Days were long in the Gallows, but as Meredith reached her quarters, she felt the entire heaviness of a week falling onto her instead of the one of a single day. 

A failed Harrowing, a rite of Tranquility performed, two apostates captured and brought to the Circle, Orsino at the foot of her ear, complaining and demanding again and again and still nothing from Val Royeaux. 

She grabbed the wine at her desk, drinking it straight from the bottle. There was only so much left and the dull alcohol did little but leave her wanting for more. She removed her armor piece by piece. A simple shift covered her as she laid on the bed alone, hands laying across her midriff. Her mind was too full for sleep or prayers. She sighed, looking at the ceiling, as she remembered.

The Harrowing. An unprepared mage, one who should have never even been allowed to even partake in a harrowing. But Orsino had insisted, and the Grand Cleric had taken his side. 

“Orsino is not unreasonable, Meredith. There must be a compromise.” 

Meredith, Orsino and two other senior templars stood watching the young mage laying on the floor. The mage had been one of the Starkhaven runaways, a mousy little thing that had not protested when she had been captured years back. The apprentice did not stand out much, always walking with her head down whenever another templar walked by. 

It had all been good until weeks prior, when a small rebellion had broken out within the Gallows. A group of mages banded together, striking and killing three of Meredith’s men and one senior enchanter. The details were lost to her, the attack happening during a brief period where the Knight-Commander attended to business elsewhere. Upon her return, all involved had been made Tranquil or executed. 

It had not surprised her to discover the mousy girl was a part of the band, just as it never surprised Meredith when any mage revealed their true nature. But this one, Orsino had insisted on giving another chance. 

“You have already raided her room, you know the girl is innocent.” 

“She killed a templar, Orsino.” 

“Who had raised a sword to her, who just happened to be in the courtyard during the attack. She was not involved.” 

“Then the girl has no control over her magic.” 

“I will not let you make her Tranquil.”

“Then what do you expect me to do? She killed a Templar.” She emphasized every word. It cannot go unpunished.”

So there they stood. Time passed slowly, boredom threatening to hit but Meredith remained vigilant, watching how the mage’s limbs twitched until movement seized. A beat passed before the girl’s eyes opened, and she stood up calmly. She heard the First Enchanter sigh and walk towards the mage but a feeling of unease settled within Meredith. 

The hairs on the back of her neck raised as she locked eyes with the mage, and it did not take a moment longer for her to shout 

“Abomination!”

The creature was quick to target the first templar it could see, killing him with an unprecedented speed. Orsino would have been next had Meredith not shoved him aside, striking down the abomination with one precise swing of her sword. Corrupted blood spurted from the wound in its neck, before it fell to the ground dead. 

Meredith finished the job by beheading it. 

She thought back to those eyes, the corruption behind them. The eyes, she found, were always the biggest tell of a possession. It was as if the demon was the one looking in, and the girl had had the look of desire upon her. 

Desire was always a tricky demon to deal with. She had seen the great templars fall prey to their temptations. Her mentor had always warned against wanting, and though the order did not take vows of chastity, she wondered if it would almost be for the best. There had been enough templars making a mockery of their duties by seeking pleasures in the Blooming Rose. Templars had to have sharp minds, clear of such lusts and luxuries, if they were to fight the horrors of magic.

But small sparks could be stoked into strong flames in even the most ardent of the faith. The brief but striking gaze of Desire had left such an impression that an inferno grew within the templar, and in the midst of her wandering, thoughts of a certain apostate came to the forefront of her mind. 

When had they last spoken? She wasn’t sure, only that it might as well have been an eternity ago. Flashes of long nights, clothes on the floor, the same heat and hunger Meredith felt now finally being consumed. Thoughts guided her hand lower and lower, underneath her shirt, trying desperately and clumsily, to calm the flames within. Her fingers were calloused, rough, unsure of what to do when it came to herself. 

‘Lust is a sin, child. To want is to open yourself to demons.’ 

Years of lectures ringed in her ear as she rubbed at her miserable flesh. She had given enough confessions to last a lifetime over the impurities she had committed, but might as she try, as frustrating as it was, Meredith was simply a woman, one who had had a taste of the forbidden and who could scarcely sleep without it. 

It was a sin. But had not the Maker made her so? 

To you, My second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn An unquenchable flame All-consuming, and never satisfied. 

If the Maker had given them unsatisfying needs, why would it be a sin, then, to follow in her nature? 

The hand between her legs froze, and she was quick to pull it away. This was unbecoming of her. She would eventually stand up, and splash cold water on her face. 

She dared not tell the Grand Cleric of this, for it was far too blasphemous for holy ears. She would go on with her day, shoving unwanted feelings down to her feet where she could step them into nothingness. She prayed relentlessly, hours upon hours of her night, hoping that Andraste’s light would find her. 

And it wasn’t enough. Each night she ached, her lower abdomen tying itself in knots, her skin a hot furnace in spite of the cool air breezing in through the window. She hungered for something she would not name, and as much as she ignored it, she knew it would not go away until she had had a taste of it again. 

She penned a simple letter, sealed it tight, and waited for morning to come. She would soon feast again. 

.

The letter sat on Elizabeth’s desk for the entire week. Returning from Orlais had been tiring enough after the situation with the Duke, and the last thing she needed was to deal with whatever Meredith had planned this time. She kept telling herself she would read it the next day, over and over. 

Perhaps if she had read the letter, she would have rushed to answer it. Instead, when she returned home late at night, tired from a day of fighting, she quickly found her feet rooted on the ground, too surprised to move. 

“Ah, Champion” Meredith said from the top of the stairs, an eerie expression on her face. “How good of you to finally arrive.” 

Elizabeth turned to look at Bodahn. 

“I-I told her you weren’t home b-but she was very insistent and-”

She wasn’t sure what exactly made her run out the door and onto the streets of Hightown, but every nerve in her body told her to keep running. It didn’t take long for her to hear the sound of heavy footsteps following behind. 

She did not dare look. 

Her lungs burned as she kept running, trying her best to evade the templar where she could - taking shortcuts, entering dark alleys but nothing was enough to deter the commander.It was when Eliza thought she had finally gained an advantage that things only got worse. 

She was running down the stairs that would take her to Lowtown two steps at a time when she tripped, falling the rest of the way before hitting the ground. Her body ached, new bruises forming, lungs burning for hair and legs cramping. She groaned as she moved around, laying on her back, trying to prop herself up by the elbows. 

When she found a less painful position, she saw the templar at the top of the steps.

With her hood up and it being the middle of the night, Elizabeth could barely see her face, only blue, glittering eyes staring at her. Her breath came out shaky as she watched the templar take slow, steady strides towards her, Meredith’s shadow falling onto her and blocking the view of the moon. 

Her heart picked up its pace, a fallen deer waiting for the wolf to rip into its belly, teeth bare.

“Why run, apostate,” Meredith spoke, inching closer and closer, a hand wrapped around one of Eliza’s ankles “when you know I’ll catch you?” 

She stared at the templar, using what little upper body strength she had to lift her torso up, their faces close. She saw the templar’s lips part, as her eyes fell down and Elizabeth smirked as she placed both hands on Meredith’s shoulders. 

“Not going to happen.” 

.

It took longer than she would have liked to admit for Meredith to stand again, after being hit with the full force of the witch’s attack. In the span of a breath, she was sent flying backwards, giving enough time for the apostate to run. 

The fox could wear the guise of prey for as much as she wanted to, her cunning well known, but the wolf, too, had her wits about. Her nose was sharp, and the trail would be found, for the wolf hungered and she would not stop until she was satisfied. 

And foxes could run for only so long. 

. 

It felt almost ironic that an apostate should find refuge within a chantry, but everything in Elizabeth’s life was a big joke by the Maker at this point. 

If there was anyone else in the building, they likely would have heard the sound of her forcing the doors open and of her heaving breaths as she finally had a moment to rest. As it were, she seemed to be the only soul in place. 

A small blessing for the time being. 

Moonlight poured in through the windows. In this light, Andraste’s golden eyes felt less intimidating. There was no obnoxious chanting, no thousands of red candles lit, and for a moment, she felt less the crusader and more of the woman whose songs made a god weep. 

A woman who would not have shunned others, she thought, but one who welcomed all in her arms.

Peace did not reign for much longer as the heavy sounds of the chantry’s golden doors alerted Elizabeth that the chase was not yet done. 

Except this time, there was nowhere she could run to. It was time to face the wolf head on. 

“Champion.” Meredith’s voice thundered as the doors closed behind her. “You did not answer my summons.”

She opened her mouth to reply but there was no time, as in an instant, the templar was onto her. The Knight-Commander grabbed her waist, tilting her downwards, her other hand on Elizabeth’s face, holding her in place, as she devoured her mouth. Meredith’s kisses were always forceful, but this one was even more desperate. 

She felt heat rise to her neck, as the room grew stuffy. She tried to pull away, as she felt her lungs beg for air, but Meredith only tightened her grip, her tongue forcing more of its way in, turning any word of protest into a throaty moan. 

She held onto the templar’s arms for stability, as she felt herself getting lightheaded. When the kiss was finally broken,  Elizabeth gasped for air, and the red candles of the Chantry came to life, the heat of their fire similar to the one growing inside of her. 

Eliza looked at the templar through half lidded eyes. 

“Mer-”

She was cut off by Meredith holding her cheeks with one hand, squishing them, pulling her close and for a moment, she thought they would kiss again. 

Instead, the templar shoved her on the ground. 

“Hey!” She shouted as she fell on her backside, propping herself on her elbows. She would have further complained, if not for the look Meredith gave her. 

Her eyes were hard and focused, jaw tight, breath heavy. But it wasn’t anger that she had on her face. No, Meredith looked at her, standing as immoble as a statue, as if she was fighting an eternal battle. And when she fell slowly to her knees, that’s when Elizabeth knew Meredith had lost.

For a moment, she wondered if this was a dream. It surely felt like one and it wouldn’t be the first time she had unknowingly fallen into a too real dream. Instead of it being Meredith crawling towards her, it was a desire demon trying to mollify her into a pact. 

But she had faced demons-with-Meredith's-face before. She had had this dream before, but when she looked into the templar’s hungry eyes, she knew this was no dream. 

There was a shift in the air, as past memories passed through her. Memories she’d rather forget, debasing herself for men she did not care for, men who did not know her name, who did not see her, mouths pressed to places she would hide from unwanted eyes, and the feeling of cleanness, of innocence would never be hers again. 

This was not those times. 

Maferath was destined to betray his wife, just as the wolf was destined to eat the deer’s entrails. There would come the day when this Chantry would no longer exist, the day when Elizabeth would give Meredith scars to match hers, the day when this would be nothing more than a near-faded memory. 

But in the present moment, the dreaded Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, the bane of mages, the tyrant in the Free Marches, her enemy by birth, Ser Meredith Stannard was on her hands and knees because of her. For her. 

And she was hers. 

This time, she allowed the templar to grab her ankle and gently drag her towards her, just as she allowed Meredith to pry her legs apart to make way and to keep crawling until both of her hands rested to the sides of Elizabeth’s face, her blond her falling down like a curtain and in that moment, she was truly the most handsome woman Elizabeth had ever seen. 

There was much either of them could have said, but there was no need for words. When Elizabeth’s hands moved to untie her blouse, Meredith stopped her, taking the time to do the task herself, slowly - almost too slowly for her tastes -  untying ribbons and belts and undoing buttons. 

Looking at it now, the first time they had done so had felt wrong. Elizabeth had hastily removed her clothes, shutting down the embarrassment she had felt. The scars in her body, though healed, were still too fresh. No one, least of all the templar, was supposed to have seen them and yet, she had had little choice but to expose herself to the woman. Everything had been done too quickly, in a small study in the Gallows, as if they had no time to enjoy things. 

But here, in the house of the Maker, time was endless. And when the upper half of her body was finally free, she no longer felt ashamed. Meredith was the first, the last and would be the only to ever see Elizabeth so exposed, and when the templars looked at her abdomen, at her scars, at the parts of her that were missing, when Meredith traced a gloved finger down from her cheek, to her neck, to her sternum and finally to her abdomen, Elizabeth no longer felt the need to recoil. 

The templar might still wear her armor, while the apostate wore the clothes she was born with but they both knew, it was the warrior who was the most exposed of the two. 

Her pants and boots soon followed, and she had to believe Meredith dragged this on on purpose. Only the Maker knew how long it took until only her gloves, forever sacred, remained. Meredith sat back, still placed between Elizabeth’s legs, leaving the mage unable to close them, and stared at her soon to be work. 

Meredith only stared, and Elizabeth bit her tongue, stopping herself from rushing the other. Much as she wanted for anything to happen, she would not mind if this lasted longer. 

They would not have the time later, anyways. 

Many had looked at her naked form before, many who stood above her, towering and imposing and ready to jump. 

They had looked at her.

Meredith propped both of Eliza’s knees up, placing her hands on her thighs, almost squishing them under her grip.

They had had their way with her without knowing her name. 

The templar hesitated, taking a breath. 

Elizabeth expected fingers, or for Meredith to pull some strange contraption from her backpocket. Instead, she exhaled. 

“Eliza.” She murmured her name, so quietly, almost like a prayer. And when their eyes met, she knew. 

Meredith had seen her. 

. 

The Maker and His Bride would be the only spectators of this unholy act. A sin committed in Their house would surely make her soul wander the Void for eternity. 

But for any stain on her soul, it was the apostate who brought it so. And had not the apostate come to Kirkwall by the Maker’s will? The apostate had defended the faith, the city, and were the burns on her arm not a mark of Her favour? That this was all destined to be so? 

The magisters’ curse was Maker born, just as all things were. If there was want in her, it was He who made it so. 

She had bled for Him, she had denied herself for Him. She prayed to Her, to take these thoughts from her but they would not go away. It could only mean one thing. 

Meredith had starved long enough. She looked at the feast in front of her, glistening, the only to quench her thirst and calm her spirit. 

From the waters of the Fade you made the world.

She dipped her head. When Andraste and the Maker returned, all sins would be forgiven. 

. 

Elizabeth gasped in surprise at the feeling of Meredith’s hot breath on her intimate parts. She could sense the templar's unsureness. They had never…done this before, and she doubted Andraste’s golden eyes looking down on them were of much help. 

An unsure lick, followed by another and another before the templar stopped altogether, and neither knew exactly what to do. Elizabeth shifted, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes. This feeling, too, was new for her. 

A moment passed before the templar’s tongue was on her again, this time not with uncertain licks, but the whole mouth wrapping around her clit, sucking on it. Hotness shot up Elizabeth’s back, before Meredith gave it another suck. She continued slowly, until she found a steady rhythm, even allowing her tongue to be a participant once more and switching between sucking and licking. 

The flames of the red candles grew brighter, matching the growing heat in Elizabeth’s skin. She bit her lip, hands coming to her own hair as her breath grew shallower. Her legs began to shake, the grip on her thighs tightening just as the invisible knot within her grew tighter and tighter until- 

Nothing. 

She groaned in frustration at the ghost of Meredith’s mouth. She lifted her head to look at the templar. 

“You did not read my letter.” She said with a grin. “You will know now what I endured.” 

While still holding her gaze, Meredith grabbed one of her knees, placing it over her shoulder, as the other hand felt down where her mouth once was. She spread Elizabeth’s folds with her fingers, the action so delicate it gave her sparks of electricity. She brushed her middle finger up and down, gathering wetness before inserting it. 

The leather of the templar’s gloves were cold but familiar, and with her index and thumb, she pinched her clit, making Elizabeth gasp once more. She circled the bud, rolling, almost massaging it between both fingers, while also slowly working her middle one in and out of Elizabeth. 

Eliza’s brows furrowed upwards, blushing on her necks, cheeks and ears. No matter how composed she tried to be under the templar’s gaze, they both knew she would soon come undone. If she held on just enough, perhaps she could finish without the templar catching on.

But Meredith’s eyes saw too much, and when a smirk rose on her lips just at the right time, Elizabeth knew the night would be far from over. 

Her chest had been the next recipient, fingers pinching one nipple while a tongue attacked the other, switching back and forth. Elizabeth arched her back, head falling backwards, making eye contact with Andraste’s golden eyes. 

That the Bride was watching made Elizabeth even more excited. To know when morning came, and the faithful kneeled down before Her, She would be the only one to know what had transpired within these walls, their secret safe with Her. 

The templar took the opportunity to claim the sensitive spot on her neck, sucking on it until it bruised, and finally prying a loud moan from her. 

Instantly, Meredith’s fingers were on Elizabeth’s mouth, three of them pressing down on her tongue, thumb beneath her chin. She tasted herself on those gloves, and stopped the urge to bite and suck on those fingers. 

“Be quiet.” 

A simple command, one that had been repeated before. What if-

“I can see the defiance on your face, mage.” She said firmly, and another moan almost escaped Elizabeth. “If you cannot listen, I will leave you just as you left me. Do you understand?” 

She only blinked in response. 

“Do you understand, witch?” She said again, more pressing. 

Elizabeth nodded, still with the fingers in her mouth. 

Meredith smirked, her free hand finding a breast and continuing her ministrations, and Elizabeth had no doubt the templar was pleased to see her struggle against moaning. 

The night continued on like this, her standing on the precipice but always being held back before she could jump. Her body ached for the fall, but the templar only continued her torment. 

Sweat covered her body, her hair a mess, circles of purple and marks of teeth were worn like a necklace, and instead of fingers, it was Elizabeth’s own glove that stuffed her mouth, not allowing a sound through. Meredith’s mouth had graced every inch of her before returning to its initial position.

It was in those conditions that finally, Elizabeth jumped. Again and again, until her eyes watered, as Meredith had not stopped, coming down on her again and again and again, a woman starved, eating as if this meal would be her last. She spat out her glove, allowing the Maker’s Bride to hear her, an apostate’s prayer. 

When the templar had had enough, she let go and the candles all suddenly died just as Elizabeth collapsed back onto the floor, eyes closed and exhausted. 

. 

She stood on aching knees, joints hurting for spending too much time down, reminding her of her age, but she did not regret it. 

Moonlight shone down on the mage, her body glowing under it. She appreciated the view for a moment, savouring it in her mind for as long as she could, before the time bid she’d get to work. 

She was just as meticulous dressing the mage as she had been undressing her. It was the least she could, now that her stomach was satisfied, filled with sweet ambrosia. Every inch of cloth hid this secret, sacred meeting.

The mage’s heavy sleeping would never fail to impress Meredith, as she had not even moved the whole time she worked. It was almost concerning that she did not rouse. Maker knew what could happen were Meredith anyone else, someone less careful. 

Perhaps it spoke of the trust the mage placed in her. 

Regardless, once she was fully covered, Meredith placed one arm beneath her knees and the other supported her back as she lifted Elizabeth up, her head rolling backwards. 

She turned towards Andraste, bowing her head to the Bride. 

At last did the Maker From the living world Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. 

She looked at her mage, in her arms, and with one final nod to the statue, she walked away. 

By your will All things are done.

.

It began as it always did. The topic of their conversation was long forgotten, and she scarcely remembered who started it this time, but not too long after Elizabeth entered the templar’s study, the two found themselves kissing each other against her desk. Elizabeth’s hands on her hair and neck, her standing on her tip toes as Meredith’s hands roamed her body. 

Eventually, her hands found themselves on Elizabeth’s belt, unbuckling it. Her pants fell to her feet and soon, the hand traveled to her jacket, repeating the process of undoing its buckles and buttons. 

“Meredith…” she half moaned in protest. “It’s the middle of the day. What if someone walks in?” 

“My men know better than to enter without knocking.” The Knight-Commander said, as she proceeded to remove her jacket. “It will be quick.” 

Soon, Elizabeth was naked, save for boots and gloves, her clothing laying discarded on the floor.

“You said that last time and-” Meredith claimed her mouth again, as her gloved fingers entered her. 

She groaned at the sudden intrusion, though she half expected it. They had done this little dance many a time before. Meredith continued to kiss her, another hand cupping her breast as her fingers worked inside her. 

Elizabeth panted as the templar’s mouth went southwards, teeth grazing against her skin, almost biting as she left a trail of wet kisses, until she found the sweet spot between her neck and her shoulder and began to suck.

She felt herself melting under the Knight-Commander’s ministrations, sweat beginning to form on her forehead as her heart beat faster. She gasped as Meredith sucked her skin until she had to bite her lip to avoid a moan from escaping. 

Too soon, she felt on fire as she neared her peak. Before she could finish, however, the templar stopped, letting go of her neck and removing her fingers, wiping them on Elizabeth’s thigh before leaning back.

Elizabeth looked at her, breathing rapidly, confused and wanting. When she tried to reach a hand downwards and finish the job herself, Meredith was quick to grab her wrist. 

“Wait.” She said, before walking away. Elizabeth leaned against her desk as her breathing slowed down. She rubbed her legs together as she heard the sound of a key entering a lock, a drawer being opened and something being retrieved. 

Elizabeth heard Meredith make a weird sound, followed by the noise of things snapping into place.

“What in the Maker’s name is taking so long?”

She began to turn around, to see what Meredith was up to. However, before she could fully turn, she said “Don’t. Move.” She commanded. “And close your eyes.” 

Elizabeth gulped but did as told. She wouldn’t disobey Meredith in this state, not when there was still something she wanted. Besides, they were inside the Gallows - she always feared what disobeying Meredith there could mean. 

And so, Elizabeth stayed put, with her head down and eyes closed, wetness between her legs, and a warm fire in the pit of her stomach as she waited. 

Her heart picked up its pace as she listened to Meredith’s heavy steps approaching her. The armor she wore allowed for no secrecy. Gloved hands grabbed her shoulders, turning her around, lowering her until her chest and cheek was pressed against the wooden desk. She gripped her hip. 

Elizabeth gasped, as she felt something enter her again. She knew the Commander’s fingers too well to know it wasn’t those. 

It was something big, oddly shaped and with a strange hardness to it. Only the tip - which was strangely pointy and sharp - had made it in and Elizabeth began to feel weak, confused and slightly ill. Her skin buzzed with magic but she could hardly conjure anything. 

She held on to the desk as if her life depended on it. Her vision doubled and her legs trembled as more of it entered her, until she felt Meredith’s armored legs meet her behind, and whatever object she had inserted in her was fully in. 

Elizabeth panted once more. She felt awkward with the unmoving templar between her legs, her head continuing to spin. She felt full, too full, and yet at the same time, she craved more of it. She had a sudden need, like an itch. The fire in her stomach grew and she desperately needed to move. She wiggled her hips, trying to create friction, but got nothing in return. 

“Meredith…” frustrated, she breathed out “Won’t you please move?” 

And yet the templar remained put. It was then that she realized the heat emanating from the object inside her. She shivered at the feeling, as she swore she could feel it pulsating. Her need only grew, and she pulled herself up by her elbows, her arms shaking as they supported her. She tried to shove back, move, anything for that feeling to be fulfilled.

Meredith’s earlier words crossed her mind. “If this is your definition of quick, I’m afraid of what slow is.” 

A hand was placed on her back. “Patience is a virtue.” Meredith half whispered her reprimand. “One you have none of, apostate.” She sneered.  

Elizabeth felt a need to lash at her, to scream and throw a fireball in her face, but she was reminded of their situation. She was a mage, inside a building full of templars, with the Knight-Commander deep inside her. 

The mental image of various templars entering the room upon hearing her screams, and Meredith’s angry look on her face were enough to dissuade her. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. ‘It will be quick’ she should have known it was bullshit, just as the last time. She was hit with another bout of weakness, and her arms almost gave out. She found herself growing mad and agitated, and she almost prayed for another templar to suddenly barge in and end her torment. 

“By the Maker, Meredith, will you-” 

In a flash, Meredith removed herself from her, grabbing Elizabeth, turning her around and throwing her roughly over the desk. 

In that brief moment, Elizabeth could see that in between Meredith’s legs, held together by leather straps wrapped around her thighs and waist over her armor, was a bright red, phallic shaped object. 

Before she could say anything, the Knight-Commander grabbed one of her legs, holding it near her shoulder, spreading her open before she thrusted the object inside of her again. 

Her free hand flew to Elizabeth’s jaw, holding her face towards her as she leaned down “You talk too much. One day, I ought to muzzle you.” 

She held her neck as she continued to thrust, each time stronger and faster than before, her pace unrelenting. Elizabeth shivered once again, both from the heat inside of her and from Meredith’s cold armor on her naked skin. 

Elizabeth found herself voiceless, both from the pressure around her neck and from how overwhelmed she felt. She could barely think straight, only feel - the hot, the cold, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter, the feeling of the wood scratching her back, of Meredith’s laboured breath on her ear, the idea that anyone could simply walk in and see the two like this…it was all too much. Soon, she approached her end. 

Her toes curled, her back arched as much as she could and she felt breathless as the grip on her throat tightened, squeezing out any potential moans. She closed her eyes as she reached her peak, the itch inside of her, her want and need finally satisfied as she began to relax and fall back.

Meredith stopped moving, staying on top of her for a moment as both caught their breath. She looked at the templar’s face, her forehead covered in sweat, her face red and her blond hair disheveled underneath the red hood she wore. 

Finally, Meredith let go of her, walking back and removing the object from inside her. Soon, she undid the contraption from her legs, walking out of Elizabeth’s sight. 

Her mind felt clearer now that they were done and soon, though with great effort, she sat on the desk before carefully putting her feet on the ground. She stood on shaky legs, bending over to pick up her discarded clothing. 

She had expected Meredith to leave, as she often did once they were done. This time, however, she helped Elizabeth dress herself. She didn’t look at her as Meredith pulled her pants up, and buckled each belt of her jacket with precision. 

Once she was fully dressed, the templar nodded and took a seat, as Elizabeth stood there. 

“Thank you for your assistance, Champion.” She said, voice firm as if nothing had happened. “I bid you good day.” 

Elizabeth took that as her cue to leave, bowing her head slightly before making her way towards the door, slowly exiting the room. When she passed the other templars in the hallway, she raised her head high, pretending it was just another normal day, as she made her way back home.

.

Meredith had watched the two from her study. 

She was standing in front of the window that looked out into the Gallows courtyard. From her position, she could see everything - the Tranquil selling their products, Templar recruits huddled together in conversation, people arriving in from the docks. She remembered the days where she only watched as Ferelden refugees tried to buy their way into the city, none of them interesting enough to grab her attention. 

Much had changed since then. 

She watched as the Champion grabbed a man’s hand to help her exit the boat, smiling as she did so. There was a blond man behind her, the Darktown apostate. For years, he had hid in the lower parts of the city, avoiding the templar’s eyes. She would have been rid of him long ago, even before the Champion started to protect him, if it wasn’t for the fact that Meredith knew the people would revolt if their healer was taken away. 

Still, she clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes at the sight of the two of them talking. Unknowingly, her hand turned into a fist as she saw the way the Champion touched his shoulder, or the way she seemed to laugh at something that was said. 

She had heard her fair share of rumors about Hawke. The line of suitors at her door, the ones who had claimed to have shared the bed with her, and many, many other stories of that nature. She ignored them. Ill sayings that could not be true. 

But now she wondered if there was any validity to those claims. Apostates were known for the alluring nature, like that of most mages. 

When Meredith caught her reflection in the window’s glass - the frown on her face, the hardness in her eyes - she shook her head, walking away from it. She put a hand on her desk, rubbing her forehead with the other. 

Bouts of jealousy were unbecoming of a Templar. 

It was not jealousy, she told herself immediately. Two apostates intermingling was cause for concern. And as Knight-Commander, was it not her responsibility to keep a close eye on a mage as influential as the Champion?

But there were still areas in which the Champion evaded her. Given the secretive nature of their relationship, Meredith did not have access to her at all times. There were things the apostate could keep from her due to their distance. 

Were she anyone else, Meredith would have brought her into the circle a long time ago. But as the Champion, it would be impossible to do so, especially now. 

Her eyes returned to the window, watching closely as the apostates said their goodbyes and the Champion walked the steps to enter the Gallows. 

She let the matter rest. There were many more things that required Meredith’s attention, but her mind kept returning to the same topic. 

We are Templars, Ser Wentworth used to say. It is our sacred duty to protect people from mages, and protect mages from their own magic. 

But how Meredith could so?

. 

That night, Meredith slept alone in her bed, the first time in many years, as the Champion had grown to sharing a bed with her most days. 

That night, Meredith’s dreams were covered in red. 

The sky above her was no longer blue, but as red as the blood staining her hands. Demons lay dead beneath her feet, cut open by her sword. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw mages fighting a futile fight against demons, before succumbing to them, twisting, bones breaking and reforming into an abomination. There were no templars in sight, only her. 

She ran towards the fight, bringing down any demon, abomination or mage that came in her way. 

A world without templars, without order, leads to this, she thought. Death and destruction. Flashes of her sister’s tragedy passed through her mind as she continued her path. 

Once, before she took her vows, she made a promise to herself. What happened to her sister, to their family, would never happen to anyone else so long as Meredith breathed, even if she had to lock up every mage in town. 

The Circle and the Templars existed for this very reason. 

But you have broken your vow, have you not?

A horrified shriek stopped Meredith in her tracks. She turned around, trying to find the source of the sound, until her eyes landed on her. 

She saw Elizabeth. When Meredith tried to run, hands grabbed her feet, sticking her in place. She watched, hopelessly, as Elizabeth fought demon after demon, until a wave of abominations rushed at her, claws grabbing, gripping, scratching and ripping at her until she became one of them. 

The Templar’s chest hurt, ribs constricting against her lungs, her throat closing, unable to breathe, as her apostate joined in on the carnage. 

Meredith felt the ground beneath her fall apart, as the hands holding her feet brought her down. She tried clinging into whatever she could but they were much stronger than her. She sank lower and lower, closing her eyes and bracing for the worst. 

When she opened them again, she found herself in a Chantry, breathing heavily. It was different then the one in Kirkwall. The building was massive, made of pristine white bricks, its windows made of stained glass panels depicting Andraste’s story. A massive, golden statue of the Bride stared down at her. 

A sense of ease washed over her, but Meredith remained vigilant. Had the demons dragged her here? 

With Certainty in hand, she slowly walked. The light pouring in from the windows was tinted red. Meredith thought she was alone, until she saw a figure at the other end of the Chantry, in front of the Bride’s statue. 

She walked towards it. The figure was dressed in a light pink dress, a headdress in the shape of butterfly wings of the same color on its head, brown hair coming down on its back. 

The grip on her sword tightened as she got closer and closer. 

She stood behind this figure, breathing, waiting. It turned around, facing her, revealing the face of Elizabeth. She smiled, saying “Ah, my love. I almost thought you wouldn’t come.” 

Meredith’s breath was stuck in her throat. “How…”

“I’m sure you have questions.” Elizabeth spoke, her lips stained red. “Come.” She reached a gloved hand to Meredith. “Follow me. All will make sense soon.” 

All of her instincts told her it was another demon, trying to play tricks with her. And yet, looking at Elizabeth’s face, Meredith took her hand, letting her guide her. 

“You worry too much.” She said, as they walked hand in hand. “Demons, abominations, maleficarum…the city will always be this way. There is nothing you can do about it.” 

Meredith frowned. She did, at times, wonder if Kirkwall was beyond saving, but it could not be true. “We must still try.” 

A chuckle. “I admire your optimism, futile as it is. But that is not the only thing that worries you, is it?” She stopped, letting go of Meredith’s hand to circle around her as she spoke. “You look at every mage, the ones under your charge, and you wonder…when will they turn into your sister.” She stopped in front of her. “Do you think that of me as well?” 

Yes. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Meredith. I know you.” 

Whatever this creature was, it was not the woman Meredith knew. A demon, she figured. Her training told her to kill it already, but looking at its face, she found herself unable to. 

Instead, she grabbed its arm before it could walk behind her again. “Enough of this trickery, demon.” 

“You wound me with those words, my love.”

“Do not call me that.” 

She smirked. “But is that not what you are, my love?” She freed herself from Meredith’s grip, placing her hands on her shoulders. “But despite your harsh words, I forgive you.” She got closer and closer as she spoke, standing on the tip of her toes to whisper in her ear “After all, aren’t I your wife?” 

. 

Meredith opened her eyes abruptly and slowly sat on her bed. She reached for her sword, grabbing it in the dark with an old familiarity that did not require much thinking, and placed it in her lap. 

Demons plagued her dreams once more, the heaviness of Certainty being her only comfort during a lonely night. The red glow of lyrium filled the darkness of the room. 

Her thoughts drifted to the mage. Elizabeth was not part of the Circle. Kirkwall was a dangerous city. The Veil was thin, leaving mages open to possession. Ill-intended men roamed the streets. The Circle was the safest place in the city, as she viewed it. 

She could not bring Elizabeth into the Circle. Though she would be closer, safer, the Chantry oversaw all. Circle mages belonged to the Chantry, after all. She would no longer be hers. 

Then how, Meredith wondered. She looked at her sword again, flashes from her dream returning to her. The demons, the blood, the death, the Chantry. Her. The not-her speaking to Meredith.  

It disturbed Meredith. A demon, wearing the face of someone she…

She shook her head, not allowing the thought to finish. But what disturbed her most was what it had said at the very end, before Meredith awoke from her torment. 

‘Wife.’ 

The word echoed in her head. 

She shook her head, but the sentence kept echoing in her mind, until an idea formed. The thought was ludicrous, impossible, but the more Meredith tried to ignore it, the more it took root in her mind. 

When morning finally rose, she had an answer to her worries. 

. 

The sun had come up and down and once again, Elizabeth found herself inside the Gallows. 

The night before had been a relief. A night on her own bed, without worrying about leaving before the sun rose. 

Still, she had felt shame at how she missed the feeling of someone beside her, touching her. She felt an even bigger bout of shame when she realized she had missed the feeling of Meredith. 

It had also been the first night in many years that Elizabeth stayed in her own dreams, allowing the Knight-Commander one night alone with hers. It felt almost weird, to dream of Lothering, of walking in Ferelden, keeping to her own instead of using her powers to guarantee good dreams for someone else. 

Seeing her life before the Blight had been painful. Worst of all, it made her wish she hadn’t left the templar. 

Elizabeth shook her head, trying to drive these thoughts from her head. She was sitting on Meredith’s bed, waiting for the templar to return from whatever she had to do outside. 

It was weird. This…thing they had, going on over three years now. Meredith’s bed felt as familiar as her own bed, much to her dismay. Every corner of this room was memorized in her mind against her will. 

Inside Elizabeth’s blouse, she wore a necklace. A thin golden chain holding a circular golden pendant, Andraste’s image imprinted on it, right above her chest. A gift from Meredith. It had been so long, she did not even remember why she had given it to her, only that she wore it underneath her blouse, where no one could see it, every day since. 

Another source of shame. She could not stop wearing it, even if it had to remain concealed. She didn’t understand why she was so attached to the bloody thing, only that she almost felt naked without it. 

At the sound of the door opening, thoughts vanished from her head as she saw Meredith entering the room. She wore the same armour she always wore, and once she heard door lock, Elizabeth sprung into action.

They had done this routine before. She stood up, walking up to Meredith and began, slowly, unbuckling her armour. She removed the metal around her arms, and shoulders, and chest, until reaching the first layer of her clothing, and unlacing everything, placing it carefully on the floor until the Templar was naked, all done in silence.

The two kissed, and Meredith began undressing Elizabeth, though with much more hurry and less gentleness. She was stripped bare, the only thing left in her being the necklace. 

Hands roaming each other, wet mouths on necks, sucking and kissing and pulling skin between teeth, legs moving without thought until they both fell on the bed, the templar on top of her. 

For a moment, they stared at each other. She felt Meredith’s gaze fall from her face to the pendant, staying there for a moment before raising to Elizabeth’s eyes again. 

Then, a question. 

No. A command. 

“Marry me.” 

Elizabeth frowned, surprised, confused. Surely, she was dreaming. 

A kiss on her neck told her she was, in fact, awake. A harsh whisper in her ear. “Marry me.” 

Trying to pull away, she said “What in the Maker’s name are you talking about?” 

Meredith grabbed her wrists, holding besides her head, caging her in. “You would be safer here.” 

“In the Gallows?” 

“By my side.” 

“Meredith.” She said, frustrated. “I am in your bed. Is that not enough?” She tried appealing to her senses. 

That seemed to give the Templar pause. 

Elizabeth continued, unwilling to give her a chance to reply. “Besides, I am an apostate. If I were to agree, I doubt that the Chantry would allow this union.” 

She watched as Meredith thought the matter over. “I could speak with the Grand Cleric.” 

Maker, tell me she is not serious about this.

“Speak with her all you want, I still don’t think they would allow it. You’re the Knight-Commander, Meredith. Think about what this would mean.” 

An apostate and a Knight-Commander. The disgrace it would bring to the order was the very reason the two remained a secret, never seen together in public, rarely speaking of the other, their affair resumed to the simple four walls of Meredith’s room.

Besides, the idea of any of her companions learning of this brought enough shame to keep Elizabeth’s lips sealed until she reached her grave. 

There was a pause. Meredith brought her left wrist to her mouth, placing a delicate kiss to the scars on her skin. All Elizabeth could hear was the hammering of her heart against her chest. 

“If…Elthina permitted it so…would you agree to it, then?” 

Elizabeth mulled over her next words. Whatever had gotten over Meredith was not leaving soon, she figured. She needed to be careful. 

The Grand Cleric would never agree to this. Elizabeth felt a safety in that thought. An apostate and a Knight-Commander would marr the Chantry’s image. This would never come to pass. 

It was just one night of madness. 

With a sigh, and in an attempt to mollify the Templar above her, she said, with the ghost of a smile on her face “Of course.”

. 

.

.

A strange request had made its way to Justinia’s desk.

A letter arrived, all the way from Kirkwall, with the Knight-Commander’s seal in it. The contents of it were brief, yet the words carried too much weight. 

It was not the first time a Templar had asked her permission for marriage. But it had been the first time the other party involved was an apostate. 

By all means, Justinia would have declined the request immediately. However, the current climate in Kirkwall was…disturbing. The Seekers were slow with their reports, but whispers always found the Divine’s ears. 

Stories that Meredith was a tyrant, the Gallows a prison, the people feeling unsafe. Stories of the Champion’s rise in popularity, a beacon of hope in a dark time. 

Stories, she too heard, that there could be enough support to elect the Champion as Viscount. 

An apostate in control of a whole city-estate. The thought alone made her squirm in her seat. 

Justinia tapped her fingers on her desk, as she contemplated. She was aware that the Templars had become unpopular in Kirkwall. Having the support of a figure like the Champion would remind the people of the Order’s necessity. After all, the Templars represented the Chantry just as much as Justinia herself did. 

Perhaps this union could solve their issues. Meredith could occupy herself with a partner, and the apostate’s influence would be shifted towards the Chantry. 

She penned her response, calling on Leliana. 

“I need this delivered to Kirkwall.” She gave her the letter, giving her time to read it. “And I ask that you ensure everything goes smoothly.” 

The Nightingale nodded. “Of course, Most Holy.” 

. 

Knight-Commander Meredith, 

We have received your letter, and upon consideration, we will accept your request and bless your union. 

We shall help in whatever way you need. 

Divine Justinia v

Dread filled Elizabeth’s stomach as she read the letter in her hand over and over. She fixated on the name that signed the letter. 

The Divine. The Divine knew about them. And worse, she had given them permission to marry. 

She waited for the moment where she would wake up, but it never came. She swallowed on nothing as she looked up at Meredith. 

This cannot be real, she told herself. The Chantry wouldn’t allow it, just as it had not allowed her parents to live a normal life. 

But here was the Divine’s seal, permitting it so. 

She looked at Meredith, who only stood there, an unreadable look on her face as she waited for Elizabeth’s reaction. 

She took a deep breath, though it helped little. She wanted to run. Or to jump out the window. Get on the first boat she found docked and go back to her homeland. She wanted to find the Divine and do unspeakable things to the woman. She wanted to cry. She wanted to disappear. She wanted all this to be a terrible nightmare. She wanted to wake up, and see her Father sitting on her bed, calming her. She wanted her Mother to hold her and tell her it would be alright. 

But in life, apostates rarely got what they wanted. 

She felt at a loss of words, as the ground beneath her seemed to disappear. Closing her eyes, she found herself in the arms of the woman who would be her destruction, as she was all she had at the moment. 

. 

.

.

Elizabeth walked in the Chantry, the Grand Cleric beside her. They paced around slowly, as they spoke. She had arrived early in the morning, wanting to get this done as soon as possible. 

Meredith had already told Elthina everything that needed to be said. 

“I must admit that I was surprised, but it is not my place to question the Most Holy.” She said. 

“You’re not the only one.” She breathed out. 

“I must ask, however.” Elthina stopped to look at her. “Are you in agreement with it?” 

No, she wanted to say. Of course she wasn’t. In the past two weeks, it was all she had wanted to say. 

But it would anger Meredith, and she had no wish to be on the other side of her anger again. Besides, with the Divine involved, she feared what the repercussions could be. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She gave her a less than reassuring smile. 

“I know Meredith. She can be…a strong force of character, hard to decline. But I wonder, wouldn’t this put your family in jeopardy?” 

“How so?” 

“You are the Amell heir. If you and Meredith marry, you wouldn’t be able to produce a child to pass your titles and fortunes to. The estate would be lost again.” 

Elizabeth took a deep breath as she stepped closer. Her only way out of this arrangement had been ripped from her body years ago, leaving a large scar in its place. 

“I understand your concern, Grand Cleric. But,” she whispered “I am unable to have children, as is. At least this way I get to have a family again.” 

It hurt her to call Meredith ‘family.’ But most of her family were ashes in the wind.  

Elthina looked at her for a moment, giving her a hard stare, as if trying to find the lie beneath her words. A moment passed before she gave her a nod, resuming their walk. “Very well, then. There are a few things we must discuss.” 

The rest of the conversation had gone Elizabeth by. She would have to be dedicated into the Chantry and that needed to be arranged quickly. They needed to pick a date for the actual wedding but that could be done later, perhaps when Meredith was available to discuss it. Elthina told her about what traditions would be involved in the wedding but she barely paid attention to it. 

Once free, Elizabeth spent the rest of her day inside her room, thinking about the future. She still believed, at any moment, she would wake up and once again discover it was just another terrible dream. When she was young, before she learned she was a Dreamer, she struggled to differentiate reality from what she saw and experienced in the Fade, often mixing the two.

But this time, her nightmare had no end. 

There was still time, she told herself. Maybe something would happen and this wedding would never take place. She had to hold on to that, somehow, to that hope. 

All she had was hope. 

. 

.

.

In the months leading up to the wedding, Elizabeth had found herself busier than she wished to be. Originally, the plan was for a small ceremony. Just her, Meredith, a cleric and maybe a few witnesses on the Hawke Estate. The less people that knew, the better. Perhaps this way, she could even pretend nothing had passed between the two, that their relationship remained of secret lovers and not of spouses. 

Her idea had been quickly overturned once she discovered the Divine was more invested in this ceremony then she had been previously led to believe. 

She had been summoned to the Gallows, the messenger not telling her much besides that her presence had been requested at once. She believed it was another meeting along with Meredith, to speak of arrangements. 

Once she walked into her study, however, she found another person inside. 

A woman with short red hair and blue eyes turned to look at her, offering her a small smile. 

Elizabeth frowned, as she recognized her from a distant past. “Aren’t you that lay Sister from Lothering?” 

“You know each other?” Meredith asked sharply, crossing her arms. 

“Ah, Lothering.” The Sister said in a wistful tone. “I remember your siblings, but I don’t think we met. I am Leliana.” 

“Elizabeth.” She said, nodding her head in acknowledgement, trying to remove the frown from her face. Unconsciously, she moved closer to Meredith before saying “I doubt you’re here to speak about Ferelden.”

She chuckled. “Indeed. I was sent here by the Most Holy to speak about your wedding.” 

Elizabeth raised a brow, opening her mouth to speak but Meredith beat her to it. “Why would the Divine send you? She has already agreed to it.” 

“Yes, and Her Perfection has a certain…interest in this ceremony.” 

“How so?” Elizabeth asked, suspicious. 

The Sister straightened her back as she spoke, pacing lightly across the room. “It is not often that a Knight-Commander gets married. That alone would be cause for celebration.” She turned to look at her. “And you are the Champion of Kirkwall. A union as powerful as this shouldn’t be so private.” 

Elizabeth did not like the sound of where this was going. 

“Kirkwall has been going through very difficult times, as you two well know. Something like this could bring some joy to people, distract them from the harshness of the world.” 

Orlesians, her father had once said to her. They always find a way to turn everything into a party. 

A spectacle, she thought. A spectacle to try and pretend that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. 

“So you want this to be what? Some big, public event?” Elizabeth said harshly, ignoring the glare Meredith gave her. 

“Me? No. But it is what the Divine thinks is best. I am only her messenger.” 

Elizabeth crossed her arms, and looked at Meredith, hoping the templar would agree that this was nonsense. They had both agreed to keep this as small and quiet as possible, involving as little people as they possibly could. 

We don’t need anyone but ourselves, she had whispered to Meredith, getting her to follow her plans. This is about us, not them.  

Instead, she heard “If it is the Divine’s will…then it shall be done.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked Meredith. “I thought we agreed to-”

“The Divine’s word is law, and it is our duty to abide by it.” Was Meredith’s reply, leaving no room for argumentation. 

Elizabeth took a deep breath. 

Apostates rarely get what they want in life, she reminded herself. 

Maybe not all was lost. They still had a date to pick. Most of her friends did not attend the Chantry, and the ones who did…well, she would find a way to evade them. ´Perhaps she could keep this secret close to her chest for longer. 

“Alright.” She said, lifting her head up. “What else does the Divine want?” 

Leliana gave her a smile. “Her Holiness has high hopes for this wedding. She has asked me to give you the contacts of a few people who could be of help with arrangements.” She reached into a pocket of her robes, handing Meredith a folded paper. The templar looked at it briefly before giving it to Elizabeth. 

As she looked at the paper, seeing a list of names, the Sister continued “She also asks that you not worry about much. We will ensure everything goes well.” 

Great, Elizabeth thought. More Chantry people ordering her around. At the very least, she hoped this would mean her spending less of her own fortunes to fund this. 

With no mood to keep the conversation going, she excused herself, quickly returning to her home. 

She looked over the list again, the names in it and their work. A few florists, cooks and bakers. People who would make a wedding happen. 

She gave herself a moment to breathe, not wanting to lose her already thinning patience. The more she looked at the paper, the more…real everything became, her hopes being slowly squashed by the ever looming shadow the Chantry cast over her life. 

No, she thought to herself. You cannot let them win. She would find a way around this. She always did. 

. 

The next several weeks had gone by in a flash. Elizabeth had heard back from most of the people on the list, even receiving a visit from a few. 

The dread in her being grew with every agreement that was made. 

The Divine had kept to her word, apparently. Both the florist and the baker had turned down payment, claiming the Chantry had already organized it so. The feeling that decisions were being made without her knowledge only got worse, but she had no choice but to accept it. 

At least it's not our funds.

In the middle of her day, there was a knock on the door, loud enough to drive her out of her room. Far as Elizabeth knew, she had no meetings scheduled. From the top of her stairs, she nodded to Bodhann, letting him open the door to her mysterious guests. 

A well dressed woman, wearing a hat and a mask, followed by three other women - all wearing the same mask - entered her home. The four of them bowed as they saw her. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my Lady.” The woman spoke in an Orlesian accent, as Elizabeth slowly walked down the stairs to greet her. “I am Madame Adeline Bayard, the best dressmaker you’ll find on this part of the continent. These are my assistants.” 

“Elizabeth Hawke, as you seem to already know.” She greeted her, knowing her mother would have been disappointed otherwise. 

Adeline Bayard. She did not remember that name on the list, nor of any dressmakers, in fact. 

“Forgive me for asking, but how did you find me?” 

“Sister Leliana told me of your upcoming nuptials. The Chantry wants only the best, so they sent me your way.” 

Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to hold off on the anger she felt. Once again, things being done without her knowledge, At the same instant, the fire behind them roared to life, causing the Orlesians to jump. 

“Where are my manners?” Elizabeth said in a light tone, distracting them. “Come, we can speak in the library.” 

They followed her inside, the three assistants taking a seat on the chaise lounge, while Elizabeth and Adeline sat across each other on a small table. 

“Well.” Elizabeth began, as she made herself comfortable on her chair. “What do you wish to discuss?” 

“Straight to business. I like that.” She snapped her fingers, and one of her assistants sprung to life, opening a valise Elizabeth had only now noticed and retrieving a few papers from it, and a pencil. “I only need one thing from you, my Lady. Your measurements.” 

“Will that be all?” 

“Yes, my Lady. Once I take your measures, we will be working on your dress right away.” 

Elizabeth tilted her head, confused. “Already? But shouldn’t we discuss-” 

“Sh, sh, sh, there is nothing to discuss.” Elizabeth felt her eye twitch at the woman’s tone. “Everything has already been planned and picked out, you mustn’t worry yourself, my dear. Girls.” She snapped her finger three times, and all of her faceless assistants stood up, taking out measuring tapes, pins and strips of fabric from the valise, as Adeline stood up. “If you please, my Lady, this musn’t take long and-”

“Do I have no say in what I am to wear to my own wedding?” Elizabeth cut her off, making all four women stop in their tracks. Slowly, she stood up as well, the candles lighting the library suddenly shining brighter. “Am I supposed to just accept whatever you bring me? What if it’s not to my taste? This won’t do.” 

For a moment, nobody moved. Elizabeth had more to say, more to grieve but as the flames got dangerously high, she decided to keep it in. 

Adeline only chuckled. “Ah, Fereldens and their tempers. The dressmaker walked towards her, slowly. “You think an apostate would have known by now that we all have little say in our own lives, my dear. You should be grateful that so many are willing to help you.” 

She was close enough to wrap a strand of her hair around her finger. “Do you know how many brides I meet that are ripping their hair from stress? Meanwhile, you sit here, being attended by the best and complaining of having no say.” 

Elizabeth closed her eyes. It was not the first time she heard something of the sort. Growing up, she remembered men in small towns, grumbling how mages got to live in cushy towers and have the best education while they slaved away. 

Elizabeth remembered the haunted look in her father’s eyes whenever he spoke of the Circle. The stories she heard in the Gallows. Anders had never been shy to tell her how lucky she had been to not have to endure a life locked away.

The life of an apostate was not easier. Living on the run, never an ounce of stability, afraid that if you said the wrong thing, that if you felt too much, people would learn the truth. 

Kirkwall was a shithole. But it had been in the city estate that she, for the first time in many years, felt her feet were on solid ground. In it, she had found something akin to freedom. 

Now, she felt that freedom slipping from her fingers. 

“Besides,” Adeline spoke slowly, letting go of her hair. “It would be a shame if I had to tell the Divine how uncooperative you were. Or your bride to be.” 

Humiliated, she felt her heart drop to the stomach, a sense of injustice clawing beneath her skin. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, how easy it was for anyone to be able to do that. To end her freedom with a simple choice of words to the worst people. 

She held back a tear, trying to keep herself together. The faster you get this over with, the faster this woman will leave your home, Elizabeth thought to herself. 

She gulped down her feelings, as her father had taught her, plastering on a fake smile. “Where do you want me to stand?” 

. 

.

.

Elizabeth had been dedicated into the Chantry in a private ceremony, attended only by herself, Meredith, a few Sisters and officialized by Elthina. Her mother had wanted to do so to her and her siblings, but her father had spoken against it

She hoped, wherever her mother was, that she was happy to see it happen. She ignore the image of her father’s disappointed face that crossed her mind. 

Once the ceremony was done, Elizabeth headed home. It was late, and she needed the night’s rest, despite Meredith protesting otherwise. 

I need a moment alone. 

But instead of privacy, Elizabeth was met with the faces of all her friends. Varric, Aveline, Fenris, Anders, Merrill, Isabela and Sebastian all stood in a circle, speaking rapidly, turning around to face her once she entered. 

It did not take long for her to figure out why they were there. In an instant, they all began talking over one another, asking question after question, angry and worried voices drowning one another. 

“Stop, all of you!” She shouted, silencing them all. “One at a time, please.” 

They all looked at each other, trying to decide who would speak next. Finally, Fenris broke the silence. “Is it true?” 

“What is true, Fenris?” She asked, though she already knew the answer. 

“That you’re to marry the Knight-Commander.” Aveline said. “We just heard it being announced.” 

At the start of each month, a Brother would stand outside the Chantry, announcing all public events to be held during that time period. 

Her wedding, apparently, had been included on the list. 

She crossed her arms, bracing herself. “It is true.” She spoke plainly. “We are to be wed in a few weeks.”

“Why did you keep this from us, Hawke?” Merrill asked. Elizabeth couldn’t stand to look at the hurt expression on her face. 

“How could I even begin to explain that to any of you? Was I to stroll in and say come to my wedding next month?” 

Merrill winced, but said nothing. 

“No, but you could have given us a warning.” Isabela said, frustrated. 

“You all keep secrets from me, all of the time.” She defended herself. This was the last thing she needed, but she tried to remain calm. 

“This is bigger than just a secret.” Anders said, walking closer to her. “You’re the Champion of Kirkwall, mages of all king look up to you. Now you’re marrying our biggest enemy?” He shook his head. “I thought you were better than this.” 

“Leave her be, Anders, she never asked to be part of your revolution.” Sebastian said. She felt almost grateful for his intervention, if it wasn’t for the fact that Elizabeth also agreed with Anders. 

“Don’t speak about what you don’t understand.” Anders told him. “This changes everything.” 

It was then that Varric spoke up, walking to the front of the group. “Look, ignore Blondie for a second.” He rubbed his forehead. “I just want to know how this all even happened. You can’t have gotten engaged overnight.” 

Elizabeth looked at them. The faces of her friends, the people she loved the most. All the years they had spent together, the tears and the laughter. What would they think of her if she told them the whole truth? 

Oh, yes, me and Meredith were making sweet love when she popped the question and then the Divine got involved. 

She was sure Varric would have used that as material for his next book. 

But she could not stand to say the truth. All the things she had done for and with that woman…she had kept it all with her, a secret no one could know. To tell them how this all began, she would have to reveal the truth. She had a choice presented in front of her: tell them everything and risk losing their friendship, or lie, and risk losing their friendship.

“It just happened. The Chantry willed it so, and so it will happen.” 

“You want us to believe that?” Fenris said briskly. 

“‘The Chantry did it’. You’re a better liar than that, Hawke.” Varric said in a light hearted tone that hurt more than she cared to admit. 

“Wether you want to believe it or not, it's up to you, but it is the truth.” 

Silence once again. 

Aveline walked towards her and asked, simply “But is this what you want? Are you willing?” 

She looked at her oldest friend, seeing a quiet plea in her eyes that begged her to say no. Elizabeth wanted to say no. You know me better than anyone. Of course this is not what I want. 

But what could any of them do if she said no. Would they kidnap Elizabeth away before the wedding could happen? Storm the Gallows, the Chantry to protest? If they ran, the Templars would soon follow behind. 

Another life of running. She couldn’t do this again. 

Anders was right. This was bigger than any of them and it changed everything. She could see a rift form between her and her friends, an abyss tearing them apart. The truth would condemn them all to ashes. A lie could keep them safe. 

No matter what happens. Her father’s words rang in her head. Keep the family safe. 

She looked Aveline in the eye. “Yes. I agreed to it.”

Elizabeth would never forget the disappointed look on Aveline’s face as she said that. 

Anders was the first to leave, wordlessly brushing past her. Slowly, one by one soon followed, until only Fenris remained. 

“Eliza.” Fenris was the only one who called her that. He said her name in a low voice, approaching her. Her eyes went from his face, to the red ribbon around his wrist, to the symbol of her house tied to his hips and then back to his eyes. 

She remembered the feeling of fullness in her chest every time he looked at her. She remembered their nights of long conversations, of drinking and sharing stories. She remembered how light she felt, once she realized she loved him. She remembered how even lighter she felt, once he reciprocated it. 

She remembered thinking of what a life with Fenris could have been. For the first time in many years, she had thought a good future was ahead of her, after so much darkness. 

She also remembered their night together and the morning that followed. Waking up to see her love leaving her. 

All I wanted was to be happy…just for a little while. Forgive me. 

She remembered the nights she spent crying into her mother’s chest, wondering why everyone she loved left her. Her father died, her sister died, Carver became a Warden, and even her mother had died. She was alone, in a house bigger than anywhere she had ever lived, and she could only watch as Fenris walked away. 

I just want someone to stay. Just for once. I am tired of running. I am tired of happenstance, of being alone. 

She knew then, if Fenris just asked her, she would go. She would put an end to all this madness and she would go with him anywhere. He just had to say the word. 

But there was too much unsaid between the two. She saw him open his mouth, hoping he would say anything, but the words never came. Fenris looked down and quietly left. 

Leaving her, once again, alone. 

.

Meredith’s quiet night was interrupted by a bang on her door. She only had less than a second to react, as once she opened it, gloved arms threw themselves against her, familiar lips crashing onto hers, the door closing without anyone touching it. 

She felt her back touching the desk behind her. Hands flew to the buckles of her armour. Elizabeth’s lips going down from her mouth, to her jaw, to her neck until Meredith gripped her by the forearms, pulling her away. 

“Are you drunk?” Was the first thing she said. Never, in their years together, had Elizabeth acted like this before. 

“No.” She replied, breathing heavily. 

“What is the matter with you then?”

She moved to kiss her, whispering “I missed you.” 

Meredith turned her face, frowning. “You saw me this morning.” 

Elizabeth stepped back. She turned her back to Meredith, moving in silence. She saw her leather jacket fall to the floor, soon followed by her blue shirt, boots, gloves and underwear. When she turned, Elizabeth was naked, save for the amulet around her neck, the very same Meredith had given to her. 

She watched her chest move up and down as she breathed, walking slowly towards her. Like this, she was more akin to a desire demon then a woman. 

A demon whose lures Meredith struggled to resist, much to her shame.  

Elizabeth placed both hands on her silver breast plate as she looked at Meredith. 

“I am yours.” She said. “Tonight, I am yours, fully. Do whatever you want with me.” 

“Maker forgive me.” Was all Meredith whispered, before holding her face with both hands and kissing her forcefully. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Three days before the ceremony was to happen, the many traditions the Grand Cleric once explained to her took place.

First, she had been moved from her house to accommodations inside of the Chantry. The room was medium sized and moderately furnitured. There was a bed, a tub, a vanity, a full sized mirror, and a trunk. She had only been allowed to bring a few things. 

It was a short stay, after all. It lasted an eternity in Elizabeth’s mind. 

She was not allowed out of the room during those three days, her only contact with the outside world being the window and the Sisters who would keep her company. To her dismay, however, all of them were Chanters. 

In that time, she had recited and listened to the Chant of Light more times than she had in her entire life. They made her pray before every meal they brought her, after they awoke her and before they left her for the night. 

Her only reprieve were her diaries, smuggled in her trunk underneath her clothes. When the Sisters left for the night, locking the window and the door, Elizabeth would write everything that came to mind. 

Her fears. Her worries. Her loneliness. Once again, she missed the feel of someone’s skin on her.

She wondered if they were doing the same to Meredith. She wondered if her friends knew where she was and if they were worried. Did they still care? She hadn’t spoken to most of them since that day, save for small, brief conversations here and there. 

She didn’t know if any of them would attend the ceremony. Part of her hoped so, yet deep down she knew. Were she in their shoes, she wouldn’t have the stomach to attend either. 

On the day of the wedding, she was forced out of her dreams by five Sisters and one Mother entering her room, all of whom she did not recognize. With them, they held buckets of hot water - if the steam was anything to go by - candles, soap,  and the Chant of Light in written form.

Looking out the window, the sky was still dark. 

In a few words, they explained everything. It was part of a cleansing ritual for brides, bathing as the run rose to be blessed by Andraste’s light. Elizabeth only sighed, and closed her eyes, following along with their plan. 

On the previous days, whenever she bathed, they had given her a shift to cover herself with. She looked around, waiting for them to give her anything but nothing came. 

“Did you forget to bring it?” She asked, still in her nightclothes. 

The youngest-looking of them shook her head. “No, my Lady. You must bathe as the day you were born, bare.” 

She gulped. “Is that necessary?” 

“Yes.” The Mother spoke in a tone that left no room for debate. “Now, strip. And quickly, before the water grows cold.” 

Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. 

Ever since she defeated the Arishok, she loathed being naked in front of others. Her once pristine body had been covered in scars. The skin of her left arm twisted, stiff and pulled from the fire, while her torso and stomach was stitched back together from where he impaled her into one giant scar.

Meredith had been the only to see her like that.

She closed her eyes and quickly rid herself of her clothes. The faster you do this, the faster it will be over. 

Once bare, she heard a few gasps from the young sisters, quickly being hushed by the mother. She entered the empty tub, covering her chest with her arms as they poured the water in. 

Elizabeth hissed as the water hit her skin, its temperature far too high for comfort. She sank down into a sitting position, slowly, feeling all over her. She brought her knees close to her chest, a weak attempt at giving herself any sense of privacy.  

It did not last long. The women placed their candles around the tub, lighting them quickly, while some began to Chant. Then, two of the sisters grabbed her arms. She tried to fight their hold but ultimately, they pried her arms open, leaving her vulnerable once again, as they began scrubbing her, viciously, with soap, throwing hot water all over her. 

Elizabeth kept her head down, her pride slowly fading. She was a mage. She had killed the Arishok in single combat. It would not have taken much to send all six of them flying, to jump out of the window and run. 

But they were still inside of the Chantry. Even if she could run, her escape would not last long. 

Quietly, she saw her tears mixing with the water around her. They pulled her up, her scars bare for all to see, as they continued to scrub her entire body, as if to try and clean her of every sin she had ever committed. 

It was impossible, she knew. As they believed, magic was a stain on her very soul. Only in death, would she be free of it. 

Once again, she held to the little she could. Magic is a gift from the Maker, she told herself. It’s written on the Chant itself. 

Water was thrown over her head, as they began brushing her head. Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend she was a girl once more, with her mother gently combing through her hair while humming a simple tune. 

But these hands were not as delicate as her mother's, they did not hum as they brushed and did not heed to her quiet groanings whenever they pulled too harshly. 

She sighed in relief when the first rays of sunlight entered through the window, hoping her torment would soon come to an end. 

By the time they were done, the water had grown cold, the sun was high in the sky and Elizabeth’s skin was pink. She stepped out of the tub, trembling before they produced a towel, throwing it around her shoulders, drying her off. 

A knock on the door stopped all of them. Before Elizabeth could warn whoever was outside, one of the Sisters opened the door and more people entered the room. 

She quickly recognized who it was. The Orlesian dressmaker, along with her assistants walked inside the now crammed room, carrying various trunks. She felt her shoulders sink as she saw the woman.

“If you are done,” She said, looking at the Sisters, “we have come to get the Lady Hawke ready.” 

Elizabeth gave out a sigh, as she soon realized she would not have a moment alone on this day. As soon as they arrived, the sisters and the mother disappeared from the room, leaving her only with the Orlesians. 

She hadn’t seen, or talked with the dressmaker ever since she left her house with a paper sheet full of numbers. Every inch of her body had been measured, to a point where Elizabeth wondered if half of them were even necessary. 

“I know we left off on a strange foot, last we met.” Adeline said, as she approached a still trembling Elizabeth. More people to see me like this, the thought alone making her skin crawl. Her gloved hand held Elizabeth’s chin up. “But I promise you, this is my best work yet. You will be talk of Thedas for generations to come.” She spoke in an excited voice. 

Elizabeth missed being a girl on a farm, in the middle of nowhere Ferelden, playing pretend with Carver and Bethany while her father worked and her mother cooked supper. She missed being nothing more important than a sister and a daughter. 

Adeline’s assistants placed the trunks on the bed, slowly opening them. Taking a quick peek inside, Elizabeth saw hundreds of porcelain white fabrics. They began removing each layer, carefully placing them outside and organizing it in order. 

Elizabeth had no idea what the dress looked like, how it would fit, if it was even to her taste. But she had long ago learned that her wants no longer mattered. 

With three snaps of the dressmaker’s finger, they began their work. The towel was pried from her, leaving her naked once more. Quickly, they dressed her in undergarments. She remained quiet as they did so, only speaking when they began pulling on the laces of her corset. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little too tight?” She hissed, looking at Adeline through the mirror. With a wave of her hand, she shooed her assistant away, grabbing the laces on her hand. 

Elizabeth’s reply came in the form of another strong pull, watching as her waist grew smaller in the mirror. “It is the fashion in Orlais, my dear.” 

But we are not in Orlais, she wanted to say. Elizabeth remained quiet, however, as the woman continued to squeeze her tighter and tighter until she was satisfied with her work. 

Layer after layer was thrown over her head and pulled down under, the fabric of the skirt pooling at her feet, until came on the final piece. The dress covered her completely, her head being the only part free of its grasp. The laces on the back of the dress, that went up to her neck, were also pulled tightly, making it hug every inch of her skin. 

The sleeves were puffy and voluminous around the shoulders, and they covered her arms completely, including her fingers. An upside, as she wouldn’t have to wear gloves. The skirt was massive, making it almost hard to walk, much less run. A ruffled collar graced her neck, and the only jewelry in sight had been the Andraste amulet they had put on her. 

“Your wife’s request.” Adeline has said as she clasped it in place. In the daze of those three days, Elizabeth had not even realized she had forgotten her amulet at home. 

Lastly, they worked on her hair, brushing it once again, and keeping it mostly loose on her back, with only a single braid running across her head. Before they could finish, Elizabeth asked for a moment alone. 

“I must pray.” Was her excuse. “Just… a moment alone with the Maker, is all I need.” 

“I did not realize my Lady was so pious.” She snapped her fingers. “Very well. We will be back soon.” 

Finally, Elizabeth breathed. She stood up from where she sat, making her way towards the full body mirror, seeing herself dressed as a bride. 

She looked like a doll. Felt like one too. A shiny, precious, pretty thing to be dressed and played with, no will of her own as others tossed her around. 

She wanted to cry but she was empty.

Her mind went to the day her mother died. Leandra too was dressed in white, body parts that did not belong to her being held together by the magic of a mad man. 

When she was young, she had once told Elizabeth that she and her father had never gotten married in a Chantry. 

He was an apostate and I was the runaway daughter of Kirkwall. We feared the attention it could bring. 

After the expedition, once the estate was theirs again, her mother tried to find her a husband, to little avail. 

I can only imagine you, all dressed in white. She had said with a smile. I’ll walk you down the aisle.

The only time her mother had worn a wedding dress was in her death. It was fitting, in a way, as today was also the day Elizabeth would die. The day she no longer was a person. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone entering through the window. 

“You can’t do this.” 

Elizabeth turned around, only to see Isabela walking in. She eyed her up and down, the look on her face a mix of awe and horror. 

“Isabela? What are you doing here?” 

“I came to save your arse.” Isabela moved closer to her. “The streets are clear for the most part. It won’t be too hard to find us a boat, we’ll be out of Kirkwall in no time.” She looked at Elizabeth’s dress with a smirk. “Hum…this would make it hard to run, but we can always cut it.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Isabela, stop it.” 

She looked at her with a frown, stepping closer, dropping the smirk from her face. “Please, Hawke.” She grabbed her hands. “You don’t have to do this.” She spoke with a tenderness Elizabeth wasn’t used to, an earnestness to it she only had seen a few times before. “Come with me. We can even go to Ferelden, the others will meet us there, just- I can’t let you do this. I can’t.” 

“Isabela…” she said softly. 

“You almost died to save me. Let me return the favour. Please.” 

Isabela held her hands, grip firm but not tight, painless. As if she was afraid to let go, or afraid to hurt her, or maybe both. Elizabeth looked at her friend’s face, memorizing every inch of it. 

Her body screamed at her to say yes, so loudly she thought others could hear. She wanted to go back home, and leave all of this behind. 

But running would mean Templars at their feet, and no peace on the horizon. 

That life was no stranger to Elizabeth - and she doubted it was a stranger to Isabela as well - but she would not put her friend through it. No one deserves to live like that. Not me, and much less you. 

She kissed Isabela’s forehead, as a tear fell down her cheek. “I adore you, Isabela. I want you to know that. I want you to remember that.” She took a step back, letting go of her hands. “I can’t go with you.” 

“Elizabeth,” Isabela had never called her by her first name. “Please-

“No.” She took another step backwards, holding herself, looking down. “I’ve made my choice.” 

“Did you?” Isabela asked, incredulous. “ I can’t believe that this is what you really want.” 

Because it isn’t, she wanted to say. But the image of templars hunting them, swords clashing against daggers, poisoned arrows breaking their skin, the thought of once again being on the run, of Isabela being hurt flashed through her mind. 

Elizabeth raised her head, looking her in the eye as she said “Yes. This is what I want.” 

Isabela looked down, the first time she had ever seen her with a defeated look on her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it quickly. She walked towards the open window, giving her one last mournful look before jumping down. 

Once she was gone, Elizabeth braced herself against the vanity, no longer able to hold back her tears. Her chest heaved, though with little space to move, ugly sobs spewing from out her mouth, as she hurt all over. 

The dress was suffocating, and the urge to burn it down washed all over her. As she looked in the mirror, she allowed herself to scream. A guttural sound, reverberating through her whole body, making her shake. A wave of magic burst from her, causing the glass from both the vanity and the full sized mirror to shatter as she fell on the ground, covering her face with her hands, crying heavily onto them. 

She felt as if she was being torn apart, ripping at the seams that held her together. Elizabeth grabbed onto the amulet on her chest, holding it close to her, trying to comfort herself as she cried desperately. 

She needed someone to hold her. She needed her parents. She needed her siblings. She needed her friends. She needed the man who broke her heart. She needed the woman she hated the most. 

None of them were to be found. 

The door to her room swung open, gasps all around her but she did not look up. For once, she almost hoped it was templars, ready to drag her away into custody for being too dangerous. 

Instead, she heard an Orlesian accent. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, look at this mess.” The dressmaker said. “This is why we can’t leave you mages alone. One moment and you make a mess of things. This won't do.” A snap of fingers, and hands grabbed her arms, lifting her up. She tried to fight them but they wouldn’t let go. 

Their grip persisted, not allowing her to move, as the dressmaker placed the finishing touches. A veil was fixed atop her head, held together by golden pins with pearled tips. 

With a handkerchief, she wiped the tears off of her face. “Brides always cry at their weddings but this is far too much. Smile, my dear.” 

How could Elizabeth smile when she was so near her death? 

Once her face had been rubbed dry, the woman gripped Elizabeth’s cheeks with one hand, passing rouge in her lips until she gave a satisfied hum, letting her face go. 

“Ah, perfect.” She said, snapping her fingers. “We must go now.” 

Elizabeth thought they would finally let her go, but like a puppet manipulated by strings, she was dragged out of the room by her masked assistants. They held tightly to her arms and forearms, leaving her no room to escape. 

After several rounds of stairs and one corridor, they stopped in front of massive wooden doors. 

Another snap of fingers, and a fourth assistant appeared, holding a large bouquet of red roses. They finally let go of her arms, as she was handed the flowers. 

“I hear roses are the trend in Ferelden now, because of their new queen.” 

She was reminded of Lothring. Father always kept a garden wherever they went, a variety of colorful flowers right outside their house. 

The flowers had died with him. Neither Elizabeth, or her siblings, had a green thumb. She remembered one night, a month after his passing, she saw her mother crying in bed, holding on to one of his old shirts. 

That night, Elizabeth wondered to where his garden once was, getting on her knees and pushing her hands deep into the dirt. She closed her eyes, concentrating all of her magic into these Maker forsaken flowers. She did not know of any magic to make plants grow, but she did know how to wish. How to hope. All she needed was one flower, one single stupid flower to make her mother happy. 

When morning came, her mother gasped in surprise as a single, red rose flowered from his garden. 

When the darkspawn came, the rose was gone. 

Much like everything else had been. 

Adeline grabbed the veil, bringing it over her head as she heard music playing from inside. The doors slowly opened, and a hand on her back gently pushed her forwards. 

Elizabeth’s feet moved without her thinking. The Chantry was filled with faces she did not recognize, all unfamiliar eyes staring at her. The drumming of her heart trying to escape her chest drowned out the music. 

She saw Aveline, Varric, Sebastian and Merrill, standing together, a frown on all of their faces. Next to them, a hooded, green eyed figure stood, looking at Elizabeth briefly before walking away, going by too quickly for her to catch their face. Isabela and Anders were nowhere to be seen. 

Elizabeth had not told Carver anything, and she prayed to the Maker he would never find out. Let him stay out of this mess, focusing only on killing darkspawn. 

She looked ahead. Andraste’s golden eyes looked down at her, and she swore she could see pity in them. At the end of the long aisle stood the Grand Cleric, a book open in front of her. A few steps below, staring at her, was Meredith. 

She looked…different. She wore a white dress as well, though hers was much simpler, with long sleeves that ended at her wrist and a short trail. Meredith wore no veil but her usual golden headpiece graced her head. Her expression was unreadable. 

As she reached the end, someone took the flowers from her hands. Standing next to each other, in front of the Grand Cleric, Elizabeth and Meredith kneeled as she recited prayers and blessings. 

Elizabeth was suddenly reminded of a nightmare she once had. In it, she wore red as she was forced to marry the templar beside her, her father dragging her through the aisle as her friends spewed hateful words. She had comforted herself with the knowledge that it had been only a nightmare, and that it would not come to be. 

But now, as she slowly stood, facing Meredith, she wondered if instead of a nightmare, the spirits of the Fade had been trying to warn her of the oncoming danger. 

“I promise to cherish and protect,” She heard Meredith say her promises “To honor, and to keep. I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.” 

This was the first time she had heard Meredith utter the word love towards her. It stung more than anything. 

Then, it was her turn to make promises. With a deep breath, she said “I promise to be faithful and to be loyal. I promise that I won’t abandon you.” She gulped. “I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.” 

Elthina turned them towards the open book, asking them to sign them. Elizabeth looked at the pages, hundreds of names of other couples. She hoped that they were happy couples, marrying out of love and devotion to one another. She signed her name next to Meredith’s, feeling like a part of herself was lost once the ink dried. 

Golden rings were exchanged, the small band weighing heavily on her covered finger, and with a kiss, her fate would be sealed. 

They had never kissed in public, their relationship a complete secret until this moment. She closed her eyes as their lips met, trying to shut away everyone else. It was a brief kiss, sweet, if they were anyone else. 

Once they let go, claps filled the room. Elizabeth felt a curled finger underneath her eye, as Meredith quickly wiped a tear before it could fall. She gave her a tight smile as the two held hands, walking away together. 

. 

The Hawke Estate had never been so full of people before. Her mother once told her that when she was a girl, her parents would often host parties there. Ever since Elizabeth had moved in, the ballroom had remained unused. 

Now, it had been decorated, tables set up, servants she did not recognize walking around and music playing as people danced. She tried tuning out the thoughts that several people had been to her house without her knowledge, that people she did not know had been called to work for her. 

The largest table had been set up at the end of the room, several of the most important guests sitting on it, with the newly wed couple sitting side by side in the middle. 

Food had been served, but Elizabeth could only nibble at her plate, hoping none would notice. 

Of course, Meredith’s always watching eyes noticed it. “Are you not hungry? You’ve barely touched your plate.” 

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep it in.” She said, earnestly. “From the nervousness.” 

Meredith raised a brow. “Why are you nervous?” 

Elizabeth held back on a witty retort. “It’s not everyday you get married. That’s enough reason to be nervous.” 

“Nervous, yes. But you are shaking.” Her eyes went downwards, and it was then that Elizabeth noticed the tremble in her hand. 

Maker, what was happening to her. 

Meredith held one of her hands. “You should eat, lest you fall ill. It will be a long night.” 

As much as she hated to admit, she was right. Elizabeth hadn’t eaten during the whole day, and a weakness began settling in. 

But as she looked at her plate of food, she could not find the strength to grab her fork. 

Her hand reached for her goblet of wine, taking a small sip of it. It did little to help her. 

Meredith let go of her, turning back to her plate, cutting a piece of her food and holding the fork near Elizabeth’s mouth. 

“Eat.” She commanded. 

Elizabeth felt a heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks, glad that her neck was covered. She did not enjoy being treated like this, not in front of so many others. But with so many eyes on them, she was not in a position to do anything but submit. She leaned forwards, and took a bite of it. 

They continued to do so until half of Meredith’s plate was gone. Elizabeth brushed her off with a hand, leaning forwards on her seat, and finally grabbing her own fork and knife and eating her now cold food. Orlesian cuisine did little to appease her, but it was better than nothing. 

They organized the food without consulting me. There is nothing Ferelden here. 

She swallowed the thought with her wine. 

A few moments passed, once they were both done with their plates - those quickly taken away by another unfamiliar servant - all that remained was wait. Elizabeth kept taking small sips from her drink, the urge to down the entire thing and let the alcohol mull her sense was strong, but she knew better. 

Alcohol loosened her tongue too much.

Guests unknown to her passed by their table, some offered their blessings and wished them happiness, others came with gifts. Their smiles felt fake, their words even more so. Elizabeth could not complain, as she did the same. 

Then, the music changed, signaling it was their turn to join the floor. Surprising herself, Elizabeth was the first to stand, making her way towards the center. When Meredith joined her, she noticed the frown on her face. 

“What’s wrong?” She whispered. 

“Dancing is not my forte.” Meredith replied quietly. 

Elizabeth wanted to laugh, a chance to make the templar feel as bad and embarrassed as she had felt the whole day and night. Misery loved company.

Instead, she placed a hand on Meredith’s chest, near her shoulder, drawing closer. “Just…when I step backwards, you step towards me and vice versa. If I step to the side, you follow along.” 

Meredith let out a sigh, right as the beat picked up. Elizabeth gave a small step backwards, and Meredith followed suit. 

Soon, they entered into a gentle sway, making their way across the ballroom slowly. In hushed whispers, Elizabeth instructed Meredith to hold one of her hands, and place the other on her waist. The templar did as told and for a brief moment, Elizabeth relished in the feeling of being listened to, even if briefly. 

It would not last long, she knew. 

The tiredness of the day began to hit her. Without thinking, she placed her head on Meredith’s chest. 

All of this was wrong. This closeness and proximity should not have been allowed. Elizabeth thought back to their first meeting, years prior. The city burning, people screaming, and Isabela gone. 

In her five years in Kirkwall, she had done a fine job of hiding her identity as an apostate. That had come undone in a matter of seconds. 

I know you. The first words Meredith had ever uttered towards her. The name ‘Hawke’ has turned up in my reports many times. Too many. 

I will overlook your own use of magic, for the moment. 

She remembered what she felt in that moment, as the Knight-Commander looked at her. She knew, even then, that Meredith would be the death of her This night had been the culmination of years of anticipation.

Elizabeth took small comforts where she could find them. Meredith’s strong, steady heartbeat was one. She had thought, multiple times as they shared a bed, what would happen the day the Templar’s heart stopped for good, when the light finally left her eyes and her skin turned cold. 

Elizabeth could not wait for this moment to come. Elizabeth did not want this moment to ever happen. 

If Meredith died, would the shame and guilt she felt die with her? If Meredith died, who else would hold her? None of her friends were here. 

Lost in thoughts, Elizabeth only came to herself once she was back in her room. She was laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, arms around her head, still fully dressed, with the exception of her shoes. Her hair had come undone, the veil discarded on the floor. She felt the heat of the fireplace, slowly turning towards it, reaching out a hand, calling out to the fire, making the flames dance. 

She closed her eyes, trying to focus. Her memory was clouded with a fog. She remembered weak legs and strong arms stopping a fall. The ground had disappeared beneath her feet, as someone held her up, hands on the back of her knees and on her back. It was as if she had flown into her bed, waking up at this very moment. 

Movement on the bed warned her that she was not alone, seeing Meredith sat on the edge of the bed, close to her.

For a moment, Elizabeth panicked, reminded of the last time Meredith had been inside her room. A dinner gone wrong, Meredith’s rage, Elizabeth’s neck marked with purple bruises, crying hopelessly into the templar's naked arms and chest, begging ghosts for forgiveness.  

That had been moons ago, and yet, the memory still lingered. She closed her eyes, opening them again to try and focus on the present. 

Meredith no longer wore a dress, having changed into a red shirt and brown pants. Elizabeth frowned. 

“How did you change?” 

She shrugged. “Some of my things were moved here earlier.” 

Elizabeth closed her eyes, sighing. Of course she had been at her house without her knowledge. The thought - of Meredith standing in her room, alone, privy to all of her things - enraged her but there was little she could do now. 

She took comfort in the fact they had yet to decide who would live where. 

“Why did you not undress me?” She asked next. 

“You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

She gave her a nod. She wanted to be rid of this dress but now, its many layers almost brought a weird sense of comfort. She feared removing it would make her too vulnerable after everything. 

Meredith has seen you naked many times, she thought to herself. But this was different, wasn’t it? Elizabeth was now more of a corpse than a person. If she were to undress, would Meredith notice all of her missing parts?

A gentle hand touched her face. “You look like a dream.” Meredith whispered to her, as softly as a confession.

Elizabeth wanted to cry. She hated the warmth that bloomed in her chest at the templar’s words. She hated the look in Meredith’s eyes, that look she once yearned for, the look her parents had shared with each other when they were both alive. She hated how much she desperately craved another sweet word from her, another touch. 

She hated feeling this way. She hated Meredith. She loved Meredith. She hated herself. 

When the templar leaned in for a kiss, Elizabeth met her halfway. It was easier to give in, to accept the hands fate had brought to her. Elizabeth was tired. Tired from the day, from life, from fighting all of the time. From feeling. 

Just give in, she told herself as the kiss deepened. Just let go. This would not be end, she knew. She had spent countless nights telling herself she would turn this around. She was closer to Meredith than anyone else, she could still help the mage underground. Maybe she could even speak with the circle mages, try to give them a semblance of hope. 

But in this moment, as she melted beneath her templar’s touch, Elizabeth felt the last remaining part of herself go, wilting and dying like her father’s flowers. 

.

It was after they entered her room that the pain in her side had finally become too much. The ground beneath Meredith swayed and she would have hit the floor had the apostate not held her. 

“Maker, what-” the mage said. Meredith hissed as her hand went to her side, blood spilling through her fingers.

Her vision swimmed and suddenly, she was sitting on a chair. 

“I’ll go grab someon-”

“No.” Meredith turned her head towards a shelf. “There are potions…”

“You can’t possibly be serious.” The mage began to protest before being silenced by a  scowl. With a sigh, she made for the shelf, and once handed the bottle, Meredith downed it at once. 

The relief on her throbbing side was instant, though the feeling of her insides being pulled back together by magic was always unnerving. She placed the empty glass on a nearby table, and began the process of unbuckling her armor. 

Gloved hands covered hers and with practiced precision, she was soon sitting half naked on the chair, her chest exposed. She looked to the mage, who herself looked at the wound. Meredith watched as she grimaced, walking around and grabbing water and a towel and quietly kneeling besides her. 

Meredith saw her hesitate for a moment. She looked down at her gloves, then up to the wound, before sighing and removing them. She wetted the towel and pressed it gently, slowly cleaning away the blood. 

“The potion stopped the bleeding, but the wound’s still open.” The mage said as she discarded the bloody towel and sat back on her heels. 

With more effort than she would have liked, Meredith leaned forwards, towards the desk in front of her, opening a drawer and pulling out a small box, tossing it without much thought to the woman beneath her. 

“A sewing kit?” Her eyes shifted from between the contents of the box and the wound. “I could call in someone else to do th-

“No..” 

I do not want anybody else here

“Meredith-”

“You worked as a mercenary, and are friends with that apostate.” She said with a raised brow. “Do you mean to tell me you do not know how to close a wound?” 

She sighed. “I can but…my stitch work is terrible.” 

“I do not care for that.” 

“I know you have healers here, I could-”

“When I give a command, mage,” she said sharply, looking her in the eyes, “I expect it to be obeyed.” 

“Oh?” She stood up, slowly, not breaking eye contact as she leaned over Meredith “But I have yet to hear a command.” 

Instinctively, Meredith grabbed the mage’s left wrist. “Do not forget your place,” She tightened her grip as she said “apostate.”

The girl stared at her, gulping and she could feel her rapid pulse thrumming beneath her fingers. 

After a moment, she shoved her back. “Get to it.” 

A sigh, as she straightened her back. The mage opened her palm, summoning a small fire on her fingertips. Meredith tensed, hand finding the pommel of her sword, as she watched the mage grab a needle with her other hand and heat it up, before pathetically struggling to pull the thread through. At the sight, Meredith eased. 

The mage pulled out another chair and sat close to her. Meredith took a sharp inhale and looked at the door, her jaw locking as she bit down on the agony of her skin being pierced again and again. 

It was not the first time she had gone through this. Others, more capable than the mage, had patched her up time and again. Elsa’s hands were much steadier, confident and agile, and she would have been done much quicker, and a faded scar would be all that was left. 

Her hands were marred with scars. Meredith fixated her gaze on the left hand, the one which had been burnt during the battle with the Qunari leader. The skin was dry, tight and it gave a weird feeling whenever her fingertips brushed against Meredith’s skin. 

She hated that feeling. She could not stand those uncovered hands on her, nor the images they provoked on her head. 

She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It was only when the mage looked up that she turned her head away. 

She let out a breath. Meredith suspected by the time the apostate was done, the sun would be rising. Goosebumps rolled all around her over where the mage touched her. It was repulsive that an apostate should touch a Knight-Commander that way, it was vile, disgusting and suddenly, Meredith wished she was donning her armour. Shielded, protected, safe from her ministrations. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she tried to focus. 

“How did it happen?” Her voice was both a balm and a fire. 

“Abomination.” Something compelled her to continue. “A Harrowing that should have never taken place.” She should have stopped there, to protect the secrets of the Circle. But talking distracted her from her thoughts. “Orsino insisted, however. He does not understand the dangers of weak mages, and with the Grand Cle-”

A sharp pain stopped her, as the point of the needle stabbed into her wound. 

“You are supposed to close the wound, not add to it.” She almost barked as she turned around. She looked down, seeing the terrible patch work done on her. “Maker, look at this disaster. You’d think it was on purpose.” She muttered. By the look of it, she would have to have the whole thing re-stitched in the morning. “Do you have nothing to say?” 

The mage stared at her, giving her an unknowing look. Shivers ran down her spine. 

“If I displease you, “ she gave her a sarcastic grin, “you are welcome to finish this yourself. Surely the knight-commander knows how to close her own wounds?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, huffing, hands curling into fists. She should have had the mage thrown out of her room, scaring her away back to Hightown. Anyone else would have done a better job than her, anyone else would not torment Meredith as much. 

And yet.

Slowly, she turned her head again, fixating her gaze on the door once more. A moment of agony passed before she felt burned fingertips working their way through her flesh again, and she sighed in relief. 

“You should see a healer once morning comes.” The mage spoke. “You’re feverish.” 

“I will be better once you are done.” 

Suddenly, Meredith was reminded of their rendezvous a week prior. 

You talk too much. One day, I ought to muzzle you 

She wondered if perhaps she should follow the thought, especially as the mage began telling a story. 

“My father was the one who taught me to stitch someone up.” Meredith closed her eyes as she listened. 

“He made me put it into practice a week later, when my brother came home with a wound. I think I was fifteen then. When I was done, I looked at my father and all he said was "it looks like shit, Eliza.” A sigh. “Good times.” 

Meredith looked at her, but she had her head down, focused on the task at hand. An image popped in her head. She saw herself leaning towards her, placing a finger under her chin and making her look at her. 

They would stare at each other, her other hand going underneath the mage’s shirt, finding her breast, they would lean into each other and -

“All done.” 

The reverie was over. Suddenly there was a coldness on her side, as the mage had quickly stood up, pacing away from her. 

It took Meredith a moment for her to gather herself. She stood up carefully, pain jolting through her with each step - punishment for her sinfulness, she thought. Hastily, she rid herself of the rest of her clothes, throwing them on the ground for the time being and put on a night shirt and settled on her bed. 

Interestingly, she noticed the mage had stayed, who now only stared at her from afar. 

“Why did you not tell anyone else about this?” 

“A Templar does not show weakness,” she replied, her throat suddenly feeling dry “especially not in front of her subordinates.”

“Well, I’m sure Cullen would have loved the promotion once they found you bled out in the morning.”

Meredith managed out a huff, tiredness beginning to take her. Her eyelashes felt heavy, and she fought the urge to close them. She almost gave in, until the feeling of the mage’s hand on hers shot her awake. 

She had not realized how close the mage was to her now. 

“You need to be more careful.” The mage leaned in close, strands of brown hair framing her face as they fell forwards “Maker knows what would happen should the mighty knight-commander of Kirkwall fall.” 

Meredith only stared, as she felt her blood rush. She began to doubt those stitches would hold. 

When the mage tried to move away, she held on to her hand. She would have told her to stay.

Stay.

Instead she muttered “Eliza.” She brought her other hand upwards from beneath the sheets. “Your gloves.” 

She had picked them up from the floor, clutching them in her hands until that moment. Quickly, they were taken from her, and Meredith finally caved in, allowing herself to close her eyes. 

The other side of her bed would remain cold for the rest of the night, but before sleep took her over, she felt gentle lips pressing themselves against her temple, soon followed by the sound of her door opening and closing. 

She thought of her mother, kissing her scrapped knees to ‘make it better’ and drifted into peaceful dreams.

.

After the Champion’s fight against the Arishok, she vanished from the public eye for three months. Many had seen the condition of the Champion as she had been dragged out of Viscount’s Keep, bleeding, burning and unconscious. 

Though spending so long stuck to her bed had been an agony of its own, Elizabeth was almost glad that she did not need to face people. She could scarcely stand to look at her own reflection in the mirror.  

Her friends had visited her when they could. Merrill was a comfort, showing up almost every day with tales of what had transpired recently. Anders would also appear often, checking in to see how she was healing. Aveline, Varric, and Sebastian showed occasionally, and Fenris had visited her only once. She tried to not mind. 

She also tried not to think much of where Isabela had gone, though with little success. 

The day had come, however, when it was time for her to face the world once again. Most of her bruises were gone, and the ones still showing were hidden beneath her clothes. Good, she thought. The less others saw, of her body and of her scars, the better. 

Elizabeth had time to do a lot of thinking. The events of that night replayed constantly in her head, plaguing her sleep. The city burning, the Arishok's body burning in front of her as well as her arm, her blood on the floor, and everything that had transpired since. 

But there was one thing in particular from that night that bothered her greatly. 

I'll overlook your own use of magic, for the moment. 

It was perhaps a foolish dream to think she would have been able to evade the Knight-Commander forever, but the crushing defeat of being found out still hurt. When she had woken up in her house, three days after, Elizabeth believed the end was soon. She kept waiting for the moment templars would bust in through the door and take her away. 

“She’s not gonna do that.” Varric tried to assuage her, to little avail. 

“How can you be so sure of that? I have seen other nobles of Hightown being taken.” She said from her bed. “It’s rare, but it happens, Varric. What would stop-”

“You’re too important now, Dreamy. Every person worth something in this city saw you killing the Arishok. Meredith’s crazy but not that crazy.” 

“I think you’re putting a little too much faith in a tempar.”

Her own words came to the forefront of her mind, as she finished brushing her hair, and went over her plan. 

Walk out the door. 

Walk to the docks.

Enter a boat and sail to the Gallows. 

Request an audience with the Knight-Commander.  

Talk to the Knight-Commander. 

Leave. 

It was simple. She would do what she always did: flash a smile and say the right thing. She had done it countless times before. Imposing as she was, Meredith was still just a person, and people could be easily manipulated. The Knight-Commander didn’t need to like her, Elizabeth only needed the templar to trust her. Or at least, believe she could trust her. 

Titles and money did little to soothe her fears. 

She tied a red ribbon - the Amell color - around her neck, hiding away remaining purple bruises in the area. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, forcing herself to smile. She took a deep breath and made for the door. 

.

It had been a bold move for an apostate to walk into a Circle and demand an audience with the Knight-Commander. 

Were the circumstances different, she would have had the apostate arrested immediately. Unfortunately for Meredith, she had lost the chance to do so the moment she had walked into the Viscount’s Keep three months prior. 

It seemed an affront that an apostate should be the one to save the city. How could one who did not abide by the city’s - the Chantry’s - laws be hailed as a hero? And yet, there was little Meredith could have done. The title of Champion seemed a fitting reward, a show to all present and something she could easily revoke. 

And in the state the apostate had been in, as her companions dragged her out of the Keep, Meredith thought perhaps she would be lucky and the girl would soon be remembered as the poor soul who died for Kirkwall, becoming a brief paragraph in the history books. 

But as she had soon learned, Meredith was out of luck.

“Champion.”  She said as the mage stepped in the room “I see you have recovered.” 

“I have, indeed.”

Even in the Gallows, constant whispering and rumors of the apostate’s absence persisted. More than once she had caught apprentices and enchanters gossiping over the topic, quickly dispersing once Meredith arrived. 

She stayed in her chair as she studied the mage. She looked more put together then the last time she had seen her. Her eyes were drawn to the woman’s neck, a vibrant red ribbon tied around it, a stark contrast to the rest of her black, grey and brown ensemble. Most importantly, there were no signs of injury in sight. A wonder, she thought, considering how badly injured she had looked then. She had known blood mages who used their powers to change their appearance and she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Good.” Meredith said without much honesty behind it. She lightly tapped her desk, sighing “Is there a reason for your presence here?” 

It was then that the strangest thing happened. 

The apostate smiled at her. 

Not a wide, all teeth smile, but not a formal one either. It was a casual smile, as if she was about to tell a tale to a friend. 

“Given the recent…incident with the Qunari, I believe I have a duty to this city” she said, “and I think I would best service it by helping those who keep it safe.” She gestured towards Meredith. 

Her reply came quickly “Do you expect me to believe that?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Meredith straightened her back on the chair, brows furrowing “Do not take me for a fool, apostate.” 

“Believe me, I wouldn’t dare.” 

They stared at each other. An apostate willingly wanting to help the order was unheard of. 

There had to be something more. 

“You may have saved Kirkwall, but your past actions are not so easily forgotten.” 

“Meaning?” 

“I am well aware of how you fooled that idiot Karras and allowed the Starkhaven mages to walk free.” Meredith stood up slowly as she spoke “Or how you confounded my Knight-Captain into not realizing your true nature.” She put her hands on her desk and leaned forwards “I will not allow you to make a mockery of my Order.” 

She had expected for the mage to run away and not bother her with lies any longer. Instead, she shook her head, smiling.

Infuriating.

“Those were different times.” The mage began pacing around her study. “We had just arrived in Kirkwall, and I only knew what my father had taught me - to fear the circle and run away from templars.” She stopped, staring at the templar shield mounted on the wall. “What choice did I have but to lie?” 

Meredith leaned backwards as she listened, eyes narrowed. 

“But time changes all things, doesn’t it, Commander?” She looked to the floor before turning her head to look at Meredith. “I know now how foolish it was to go against the Chantry’s laws.” 

There was a look of sadness on the apostate’s face, and she did not need to ask to know why. Meredith almost believed this little act. 

Almost. 

“Why not turn yourself in, then? You claim to have changed your mind but are still friends with apostates.” 

“Selfishness” she shrugged. “I didn’t want to abandon my mother’s ancestral home after everything that had happened…and I didn’t want to lose anyone else. Surely even you aren’t so heartless as to not understand.” 

Meredith's lips turned into a thin line. She stepped away from her desk and towards the apostate, crossing her arms as they stood face to face “I do not know what you wish to accomplish but-”

The mage interrupted her, placing one of her leathery, gloved hands towards Meredith’s steel gauntleted wrists. 

Meredith inhaled sharply at the audacity.

“I only wish for there to be no animosity between us.” The mage took a step forward, looking at the ground. “I know that, given…everything, you have every right not to trust me but believe me when I say my intentions are honest.” She looked up “I only wish to help you.” 

Never trust a pretty face. Always find the demon behind it. 

Her old mentor’s words echoed in her head as she stared into the apostate’s eyes, looking for the usual signs. There was always something that gave everything away, she had seen it in other mages before, the gaze of someone who had given into temptation. 

She took a step back when she failed to find it, wrenching her wrist away. But it was no matter. 

Sooner or later, the truth always comes out. 

“You are dismissed, apostate. Leave.” 

The girl nodded her head, stepping towards the door. 

“Just know,” she said, head turning back and a hand on the door “if you ever need anything…” she winked and left. 

. 

Elizabeth walked back home, stomach upset, as she replayed the conversation again and again in her mind. The templar’s cold eyes scrutinized her, as if she could tell all of the lies falling from her lips. The skull at the pommel of the sword strapped to her back watched her and she couldn’t shake the feeling that one wrong word would be enough to have her neck feel the sword’s steel. 

She ran to her room, closing the door and throwing water on her face, trying to calm herself. 

It would be alright, she told herself. The Knight-Commander was not a seven headed 

monster, she was just a woman, human like so many others. 

She was also a templar. 

Her heart hammered in her chest as laid down to rest. It was too late to go back now. She went over the possibilities, and only the worse outcomes came to mind. She could be hanged, she could be made Tranquil, she could lose everything because of this gamble.  

Maker willing, she had a winning hand. 

. 

. 

.

.

. 

.

.

She slept for the remainder of the day and much of the morning of the following one, troubled dream after troubled dream leaving her even more tired. By the time she made it downstairs, she noticed a pile of letters on her desk, sorting through them until one stood one - a letter with a templar seal. 

Champion, 

If your words hold any value and you truly do wish to be of service, meet me in the Gallows as soon as possible. 

Knight-Commander Meredith 

A shiver ran down Elizabeth’s back as she read the letter again and again, before holding it carefully on her lap. Endless possibilities ran in her head, less grim than before. At the very least, she had caught the Commander’s attention. Soon, her worries were replaced by a smirk. 

Her plans were only just beginning. 

.