Wynne covered her mouth, steeling herself as she waited in the doorway. When Irving beckoned her, Greagoir turned as well. Lucia sat nearby, head in her hands. Wynne crossed her arms as she entered the room.

"Well? What word have you?" Greagoir asked, deep lines across his face.

"Marina has been sent to the pyre," Wynne kept her eyes down, "And Leyton is beyond our capabilities. He will not see through the morning."

"Andraste's mercy," the Knight-Commander turned away with a sigh. "And Johan?"

"He will be fine," Wynne replied coldly, "A slight knock on the head. Cullen obviously wasn't concerned with killing him."

"I am so sorry, ser," Lucia said, shaking her head, "I should have stopped him."

"You're bloody well right you should have," Greagoir replied, turning to her.

"Hardly," Irving said, putting a hand on the woman's shoulder, "It means a great deal you were concerned for the apprentices more than following him."

"I'd heard voices in the hall, I just though - I couldn't have known," Lucia said, looking up to them with bleary eyes. "He slaughtered them. I couldn't stop him. I don't know what came over him."

"No doubt they used magic," Greagoir replied dubiously.

"Aye, I felt it ser, but it was nothing," Lucia said, her voice empty. "It was so little. Cullen would have known. He's been ordained longer than I. Years longer."

"And that hardly excuses his actions," Wynne said, earning a reproachful glance from the Knight-Commander. "So what do you intend to do about it?"

Greagoir closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. He could feel Irving's eyes upon him. The smug look set within them. This was the proof he had wanted, the proof of Cullen's instability. Crossing his arms again, he said, "Nothing."

"You cannot be serious," Wynne said, advancing closer, "He slaughtered two innocent children in cold blood."

"Two innocent children would not have been found dallying and drinking in the library," Greagoir replied, staring her down.

"Then he is a murderer," Irving followed, nodding, "And should be treated as one. We must send word to the crown."

"He is a templar, and is the Chantry's concern," Greagoir grumbled, "Keep out of this, Irving. I will handle it."

"Like you handled his discipline? His behaviour should have been reported months ago," Irving clipped.

"Lucia," Greagoir's voice softened, and he touched the lady templar's shoulder, "You are relieved of your duties until we speak further. The dorms, the church - whichever you wish. Do not let this burden you."

"Y-yes, ser," she replied, getting up to salute him before shuffling out of the First Enchanter's office. Wynne sighed, watching her go.

"I will speak with the sisters regarding a service for them," Greagoir added, before turning on his own heel to leave.

"When did things go so wrong?" Irving asked, drifting back towards his desk.

"They were getting better," Wynne quietly said, closing her eyes. Leyton was one of her prize pupils. "You have to speak for us, Irving. You hold the power granted by the Queen."

"I know, Wynne," Irving sighed, leaning both hands onto his desk. He hung his head down. "Maker preserve us, they did not deserve what he did."

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

The First Enchanter shook his head tiredly, quietly replying, "I do not know. What can we do? They are not bled and stockpiled as we. He is a templar. By all accounts, that alone makes him revered. He will not have difficulty finding safe harbour."

Wynne flattened her lips, shaking her head as she quietly said, "More. I simply expected more from you."

The silence hung between them for a time until Irving finally said, "Would you please inform the apprentices of what has transpired? I will speak with the enchanters."

"It will not go well," Wynne replied. "On the cusp of Neria's visit, this will only add to the unrest."

"I know," he sighed. "But they deserve to know the truth."

Neria inhaled deeply as Alistair offered a hand and helped her down out of the cart. Calevar scurried by and ran into the compound. The rest had gone indoors as well, and heat radiated off the cobbles as the sun fell below the city walls.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Give me some mint tea and fresh air... well.. I may have to make due with the tea," Neria tiredly said.

"We could go to the docks tomorrow, perhaps. Calevar and Fae always enjoy that."

"Sounds lovely," Neria weakly smiled, "I can see Fen'in enjoying it just as much - so long as we don't watch."

"Maker forbid we see him enjoying himself," Alistair murmured, letting go of her hand to haul a crate off the cart. When Neria reached for one he made a sound of protest, "And what are you doing?"

"Carrying my weight?"

"I think you're carrying more than that as is," he said, trying to usher the box out of her grasp. Neria sidestepped him and made it to the door. "Is that a bright idea?"

"Exceedingly," she said, dropping it inside.

"Let me get the rest? I can always bug Brant if need be," he said, planting a hand on the wall beside her. "Go help the children to bed."

Neria dropped her hands, looking up at him before acquiescing. Brant smiled as he snuck by to escape back outside, and she continued through the compound, noticing the door to the garden open. She lingered in the doorway, seeing Calevar out amidst the overgrown beds. He turned when he heard her.

"What brings you out here?"

The boy held a piece of parchment to his chest, looking down, "I always like it here, Madre."

"What did Zevran say?"

Slightly blushing, Calevar looked down at the letter, "He – he left some things here. He wants me to have them. I don't know where to find it though."

The two letters had arrived in her absence – one for her, and one for the young elf. His words were taciturn, but she had gotten the impression the Crows would no longer bother her or Alistair. Alim was alive and well, and they were in Antiva City. It was all she'd heard in the year and a half since he'd left.

"What does it say?" she softly asked, putting out her hand.

Calevar reluctantly put the crinkled parchment in her hand, and reading the flowing script Neria's expression softened.

"You'll find it in the garden," she offered a smile, giving it back. "I'm not going to show you though."

"But Madre –"

"We'll be here long enough for you to find it on your own," she said, turning back to the door. "But go eat and find Magge."

Calevar huffed a little as he went by, and Neria sat on one of the raised beds. She watched the colours of day bleed across the sky, wrapping her arms around her abdomen. She looked down as a slight whine drew her attention. Fen'in bumped his head into her, and Neria put her hand on his head in reply.

"I'm alright," she softly said. "Just remembering."

If he had not already been sleep deprived, the trek into the eastern reaches of the Bannorn pushed him into exhaustion. For three days straight, Cullen walked, and the last mile alongside the grain field had him stumbling. His armour was far too heavy, there was an unquenchable thirst in his throat, and he stank. He was near collapsing when the boy found him.

"Ser," the boy reached out as Cullen wavered.

"Where am I?" he croaked, blinking in the bright afternoon light.

"Near River Dane," he replied, furrowing his brow, "Are you alright, ser? Should I fetch my father?"

Cullen pursed his lips together, a numbness in them as he absently shook his head. He had not gone without lyrium since… since…

"This way, you need help," the boy said, watching Cullen and sprinting towards the homestead.

Squinting in the light, Cullen scarce noticed as the farmer approached, speaking to him in a concerned tone. The man's hands were rough, deep lines in his features from working the land and days in the sun.

"Come inside," the farmer finally urged, waving to his wife by the house and helping Cullen across the field and past the barn to the door. "We will make sure you are clothed and fed."

"Thank you, ser," Cullen finally said, taking the water offered him and drinking it down. Closing his eyes, he sighed out and added, "The Maker's blessing upon you."

The woman smiled and said, "And upon you. Come inside and rest."

Though the house was small, they urged Cullen to accept the only private room – their bedroom – that he might remove his armour and wash up. The boy left a bowl of water and a cloth, in addition to a change of clothing. In a haze, Cullen removed his armour, wiping his face down before emerging into the main room of the squat house.

"Looking better already," the woman said by the fire, inclining her head, "It has been many years since we saw a templar outside the town."

"Town?" Cullen absently asked.

"River Dane," she furrowed her brow, before smiling again. She motioned to the small table, and he sat down. "I had imagined that was where you were going."

Cullen's eyes didn't focus quite right as she put a bowl of stew before him. He looked down at the thick broth, "I – I will be certain to stop there."

"Listen to me, you must be starving. You looked a little worse for wear," she said with a smile, pouring him some milk. "If that's not enough, please just say the word, ser."

"Thank you, madam," he replied quietly, taking up the bowl. He kept his eyes down, "Your hospitality is very much appreciated. And unexpected."

"The benevolent spirit who opens her home, opens her heart to the Maker," the woman nodded.

Cullen wiped his lips and nodded, a little more at ease, "When His children are in need, be ready to help them."

"You already understand," the woman replied, wiping her hands on her kirtle. "It's a blessing upon us to help a templar."

Hesitating as he ate more of the stew, Cullen said, "Then I am very fortunate to be guided here."

"Been on the road some days?"

Eyes down, Cullen replied, "Yes."

"So if not the River Dane, where does your order take you?"

Hazy, half-formed thoughts drawing together, Cullen's hand hesitated on the glass before he said, "Denerim."

"It is a pleasure to meet you again, milady," Arl Teagan said, bowing to kiss the girl's hand as she offered it. Fae quickly tugged it back, hiding in Alistair's neck as he added, "It is not unreasonable you don't remember me."

Alistair laughed a bit, nodding as Fae whispered to him. Putting her down, she hurried off to chase Fen'in, who corralled her farther from the table.

"I'm glad you were able to make it," Teagan said, clasping arms with Alistair. He smiled widely, "Though I cannot deny, I am shocked to learn of what is happening. But we are lucky men." They turned to where Neria and Bella sat, the elf easily taking the small child she held. The women smiled and talked.

"It is only the half of it," Alistair said, flushing slightly as he turned back. "Please, Teagan, don't speak to anyone of us."

"Of course not," Teagan said, directing Alistair back across the wide chamber. He uncorked a decanter and poured them each a drink. "But it is hardly something you can keep quiet for long. I'm certain I don't have to tell you there has been talk enough with her adopting children."

"I know," Alistair sighed, looking at the dark liquid. "It's why she's stepping down at the Landsmeet."

Teagan paused, expression shifting suddenly. Looking at his own drink, he downed the amount and leaned back to pour another, "I see. And who has been appointed in her place."

"Nathaniel," Alistair said, motioning to the man as he sat and chatted with Brant. They were covertly showing something to Calevar.

"I am sorry the price of your happiness came to that."

"Don't be," Alistair said, grinning as he turned back. "Neria wanted this. We're setting up a Warden outpost on the other side of the country. Though, I don't believe she has really told many where exactly it is."

"That is for the best, I am sure," Teagan replied, and they walked towards the fire. "I do hope you well tell me, in the least."

"You'll have to check with her," Alistair sheepishly said.

"Always deferring to her," Teagan teased, before taking a sip of his drink and ruminating, "No wonder you found a woman sooner than I."

Alistair laughed nervously, "Well I don't know, it's not because…"

Teagan shook his head, grinning, "Yes, I know, Alistair. Ah, there is James. Let us gather everyone for supper."

It was some time later, through sarcasm, laughter and wine that Alistair rose with Fae asleep on his shoulder. When Neria leaned down to get Calevar, Brant stopped her.

"I don't think so," he said, hoisting the boy up.

Neria rolled her eyes, before offering a smile to Teagan, "Thank you for your generous hospitality. I hadn't expected you to want us all."

"Hardly," Teagan said, dipping to kiss her hand before Neria hugged Bella.

"I'll bring the tonic to the Landsmeet, I suppose?"

"If it is all the same, I might send a messenger within the next day," Teagan said, looking at the babe in his wife's arms. "Her colic has been quite distressing."

"Hopefully it will help," Neria said, inclining her head.

As the others turned, Teagan stopped her, "Alistair said a great deal –"

"Ah," Neria said, a blush rising on her cheeks.

"I merely wished to congratulate you, and say that I hope we may keep in touch," Teagan nodded. "You have my word that I will keep it safe."

"It's frightening," she quietly said. "Could always just look after myself."

"And there is hardly any need to," Teagan impressed, clasping his hands together. "There are far worse people out there procreating than the two of you."

Neria laughed a little, putting a hand to the back of her neck, "We – we will speak more. We have many things to gather before we head out on the road."

"Of course," Teagan said, looking back as Bella touched his arm. "Know you will be sorely missed. I would have supported you as the Arlessa for as long as you wished."

"Thank you, Teagan," she said, looking down. "That means more then I can say." Neria waved quickly before hurrying after Alistair.

"We'll have to send them off with something nice," Bella said, swaying with their swaddled daughter in arm.

Cullen gathered what dry wood he could. He had been fortunate to avoid the rain since leaving River Dane - he could see the summer storm clouds towering to the north. He hunched down and slowly removed the most cumbersome pieces of his armour, pushing the pack the sister at the chantry had given him out of the way. The vials therein clinked.

Striking flint, Cullen looked over the farmland as the kindling took. The field to the south remained darkened from the taint, a stark reminder that though the Blight faded from minds, it would not disappear so quickly from the land.

What are you doing, he thought as he hunkered down further. He leant back against the collapsed cart. Ten paces away was the burnt out silhouette of a farmstead. People had once lived here. But now almost nothing lived.

There was a certain peace to the land. For once in many years, there was no goosebump of magic upon his skin - no grating, unnatural vibrations. It was just the wounded world trying to recover.

In an instance, he saw the flicker of blood and the look of shock superimposed on his thoughts. Cullen tightened his hands into fists, looking over the hills again to try and escape his thoughts. But the blood was warm, and it coupled with the stench of death that was embedded in his memories.

It - it had been their fault. They had acted upon him, they had used magic when they should not have. What choice did he have but to flee? Greagoir had scarce understood the blasphemy Neria committed, how - how would he ever see what they had done? Had he not drawn his blade, who knows how many would have died. It served to reason his only regret could be hitting Johan - an act born of necessity. He knew it would cause no permanent damage.

He could see the defiant look in the girl's eyes as she spoke the apostate's name - Neria. Once more the trouble in the Tower linked back to actions set in motion by the white-haired witch. Yet no matter the paths he imagined, each thought invariably retraced back to the choice she made that day.

.

"I came to stop Uldred."

"Good," Cullen's face flickered with the uncontained emotions, "Then kill them - kill them all for what they've done!" He had no control left, illusion or no, he would not stop the truth he knew. "You were not here, you cannot know! They trapped us like animals, tried to break us..."

Neria shook her head, "I have to save whomever I can."

Stepping up to the barrier, Cullen glared at her, "Then you are just one of them - who knows which are blood mages, or - or what other atrocities they might commit! They cannot be trusted. You can only know if they are all dead."

She clasped her mouth - like she had some care for the innocents she risked, "No... no I'll save any I can. They are mages like me, they deserve the chance to -"

"You have not seen what they did," Cullen snapped, face contorting with the memories. With the sounds. And the smell, the dreaded smell was everywhere. His brethren were dead. "You may as well be one of them. How can I know you are not possessed or a blood mage yourself?"

"Don't be foolish, boy," Wynne snapped, before amending quietly, "We must go, who knows what Uldred is doing.

The innocent girl from the library was gone. She had been replaced by this thing. "Fine. Go. But let the consequences be on your conscience." He scarce heard as they left, upon his knee once more to find solace in the Chant. It was his haven in this world of darkness. Through it he would find the Maker once more and be rid of these visions.

.

It was only when he had recovered and slept that Cullen knew it had been real. When he had tasted the purity of lyrium once more, and found his calm. He could not rationalize then what had occurred, and now as he sat by the fire, the conflict in him grew once more.

"No," he softly whispered, closing his eyes. He reached for his pack. He knew to ration what the chantry in River Dane had given him, but he needed the clarity and security it granted. Opening a vial of lyrium, he took a small sip, exhaling through his nose.

This was the right course. If he found her, he could stop more from suffering. Once more he found purity in the words, corking the vial and clasping his hands beside the fire.

.

In all things done through the Maker,

They shall strengthen you.

In His name

You shall not grow weary

You shall never grow faint

Night and day meditate upon His Glory

That when evil comes,

You may stand your ground,

Righteous and mighty in His Power.

- Andraste 10:16

.

Sighing, Cullen relaxed to the ground. As always, he found his way in its purity. There was no doubt now.

Neria bowed her head and stepped back into the shadow of the archway, hearing the chorus of the Landsmeet continue on without her. She closed her eyes, and Alistair took her hand, standing behind the rows with her and away from the nobles.

"That was very inspiring," Alistiar softly smiled and squeezed her hand, looking out the archway. Nathaniel stood beside Teagan now, and they conversed under their breath as one of the lesser nobles below spoke.

"I thought I'd feel more relief," Neria said, following his gaze. "Who knew I'd stop feeling safe so soon."

"Nonsense," Alistair said, still holding her hand as they listened to the proceeding. "Soon we'll be off, and they'll be none the wiser."

Neria smiled up at him, resting a hand on her stomach. His eyes fell down, and the tips of his ears blushed red as he smiled. Nathaniel smiled tiredly at them as he passed to go down to the main chamber.

"I just want to kiss all over your belly," Alistair whispered.

Looking away and smiling, she watched as Nathaniel knelt before Queen Anora. The Grand Cleric stood in the wings.

Nodding towards the woman, Alistair murmured, "She's looking a little younger today."

"Should I kiss you if she looks this way?" Neria replied.

"Maker's breath, don't even think of it," Alistair tried not to laugh, succeeding in coughing and earning a reproachful glance from Arl Eamon nearby.

"Alright," she softly laughed, attention drifting as Anora's voice droned on, shifting to the quiet conversations only an elf's ears might pick up.

"It's about bloody time that mage was removed from power," a man said.

"Removed?" A woman replied. "She stepped down."

"A politic move, nothing more," the man replied. "It has been an embarrassment to Ferelden to have an elven mage in a seat of power - as if being a damned apostate weren't worse enough."

Neria chilled inside as she stared over the assembly, unable to see the nobles below.

"Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable," the woman countered.

"No," he gruffly replied. "And Maker's mercy, keep your voice down. I'd rather not come under suspicion for having you a magic sympathizer."

"I was more referring to your derision for her elven heritage," the woman sighed. There was a pause as the Grand Cleric came forward to offer her blessing. "It is a good move, I will not deny that, ser."

"You're damned right it is," he replied, scoffing, "Why they hadn't settled on Nathaniel in the first place - his father would be proud."

"Do not speak of that terrible man," the woman replied, and their voices were too quiet in heated exchange. She finally continued more firmly, "I had meant you would be pleased he is a human. By the prophet, I will say no more."

"About time," the man murmured, and Neria's attention snapped back as the assembly stood to receive the benediction. When Nathaniel rose, the members of the Landsmeet answered their consent to granting Nathaniel Howe the arling of Amaranthine - and the seat as Commander of the Grey.

"There," Alistair said beside her, a smile in his voice. "That wasn't too painful, was it?"

"Not a bit," Neria quietly said, her eyes unfocused again.