Chapter Text
It’s odd, she thought, all these templars kneeling in front of a mage.
Now that the heat of the moment had passed, Marian could tell that many of them were starting to realize it too. There were more than a few apprehensive twitches and shuffles, but none dared stand while Knight-Captain Cullen remained kneeling. Knight-Commander Cullen now, she supposed. She was glad of that. He deserved it.
She did wish he would stand, though. She wanted quite desperately to go home.
Maker, please let them let me go home.
She kept silent. Her companions did the same. She knew they were right behind her—Sebastian, Aveline, even Carver—but she was barely aware of them. Her gaze was fixed on the templars in front of her.
Several tense moments later, the Knight-Commander rose. The rest of the Order rose with him.
He walked towards the center of the courtyard and stopped about ten feet away from her. She was grateful that he didn’t come any closer because she was suddenly hit with the mad urge to flee. She clenched her fists and rooted her feet firmly in place.
“Champion,” the Knight-Commander began, then paused. He took a moment to clear his throat. Marian steeled her nerves in case he had some kind of grandiose speech in mind, but Knight-Commander Cullen was a Ferelden. Earnest. Straight-forward. He embodied the best of their shared homeland. He simply said, “Thank you.”
She nodded at him. Her usual flair for diplomacy had abandoned her tonight. “Of course.”
He nodded back and gestured towards the Gallows exit as if to say ‘permission granted’. Thank the Maker.
She turned, but as she did, she felt a fear so intense that it froze her body where it stood and so familiar that it flung her mind back into its earliest memories.
She was five years old, the twins were just an unknown presence in her mother’s womb, and she’d just figured out how to make the family mabari’s ball levitate. She’d rushed to her father, eager to show him what she could do. That was the first time she saw the fear in his eyes. He’d recovered quickly, smiled and praised her skill, promised to teach her everything he knew. As young as she was, she could still tell that that smile was forced. Then came the muffled arguments behind closed doors. The rushed packing, everything thrown haphazardly into whatever container was closest at hand. They’d moved to a new village that very night. They’d had to leave the dog behind.
She was fourteen, the twins were nine, and the adoration she felt for them was more apt for a mother than an older sister. Bethany and a friend of hers had made a habit of petting their village’s many strays, a perfectly harmless habit until they’d been unlucky enough to happen upon a feral one. She’d watched it chase them from across the street, teeth nipping viciously at Bethany’s heels, and her heart had leapt into her mouth. She’d been too far away to do anything but cast a spell and too accustomed to the fear to possibly try. Nine-year-old Bethany hadn’t learned the fear yet: she’d put the dog to sleep. That was the first time Marian truly understood her father’s reaction from nine years earlier. The same fear gripped her.
They’d moved again. The fear had followed. It always followed. The fear was in the flow of her blood, in the whorls of her fingertips. It was the fear of a templar at her back.
She looked up, just for a second, just long enough to take in the sight of her friends watching her in concern. Her family, really. Her brother, her husband, and the woman she’d loved like a sister for the last decade. The family that believed that people like her needed to be locked up in order to prevent them from massacring everyone else.
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. What was wrong with her tonight? Hadn’t she witnessed firsthand what blood magic had done to this city? To her own mother? She’d seen her head severed from her body and sewn onto the neck of a rotting corpse composed of countless other women who’d met the same fate. She’d recognized that the process used would have left her conscious but paralyzed, completely aware of every agonizing moment but entirely powerless to stop it.
If they feared magic as a rule, they had every right to. How could she begrudge them that fear, when she felt it too?
Every night she shut her eyes and entered the Fade with a mind so muddled by pain that she often worried it was inevitable she’d attract a demon one day. That fear was far worse than the other one. She’d throw herself at the mercy of a thousand templars if that was what was needed to keep her family safe. To keep her from becoming an abomination, a monster wearing her skin, mowing down everyone she loved and making sure the last thing they saw was her face as she killed them.
No, she didn’t begrudge them their fear. It was her responsibility to make sure that they never had a reason to fear her.
“Are you all right, love?” Sebastian asked, in that ridiculous Starkhaven accent she loved so much.
She opened her eyes and met his worried expression. The brows above the kindest eyes she’d ever seen were furrowed nervously. She tried to answer him, but she seemed to be having a hard time remembering how to speak. She tried to force herself to take another step forward, but her feet would not cooperate.
Sebastian was the one who bridged the distance between them, pulling her into a tight embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and a single muffled sob escaped her lips.
“I know, love, I know,” he said softly. He held her for a moment longer, then pulled away. His head was still inclined towards hers, but he’d reasserted the slight distance their vows required them to keep between each other. He lifted his hand and touched her cheek gently, just for a moment. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go home.”
She allowed him to lead her out of the Gallows, his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders, his steady gait keeping her moving despite the fact that her legs still felt numb.
Aveline followed them closely, hand never straying far from the hilt of her sword, eyes never ceasing their vigilant scan of their surroundings. The streets of Kirkwall were nearly abandoned. Evidently most of the regular civilians hadn’t wanted to be around to witness the Right of Annulment. Best to leave that to the experts, she thought bitterly. The vitriol she heard in her own thoughts took her by surprise. She had to get a grip on herself. She’d made her choice; there was no going back now.
It took Marian a moment to register that Carver was following them too. She’d expected him to stay behind with the other templars. She didn’t know for certain what it meant that he hadn’t, but she was too tired to ask. Surely he wasn’t planning to leave the Order? Now? After everything she’d done to make sure he’d be safe there? For a brief moment, the thought of having him back as a regular presence in her life glowed warm inside her, but it was likely a false hope. Kirkwall may not have a true Circle anymore, but she was still an apostate. Her future was anything but certain.
She was relieved when they finally reached the Hawke Estate. She was so tired. It’d been ages since she’d slept properly, and though she doubted she would sleep calmly tonight, every bone in her body longed to lie down in her soft feather bed. To spend another night in her own home. She hadn’t been sure if she’d get that privilege.
She turned to Sebastian and was about to bid him goodnight when a thought occurred to her. She felt ashamed that it'd taken her so long to think of it. “Seb,” she said suddenly, “Where will you sleep? The Chantry…”
She couldn’t finish her sentence. To think she’d started hoping to move there too. Had started thinking of it as their future.
“The Chantry’s gone.” He finished the words she’d left hanging.
The sadness in his voice was enough to remind her why the events of the night had been necessary, and she finally felt some of her old resolve creeping back to meet her.
“You’ll stay with me, of course,” she said insistently. “In one of the guest rooms. I’ve no intention of breaking our vows, but you are my husband, Sebastian. In the eyes of the Maker and his Holy Bride. You’ll always have a place with me.”
She expected him to argue, and she felt a rush of relief when he didn’t.
“I suppose that would be all right,” he said, with only minimal reluctance. “The guest room it is, then.”
“Good,” she said.
She smiled up at him, and though the sadness didn’t leave his eyes, he smiled back softly. She felt a small part of her pain relieved by the act of relieving a small part of his. If they could just keep this up, if they could share their burdens like this forever… perhaps they could build a life together after all.
Carver cleared his throat. Marian turned towards him. She could feel her cheeks burn warm—she’d completely forgotten he and Aveline were still standing there.
“Carver!” she exclaimed. “There’s a guest room for you too, of course, if you need it.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he replied. There was a stiffness to the way he addressed her that she’d never heard from him before, but she supposed it was inevitable after so many years apart from each other. “I’ll be heading back to the Gallows. The other templars will need me tonight.”
“Of course,” she replied quickly, hoping that her voice didn’t betray the disappointment she felt. “It was good to see you again.”
“You as well, Marian,” Carver said, and he even sounded like he actually meant it. “You surprised me tonight. I didn’t expect to ever fight side-by-side with you again, and given the circumstances, I was afraid…”
He didn’t finish the thought, but Marian knew what he meant. He was afraid he would have to fight against her. “That would never have happened,” she said firmly.
“Of course not,” he said. “I just meant… considering the sides we’re on…”
“We’re on the same side, Carver,” she insisted. How could he doubt that, after tonight?
“I know. That's not what I meant.”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly through his armor. The ungainliness of the gesture was deeply endearing. He might be 6’3” and clad head-to-toe in chainmail, but he'd always be her little brother.
“Look…” Carver continued, “Things in the Gallows have been building to a head for ages. What Anders did… it may have sped things up, but a crisis was inevitable anyway. After tonight… I don't think anyone knows what to expect next.”
Marian didn't respond. What he said was evident, but she wasn't sure what his point was.
“I'm just saying,” he went on. “I’ll find a way to warn you if I think you might be in danger.”
“Oh.”
It was all the response she could muster. Too many emotions fought for dominance inside her. Anger at the injustice of finding that her head was still on the chopping block, perhaps always would be no matter how completely she proved her virtue. Fear—both of the templars and of herself, always both. Gratitude towards the little brother who’d risk himself to protect her. Love for him, too—for the sullen but stalwart child she’d helped raise and the courageous man of faith he'd become. She felt all this and more, and she was far too tired tonight to know how to quell the maelstrom inside herself.
“It's all right,” Carver said softly, obviously sensing her tension. “I won't let them hurt you.”
“Nor will I, Marian,” Aveline vowed solemnly. It was the first she'd spoken since the fight at the Gallows. She’d seemed entirely preoccupied earlier with her ceaseless watch, but now she had her keen eyes on Marian. “It’s well that we’ve eliminated the stain of blood magic from this city, and just as well that we've eliminated Meredith. She swore to protect Kirkwall, but she was mad all along. Only a fool would use red lyrium so liberally. And any supposed leader who would turn her sword on her own loyal men is worth less than mabari shit.”
“Elthina always understood the danger Meredith posed,” said Sebastian. Marian could hear the rare edge of anger in his voice. Her husband did not anger carelessly, but when he did, he could be uncharacteristically fearsome. “She would have known how to hold her back.”
“Perhaps,” Aveline said with a slight shrug. “But it hardly matters now. What's past is past. I think we've all learned that the hard way.”
All four of them were silent for a moment, no doubt each considering the many ways in which Aveline’s words rang true for each of them. Marian could think of about a thousand such instances. Her life was littered with them.
“You're right, Aveline,” she said. “What Kirkwall needs now is a way to move forward.”
“I'm glad you can see that, Marian,” Aveline responded, then she shifted her gaze to the younger Hawke. “I plan to return to the Gallows with you, Carver. I need to speak with the new Knight-Commander as soon as possible. It's imperative that we not allow the streets of Kirkwall to plunge into chaos. If possible, the City Guard and the Templar Order should present a united front.”
“All right,” Carver said. “I’ll get you an audience with him.”
Seven years ago, the Carver Hawke that Marian had known would’ve found a reason to argue with Aveline. He’d used to want to argue about everything. But he’d grown up since then. They all had.
Marian studied each of her living family members in turn, with an almost desperate degree of concentration, afraid that everything she loved could come crashing down around her at any minute. If that happened, however it happened, she wanted to remember them as she saw them in that moment. Aveline’s seasoned composure and protectiveness, Carver’s hard-earned temperance and confidence, and Sebastian’s faithful conviction and compassion. The three of them surrounded her like a bastion, and she felt safer in the center.
She thought then, wearily, of the mages they'd killed that night—the maleficarum and the ones who had not used blood magic themselves, but had chosen to side with the blood mages rather than surrender to the reign of the templars. She wondered if their fate might’ve played out differently if they’d been granted the opportunity to build the kind of support network that she herself was fortunate enough to have.
But she couldn't afford to ruminate on that. Aveline was right. It went against every one of her natural inclinations to turn off her empathy, but if she looked back for too long, she'd surely go mad. A mage had to maintain mental stability. It was the final bulwark against demonic possession. Her father had taught her that.
She did not allow herself to think of what he might've said about her actions earlier that night.
“All right,” she said quietly, breaking the silence that had settled over their little group. “We should get moving.”
The other three immediately came to life. Despite her blatant lack of her typical poise that night, it had still been her lead they were waiting for.
Carver and Aveline each shot a quick nod towards Sebastian, then Aveline gave her a soft pat on the shoulder. Carver held both her shoulders in each of his hands and squeezed firmly, gazing into her face with a small smile that was part hope, part sadness, and all kinship. She actually managed to return it, if only for a moment.
Then Carver and Aveline walked away towards the Gallows together, and Marian was left standing on the doorstep of her own home, alone with her husband and uncomfortably aware that they’d never before spent the night under the same roof.