Chapter 21
"It is said we owe much to the Sons of Betrayal. Three brothers were charged with girding against an Imperium in wait. And in mourning Andraste, we tribes of the crescent willingly bartered diversity for solidarity. Tevinter would not be defeated in Our Lady's lifetime, but would be balanced against for lifetimes to come.
While a Son of Betrayal named the fields 'Orlais,' it was Jeshavis, his wife, who shaped what we are. Her hatreds were older, bound to tradition. All our hatreds were abandoned so we would call strangers to kin and stand as one against the Imperium. Greater her spite for how necessary the cost, because she knew we had a choice in that day, or no choice the next. She brought the marriage that wed tribe within tribe, but promised of untold vengeance of her own: if we stand against outsiders, we stand for ourselves. She would not suffer the rule of Alamarri, son or no son of Betrayal or Prophet.
Jeshavis plied brother against brother in turn, then named both as partners in crimes against faith. With artful turns she invited invasion, then crafted rebellion against the courts she inspired. Brother would kill brother and be killed in turn, two liberations that she would then own. Eight generations before the empire, before Drakon, here were the seeds of elegance to come. Jeshavis, twice married to Sons of Betrayal, twice widowed, our first chieftain born from us, of what would become true Orlais—where we venerate faith and the beauty of sacrifice, with daggers well hidden but well within reach.
It is true, we owe much to the Sons of Betrayal, for they were the tools that a master cast down. Let others claim credit for birthing the nation. Jeshavis claims nothing and gave us the Game."
—translated from Oer Gyðja Jethvis, a highly romanticized account of the first gyðja, or female chieftain, of the unified Ciriane tribes of Orlais
Malcolm
As soon as the mages had gone to the Fade, the abomination went silent, having departed the mortal realm to defend itself in its own.
Malcolm and the other non-mages had been left behind to stand watch. Except it turned out more like Evangeline kept watch like Cullen would have, while the rest of them waited for something bad to happen. Evangeline concentrated so hard on the sleeping mages that she barely moved. It was more unnerving than the abomination sitting nearby.
"Do you have to stand like that?" Malcolm asked.
Evangeline did not so much as look up from where she held her sword over the mages. "Yes."
"You don't think it's a little dramatic?"
"No. I think it prudent."
"I'm not sure which one is worse," Shale said to Leliana. "The insipid prince or the righteous templar."
"I missed you, Shale," said Malcolm. "I really did."
Shale shook her head. "Sadly, I did not miss it very much. Perhaps a small amount, for the comedy it provides."
He pretended it wasn't an insult, and really hoped the fight in the Fade wouldn't take hours. The last time had taken forever, nearly an entire day, and it'd felt like longer. It had been Líadan in the Fade, along with Anders and Feynriel, years ago. Six years ago, to be exact, since Ava had been born during that mess.
Not the time to ruminate. Malcolm strolled the perimeter of the room, and then walked along the outside of the rune ring before stopping to study the silent abomination. The Tranquil brand on its misshapen forehead was of particular fascination, given that this was what it was supposed to prevent. The twisting and mutating of Pharamond's elven body had nearly undone the brand's design, but the impressions were still there, a declaration of the ritual's ineffectiveness.
And it was so quiet. He felt a strange impulse to poke the abomination, just because he could and just because it couldn't escape. Malcolm leaned in a little toward it, but Evangeline snagged his wrist.
"Do not touch it," she said.
Shale laughed. "I see the righteous templar learns quickly."
Malcolm yanked his arm back. "I wasn't actually going to touch it."
"No, you were not, because I was not going to allow you."
Leliana cleared her throat. "The abomination, it changes."
Indeed, it was. Claws shrunk back into fingers as gnarled flesh smoothed into what was the body of an older elven man, long white hair framing a long face, and the brand of Tranquility on his forehead unmarred.
When the elf opened his eyes, they were not the lifeless eyes of a Tranquil mage.
At first, they were wary. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair as he quietly looked around him, jaw dropping slightly at the sight of Shale, and then Malcolm, Leliana, and Evangeline. The mages were slowly getting to their feet, blinking at the brightness of the glowstones held by sconces on the walls.
"Another trick?" Pharamond asked, his voice scratchy.
It was likely he'd not had water for some time. Malcolm dug around for a waterskin as Wynne assured Pharamond that everything was real, and he was not in a demon's thrall. Pharamond shouted with joy at the news, and then bounded about the room, touching and feeling everything, laughing while tears wet his cheeks. Malcolm stared, struck by the dissonance of someone with a Tranquil brand, who was supposed to have no emotions, seemingly experiencing them all at once. Pharamond continued dancing around the room until he smacked straight into Evangeline. The Knight-Captain still had her sword out, and she grabbed Pharamond roughly by the shoulder as he looked up at her.
"Tell me what you did."
He grinned. "I reversed it! I cured it! Tranquility, that is. You know how it works, yes?"
"A Tranquil mage, with no connection to the Fade, offers nothing of appeal to demons," said Rhys. "And so they are ignored, which renders them immune to possession."
"Yet, you were possessed," said Wynne.
Pharamond nodded enthusiastically, which Malcolm thought a poor idea, given his position. Evangeline didn't seem very inclined toward mercy, nor did she seem to be afraid of using her sword on out-of-control mages. Which, when he thought about it, Pharamond seemed to be providing a great example of.
"Yes, yes, I was. But that came after. The part where I was cured came after I lured a demon—I had to lure it, you see, because the Tranquil are so loathsome to them—when it touched my mind, I was me again! My magic, my emotions, everything was me!"
"Can you do it again?" asked Adrian, sounding understandably eager. "Do the same for others?"
"Yes! But you have to know how to lure it or it won't work." Pharamond grinned again. "Isn't this wonderful?"
"Yes and no," said Rhys.
Evangeline had yet to let go of Pharamond. "You said the demon came after. Why?"
"He invited it," said Wynne. The happiness that had been in her eyes at seeing her friend restored was now replaced by a look cold and calculating. The look of a woman who'd not thought a friend would invite a demon, and then found out that the friend not only indeed would, but had. It was a peculiar sort of treason, but treason nonetheless. "It was no accident."
"I took precautions!" With both hands, Pharamond motioned toward the half-gone circle of runes. "Everything was contained!"
"Not entirely," said Malcolm.
Finn elbowed him. "Not the time," he whispered. "He's liable to… I don't know, blow up, maybe, if you told him what else happened. I really have no idea how he'd react. It's honestly a little scary. Enough that I'm glad Evangeline is here."
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected any of the mages with him to say that.
"You admit that you willingly agreed to take in a demon," Evangeline said as she pushed Pharamond down to his knees.
His giddiness vanished as his eyes widened in dread, dread enough that his hands started to shake.
She drew back her sword.
"Wait! Wait!" shouted Rhys. "You can't kill him." When Evangeline turned a glare on him, Rhys rightly blanched. "Not right now. Maybe later, since he did invite in a demon. But not right now. His research could still help with what it was supposed to. His mistake came after, not before, and we need to save whatever knowledge he gained."
"My orders—"
"Fuck your orders," said Adrian. While Rhys hadn't moved from where he stood near the runes, Adrian put herself in between Evangeline and Pharamond. "You can't just kill him, not now. Not with what he's found. For Maker's sake, he just regained the ability to feel. The possession could've been an honest mistake, because he hasn't regained his equilibrium yet. Give him some time. It's only fair."
"Let him teach me his ritual before you take permanent action, Knight-Captain," said Rhys.
"I believe he is right." Wynne finally moved, taking only a few steps closer to the tense clump of Pharamond, Adrian, Rhys, and Evangeline. "My orders also supersede your own. Mine come from the Divine. Yours, I believe, only come from the Lord Seeker."
Evangeline's eyes swept over each of them, assessing, and then she sheathed her sword. "I serve the Chantry, which is led by the Divine. I will submit to her decision."
"Right, so no one's getting killed?" asked Finn. "And we're going home? Is that what's been decided? I rather like that choice, with the not dying and the going home, if anyone cares what I think."
"I believe the finicky mage's requests are reasonable," said Shale.
As Evangeline put some distance between herself, Pharamond, Rhys, and Adrian, the others went through the supplies in the room, taking anything that would be useful. Malcolm doubted, as the rest surely did, that anyone would return, not for a long time. Too many dead, too thin a Veil, too many ghosts. If they hurried it up, he thought, they might even be able to get back to the first iron tower before the winds stilled. On the walk back, Rhys conferenced alternately with Malcolm and Adrian, and did not engage at all with Wynne. Whenever he happened to look at her, it was with a strange, hopeless sort of anger that Malcolm was really curious about, yet really didn't want to get into. Trips to the Fade could reveal lots of things that people would rather others not know, and Malcolm had experienced that himself before. It was probably one of those things. Maybe Rhys had been scarred for life by seeing his conception or something.
Malcolm shuddered. Now he was scarred for life just by thinking about it.
The next time Rhys walked next to him, Malcolm asked, "What sort of demon was it?"
"Which?"
"The one that possessed Pharamond and I assume you all killed in the Fade."
"Pride demon. Killing it was a pain in the ass."
Malcolm had more questions, mostly leading to the reason why Rhys was so mad. Then they stepped out of the main keep and into the courtyard where night had fallen, and conversation stopped.
Rhys let out an Orlesian curse. Wynne frowned at him for it, and if the situation hadn't been so dire, Malcolm would have laughed.
At the sight of the mass of charred bodies, Pharamond let out a cry and dropped to the ground. He howled something about never meaning to, and then descended into gibberish, curling in on himself and his grief. There seemed to be no middle ground for him, only the most extreme of every emotion, sometimes up against each other, sometimes mixed up.
Malcolm was reminded of his children when they'd been toddlers, when they experienced life with the largest of emotions, the ups and downs in all their glory, yet had been absolutely unable to keep it together for a long amount of time.
Desperate as he was to get away from Adamant, Malcolm wasn't sure if it was safe to attempt it in the dark. While the Veil was thin at the moment, the demon in control had been killed. Since it'd been a pride demon, that meant it would take a little time for the lesser demons to fill its territory. In the end, it meant that staying here, despite the rather large number of bodies scattered in the yard, was the safer bet.
Leliana made eye contact with him, and then walked over. "I believe it would be safest to go back inside, find a large, clean room, and have all of us sleep there, rather than out here."
"I'm not of a mind to sleep with corpses," said Malcolm.
"Is anyone?" asked Finn. Then he shook his head. "Nevermind. Don't answer that. With all the strange things you've encountered, you might actually know someone who does."
"The problem is, I don't know where we'd find a decent room in this place, nor am I eager to explore." Malcolm sighed and glanced over at Pharamond, whom Wynne and Rhys were trying to help get together. It wasn't working. "Pharamond would know, but he's rather indisposed."
"Haven't you been taking notes for your report?" Finn asked.
Malcolm frowned. "In a way, in my head. Mostly, they consist of, 'demons, dead bodies, thin Veil, do not occupy, even the darkspawn won't want it.' Hardly anything helpful for finding a place to sleep tonight, but it will get the point across to the Wardens."
Leliana looked between the two of them, then up at the keep, and then over at Pharamond. "I will see what I can do." With that, she strode over to where Wynne sat with Pharamond crying into her shoulder.
"Think she can?" Finn asked Malcolm.
"Actually, I do think she can."
And, somehow, she did. While Evangeline looked like she was going to try violence—slaps to the face often did a good job for bringing one back to the present, but with gloves and gauntlets on, it left remarkable bruising—Leliana had managed to talk him down and into some semblance of control. After the rest of them attended to the horses, Pharamond was clear-headed enough to lead them to a suite of rooms left untouched by the mayhem the pride demon had unleashed, complete with bathing facilities installed by dwarves, which meant baths, and meant no cold water baths, and meant no using a corner or a trench for a privy. The food was still cold, but they weren't all crammed into one room, and they were able to take turns in getting the dust and grime and blood cleaned off. Not so bad, considering.
Adrian and Rhys, now neither one of them terribly thrilled with Wynne for some unknown reason, took one room, while Evangeline stayed with Pharamond in the central room. Pharamond had promptly passed out from exhaustion right in the middle of the main room as soon as he'd eaten. Again, it reminded Malcolm of a toddler, which was a really strange thought to be having about a grown man.
Finn seemed torn about where he'd sleep, but Malcolm intended on a sodding bed. He didn't care who else shared the room with him, so long as he had a bed. The others could waffle over their arrangements all they wanted, but he wasn't going to waste time wibbling when he could be sleeping. So he went into the third room, stacked his armor in a corner, did a cursory examination of the wound on his arm that Wynne had healed, and then collapsed onto one of the three beds.
Which meant that was when someone else decided on sleep, traipsed into the room, and Malcolm couldn't not look to see who it was.
Wynne. Of course. It did make sense. While he had far more questions about Wynne's motives and what she'd been up to over the years than he'd like, she was still one of his closest friends, and someone whom he could trust with his life. Besides, she was like a grandmother to him, so no one would think anything was untoward. That was what had made Finn indecisive about his own sleeping arrangements, knowing there was a third bed in the other room, but totally not knowing what was going on with Adrian and Rhys.
"Any idea why Rhys is so mad at you?" he asked Wynne as she sat on one of the other beds.
She sighed, long and weary. "He and the others discovered the spirit that sustains me. Rhys is understandably the most upset."
"Well, it isn't every day that a son finds out his mother is an abomination."
When Wynne's eyes looked hurt instead of amused, Malcolm belatedly realized she was a lot more sensitive to it than he'd first thought. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was mean. I was just trying to get your spirits up a little." He nearly hit himself for that one, but sat up to clear his head to make sure he didn't do it again. "Maker, that's not what I meant, either. I'm not using puns to make light of it. I just meant—"
But now Wynne's mouth had quirked up a little in the ghost of a smile. "It's all right. You meant well, but you stepped in it, and then kept digging. You wouldn't be who you are if you didn't."
His brow furrowed. "You sound like Líadan." His hands started to fidget, wishing he'd gotten out a book so he'd have something tactile to distract himself with or to remind him of who he missed.
With his comment, her smile grew a little more. "Nothing wrong with a reminder." Then the smile fell away, and she moved to sit on the end of his bed, close, but not close enough that it would feel strange. "Speaking of, there's something I have to tell you."
"I honestly have no idea where this is going. None at all."
She patted his hand. "Not so bad as you might think. While we were in the Fade, we somehow got split up at first. As I searched for the others, I came across a Dreamer. Not that boy, Feynriel, but—"
"Was it Emrys?"
Her lips pursed just enough to inform him that she was holding back on a good scolding for his interruption. Then the hardness faded, and she returned to her usual expression of a kind healer.
The change made him nervous, and he couldn't rightly explain why, even as he tried to stop his heart from beating so quickly.
"Yes, I believe it was him," said Wynne. "First, a pride demon controlled Pharamond, which you know means no other demons would dare be present. Second, what he had to say would aid no demon when it comes to me."
He stared at her in dread when he realized she'd stopped there. "Don't make me ask."
"Emrys told me that the Mahariel clan has been killed, down to the last elf."
Malcolm started to jump to his feet—to do what, he wasn't sure, maybe ride hard and fast to the nearest port—but Wynne had already grabbed his wrist to keep him seated. "Dashing off does no one any good. Emrys was able to stay within the demon's dream long enough to tell me about the Mahariel, and long enough to start to tell me something more before he was pulled away. He looked upset, but I don't believe he spoke with enough urgency for Líadan to be dead or in immediate danger. I imagine he'd have tried to reach you, if that were so."
"That'd be a first." He still fought the urge to leave right away, his rapid heartbeat hadn't slowed much, and he kept searching around the room like he was trying to find an escape. "He didn't say either way, so the possibility is… Where could she even be? I don't know what route she would've taken. I don't even know what port she used. Maker, this was a horrible plan. We never should have gone through with it." He looked directly at Wynne. "And not for the reasons you've been bringing up, either."
She let go of his wrist. "This isn't a wound salt should be poured into, not when it involves people whom I care about, as well. You need to find them, but you need to keep a clear head. Think about all the routes she could have taken and the best way to cover them. Think of how you'll get a message to the Wardens, and others to Alistair and Fergus. I believe you'll find Ferelden with troops to spare to aid in the search. Perhaps even the nominal search parties Alistair and Anora sent out could begin a real search."
Malcolm laughed a little. "You're talking about poor Kennard sent on a wild goose chase?"
"Yes, I am. I daresay he'd probably appreciate doing something more helpful."
"Probably." He went to say more, but a yawn interrupted him, even through his worry. "Speaking of," he said, "valuable sleep time is being lost, and that's why I got in here so fast in the first place. Go find your own bed, not-old-woman. There's two more in here. I'm not sharing."
She chuckled and left him to rest.
It took him far too long to fall asleep and, in the Fade, Emrys was waiting for him.
The Keeper gave not even a cursory greeting. "The healer of yours told you I spoke with her?"
Malcolm studied Emrys for signs of distress, barely noticing the serene copse of trees that gave structure to this portion of the Fade. "Are they really all dead?"
"Hunters of the passing Iahmel clan informed their Keeper of such, and Keeper Marethari's presence in the Beyond has not been seen for some time."
"What about—"
"Líadan is alive."
"How do you know?" Emrys seemed so sure, and unless he'd spoken with her face-to-face, he couldn't know, not really. Could he? Then again, Emrys' presence and words went a long way to prove that his original talk with Líadan in the Fade had been him and not a demon.
Emrys outright frowned at Malcolm's disbelief. "She is my granddaughter. I would know if she were dead. As such, I do not believe she was with the Mahariel when they were killed."
Malcolm waved his hand toward the Fade around them. "Can't you just contact her like this?"
"No. She is… particularly difficult to locate in the Beyond. You are strangely not, if you are sleeping where the Veil is perilously thin."
"You never noticed this before?"
"I was never given a real reason to look for you before."
As much as Malcolm didn't want to acknowledge it, and Emrys probably didn't either, Líadan wasn't the only mage in their family whom Emrys could reach. "What about Ava? If you're protecting her like Líadan told me, then shouldn't you be able to ask her?"
"Feynriel and I have not been able to protect her for some time."
He said it far too calmly for Malcolm to accept, and his temper rose in response, even as his rational side told him that Emrys wouldn't let harm come to her, not after all the energy he'd expended helping her take her first breath on Thedas. "Then how?"
"There is a being—I cannot even be sure it is a spirit—that has chosen to watch over her, and it does the same with her brother. I believe it is of good intent, but one can never know for certain. However, it has done well in keeping away the spirits with obvious dark intentions. She is safe, for now, at least in mind. As for the rest, I do not know, which is why she and Asha'belannar's grandson and Líadan must be found."
Meanwhile, there was nothing Malcolm could do, not this far away from wherever they were, and now instead of thinking his family safe because of his and Líadan's sacrifices, they could be anything but, and he couldn't protect them. "So you're telling me, the stupid shemlen you hate, why? Just to torture me? Because you already were by keeping me separated from them, and now you've made it infinitely worse. Well done. You've shown the shem his place."
Emrys studied him for a moment, and then let out a nearly imperceptible sigh. "I do not hate you, human. I do not like you, nor do I like what place you hold in my granddaughter's life, yet I do not hate you. It pains me to say it—pain you will never understand—but it is because of my granddaughter's love for you that I cannot bring myself to hate you. I learned that painful lesson with her mother, and I will not repeat it."
Malcolm almost fell over. He'd never expected that sort of answer from Emrys, and especially never spoken with that amount of honesty. "So it was you who told Líadan about Ava. Not a demon."
"No, I was not a spirit, but she was correct to assume so. And I was…" Emrys managed to look briefly troubled, his brow furrowing just long enough to show a glimpse of his true age. "I was wrong, human. I was wrong to insist that she leave you behind."
Malcolm raised his eyebrows. He really hadn't expected to hear that. Not the 'I was wrong,' and definitely not the other part.
Emrys let out a brief noise that sounded impossibly like a short laugh. "I had not thought I would say so after her actions, yet Lanaya has proven her worth as a Keeper. As a result, I have been made to see some of the errors of my ways, and separating bondmates is one of my mistakes. Separating children from one of their parents is another. While I may not approve, it does not change the truth that you are the father of both children, that you have proven a true bondmate to my granddaughter, and it is not any Keeper's duty to insist on a separation. I knew Líadan's initial worry over Ava would stop her from questioning any condition I placed on her gaining my help, and I took advantage of it in order to separate you. I was wrong."
It was almost nice to hear it. Almost, because if Emrys had come to this conclusion weeks earlier, then Malcolm's family wouldn't have been taken apart. "Fat lot of good that does me now."
Emrys' eyes flashed with irritation, yet his words remained evenly spoken. "It will do you good when she is found. You may continue on with her to my clan, if you wish. I believe I have found a way to mitigate the impact one mortal human will have on the longevity of my clan. What I cannot promise, however, is anything beyond basic civility from the Suriel."
"I'll take it." If it meant he could be with Líadan and Cáel and Ava, he'd suffer through anything.
"First, she must be found. While some Dalish have been sent out to search, your aid will be necessary. You will know how to handle shemlen better than the Dalish, and it is not out of the realm of possibility that they have been taken by the Chantry."
Malcolm's hands went cold. "I thought you'd lost track of them, not that they might've been captured. For fuck's sake, do you realize what sort of danger they're in if they were?"
"Of course I do!" Emrys shouted, and then immediately composed himself on seeing Malcolm's genuine shock. "Of course I do, and that is precisely why I require your aid."
"Then you have it," said Malcolm, as if it weren't a foregone conclusion. Emrys' reaction had shaken him more than he'd thought, to see a man so meticulously composed appear outwardly angry. No, not anger, not that sort. Emrys was afraid, and the fear expressed itself as anger, as even Malcolm had inadvertently done many times before.
"Do not just take off. You must plan accordingly."
He scowled. "I know. I'm not stupid."
"No, but you are worried. Worry makes people do stupid and impulsive things that, when in another state of mind, one would know and do better."
"Speaking from experience, are you?"
"Perhaps, yet that is neither here nor there. Now, you must use whatever human contacts you have and get as many people as you trust to search alongside you. Think of it as a hunt—move too quickly and loudly, and your crashing about in the forest will inform your quarry what you're up to. You must go slowly enough to strategize, and then when you move, move quickly and quietly, and end it with a single strike."
It hurt to hear the metaphor from Emrys, said with the light lilt the Dalish accent lent to the common tongue. Not only did the accent remind him of her, but she often used hunting metaphors when trying to explain things to him. It sometimes worked. "Líadan's the hunter, not me."
"Then let us hope you've learned something through observation, because your typical thrashing about will do none of us any good."
He sounded like Morrigan. That was exactly the kind of sentence Morrigan would have said, and thrown as a barb in exactly the same way. Not for the first time, Malcolm wondered at the possibility of who Emrys was to Morrigan. He set it aside, knowing his mind wanted to think about that because it meant he didn't have to think about not being able to find Líadan and their children immediately. "So you really don't know where she is?"
"No. I would not ask for your aid if I did."
Malcolm looked up at the Black City as he tried desperately to control his own fear. When he returned his gaze to Emrys, he did nothing to control what he said. Emrys could take it, and Malcolm needed to let something out. "You don't like not knowing things, do you?"
"No one does, human. You, of all people, should know that."
He took the dig, because wasn't like he hadn't started it. Then he loosed a half-strangled laugh. "To be honest, I think I preferred it when you knew everything, and were right about it, too."
"As did I." The Fade changed around them, returning to the bare dreamscape instead of the calming forest grove. "Now, go. If you sleep again in a place with the Veil this thin, I will speak with you once more. Until then, may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent."
Malcolm awakened into the dim light of a quarter-lit glowstone, to Wynne and Leliana speaking in low tones about Maker knew what. Probably best-friends-of-the-Divine things, about which he would have to have a serious talk with them when all this was over. Once, he might have cared immediately, but he didn't anymore. When he sat up, both women turned to look at him in surprise.
"We need to get back to Val Royeaux," he told them.
"That is where we're heading, if you didn't hear our plans," said Wynne.
He shook his head. "We need to go back faster." Like right then, but he couldn't seem to get the urgency across.
"The conclave isn't for a few weeks, if you're concerned about the mages missing it," said Leliana.
"I don't care about the conclave." At Wynne's surprised look, he tried to explain. "I care enough to get you and the others there, but—"
Wynne's expression quickly shifted from surprise to concern as she cut him off. "What's happened?"
"I saw Emrys in the Fade. I'm sure it was him. I don't think a demon could really perfectly capture his strange mix of condescending ass and caring Dalish Keeper. He told me the same as you, Wynne, that the Mahariel were all killed—" He paused at Leliana's sharp intake of breath, but when she said nothing, he continued. "He thinks Líadan is still alive. We need to find her. I need to find her and the children. The Dalish are looking for her in the forests, but Emrys hasn't set aside the possibility that they've been captured and taken to a Circle or held within a Chantry."
"We will travel as quickly as we can," said Wynne. Behind her, Leliana nodded.
They managed four towers that day, and five the next, yet it still didn't feel fast enough. The not knowing plagued Malcolm, not knowing if they were all right, not knowing if he should be searching for them out in cities or traveling or in a Circle or worse.
The only person more wracked than him was Pharamond, struggling with handling the memories and their accompanying emotions of everything he'd experienced while Tranquil. It hadn't been that he hadn't experienced emotions, he'd merely been cut off from them, and they were subsequently stored somewhere in his mind. Now, they'd been unleashed, and Pharamond's will and control was sorely tested. There were several times when he nearly failed that test, despite Evangeline's surprisingly patient attempts at teaching him to meditate. If his shouts and screams were anything to go by, even new Wardens fared better in their sleep. After nights with the worst of them, Pharamond retreated within himself, refusing to speak to anyone when he was like that, aside from Rhys.
Because he couldn't predict his control, Pharamond would only agree to teach his ritual to one mage at a time. So Rhys spent much of their journey back in conference with Pharamond, deep in discussion of what steps Pharamond had gone through to cure his Tranquility. Pharamond did not explain why he'd agreed to the demon's possession, nor did Malcolm hear Rhys ask.
They passed through the badlands in one day, their group reaching the Imperial Highway near sundown. While Evangeline was distracted by helping Pharamond re-establish control over his emotions after a particularly awful and loud regression, Wynne pulled the others together to explain their next steps.
"I'm sending Shale to the Circle at Montsimmard to tell them of Pharamond's partial success. Then they can use a sending stone to contact the White Spire to inform Edmonde of our return."
"A sending stone?" asked Malcolm.
"We've been studying magic for hundreds of years," said Adrian. "You don't honestly think that we rely on messaging via rider or bird, do you?"
"I suppose not, no. But you don't have to be so condescending about it, since people who aren't members of the Circle aren't exactly told these things."
"Don't you think Evangeline will object to this?" asked Rhys.
"Of course she would, which is why we are not asking for her permission," said Wynne.
"The elder mage is proving a rebel in her twilight years," said Shale. "I will go tonight. I see no point in delay, since I do not require sleep as you weak creatures of flesh do." She looked down at Wynne. "Shall I meet it in Val Royeaux?"
"Please."
Malcolm jumped at the chance to get an almost secure message out. "Maybe you could—"
"No." Leliana shook her head as she stopped him. "It is not the time. There are First and Senior Enchanters who play the Game, and they would not hesitate to use the information to their advantage."
With no additional requests made, Shale departed, heading toward the eastern side of Lake Celestine, where Montsimmard waited. Knight-Captain Evangeline frowned at them for their little clandestine meeting, and then scowled at realizing Shale had left. Malcolm wondered if he should've gone with Shale, but knew that he had to make sure Rhys and Pharamond survived to teach the ritual to other mages. Evangeline could mostly be trusted, but her fellow templars were another story. The mages in their group would be in danger once they got to Val Royeaux. Leliana's presence added some security, but Val Royeaux was a large city, and there was no telling what the Lord Seeker would do when he discovered that Evangeline had not followed his orders. Then again, she had been countermanded by the Divine, which had to hold some sort of weight with him. He hoped, though he hadn't much of it left to spare.
Once they reached the outskirts of Velun, Malcolm volunteered to take first watch with Leliana. He needed her special sort of help, or he wouldn't even know where to start looking.
"I need you to find out," he said as soon as they were settled.
As though he'd gone through a lengthy explanation, she expressed no confusion over what he was talking about. "I will do what I can once we return to Val Royeaux, but I cannot promise that I will be able to find her or your children. Perhaps they are not within a Circle at all, nor a Chantry, but merely traveling to another Dalish clan."
"I'm not that optimistic. You've gotten me confused with my brother."
Her smile was part amusement, and part pain, but she said nothing.
Malcolm gave her a curious look at her silence, but then went on. "Why Val Royeaux? Why not sooner? We'll be in Velun tomorrow, or we could not avoid Val Foret this time and send messages from there, if Velun isn't good enough."
She shook her head. "If someone has them and you act too soon, they will be warned and you will never find them."
"A little more optimism, please. You've swung too far the other way."
"I am telling you the reality of the situation." She frowned as if she didn't like it, but she didn't stop. "If you wish to find them—especially if they need to be liberated—then you must proceed with caution. You must plan and then execute. You must not go charging into this like you would with your shield in battle."
"You make it sound like your Grand Game."
Her look became even more serious, and she took his hands in hers. "Malcolm, if a Circle has them, then it will be the Grand Game."
"I'm not good at that game."
"I know. Theirins never are, and I doubt they ever will be. Nor will you need to be. I am good at the Game, and I promise that I will help you."
"I want to trust you. I do." But he didn't like that it felt as if he was being left with no choice. It was trust her, or not heed her warnings and go gallivanting off, and never find his family at all. Then he would blame himself until his Calling, and then after.
She squeezed his hands once before letting go. "In Val Royeaux, I will make quiet inquiries through my contacts. Once we know for certain if your family is being held by a Circle or chantry, then messages can be sent to the Wardens and Alistair. But you must believe me, if we sent messages too soon only to find that they have been captured, then whoever holds them may act rashly or go underground when Wardens and Fereldan armies begin to march."
"Alistair would send an army, wouldn't he?"
"Yes. As would the Wardens, for they could not allow a Warden mage to remain prisoner of the Chantry, if they hold her."
He had no other contacts. He had no other way of finding out faster where his family was. Searching every chantry and Circle, or hoping the Dalish found her and the children in the forests or with another clan, would take far too long. "I'm trusting you," he said. "I'm trusting you with the lives of the people I love the most. Please don't prove unworthy of that trust."
She nodded and then turned her attention to the sky. They spent the rest of their watch in silence. Adrian and Wynne relieved them to start second watch, and they retired to separate tents. Malcolm felt a little hope, that maybe connections hadn't been entirely broken, that perhaps some words spoken hadn't been entirely empty.
The next morning, Leliana was gone.