Garrett's feet were heavy, leaden weights seemingly dragging them down as he struggled to reach the height of the crudely made platform of wood taken from the Templar palisades.

There was rain in the air, but so far the wind held still, the clouds above seemingly poised above the city.

It was over.

Yet not, for life was not some final destination, not some definitive goal. It lingered on, with new challenges and new choices.

So now, a day past the greatest battle in Kirkwall's history, the question was on everyone's mind, none more so than Garrett's. The question of 'what now'? After all the drama, all the combat, all the suffering, then the mix of horror and relief when it was all over...it almost seemed obscene that life would go on, that there was no reward or penalty save for the one they made.

Things had been organised, as best as the stunned nobles and Garrett had been able to. Fortunately, the shock had been great enough on the rest of the people that they had simply gone along with it, not knowing what else to do.

There weren't many Templar survivors left after the battle, near a thousand only. They had been locked away inside the dungeon of the Viscount's keep for now, until Garrett made a decision regarding them. If all had gone to plan, if things hadn't gone as they had, he might have ordered to have them quietly killed. With no Templars to tell the tale of what had happened, anyone seeking retribution would at least be tempered by curiosity and confusion, rather than urged on by the survivors. But Donnic had flat out told Garrett he'd let Cullen ride on. That made the choice pointless, the report would come in anyway, but at least by one of the more moderate Templars. Sparing the survivors would then probably be the better choice, showing mercy and humanity...for what it was worth after such a butchery.

Also, Garrett was thoroughly sick of killing.

So had Donnic been. The man had told Garrett in no veiled words what he thought of the man, and then he had left with his Guardsmen. Despite the harsh final words, Garrett wished the man well, he doubted he would be able to hold the survivors of his Guardsmen together, but after all the man had gone through, much thanks to Garrett, he deserved some peace, at least.

Despite the lack of Guardsmen, despite the end of the Templars, the city was quiet and orderly, the people too tired and shocked to think of anything. As such, they had heeded Garrett's call for an assembly without argument, for him to speak to them.

It hadn't been hard to find a space open and large enough to admit all the people of Kirkwall, the blast caused by Anders was huge, and it had annihilated everything within its radius so well as to make the ground nearly flat under the feet of all standing before him. The little platform Garrett was climbing atop was standing right where the Chantry's Tower had once stood, or roughly there. If he'd been a more superstitious man, Garrett would have expected lightning to strike him down at any moment, but as it was, it was just another irony that where the heart of the Chantry had stood was where he, who had destroyed its defenders, would speak to the masses.

Atop the platform, only a few stood, the few who mattered.

Isabela, hands still caked with blood from the many injured she'd tended to, the woman seemingly having forgotten about it all, which was no surprise given her vacant and tired gaze. It was another of life's ironies that Anders, who'd taken so many innocent lives, had taught her to save many of them at the end.

Varric, coat ruined by cuts and blood, Isabela smudged and cracked by ash and blows, the man looked nothing like the charming rogue he was...nor did he seem to care about either his appearance or his beloved crossbow. Instead he was looking at Garrett, attentive, but neutral, like a secretary noting down things at a meeting, rather than a participant. The man was mentally writing the end of his story, Garrett knew, but now it seemed more an obligation than a pleasure.

And then there was Merrill. Beautiful, broken, little Merrill.

Garrett felt his weary heart getting squeezed tight as he saw her. She had gone quiet. No longer was she asking questions or offering opinions or advice at a drop of a hat. And it was not just quiet in the literal sense, but mentally too, something within her...shutting itself away.

He could still sense her supporting him, her eyes said that much...but he saw no approval, no eagerness...he wasn't even sure if he still saw love.

He hoped it was still there, with all his heart, but he could no longer know...and knowing that he was the cause of that hurt more than anything else.

He'd been a fool.

Too hurt by the sight to look at his few remaining companions any more, Garrett crested the platform and turned to face the massive crowd before him, all looking up with pale faces.

He was still dressed in his armour, though dented, it had been polished enough to remove all the blood. The gauntlets and helmet were missing through, the former he'd thrown away in disgust at the sight of Meredith's flesh stuck to them, the later had...he didn't even recall where' he'd lost it. Atop his head though, the small black crown of iron that was the Viscount's rested.

It was so small, yet, for some reason, it was heavier than anything Garrett had ever carried.

He'd wanted it for so long...and now he wanted to throw it away.

Yet more irony, yet more regret.

There was far from a million faces looking up to him, the city's population had halved, if not more. Some had escaped before the Templars locked the city down, many had died, and others had, wisely, scurried off after the battle-frenzy had simmered down, realising what they'd done.

Still, there was an impressive number looking up at him. At the front, the nobles, mages and soldiers who'd aided him in the Circle Tower stood at the front, mixed together depending on their bonds of friendship, one could barely tell the mage from the soldier or the noble anymore. Beyond, the rest was a sea of gaunt and tired citizens, people who hadn't eaten a full meal since the battle had started.

They all bore the mark of the battle in some way.

Haunted eyes, scars, lost limbs, weapons forgotten in their hands...all had been shaped by the recent events.

"My friends." Garrett somehow managed to raise his voice to that of a speech worthy of a Viscount, though the words nearly stuck in his throat. "My people."

There was no answer, only a gust of wind.

Looking around himself, Garrett licked his lips. "We have liberated ourselves, all of us are free from the tyranny of Meredith."

Again, none answered, only a few nodded, the rest waited for the other shoe to fall, understanding all too well the look on his face.

"But sometimes, the price to pay is too heavy. Sometimes, liberation means not only freedom, but loss of all else you hold dear."

Behind him, Merrill shifted where she stood, making him grimace.

"I'm sorry."

This is it. Garrett took a deep breath, looking out over the city. In the distance, the Keep of the templars rose, smoke still rising from a fire someone had set. The Viscount's Keep, smaller, was nearly hidden behind the black smoke. The tower of the Circle, meanwhile, was a broken spire, a shattered finger, accusingly pointing at the sky.

The city was in ruins.

"We have all killed Templars, and no matter the reason, no matter our explanations, we are all criminals in the eyes of the Chantry."

Now, some reacted, but only by shifting where they stood, exchanging worried glances. Most, however, looked to him, knowing his words as truth.

"You did what was right, for yourselves, for your families, for all of us...but that doesn't change the fact that we will now be hunted, that we are now targets."

Again, Garrett looked up, at the Viscount's Keep, regret gripping him, making his shoulders slump as he looked back to his people.

"As such, for your protection, my first order as Viscount will be my last..."

More irony, gaining the power simply to relinquish it, Garrett was beginning to hate it.

"The city must empty. You are all free to do as you wish, but for any who stays...Maker's mercy be with you, I think you'll need it. For the rest of us...scatter, go to the other free cities, to Ferelden, to Orlais, to Nevarra, Antiva and Rivain, to the Dales...anywhere else but here, for Kirkwall will now be the target for the Divine and her entire might."

Garrett had expected at least some protests, or surprise; instead he got silence, the people still looking at him.

"I might not be able to save Kirkwall from all of this, but I can save her people, it's the least I can do for you all. I've gathered all the remaining food and coin of the city at the Viscount's Keep, go there, take what you can, but don't burden yourselves with things you do not need. Take it, and go, find safe harbour and live your lives there, never speak of this time, and you'll make a new life...please."

Silence.

Then someone realised Garrett would not continue. Without a word, she turned and left, shaking her head.

Garrett, raising his arms, removed the Viscount's crown from his head, and gently placed it on the ground in front of him, staring at the simple symbol of power with regret. So much for power, for being the ruler...

When he straightened and looked up again, the space was emptying, everyone slowly turning and walking away, dazed, many confused, all following the current, not knowing what else to do.

And so, with a few words, I've destroyed what was left of Kirkwall.

A hollow feeling in his gut, Garrett turned to regard the others. The three were looking at him; even Merrill. All with tired eyes, but it was good to see them still standing there, rather than just leaving.

He didn't deserve it.

"I...won't ask it of you." Garrett finally said, swallowing. "You can choose what you do, and you deserve all the happiness in the world for all you've done. I owe each one of you my life and more, I only wish I could repay it all."

The words felt flat, without his usual flare and strength, but Garrett had nothing more in him, he couldn't cajole or convince them, not now. Instead, he simply waited.

Isabela was the first to react, the woman shaking herself out of the vacant look on her face. "I...sure, for a while at least." She offered an uncertain chuckle. "You promised me a ship before, after all, maybe you can fulfil that on the way at some point..." Her smile faded. "Or not, doesn't matter, but I'll come along for a while, at least."

Garrett smiled at her, unable to say all that he should. You've become such a different person since we met, loyal, kind, helpful and a true friend, a better one than I deserve. The woman swallowed as she met his gaze, then looked away, blushing slightly as a tear ran down her cheek.

Then, Varric crossed his arms over his chest. "You know what...I think I'll stay here for a while."

Garrett blinked in surprise and horror, looking at the dwarf as if he'd gone mad.

In response, Varric shrugged and managed a smirk. "What? This is where they'll come for all the answers, and I have a tale to tell by now..." The smirk turned into a warmer smile. "And if by doing so, I'll save some lives, yours included...well, then I'll have done something." To atone for following my orders about causing a rebellion. Garrett grimaced, but nodded, understanding. "Don't worry though, I'm a survivor, and I'll spin a tale that'll go down into the annals of history...yeah, I won't have it any other way, buddy."

Stepping forward, Garrett offered his hand. Varric hesitated, but then relented with a smile, taking it, gripping tight as he met Garrett's gaze. "Thank you, friend."

"Oh please, don't make me gush like our pirate here." Varric chuckled.

A sniffled laugh escaped Isabela at that, the woman keeping her head turned away even as she smiled from under her hair. "Oh shut up, jackass..."

Finally, Garrett turned to Merrill, heart in his throat, his chest impossibly tight.

The smile she offered was minuscule, her nod tiny. "Yeah...I'll come." If only because I have nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, if only because I have nothing left but you, if only because I still hope for the happiness we once felt. She didn't say it, but then again, she didn't have to.

Garrett didn't wait for it, he took her hand, without his gauntlets on, he could feel the warmth...and he'd missed it so much it made tears prickle his eyes. Why did I not choose to feel it more often? He choked on the words, but they finally left his lips, small, overwhelmed.

"Thank you..."

With that, the little group looked at one another, the survivors of so much war and subterfuge, and left the platform.

As they began to move across the open wound in the city, not really sure where they were going, it finally started to rain.

Garrett closed his eyes, letting the cool water wash over him.

Letting it wash away the tears.

8

8

8

Thanks to Abydos Jackson for all her hard work, her dedication and willingness to go on. There's none better.