Chapter Text
Kirkwall was burning. Yellow-orange flames licked the sky, high and bright enough to reflect in the murky water surrounding the city until even the harbor appeared to be on fire. Over the creaking and crumbling of scorched timbers Hawke could hear screaming; haunting hollow sounds of anguish and fear that reminded him too much of Lothering. His jaw tensed, his guttural growl of anger lost in the cacophony of destruction, as his greatsword crashed through the guard of another Qunari warrior. The enemy's howl of pain cut through the tumult, before being sharply silenced by Hawke's savage thrust.
He was not going to lose another home.
Hawke surged up the steps towards the Viscount's Keep, vision tunneled by rage. Arrows and bolts shrieked by him, the deadly aim of his companions maiming and staggering enemies who lined the stair. The sharp coppery scent of blood preceded even sharper cracks of lightning that set his hair on end as they ricocheted between the Qunari. Frost rimed his blade as it shattered frozen invaders, ice exploding into razor-sharp shards that sliced hairline fissures into his skin. Before they could even bleed they were gone, the tingle of healing magic the only evidence that they had ever existed.
Hawke barely heard the thunderous pounding of sword against shield, hardly saw the flashes of lyrium blue and swathes of hot red it left in its wake. His focus was filled up by the adversary before him, then another, and another all leading to the immense doors, behind which lay the end of the madness that had overtaken Kirkwall.
The septet methodically cut down the guard, a wave of vengeance ripping violently through their ranks, until nothing but air stood between them from the Keep's entrance. Hawke did not take the time to enjoy the victory, the steel of his boot splintering the doors with a vicious kick that sent them crashing into the inside walls. The boom of wood against plaster reverberated through the empty marble hall, the fine imported Antivan carpets doing nothing to smother the echoes. Thick stone insulated the Keep's interior from the maelstrom of devastation beyond its walls and the tread of fourteen feet resembled the footfalls of an army in the eerie silence. Leading with a pace that invited no argument or discussion, Hawke took the stairs two at a time.
The Arishok would pay for the carnage he had brought down upon the city. No matter what the Qun may have demanded, Hawke required retribution.
Skittering, dashing footsteps careened into the Keep through the wide-flung doors. Seven sets of eyes snapped to the entrance, hands drawing bowstrings and beginning complicated gestures of spell weaving. It was only due to Hawke's halting arm thrown up as he recognized the figure which saved her from the attack.
"Isabela?" Hawke would recognize those legs anywhere. There were other, equally identifiable parts of her anatomy, of course, but they were hidden behind an enormous tome which the renegade clutched tightly to her chest.
"Hawke!" She skidded to a halt, relief washing over her features. "Andraste's tits, this is a shit show, isn't it?"
A smile cracked Hawke's stern set features. "What are you doing here?"
Isabela rolled her eyes. "I didn't come back for you if that's what you're asking."
Hawke tried to not look disappointed. "Then why?"
She sighed, climbing the stairs to join the others on the landing. "My hitherto unseen conscience reared its ugly head."
"Is that it?" Varric nodded toward the book she held.
Looking uncharacteristically sheepish, Isabela nodded. "Keeping Castillon off my back didn't seem quite as worth it when I saw the flames." She held the book out, thrusting it towards Hawke's chest. "They want it so bad, they can have it and fuck off back to Par Vollen."
Hawke raised a brow. "So why are you giving it to me?"
Isabela scoffed. "Well, I'm not going in there."
"You have to apologize," Hawke stated firmly.
Varric chuckled. "Yeah, time to make nice, Rivani."
"An admission of fault would do well to prove your contrition," Fenris agreed.
Isabela looked at them like they'd collectively sprouted second heads. "You have got to be kidding. They'll drag me off in chains."
Hawke's expression hardened. "I'm not going to let that happen."
Their eyes met, and Isabela slowly pulled the book back. "You really mean that."
He nodded firmly. "I do."
A roar ripped through the hall beyond them which lead deeper into the Keep and everyone's attention snapped to the closed doors at its end.
"Well, that doesn't sound good," Merrill remarked.
"Let's go." Hawke didn't wait for the others to agree. He marched off, driven on by deep growls and furious noises of exertion emanating from the closed-off throne room.
Whatever the Arishok was up to, Hawke intended to put a stop to it.
He raised his greatsword higher, prepared to strike, and planted the sole of his boot just below the doorknobs, dropping into a defensive stance as the doors swung open.
Hawke took in the scene in a flash: Nobles crowded around the edges of the room, their expressions overcome in equal parts with horror and awe. Qunari warriors stood as sentries among them, their stern visages and imposing figures acting as a barrier between the masses and the center of the room. In the middle of it all, commanding the attention of all other occupants, were two figures. The Arishok was on his knees, bloodied, bleeding from dozens of small cuts, and his weapons lay scattered across the ground. Beside him a petite female elf with hair so black it appeared blue where the light hit it and a deadly curved sword held in one hand was midway through a whirling swing, and as Hawke watched the momentum of her movement carried the razor edge of her blade through the massive neck of the Arishok, severing his head from his body.
The doors crashed into the inner walls at the same moment the head bounced unceremoniously to the floor, and the attention of the room was immediately focused on Hawke.
His shoulders slumped dejectedly as the Arishok's body flopped to the ground. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" He yelled, dropping his greatsword with a clang.
The elf lowered her blade and narrowed her eyes at him, one brow quirking up in confusion.
"Hawke here really wanted to have it out with the Arishok," Varric explained, wide smile betraying his amusement at Hawke's outcry. "You beat him to it."
"Oh," she replied simply, glancing at the corpse then back to Hawke. "I'm sorry I ruined your party."