Author's Note: Okay folks, a cursory glance over the published version of chapter 1 once again proved that I NEED a beta. Please offer. I'll love you forever if you do.

Some plot appears! Also disclaimers. I disclaim, and all that.


Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Territory

The vision ended, the stillness descending like night, the darkness enclosing all.

"I don't understand what I'm seeing," a voice said quietly in the shadows. "What am I doing here?"

The presence beside him shifted slightly, a kind gesture, it seemed. It spoke, she spoke.

"Do you know where you are? Can you tell me?" she asked, her soft voice low and gentle.

"The Fade," he said certainly. There could be no doubt.

When the voice did not respond he opened his eyes. The vision about him was sick and blurry, a worn, wild landscape with little definition. He was sitting on a rock, his knees tucked up into his chest. Beside him was a girl with curious brown eyes looking out of a pale face.

"You seem familiar," he said, words rising automatically. "Are you someone I know?"

She was indistinct, her features ghostly and blurred, yet still more real than anything else. "I'm not really anyone," she said, with a sad smile. "I'm not really here."

He frowned, shifting slightly away from her. "Are you are a spirit then, a demon?"

She shook her head, her face seeming to gain some definition. "Ask your friend if you don't believe me," she said, and he recognized something in her voice. "If you can trust him."

Confused, he turned inwards, voicing his question aloud in his mind. The answer came reluctantly.

'No, this is no creature of the Fade.'

He looked back to the face before him, saw the watchfulness in those almond-shaped eyes. "Then what are you?"

An expression flittered across her youthful features, a twisting of her small mouth, as if she were having difficulty finding the words. "An illusion," she said finally. "A vision sent to guide you. Part of the spell."

He glanced around him, trying to focus on the landscape as it shifted woozily about him. "I'm under a spell?" he asked, disbelievingly. "Whose?"

A slight smile, and a hint of amusement entered the guide's voice. "I'm sure that you can guess."

He turned his thoughts to his visions, emotions churning as he recalled her face. "Ariadne," he murmured quietly, slipping himself off the rock, walking in an attempt to clear his head. "This is her magic." He paused, pressing a hand to his brow as he considered what he had seen. "Those were her memories that I saw. I'm almost certain of it."

The guide's voice seemed curious, and her expression too as he turned to look back at her. She seemed almost hesitant to ask. "What did you see?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing his mind on the images. "She was a child," he said quietly, "lighting candles with a man... her father?" He opened his eyes, seeing the curious sad light in the guide's face, and frowning. "It must have been. He was like Carver, only gentle. He had had her eyes. I could feel how much she loved him."

The guide nodded, and for the first time he could see that she wore her black hair down. "He was a good man," she said, her voice strained by some unspoken emotion. "Kind and... like you said, gentle."

His mind abounded with questions, but he kept his attention on the matter at hand. "But then there was the second vision. That couldn't have been hers - she was unconscious. I remembered that. That was mine."

The guide slipped off the rock, moving to face him where he stood. "It was," she said calmly, "your mind is at work here too."

She raised her hands, placing them gently over his eyes, forcing him into the dark. Images began to rise up within him, and he struggled to speak. "I don't understand."

Her voice drifted to him in the darkness, so familiar and yet not one he had ever heard. "In time you will, I promise you. For now, however, you must watch."


The morning of their journey was heralded by a clear sky and a spring breeze. For the first time in months the air felt fresh on her face as Ariadne waited by the gates. Sitting over the cart's edge, her legs dangling, she ignored Carver and Varric's bickering behind her, preferring to concentrate on what she was seeing, smelling and feeling.

The bright light struck the sandy-coloured walls of the Lowtown buildings with an unexpected crispness. The skyline seemed to dance with jumping of drying laundry, while the city below bustled with people eager to get on with their days. There was a chaos in it, but also a beauty. The city, for all its horror, its depravity and dirt, was vital and alive.

Reaching up she tried once again to retie her hair. Even when still damp from the morning's washing it seemed determined to slip its bonds, to escape her control. She fussed a little, cursing under her breath.

"Good morning!" a voice said brightly beneath her, causing her to drop the leather strap she tied her hair with to the ground.

"Maker's armpits!" she exclaimed irritably, "I almost had it!"

She glared down at the cause of her disturbance. It was the healer, Anders. "Oh!" she said, sputtering as she scrambled to her feet. "I am so sorry. I should have realised."

She bent forward, offering her hand to help him up into the cart.

"It's no trouble," he said brightly, taking her help and stepping nimbly up onto the cart. "I understand how difficult it can be to keep your hair in check."

She smiled as they seated themselves, a slight blush staining her cheeks as Varric urged the driver to get going. Anders leant forward, offering the leather tie.

"I think this is yours," he said, before turning to Varric at the front of the wagon, leaving Hawke to fasten her hair carefully. "I never imagined we'd be travelling in such style."

The dwarf shrugged nonchalantly. "Curly is an associate of my brothers. Happens to be heading into the mountains himself this morning. Isn't that right Curly?"

The elf in the driver's seat nodded. Anders couldn't help but noticed that his hair wasn't curly. He decided not to ask. He turned to begin speaking to Carver, but the young man's scowl was more than enough to discourage him. Luckily Hawke finally seemed to have succeeded in tying her hair.

"So," he asked warmly, "any chance you can make this expedition sound slightly less doom-laden in the light of day?"

She shifted slightly in her seat, clearly uneasy. "I... I'm not so sure that I can."

He noticed that Carver too looked more than a little nervous, but was surprised to hear the dismissive snort from their dwarven companion. An awkward silence loomed. Anders surveyed his companions. Varric was leant back into the corner of the wagon nearest the driver, his expression one of a dwarf who feels his time is being wasted. Across from him, and next to his sister, Carver sat with one elbow leant up on the bar of the driver's seat. Clearly there was some sort of disagreement in the ranks. Perhaps it would be better to change the subject.

"You know," he said brightly, looking over at her. "I had a friend like you once. Got in all kinds of trouble, dragged me along. Didn't think I'd be doing that again."

The girl grinned appreciatively, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Are you saying I'm trouble?" she asked cheerfully. "Well, that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day!"

Beside him the dwarf grunted curtly. "The day is young Hawke," he drawled. "Maybe I'll start being nice if you prove not to be completely bat-shit crazy."

Her eyes narrowed. "Thanks Varric," she said sharply, "I really appreciate that." Rolling her eyes with a sigh of irritation, she turned to him, lowering her voice so that the driver wouldn't hear. "I passed by the Chantry yesterday afternoon," she said quietly, her expression serious, "Figured it would be pretty obvious if there'd been any kind of disturbance."

He leant forward, his question little more than a whisper. "Was there?"

She shook her head, matching his movement. "None. The Templars must have hushed it up..." she paused, her face uncertain. "I can't tell if it's a good or a bad sign."

Not bothering to lower his voice, Carver interjected harshly, "I can't imagine why they'd even do it."

The look she shot him would have silenced all but the most puffed up of idiots. "A botched operation?" she hissed. "Arrows, sword-fighting and no evidence of Blood Magic? I don't think it's something they'll be wanting to advertise."

Their eyes met, and he nodded. "You're right," he said quietly, "I'd take it as a good sign. Chances are they've got nothing to follow up on."

Seeing the understanding passing between them, Carver's lip curled in disgust. "Doesn't hurt to be out of the city though, does it?" he snapped angrily.

Glancing up at the boy, the warden smirked. "Does it ever?" he asked, suggestively.

Sniggering at the foul looks her brother was giving the mage, Ariadne sat back in her seat and drew a piece of paper from her pocket. "Anyway," she said loudly, "while I was in Hightown I found a posting on the Chanter's board. Some Prince or other wants revenge on some mercenaries. Looks like there might be some profit in this trip after all."

The change in Varric's demeanour was instantaneous. He reached across to take the paper. "You don't say!"

Even Carver looked relieved, almost appreciative. "And here I thought we were wasting our time running errands for that crazy old witch."

His last words seemed to catch at something bothering Hawke. She rounded on him angrily. "Do you want to leave it lying around Carver?" she said, drawing something from her pocket, holding it aloft. The silver chain shone in the sunlight as her blue eyes flashed with annoyance. "It's a pretty amulet, maybe mother would like to wear it?" she said, almost spitting with irritation.

Carver winced, and even Varric moved uneasily. He looked at the amulet, sensing the restlessness around it. There was more to this thing than met the eyes. Hawke breathed carefully, calming herself, she looked at her brother with pleading eyes. "The sooner we're rid of this thing, shot of our debt to that... creature the better it will be for all of us."

The word caught him by surprise. "Creature?" he asked, glancing at the expressions around him. "Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something?"

As the amulet disappeared back into Hawke's armour, the dwarf leant forward with a chuckle. "You mean you didn't tell him?" he asked mockingly. "Oh that's priceless, Hawke, really. No wonder he agreed to come."

She scowled at Varric. He really was doing everything he could to wind her up. "I was half giddy from mana deprivation when I asked him," she glanced over at their companion, and felt a slight blush rising in her cheeks. "Besides, it's embarrassing."

Varric's lip curled into a smirk. "Why?" he asked sarcastically. "Because you think he'll laugh in your face like I did when you told me?"

Leaning forward, the girl glared at him, pointing a finger at his face. "Dwarf," she growled, her voiced laced with menace, "if you don't stop mocking me I will set fire to your precious crossbow, I swear."

Her threats did not go ignored. The dwarf lifted his hand, muttering darkly, "You'd be dead before you even waggled your pretty little fingers, lady."

"I..." she hesitated, more than a little defeated, attempted a reconciliation. "Look, pointless threats aside, just because you don't believe me, doesn't mean it didn't really happen."

Relaxing slightly, the dwarf leant back with a roll of the eyes. "Right, right, because you and your family flew to Kirkwall on the back of a dragon."

Her eyes flared angrily. "I never!" she sputtered. "That's not what I said! Carver, please help me out here."

Carver shrugged, refusing to rise to the bait. "Don't look at me," he said, looking more than a little uncomfortable, "I'm not even sure I believe it, and I was there."

This bickering, while amusing, wasn't achieving anything. It was time to interrupt. "Look," Anders said calmly, looking Hawke full in the face, "I've seen some pretty strange stuff in my time. Just try me."

Her face coloured with embarrassment. She really was doing a good job of making herself seem like an arse. "Alright..." she muttered, glaring at Varric. "But if anyone laughs... Even just a chuckle, I am going home."

Looking like nothing so much as a petulant child, she began her tale. Explaining how, with Bethany's corpse not even cold at their feet, they had been overwhelmed by darkspawn, and seemed trapped beyond help. She leant forward as she came to explain how a dragon had appeared above them, her expression becoming more animated as she described how it had swooped in to save them, and the ensuing encounter.

He couldn't help but smirk as she finished, leaning back in his seat with a slightly pleased expression "So that's your big secret?" he asked, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "You were saved by the Witch of the Wilds?"

Cheeks burning, Hawke leant forward, shaking her head. "I know it sounds ludicrous," she said, pressing her hands over her eyes. "Really, I do."

The chuckle escaped his lips before he had time to check it. "Not as much as you might think," he said cheerily. "I... uhh..." he paused, making a slight show of inspecting his fingernails, "I happened to travel with the Warden Commander, back in Amaranthine."

All eyes shot to look at him, but it was Carver who piped up first, dark brows furrowed. "The Warden Commander? You mean you knew the Hero of Ferelden?"

He nodded, feeling more smug than he had any real right to. It wasn't often he had a real chance to show off. "Callir Cousland, finest woman ever to grace the thron.," Unable to stop himself, he leant forward, eyes glinting mischievously as he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Sometimes, she let me call her 'Cal'." Such lies... She never let anyone call her that.

Now it was Varric's turn to interject, his expression disbelieving. "You're serious? You mean you believe this pile of crap?"

He smiled at the fuming dwarf, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I do, as it happens," he said mock-casually. "Not many people know that Flemeth can transform into a dragon."

"That's it," the dwarf exclaimed, throwing himself back into his seat with an expression of frustration. "Now I've heard everything."

He couldn't help but see the expression on Hawke's features. Half-relieved and still half-nervous. "You do realize she'd dead though, don't you?" he asked, looking up at her reassuringly, "The Commander killed her back in the Blight. She's not about to swoop down on us."

"I certainly hope not!" Carver said, turning slightly to put his boot up on the bench. "Swooping is bad."

She laughed at that, running her hand over her hair, causing a few strands to stray from her knot. "I just..." she said, more than a little abashed. "Don't think we can be too careful with this, that's all."

Anders frowned slightly, leaning back in his seat. "If you're so worried about what will happen, why not just not deliver the amulet?"

Carver snorted slightly. "Because she's probably ten times more afraid about what will happen if she doesn't," he said bluntly.

Hawke pointed at her brother. "What he said."

The embarrassed look on her face made him smile. "Look," he said kindly, "I doubt I'm going to convince you, but I'm sure everything will be fine. Flemeth's dead, and I'm sure these elves will be content to accept the amulet and send you on your way. Dalish elves are, in my experience, not particularly keen on humans."

"I hope you're right," she said quietly, her eyes still uncertain. "Really, I do."


They were well out of the city now, and the path was heading steadily upwards. In the distance Sundermount loomed, a blue tinted shape that became clearer with every passing minute. The morning's conversation confirmed much of what Anders had gathered from their first meeting.

The girl, Hawke, was bright and good-hearted, with a slight tendency to joke about things that made her nervous. She would have been twenty, at a guess, an opinion taken mostly from the fact that she was still rather awkward in her own skin, all angles and slightly misjudged movements. There was something disarming about it, much like the way in which hands would mess with her hair at any given opportunity, only for her to complain seconds later that it was impossible to keep in check. Added into the mix the fact that her heart-shaped face was uncommonly pretty, and her eyes a truly dazzling blue, and he had no doubt that his younger and less wise self would have been flirting with her outrageously.

By contrast her brother Carver was a sullen creature, who clearly viewed him as at best an irritation and at worst a threat. What to, he wasn't exactly sure. The tease in him rather hoped it was that the lad didn't particularly like the way he was talking to his sister, and was rather hoping to test this hypothesis by flirting a little more openly, but there again was that thing he didn't want to do. In short, with his brawny arms and his snippy manner, Carver had all the bark and bite of a toothless Mabari. Although Mabari were generally regarded as intelligent creatures. Given that he didn't talk much except in barks or grunts of disapproval, much of this was gathered from his body language, leaning back into the corner of the wagon with one foot up on the bench so that his legs were spread as wide as they could be in the small space. Very subtle.

Then of course there was the dwarf. He'd never met a beardless one before, though he seemed to maintain this with a razor rather than by nature given the extensive chest hair on display. Wise-cracking and sarcastic, Varric's humour had appealed to him instantly, and even if he did have a distinctly unhealthy attachment to that crossbow of his, he wasn't exactly the kind of person to be judging anyone on unhealthy attachments.

The chatter on the cart was light-hearted and meaningless, with the notable exception of Carver, who seemed determined to glower them all to death. Anders seemed as likeable as he had the first time she'd met him, and Ariadne couldn't help but wonder how it was possible for someone who was technically an Abomination to seem so... normal. More than normal. The guy was funny, despite having clearly seen more than his fair share of both human and inhuman monsters, and willing to smile despite... well, Karl. That and he really did have those eyes Lirene had mentioned. It didn't make sense. Not to mention that it seemed ever so slightly unfair.

Before they knew it the cart had pulled up at the bottom of a winding track. "This is as far as I'll be going," the driver said bluntly, "I'll be coming back this way near nightfall, if you need to get back."

With the exchange of silver and a few appreciative words, the party got down from the wagon and began making their way up the path. Carver strode ahead, which seemed only natural, and he was followed by Varric, who seemed set on the utterly futile course of trying to make him lighten up. That left Ariadne walking with Anders, which she found she didn't in the least bit mind. In fact, it gave her the perfect opportunity to get something off her chest.

"I wanted to apologise," she said, picking slightly at a thread fraying from her glove. "The other night I got a bit... carried away."

He smiled, shaking his head. "Don't worry. It was nothing I couldn't handle."

She returned his smile, tucking a flyaway hair behind her ear. "I suppose it was... pretty refreshing really, meeting someone who actually knew what it was like to be an apostate," she said, watching her boots dig into the gravel. "More often than not we're too busy running to make conversation."

He laughed softly at that, a warm sound that she couldn't help but like. "You can say that again," he said. "I can count the number of real conversations I've had with other apostates on one hand."

She nodded, breathing deeply. "There's something about Kirkwall," she said, her voice gaining in enthusiasm. "Even though I'm being hunted. Even though it sounds like this Knight Commander is a despot in the making, I've met more people willing to accept me for who I am here than I have in my whole life," she paused thoughtfully. "It's almost too good to be true."

He wasn't sure what to make of that. He certainly wasn't sure he could say the same. "I suppose the thing that I really couldn't get over was that you lived with your family the whole time" he said eventually, deciding that it was easier just to change tack. "That you've never even been in a Circle. What was that like?" he asked, looking across at her.

She frowned slightly, glancing back at him. "Honestly?" she asked, and she was surprised to see him nod. "For a long time... incredibly lonely. We had each other, but we were never in one place long enough to get to know anyone else. Things were different in Lothering," she admitted, sadly, "but we always had to be so guarded."

He found this rather difficult to believe. "You really think you're better off here?"

"Not exactly," she said with a slight shake of the head, "At least while it's still chaotic I can disappear into the crowd. It may not last, but when things do turn nasty at least I know there's somewhere safe to leave mother and Carver."

"You'd leave them here?"

She nodded. "Without Bethany and I there's nothing hanging over them," she said plainly, with no hint of self-sacrifice, as if it were the only sensible option. "They're safe, and they can start building something good. When you run..." she paused, her eyes clouding slightly, "people get hurt. Things get lost. They've run enough."

This certainly wasn't what he had been expecting. "That's... noble I suppose," he said, his eyebrows raised.

She shrugged. "It's also practical. I know from experience that it's easier to smuggle a single mage from a city than a family."

He had to accept that. "True enough."

She paused, running a hand over her hair. "Don't get me wrong," she said, her expression firm but earnest, "I don't want to have to leave. Kirkwall's done more for me that I thought possible. For once in my life I don't feel like being a mage is the only thing about me that matters," she paused, and something in her face told him that she'd surprised herself. She blushed. "I never talk like this to anyone," she said, shaking her head slightly before looking at him. "Are you sure you're not a Blood mage? You must be doing something."

He grinned, giving his shoulders a nonchalant shrug. "What can I say, I'm just that charming."

She chuckled, an eyebrow raising slightly. "Obviously."

Something, just the tiniest something in her chuckle struck him. The realization hit him that here was a girl who probably wouldn't have appreciated the kind of man he used to be. Not that they couldn't have been friends, but rather that the kind of woman she was found it difficult to really connect to people who relied on charisma. That if anything that kind of persuasive overconfidence was almost guaranteed to make her back away from someone. A kind of shyness and difficulty in trusting new people. Of course, given her background that made more than a little sense. Still... it was refreshing.

And now he was staring. "Listen," he said, clearing his throat slightly, and focusing on his boots, "while we're clearing the air, I want to apologise for getting a bit... weighty when we talked after the Chantry. Sorry for putting that on you."

"Don't be," she said, gently, glancing at him as she matched his pace. "Honestly you can tell me anything."

"Anything?" he asked, his face brightening. "Be careful what you offer. I just..." he paused, unsure of how to put this, "I hope I didn't seem too selfish when I told you about Justice. I didn't know what would happen. I thought a willing host, a friend... It had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse."

She frowned at that, twisting the unravelling thread from her glove around her fingers. "My father used to say something," she replied thoughtfully. "Mostly when we'd done things that were wrong, but still. He'd say," she drew herself slightly more upright, took a deep breath, "'We can't judge the outcome of our actions. We can only make them with a true heart.' It's a bit of a cliché, but it seems to me that you did what you did with the best of intentions," she smiled at him. "You tried to help your friend. You couldn't have known how things were going to turn out."

"Kind, wise and beautiful?" he exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. "You must have made some deals with demons yourself." Well that was cheesy. Not to mention being exactly the kind of behaviour he'd literally just realised was almost guaranteed to put her off. His cheeks coloured. "I'm sorry... It's just... We've hardly met and it feels like I know you already. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Her flustered expression was more than enough to tell him yes, but as he had already seen more than once, her nervous humour kicked in. "Keep telling me I'm beautiful, you can't go wrong with that."

"Oh I'm sure I can get more creative..."

'Andraste's knickers you fool, shut up! She's looking at you like a startled bloody deer. If you even wanted to get into her smallclothes, which, as a slight reminder, you don't right now, she's practically running for the hills.'

Coughing slightly, or maybe even choking (Was he flirting with her? Could she really be sure? Maybe this was some sort of... warden humour. Maybe she should just play along. Shit she'd gone as red as Bethy's hanky, she must look like a total arse.) she looked away up the path to see that Carver and Varric were just too far ahead. If she tried to catch up with them now, it would be patently obvious that she felt awkward and/or that she was avoiding him. Change the subject. Change it.

"So..." she said, rubbing the back of her neck, "How are you feeling, about Karl?"

'That's it? That's the best you can do? 'Hello Mr Warden, you have nice eyes and a really pretty mouth and also stubble, but I don't know how to cope when people flirt with me so let's talk about your dead mate that you killed less than forty-eight hours ago.' Congratulations Ariadne, you are a buffoon.'

Anders blanched, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His mouth twisted awkwardly. "It's difficult," he said, finally, "I hadn't seen him in a long time but... he was special to me. More than just a friend."

'"More than just a..." Oh. Oh thank the Maker for that,' she thought to herself with considerable relief. Now at least she could stop blushing.

She smiled slightly, "I understand."

He frowned at her, her whole countenance seemed to have shifted somewhat. "Do you?" he asked, uncertain.

She nodded, unable to repress her feelings of relief. "I lived my whole in Ferelden as an apostate," she said, matter-of-factly. "I've heard what it's like at the Circle."

He smiled at that, unable to repress a small chuckle. "I used to think that was one of the few upsides to the whole matter."

She chuckled briefly, but her face became serious. "You might say that," she said, twisting a strand of hair between her fingertips, "but then again you are a man. It's generally easier for men to get away with that sort of behaviour outside the Circle."

It was clear enough what she was referring to. "You mean without being labelled a slut."

She nodded, her expression resigned. "Essentially," she said quietly. "The Circle girls we helped were often... too trusting. More than one of them got hurt. It's not as if they set about teaching you how people behave in the wider world."

"No," he admitted, "no it isn't."

"I'm so glad I never ended up inside a Circle," she said, her eyes turning skyward as if embracing their freedom. "Bethy too. Even just going to the Gallows here..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "It gives me the shivers."

He smiled. "Stuff of childhood nightmares, hmm?"

"More or less," she said softly, and he could see the fleeting darkness in her face, "But anyway, you were talking about Karl."

He nodded, returning to the feelings he'd done nothing but pore over for the last day, "I just..." he paused, feeling his anger rise, "keep coming back to the injustice of it all."

"That seems..." she said gently, watching him closely, "understandable."

His lips curled, words that had been stuffed inside him, building up inside him starting to tumble out. "It's the bloody templars!" he snarled, "They don't see us as people! They don't care that Karl was someone's son, someone's lover," he shook his head. "If you're born with magic they hear about it, they search your little rat-spit village and find you. They tell your parents they'll be thrown in prison if they ever ask about you, stripped of their rights in the eyes of the Maker," he knew he was going too far, but he didn't seem able to stop himself, "And if you run away they hunt you down. Again, and again and again."

She stopped him, simply, with a hand on his arm. Looking into his face she said, nervously, "You're starting to glow again."

He paused, breathing deeply. "And since yours is the only head here, and I don't want to rip it off, I should stop. Yes, sorry."

Her eyes were a little uneasy she turned away from him, pushing on up the path. "I often think it's the sympathizers who come out worst in these situations," she said, watching her footing. "The truth of the matter is that the templars don't care who they hurt. Some of the time they even want to."

There was something in her voice, a deep sadness, a wound. "You sound as if you're speaking from experience yourself," he said, watching her expression.

"I am," she breathed, her eyelids fluttering closed, "but this isn't about me."

He appreciated that. It was one of the things he would remember as he lay down for the night. The way she'd refused to let him deflect the conversation, the way she'd let him, or perhaps even forced him, to talk. After weeks and months of running in circles around his own head, it was a relief to put his thoughts into words. "You're right about the Circle," he said after a moment. "Growing up there everything is about order and rules and the templars. The apprentices found ways to make that bearable," he slowed his pace slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Karl and I... he was the first, we could forget that out in the world we were nothing more than templar slaves. We hadn't been together in a long time, but still, it hurt."

She pursed her lips. "I can't pretend to know what that would feel like," she said, "I'm sorry, truly."

He sighed, despite everything feeling calmer. Sadder yes, but less angry. "I just can't believe he's dead, and by my hand."

She halted for a moment, and he waited, watching the uncertainty gather in her face as she tried to put her thoughts together. She drew a breath, and looked him square in the eyes. "When we first met Aveline, her husband Wesley had contracted the Blight. She spared him..." she paused, and he didn't need to imagine what that could mean, "It was the noblest thing I'd ever seen, and the most loving," her jaw tightened, and she reaffirmed her gaze. "I'd sooner feel death creep through my veins than be Tranquil. Never doubt that you did the right thing."

Her resolve, the firmness of her stance and her words struck a chord deep within him. He smiled. "Stuff of childhood nightmares, hmm?"

"More or less," she muttered, glancing ahead to where Varric and Carver had stopped.

Cautiously, with as little noise as possible they caught up to the other pair. The dwarf glanced back at them over her shoulder. "Something up ahead," he whispered, "Might be these mercenaries."

"Good," Anders muttered, reaching for his staff, "I think I could do with unleashing some righteous fury."


"Oh, now that's just classic," Carver interrupted, chuckling deeply.

Ariadne sighed, adjusting herself slightly against the rugged stone of the wall. "I know, Carver, very funny indeed," she said drily.

"It is!" he insisted, pinching her lightly on the shoulder, "You thought he was... I mean, even when he was so patently flirting with you?"

She huffed with irritation. "I didn't exactly think so for long. Anyway, I was so nervous about that sort of thing back then that it was almost a relief."

"You mean you were nervous about flirting with the strange glowy abomination boy?" he asked, eyes widening in faux-shock. "You don't say."

"Quiet you," she grumbled, "I could always put you to sleep."

He laughed. "When you could simply do so with the dull story of your sad little life?" he replied, eyes glittering wickedly. "It seems like a bit of a waste to me."

She practically growled at that. "Remind me why am I healing you again?"

"Because if you didn't," he said, nudging her in the ribs playfully, "Mother would come back from the grave and nag you to death."

"I'll continue then."

"Go right ahead," he said, resettling himself against the wall, "but remember that I was there."

"Good point," she replied cheerfully, "I'll skip over that bit then."


"I never forgot the look on her face the first time she saw Merrill using Blood Magic," he said quietly, his head resting on his knees once more. "I saw it countless times after, but the way her eyes burned then... I knew she'd rather die than take that step."

The guide nodded, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Malcolm's distrust of Blood Magic had a profound effect on her."

"As did almost everything else he believed," he replied flatly.

"Looking back," the guide asked gently, "do you think that Flemeth knew what was coming?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging off her touch, "I don't think I care."

"Ariadne cares," she said firmly, a hint of irritation in her young voice. "Those words have plagued her for years."

He looked up, turning to the guide with a frown. "And yet I don't find them here," he said, gesturing around him, "How can you be so sure?"

The guide shrugged, getting to her feet and walking away from him. "I'm a part of her," she said, her voice carrying over her shoulder, "her projection, her dream. Make of it what you will. I can say no more now."