Maker, though I am but one, I have called in your name.
And those who come to serve will know your glory.
I remembered for them.
They will see what can be gained,
And though we are few against the wind, we are yours.

-Canticle of Trials

It wasn't so simple as Sebastian made it seem, of course. It took two hours to get the ambassadors and their entourages mounted, supplied, packed, and arranged in order of precedence as a little caravan for the twenty-minute walk to Kirkwall, which took three times that due to the wagons and the poor condition of the road. Varric hadn't bothered maintaining it after the war. Once they reached the city, they had to halt at the gates while Aveline argued with Sebastian that her reasons for denying him entry to Kirkwall were still valid and told him to go around the long way. It was eventually decided that the prince would enter the city at his own risk and put it in writing that if he met a tragic accident, no blame should fall upon Kirkwall. Then they faced the winding, narrow labyrinth of streets that was Lowtown. The maze had been known to frustrate even those who had lived there for years and it was little surprise that their procession continued to lose its way in the crowded confines, necessitating time-consuming backtracking and shortcuts of dubious effectiveness.

At last, they broke out of Lowtown's insidious web onto the docks, but matters were far from done. Now everything necessary for the journey had to be loaded onto a few ships, but which few? Having not expected to actually find Anders immediately, the delegates hadn't thought that far ahead and a frenzied, desperate negotiation ensued. Tempers flared and pointed remarks flew back and forth like arrows. Two or three people were seriously wounded in the pride. Complicating matters was the Antivan blockade, mostly consisting of hired privateers from the Felicisima Armada, who promptly raised their asking prices considerably upon learning what they were being asked to do. They demanded time to consult among themselves to see who would even be willing to spend more time away from the northern waters they called home to carry dangerous cargo. And so Sebastian's resolve to leave that day was defeated and the prince retired in disgust to the Harriman estate for the night. Anders was locked up in the Gallows, which had stood empty for years save for those who had come to gawk at Meredith. Now, with the statue finally having been gotten rid of, even they had gone.

And so it was that Hawke found herself stumbling through the twilight gloom of Hightown, exhausted and sore from bearing the weight of her armor all day – even if the plate was enchanted, more than half a day was too much – heading for her estate. She had been surprised to find it still standing upon her return, untouched by looters. Aveline's doing, no doubt, or some lingering remnant of the Champion's legend, or both. As the heavy oaken door creaked open, Hawke paused a moment, narrowing her eyes. The great warriors, the ones who survived, felt things sometimes, warnings of danger that they couldn't possibly have known about through their mortal senses. For her, it was like a tingle at the back of the neck, a kind of pressure as though someone were holding a knife just above the skin, touching the fine hairs there. She was being watched by someone capable of killing intent. One hand slowly reached up over her shoulder to curl around the hilt of her greatsword, the blade of mercy Fenris had shoved back at her so long ago. Its magical runes pulsed and flared as her will slid into the length of sharpened silverite. Then, a voice from the shadows to her right, the low hiss of a woman not wanting to be heard.

"Psst! Hawke! Don't panic! I'm coming out, I'm not armed!"

Hawke drew her sword, stepping inside the estate and whirling around to face the door. I know that voice. Who is it? The flood of lamplight from behind her cast a long yellow lance out into the dark night. This is a good position, only one way to get to me, and I have reach and room to swing my sword. A yell will wake Bethany and Oriana if fighting doesn't and I'll have magical backup in less than a minute. They could have a dozen knives waiting in the shadows out there, or mages, or worse.

"Show yourself," she demanded, "Slowly."

She heard faint footsteps, slow and hesitant, and tightened her grip on her word, leather bindings creaking under the force. All her weariness was forgotten now and she was deep in the tranquil fury of a fight about to happen, her face a stone-carved mask of calm and focus. The intruder stepped into the light, one hand raised and squinting against the glare. But Hawke knew her.

"Shenadan, Hawke," she said, a wry smile on her face.

"Ben-Hassrath," Hawke answered, keeping her sword raised. "Or are you still Tallis?"

The slender, fire-haired elf nodded back, slowly lowering her hand as her eyes adjusted. She still wore boiled leather, cuirass, bracers, and greaves, and Hawke saw several empty knife sheaths on her bandolier and belt. That crimson hair was still pulled back into a short ponytail. Most importantly, her grey eyes were still deep and dangerous.

"For now, yes," she said. "There aren't many old assassins. I may not have many years left as Tallis. Can I come in?"

"No," Hawke answered, "And you can save your breath, you lied to me about everything before, why would I ever trust you again? Leave, now."

Tallis let out a frustrated sigh, leaning casually against the door frame.

"Look, this wasn't my idea. I told them to send someone else. But they told me you wouldn't believe any other Qunari any more than me and they were right, weren't they?"

"They were," Hawke said, nodding, "You people will do or say anything if it means crushing the life out of Thedas. You're living proof of that. Leave. I won't warn you again."

The elf straightened up, her face turning flat and serious.

"Kill me if you want, then, but I'll deliver my message. If you're just going to ignore it, will it really hurt you to listen?"

A tense silence fell as Hawke considered Tallis' words. At length, she sighed.

"Talk fast," she said, raising her greatsword to rest the flat of the blade across her right shoulder. Some people had been taken off guard by how fast she could bring the heavy sword crashing down from that position, but she knew Tallis wasn't going to be one of them.

"I should also tell you that I argued against warning you," the assassin said, "But you're still basalit-an. That entitles you to a certain respect, even if some of us think you don't deserve it. There are Tevinter agents who are interested in Anders. You've moved faster than they expected, as has he, so as long as you get out of Kirkwall soon they won't have time to plan anything. But they're up to something and whatever the Imperium wants, the Qunari will see stopped. I'd tell you more but that's all we know at this point. I've been ordered to shadow you and offer protection if you want it, and I know you don't."

"Do you think I don't deserve to be basalit-an?" Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow.

"This may surprise you, but I still think you're worthy of respect. You made your position clear when you went with me and you acted as best you could based on what you knew. Don't misunderstand, I don't like you, at all, but only a fool wouldn't respect you. Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Who you are hasn't changed."

Hawke sighed, shaking her head.

"Neither has who you are. So tell me, have you found certainty? When the Qun demanded that every major noble house in Thedas be decapitated to pave the way for an invasion, were you certain that was right? What about when it demanded using saarebas and lyrium, red lyrium as well as blue, or ancient elvhen artifacts? Was it the Qun who demanded that, or Viddasala? Do you even know enough of your own religion to decide whether or not your orders are truly a demand of the Qun?"

Tallis' blank expression was unreadable as she replied.

"Ataash varin kata," she whispered, then stepped back in the shadows and vanished.

Hawke returned her sword to its place on her back, then stepped forward to shut the door a little harder than necessary. Thanks to Merrill's patient tutelage, she spoke some elven, but of Qunlat she knew hardly anything. What did she say? Does it even matter? She lies as easily as breathing. Then, as she entered the main hall of the estate, there came another voice out of the past, which was kind enough to answer her unspoken question.

"In the end lies glory. So that was Tallis. I had wondered about your questions myself, given what you told me of her."

Hawke looked over to see Bethany and Merrill, awake and dressed, standing over near the table where Sandal used to work on his enchantments. And next to them…Hawke's eyes widened.

"Fenris?" She let out a groan, falling back to rest against the wall with a loud clank, her head falling forward. "All right, is there anyone else hiding in the woodwork? Maybe under the bed, clinging to the chandelier?" She made a circling 'get on with it' gesture with one hand. "Come one, come all, don't be shy. It's been that sort of day. I can take it."

"So I have been told," Fenris remarked. She could hear the little smile in his quiet, cultured thunder of a voice. "Bethany has been quite informative."

"I'm sorry, ma vhenan," Merrill said, fiddling with her hands anxiously. "I came home and I found him standing outside looking like a lost paintbrush and he was really quite nice. Well, nicer than usual, I mean. And he really does need to talk to you. It's important."

Hawke raised her head.

"It's fine, Merrill," she said, "It's just been a very long day." She took the opportunity to examine the one-time Tevinter slave warrior.

Like Anders, he looked much the same, albeit a little better than the mage. A few new scars, the old untidy mop of white hair that partially obscured the elven points on his ears, and a greatsword much like her own. His armor had obviously been mended many times, sections replaced where a hard blow had torn it, but it was still the same design. The genuine smile on his face, though, that was new. Hawke could count the number of times Fenris had been in a good mood around her outside of a game of Wicked Grace on one hand, and it was rarely because of her presence.

"So," Hawke said, waving the group over to the study, "What's the occasion? Last I heard you were waging war against Tevinter slavers outside the Imperium. How did that work out for you?"

Fenris' smile turned predatory.

"Quite well," he replied.

Hawke propped her sword up against the wall and took a seat, as did Bethany and Merrill. Fenris remained standing.

"You'd be proud," her sister said, "He spared the mages the slavers wanted and let them go free."

"There was nowhere to send them with the Circles deserted and the templars killing everyone who showed so much as a spark of power," Fenris added hastily. "And after what they had been through, few wished to go to Tevinter." He shrugged. "I should have killed those who still thought the Imperium would be their salvation. They will only become slaves again or blood mages soon enough. But I didn't. I don't know why."

"Whatever your reasons, I am proud to call you my friend," Hawke said, a little smile creasing her face.

"Tell her about your friends," Merrill urged the other elf, "That was my favorite part." She leaned in close to Hawke, eyes sparkling, to whisper, "I think some of them tried to court him."

"Some of the slaves I freed wanted to help me free others," Fenris muttered, refusing to meet Hawke's eyes. "A few were trained warriors or had other useful talents. I'm not blind, one man alone, even me, is vulnerable, particularly if he goes looking to challenge Tevinter mages and legionnaires who are well prepared. They wanted to help and I did not turn them away. That hardly makes us friends."

"All right, we believe you," Hawke said, holding up a hand. Bethany had been about to speak, and a sly grin was on her lips, but there would be plenty of time to embarrass Fenris later. "What brings you back to Kirkwall? I didn't think you'd ever want to return here."

At last, Fenris looked up, his usual semi-frown settling into place.

"I met the so-called Tevinter agent Tallis is after. Either the Qunari know less than they should or she is lying to you, but the people she's after are Tevinter only in origin and name. They are extremist reformers bent on shaking the Imperium out of its slumber by force. You have met them before, I'm told. They call themselves Venatori."

"We've met," Hawke said, scowling at the memory. Empty eyes…demon whispers…a friend's blood on the edge of a knife. "They served Corypheus and committed many atrocities in his name. I'm sorry to hear I and the Inquisition missed a few of them."

"Indeed. As it turns out, their near-annihilation broke the remaining Venatori into squabbling factions, not unlike the Magisterium in miniature. The agent Tallis seeks leads one of them. She is here in Kirkwall and wishes to speak with you."

"Wait a minute, you met her and didn't kill her?" Hawke asked.

"It isn't blood magic," Merrill said, squinting at Fenris as though looking at something far away, "But I don't know of anything else that can change someone's mind like this. Fenris, what's wrong?"

"If it's blackmail, we'll help," Bethany said firmly, "We won't let you be used like this."

"Enough!" Fenris snapped, holding up his hands to ward off the attention. "I can explain if you'll all just be silent for one moment!"

The three women obligingly waited. He sighed.

"I fully intended to kill her by the end of our first conversation. What she had to say stayed my hand until I had heard all of it. We made an agreement; if by the time she reached the end of her story I still wished her dead, she would let me kill her. It took several days and by the end of it…" He sighed again, shaking his head. "She was a fool and is a menace but she may serve to free the slaves of the Imperium. She invited me to aid her to ensure that it is done without blood magic, demons, and all the various other atrocities that usually accompany Tevinter operations. I intend to kill her after she has kept her promises or if she breaks them. That I am here, now, is proof enough that she has kept them thus far, as is the offer she wishes to make."

"And that is?" Hawke asked, raising an eybrow.

"She can help you save Anders, should you wish it," he said, "As to the details, she can discuss them with you better than I. She also wants to meet the Champion, of course. They tell your story in the Imperium as well as the south."

Hawke was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea around in her mind.

"It couldn't do any harm to talk to her, could it?" Bethany said softly. "If there's even a small chance, we owe it to him to try."

"And you, Merrill?" Hawke murmured, glancing over at the other woman.

The elf nodded firmly.

"There's no danger in listening, as long as you're careful."

"Well, we are dealing with quite the demon here," the Champion mused. "All right. Just two more questions, Fenris, and then we can catch up in the morning. First, where and when should we meet? Second, what's her name?"

"Of course," he said, nodding, "My apologies for keeping you. And…thank you for hearing me out. The meeting is set for tomorrow morning at a private room in the Hanged Man. And her name is Calpernia."

A/N: Originally, I intended to make this chapter considerably longer and cover most of the events of the following day, but I decided I'd rather put up smaller chapters more frequently so as not to deprive my readers for too long. I'm quite busy most of the time and I'm sure you'd rather not wait months on end for a chapter that's eight thousand words instead of three. Perhaps I'll go back later and combine chapters that would make more sense that way. And as usual, this is just me unedited. I might one day stop apologizing for that, but probably not anytime soon.