So starts the story of my mage revolutionary from DA 2. This picks up just after the end of the game.

We could plan a murder or start a religion

If there was one thing Varric knew, it was how to set a scene. Stories, after all, didn't work without context, and he couldn't have a listener on the edge of his seat by delivering the finale too quickly. It took patience, carefully laying out the threads that held the audience captive, a patience that Lilian Hawke had lacked as long as he'd known her. So when their hasty departure from Kirkwall on Isabela's new ship only took them as far as Ostwick, and Hawke sent the crew out to gather the ill and injured for Anders to heal and spread the word that the Champion of Kirkwall would address the city at sunset, he had to admit he was surprised.

Was his favourite impulsive mage beginning to grow up? Part of him suspected she was. She never seemed to have a plan, tumbling and tripping through problems that she delighted in resolving with a swift lightning storm. Another part of him suspected she wasn't nearly so oblivious as her actions suggested. She and Isabela had been preparing for a quick exit clearly. The ship was stocked and ready to leave the moment they arrived, with all of Lilian's personal effects on board. Had Hawke known what Anders was planning? The question chewed at him.

With ears open, he sauntered through the marketplace, his own assignment from Lilian to find out as much as he could about the mood of Ostwick and what people were saying.

Tension rippled through the streets as rumours began to filter in from Kirkwall. The Circle had been annulled. No, the Circle had fought back and the Knight-Commander was dead. Demons had taken Kirkwall and were on their way to Ostwick even now. No, all of Kirkwall was a burning pile of rubble and no one survived. The Grand Cleric had made a pact with a Pride Demon and fed it the blood of the citizens. No, it was the First Enchanter who had done that, and the templars died trying to take him down.

No one knew quite what had happened, that much was clear, just that it involved mages, templars, and the Chantry. News of the Champion's plan to speak had reached most mouths before he even set out, and the people were eager for real news. Hawke would have her audience, and though Varric made it back to the docks an hour before the scheduled speech, he found them seething with people jostling to get close to the ship.

As the bloody sun disappeared halfway past the horizon, and the pitch of voices began to grow feverish, Lilian strode out on deck. The fading light cast her simple battlemage armor in crimson, and she looked like nothing more than a small warrior for the moment, wearied and bloodied by fighting, hair falling into her eyes.

Lifting both hands for attention, she cried out, her impassioned voice carrying over the din.

"Hear me, good people of Ostwick!"

A hush stole over the crowd, the silence razor sharp as they held their collective breath.

"She stole that from the Grand Cleric," Varric murmured to Fenris as the pair hung back from the prow, waiting to see just what their fearless leader was up to. Anders had been given a very specific spot in view of the crowd, while Isabela was readying the ship to set sail, both at Lilian's direction. The others she'd told to keep their weapons ready 'in case of trouble'. Lovely.

"I am Lilian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Once I saved the city from the tyranny of the Qunari, threw off the chains of the Qun."

A small cheer broke out, but she held up a hand for silence.

"But today, I tell you there is a worse tyranny. One that clothes itself in the Maker's robes, but at its heart, it is rot!

"But not that one," observed Fenris dryly as the crowd churned uncertainly with those words. The air thrummed beneath them, and the former slave glanced at Hawke with a frown. "What is she doing?"

"Our beloved Andraste waged war against the Imperium to free the slaves! And now those who claim her name seek to harm her children."

Horrified gasps and cries rose from the crowd, along with a few who tried to shout Lilian down, but she vaulted up on the railing as she punched the sky, her own anger competing with the people gathered.

"How she would weep at the corrupt who profess to serve the Maker! But it will not stand! With my own eyes, while we fought her tyranny, I saw Knight-Commander Meredith struck down by the wrath of heaven, turned to stone for her wickedness, for her pride!"

Her glare dared her listeners to challenge her, but her words brought silence save for a few thin whispers of "Maker help us". The crowd seemed unable to breathe, and she dragged out the pointed pause, seeming to look each person in the eye, weighing their sins like a vengeful spirit.

"While the Knight-Commander abused the Maker's children, while innocent men and women died at her sword, while she succumbed to demons, while others suffered because she abandoned her duty, Grand Cleric Elthina stood silent, deaf to the cries for justice, fat and content in her cowardice!" She punctuated her words with a raised fist, the fading red of the sunset echoing her fury.

"In the absence of light, shadows thrive!"

Varric stared as he realized the last sliver of sun had disappeared over the horizon the moment she spoke the words, and even he shivered. Maker's breath, she'd timed that well, and the crowd reacted as though the sun would never return again. A howl of terror rippled over the docks.

Her voice rang out clearly over the fearful crowd, comforting and demanding all at once. "But one man, one man had the courage to throw light on her! To be a true champion of the just!"

They were waiting, Varric could feel the people practically on their toes as she wove her scene, and he glanced toward Anders. She wasn't going to do what he thought, was she?

Shimmering light that just hinted at flames broke the darkness to around Anders, his blonde head bent with shaggy hair falling into his face. Blast her, she was. She'd learned too well. "A gentle healer, beloved friend, Anders moved by the justice of Andraste herself struck a blow at this corrupt mockery of the the Maker and his Bride!" His head lifted and, to the crowd, disbelief translated well to humility. They roared for him, pressing toward the ship.

Her hand shot toward Anders, and the dim light glowing around him burst into full flame as she shouted:

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written."

Anders simply bowed his head, but they devoured his uncertainty. Lilian let them rumble for a moment, a faint smile on her lips.

"Tasteful," groused Fenris, rolling his eyes, and both he and Varric straightened as the ship began to move.

The mob reached for them, but Lilian's voice rang out again, chiming through the night as Anders stood unmoving in his halo of flame.

"And so the Chantry burns, my friends, a festering wound that must be cleansed! No more can we allow these pretenders to steal our brothers and sisters, our children, our friends because of their Maker-given gifts." Already the ship was beginning to move off from the dock, but her voice carried through the night. "We will not allow them to feed demons! In the name of Holy Andraste, they destroy the minds of templars with lyrium and the mages with strange rites! And we cry out 'No more!'

They echoed her throaty yell, the dock rumbling with "No more! No more!"

As they slipped out of Ostwick's grasp, she stood on the railing, hands uplifted as lightening crackled around them.

"Stand before the wicked and corrupt! Stand before those who deceive! Stand before those who bring harm to the least of us! Be the champions of the just and DO NOT FALTER!"

Lightning burst across the sky, and the crowd screamed, a living, writhing thing that would have swamped the boat had Isabela not made good on their escape.

And he thought Anders was crazy.