head. “Absolutely foolish.”

“So, are we going to leave now, or...?” Isabela asked.

Merrill's group gathered up their supplies, as did Aenorean's, and after some parting farewells, the groups went their separate ways.

Chapter Text

Abigail wasn't sure how they'd get a bunch of Dalish elves into Kirkwall, so she went ahead to ask Aveline for some help getting them into the city, on the promise they'd be out soon enough.

Getting the group into the city was a bit of a coup, but manageable enough. The elves were all quite surprised with the size of Abigail’s home, and several of them were very taken with it.

“What is that noise?” Ilen asked, his nose scrunching.

“Oh—that's the eluvian,” Merrill said. “Here, let me show you,” she showed them into the eluvian room. “We could use the eluvian to go to different places,” Merrill pointed out. “There's some lovely caves and forest it connects to.”

“Or we could not,” Vandathdain said. “It isn't safe, I'm sure.”

“I've been through it a dozen times,” Merrill countered. “It's safe.”

“It was safe when I went through it,” Pol piped up, and they all looked at him. He shrank a little.

“You went through it?” Vandathdain looked upset.

“It was fine!” Pol said. “Merrill said it was safe, so I went through, and it was!” he looked away. “I—I didn't listen to Merrill once,” he said. “And I almost got eaten by the Varterral. So I guessed that she was right this time. And she was! Or—she is!”

Everyone looked rather skeptical.

“That bloody thing still killed Mahariel and Tamlen,” Vinell said.

“It was broken,” Merrill said. “Poisoned—I cleaned it! Cleansed it! It's fine now.”

“It carried the Taint,” Vinell insisted.

“It didn't, actually,” Merrill said. “It's a mirror. If it had the Taint, it would be a living thing—but it's not, so it can't. It—the magic had turned bad, like old meat, and it looked like it had the Taint. But I cleansed it, I promise! No one has died from it since I cleansed it!”

The others muttered amongst themselves. Finally, it was Feynriel who stepped up to the mirror, and put a hand against it. He startled when his hand went through, then pulled his arm back out.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” he said. “Vandathdain?”

Vandathdain scowled, but nodded. “It doesn’t...feel like there’s anything wrong,” she acquiesced, and scuffed one foot on the ground.

“I told you!” Pol said. “Look, it’s fine, see?” he put his hand through the mirror, then went through altogether.

There were several startled gasps, and Pol stuck his head out. “See?”

First cautiously, then more boldly, the others all went through the eluvian. The only one who suffered any ill effects was Feynriel, who was a bit queasy, but nowhere near as sick as a full-blooded human.

After they finished exploring the eluvian, they had a meeting. There was a question that needed to be answered, and it was a tricky one.

“So...who's going to be in charge?” Ilen asked.

“Oh, I don't know,” Merrill fretted. “I mean—I do live here, and it’s my eluvian, but—you don't have to stay, if you don't want to, and there’s not especially any rules, and--”

“Merrill could be a new Keeper,” Pol spoke up.

Merrill averted her eyes and flushed. “I could never be a Keeper,” she said.

“Marethari chose you as First,” Vinell pointed out. “And never chose another.”

“That doesn't mean I should be a Keeper,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and still didn’t look at anyone.

"We followed you all the way here, Merrill,” Maren said with a smile. “We had to have some trust in you.”

“We're not—we couldn't really be a Clan,” Merrill said. “We have no aravels or—or halla, and I live in Abigail’s house--”

“You have an eluvian,” pointed out Arianni.

“I—I do, but--”

“And it works,” Arianni added.

“For a given measure of working,” Vandathdain grumbled, but it was just for show. She had been just as enamored with the Crossroads as the others had been.

“But I—oh, I don't know,” Merrill wrung her hands. “Couldn't—couldn't Vinell be in charge?” she asked. “Or Vandathdain? Or—or even Feynriel?”

“I barely speak Dalish,” Feynriel said.

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” Merrill said. “You speak it perfectly well—or, well, well enough.”

“I couldn't be a Keeper,” Vinell said. “No magic.”

“Vandathdain?” Merrill turned towards her.

Vandathdain shrugged. “I could try, but who would listen to me?”

“I would!”

“I also don't know the first thing about Alienages or the city or anything. Merrill—you're the only one who makes sense,” Vandathdain closed her eyes. “And I can't believe I just said that.”

“Merrill, you have a Keeper's knowledge, and have lived in this city for many years,” Vinell said kindly. “You are the one Marethari named to succeed her, and have always been—even when you and she didn't agree--”

“When she was telling you all to be frightened of me, you mean,” Merrill grumbled.

“--she never named anyone else. We have precious few options—and you claim to have done all this,” he waved at the eluvian. “For the Clan, and the People. I say it is time you prove that claim.”

“You—really want this?” Merrill asked. “You want me as a leader? After all I've done, everything Marethari has told you?”

“It's been made clear that Marethari did not always make the best decisions,” Marel said. “You are alive, and she is dead. By rights, you are our leader, Merrill.”

Merrill closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After a long moment, she spoke. “Well—what could we have as a name?” she wanted to know. “I don’t think we should be Sabrae anymore.”

There was a moment of quiet where everyone considered that.

“Tualsalis,” Paivel said at length. “'The Eternal Rebirth.'”

“Oh, that's a lovely name,” Merrill said. “That's perfect!”

“I don’t know,” Vandathdain said. “It’s not very proper—no noble house of the Dales was called Tualsalis.”

“Oh, forget about the noble Dalish families!” Arianni exclaimed. “I bet there’s—a hundred Clans who aren’t named after nobles! And look where nobles have gotten everyone—I don’t see them doing anyone any good!”

“What about Abigail?” Merrill pointed out.

“Well, she’s one,” Arianni said. “But I don’t think it matters if it’s proper or not,” she huffed. “’Proper’ was what made my old Clan toss me and Feynriel out on our heads.”

Vandathdain looked away. “I suppose that’s true,” she sighed. “And...it is a well enough name, Paivel.”

Paivel smiled.

“Well—since you made me Keeper, and I like the name, that’s what we’re going to call ourselves,” Merrill decided. “If—that’s alright?” she added.

“Of course it is,” Vinell assured her.

“Then—then we’re Clan Tualsalis,” Merrill said, straightening her back.

After a day or two, the group went to the Alienage, to see if they could find more permanent living spaces.

The elves were all rather astonished when they got to the Alienage (all except for Pol, Feynriel, and Arianni, of course)

"Oh, goodness," Maren breathed. "It's...it's quite large, isn't it?"

Merrill nodded. “You'll get used to it,” she promised. The others looked dubious.

Ashalle wrapped her arms around herself. "...The vhenadahl is very beautiful," she said at length.

“It is,” Ilen agreed. He stepped forward to examine the tree, reaching out a hand but never quite touching it.

“Merrill.”

“Oh—Hahren!” Merrill jumped and offered a sheepish smile to the elderly elvhen man who was now surveying the crowd with a raised eyebrow.

Hahren Josiah tilted his head to one side, looking at them. “Maker, girl, I thought you’d up and moved to Hightown with Lady Hawke,” he said.

“Well, I did, but--”

“Who are all these people following you? Are they your Clan?”

“Ah—yes, actually,” Merrill straightened her back. “They need to stay with me.”

The Hahren sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well—hello,” he said, opening his eyes and inclining his head. “Don't know why in the name of Andraste you lot decided to stay here instead of out in your forests, but—I suppose I can't stop you.”

“Ah—ander'an atish'an?” Ashalle said with a tiny wave. She glanced around at her companions. “I—I hope we're not—imposing--”

“As long as they're not like Merrill's other friends and you don't wake the whole bloody Alienage up in the middle of the night, I don't care what you do,” Josiah said.

“Oh—Hahren, that was a long time ago, I'm sure--” Merrill started.

Josiah snorted. “Long time ago, my foot! That silver-haired friend of yours still needs to grow himself some manners,” he said, shaking his cane.

“I'll—I'll tell him that,” Merrill said, hiding a smile behind her hand.

The Hahren squinted at Arianni and Feynriel. “Didn't you two have some trouble with Templars a while back?” he asked.

“Oh—that was a misunderstanding, Hahren,” Arianni said.

The Hahren rolled his eyes. “Right,” he said. “Well—as long as you don't bring any demons here, I suppose,” he said. “You watch yourselves, right? Like Nyssa needs another heart attack...”

“What happened to Nyssa?” Arianni asked.

“Her man Huon got hauled off to the Circle a year or two ago,” Hahren Josiah explained, shaking his head. “Just about went crazy, to hear her tell it—ah, it doesn't matter. Just don't start any trouble, understand?”

“We won't, Hahren,” Merrill promised.

“You bring your friends round for supper once or twice, understand?” Josiah told her.

“All of us?” Ashalle exclaimed.

“Yes, all of you!” Josiah said. “Maker’s mercy, you’d think no one had ever shown a little hospitality in their lives.” he grumbled.

“Hahren, do you think there’s any place they could stay?” Merrill asked. “We’ve all been staying with Abigail—Lady Hawke—but I don’t think we could do that the whole time.”

“Hm...” Josiah considered that. “Well, there’s your old place, for one,” he pointed out. “I don’t think anyone’s moved into Velanna and Sigrun’s old place either—or yours, come to think of it,” he said to Arianni and Feynriel.

“Really?” Feynriel asked, surprised. “Why not?”

Josiah shrugged. “Ah, bloody fools going on about it being haunted or somesuch nonsense,” he waved a hand. “Either way, you could probably live in them. Andraste knows living with us is probably better than living with all those shems in Hightown.”

Vandathdain chuckled. “Well—it will be nice to be around other elves,” she said.

“Exactly so, young lady!” Josiah nodded in approval. “Well, you let me know if anything comes up,” he said. “And don’t do anything too weird or magical. Last bloody thing we need is the Templars coming and bothering people again.”

"Alright, Hahren,’ Merrill said.

After that, they set about making themselves at home in the Alienage, though they left the eluvian at Abigail's house, to keep it safe. The newly-named Clan Tualsalis could not stay there forever, however. After a time, they started to explore the Crossroads, and even stay there for many days on end. The Crossroads were pleasant enough for elves, even half-elvhen such as Feynriel. It appeared the only people who got headaches and sickness from the Crossroads were full-blooded humans.

They set up camps on the opposite sides of functional eluvians, most favoring the snowy ruin in the mountains, which they realized was in the Frostbacks. They mapped out other places as well, and Merrill tried to repair other eluvians.

Now that she had repaired the one, bringing it up from a box of shards, repairing others that were in fewer pieces seemed much easier. She began to open more and more of them, letting the Clan go many different places.

Merrill wanted to contact other Clans with her knowledge, but she had a hard time finding any. They moved so quickly, and many of the eluvians were deep in hidden places, away from any commonly traveled roads or trails.

She was determined to tell the Coalition what she had found, however, and resolutely kept searching.

Merrill and her Clan considered contacting Queen Aeducan, as it was possible the Frostbacks eluvian was close to Orzammar, but they initially decided against it. This information needed to go to Dalish hands first, and anyone else second, no matter how close their alliance might be.

In any case, dwarves might have the same adverse reaction to eluvians that humans did. Merrill had no idea, as Varric refused to go near her eluvian, so she couldn’t test it out on him.

The Clan eventually got some Alienage converts who wished to join them. At first, some of the Clan didn't want city elves joining them, but after some stern words from Arianni, Feynriel and Pol, they got over it.

Most notable was Huon, the husband of a shopkeeper named Nyssa. Huon was an apostate that had been dragged off to the Circle almost three years ago, but had escaped during the Qunari attack and had been on the run ever since.

He was an amateur blood mage, and something very bad had happened to him in the Circle. The first time he saw Nyssa again he frightened her half to death with wild ranting and extreme mood swings, and Nyssa only barely had a grasp of magic to begin with. She pleaded with Merrill for help, and Merrill met Huon one evening when he was trying to see Nyssa again.

Merrill persuaded Huon to come through the eluvian, to one of the sites that Tualsalis had claimed as their own. Vandathdain and Feynriel could help him, and Merrill had a feeling Huon would like being out in the wilderness instead of cooped up inside a building.

Huon agreed (especially after learning Merrill was a blood mage as well), and was doing much better away from Kirkwall. Nyssa was still leery of seeing him, but Merrill hoped that perhaps once Huon got his head screwed on right again and Nyssa grew more comfortable around magic, they would be able to come to an accord.

Abigail, for one, liked having the Clan around, and the eluvian made her feel more at ease, despite her difficulty in using it. The city was still very tense. There was still no Viscount, Meredith and Elthina were still in charge, and First Enchanter Orsino was getting edgey and restless. Something had to break, and soon.

Chapter Text

In the meantime, Fenris' sister, Varania, was coming to Kirkwall.

Fenris and Aveline broke the news to Abigail.

“Your sister's coming?” Abigail said in surprise. “You found her?”

“I'm still not so sure we did find her,” Aveline said, her tone dark. She and Fenris exchanged a look. “But there is at least someone who says that she is her.”

“I cannot have this hanging over my head,” Fenris said. “I must confront her—or the trap she has set.”

“She seems to have come alone,” Aveline folded her arms. “Or at least, an elf matching a description disembarked from the ship Fenris named.”

“I need to know if it's a trap,” Fenris growled. “But we have no more information.”

“How did you find her?” Abigail asked.

“It took some doing,” Aveline said. “Hadriana didn't exactly leave us with much to go on.”

“We managed,” Fenris said. “She was in Qarinus—or at least, someone who claims to be my sister was.”

He paced back and forth. His hands were free of gauntlets (over the years he had forgone his habit of wearing armor everywhere), and he shoved his fingers into his mouth, biting down viciously on his fingernails.

“Stop that,” Aveline muttered. “You'll hurt your hands.”

Fenris glared at her but stopped biting his fingernails.

“Where are you going to meet her?' abigail asked.

“I named the Hanged Man,” Fenris said. “Varric will be there, and I told Isabela to be there also—I don't want to get caught in a trap with no backup.”

“Should we ask Merrill or Anders?” Abigail asked.

Fenris shook his head. “No mages,” he said. “In any case, the witch—the witch is busy,” he faltered over 'witch,' his title for Merrill. He'd reacted very oddly to Merrill bringing home her Clan, disapproving of her being in charge of so many people, but confused that they trusted her at all.

“What about Anders? A healer--”

“Tevinters know how to counter spirit healing,” Fenris snapped. “A nasty skill they picked up somehow—a counter-spell to spirit healing is frequently taught in Tevinter Circles. He would be useless.”

Abigail grimaced.

“It's a bad country that counters healing spells,” Aveline said, shaking her head.

“Tevinter is certainly a bad country, at that,” Fenris said.

So, just Fenris, Abigail, Aveline, Varric and Isabela would be there.

They went to the Hanged Man in the day. It was strangely empty, with only Isabela at the bar watching the room with a narrowed eye. Varric was nowhere to be seen, but he was surely there somewhere.

“Leto?” a redheaded elf at one of the tables looked up when she saw them. “It really is you.” her shoulders slumped when she saw them. She wore a long, Tevinter-style dress of cream-colored cotton.

They approached her.

“Varania?” Fenris breathed. “I—I remember you. We played in our master's courtyard while Mother worked...”

Aveline put a hand on Fenris' shoulder. “What did you call him?” Aveline asked.

“Leto,” Varania didn't meet their eyes. “That's your name.”

The hairs on the back of Abigail's neck stood up. “Fenris...” she growled.

Fenris' face soured. He shook his head and stepped back. At the bar, Isabela got to her feet.

“Varania, you have about a minute to prove this isn't a--” Aveline started, then stopped. Someone had appeared at the top of the stairs.

Fenris' face when utterly gray under his dark skin.

“My little Fenris,” the man coming down the stairs had an oily voice, dripping with false sweetness. “Predictable as always.”

Danarius was tall and sallow-skinned, very thin with gaunt eyes and cheeks. He crackled with magic, the aura around him making Abigail's stomach drop.

“I'm sorry it came to this, Leto,” Varania said.

Fenris shook his head and stepped backwards. “You lead him here,” he snarled. “Of course--”

“Don't blame your sister, Fenris,” Danarius came to stand beside Varania. “She did what any good Imperial citizen would.”

“Proves the worth of the Imperium, doesn't it?” Varric had materialized from somewhere to stand next to Abigail. Isabela, who stood on Aveline's other side, nodded.

“Slavers,” Isabela shook her head in disgust. “What a good legacy you lot have going on.”

Danarius surveyed the group. “Are these your new masters, then?” he asked. “A pirate, a dwarf, a Guard—and the Champion of Kirkwall.” he raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

Aveline drew her sword.

“Fenris belongs to no one,” she declared. “And you shall not touch him!”

Danarius looked at her lazily, as if she were not worth his time. “The Guard, then, I see,” he drawled. “Do I detect a note of jealousy? The lad is rather...skilled, isn't he?'

“Shut your mouth, Danarius,” Fenris snarled, his markings lighting up. Before Danarius could retort, Aveline had slammed him with her shield.

“Filthy slaver,” she spat. She was flung back by a spell, to land heavily on the other side of the room. Fenris roared and charged Danarius, to come up against a magical barrier. He slammed into the barrier, his lyrium marks lighting up, and the barrier faded and cracked. Danarius looked shocked, and Fenris had a look of grim satisfaction on his face. He hit the barrier again, and this time it shattered.

Fenris lifted Danarius by his throat. “You are no longer my master,” he snarled, and jammed his hand into Danarius' chest.

Danarius' body fell, to collapse in a heap on the floor, surrounding by a spreading pool of blood.

“Fenris,” Aveline was at Fenris' side.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asked, noting the bruise on one side of her face.

“Me? What about you?” Aveline demanded. She reached out to touch his shoulder but he pulled away, to turn on Varania.

“I had no choice, Leto,” Varania said, holding up her hands and stepping back.

“Don't call me that,” Fenris snapped.

“You actually are his sister, then?” Abigail asked.

“Some sister you turned out to be,” Varric scoffed, shaking his head.

“He was going to make me his apprentice!” Varania insisted. “I would have been a magister...”

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister?” Fenris demanded.

“That's not exactly likely,” Varric pointed out, exchanging a look with Abigail. “How many elven magisters do you see?”

“You have no idea what we went through!” Varania snapped.

“No, because that slaver filth ruined Fenris' memory,” Aveline told her, pointing her sword at Danarius' corpse. “He can hardly sympathize with your plight if he can't even remember it!”

“You don't know what I've had to do since Mother died,” Varania said. “This was my only chance!”

Fenris moved forward, but Isabela grabbed his shoulder. He turned to snarl at her, and she glared at him.

“I know what it's like to feel like there's no options,” Isabela said to Varania. “But there's always a different choice, you understand? This—was a bad one. You're just bloody lucky it didn't turn out as bad as it could have.”

“Lucky?” Fenris hissed, his markings flaring again.

“Don't be an idiot,” Isabela snapped. “She's in the same place you were—doing awful things for awful people because she doesn't see any other choice. You'd want to hurt her for that?”

“I want to wipe her miserable hide off the face of the earth,” he snarled.

“Don't,” Isabela pushed him back.

“Isabela, after what she did--” Aveline started, but Isabela interrupted her.

“And I suppose every choice Fenris ever made was the right one?' Isabela said, hands on hips. “We just saw him shove his hand in someone's chest! Granted, that bastard had it coming, but who's to say he's never hurt someone who didn't deserve it? Fenris and this woman are the bloody same.”

“Fenris...” Varric spoke up. “I know how hard it is to believe, but the last thing you want to do is hurt your family.”

“You wanted this,” Varania said, and they all looked at her.

“What?” Fenris snapped.

“The—the markings,” she nodded at him. “You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won—you used the boon to have Mother and I freed.” she curled her hands into fists. “I didn't want any of this! Freedom was no boon to us—you received the better part of the bargain!”

Fenris stalked forward again, face twisting with rage, and Isabela stood between them.

“That's it,” she said. “Fenris—out. Varania—why don't you come with me? Last thing we need is a family squabble that can end in explosions.”

“Squabble?” Fenris and Varania both burst out at the same time, then looked at each other oddly.

“She sold me out—to Danarius!” Fenris snarled.

“She brought that bastard slaver here,” Aveline said. “She doesn't deserve your—compassion.”

“Look—Danarius is dead,” Isabela pointed to his corpse. “Right there, and Fenris is perfectly fine. No one's asking you to hug Varania—just to not kill her. Before today, you didn't even think she was real! You thought that Hadriana bitch had just made her up! What does this even matter to you?”

That stopped Fenris cold. “I...” he stammered, and couldn't seem to get the words out.

“Let me deal with her,” Isabela said. “And you lot get out of here. Varric—you do something about the body.”

Fenris and Aveline left. Varric sighed. “Right,” he said. “Why am I the person you turn to when you have a dead body?”

“Should I not, and put you out of business?” Isabela laughed.

“I—who are you?” Varania asked, eyeing Isabela with a wary gaze.

“Captain Isabela,” she said. “And I know a thing or two about situations with no good outcome.”

Isabela lead Varania out of another entrance than the one Aveline and Fenris took, leaving Varric and Abigail alone.

“Well,” Varric said with a sigh. “Gonna have to pay off the owner a lot to let any of you set foot here again.”

Abigail looked down at the body with faint disgust. “All this trouble, just for one person,” she said. “It doesn't make sense.”

“You heard him,” Varric said. “He had a—special interest—in our broody elf.” his lip curled in revulsion.

“I'll go see how Aveline and Fenris are doing,” Abigail said.

“Probably a good idea.”

Aveline and Fenris were not far away, talking quietly to one another. They were both still angry, Aveline's cheeks flushed and Fenris clenching and relaxing his hands.

“Abigail,” Aveline caught sight of her.

“Isabela left with Varania,” Abigail explained.

Fenris growled to herself. “She should have let me kill her,” he hissed.

“Abigail, I should have--” Aveline started.

“What, Aveline?” Abigail cut her off, suddenly very tired. “Arrested her? Danarius is slippery enough that she probably wasn't actually doing anything illegal.”

“I would have found something!”

“Break more laws, sure, that would've helped,” Abigail snapped. “Listen—let it go. Danarius is dead, Isabela came up with a solution—everything's fine.”

“None of it is fine!” Fenris snarled.

“You're alive, aren't you?” Abigail asked. “Danarius is dead, and you and your sister are both free. What's the problem?”

“She betrayed me—she sold out her own brother for power, like any other mage!”

Abigail looked at him, her expression cold. “I am going to ignore that,” she said. “Because I know that you're angry, and not thinking through this. But I want you to pull yourself together, and realize that you are alive, Danarius is dead, and you have family—family who is also alive and free and perfectly well.” she glared at him. “Do you understand me?”

A look of understanding crossed Aveline's face. “Abigail,” she started. “This isn't about--”

“Do you know what I'd do for a sister who was free?” Abigail snapped. “A brother who isn't dead? Take your blessings where you can get them, Fenris, and let it go.”

Aveline and Fenris looked at each other.

“Do not expect me to speak with her,” Fenris spat.

“I wouldn't.”

“Isabela can deal with her,” Aveline said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Fenris—she's not our problem.”

Chapter Text

Orzammar made good on their promise to withdraw from Kirkwall, but instead of imposing sanctions, did indeed declare Kirkwall too hazardous to trade with. The representatives at the Orzammar embassy left, and even the majority of the Merchant’s Guild got out of town.

This was infuriating to Meredith, but there wasn’t much that she could do. The only response would be an Exalted March, which would have to be ratified by the Divine. As Kirkwall was the only city facing these restrictions from Orzammar, Divine Justinia did not see fit to take action.

The Templars were forced to rely on lyrium transports from other Circles, and the rare smuggler that actually wanted to get near Kirkwall. Many lower-ranked Templars suffered frequent withdrawals. The Gallows infirmary soon became filled to capacity with Templars in withdrawals, or who had taken bad lyrium.

Then it was that a certain Sister Nightinggale came to see Abigail.

Abigail got a message to meet someone in Lowtown late at night. Normally she wouldn't have, but the message came through her old smuggler contacts. Athenril had been pretty spooked by the messenger, so it seemed important.

Abigail came to the meeting place and waited. At length, a redheaded woman in street clothes came to meet her.

“You are Abigail Hawke?” the redhead asked.

Abigail narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“You may call me Sister Leliana,” she said. “And I must speak with you.”

“Why?” Abigail asked again, folding her arms and shifting the stave on her back.

Leliana did not so much as blink. Instead, she paced, her hands behind her back.

“You have had conflicts with your local Chantry, yes?” Leliana asked. “You are a free mage as well.”

“What is this about?” Abigail asked, watching Leliana’s every move.

Leliana shook her head. “You must understand that something very concerning is happening in the Chantry,” Leliana said. “There is...a conflict.”

“A conflict of what nature?”

“You have tried several times to contact the Grand cleric and the Lord Seeker because of your belief that the Templars have broken Chantry law.”

“Yes.”

“But when they responded, it was always to tell you to leave Chantry business to the Chantry. When a Templar was caught breaking the law, they removed only him, and imposed no other measures.”

“Yes.”

“And when you contacted the Divine concerning the Wardens, she returned a message telling you to send the Wardens to Val Royeaux,”

“Yes,” Abigail frowned as she watched Leliana. “What is this about? You sound like you already know all of this.”

Leliana stopped pacing and faced Abigail dead-on. “We are aware that the Templars in the Kirkwall Circle have been flouting Chantry law for years,” she hissed. “It is merely the symptom of a larger problem.”

Abigail carefully schooled her expression into one of neutrality. “And what problem is that?”

“When Divine Beatrix died, the Seekers and the Mothers had a difference of opinion upon who should be appointed the next Divine,” Leliana said.

“...and...?” Abigail raised an eyebrow.

“Divine Justinia was appointed. But it by no means made everyone satisfied.” Leliana tilted her head to one side. “The Lord Seeker least of all.”

“But...he's sworn to the Divine, as you are, isn't he? Doesn't he have to follow your rules?”

“In law, yes,” Leliana said. “But in practice...the Seekers are our arm. The Templars are the hand on the end of that arm, and are meant to be controlled by the Seekers directly. If that arm turns on us, we have little recourse by which to defend ourselves.”

“What does that mean?” Abigail asked, brushing hair out of her eyes. “Are the Seekers not listening to the Divine anymore?”

Leliana’s voice was bitter. “Officially, the Seekers are beholden to the Divine, and most within the Chantry do not see a problem. The Seekers are loyal, or so they appear to be.”

“But...?”

“You know the Templars of Kirkwall. And you know they have been breaking laws, and not been held accountable by the Seekers.” Leliana shook her head. “The Divine cannot intervene in Kirkwall without bypassing the Seekers, and alerting the Lord Seeker of our suspicions.”

“And what does that have to do with the Wardens? Why can’t the Divine just go right past the Seekers?”

“Lady Hawke, the message from the Divine, the one that requested the arrest of the Wardens...it was forged.”

The breath left Abigail’s lungs. “Forged by who?”

“The Lord Seeker.”

“If you know that, then--”

“The entire Seeker Order is compromised,” Leliana began to pace again. “Lambert extends his reach, and in doing so, turns the Templars against us. Our sword arm is cut off at the shoulder.”

Abigail stared at her, her gut churning upon hearing this. “How do you know about this?" she asked. "What are you going to do?”

“There is one Seeker still loyal to the Divine, instead of the Lord Seeker,” Leliana explained. “She is our eyes and ears within the Seekers. She and I are doing what we can to amend the damage done by the Lord Seeker, and close the rift before this goes too far.”

“It's already gone a very long way,” Abigail said. “What about the mages who are being hurt in the Gallows?”

Leliana looked at her. “Understand this,” she said. “It had already gone on very far.”

Abigail narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Elthina and Meredith have both requested the Right of Annullment,” Leliana's words were let out in a breath, and Abigail froze.

“What?” Abigail breathed.

“It has not been granted them,” Leliana assured her. "Maker willing, the issue will not be forced.”

Abigail's knees were weak. She couldn't stand. “What—what are you going to do?”

“Convince them they do not need it.”

“How?”

“If it becomes necessary, the Divine can veto such an order if she so chooses,” Leliana said.

“But if the Lord Seeker can just--”

“We know.” Leliana's expression was sour. “And that is why I speak to you now.”

“Why?”

“Because your city has become something of a nexus, and you have become important.”

“So what do I do?”

“Drop the subject,” Leliana instructed. “Wait. Tell your Guard-Captain to stop clashing with the Templars. I need to find out what the Grand Cleric plans to do, and what the Lord Seeker plans to do.”

“Why does he care so much about Kirkwall in the first place?” Abigail asked. “Why is it so important? Why come to me at all?”

“Kirkwall has become...unintentionally, an axis of a large number of events,” Leliana explained. “First the Arishok, then there is Orzammar declaring that they will no longer trade. And there is you—a mage with a noble title. That was one of the marks against Surana,” her gaze was faintly accusing. “Surana did not keep her nobility, and yet you did.”

Abigail said nothing.

“And there is the...infection that Queen Aeducan believes is here. Templars refused lyrium for the first time in a long time. The Lord Seeker believes this place is important in some fashion, and in any case, he will tolerate no mage threatening his power.”

“I’m not threatening anything.”

“Are you not?”

“I...” Abigail looked away. She heaved a sigh. “Isn't there something we can do to help?”

“No,” Leliana said. “There is not. Please—nothing has been done that cannot be undone. Yet. If we are careful, and quiet--”

“What about the Gray Wardens—why do the Seekers want them so badly?”

“That was something the former Lady Seeker wished,” Leliana said. “The Lord Seeker is continuing her work. Free mages, such as Surana or the Dalish mage, frighten them immensely.”

“They escaped in Val Royeaux.” Abigail eyed Leliana. “Was that your doing?”

“If it was, I would not tell you. I can only tell you that we must step very carefully, and we cannot take any action that may set the Seekers against us.”

“And the mages?” Abigail asked. “The business with the Wardens is about mages, and we’re already seeing conflict between our Circle and the Templars. Maker, the only reason I’m still free is because of what happened with the Arishok.”

“You, and your Dalish friend. The mage.”

“And her. What do you know about her?”

“I know that the Lord Seeker would like nothing better than to kill you both,” Leliana said. “But he cannot yet. You protect her, and you are both beloved by the city for disposing of the Arishok. I believe, however, there is another plan that I cannot see.”

“The Grand Cleric,” Abigail said. "She's up to something."

“Quite possibly.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?” Abigail asked. “My sister is in the Circle—I can’t do anything, or else they’ll hurt her. The Grand Cleric’s told me as such.”

Leliana's face fell. “We can do nothing that would tip our hand,” she said. “I am afraid we must expend all our energies towards holding the Chantry together.”

Abigail shook her head. “Do you know about Corypheus? That darkspawn thing in the mountains?” Abigail asked. “That’s why Queen Aeducan--”

Leliana inclined her head. “Queen Aeducan informed us,” she said. “She and Prince-Consort Arainai felt it was important that everyone know.”

“And that’s the reason Queen Aeducan cut off trade to the Templars. That’s not something that can be undone.”

“Perhaps not. But we still have control over the Chantry. Anything else must come later, else all will fall into chaos.”

“Do you plan to do anything about it at all?” Abigail demanded.

“Yes,” Leliana said.

“Such as...?”

“I cannot tell you all of my plans,” Leliana said, for the first time a ghost of a smile playing around the corners of her lips.

“And you don't think it's already gone too far?' Abigail demanded. “I don't want a war or anything of the sort, Maker knows, but how are you supposed to fix any of this?”

Leliana's face fell. “We will do what we can,” she said.

“And can't we help at all?”

Leliana shook her head. “You do not know what we need, nor can I trust you or your friends to be loyal to the Divine. The best thing you can do is not draw attention to yourself, and maintain as best you can.”

“That's it?” Abigail spread her hands. “That's all you can give me?”

“It is a great deal more than I have given others,” Leliana said. She pulled her hood up over her head. “Please, do nothing rash,” she said. “We cannot risk things growing worse than they already are.”

Abigail spread her hands imploringly. “Things are already growing worse here,” she said. “Can't you do something?”

“We are doing all we can,” Leliana's eyes looked immeasurably sad. “I am sorry.”

She left, vanishing into the darkness. Abigail clenched her fist.

The next day, Abigail relayed Leliana's message to Aveline, as well as the others.

“We just need to hang on until the Divine can pull the Chantry together,” Abigail said.

“Are you sure that more waiting is going to fix this?” Anders snapped.

“No, but neither is doing anything rash,” Abigail said. “At least, that's what she said. If the Seekers end up learning what the Divine is doing, they might turn on each other.”

“You're sure she was an agent of the Divine?” Aveline asked, her lips pursed.

“She went through Athenril,” Abigail said. “No one else would know to do that—and no one else would leave Athenril as unsettled as she was.”

“I don't like the sound of this,” Varric said with a frown.

“It sounds bad, that's for sure,” Isabela agreed. “You ask me, we should all hightail it out of here.”

“We can't leave!” Anders protested. “How can you just leave the city behind?”

“It's not my city,” Isabela said. “And I can tell when things are starting to go bad, Anders. This is one of those times.”

Aveline shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “This...we can't just let this stand,” she said.

“Doesn't the Chantry always answer to a higher authority?” Anders said, rolling his eyes. “Why would they ever listen to us?”

“Even the Chantry isn't above the law,” Aveline said, but looked uncertain.

“She all but said that if we make the wrong move, the Seekers will know and we'll get the Divine killed,” Abigail said. “Things are bad enough that they're scared of their own Templars. We can't do anything too hastily.”

“Oh, so now the Divine's in danger, suddenly they care about Templars overstepping their bounds?” Anders huffed out a bitter laugh. “If a few mages here and there get slaughtered and imprisoned, who cares? But oh, the Divine--”

“You're not listening,” Abigail said. “It's one thing for the Templars to be bastards to mages—but another when the Seekers may be trying to kill the Divine.”

“The treatment of mages is debatable,” Fenris said, ignoring Anders' glare. “But this...” he shook his head. “The Seekers and the Divine should be of one mind—if they attack each other, it could mean chaos for the south, could it not?”

“It absolutely could,” Aveline agreed. “And with Queen Aeducan and the Dalish alliance, things are already tense with the nobility--”

“And there's this Corypheus mess,” Varric pointed out.

“And no Surana to kill him,” Anders said. “Because the Chantry chased her off.” he dug his hands into his hair. “All the problems just feed into one another!” he exclaimed. “The Seekers come to run Surana out of her own Keep, then when we have another darkspawn problem, she can't help!”

“Leliana mentioned that,” Abigail said. “She talked about how they got her removed from being an Arlessa.”

Anders shook his head. “They had it out for her from the start.”

Fenris spoke up. “This Lord Seeker appears to be spoiling for the Divine's position,” he said, scowling. “Or wants to put his own Divine in authority.”

“How do you figure on that?” Isabela asked.

“Why else would the Divine be afraid of him turning on her? Why else would this Sister imply he would be willing to kill her?” Fenris shook his head. “It reminds me of Tevinter,” he said, his lip curled. “In the worst of ways. So we really can do nothing?”

“That's what she said,” Abigail said.

Anders stood up. “We can't—just do nothing,” he said. “There has to be something we can do!”

Abigail grabbed Anders' arm.

“Anders,” Abigail looked him in the eye. “Don't do anything you'll regret.”

Anders' face softened. “You know me, Abigail,” he said, the ghost of a smirk crossing his face. “When do I ever do anything I regret?”

He shook her off, and left.

Chapter Text

Everything was quiet for a few blessed weeks. Merrill moved the rest of her Clan to the ruin in the Frostbacks, on the far side of one of the eluvians. Isabela, nervous, got her ship ready to set sail, but didn't leave just yet.

Privately, Abigail fortified her home, and she knew Fenris, Aveline and Varric were doing the same.

Anders tried to get as many mages out of the city as he could, avoiding the underground as he was no longer sure how he could trust them. Justice clamored in his mind, howling for blood, for vengeance, filling his head with a fog of righteous anger.

He wasn’t sure how much longer simply aiding in escapes would work. The words of Sister Leliana rattled in his head—do nothing, wait, wait—and made his blood boil. There must be something he could do.

Meredith and Orsino were still arguing with each other frequently, sometimes having screaming fights right up to the Chantry, where the Grand Cleric would settle it. It made the atmosphere...tense.

A clear storm was brewing, and it was by Anders' hand that the stormclouds broke.

So he went to the Chantry.

He had not asked Abigail for help with his latest project—he knew she would never understand. She was a mage as good as he was, and would know what the components for his spellwork would be used for.

It was dangerous for him to be here, he knew. Elthina doubtless knew his face, but it was a risk he had to take. He wandered the Chantry, looking for key places to put his spellwork.

The explosives would be messy, nothing like the gaatlok the Qunari used or the blasting runes that the dwarves did. They would damage the Veil and cause more fire than blasting force, but he hoped they would do the trick.

“Anders.”

Anders jumped and looked over his shoulder to see Grand Cleric Elthina standing behind him. He hadn't heard her approach.

“You remember me?” he said, trying to act nonchalant. Of course she remembered.

“I could not possibly forget, my child,” Elthina's smile was soft and gentle and utterly, utterly dangerous.

“You know I'm a mage,” Anders hissed. “If you've known--”

“Why not call the Templars?” Elthina tilted her head back. She took several steps until she was right in front of him. “Oh, child, Meredith knows as well.”

Anders stared at her, slack-jawed. He sucked in a shaky breath. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are doing good work,” she assured him, patting his forearm. “I couldn't take the healer of Darktown away from the people so soon, so harshly. It would upset them. And I think you should know the answers, since you have come to me now.”

He stepped back, not understanding what she was talking about. “But—Karl--”

“Oh, poor Karl,” Elthina tutted. “A clumsy snare, when we were still trying to find all of Surana's Wardens. Before we knew what good work you do. And before the other Wardens fled.”

“Why do you care so bloody much about Darktown all of a sudden?” Anders demanded. “You never did before--!”

“The people of Darktown are frightened of Templars and Circle mages,” Elthina said, looking sadly down at the ground. “And sadly, the Sisters and Mothers of the Chantry are not well-versed in the healing arts. You are the perfect solution.”

Anders shook his head. “This doesn't—this doesn't make any sense—you got Bethany Hawke, too, she's a healer--”

“Oh, the Hawke girl, such a dear,” Elthina said. “Such a kind girl, but she hadn't been putting her healing gifts to a great use. We thought she would be disruptive.”

“But I'm not?”

“Anders,” Elthina spoke very calmly, as if speaking to a child. “Do you know where the mages you sneak out of the Circle go to?”

Anders went dead white.

Elthina nodded, her expression pitying. “They return to us again. I am sorry for the deception,” she said, and she sounded truly sorry. “But it had to be done.”

“Why—why would you--”

“A whole city can be a Circle if it is made carefully enough,” Elthina explained. “Meredith doesn't quite see that, the poor dear. But she will. You cannot force people to listen to your teaching, you see—you must show them. And if we took the beloved healer of Darktown away, well, we would only be showing them that we are to be feared.”

“And are you not?”

“Of course not, my child. But we cannot have mages running around freely, where they may hurt someone, so we intercepted your underground, and any other moves you might have made. They are all quite safe now.” she smiled, satisfied. “They believe enough in your underground that there is not another one. All is kept in balance.”

“You—imprison us, torture us—keep us locked away from the sun, steal our children--” Anders snarled.

“Anders. You exaggerate.”

Anders' face twisted, and he raised his hand--

Only to have the Grand Cleric aim a crossbow at him. She had pulled the weapon from the folds in her robes, where he had not been able to see it in the darkened hall.

“Don't, my dear boy,” she said gently. “Please, do not do what you are trying to do.”

Anders hesitated, and then he began to close his hand--

And an arrow thudded into Anders' chest, and Anders fell back. He looked down, feeling a faint sense of surprise.

In his mind, Justice began to uncurl himself, and sent blue fire pouring through his veins when another arrow slammed into his shoulder.

Justice was—something cut Justice off, bloody and painful—Anders choked as his mind went dark and cold, fires blown out like a dead star, and everything grayed at the edges--

Elthina shook her head, her expression one of utter sorrow.

“Magebane in the arrowheads,” she explained. “I'm sorry, my lad. I know it must hurt terribly. But you can’t run, as the others did.”

There was blue fire behind Anders’ eyes, and the world came back into focus in a rush, forcing Anders to his feet. Justice whispered in his mind, furious, and clarity returned to Anders as blood trickled down his chin. He began to walk towards the door, pain lancing his every step.

Elthina followed. He could hear the sound of her soft slippers on the marble floor. He came to the great double doors, and pushed one open, then collapsed to the ground, no more strength left in him.

At the bottom of the stairs, Orsino and Meredith were screaming at each other. They had been fighting all the way to the Chantry, where they meant to make the Grand Cleric settle their disagreement. Aveline was desperately trying to mediate, and had called in Abigail for backup.

Then the door to the Chantry opened.

At the top step, someone stood, unclear in the dim evening light. Then they fell backwards, sprawling on the steps.

Abigail recognized the person immediately.

“Anders?” she breathed.

Anders didn't move, and with horror, she saw the two arrows sticking out of him. One in his chest and one in his shoulder. Blood began to pool, staining the white steps.

“What--?” Orsino gasped, confused.

Abigail bolted up the steps, Aveline hot on her heels.

“What—who did this--?” Abigail looked at the fletching on the arrows, hoping for something she could recognize. “Anders--”

Anders grabbed her hand. He tried to speak, but he choked on blood.

“Merrill,” Abigail whispered. “I—I need Merrill, Aveline--”

Aveline sent one of her guards tearing for Abigail's house, and Orsino was at their side as well.

“I know some small healing,” he said, laying a healing hand on Anders' chest. “Who did this? In the Chantry, who would dare--?”

“First Enchanter, you know better,” Elthina strode out of the Chantry, crossbow in hand.

“Grand Cleric?” Aveline breathed.

“Meredith, my dear,” Elthina called. “I am afraid this poor lad threatened my life. Please, take care of him, will you?”

Meredith looked surprised for a moment, then scowled and nodded. She came up the steps, hand on the pommel of her sword. Abigail threw up a barrier between her and Anders.

“No,” Abigail snapped. “Don't you dare.”

Meredith looked outraged. “Stand aside,” she snapped.

“If he threatened the Grand Cleric, he's under the authority of the Guard,” Aveline said quickly, standing between Meredith and Anders. “He's a criminal.”

“Apostates come under the Templars before anyone else,” Meredith snapped, moving to stand chest-to-chest with Aveline.

“The Grand Cleric--”

“Defended herself.”

“It's her word against a mage's!” Abigail said. “This—I don't understand, this doesn't make any sense—he would never--” she cut herself off.

Anders just might.

Anders tried to speak again, blood pooling at the corners of his lips. His eyes flashed Justice blue for just a moment.

Anders raised one bloody hand, and clenched his fist.

Everything was silent for a moment.

Then the Chantry erupted into flame.

There was a great and terrible roar, like the cry of Asha’bella’nar, and a brilliant red light, and then pieces of brick and mortar were raining down all around them. Meredith ducked, holding her shield above her, and Abigail, panicked, cast several barrier spells at once.

Finally, the roaring stopped, and all was still.

Abigail, gasping, let her barrier fall. Anders, Aveline, and Orsino were all fine, all caught under the barrier.

Meredith had a cut on her forehead, and the Grand Cleric stood at the bottom of the steps, a long red gash on one arm, but otherwise she seemed unhurt.

Meredith's blade sang, gleaming with red light, and one could see the threads of red lyrium embedded in the fine silver of the blade.

“You--” Meredith snarled, rounding on Anders, her naked sword in one hand.

Anders managed a strange half-smile, blood trickling from his lips. “Didn't see that one coming, did you?” he whispered, the first words he'd managed so far. His eyes glimmered blue again, before he closed them.

“Anders?” Abigail felt his chest, but his breathing had slowed to an unbearable crawl. His eyes flickered blue under their lids, as if Justice were trying to wake, but couldn't. “No,” Abigail breathed. “Oh no, no, no—not again--”

“Abigail...” Aveline put her hand on Abigail's shoulder.

Elthina walked down the steps. Elthina's face was as calm as it ever was, even with the fiery light of the Chantry behind her.

“Meredith, my dear,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to where Orsino stood. “I do believe the mages of this city must be taught the consequences of their actions.”

Orsino stepped back. “Grand Cleric—we didn't—this wasn't--”

Elthina shook her head, expression forlorn. “I am sorry, Orsino,” she said with a sigh. “I believe I made the wrong decision. Your people must learn that there are things they cannot do. I call for an annulment of the Kirkwall Circle.”

“But we didn't do this!” Orsino cried. “This wasn't our fault!”

“Meredith,” Elthina said.

Meredith's face fell. “But—the apostate--”

“Was our duty. This pains me as well as you.”

Meredith steeled her shoulders. “I am sorry, Orsino,” she said, her expression forlorn. She drew her sword.

Orsino backed away, hand out. Magic flickered at his fingertips, and Meredith raised her sword--

Only to have Abigail strike her in the chest with a spell.

“No,” Abigail snapped, getting to her feet. “No more. No one else is going to die today!”

“That is not for you to decide, my child,” Elthina said

“Yes, it is,” Abigail snarled. “You can't do this.”

“This is absolute madness, Grand Cleric,” Aveline said. “We need to restore order—we cannot waste time on annulling the Circle when we may need them!”

“Meredith, dear,” Elthina said. “The Guard-Captain and Lady Hawke are being obstinate.”

Other Templars began to appear, presumably summoned by the Chantry explosion. There were far more of them than there was anyone else.

“Abigail, come on,” Aveline grabbed Abigail's arm. “We need to go--”

“No,” Abigail snarled. “No, no--”

Aveline hauled Abigail down the steps, then for good measure, grabbed Orsino as well. She bowled over a Templar who stood in their way, but for the most part the Templars were still disorganized and confused.

Aveline ran for the Guards' barracks. Fenris and Merrill met them on the way.

“What happened?” Fenris asked.

“Oh, ma vhenan, you're covered in blood!” Merrill touched Abigail's arm. “It's—but it's not yours.”

“It's Anders',” Abigail said, her tone harsh.

“What happened?” Fenris demanded now, grabbing Aveline's shoulder and looking from her to Abigail.

“The apostate...” Orsino breathed. “The Grand Cleric shot him, then he was the one who destroyed the Chantry.”

“Is that what that fire is?” Merrill asked, her green eyes enormous as she stared at the orange glow of the fire.

Orsino nodded.

Fenris shook his head, disgusted. “Where is he?” he growled. “Where is the abomination?”

“Dead,” Aveline said, looking away. “If he wasn't before, surely...” she trailed off.

“It was Elthina,” Abigail said, shaking her head. “Elthina shot him. She had a crossbow...”

“Why did she even have it?” Orsino wanted to know. “She's the Grand Cleric—priestesses know nothing of weapons and warcraft, nothing--!”

“What do we do now?” Merrill asked.

“I'll try to get to the barracks,” Aveline said. “But--”

Varric met them, suddenly, almost running into Aveline.

“Oh, Andraste's ass, glad I caught up with you!” he exclaimed.

“Varric? What is it?” Abigail said.

“Heard some ruckus is going on,” Varric said. “Listen—Templars are swarming the barracks, some fighting with the Guards, thought you should know--”

Abigail cursed.

“Where to now?” Fenris asked.

“They haven't gotten to Lowtown or the dockyards yet,” Varric said. “Maybe we can meet Isabela—someone want to explain what this is all about?”

It was faster to get to the docks, so they went there first, explaining the situation to Varric on the way.

“We should go to the Gallows,” Orsino insisted. “I need to help my people--”

Abigail nodded. “I need to find Bethany,” she said. “We can get to the Gallows from the Docks. Maybe we can use Isabela's ship...”

They met Isabela at the docks, who was running to meet them. She already knew something was dreadfully wrong, with the Guards fighting Templars in the streets and the massive fire burning in Hightown. She was two steps ahead of them.

“My ship!” Isabela said. “If we get to my ship, we can--”

Just as they got to the dock where Isabela's ship was, flaming arrows fell from the sky, striking true and lighting the ship's sails aflame.

“My ship...” Isabela whispered. “Oh, no...”

More flaming arrows caught the wood, the bow and the stern, and soon the entire boat was aflame.

“Isabela, what about your crew?” Varric asked urgently.

Isabela ran to the ship, and began helping people off. “Most of them aren't on it now, thank the Maker,” she said. “Come on, bloody well help me!”

Two elvhen figures, one a redhead and one a blonde, appeared over the side.

“Varania!” Isabela shouted. “Orana—are you two--?”

Varania supported Orana, and they stumbled towards the group. Orana had a large burn down one side, and Varania was gasping and out of breath.

“Orana...” Isabela breathed, and went to her side to try and help her. “Merrill, can you--?”

Merrill was there at once, pressing bloodied hands to Orana's side.

“The Gallows,” Orsino said urgently. “We need to get to the Gallows!”

Abigail, Orsino, Merrill and Varric hopped in a smaller boat to head to the Gallows, while the others stayed to try and guard the docks.

The Gallows was already in an uproar.

The message about annulment hadn't come through clearly, and both mages and Templars alike had seen the fire from Hightown and the docks and were in a panic. The Knight-Captain was attempting to keep order, but without Meredith and Orsino his orders had little power.

There were people running, fighting, shouting at each other—even one strange couple, a woman in haphazard Templar armor and another woman in equally disheveled Circle robes who ran out of the gates hand-in-hand when Abigail and her group came in. Orsino glanced after the couple with a frown on his face, but his attention quickly turned to the chaos in front of him.

“First Enchanter!” Cullen ran up to them, hair a mess and his breastplate scuffed with a stray burn mark.

Orsino held his staff out, between himself and Cullen. “Knight-Captain.”

“What is going on?” Cullen demanded. “We heard an explosion, then Evans came tearing through the gate, bellowing his bloody head off about annulment--”

“So you don't know what's happening?” Abigail interrupted.

Cullen shook his head. “Meredith hasn't come back--”

Orsino narrowed his eyes. “And if there was an annulment, Knight-Captain,” he said. “What would you do?”

“I'd follow the Commander’s orders, of course,” Cullen said. “Why, what's--”

Orsino struck him over the head with his staff.

Cullen fell, blood gushing from a wound in his head. Orsino bared his teeth. “Templar filth,” he snarled to himself.

He stepped over Cullen's body, and began rallying the mages. The Templars seemed to realize something was going wrong, but without Meredith or Cullen's command, they couldn't organize.

Not until Meredith arrived, anyway. She was ten minutes behind them—Orsino had no sooner gotten the courtyard settled when Meredith charged through the gates, naked sword in hand, eyes burning.

She helped Cullen to his feet and there was a pause while the Templars and the mages surveyed each other.

“Do not do this,” Abigail came to the forefront of the group. “Please, we don't have to—this does not have to happen.”

“I answer to a higher power than you,” Meredith said. “We must be vigilant.”

“Commander—what warrants this—annulment?” Cullen asked. He was still bleeding and looked a little dazed. “I have seen no blood magic, no demons--”

“As if you would notice,” Meredith rolled her eyes. “It does not matter. It is what Elthina has called for.”

“Why?”

“Do you doubt the Grand Cleric?”

“No, I just--” Cullen stared between her, and Abigail, and Orsino, and back again. “I do not understand what is happening--”

Meredith moved forward, blade in hand. “Then I believe you are in familiar company, but it matters little.”

Abigail slammed Meredith back with a spell, and the fight began in earnest. Abigail, Merrill, Varric, Orsino and several battle mages kept the Templars back, while the mages attempted to escape. The fight was vicious, bloody—for every Templar that fell, so too would two mages. People on both sides looked far too young or too old to be fighting, and soon the Gallows was on fire, as surely as the Chantry.

Meredith was wickedly fast, her eyes burning with red lyrium light, and her opponents fell before her. As she fought, she gained a strange aura, red, sickly and terrible, and the Veil was ragged and torn around her person.

Orsino's palms dripped with blood, and with a gesture he broke Templars' backs and tore the blood from their veins.

It was apparent both of them had been dabbling in things that were forbidden and dangerous.

The fight dragged on and on, mages and Templars wearying, but at last it became apparent that there were no mages left alive still in the Gallows. Or, at least, if there were still any there, they could not be rescued.

Abigail and her group ran out, Abigail dragging Orsino behind her, to get to one of the last boats by the gate.

When they got back to the docks, things were not in a good way. Bethany had made it out of the Gallows, but her reunion with Abigail was not a happy one. Templars were still converging on the docks, and just about every wooden building was on fire. Backfired spells had built up ice or a static charge on some surfaces as well.

“Where are we going now?” Abigail shouted over the noise. “We can't stay here forever!”

“The eluvian,” Merrill said. “We need to get to the eluvian!”

“The what?” Orsino demanded.

“Magic mirror,” Abigail explained. “Come on—back to Hightown!”

They ran, in a scattered and failing group. Merrill was at the head, as she knew the fastest route.

“We can go through the Alienage!” she shouted. “To Darktown, then through the cellars! If we go the normal way, they’ll catch us!”

It was true. The Templars knew the way to Hightown well, but it was easier to lose them in Darktown. The Alienage would provide another obstacle, as well as give Merrill time to warn them. It was entirely possible the Templars would attack the Alienage, knowing how elves tended to have higher numbers of mages in their population.

Lowtown was not on fire or being attacked yet, but the Templars were hot on their heels.

Aveline and Fenris were at their backs, fending off the oncoming Templars. Unfortunately, this left them very open for attack.

Aveline cried out, pain bursting white-hot behind her eyes as an arrow pierced her back, sinking into a weak point in her armor. She dropped her shield, and tried to reach for the arrow, but stumbled.

“Aveline!” Fenris called. He faltered, turning to face her—and an arrow slammed into his shoulder. He bellowed in pain and staggered, lyrium markings pulsing erratically as he tried to phase the arrow out.

“No,” Abigail shouted. “No!” Merrill halted, turned, and Abigail waved her on ahead. Abigail went and tried to pick Fenris up, and Varric and Isabela went for Aveline.

“Fenris, come on!” Abigail insisted. “Come on—you two can make it, it's just--” she looked up. The Alienage was still quite a ways away, down several staircases and through the twisting streets. Darktown was even further, and the Amell cellars were up a long, long stair. “It's nearby,” she promised.

“That's a lie, Abigail,” Aveline choked out.

“Come on,” Abigail urged. “Come on, I'm not losing anyone else!”

“Abigail, go,” Aveline insisted. “We'll hold them back. Get out of here—go to the Divine, you need to tell them--”

“Tell them yourself!”

“Abigail,” Aveline gave Isabela a feeble push. “Run, dammit!”

“We can't just leave you!” Isabela snapped. “Bloody well come on, Big Girl—nn!” an arrow sliced open her thigh, just missing the muscle and landing on a cobblestone ahead of them.

“Go, dammit!” Aveline snapped. “Go on, Pirate Girl—please!”

Varric and Isabela looked first at Aveline, then Fenris, then the line of Templars closing behind them.

“Will you just go?” Fenris snarled.

“No,” Abigail insisted, even as Isabela dropped Aveline and dashed on ahead as best she could on her injured leg. “Look, we can't just--”

A Templar was close enough to take a slash at Varric, who dropped Aveline and leaped back. The Templar advanced on Varric until Abigail shoved her back with a spell, but others quickly closed the gap.

A Templar caught Varric with a blow to the head, sending him to the ground, and Abigail screamed their names even as she was forced back. Eventually she could no longer see her three downed comrades, and she turned and ran.

Abigail tore into the Alienage. It was burning as well, some of the tenements lit on fire by flaming arrows—the whole damn city seemed to be burning.

There was something of a panic here as well. Hahren Josiah and Merrill spoke urgently with each other, and Abigail and Isabela caught up with them.

“Oh, vhenan, Isabela, you’re here, good!” Merrill breathed a sigh of relief and looked over their shoulder for the others. She frowned. “Where’s--?” Merrill asked, and Abigail shook her head.

“We had to leave them,” Isabela said, as Abigail couldn’t speak.

Merrill hesitated, then continued to speak to Josiah. “Is there anyone who should leave?” she asked. “Should you all leave? I’m sure we could get you out, if--”

Josiah shook his head. “No, all the apostates left with your people, Merrill,” he assured her. “We can’t just up and leave.”

“But--”

“Templars!” bellowed a woman standing on the roof of one of the taller buildings. “Coming this way!”

“Merrill, go,” Josiah said.

“Hahren--” Merrill said.

“Go, Merrill,” he told her. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder, before urging her on ahead. “Go, before those mages all get themselves lost!”

“I--” Merrill’s expression hardened. “Of course, Hahren. Dareth shiral.”

“Sal sura, Merrill,” he told her. “Now bloody well get out of here!”

They went through to Darktown.

Darktown was in an uproar similar to that of the Alienage, but without any leaders to corral the chaos. People rushed about, confused and uncertain. Anders’ clinic had many people going in and out of it, but the healer was, of course, nowhere to be found.

They pushed their way through the crowds to the Hawke family cellar entrance.

The cellars were dark, but not too difficult to navigate. They burst out into the mansion, and Merrill rushed to the eluvian, lighting it up with a spell.

“Come on!” Merrill gestured them to the eluvian. “In, in in! Hurry!”

Abigail stood by Merrill, leaning heavily on her shoulder.

“Do you think Varric—or Aveline—or Fenris--?” Merrill asked.

Abigail shook her head. “Aveline and Fenris took arrows,” she said. “And Varric had a Templar right on top of him.”

Orsino stood by them, overseeing the exit of the other mages who had followed them. Many of them were lost at this point, the flight from the city being as disorderly as it was.

“This...mirror...is safe?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at it.

“We don’t have much choice, do we?” Abigail asked him.

“It’s safe,” Merrill assured him. “It makes humans sick, but not fatally. They’ll just feel awful.”

Orsino didn’t seem convinced, but it was true that they hardly had any choice in the matter.

When the Templars burst through the door, that was when Merrill, Abigail and Isabela had to go through too, regardless of who was still left outside.

In the Crossroads, they had some reprieve, as the Templars wouldn't immediately come through, but it wouldn't last for long.

“How can we make sure they don't follow us?” Abigail asked.

Merrill closed her eyes. “I can close it,” she said. “But we won't be able to use it again.”

Abigail took her shoulders. “Do it.”

Merrill took a deep breath, and held out her hand. The the mirror went slowly dark, the soft sounds it emenated growing silent. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Well...where do we go now?” Abigail asked. She had to lean on Merrill for support, as her head was already starting to feel the effects of the Crossroads. Isabela and many of the human mages looked sick as well.

“This way,” Merrill said. “We go to my Clan.”

She pointed to one of the eluvians which glowed a dark blue.

“What about after that?” Isabela murmured.

No one could answer her.

Much later, the sun rose, staining the clouds a deep, bloody red. There was still some fighting in the city, but now that the majority of the mages were dead or gone, it was starting to quiet. The city was in mourning after the loss of the Hightown Chantry, and the sense of grief was palpable. The nobility were shocked that Lady Hawke—their Champion!--had fled Templar justice, taking so many of the mages with her as well.

Grand Cleric Elthina waited in a smaller Chantry in Lowtown. She sat at a bench by an enormous stained glass window, watching the sun rise.

“Grand Cleric,” Elthina turned to hear Meredith come in.

“What is it, dear?” she asked.

“Hawke—and several of her—compatriots—escaped,” Meredith said with a scowl. “We managed to capture the dwarf, the Guard-Captain and one of the elves.”

“Which one? The blood mage?” Elthina asked, hopeful.

Meredith shook her head. “The Tevene,” she said. “The one who was working as the Qunari translator.”

“Ah, well,” Elthina gave a tiny sigh. “I suppose that will have to be enough.”

“What do we do now, Grand Cleric?”

“We call the Lord Seeker, of course,” Elthina said. “Things are moving much faster now.” she looked out the window. “Perhaps too fast. One can never quite tell.”

“As you wish, Grand Cleric.”

Elthina did not see the red gleam in Meredith’s eyes, or if she did, she made no mention of it, keeping her gaze fixed on the window.

If one listened, they would hear it—the sound of the world waking up. The sound of something breaking.

The abyss loomed, and the brilliant, brilliant light of the dawn was fast approaching.