Chapter 25

"Then Aldenon left. And although Lady Shayna slew Simeon that day and Calenhad ruled a united kingdom, my liege was not the same without his mentor and friend. We live in the kingdom built on the dreams of two great friends, and we are all lessened by Aldenon's departure."

—from the Recollections of Ser Devith, banner knight of King Calenhad

Líadan

Before Wynne would hand over the rest of the potions—and Líadan really did want them, because they worked—she insisted on an examination to make sure everything was fine. "I've yet to do one," said Wynne, "and it makes me nervous that no one's taken a good look at you. And don't you try to tell me Keeper Lanaya did, because she told me herself that she did not."

Líadan sat heavily on Wynne's neatly made bed, and then crossed her arms over her chest. Without pain, which reminded her she should be grateful and polite to the person who'd gotten rid of said pain. "All right."

Wynne arched a suspicious eyebrow. "All right? Just like that? No arguments?"

"Well, if you want me to argue, I'm sure I could come up with something. I was being polite, since you made my breasts stop trying to kill me."

"They aren't trying to kill you, dear. They are preparing."

Líadan sighed and flung herself onto her back. "I don't want to think about that."

"Sit up. I know you know you can't wear armor for an examination. Everything else can stay on, of course, but the armor can sometimes be a problem." As Líadan pulled off the armor she'd so diligently put on earlier, Wynne continued with the prior subject, unwilling to be distracted. "And you will have to think about it, whether you like it or not. You may as well do so now rather than later, when you still have a modicum of choice."

The dread she kept so carefully stuffed into a little emotional box began to rattle the lid in an attempt to crawl out. "If I think about it now, then what happened the first day will happen again. The panic and dread are still very much present. They're lurking under the surface, just waiting for a chance to take over, and I don't want them to. So, I don't think about it when I can help it." Down to the linen and leather she wore under her armor, Líadan settled back on the bed again, and waited.

Wynne's magic flared over her hands as she hovered them over the other woman's body. "You should not let such things control you."

"I'm not. Hence not thinking about it."

"That's just as much control as letting them rule your emotions. You will have to face them, make peace with them as much as you are able, and then move on. For your child's sake, if not your own, or you will associate panic and dread with this child even after it's born."

She closed her eyes at hearing out loud a fear she'd had since she'd found out. "I know. And it wouldn't be fair to her. Or him."

"Her," Wynne said softly.

Líadan's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"You've progressed enough for me to be able to tell. You're still in the earlier stages of when healers can tell these sorts of things, and less experienced healers would have trouble determining the sex of the child at this stage. But my many years have given me a few advantages, and this is one of them. Your child is a girl. A daughter you will see in a little more than six months, Maker willing."

"Creators willing, you mean." Líadan's correction was said kindly, knowing her friend hadn't meant anything by it, just a turn of phrase. Her hand twitched in want to touch her abdomen, but she refrained, afraid of making it even more real than it already was. Wynne's revelation had done enough as it was, changing a possibility into more of a potential person. Pronouns were no longer 'it' or 'they' or both 'he' and 'she' due to not knowing. She knew. Her eyes closed again, struggling in the narrow space between elation and sadness.

"Any gods willing," said Wynne. "Is this good news or bad?"

"I don't know." For herself, she didn't know. But she did know for someone else. "Malcolm will be excited. He wanted a girl."

"Did he? Well, if she turns out anything like you, he's in for it. You'd think he would know better by now."

She opened her eyes and smiled a little, happy for the chance at humor. "I think he likes it. He gets bored when not challenged."

"True."

The silence following allowed too much of the dread to creep into her mind, and she spoke to get rid of it. "I don't want her to be like me." Though she'd meant to speak firmly, her voice came out as a whisper.

Wynne's hands stilled. "In what way?"

"Magic. I don't want her to have magic. I don't want her to be a mage, weak or strong. At all."

"Because of the Chantry?"

"At this point, your Chantry has nothing to do with it."

"Then what would your objection be? I thought the Dalish celebrated their mages." The magic returned to life around Wynne's hands.

"We do, when the child is Dalish." She closed her eyes again, not sure why the fear had returned so strongly at hearing she would have a daughter. Perhaps she assumed a girl stood a better chance of inheriting the Gift than a boy would, even though in her family line both men and women had carried the Gift. Her grandfather had been the last before her, a Keeper to her mother's clan, though she had not seen him since her parents' deaths. It was bad enough she would be ending her elven line. Yet, for her to give the Gift to a human line seemed even more of a betrayal. Humans did not value the Gift as they should; they scorned what they should have treasured, wasting it.

"And your daughter will be human. I see. Well, I see as much as a human would be able to understand." When Líadan didn't respond, keeping her eyes closed, Wynne continued. "Perhaps that is something you could ignore for now, unlike other things. The question of magic in your daughter will not be answered for quite some time, five or six years, at least, depending on when she showed signs. I know your magic appeared late. Did you know when any of your ancestors showed theirs?"

"My grandfather was five, I was once told." Líadan opened her eyes and gave a rueful smile. "I remember because he had signs so early, and everyone was so shocked that my Gift appeared so late. And so little. My grandfather's a very strong mage, good enough to be the Keeper of a clan."

"Was he Keeper before Marethari, then?"

"No, he isn't of the Mahariel. He's the Keeper of the Suriel clan."

"He was or is? Because the contractions you're using could go either way. Don't think I haven't noticed, young lady."

"Does it matter?"

"I had thought you had no living blood relations left to you."

"I never said that. Everyone assumed." They had made the wrong assumption, but she'd never felt compelled to correct them. The topic of her grandfather wasn't one she wanted to speak about with anyone, not anyone from the Mahariel, and no one here. She knew her grandfather blamed her for what happened to her mother, and she had no desire to think of him, much less speak of him. That his blame matched her own made it that much worse. He hadn't offered to take her in after her parents had died, and she hadn't been willing to ask, because if he'd wanted to be her guardian, he would have said so.

"Considering the importance the Dalish put on family, I'll admit to being confused, but I won't pry. I think I've done enough prying as it is, and one person can only be expected to take so much. All right, nearly done. I do need you to roll over."

It was only then that Líadan remembered the scrapes on her back. Suddenly, talking about her grandfather didn't seem such a bad idea. "Is that really necessary?"

Wynne gave her a withering look. "Would I have asked otherwise?"

Líadan let out a long suffering sigh and did as asked, mumbling under her breath, "Don't say you weren't warned," but she didn't think Wynne heard her. She didn't have long to wait for the other mage to find out for herself, anyway.

"Your back, dear. What happened to your back?"

"I had a run-in with a tree."

Wynne raised an eyebrow. "You were a Dalish hunter before you became a Dalish Grey Warden. Unless the tree was possessed and moving of its own accord, I hardly think you would have that much trouble avoiding a marauding tree."

"You'd be surprised at how fast trees can move." Líadan considered telling Wynne about the trees Velanna had been able to make go marauding. She still had occasional nightmares about it. At least darkspawn were comparatively easier and safer to kill. Trees required fire, and fire did not like to be controlled. She sighed. "Do you seriously want the real answer?"

But Wynne didn't need the confirmation. "Andraste's grace! First, outside during a lightning storm, and now this?"

Why couldn't this woman just heal and let things go? "It isn't like we plan these things."

"I should say not." Wynne huffed, and then Líadan felt the familiar warmth of healing magic. "Well, if you're going to insist on continuing to be so daring, you should consider another attempt at learning some of the healing arts."

"Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because I'm healing your wounds from your adventures as we speak, that's why. Aside from that, learning to at least heal skinned knees will go a long way for you if your children are anything like you and Malcolm in regards to their personal safety."

Líadan felt her arguments falling by the wayside. Wynne had a very good point. Not that healing wouldn't have been useful before, but now she had even more of a personal motivation. "Maybe. I've tried quite a few times, you know. Keeper Marethari, Fiona, Velanna, and even Anders did their best to teach me. You even tried once, but it never took."

Wynne helped her up to a sitting position. "Well, that was during the Blight. We lacked focus. Perhaps we can make it stick this time."

"I'll believe it when I see it." She ran a hand through her hair before standing up. "So did everything—other than my back—look okay?" While part of her was still so terribly torn on how she felt about this child, the other part desperately wanted the child to be all right.

"She's perfectly healthy, and developing well." Wynne placed a kind hand on her forearm. "Once I get the records from Weisshaupt, I'll have a better idea of how often to check on the two of you, and what, if anything, out of the ordinary to expect." Then she went to a shelf and fetched a basket of potion vials. "And here are the potions I promised. These should keep you from causing any unsuspecting guests undue harm. Due harm, however, is fair game."

Líadan thanked her and went to stash her treasures in her room.

At midday, as Líadan walked down to the harbor with the others to greet the human Divine, she wondered if the Chantry's leader would qualify for due harm. Most likely not, since harming her would cause a great deal of trouble for a good many people she cared about.

Tempting, though. From a Grey Warden, they'd never see it coming. No, better not. She didn't particularly relish fighting a score of templars, or dying in the process. And she had noticed the rain had finally receded, as if welcoming the Divine to Ferelden. Líadan was bitter about it herself, and figured the native Fereldans would be even more so.

She glanced over at Malcolm walking next to her, and caught him doing his best to fight a broad grin that desperately wanted to appear on his face. "What are you smiling about?" she asked, making sure to keep their conversation between them and not any of the others who walked ahead of them.

His eyes flicked toward her, a hint of guilt slinking through the mirth and what seemed like smugness. "I'm not smiling."

"Your eyes say otherwise, and if you think you're hiding that smile, you think wrong."

He finally allowed the smile to light his face. "I feel like a little kid who's gotten away with something."

"Keep up like you are, and you won't have."

"Hence trying to hide it."

"You'd better get better at it, and fast." From their position walking down the hill into the town, she could already see a boat in Highever's deep harbor. "I can see a huge ship already. And they have their sun flag up off the back of the boat."

Malcolm peered down at the harbor for a moment, and then gave her a sidelong look. "You mean they're flying their ensign from the stern of their carrack?"

"Now you're just showing off."

He considered it briefly. "Maybe a little. But at least call it a ship, not a boat."

"I thought it was a boat. It's a vessel that floats on water and is used for transportation."

"Yes, but a boat becomes a ship when boats can fit on it."

She resisted rolling her eyes, still not understanding why anything to do with sailing always had to change perfectly reasonable nomenclature. Their silly conversation, however, was also a very good distraction from her irritation and admitted anxiety over meeting the Divine. "So, it's a big boat that can carry little boats."

"Which is when it becomes a ship."

"Maybe to you."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're doing this on purpose."

She grinned. "You looked smug. Had to be fixed."

Malcolm opened his mouth to reply, but closed it as they crossed into the town proper, and she considered the argument won since he'd have to keep his silence. It was one thing to act as they were with no one around to eavesdrop, but in the town, they had to act with some decorum. Or so Anora had insisted before they'd left the castle.

It seemed like the entire town had gathered on the streets and at the harbor, jamming every possible open space aside from the path the Highever castle and city guards had cleared. The guards remained along the entire path, pressing back the clamoring crowd. Líadan hadn't realized just how important the Chantry and the Divine were to the humans, and listening to the crowd as they talked and shouted excitedly about the ship in the harbor, she had to admit Hildur had been right. She had needed to see this to understand just how ingrained the Andrastian religion really was. For all the Fereldans had complained about the Chantry, they seemed perfectly pleased with it now.

When they reached the harbor, Alistair and Anora, as King and Queen, took the lead, with Fergus and Cauthrien close behind. Malcolm and Líadan stood in the rear, and were quickly joined by Hildur. At their questioning looks, Hildur shrugged. "I decided it would probably be for the best were I here to greet the Divine, as well. Especially since I stole a bunch of her templars."

"She really is not going to be happy with you," said Alistair.

"I'll not charge her for the Grey Warden lyrium all the prisoners have consumed and we'll call it a draw," said Hildur.

The ship drifted closer, and Líadan noticed that all the sails were rolled against masts or the horizontal beams they were attached to, and she'd be damned if she remembered the proper terms. Not only were the sails furled—that was the right word—but she could see sailors standing all across the beams on the masts. "Creators, what are they doing? Are they mad?"

"They're Orlesian," said Cauthrien.

Líadan barely kept herself from outright pointing at the clearly insane sailors. They were just standing out there, over the ship and the ocean and really quite high. "Why are they all standing up there?"

"They're on the yardarms," said Malcolm. "It's called manning the yards. In theory, it's to show the entire crew so you know no one is lying in wait to use arrows or magic or what-have-you. They're telling us their intentions are peaceful."

"It doesn't look like any of them are holding on. What if someone falls?" Those sailors had to be touched in the head. She could understand, mostly, being up in the rigging in order to make the ship sail properly, but she couldn't fathom just standing up there to... stand.

"It would be rather unfortunate," said Fergus, who didn't sound like he thought the happenstance would be misfortune at all.

Malcolm shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. "I thought they'd show off more. The winds are right; they could have sailed to the dock instead of kedging. So sad."

She wasn't sure what kedging was, and didn't particularly want to ask and risk another lecture about nautical terms. It did sound more like a noise someone would make while getting punched, and not a term to do with sailing. She pressed her lips together in a firm line and focused on the ship again. The rest of the crew and a sizable amount of templars had lined up along the ship's rails, and in the middle she could see several women dressed in robes, each a single, bright color, all different from one another. As the ship slowed to a halt, the Fereldan longshoremen began the process of securing it to the dock with thick ropes. A plank was placed between the ship and the pier. Then templars who had lined the ship's rails formed up and marched onto the pier to establish a perimeter before the flock of brightly clothed women began to descend. It was then that Líadan noticed the distinctive hat worn by the short woman in the middle.

"The hat is a... curious affectation," she said, rather quietly, she thought. Especially since the hat was completely ridiculous. It looked as if the woman was wearing a tall wedge on her head, with the widest part at the top. Líadan had to look away before a laugh bubbled out. Then curiosity won over her discretion, and she looked toward the group again, this time at the women around the Divine. "And the rest of her entourage is quite colorful."

Anora glanced over her shoulder at Líadan, annoyance clearly written on her normally carefully schooled features. "Do you have anything nice to say?"

She met her look evenly. "I was being nice. Would you like me to say what else I'm thinking?" Because the templars were giving her the side-eye, it was putting her on edge, and she really wanted to put a stop to it. She also didn't appreciate Anora seeming to scold her in any way. That sort of thing, she felt, Anora should reserve for Alistair, Malcolm, or Fergus. Just because Anora's prickliness hadn't waned with the cessation of the rain didn't mean Líadan needed to suffer for it.

"On second thought, continue to be as nice as you have been." Anora nodded at her once, and then turned her attention to where the Divine and the flock about her were stepping off the gangplank and onto the wooden dock. As soon as the templars moved from blocking anyone from approaching the Divine, every Fereldan dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

Líadan exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Hildur. It would have been nice for one of the Andrastians to warn them about this. They could have waited in a less conspicuous place until this unnerving part of the ritual greeting was over. Instead, they stood over everyone except the templars and the Divine's retinue, doing their best not to make eye contact with them. Líadan was also completely appalled at her friends cowing to this mortal woman. She wanted to run to each of them and pull them to their feet, urge them to raise their eyes and not submit. But she held fast. To submit or not—it was a choice they had to make on their own.

"You may rise," said the Divine.

There was an exhalation of breath from every person, followed by the shuffling and clinking of various armors and cloth. Líadan watched with vague curiosity as greetings and introductions were made between the Divine and the Fereldan nobles present. She was surprised at the absence of overt hostility from either the Divine or Alistair and the others. Even from Malcolm, there weren't many signs of the conflict she knew he felt over the Divine's visit. Only if one knew him well and looked closely was the tension in evidence—his fingers weren't quite relaxed at his sides, his shoulders were more straight than usual, and his weight remained evenly distributed on both feet, ready to move instantly should the need arise.

Soon enough, the introductions moved to the two official Grey Warden representatives. Líadan left the talking primarily to Hildur, though she did manage a brief, yet polite nod at the Divine when Alistair said her name—who took care to note her role in ending the Fifth Blight—and also kept to herself all the things she very much wanted to say to the Divine. At this point, the others should consider this her best behavior, she decided. She hadn't drawn on the Beyond or even moved for her daggers. Creators, they should give her a medal for her restraint.

"You are a mage," the Divine said to Líadan, without even the preamble of a friendly greeting.

Líadan stared at the Divine, who'd been introduced as Regula, the first of her name, and had no idea how to respond. Every response she had would not go over well.

On her opposite side from Malcolm, Líadan heard Hildur mumble, "No shit." Then before the Divine could continue, Hildur said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Grey Warden. She's a Senior Grey Warden—not an apostate." She raised a hand and turned her index finger in a slow circle, pointing out the gathered templars. "So don't get any ideas."

One of the templars, in more distinctive black armor and not wearing one of the bucket helmets, descended the gangplank at hearing the Divine's words. He stepped up next to Regula, hand near the grip of his sword. "I should think we would all understand the reluctance to have a non-Circle mage in close proximity of the Divine. There would be concern for Her Perfection's safety."

"I can assure you, Warden Líadan poses no threat to her Most Holy," said Alistair.

"It still remains that she is unharrowed and not a Circle mage," said the Divine. "Though I am here to prevent any more diplomatic incidents, I nonetheless have entrusted Knight-Vigilant Renaud with my protection. I would follow his counsel on this matter."

"And what would this counsel be, Most Holy?" asked Anora.

Ser Renaud leaned over and said something into Regula's ear so softly that even Líadan couldn't hear it. Regula nodded, and then said, "A templar escort remains with the Grey Warden mage at all times while we visit here in Highever, as well as when we continue on to Denerim, would be an acceptable compromise."

Líadan wondered if Regula defined compromise the same way she did, because what the woman had offered sounded nothing like compromise. More like a demand. She hated demands, especially when made by persons to whom she owed nothing. Tension wound through her body, clenching her fists, and yet she stayed her tongue, for the sake of her friends and her bondmate.

Next to her, Malcolm shifted restlessly, his jaw flexing in want to speak up in her defense.

"That is not a compromise," said Hildur. "My Wardens are only a threat to darkspawn, not human religious leaders. I will not allow a templar to trail her. There is no need; she is in control of her magic."

"It remains that she is unharrowed, and that is the test we use to determine if a mage is truly in control," said Regula.

"Right, because Uldred was such a fine example of restraint," Malcolm said in a barely audible mutter.

Hildur elbowed him, and then whispered, "I've got this. She's my Warden to protect."

Alistair cleared his throat and held up a hand. "If I may?" At Regula's nod, he said, "As you well know, I was trained as a templar before I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens. I can guarantee your safety through my protection whenever Warden Líadan is in your presence, Most Holy. I believe that may be a more palatable compromise for now, until we have time to discuss other possibilities once we reach the castle."

Regula's eyes flicked over to Ser Renaud, who gave a curt nod. Then she returned to Alistair. "That is acceptable for now, Your Majesty. But we will certainly have to discuss the precautions we must take for the remainder of my trip here in Ferelden. Now," she said, bringing her hands together in front of her rotund body, "Empress Celene has sent along a gift for the King of Ferelden and his brother the Prince."

"First threats, and now presents? How very Orlesian," Fergus said under his breath.

Líadan hoped, for the sake of the diplomacy they were so desperately trying to maintain, that the Divine or the Knight-Vigilant did not possess excellent hearing.

Either she did not, or she pretended not to hear the comment, because Regula turned and signaled to one of the crew. Then the Knight-Vigilant cleared his throat. "Most Holy, the gifts are with the ambassador's ship, which is still being kedged to its dock. He will have to present the gifts when he arrives. Perhaps while you are making yourself comfortable in your pavilion?"

"Oh," said Regula. "Yes. Yes, I remember." Then she turned toward Alistair and Anora. "I trust you have not strained yourselves in making accommodations for myself and my retinue? I wish to stay on the field where my templars died, so that I may better pray for their souls at the Maker's side."

"No trouble at all, Most Holy," said Anora, so smoothly that Líadan wondered if Anora was always that good of a liar, or if it was a more recent development. "Would you like to go with your templars to set up your pavilion now? Then once you have settled in, we can all meet to discuss other matters."

Regula nodded. "That would be agreeable."

Anora continued polite exchanges with the Divine as the group started the walk up to the battlefield. Alistair, Fergus, and Cauthrien occasionally participated in the conversation, but it was Anora who managed to keep things from becoming horribly silent, or worse, impolitic. Despite the occasional looks shot in his direction by Alistair and Anora, Malcolm remained disinclined toward smalltalk. In fact, after a few such looks, Malcolm returned his own challenging one, as if daring them to make him speak. It was obvious to Líadan that Hildur had done a good job of placating him thus far, but his restraint would only last for so long.

As they passed by the castle, Fergus dispatched a squire to tell Seneschal Robert to go down to the harbor with a contingent of honor guards to fetch and escort the Orlesian ambassador up to the keep. Then they continued onward toward the battlefield.

Except the prisoners' camp loomed before the field itself, causing the Divine to stop to stare at the mass of tents and the soldiers walking the perimeter. "How many of my templars yet live?"

"About a hundred, Most Holy," said Alistair.

The answer seemed to disconcert her, as she startled slightly and turned her steady gaze from the camp to the King. "Have so many died since the last missive? I was told there were more survivors, perhaps two dozen more. Was their medical care not adequate?"

"Their care was quite competent," said Anora, a trace of her frustration showing in a brief grit of her teeth. "Their initial care was provided by Senior Enchanter Wynne, one of the non-Wardens who helped in the final battle with the Archdemon. Without her skills and tireless effort, far more of your templars would have died."

The opposite of tireless, Líadan thought. Exhausting. Wynne still had yet to completely recover.

"Then where are the others?"

"I took some," said Hildur. "Conscripted them, so you can't have them back. I'd say I was sorry, but they volunteered, and Ferelden needs Grey Wardens after the massacre at Ostagar. Considering the protection the Wardens provide Thedas, I assumed the Chantry would not object to helping. Or am I incorrect in my assumption?"

Anora raised an eyebrow at Hildur's show of political savvy. Líadan was certainly impressed, as Hildur had left the Divine with no recourse but to agree.

"No, you are not," said Regula. "They will continue to serve the Maker's will in ridding the land of darkspawn and their taint. But have you conscripted so many?"

"Others requested asylum," said Alistair, "and I was inclined to grant it, in most cases. And there were others who committed crimes during their march from the Frostbacks to Highever, and will be tried in the King's court. The rest are here, and you may take custody of them at any time you wish, Your Perfection."

The Divine pursed her lips as if she'd tasted something particularly sour. "I believe I will take custody now." She inclined her head toward Ser Renaud. "Knight-Vigilant, if you would see to it."

"Right away, Most Holy." Ser Renaud bowed once and trotted off toward the camp, waving for some of the more recently arrived templars to accompany him.

After watching Renaud's departure, the Divine returned her gaze to Alistair. "And what of my Knight-Vigilant sent to the field?"

"He perished, Most Holy," said Alistair. "He was given the proper Andrastian rites with his brethren."

Regula flinched, and then turned to view the battlefield ahead of them. "Only the Word dispels the darkness upon us," she whispered. Then she straightened and motioned toward other templars and some of her priests, giving them instructions to set up her pavilion and the other various tents they had brought with them from the ship. "We shall meet at your castle for the evening meal," she said to Fergus. Then she looked at Alistair and Anora. "I trust this is acceptable? We have much to set up, and I have much to pray upon."

"Of course, Your Perfection," said Alistair. "We'll take our leave." Before they started their walk back, Cauthrien elected to stay behind to help with the transfer of prisoners.

The group was halfway back to the castle's gate when Alistair asked, "Does anyone else find it rather creepy that she wants to sleep on what amounts to mass grave? In my opinion, that's just asking for trouble of the ghostly kind."

"With all her objections to mages and their dangers, you'd think she would avoid an area with a thinned Veil," said Malcolm. "Speaking of the Veil and danger, you could just tell her I have templar abilities and I can protect her from Líadan. Not that she needs protection from her."

Alistair shook his head. "And have her more angry with me because she'll have it confirmed that I gave away Chantry secrets? Yeah, how about no."

"I'll sodding figure it out," said Hildur. "There's no way she's having one of her people follow around one of my Wardens. The only templar I'd trust around her would be you, Alistair. Well, I suppose Malcolm, even though he just has the abilities and wasn't even a templar apprentice like you. Then again..." She trailed off as she looked up at the sky in thought. "Yes, Thierry might be an option, if he were a full Warden instead of a recruit."

If she were going to be forced to have a templar escort if she wanted to remain at Highever and Denerim and the trip in between with the Divine present, and she couldn't use Alistair or Malcolm, Líadan decided that Thierry might be acceptable. He seemed a reasonable man, and especially so since he'd argued with the Divine. "I could tolerate him," she said out loud.

"You could just put him through the Joining," said Alistair.

Hildur nodded. "I very well may have to if she pushes the issue."

"She will," said Anora. "I would advise you to move quickly to make Ser Thierry a Grey Warden, or the Divine will force Líadan from Highever or force her to allow a templar to follow her."

"Which I won't do," said Líadan.

"And I wouldn't allow in the first place," said Hildur. "All right. I want all the Grey Wardens assembled in the chapel in two hours."

"Why, yes, you may certainly use Highever's chapel for your ceremony," said Fergus. "By all means, Warden Commander, make yourself at home."

Hildur turned to face him. "You know, you lot really could have said something about everyone, and I mean everyone, taking a knee and bowing their heads when the Divine arrived. Because I'm not sure 'uncomfortable' even begins to describe how Líadan and I felt when we were left standing there, the only ones not taking a knee. That was the first time I've felt tall in my entire life, and it had to be awkward, because you blighters couldn't be bothered to let us know about that particular point of etiquette for Andrastians."

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" asked Fergus.

"Eventually. You could start by not giving me shit about using your chapel."

Fergus rolled his eyes. "Warden Commander, if I didn't say anything about your requisitioning various parts of my estate without so much as running it by me, you might start to believe I was truly upset about it."

"He has a point," said Malcolm. "I know I'd worry if he stopped making droll comments."

Hildur grumbled something inaudible. Then she said, "Fine. I'm going to go round up the others. The rest of you, I believe you have an Orlesian ambassador to greet. Have fun with that."

Alistair groaned. "Maker, I'd managed to forget."

"In such a short amount of time?" asked Anora. "I'm impressed."

"I didn't know the Divine would be bringing the Knight-Vigilant," said Malcolm. "And did anyone else notice that said Knight-Vigilant sports same kind of magnificent, flowing mustache as Thierry does?

"Did I ever," said Fergus. "It was all I could do not to swoon right there." Then he sighed. "We might as well go see about this ambassador. Andraste's sword, I wish the Divine had mentioned the ambassador was tagging along. I have to prepare myself to deal with him. Seriously prepare."

"More than for the Divine?" asked Líadan.

"Far more. The Divine is Chantry. The ambassador? He is Orlesian. Maker, I can't wait for this visit to be over with. Why she couldn't send an apology in a letter like any other person on Thedas, I'll never know." With that, he set off for the gates, muttering under his breath.