3.
Brona Hawke was dressed in her armour once more, barely dry from its cleaning earlier in the day. Her white— and distinctive— hair was covered by a scarf and that by a hood. As she took the steps up to the Chantry, the man beside her did as well, much more determined than her.
She and Bethany had dressed him at Gamlen’s so that, upon a glance, one could not tell that he was a mage. He stated multiple times that he felt empty without his staff, but he didn’t argue, not even when Leandra handed him Carver’s sword to wear. The mage tried to emulate Brona’s way of resting her hand on the hilt, but there was an awkwardness there in the way that he did it. He, too, wore a scarf and a hood.
The two of them together made quite the pair.
Hawke was as tall as he was, and she had a bulk to her that he couldn’t hope to match. She was graceful despite it, but that was just a trick caused by the confidence her armour gave her. She moved near silently, but he wasn’t as quiet, and she kept glancing at him as his borrowed boots caught a step, or his armour clanked loudly when he mis-stepped. He wore just a few pieces of old leather armour, just enough to lend his disguise some credence, but not nearly enough for a real fight. Her mother had stated some worry over that, but Brona had assured her that she’d be doing all the fighting, if there was any to be done.
They had discussed the plan at length, but she still was nervous. It wasn’t the kind of nerves she was used to, like before a battle, or even while facing down darkspawn. This was different. She knew what they were walking into, and though she had begged him again to let her go alone, he had adamantly refused. It shook her from her feet all the way up to her throat, where it trembled to burst out of her in the form of her hasty dinner. She swallowed it down, again and again, to steel herself for what she knew had to be done.
Brona pushed open the Chantry’s doors quietly, and then once Anders slipped through with her, closed them again. She checked her hood before she was down the main hall, looking this way and that. There were a few Sisters about, lighting and tending to the candles, and she could hear someone singing a canticle softly. Another voice joined as they walked further, and they overlapped the different stories. She took it in and tried to let it calm her.
The first Templar they saw was at the end of the main hall, and he was watching the pair of them in a sort of bored way, like one does when on duty and there’s nothing else to do. She offered him a little smile as they got closer, which he returned, before her attention went to the statue of Andraste.
She stood towering over the rest of the Chantry, and the pair of them passed three more Templars on their way up to the upper level to where a Mother was singing the Chant in a low and reassuring way. Anders followed beside her as Brona went to listen to her. They weren’t alone, and he took the time that she granted him to take in everything he could from that vantage point.
The mage could count four Templars within sight, but two of them were on the lower level. He scanned the people that were listening to the Chant or else using the Chantry for a place to rest, or to read, but none of them really stood out, and none of them were Karl. A pair of Brothers passed by them, discussing a book that one held, and in the other direction an elven child walked as quickly as she could without running, holding a bundle of cloth in her arms.
“You were right about them,” he murmured, leaning just enough towards her to direct it under her hood. She glanced at him, her hands folded in front of her in the diligent pose of a devout Andrastian. “Let’s walk more. He might be here.”
Brona didn’t lead them away immediately, but after another moment. They made their way slowly around the upper terrace, their eyes scanning around them, and when they were nearly to the opposite side, she stopped suddenly. Anders glanced at her in surprise, and then to where her gaze was.
“Ser Frian,” she explained.
“Will he recognise you?”
“I have to assume he will.” She bit her lip, doing some quick thinking. She continued walking, doing her best not to look at the templar.
“Lady Amell?”
Her head turning to look at him, throwing on a surprised smile like she had just noticed him. “Ser Frian!” He smiled in return, crossing over to them while looking her over. “Twice in one day. Are you following me?” She put a teasing lilt to the question, and his smile grew.
“Hardly, my dear lady,” he returned. His eyes darted over to Anders. “Who is this with you, then? Your betrothed?”
She let out a little laugh, hand resting on Anders’ arm and letting her eyes linger on him before they were back to the templar. “No, no. This is my brother, Carver.”
“Carver,” Frian stated with a nod, offering Anders an arm in a warrior’s greeting. The mage met it with a smile of his own, their armour clinking together. “A pleasure to meet you, serah. What brings you two to the Chantry so late?”
Anders’ touch fell back to himself as soon as he thought he could. “My sister and I have a bit of trouble sleeping these days, even all these months later. She finds the Chantry comforting, and you know, so do I.”
“Oh,” the templar breathed out, and then, in his normal voice: “you two were in the Blight proper, were you?”
“Yes, and we both survived, by some grace of the Maker,” Brona replied. “Though we will likely be having trouble sleeping for the rest of our lives.”
Beside her, Anders shuddered, and his hand was suddenly over his face, covering his eyes as he took in a few deep breaths. And then more, like he couldn’t get in enough air. She made a surprised noise, hand to his shoulder and pressing. His hand rose to over hers, squeezing until she could barely feel her fingers.
She glanced at Frian. “I apologise, Ser Frian, but Carver has such problems after Ostagar and— we should get back to walking.”
“Of course, Lady Amell.”
It was said into the air behind them as Brona was leading Anders away as quick as she dared, dropping him onto one of the low seats, and then sitting beside him. “It’s all right,” she murmured to him, along with many other little reassuring nonsenses. When he let her hand go, it was only to wrap her up against him, and she came, letting him squeeze all the air out of her until he seemed to get a hold of himself again.
“I apologise,” he muttered when he did finally release her. They sat together there as he came back to himself, a tense air of awkwardness between them. He swallowed down a lot of things he could’ve said, a scowl set onto his face. He checked his hood and scarf, and she did the same. “You didn’t ask him if he’s seen anything.”
“That he had time to talk with us means that he hasn’t,” she reasoned, fixing her sleeves and bracers next, since he had severely shifted all of her cloth and armour alike. “Do you see him anywhere?”
“No. Let’s keep walking.”
Though he was the one who said it, it was still a moment before he rose to do what he had proposed. She was right beside him.
“Did he die at Ostagar?”
She glanced at the mage, but he wasn’t looking at her, instead scanning faces of those he passed.
“No. We fought an ogre while we were fleeing afterwards. We had both fought them before, but— we were tired, had been awake for days at that point.” She fell silent, and he made a quiet noise in an encouragement for her to continue. “He’s Bethany’s twin, my little brother. We fought so well together, and for him to perish like that…” She let out a deep sigh. “I failed him.”
“He was a soldier. He wouldn’t want you to—“ He stopped, hand to hers to make her stop as well. His eyes were over to an alcove removed from the rest of the Chantry, where a single man was standing in front of bookshelves. He was pulling out books from their place and re-inserting them in another, rearranging them based on an organisational system only he knew. “That’s him.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s him,” he insisted, pulling her towards the alcove, and she had no choice but to follow along. He reached for the man’s shoulder with his free hand, and turned him around. “Karl,” he said with a hint of a smile. “You made it.”
“Anders,” Karl replied in a monotone that made Brona’s heart drop to her stomach, and she tugged at the mage’s hand quickly. She looked around them, but there were no Templars in sight— yet. “They knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming.”
Anders was staring at the man in front of him, his fingers coming to that mark of tranquility on his forehead with a look of disbelief. “What— no— why would they—“ he didn’t seem to be able to form a complete thought.
“Anders,” Brona hissed, tugging at his hand again. “He’s only here as bait. We need to go.”
“But this is Karl,” he argued, eyes not leaving the tranquil, who met the look, albeit blankly.
“There’s nothing more you can do for him,” she insisted, tugging again before her head turned at some movement behind them. She let out a gasp at the Templar coming— and then two more behind the first. She whispered his name desperately.
“I can’t leave him here,” he answered, but did finally glance at her, and then further to where she was looking. His eyes blazed bright blue at the sight of the templars, forgetting that there was no proof that he was a mage, forgetting that he was still attached to Brona, forgetting that there was an entire Chantry full of witnesses. “You took him!”
The yell boomed outwards from him, knocking Hawke away and to the tiles at his feet. It blew out the candles that surrounded them, and the silence that followed was soon broken to the sound of drawing swords.
Brona had had the breath knocked out of her, but at that realisation she scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, drawing her sword as she did. She ran back to in front of Anders— no matter that he was glowing bright blue now, even through his borrowed armour— and fell into a defencive position.
“Get him out of here!” She directed back at the mage, but he was no longer there, and was no longer able to listen to such a reasonable demand.
He drew out Carver’s sword, and the spirit within him spun it with the air of greeting an old friend. He came to stand beside her, and then a step further so he was staring down the growing number of templars. “No. You get him out. Keep him safe.”
“I made a promise to you. I’m not leaving you here.”
“I am about to make this place of worship run red with Vengeance. Anders offers you this to not implicate you further.”
She looked to the man in surprise— but he wasn’t a man then, not really. Her attention returned quickly to the Templars, and she stepped up beside him. “I’m with you, vengeance and all.”
Vengeance nodded.
“If you surrender now, this can end peacefully,” the lead templar stated in a clear tone. That he hadn’t given the order to attack yet was telling— he had no desire to go toe to toe with two warriors in the middle of the Chantry. Whatever his superiors had told him, he clearly wasn’t prepared for this. “Anders, and your accomplice, too. Come with us, and let’s put this to rest.”
“There is no way this ends peacefully, not when your crimes go unpunished,” Vengeance boomed from beside her, and the few noises from the rest of the Chantry fell silent again. “Go and repent your sins, relinquish your armour, or come and face us. There is no alternative.”
Three of the templars of the group did back up and retreat at that out, and then a fourth did quickly as well. The leader looked back at them before they were completely out of sight, but then his attention was to the two warriors. “You’re outnumbered.”
“Five against two,” Brona said calmly. “I like those odds.”
An arrow suddenly struck the back of one of the templars, right in the join of his armour. He fell with a clang of his sword and a yell of shock.
“Five against three,” a voice stated from beyond Brona’s sight, but she knew that accent even before the prince stepped into her line of sight. “You go against Brona, which means you go against me.”
“Sebastian, no,” she argued, but as soon as the words left her lips, the templar he had dropped rose to come at him, and the Brother hit him over the head with the side of his bow, and he fell again.
“Four against three,” he amended, kicking the templar over to his back. His boot pushed his head to the side so that he wouldn’t drown in his own blood or saliva, but his eyes were directly on Hawke’s.
They only broke away as the Templars came at the group, all at once. She heard the twang of the prince’s bow as she parried the heavy swing of a greatsword. Vengeance slowly went away from her as the battle endured, but it was his final blow that ended it.
She was taking deep breaths, taking in where the warrior in the mage’s body had his sword deep into the shoulder of the templar’s leader. Those bright blue eyes were trained on that man’s face, and then he bent down to meet the templar’s gaze. “You will never take another mage as you took him,” he whispered in such a chilling manner that it sent a shiver up Brona’s spine. The templar tried to reply, but only blood fell from his lips. Vengeance retrieved his sword, and the templar fell to the tile, a pool of blood growing under him.
Vengeance’s gaze went from him, briefly to where Brona and Sebastian were standing side by side, and then further to where Karl was looking on. Carver’s sword dropped and the bright blue of the spirit retreated until it was only Anders again. He came to the tranquil, hands at his cheeks and then down to his shoulders, taking in deep breaths. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t quick enough, if I had just— I could have just gotten you out as soon as I arrived—“ the words fell off in lieu of a shaky kind of sob.
“Anders?”
“I’m here,” he managed.
“What did you do?” Karl’s hands rose to the other mage’s shoulders, armoured though they were. “That glow— that was the Fade, wasn’t it?”
Anders took in a sharp breath as he suddenly realised that he was speaking to Karl— the real Karl, the one he had known and loved. “Yes— well, something like that—“
“You brought me back,” Karl cut in, hands up to those bloody cheeks, but his words didn’t pause. “But it’s already fading again. You know I never wanted to live like this. There’s nothing anymore. No emotion, no colour, not even the foods have any taste to them. I could deal with that, but not having our memories—“
Anders had kissed him, and for one silent moment, that was all there was. “I love you, but don’t ask this of me.”
“You can’t send me back to the Gallows, to this hollow life. That we have our love is why it must be you that does it.”
“Karl, no—“
“Anders,” he pleaded, kissing him again in a desperate way, as if trying to bring more of the Fade into him through it. “Before it goes away completely.”
Sebastian’s hand found Brona’s, and he drew her away from the scene and into the shadows. “I can lead you out the back way,” he offered, and she nodded.
“Why did you help? We would’ve been fine, and now you’re—“
“Why wouldn’t I help?” He frowned though, hand releasing hers as if it was a sudden violation. “What happened?”
“We came looking for his friend, and we found him,” she replied, eyes wandering to over where Anders was lying Karl down next to those bookshelves carefully. “That glowing bit? I am honestly not sure.”
“Is he possessed?” He hissed into her ear. “A mage is one thing, but if he harbours a demon—“
“I don’t think it’s a demon.” She beckoned Anders over to them, and he came after retrieving Carver’s sword. She took it from him to clean it hastily before sliding it into its sheathe again at his side. “Sebastian said there’s a back way out.”
“Good. The sooner we leave, the better.” The mage studied Sebastian, but ultimately didn’t argue, and for the first half of their trip through old forgotten corridors of the Chantry, they were all three silent. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I did.”
“If she hadn’t, what would have happened to you?” The prince wondered, glancing behind him to the mage.
“Ah, of course. If I had been killed or captured, you would lose your valuable source of Deep Roads knowledge,” Anders said instead of properly replying.
“I promised to help you, and to see you through this, Anders. I don’t break my promises.”
Anders just made a dissatisfied noise, and then more as the Brother led them down a very narrow and steep set of stairs into a penetrative darkness. His voice was quieter when he did speak. “Who is this, anyway?”
“Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, and Brother in the Chantry,” the man himself said. “The Maker sent me to you.”
The mage snorted out a laugh. “Sure he did.”
“He did,” he insisted. “I had this sudden urge, an overwhelming sense that Brona needed my help. I had this thought that it had something to do with the Templars, but coming upon the scene I did…”
“You thought it was Bethany,” she murmured. “You thought I was with Bethany, and they had finally cornered her.”
“Yes. Consequences be what they will, I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her in the Maker’s house.”
“Why didn’t you turn and leave when you saw it wasn’t?” Anders wondered.
Sebastian was quiet for a few breaths, his hands along the wall they had run into, searching for something on it. Anders helpfully lit a small fire in his hand to light up the dark, and the prince could then pull the secret handle to open the passage up further. “I don’t know,” he answered finally. “But I knew it was Brona, and the Maker did send me. I felt obligated to interfere.”
That passage ended in another steep stairwell, though this one was carved directly into the stone. It ended abruptly in a trap door, which he pushed open before climbing through quickly. His arm was down to help them both out into the back alley of some run-down part of Hightown.
“What will you do?” Brona wondered of him.
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, “and I will not tell them anything that will incriminate either of you.” His eyes fell over her features before he looked to Anders. “What did they do to him?”
“He was made tranquil, against his will, against all of their laws,” he murmured, pacing along the alleyway. “He passed his Harrowing, he always obeyed all of their ridiculous rules— what right did they have to do something so drastic? Why not just kill him themselves? Why enslave him, to force something worse than death upon him? He didn’t deserve such treatment, nor such an end.”
“I truly am sorry,” Sebastian replied in his softest tone. “I have heard some tales of the Circle here, but this seems extreme, even for them. This trap that they set, too. All to capture you?”
“Yes. They found the notes we were exchanging. They know I’m in Kirkwall now, if there was any doubt before.”
“You need to be careful, even more so now,” Brona said, taking a step towards where he was pacing still before she thought better of it. “I will help where I can—“
“You’ve done enough.”
She took in a breath at his tone, and Sebastian beside her set his hand on her arm to calm her. She looked to the Brother instead, and his touch fell away quickly. “He’s mourning,” he breathed for her alone, and she nodded. “You can take him from here?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Be careful,” he urged her, eyes searching over her features fondly before he turned to drop back down into the secret passage.
“Let’s go home,” Brona told the mage, not giving him a choice as her arm hooked through his, tugging him along to Lowtown.
Toro Tokuda 