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There had been no time to stop, Aveline thought, no time to doubt, and barely enough time to make the choice in the first place.
There never was. Not when things came down to a head. Amidst everything - the burning Chantry, the Knight-Commander clawing out of the wreckage in a haze of twisted red, the call to massacre that the gathering Mage Underground answered in kind - they had followed Hawke. Like Hawke was the only light in the night.
Because that was what they always did: they followed Hawke.
And Hawke had led them to the Gallows, through the smoke and the screams of the city, barely ahead of the Knight-Commander and the templars with her. The Mage Underground and one of Orsino’s senior enchanters had fallen behind, to give them the time, and the clash of steel had bit at their heels while blood splattered the streets.
Aveline would have liked to say that blood splattered the streets again, calling back to the Arishok’s coup of the city, but that would imply blood ever stopped splattering the streets of Kirkwall. And that implication went against every shitty, not-entirely-untrue joke told by Aveline’s guards, in the break room, on patrol, and whenever they thought she couldn’t hear them. Kirkwall's streets could have reeked of copper if they weren't so busy stinking of fish, shit, and smoke.
Aveline had only had the time to shout at her guards to stay back and protect the citizens, before she had followed Hawke. She had shouted at them to put down demons and out fires, and to fight only where they could not reach out, and had to trust that she had picked and trained them well.
If there was one lesson she remembered from her senior officer - long ago, before the Blight, before Ostagar - it was that the mark of a good mentor was that one day those you trained would no longer need you. If you were a great mentor - a great leader - then one day, those who followed you, those you had trained, would be better than you ever were. They would no longer need you to know what must be done, and would no longer need you to tell them to do it.
Aveline could only hope now, that she had been a good leader. That she had left officers who would lead well in the absence of their captain.
The conflict had begun with Meredith courting the Rite of Annulment, and followed with Anders and his Mage Underground countering violently, and it was clear the conflict would not end until there was a clear victor between the two sides. If Aveline was to see Kirkwall safe, to see the people and her guards safe, if she was a leader in this city, then she had to see this to its end. And she had long-since learned that wherever that was... Hawke would be there. So, Aveline would follow.
Hawke had chosen the Gallows. Aveline would have preferred to talk Meredith down; she had been on the edge of suggesting it, when they had run into Stroud and the Grey Wardens, in the streets on their way to the Gallows. But...
“We cannot interfere with politics,” Stroud had said.
He and his fellow Grey Wardens had been in the city, and had heard the explosion, and felt the Chantry collapse in on itself. They had come running, to help where they could, but they would not fight the Knight-Commander.
“Politics?” Hawke had cried disbelievingly. “The city’s on fire! Mages are going abomination in the streets just to try and stop the templars from going to the Circle and murdering everyone! Children and tranquil and the elderly, and others who have never done anything but exist!”
“We will protect the people of Kirkwall,” Stroud had promised sincerely. “We will do all in our power to protect the citizens, you have my word. But we cannot so directly go against the Knight-Commander and the Chantry.”
Hawke had thrown up their hands. “Again with the ‘people’! Always with the ‘people’! Why don’t the mages count as ‘people’?” Hawke jabbed their finger in Stroud’s chest and shouted, “My sister is in that Circle! Why isn't she part of the 'people'? She’s a citizen of Kirkwall too!”
Stroud’s expression had been sympathetic, also aggravated, but he had not moved. It was, Aveline had thought, the expression of a man who had been on the end of constricting orders one too many times. She could tell because it had been like looking in a mirror. Only Stroud hadn’t broken - not yet, at least - where Aveline could feel herself breaking through the core.
In that moment, Aveline had heard the crack of something inside her chest. Because Hawke was right: Bethany and the mages were citizens of Kirkwall too. Why didn’t Aveline’s oath to protect the people extend to them? What was a woman to do when what was right went against upholding the law? When protecting the people went directly against upholding the law?
In many ways, the law was on Meredith’s side in this chaos.
But, as Hawke was fond of saying, in many ways, the law was bullshit.
“We will lend our aid to the guards of Kirkwall,” Stroud had said, immovably, “and wish you luck in your endeavors.” He had looked to Aveline then. “Where can we be of assistance?”
Aveline had sent them off, with key points that controlled the streets and names of guards to seek out. And then she had followed Hawke to the Gallows, to this place where they would face Meredith, and meet the end of all things.
If Aveline was to be honest with herself: there had been time to stop. There had been time to doubt. The whole way, there had been room to doubt and to stop in her tracks for whatever reason crossed her mind. There was far from all the time in the world - there had barely been any time at all - but the choice had not been a thing made once. It had been made every step of the way. No one had forced Aveline to follow Hawke.
If Hawke had made another choice... had chosen to abandon Bethany and the other mages... would Aveline had followed that Champion of Kirkwall? Through a Rite of Annulment that no one should ever have the right to perform? Or through a choice to stand back in the hopes that a victor would emerge without their interference?
I followed Hawke, Aveline thought fiercely, but that’s not why I’m here.
There would have been no talking Meredith down, anyway. A thousand frustrating meetings and clashes over jurisdiction both before and after Dumar’s death had proven that, if Meredith’s every other action besides didn’t prove it enough. Meredith had long ago refused to compromise. The Knight-Commander would concede her power for no one now. It would end when either she was dead or everyone else was.
Aveline looked around the Gallows, at the grim and frightened expressions of people who didn’t know if they would last the night under the coming siege. People who knew that if they did live, if they were so fortunate, it would still be at a terrible cost.
Hawke and Bethany were holding each other tightly, as though neither of them ever planned to let go. They hadn’t had a chance to hold each other until this quiet moment, before Meredith and the templars would reach them. Until just now, they had been too busy directing the mages and preparing for the battle, so it was now they held each other with all the love of long years spent forcefully alone.
Holding Bethany now, so tightly, Hawke looked… small… in a way that Aveline didn’t like to think about.
Merrill and Isabela were talking quietly; they had pulled away from the group on their own. Isabela was carefully tending to Merrill’s bloody arms, applying poultices and bandages, even though her work would be ruined by the end of the night. Merrill was saying something, calm and self-assured, that made Isabela’s expression tighten with pain.
Isabela lifted one of Merrill’s wrapped hands and kissed it tenderly, sadly, and Aveline looked away from the deeply private gesture.
She had never understood either woman. Not truly. But she still considered them dear friends.
Fenris and Sebastian were near each other. Sebastian was leading some of the Circle’s children in prayer, to keep them calm. He assured them that the Maker was watching them, that the Maker did not hate them, that the Maker even loved them, every one of them, and always had.
Fenris had followed Sebastian, possibly in a show of solidarity to his friend, in the face of some visibly awestruck or deeply disbelievingly children. Fenris was, through an unknown series of events, now holding the hand of a little elf girl, a young Circle apprentice, who was listening raptly to Sebastian. Fenris looked somewhat uncomfortable about this, but he persisted nevertheless, even as the little elf leaned over and rested her small head against his armor.
Aveline was sitting beside Varric, resting where she could before everything ended. Anders was on Varric’s other side, working to heal a teenage boy who had tried to tackle a fully-armored templar despite being Silenced. Varric was comforting the boy with quips about how every hero had scars that left all the girls and boys and people wild, through the healing, while Anders was awkwardly not looking towards either Varric or Aveline.
Which was why Sebastian had not looked in their direction in... well... since Hawke had declared that Anders would live to see what he'd done through to the end.
Varric had always had a soft spot for Anders, and had never been a fan of the Knight-Commander, but even he seemed to be holding a bit of a grudge towards Anders for collapsing the Chantry in on itself and kicking off another city-wide conflict. None of them loved Kirkwall like Varric did.
Aveline had developed a fondness and admiration for Anders as well - she had considered him a friend, and perhaps still did, currently much against her will - but she related to Varric’s resentment strongly. She'd put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into this Maker-damned city. She didn’t have the energy for passive-aggressive jokes, though.
There were too many conflicting feelings to sort through, conflicting proofs, and she’d never been very good at jokes. People had always said as much to her face.
She leaned her head back against the wall behind her. Who knew how many people would die before the night was out? Who knew how many people had died already? The city was burning again, and Aveline was here, protecting the people she had failed for so long, trying to lead Kirkwall through this nightmare, hoping that she had left guards behind capable of protecting the city and themselves without her.
If I have done my job, they won’t need me.
Hoping that she and her friends would all live to see the next day.
If I am to do my job, I need to be here.
She swallowed, hard, against her smoke-dry throat and painful longings, bowing her head slightly. There had been time for doubt and choices, as they ran towards the Gallows, but not for farewells. Nor for explanations. She hadn’t even caught sight of the one person she'd wanted to see, as she’d followed Hawke here, to see this to the end.
Perhaps to all their ends.
“If...” Aveline began uncertainly, then swallowed and tried again, “If I don’t make it, will someone please tell Donnic that...” She stopped, and tried again, “Tell Donnic that...”
She trailed off.
There was too much. Where did she begin?
The silence strained too far, as Aveline sat with her head bowed, staring at the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Varric and Anders looking at her. Anders' expression was wary, but Varric’s was just tired and sad.
“Yeah, Red?” Varric said.
Aveline sighed and leaned her head back against the wall behind her again. There really was too much, and everything important...
“Never mind,” she said. “He knows.”