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For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

The taste of ash lies thick in the air. For once something manages to overpower the foundry stench and blacken the perpetual orange of Kirkwall's night sky. Rubble lies massed in the streets, flung from the highest point to almost the lowest. Insanity and sudden chaos in the wink of an eye, a fateful explosion that has Cullen still blinking back blue lines, negative light impressions burned onto retinas.

Knight-Commander Meredith has left the Champion with an ultimatum that she not surprisingly doesn't take, murder her companion and choose their side, or the mages will all face the consequences. Hawke has vowed to fight to the bitter end to protect the mages of the Circle from the Right. Cullen privately hopes that she'll keep that word whether he agrees with her sparing of the abomination or not. This is all moving too fast with blame falling in the wrong quarter. The right answer isn't more blood. Meredith is implacable with all of them drawn along in her wake of righteous fury.

Cullen doesn't stay silent, arguing about the Champion. Surely arrest will be enough. Kirkwall's nobility won't stand for one of their grudging own being murdered by the arm of the Chantry. It isn't their place, Viscount or no Viscount in office. To his surprise, he earns concession on that front.

Then there is no more room for talking. They come upon their first wave of demons and abominations slaughtering unfortunates. The night turns red and black, a mist of blood and ichor. Cullen bashes his way through wave after wave of evil torn straight through the Veil, called by violence and horror. His sword arm burns. His shield feels as though it gains twenty pounds of its own volition, all of that before they reach the Docks District.

He hears a sound up toward the boarded up Qunari compound, more fighting. He peels away from the main force following Meredith, promising to catch up shortly, and runs up the steep steps. Breathless at the top, he sees flashes of fire past the barrier. He throws his weight behind his shield and bashes it in enough to gain entrance. A lone figure stands in the long abandoned plaza battling demons with magic and not an abomination himself. Without further thought, Cullen charges into the fray. "Aid behind you!" he shouts. He doesn't want to be mistaken for another enemy in the fight.

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He leaps back from the fire at first, a natural reaction. When he realizes it's not burning him, he uses it to his advantage. The shades are too hungry to drain him to stay back as far as they should. He uses the opportunity to attack them with everything he has.

He recognizes the effects of that spell, the look of it, and he makes efforts to let that demon live long enough to do its damage. His strength builds again, another glow of lyrium sending coruscating blue across his skin and armor. With concussive retort, another holy smite rains down and destroys the demon closest to him.

That one costs him. He visibly sags in his armor. His next few strikes are sloppier. He takes a claw rake down the shoulder that would have easily crippled him without his pauldron and spaulders. It doesn't matter. Either they kill the other two, or they're dead. Demons know no fear. Never retreat.

"No!" He swore he would stay back but Dorian finds himself rushing forward when the Templar staggers. He catches the man under the arm and helps him stay on his feet, whipping his staff around so the blade slashes across the line of shades, forcing them back. "Stay on your feet, you bastard."

When he feels the Templar his steady again Dorian steps away to give him room to use his sword and shield. He dances around his space, still using his blade on the shades to help cover the Templar.

Lightning sparks at the end of the blade as he drives it through a shade. His curse has spread to the rest of them now, all of them crackling with magic that slowly but surely hurting them.

Somewhere he has the wherewithal to be surprised. It could easily be survival. If he falls, the mage likely will, too. It's his vehemence and willingness to be in the fray that are shocking. No Gallows mage would ever take such a risk for a templar, and why should they?

He regains his focus quickly. No more smites for the rest of this battle, not until he can put some distance between himself and the draining effects of the demons. It's easy to forget what a toll they take with adrenaline running high. He lunges forward and away from the mage with his shield up, a hard charge to knock one of the remaining two far from the other. He follows up with two more shield strikes in rapid succession and ends it with a deep thrust of his blade.

A quick pivot has him coming right back again. The last one is weak enough from the magic eating at it from within that it explodes in a shower of greenish sparks. Cullen keeps his head swiveling, making certain there aren't more. He's soaked to the skin under his armor, hair clinging at his temples and sweat streaking through the ash coating his skin.

"You have my thanks." No rest for the wicked. As he turns left at the statue, he sees further down a narrower lane between warehouses the bulk of the templars who had followed Meredith in battle with a spiked giant straight out of nightmare, a pride demon.

"Andraste's ashes!" It's bitter invective from his tongue. He shoots a single glance at his companion and rushes forward. There is no way he can see such a battle and leave his men to it. Meredith is easy to see at the fore. Of course she would be, fury and flashing armor, a rallying point for the rest.

Tevinter trained its mages to fight even if they were the spoiled upper class. Dorian had never been in a real battle but he knew how to fight and cast. It was exhausting though. When the last shade dies he leans against his staff to catch his breath. He quickly ends up cursing under it as his companion runs off again.

"Kaffas!" He runs after him but it's not for very long. There's a pride demon in a heated battle with more Templars. It is not Dorian's day. It's not Kirkwall's day really.

"What do you do to Southern mages to make them so desperate as to do this?!" he yells above the battle noise. "This is madness!"

Yet, he still wades into battle with the Templars. If only his staff had a spirit rune. He could do so much damage but against a Pride demon he's lost almost half his spells and around this group he cannot call on the dead to help.

He couldn't begin to answer that question, not if he had hours to spare. Kirkwall's woes are many and have a long, long history going back well before Meredith's reign. The fight is truly horrific, the demon lashing the men and women in armor with electricity made all the worse by the metal encasing them. Several of his comrades fall and do not rise again.

Smite after smite detonates across the tough purplish-black hide. Cullen has recovered enough of his strength to add to the barrage. Striking it physically feels akin to striking stone. His shoulder is screaming agony. Every shield bash feels about as effective as charging against a wall.

And yet, bit by bit, they are seeping out its strength and beating it down. Covered in blood and ichor both, the templars advance and drive the creature back toward the steps leading down to the ferry landing. Its roars and taunts reverberate off the stone walls. The din of this battle is deafening.

The only place Dorian has regularly dealt with demons is in the Fade. It's easy there to see through the illusion and fend off the temptation. Fighting one in the real world is more harrowing than his actually Harrowing.

He hurls spells over the heads of the Templars. When the demon looks for escape Dorian calls up a wall of fire to block its path and turn it towards a corner to keep it facing off against the Templar force. A few Templars turn and look his way, worry clearly written on their faces but the pride demon is the bigger concern.

"To the Void with you!" Dorian yells as a wave of magic spreads from him over the crowd of Templars. They fight faster now, magical energy filling them to swing harder and faster. He cannot maintain this for long but he still pours the magic into them. This fight must end.

Cullen shudders. It's a hated feeling, the wash of mana uninvited over his skin. If this had happened to him just five years ago, there's a chance he might have broken and hurled himself into the harbor in a blind panic. Now, he recognizes the benefit he's given and takes advantage of it. They all do. It's a frenzy of hacking and chopping. All of them are coated in splashes of black. The stench is indescribable.

The demon tips back its monstrous head, roars its fury, and begins to topple backwards. Cullen flings his sword aside to dart forward and grab a dazed comrade, snatching him out of the path of the crash. It's heavy enough to shake the ground directly in its vicinity. He scrambles for his blade and takes several swift steps back to Dorian. He's breathing so heavily he's light headed and having difficulty speaking.

"This mage...is with me." Almost to a one, the others look toward Meredith.

She narrows her eyes in stony silence. After a very tense pause, she nods once. The look she shoots Cullen tells him there will be a reckoning for this later. The templars reform into battle lines and file toward the ferry.

Cullen glances at Dorian, a cautionary look. "Stay out of her way. Understood?" He won't be able to help him at all if he catches her ire. He starts toward the ferry with the rest of them, his face set in a grim line. The demons aren't anywhere near the worst of what's to come tonight. It's a daunting thought.

The second he releases the spell Dorian staggers and falls to one knee. Giving that much help to that many people put a strain on even his considerable talents. He feels drained of energy and mana.

He looks up at his Templar rescuer and then past him to the other Templars. They certainly look willing to cut his head off for simply being a mage. Quickly, he digs underneath his robes and pulls his bloodline pendant out so that it is on display. He had thought about selling it but now he's glad he hadn't. It proves he's from Tevinter and thus beyond southern Templar control.

"I suppose we'll make introductions later," he says with a groan as he pushes himself back up on to his feet. No one seems to be stopping to catch their breath. He supposes no one can when the city is at war.

He glaces at the woman in charge and nods. That one looks like she's more than willing to take the sword to him. He's really not in the mood for that.

The ferry sits low in the water laden with the weight of so many men and women in heavy plate. There's no banter of any kind, no talking at all. They all ride in grim silence with the knowledge that there are even more to follow if they make it that far. Reinforcements called back from the city to enact Meredith's edict. How many more innocent civilians will die because of this? Cullen doesn't know, only that they will. The city guard isn't equipped to deal with this threat the way they are.

He makes certain that he positions himself directly next to the Tevinter just in case anyone gets twitchy on the ride. The man has already proven his value and valor. He could have slunk away at any point since Cullen found him or left him to die facing the shades. He didn't. That doesn't mean Cullen is ready to trust his motives outright, or his presence. He could turn on them yet. He's not prepared to allow harm to come to him until and unless he does.

The ride is a chance to catch his breath and prepare himself for the horror to come. He has lived with these mages for a decade, some of them brought to the Gallows as children during the beginning of his service here. Does Meredith truly intend to slaughter them all? First Enchanter Orsino, as well? He may not like the vocal elf. He does recognize his value to the Circle. This is madness. Maybe that's not hyperbole on his part. There is something unsettling about Meredith tonight, a rage he has never seen.

As soon as the boat nears the dock, templars rise and begin leaping to the quay. He recognizes the signs of battle high. They're ready, not all of them nearly as reluctant as he. So eager, then? The thought saddens him. His mouth firms and he stands to wait his turn. Meredith steps off just ahead of him. There's an odd scent coming off of her, almost like lightning and brimstone. It has him deeply uneasy.

Hawke and her companions are already in the courtyard with Orsino. There's no sign of the ex-chantry priest. Cullen isn't surprised. One less conflict of interest to weigh on his conscience. He listens to the heated exchanges. No one is saying the right things or asking the right questions. As soon as he sees Hawke and the others walking away, he knows all time for talking is done. It's to be slaughter then.

While they wait for the reinforcements, he takes the mage slightly aside. "This isn't your fight. It's about to get ugly. If you want out of this, go back to the quay and wait. If I survive this, I'll see to it no templar lifts a hand to you. You'll find passage out of Kirkwall when the dust has settled."

It takes some time for Dorian to realize what the Templars mean to do. With all the general chaos around and actual fully formed demons walking the streets it was easy for him to think the Templars were only trying to help. After all, Tevinter Templars are kept around mostly for demon slaying and covering up the crimes of blood mages when they get a little too uppity. He doesn't think of them as maurading hoards out to kill all mages. The Right of Annulment is a joke in Tevinter. No force of Templars could take the Magisters all down.

This group is, however. He can see it in some of the other Templars when they step off the boat. They look... joyful, almost, as if they're going to enjoy the slaughter to come. There are whispers as well, men betting on how many they'll kill while others pray to the Maker for strength. Their leader, Meredith, probably thinks she's filled with righteous fury or some such nonsense but she looks completely mad to Dorian. At least there is one who seems to have some sense about this.

He is vastly out numbered but Dorian's never been one to hold his tongue even when it is the smart thing to do. He does kept his voice low, however. He has some sense of self preservation. "This isn't your fight either, whatever vows you took. You cannot mean to kill all the mages. They're not a pack of rapid dogs to be put down, they're people. Some of them are bad but the same can be said for the men around us right now."

With the dead around he could raise a considerable army to fight for him but such an action would leave his mana dangerously low. If he is to truly stop the Templars he would have to be very, very clever about it. He hopes there's some way to reason with them first. His companion has been reasonable until now.

Cullen's mouth firms to a thinner line. He glances over to be sure no one is listening to them and turns to face away from anyone who might be able to read his lips. "I don't," he says, voice low but filled with conviction.

"I know what this looks like to you. You're not local. You don't know the entirety of what has brought us to this point. I do not intend to allow every mage in that building to be slaughtered. Some of the others will listen to me and follow me when the time is right." His gaze sharpens.

"I can't expect that if you undermine me before then. Do you understand? If you start killing templars to try to stop this, then they will cut you down. They might cut me down, too, for bringing you here, and then no one is going to step up and do anything to stop this. We can't save everyone who deserves it. We can save some of them, if we keep our heads about it." His look is very direct, and there's as much a plea in it as conviction. He knows he has no reason to trust him. He can only pray that he's willing to listen to sense, or things will get even uglier than they already are.

"You southern Templars have no idea what a Tevinter mage can do," though he is posturing slightly. He cannot do much against a force of this size but he nods his head at the man. "Still, I'm in no mood to start a second all out war. As long as you keep your word and help all that you can."

And Dorian would do what he could, even against the Templars. There were plenty of spirits he could turn towards them, have them whisper horrors and fears into their ears. They were eager for a fight but he could terrify them.

"And if they should catch on feel free to throw the blame at the Tevinter's feet. We're responsible for all other sins after all."

"You won't do much of anything cut off from your mana. Add a barrage of smites to that the moment you step out of line... I'm relieved you're amenable." He has no doubt the man could take out some of his comrades. There are just too many of them, and one more source of violence in the mix won't make them more merciful toward the rest of the mages. Not at all.

He shakes his head. "No. There will be no passing of blame. There has been enough of that already to last me a lifetime." There's no time for him to explain further or go into that. The reinforcements are arriving from the dock.

"Look sharp and try to stay close to me if you can. I have a feeling we'll both need each other in this before all is said and done." He steps back over closer to Meredith. He doesn't want her looking for him, finding him off whispering with a Tevinter, and jumping to unfortunate conclusions.

Meredith gives the order to breach the gates, and it's on. Never in his imagination could he have seen himself attacking the fortress he has lived in, if not exactly called home, for the past decade, much less turning on all of the mages in his care.

Many of the first wave of mages who fall are innocent defenders. Cullen has the unenviable and difficult task of targeting only the worst while still trying to defend against those he'd rather not harm under different circumstances. Not all of the attacking templars are out for blood. Some almost immediately fall to their knees in obvious distress and confusion. To his dismay, some of those meet their end at other templars' swords.

Meredith is at the fore of all of it, cutting a swath as though it's what she was born to do. Red energy coruscates along her sword. How had he never noticed that before? To be certain, he had felt the blade ugly from the start, a sense of disquiet in its presence. This is different. He fights his way through a small snarl of defenders with pommel strikes and shield bashes, painful without being fatal. He needs to keep her in sight if his plan has any hope of success.

He snorts, a completely undignified sound but he does it. "Some sort of noble hero aren't you?"

He should have known. The man was a knight in armor after all. Dorian gets to his feet when the reinforcements arrive but hangs back away from the group yet close enough to be seen as one of them.

Right now, it is bad to be outside the group and he knows it.

When the gates are breached and the slaughter begins he moves in, using spirits to turn Templars away from innocent mages. They flock to him once they see a mage defending them and he is quick to rally them to his side.

"Go!" he shouts at them, pointing them towards the gates. "Go!"

It's some sort of miracle that the spirits distract the Templars enough to keep his work hidden. The occasional horrify to send those who notice fleeing in the other direction also help. Still, he does his best to make himself look like nothing more than a helpful mage in the battle.

He keeps the stranger in his peripheral vision when he can, as much to keep track of how he fares as to be certain he's not turning on his people entirely. He's no more willing to allow a full slaughter of templars as he is mages. Already, some of the men and women who trust him have formed around him, closer than the rest who follow Meredith's harsher vision or their own mad schemes.

Where is Hawke? Likely making her way to her sister if he knows her at all. He has no idea where Bethany is, either, or the First Enchanter. Perhaps they've sought the most defensible place they could manage. It's not long at all before demons and abominations are complicating things. Terrifying rage demons with gouts of devastating flame, insidious desire demons bending the weaker willed templars and mages both to their wills.

He's numb to it, falling back into training and discipline. The battlefield has its own rhythms that never pull him away from his ultimate goal, to see an end to this that isn't all blood, fire, and death. His first near breach with Meredith comes over three cowering mages hiding in a linen closet, begging mercy.

He reaches her with her sword raised. He knows them, little more than children. "They aren't lost to demons. Look at them. For the Maker's sake, Knight-Commander. Look!"

There's fury in her gaze. He could swear she hates him personally now. It's a long moment before she tears away from him and snaps orders to those more loyal to her to come. He waits for the Tevinter to come into sight and beckons him over quickly. "The way back is dangerous. Help them, please. I have to follow her. We'll be further in when you get back."

Children. Dorian had never been fond of them, even when he was a child himself but he would not see them die at any Templar hands. They were too young to be blood mages. No one could possibly think they were dangerous.

The Knight-Commander looked ready to kill and Dorian was ready to kill her for it. He is quick to step up to the children and put himself between her and the children. He would not see them killed.

"I will make sure they're safe," he says with a sharp nod. "You do the same to yourself."

It's a companionship born of battle but Dorian would truly hate for this man to die. He's rather fond of him already. There's not much he can do though. He has to go fight.

"Come along children." He puts a hand on one of their shoulders and guides them towards the way they came. "We'll get you somewhere safe."

Further in there's a second group, close to the enchanting chamber. This time they're adults. This time the breach is more severe. It's against Meredith's orders that Cullen speaks out, and it's only by virtue of the fact that he has more active supporters present that reason wins the day. However, it also means his support thins with three of his men moving to escort the mages to safety.

He feels a sense of impending doom when they draw near the chamber. Fire roars past the doorway, a magical barrier of flame impenetrable by conventional means. He steps onto the causeway just behind Meredith in time to see... It's unthinkable. Orsino surrounded by dead mages. So many bodies! What have they done? He shakes his head in rejection of the sight, negation.

It's too late. The First Enchanter has set into motion things that can't be undone. Corpses lift and fuse, bloating him to a shape beyond description and corruption. Meredith steps back into him. Her look at him is accusation, as though all of his arguments for mercy lead only to this path.

"We'll leave the Champion to deal with him, if she's so eager to die for these mages. We'll regroup in the courtyard and deal with whatever emerges victorious. Gather the others. We move."

He gathers what focus remains and begins barking his orders. "You heard her, templars! Back to the courtyard. Now!" A few fail to heed the orders, intent on breaching the fire barrier and dying horribly for their stubbornness. Cullen focuses on getting the rest as they go back the way they've fought so hard to come. A small part of him prays it's not Hawke emerging from that fight. He has a feeling Meredith will make no distinction between her or the abomination. Not anymore.

Dorian gets the young mages to those waiting outside, a group of older Tower mages who are torn between staying and running for their lives. They don't want to be apostates.

"Then you will be corpses," he tells them coldly, "There are very few Templars who are willing to spare lives right now. Go! If not for yourselves than the little ones who don't know enough to save themselves."

They want him to come with but he shakes his head. He can't leave. He has a friend inside and there's a battle still raging. He cannot escape now even though this is his best chance.

They finally run when Templars begin to pour into the courtyard. Dorian once again puts himself between the fleeing mages and the emerging Templars. When he spots Cullen he rushes up to him. "What's going on?"

There's a grimness in his expression bordering on darkness. He glances back toward the ruined gate. He has no idea how much time they have. His account is halting. It's still difficult to wrap his mind around what he witnessed. He's not easy to spook. "The First Enchanter..." He licks his lips, his mouth dry.

"He killed all of the remaining mages for some...ritual. I've never seen. Anything like it. Be prepared for anything. Meredith abandoned the Champion to that horror, and we couldn't breach the fire to aid her." It's hard to imagine anyone surviving that atrocity.

"It's blood magic," Dorian says with a shake of his head. Had he been there he could have guessed at what sort of spell it was and perhaps know how to counter it. Outside like this he can only speculate at what it might be and what the former First Enchanter was trying to do.

How desperate everyone in this city must be that even the First Enchanter turned to blood magic. The Magisters always said the South was backwards but never like this.

"The children got away." He hopes the news will brighten the outlook. "And a few more mages with them. How we'll they'll do on their own is a mystery but they're aren't here."

"That much was obvious, yes," he says, nodding. The hideous form will add to the collection of images that haunt his nightmares. He can tell already.

His expression changes to relief, both for the topic change and the news. "I'm glad. They hadn't been here so very long. They were innocents." It could be said of most of the mages in the Gallows when it came to Meredith's mad crusade tonight. They weren't part of the failed Mage Underground, and they had nothing to do with the obliteration of the Chantry. He tries not to think of that moment, indelible in memory. It will haunt him to the end of his days as much as his captivity.

It's not much longer before movement stirs at the ruined gates. Cullen's entire attitude sharpens. He walk back close to Meredith in time to hear her calling for Hawke's life. It's the breaking point. Everything up to now has been within her realm of authority. Murder of one of Kirkwall's nobles, Kirkwall's savior from the Qunari, he can't allow it, and he can't reconcile the woman giving the order with the woman he has followed for years, loyal if not always in agreement.

He thinks it should take longer to change his life irrevocably, a few words, an expected negative reaction, and suddenly he's between Meredith and Hawke, expecting she'll try to cut him down for it. What does happen is something he could never have expected, the sudden flare of the sword, a reddening of her eyes, not a demon. Something inexplicable. Something worse.

With a groan, the very statues of the courtyard come to impossible life, and it's a cry to arms and everyone in pitched battle against what Cullen can only see as pure evil. Maker, save them, will the madness of this night never end?

Dorian has never seen animation outside of Tevinter and the golems that guard Minrathous. The Tevinter statues coming to life suddenly with a burst of... it wasn't magic but it was something from the Knight-Commander is a shock that leaves him frozen in place for a good moment before he gets his wits back.

Kirkwall would not sit fondly in his memory.

Again, he calls on the dead and uses them defensively. The spirits don't care if the statues throw them across the courtyard. They get right back up and shamble towards them again and again. Lightning and fire dance from his fingertips as mana flows through him.

Some of the Templars turn on their own, on them, trying to fight for their Knight-Commander who has clearly lost her mind and been corrupted by something. He finds himself shoulder to shoulder with a tiny little Dalish elf who is practicing blood magic but he'll save the lecture for later. It's not a good thing that she's humming pleasantly while they fight.

Cullen keeps those loyal to him rallied and organized, structures them into the most effective fighting force they can manage under such extreme circumstances and duress. He cuts down some of those still loyal to Meredith himself, fueled by self-directed disgust that it has taken him this long to see her for what she has become and the thought that but for a little fortitude against crippling doubt from his past, he might have prevented this.

The battle rages long with more of Hawke's companions and a few unknown elements joining in against the impossible statues and Meredith's frenzy. There are moments in the fight when all of them are stunned and rendered useless by some mental force Meredith exerts. He fights it with every fiber of his being, reminded far too closely of the demons that sought purchase in his mind years before.

In the end, it's not any of their combined might that is her undoing, but her own mad overreach for power. He watches in mute horror when the red energy consumes her from the inside out and renders her to insensate, smoking slag. One look is all he needs with Hawke. There has been enough bloodshed and loss here tonight. His quarrel has never been with his fellow Fereldan and won't be now. They flee and leave him with stunned templars and a ruined courtyard.

And still the night isn't done. "You." He points to a Knight-Lieutenant he trusts. "Take a third of this force and secure the Gallows. Mercy for any mage who doesn't resist with blood magic, and be damned certain that abomination in the ritual chamber is dead and destroyed."

He gestures for the rest to gather round him. "I know you're exhausted. No less than I, but we must return to the city tonight. The guard cannot hold against the horrors roaming the streets. They need our aid. Kirkwall needs our aid. We must not fail them. Back to the ferry. Maker guard us all."

"Fascinating," Dorian mutters to himself though he's completely exhausted. It's a good thing the battle has ended when it did or else he would be completely drained of mana and useless besides the slashing of the bladed end of his staff.

He approaches the statue but stops short when all his senses tell him that whatever this woman has become is wrong, wrong, wrong. It smells terrible to his nose, like... burnt lyrium. As much as he wants to study whatever this is, he's got good sense not to try.

Instead, he walks over to Cullen and waits for him to finish his little speech.

"If you bring the mages to me I will look after them," he volunteers. "They should trust another mage more than Templars right now."

"Ser Ruvena," he calls to one of the still helmeted templars, the one who had drawn closest to the statue just after the fighting died. "Coordinate with this mage. The two of you have my permission to settle the survivors in the archives for now. It should be quiet there and the least bloodied. And Ruvena, keep in mind he's not one of ours. He's here as a courtesy." By the Maker, he hopes that's the truth.

It's two birds with one stone. He doesn't fully trust the Tevinter or the templar in question. They'll keep one another in check nicely while he's gone. "Keep the courtyard clear. No one is to approach or touch the...statue." Whatever she has become, she is no longer the knight-commander. That falls to him for now, until a suitable replacement can be found or sent to them.

"We'll return when we've established a measure of order out there. I want everyone here to understand our primary goal is to save as many lives as we can and bring order back to this city. If any of you are at odds with this goal, speak now and spare me the trouble of having to strip your rank later down the line."

Not a one wavers, not that he imagines they would when everything is so charged and circumstances clearly paint this as a logical goal. No, the Meredith loyalists are smarter than that, those still remaining. He marches off with them with a final glance back to the stranger and his new partner, a slight nod that shows more faith in them than he feels personally. There are too many things to juggle and not enough of him for them all. Compromises will abound.

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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