Heart and Home, ch6

Fenris and Carver met the charge, swords in hand.  Their furious attack slowed the templars long enough for the mages to beginning spinning their spells.  Flame sprouted in the midst of the armored men, though they scarce noticed it.  The ones that could not resist it fell, char within smoking armor.  The losses barely seemed to dent their numbers.  

An unnatural storm coalesced above the battle, lightning flashing, thunder blending with the steady roar of fighting men.  Many templars were swept from the bridge with Fenris' first strike, quickly replaced.  Carver's face was twisted with distaste as he battered men that were his comrades only moments ago.  Whatever his feelings, his sword struck true.  One templar after another fell to him, gouts of blood flooding the pale white stone beneath them.  

Hawke lashed out with the Fist of the Maker, crushing several warriors closing in on her lover.  The men behind them trampled their groaning allies as they advanced; few got up in their wake.  Fenris and Carver moved back, giving ground.  The space in front of them looked a butcher's block, twisted steel and broken men covered in gore.  The sight was gone in an instant, quickly swarmed by more templars eager to fight.  Riese felt herself shudder with disgust at the waste of life.  There was no choice but to go on; if she was lucky, there would be time later for regret.
She could hear the mages around her shouting, feel the air thick with incantations.  The geometries of magic crushed the templars en masse, tearing at their souls.  The fabric of the world shivered in that place, the veil thinning as demons gathered on the other side to feed on suffering and death.  Riese shared a worried look with Orsino, realizing the mages would have to fight on two fronts.  The First Enchanter began calling out orders, mages pulled from one fight into another just as deadly.

The templars took advantage of the brief lull, surging forward.  Carver and Fenris tried to hold them back, hacking furiously, all grace lost in desperation.  Hawke spun out several spells, trying to shield the two men, but it wasn't enough.  Fenris' blade caught one man in the side, biting flesh and sweeping him to the side.  Before the elf could bring his sword around again, another templar stepped into the gap, bashing Fenris with his shield.  Riese lost sight of him as the armored men swept past.  Carver fared no better, flailing at the crush of bodies around him until a sword met with his unprotected face.  He fell, blood sheeting from the wound.

Riese screamed, voice lost to the din.  She rushed forward, darting into the oncoming templars, heedless of her own safety.  Isabela cursed behind her, lashing out with daggers.  Hawke did not notice, not even when the pirate was left behind, blades scraping uselessly against armor, barely dodging a vicious attack.  The mage did note with some grim satisfaction that many of the templars in her way fell, crossbow bolts jutting from exposed necks, eyeslits . . . anywhere Varric saw an opening.  She would thank him later.  

Carver was closest;  she stopped when she caught sight of his dark hair, head lolling off the edge of the bridge.  He looked ghastly, a deep wound across his face opening him from lip to ear, the inner workings of his face revealed in an obscene grin.  She reached for him, a healing spell on her lips but before she could speak the words of mending, something hit her.  Hard.  

For a moment Hawke lay there confused; something sticky and warm coated her cheek, and all she could see was ash and bone amidst pieces of scorched armor.  The world seemed eerily silent, and then it all came crashing back.  She looked up in time to see the edge of a blade speeding toward her.  Riese barely got a barrier up in time, the sword clashing hard against the crackling blue surface a finger's breadth from her face.  She pushed herself off the ground, stumbling to her feet.  

The back of her head felt wet, pain hot and sharp shot down her neck.  Hawke ignored it, lashing out with force.  The templar stumbled back, but did not fall, bringing his sword up again.  A hot, sick panic rose in her as she looked across at him, eyes glittering with hate beneath the faceplate.  This was no recruit she faced, but a full fledged knight-templar with all the strength and skill that implied.
  
He charged, and his blade sunk into her barrier, slowed but not stopped.  Riese brought her staff around, slamming it against the side of his head, but he ignored the blow.  Just as she brought the butt end into his leg, the templar brought down her protection.  The tip of his blade drove into her shoulder just below the pauldron.  Had he not fallen, it would have pierced her through.  Instead, the man fell, sword tearing free as she stepped to the side.  

Hawke did not stop her attack there, bringing her staff against the back of his helm again and again.  Rage boiled within her, a sweet song of vengeance and death.  Whispers of what could be echoed through her mind, a promise of power to crush all enemies.  It was so tempting, so very tempting.

A wet, broken laugh brought her up short.  She gasped, mortified at how close she had come to giving in to a demon.  Hawke pushed the voice away with a shiver, looking to her brother.  Carver watched her with glassy eyes, half sitting.  She looked down at the ruin before her, metal helm crushed and torn, head pulped like a melon at Harvest.  Riese gagged a little, turning away from the sight to focus on her brother.  With a slight motion, she spoke the chant of healing; the flesh of Carver's face writhed, moving against nature to meet, severed edge to severed edge.  He would have a scar, she thought.

The bulk of the templars now fought on the island and the mages were not fairing well in close combat.  Carver stood, grabbing his sword.  His flayed face now bore only and angry red line.  He gave his sister a stiff half smile before rushing into the fray, surprising the templars from behind.  Several fell before they realized there were assaulted from behind as well as in front.  

It had been years since Riese saw her brother fight.  His training in the meantime must have been intense.  He was ruthless, wounding where he could not kill, killing when he was able.  It could not be easy for him, but Carver was fighting with everything he had for the mages.  For her.  Their reunion was a bittersweet victory at best. Hawke looked away, heart heavy.  There was no time for recrimination, she thought, eyes searching for Fenris' distinct form amongst the fallen.  "Please be alright," she whispered.

Hawke spotted a soft blue glow beneath bloodied armor and rushed to it, pulling the corpse off her beloved.  Fenris gave her a weak grin and reached for her hand.  She helped him stand, sending healing into him with a touch.  "Thank you," he whispered, lips against her ear as he pulled her into a quick hug, and then he was gone.  

He left his sword behind; the elf was a weapon, he had no need to carry a blade.  He threw himself at the nearest templar, glowing gauntlet plunging into the man's back.  The templar's spinal cord tore free, tossed to the side like garbage.  The armored man crumpled; Fenris leapt from him before he hit the ground, tearing at his next victim.  

Though Hawke knew she was injured, she did not spare the mana to heal herself.  Her hands came up, staff braced between them.  From her anger and pain she drew power, focusing it in a tightly laid pattern of energy.  In the midst of the templars, there was a loud pop.  It rang out over the sounds of combat, louder than the cries of the injured and dying.  Some of the mages pulled back.  

Those that did not were caught up with the templars, jerked from their feet and slammed to the ground.  The force she summoned flung them against each other, bodies crashing in midair; it pulled them to the center, helpless as children.  Riese held the spell, vision cast inward, seeing only the lines of mana and force, feeling only the steady drain of her energies.  

When she had no more to give, she let the sorcery go.  Many of the templars stayed where they fell, twitching and bloody.  The ones that stood rejoined the battle with ferocity.  Hawke took a moment to drink another lyrium potion, the thick fluid coursing hotly through her.  She loved and hated this feeling, the sense of stolen power bringing everything around her into sharp focus.

She could see the mages backing away from melee, and so many dead.  Robed figures trampled beneath booted feet.  It was small consolation that they lay beside greater numbers of armored men.  Riese spotted Merrill clothed in writhing vines.  The Dalish let the templars close on her, vacant smile turning vicious as they were torn apart by her blood magic.  Varric had a spot on the stairs opposite, and from his vantage he rained bolts into the mass of armored men, only stopping to take aim at the commanders.  Of Isabela there was no sign; Hawke could only hope she was still alright.  

The youngest of the apprentices braved the combat to deliver lyrium and healing potions to the mages.  Even with the help of such alchemies, Hawke did not think it would be enough to win. At the start of battle, the air fairly hummed with magic, but now the vast space was nearly silent.  At least none of the Circle mages had turned to demonic assistance.  There were few left to strengthen the barrier between reality and the Fade.  If even one of them gave in, the entire battle would be for nothing.
  
Riese wanted to hold back, to conserve mana for healing after the fight, but victory was far from guaranteed.  It was all or nothing, she thought.  She called lightning, summoned ice, conjured flame, one spell after another.  Every second of the fight felt like an eternity, and while the templars took heavy casualties, they still outnumbered the mages by five to one.  And the mages were flagging.  It would not be long now.   
    
Orsino brought his staff to bear and with a shout summoned a rain of fire.  As the flames fell from the darkness, a voice rang out, "Retreat!"  This was not the orderly execution of mages the templars had hoped for and facing such fierce resistance, they decided to pull back. The call was followed by a messy dash across the bridge.  Carver and Fenris moved aside, letting the men pass.  It was never wise in such an uncertain victory to corner your enemy; still part of Hawke wanted to lash out at them once more.  She resisted the urge.  Let them run, she thought bitterly.  

In their wake, silence followed.  A small, wondering voice breached the quiet, "It is over?"  A few of the living chuckled uneasily in response.  It was hard to call this a victory.  There were few mages left.  Riese waited for Orsino to give some reply, but he just stood, staring.  She was surprised when they turned to her, questioning.  "Ah, get your things.  You need to get out while you can," she told them.  They nodded, began to obey.  One elderly mage asked, "But where will we go?"  

Hawke looked from him to the young apprentice nearby, feeling a bit helpless.  "You could try another Circle.  I have heard that they are not all so terrible.  Or you could hide . . . I only know you can't stay here."  There was some unhappy muttering among the survivors.  "You must guide us," one said.  "We need help," another called.  Hawke was about to offer consoling words when Fenris intervened.

"She saved your lives, fools.  Go and make what you will of it!"  The elf fixed each of them with a cold glare, daring them to speak up again.  The old man who had spoken first gave a grudging nod.  Some of the mages tried to speak with Orsino as they left, but he was silent with grief, unwilling to respond.  Soon, only Hawke and her companions remained, their heartbeats loud in this place of the dead.  

Riese wanted nothing more to do with it, but Meredith was still out there, still waiting.  She did not think the Knight Commander would let her leave this place alive.  Exhausted, hurt, empty . . . and yet another battle to fight.  Fenris put a hand on her arm, his touch light and comforting.  Somehow, they had to make it out of this, all of them.  Hawke summoned the will to speak.

"We need to move," she told them, command settling on her shoulders like a leaden weight.  "We did what we came to do," Isabela said hopefully, poking at a gash on her leg.  Varric gave her a vicious grin, "Half, Rivaini.  Half what we came to do."  "Meredith," Fenris spat, the woman's name a curse from his lips.  Merrill's voice, strident and determined, "We can't leave her to do this again."  

Hawke nodded, "I don't want to fight but . . . you are right.  Not that it matters, I don't think she will give us a choice."  Fenris gave a snort of dark laughter which earned him a look of annoyance.  "Such an optimist, eh Hawke," Varric asked.  She grinned at the dwarf, "Always."  Fenris shook his head, but she saw his lips curve in a small smile.  

Riese swallowed with distaste at the next necessity.  "See if any of the . . . the . . . "  "The dead?" prompted Isabela.  "Right, see if they have anything we can use.  Healing unguents, lyrium, coin . . . just the important things," the mage agreed, looking away.  The pirate smiled broadly, "You don't have to tell me twice."  Tethras shrugged and looked to Hawke apologetically, "When you can't fix them, there's nothing left to do but check the pockets for loose change."  

Years of fighting bandits, slavers, and whatever else the city threw at her rendered Riese immune to most of the harsh necessities of life, but there was something about picking over the dead that always bothered her.  Fenris understood her discomfort, though he did not share it.  He leaned in close, brushing her hair aside lips lightly grazing her ear.  "Go and speak with Orsino.  We will take care of this . . ."  He kissed her cheek gently and prodded her forward.

With a grateful look for the elf, Riese walked over to the First Enchanter.  He did not seem to see her.  "Orsino," she said softly.  No response.  "You can't stay here, First Enchanter.  The mages . . . the living - they have all gone," she told him.  He still did not stir.  Reluctantly, Hawke grabbed his arm and tugged him gently.  He took a stumbling step forward, eyes widening as they took in the blood soaked stone.  Slowly, he gazed about him as if seeing the carnage for the first time.  

Orsino looked at her then, tears burning in the corners of his eyes.  With a voice full of heartbreak, he finally spoke.  "Look at it all . . ."  Riese let go, patting his arm comfortingly.  It hurt to see the proud elf reduced to this, broken by loss.  He knelt by the body of one young apprentice, fingers lightly brushing his cheek.  "Why don't they just drown us as infants?  Why wait?" he asked, wanting no answer.  

The First Enchanter stood, pacing slowly around the chamber, eyes taking in the empty stares of the dead.  He turned to look at Hawke, "Why give us the illusion of hope?"  Orsino gazed down at his hands, expression twisting as rage and sorrow burrowed deep into his heart.  When he looked up again, his eyes burned with a fevered light, "I refuse to keep running!  I won't wait for her to kill me."  "This isn't helping, First Enchanter," Hawke answered.  Couldn't he see that more death, more fighting would only deepen the wounds of this war?

"I am tired of helping as well," Orsino told her, speaking rapidly, "Quentin's research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside . . . but I see now that there is no other way!"  Merrill's voice rang out, unexpected, "First Enchanter, no!  I've read . . . I saw what he did!  You can't think . . ."  Hawke looked at her bewildered.  Why did that name sound familiar, she thought.  Her tired mind turned it over slowly, finding its way to the painful memory of her mother's death.
  
Riese looked at Merrill with horror, then to Orsino.  Words would not come.  How could a heart so battered face another betrayal?  He had known the maleficar; the fact fell into place, fitting disparate pieces of that tragedy together.  The First Enchanter met her gaze; beneath the fires of rage and vengeance hung surrender.  Defeat.  "Meredith expects blood magic?  Then I will give it to her," he shouted.  He pulled a dagger, bringing it hard against his skin.  The pale flesh parted easily, blood spilling in unnatural patterns as he forced his will upon the world.  
At first Hawke thought he was animating the dead.  Their torn bodies rose up, puppets dancing on strings of beaded blood.  But they did not stand their ground, their limbs stayed flaccid, forms moving toward the First Enchanter like iron filings to a magnet.  As they touched him, arms wrapping around Orsino in a lover's grasp, he began to change.  Riese could feel the pulse of entropy sucking away his life, leaving only hate and death in its place.  

His flesh withered and ruptured, leaking pus and rot as strange protrusions grew.  The ribbons of his skin wrapped about the dead as they clung to him, fusing their flesh.  From this unholy amalgam, clawed hands erupted, and a bloated, fleshy carapace grew over what was once the First Enchanter, his small head perched unnaturally atop it.  The process took only seconds, ending as Orsino's gaze faded, thick cataracts forming glossy white over the green of his eyes.  

Fenris hissed, drawing his blade.  Riese could only stare in horror.  Thankfully, Carver grabbed her, pulling Hawke away.  Isabela dropped the armor she was holding to pull her daggers.  Varric already had Bianca out.  For a moment, no one dared breathe, and then the creature exploded into motion.  Orsino charged at Carver, clawed hands reaching.  A crossbow bolt took him in the throat, but he did not notice.  The abomination hit her brother with a sickening crunch, metal tearing beneath its furious attack.  

He tried to get his sword up, but there was no room to pull it within the confines of the creature's embrace.  Fenris launched himself at the abomination, scoring a deep cut in its fleshy back, but it ignored him, intent on its prey.  Riese tried to knock the beast off Carver with a wave of force, but Orsino didn't budge.  Behind her, Merrill screamed, tone rife with disgust.  

Hawke turned in time to see the shambling corpse of a templar fall to a Dalish spell.  All around them, the dead templars were rising.  "Maker's breath!" she swore.  "We've got this," Isabela called out, plunging her daggers into an amored torso.  Tethras nodded, loading another bolt, "Family first, Hawke!"  She spun back to face the monstrosity.  Blood pooled around Carver; he could not move, and the creature just kept clawing at him.  

Lightning flew from her fingers, taking it in the chest.  That got the beast's attention.  It swiveled its head, empty gaze meeting hers.  With an inarticulate roar, it leapt from the templar toward Riese.  She stumbled back, barely avoiding a bone snapping impact.  Fenris growled, "Most unwise," as he took a swing at its leg.  Another wide gash opened, and Orsino stumbled.  Hawke unleashed a second bolt of lightning, keeping the thing focused on her.  

She chanced a quick look at Carver, relieved to see him struggling to his feet.  That moment of distraction cost her though.  A clawed hand whistled past her head close enough that she felt it.  Fenris pierced the creature, digging his sword into the twisted flesh of its back.  Orsino howled in pain and frustration, flinging the elf to the ground.  It tried to charge him as it had done Carver, but the Fenris was faster.  He rolled out of the way as it came at him.  

Riese used the respite to summon a storm; the effort dizzied her, even with the lyrium she had little left to give.  Fenris landed on his feet, sweeping his blade across the creature's gut.  Steaming fluids spilled from the gaping hole.  Orsino stumbled on a piece of his own entrails, arms flailing as he sought balance.  The creature crashed to the ground still thrashing wildly.  Fenris was on it in a flash, bringing his sword down across its neck.  

With a wail, the head came loose, flopping onto the bloody ground.  To Riese's horror, Orsino blinked, then shot forward, skin and bone trailing behind him like an obscene tail.  Tiny, clawed hands pulled it along the ground toward her, mouth a grinning rictus of hate.  Hawke looked up at the roiling clouds above her, praying she had just a few more seconds.  The words barely left her lips and then it was on her.  
Sharp claws dug at the mage's legs, piercing armor as it hauled itself up her body.  She tried not to gag, not to scream as it fought her tooth and nail.  Riese shut her eyes, clinging to the spell.  Orsino, what was left of him, chewed at her shoulder wound, tearing skin, tongue lapping as her blood spilled.  With a shout of pain, Hawke unleashed the lightning.  

Bolt after bolt rained down on them, slamming into the thing attached to her chest.  It screeched in agony, but held tight.  Every arc that hit the creature burned into her as well, a river of searing pain.  Hawke tried to pull Orsino off her, hands ripping at him in desperation, but he would not be moved.  Somewhere beyond the tight circle of darkness and pain, she heard Fenris shout.  Whatever he said was lost, but the sound of his voice calmed her.  She was not alone in this fight, and there was no way she could let herself lose to this abomination.  

As if sensing Hawke's renewed determination, the creature tore another mouthful of flesh from her.  Riese held back a scream, feeding her will with the pain.  It would succumb to the lightning, she thought, it had to.  Fenris' voice came again, closer.  "Don't move," he shouted.  Hawke held her breath, trying to still panic stricken limbs.  Something hit her chest, hard.  A flat, brutish pain to compliment the orchestra of sharp, burning agonies.  And then the thing let go.  Riese opened her eyes in time to see Fenris hack Orsino in two, his head already pierced by one of Varric's bolts.  The mage sank to the floor, letting her spell go.  Robbed of a target, and without mana to fuel it, the storm quickly dissipated.  
Fenris dropped to his knees beside Hawke.  "Get a potion!" he shouted, voice tense and worried.  He pulled off his gauntlet, cool fingers delicate against her skin.  "Is it bad?" she mumbled.  He gave her a weak grin, "Nothing to . . . nothing to worry about."  Isabela came running, a vial of thick, red fluid in hand.  The pirate took one look at Hawke and paled, shoving the potion into Fenris' hand.  He uncorked it in a swift, practiced motion, veteran of many a bottle of wine.

"Drink," he ordered, as if he expected her to refuse.  She tried to smile, but he had the vial to her lips before she could.  It smelled horrid and tasted worse, but she forced herself to swallow.  She could feel it settle into her stomach, a heavy sensation.  Slowly the dizziness began to fade, clarity returning.  Heat rolled off her wounds as they mended, pain receding.  Fenris watched, breath held.  Hawke was glad she could not see the wounds herself.  If they had him so worried, they must be grave.  When the potion had done its work, Fenris helped her up.  Her shoulder still felt stiff and sore, and she was weak, but it was a vast improvement.
Fenris held her against him tightly, hand stroking her back.  She kissed his cheek lightly, pretending not to see the tear he wiped from the corner of his eye.  Fenris let go reluctantly as she stepped away.  Varric  grinned, "For half a second, I thought I killed you Hawke!"  She grinned back, rubbing her chest with a wince, "Can't get rid of me that easily, dwarf."  Isabela shook her head, "You look like someone dumped you in a butcher's bin."  

"Trust me, if I could crawl off for a hot bath and a change of clothes, I would."  Riese ran a palm over the puckered skin and sighed.  "Can't do much about the scar though."  Carver hobbled over, inspecting her shoulder with a raised eyebrow, "At least it didn't make you any uglier."  She gave him a flat look, "Too bad I can say the same for you."  Fenris laughed, and after a moment Carver cracked a smile.  "Can you patch me up, sis?"  Hawke looked to Isabela, "Did you find any lyrium potions on the dead?"  The pirate was about to respond when Fenris interrupted.  
"No, you don't need to . . . not yet.  Carver can use a poultice."  Riese considered arguing with him, but the elf was right.  She was exhausted.  The potion would give her the illusion of power, allow her to use magic, but it was dangerous.  It would be all too easy to push herself beyond the limits of her body.  Without another healer, she would die then.  Her companions might not know it, but Fenris did.  Years serving a magister . . . he probably knew more of it than she.  

Carver shrugged, "One way or another.  As I am, if we have to fight again, I might be able to bleed on them a bit.  I don't suppose that would do you any good.  Riese is no blood mage."  He laughed at that, missing the sharp look his sister threw him.  Isabela set a potion in his hands, "Just shut up and drink, farm boy."  He did as he was told, wandering off to prize some armor from the dead as his wounds closed.  His own equipment was thoroughly destroyed.  

Merrill meekly began helping him, carefully avoiding Riese.  Hawke looked to Varric and the dwarf shrugged.  Anyone else might have missed the brief look of embarrassment that crossed his face, but she saw it.  "Ok, Tethras.  What's going on . . ."  He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, looking everywhere but at Hawke.  "You know that night we found Leandra?" he started.  She swallowed and nodded, beginning to wish she had not asked.  
"Well, I picked up a letter.  You were so . . . well, you remember.  I didn't want to bother you with it."  "And?" she asked, pressing on despite the lead feeling in her stomach.  "It was about Quentin's experiments.  The stuff he was doing with the women he killed."  Hawke nodded, waiting for him to go on.  "It was signed 'O'," Varric said quietly.  "I did a little poking around to see who his contact was.  When I found out it was Orsino . . . I wanted to tell you but . . ."  

She looked down, feeling ill.  "But?"  "You were already spending a lot of time with him.  I decided it would be better to keep my trap shut.  I thought he could do you more good than harm."  Riese nodded, looking at the head nearby.  It still had the First Enchanter's features, twisted, but recognizable.  "And Merrill knew?"  Tethras looked out at Carver and the Dalish, "Daisy knew.  She asked me to show her how to get to his library, so I made her a map from Darktown.  She would have gone looking for it even without the map."  It was impossible to miss the defensive tone in his voice.

Hawke fixed him with a glare, "You didn't think that maybe, just maybe Merrill would be better off without that kind of knowledge?"  Varric looked up as if hoping to find answers in the darkness, "I'm sorry Hawke.  She said if she understood it, maybe she could put it to better use.  'Magic is magic' and all that."  Riese sighed, "So you let me befriend the man that helped a maleficar kill my mother and made sure his research lived on.  That about sum it up?"  

The dwarf gave her a knowing look, "I'm not a big fan of mages, you being the exception.  I didn't like the First Enchanter, but he helped you out and we both know it.  I never trusted Orsino, but nobody expected this out of him.  Hindsight, yeah . . . I should have told you."  She nodded wearily, "Alright, alright.  Point.  He did help me.  It's just . . ." she felt tears threaten and clamped down on her emotions.  
Fenris gave the severed head a fierce look, tensing as if he could kill the First Enchanter all over again.  Varric stared at the floor, guilt written in his posture.  Hawke reached out and patted his arm, "It's alright.  Just next time I decide to make friends with a maleficar, give me a heads up, ok?"  Tethras grinned, "You got it, beautiful."  He turned to walk away, then stopped.  "Hawke?"  "Yes?"  He looked over his shoulder, "There's something you should know about Daisy . . ."  For a moment she gaped at him, then Varric grinned.  "Not funny," she told him, smiling anyway.

It didn't take long for Carver and Merrill to find armor.  The Dalish helped him on with it, chattering the whole time.  She couldn't hear them, but Carver's blush told her enough.  When he was properly attired, the two of them ambled back to their companions, Merrill wearing a soft smile, Carver's cheeks stained pink.
  
The group stood at the bridge, peering out the entrance.  There was no one in sight.  "Make a run for the exit?" Isabela suggested.  "I second that," Varric chimed in.  "Carver, are there more mages anywhere else?" Hawke asked.  His expression darkened, "Not that I know of.  Not alive anyway."  Merrill bristled, "We can't just let Meredith get away with this.  Can we?"  Riese was not at all sure she had another fight in her.  "I don't know, Merrill.  We saved as many as we could and that matters more to me than punishment or revenge.  I am not sure we can survive another fight."

Fenris nodded, "Riese has done enough."  Hawke shook her head, more in uncertainty than disagreement.  Meredith would run rampant without anyone in power to balance her madness.  Arguing the point with her companions was pointless; the Knight Commander would not let them go.  Hawke knew that in her bones.  I should be afraid, she thought, stepping out into the grey afternoon.  I am not.