"The current Age was not meant to be the Dragon Age. Throughout the last months of the Blessed Age, the Chantry was preparing to declare the Sun Age, named for the symbol of the Orlesian Empire, which at that time sprawled over much of the south of Thedas and controlled both Ferelden and what is now Nevarra. It was to be a celebration of Orlesian imperial glory.

But as the rebellion in Ferelden reached a head and the Battle of River Dane was about to begin, a peculiar event occurred: a rampage, the rising of a dreaded high dragon. Dragons had been thought practically extinct since the days of the Nevarran dragon hunts, and they say that to see this great beast rise from the Frostbacks was both majestic and terrifying. As the rampage began and the high dragon decimated the countryside in its search for food, the elderly Divine Faustina II abruptly declared the Dragon Age.

Some say the Divine was declaring support for Orlais in the battle against Ferelden, since the dragon is an element of the Dufayel family heraldry of King Meghren, the so-called Usurper-King of Ferelden. Be that as it may, the high dragon's rampage turned towards the Orlesian side of the Frostback Mountains, killing hundreds and sending thousands more fleeing to the northern coast. The Fereldan rebels won the Battle of River Dane, ultimately securing their independence.

Many thus think that the Dragon Age will come to represent a time of violent and dramatic age for all of Thedas. It remains to be seen."

—from The Studious Theologian by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar, 9:25 Dragon

Chapter 25

Malcolm

A dream tore at him as he slept.

A flash of golden eyes, a toss of raven-black hair, a knowing smirk—the roar of an awakened dragon, and then she was gone. The dragon flew lazily through the darkening sky, the last remnants of sunlight catching on its iridescent maroon scales. As the sun kissed the horizon, more dragons as fetchingly beautiful as the first took to the air. Masses of humans below fell to their knees in worship at the display of ancient power and beauty. A sliver of light caught the eyes of the dragons and they glinted golden as they looked at him, looked into him, and he heard an old woman's cackling—

Malcolm woke up.

He remained absolutely still in his bed, only his eyelids having fluttered open, and he was facing the wall opposite the bed. The ring was there, on the desk. Fiona had asked him to keep it for a while, maybe wear it to see if it made a difference. He stared at it in the sliver of moonlight. An alien thing, an ancient thing, a symbol of what he had been unable to stop.

"Tis not given out of sentimentality. I believe you are too important to risk." That's what she'd told him, when he'd teased her about her true reasons behind giving him the ring. But he hadn't believed her, had thought he'd seen something warm, something akin to love or caring or something behind those golden eyes. Another mention of sentimentality on his part gained him only another vague answer. "I have no desire to see us part company so soon." And yet, looking back, not so vague at all. She had told him the truth and he had seen only what he wished to see. He was too important to die because he was to be her pawn later on, right before they confronted the archdemon. She didn't wish them to part company so soon because then she wouldn't be there to make her play for the Old God's soul. No sentimentality there, only practicality. He'd been a means to an end that hadn't cooperated.

A cloud covered the moon outside and the ring fell into the dark shadow of night. Had Eamon been right? Had he been entirely played, fooled as only a young man could be fooled into thinking he was in love? He sat up in the bed, feet dangling off the side, hands on either side of him and flat against the warm mattress. The moonlight returned and the ring drew his eyes again. He planted his feet on the cold floor and stood up. Then he took the scant steps over to the desk, fingers outstretched toward the ring. They brushed against it hesitantly, as a nervous young man would the lips of his first kiss. When nothing happened, he picked it up, holding it between thumb and forefinger, and brought it more fully into the moonlight. Two lines wove around the entire band, sometimes woven together, sometimes entirely separate. Two lives that came together at times, and then separated, only to be brought back together again.

"I was foolish. We were foolish. This could have been so much easier, yet I... cannot regret what was between us, no matter that it came to this. I will always remember you, my love."

He wondered if she remembered him, as he did her. Or was she reminded only of Zevran now, as she carried his child? Perhaps she thought only of the Antivan, or perhaps none of them at all, focusing only on her purpose, her goal, of having a child with the soul of an Old God. A creature—would it even be human?—of untold, unknown power. Were it to follow normal human and elf pairings, it would look entirely human. And if Malcolm and Alistair's experience at being the child of a human and an elf were any indication, there wouldn't be much of Zevran in the child at all. Perhaps bits of personality, perhaps something about the eyes. Malcolm didn't resemble Fiona at all, and Alistair, only a little, in the eyes. Even then, his eyes were much lighter than Fiona's, and everything else was entirely Maric. Or perhaps that was something about Maric and the Theirin line. Cailan had resembled their father, and by accounts, Maric had greatly resembled his mother Moira. Well, the Rebel Queen's hair had been red, not blonde. But both Alistair and Malcolm had red in their hair, Malcolm tending more toward red than his brother. His didn't lighten much in the summer, nothing like Alistair's did. Given enough time spent outdoors in the summer and it was shocking how much Alistair resembled Maric and Cailan.

Morrigan's child with Zevran would look like Morrigan, Malcolm suspected. Pale, flawless skin, raven-black hair, just the right blush in the cheeks, and those captivating, mysterious golden eyes. By all accounts, the child would be beautiful. And dangerous. And... not his. His choice, he knew,as he'd been unwilling to accept the responsibility of fathering a child that would have the soul of an Old God. A rueful smile came to his lips, that Morrigan's offer might've been his only chance to have a child of his own. Being a Grey Warden, the chances of another were slim. That, and for him to even consider it, it required moving on from Morrigan, and he didn't quite know if he had or could. Maybe, in time. This reluctance made no sense to him. She had left him, she had betrayed him, and yet he couldn't shake her. He couldn't shake what he felt, but he knew there were feelings more than just friendship that he felt when he looked at or thought about another woman in his life. He should feel excited, not guilty, that someone like her could feel anything for him, and that he felt anything in return. But he couldn't allow himself to explore any of that with her until he knew what would be done about Morrigan. Until he knew, for certain, that when he found Morrigan, he wouldn't try to stay at her side.

He dropped the ring into the palm of his left hand, fighting a ridiculous urge to laugh, and another equally as ridiculous urge to cry. He was an idiot, as Fergus had told him. In the now, in the present, and as a constant in his life, was a wonderful woman who, if he allowed them the chance, would never leave him, and would never betray him. The question was—would he do that to her? If he gathered his courage and just went with it, even as much as it terrified both of them, what would happen later, when he finally saw Morrigan again?

He didn't know. He couldn't know until he saw her again and looked into her eyes and found the truth within them. All he had now were his memories and he couldn't trust them. But he knew that he had to be willing to face them and his emotions, or it would forever remain a mystery. He would forever remain on hold, waiting to find out what he was supposed to do, what was proper to feel.

Malcolm slipped the ring onto his finger.

Northwest. A glimpse of trees, an ancient forest, a flash of grey fur. A feeling of desperation, of the frantic need for escape. The forest again, the snarl of a wolf, the growl of a wolf standing upright, balanced on two legs, using arms like a human. Weaving between trees, wood carved into bows, a campfire, the sound of children's laughter. A warm, friendly voice. Andaran atish'an, falon. A feeling of relief, the slight ebbing of panic. Yet the panic remained underneath, ever-present. Then the roar of a dragon and the panic is screaming—

He quickly removed the ring and placed it back on the desk with shaking hands. More dragons. That couldn't be good. And what was with the wolves standing upright? Had those been werewolves? Was what he just saw and felt a projection of his unconscious mind trying to make sense of what he'd heard Merren say days ago, or was it something else? He wasn't sure if he should dare hope that it had been a hint of Morrigan's location. That maybe she was with whatever clan it had been that Merren had mentioned. Up in... where had he said? The Sedim Forest? He hadn't recognized that name, but he had recognized the Planasene Forest. That was up near Cumberland, just east of it and just southeast of the start of the Vimmark Mountains.

And then there had been more Elvish. Fiona wasn't fluent, he didn't think, besides, it could be awkward to ask her. He knew one other person who was fluent who he could trust, and she was the only person he couldn't speak to about this. There was Velanna, but he didn't trust her, nor was she a Warden. Not yet. He scowled. Riordan wanted her to become a one, Malcolm was sure.

They'd arrived back at the Vigil a couple days ago, Velanna in tow, all of them somber. On meeting the Warden Commander, Velanna had immediately announced her intentions of becoming a Warden. Riordan had set aside the discussion for the time being, as it had been late, and they needed some time to recover from their trip. The next day, after they relayed the entirety of their story to Riordan, his eyes had been mulling over Velanna's skills. They were, without a doubt, undeniable. Malcolm figured even Morrigan would've been impressed with the elf's abilities with nature, though most likely wouldn't have liked her attitude. He certainly didn't appreciate it, nor did Líadan, as much as they both sympathized with Velanna's situation. Yet he had a feeling Riordan was looking past all of that—pragmatically, and rightfully so, Malcolm supposed—and at Velanna's potential. He sighed. Yes, he'd have to talk to Riordan later that day.

Malcolm left the ring on the desk, too wary to even slip it onto the thong around his neck as he'd done before Fiona had worked on it. A few hours were left to the night, and the chance to sleep in a real bed was too precious to waste. This time, once asleep, there were no dreams.

In the morning, he left the room without the ring. Halfway down the hall, he came to a stop, sighed, and returned to fetch it. While he wouldn't wear it on his finger, not after whatever emotions and visits and weirdness he'd felt last night, he would at least keep it with him. Leaving the ring unattended made him feel nervous and even guilty. What if it was stolen? There were guests in the Vigil, Amaranthine soldiers, magistrates, villagers, and accused criminals, all waiting to be seen in the arl's court they had scheduled for that afternoon. Seneschal Varel had held it off for as long as he could, but as arl, Riordan held the right of justice in the arling, and those matters had to be decided. Preferably before Arl Eamon and Alistair came back to the Vigil. Besides, Malcolm had heard rumors, though he hadn't time to fully investigate it, that one of the prisoners had been brought from a village near the Wending Wood and stood accused of kidnapping. It could be another one of the links they were looking for in getting the full story about what happened to Velanna's niece and sister. Or it could be nothing at all related to the Dalish in the Wending Wood.

Though, Malcolm realized, pausing as he chewed his bread in the dining hall, they still needed to find out exactly what Velanna had done to get herself exiled. That would give them a pretty good insight about whether they should honor her request to become a Warden or find a Dalish clan that would attend to the matter of justice for what she'd done. Though, his argument was still that they shouldn't allow her to join the order. She was twitchy and that made him jumpy. He nearly laughed as he remembered that once he'd thought Leliana had been crazy, with all her talk about visions sent from the Maker. Now, though, he realized he'd been wrong. Velanna was crazy. Leliana had just been... inspired.

"What are you smiling about?" Líadan asked, smirking in amusement as she plopped into the place across from him at the table.

And just at hearing Líadan's voice, his smile got wider, though he would've denied it if pressed. "Oh, just that once I thought Leliana had been crazy and that I think I was wrong."

She swirled her spoon around in her bowl of porridge. "No, she was crazy."

He cocked his head to the side. "Really? You think so? Even when comparing her to, say, I don't know... Velanna?"

Líadan scowled at the mention of the other Dalish elf. Then she shrugged, as if in acceptance. "Even then. I mean, you're talking about someone who used to sing in combat."

"She did that because she was a bard. To inspire us, or something. At least that's what she told me when I asked." Statement finished, he shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth.

"Whatever the reason, the fact remains that she sang songs while killing people. That's a bit crazy, if you ask me. Did I mention that she sang quite well while she did it? Sounded all in tune and pretty and such? Not normal."

"Not normal doesn't necessarily mean crazy, you know. After all, we're not normal, and we're not crazy."

Líadan lifted an eyebrow.

"If you ask me," said Oghren, setting a heaping plate of food onto the table before dropping to sit on the bench next to Malcolm, "you're both a few columns short of a hall. If you'd just have a roll, it would all be so much easier. Get rid of the tension. For everyone, by the way." He looked back and forth between the two of them. "What? Stop looking at me like that. I'm just saying what I'm sure everyone else is thinking." He produced a flask and placed it on the table next to his plate. "So what were you two talking about, anyway?"

"We were trying to decide who was more crazy, Leliana or Velanna," Malcolm said, unable to look at Líadan, which forced him to look at Oghren. Looking at Oghren while he was eating, which meant seeing chewed-up food in Oghren's mouth and flecks of food and globs of gravy falling out and sticking in his beard. Maybe the embarrassment wasn't so bad after all.

"Ha!" said Oghren, crumbs flying. "The new girl is cracked like a glass floor, I tell you, but she's not so bad." He took a swig of ale and nodded toward Líadan. "Then again, you and her are a lot alike, my elven friend."

Líadan's eyebrow lifted dangerously high, a dare for Oghren to continue. "Oh?"

Of course, the dwarf continued, oblivious or willfully ignorant. Malcolm suspected that at this point, it was willing ignorance. "Sure. Dalish and a mage and a b—"

"Think on your next words carefully before you say them, dwarf," Líadan said, interrupting Oghren. "Remember, my dagger is razor sharp and requires no application of magic in order to to remove your manhood."

Oghren noisily swallowed the food in his mouth. "Not alike at all!"

"I think Riordan means to let her become a Warden," said Malcolm.

"We've all seen what she can do, so there's no denying she could be a fine addition," Oghren replied, waggling his thick eyebrows. "A fine addition indeed, if you know what I'm saying. Not that I've got a strange fondness for the crazies, Branka being any indication."

Malcolm pushed his plate away and stood up. "I'm going to go find Riordan."

Líadan stole a muffin off Oghren's plate and got to her feet as well. "I'm coming with you."

Oghren looked at each of them, and then burped loudly. "I'm staying right here. I've my breakfast to finish, even without your help, elf. And if you ask me, if you two are going off together anywhere, it should be for a tumble. Take my advice, my young friends, and you'll feel much better. Certainly better after that than after some sodding argument with the Commander that you're bound to lose anyway. Riordan's more stubborn than a duster at a Proving."

"Too bad you weren't asked, dwarf," said Líadan. "Mind your own business."

Oghren gave her a good leer, as only he could do. "Well, if you're getting all bothered by it, since your business isn't getting taken care of properly, I could certainly give you a good tussle."

Líadan gave the dwarf a cold glare then strode away, Oghren grinning after her retreating backside. Malcolm moved as if to follow, but gaped back at Oghren when he heard him start laughing. "You think that was funny? One day, you're going to wake up a soprano and everyone will just tell you they told you so, and then die laughing as you wail about your missing man parts."

"You need to do something about that woman or someone more threatening than Oghren the Ladykiller is going to sweep her up," Oghren said, ignoring the warning yet again. "You want my advice?"

"No," said Malcolm, really wanting to talk about something else. Anything else. Maybe even the archdemon. Yes, the archdemon seemed much less daunting.

"Too bad, I'm giving it anyway. Whatever you had with the witch during the Blight? It was something, I'll give you that. But you need to face up to the fact that she's gone, as gone as Branka was when she up and left to go after that Anvil. To the witch, there is something far more important than you that she's focused on, and judging by the lengths of betrayal she went through to get it, I doubt she will let you interfere, even if it's merely your continued presence should you ever find her again. So take it from old Oghren here, who's been through it already—let it go. Live your life, such as it is, all twenty-nine or twenty-eight or whatever odd years you have left. Remember what you had fondly, drink to forget the betrayal, and move on." Oghren burped again. "Or was it drink to forget everything? I can never keep it straight."

Malcolm gave Oghren an odd look. The words had sounded almost deep, something surprising considering it was Oghren, of all people. "I'll think about it."

"Act, don't think! Thinking just gets you into trouble."

"If not thinking kept you out of trouble, don't you imagine you'd be in a lot less of it?"

"Don't you be thinking you're going to trick me into thinking, boy," said Oghren. "Now go away, before I actually start to think."

Chuckling, Malcolm left the dwarf behind and headed for Riordan's study. While the thought of a roll or tussle or whatever someone would call it with his fetching friend sounded pleasant, he knew it wasn't all he wanted were he to act. He didn't want something empty or fleeting, he wanted something real. He wanted what he'd thought he'd had with Morrigan, if something like that truly could exist. The chuckles disappeared in favor of a scowl. He needed to finish seeing to the things around here, to Kal'Hirol and Highever and the Mother and the Architect and what seemed like five hundred other things before he could search for Morrigan and answers. And with whatever he'd seen and felt when he'd put on the ring, it seemed he had more clues to go on. Either that or he was giving himself false hope. One or the other. But, he did need to tell Riordan about the dreams, especially the parts that involved dragons. Since, after all, high dragons and the Old Gods and the darkspawn and the archdemons were pretty much steeped in high dragons, along with other creepy, deathly doom-type things.

He heard the yelling before he even turned the corner. Líadan had arrived before him, then, and already lit into poor Riordan. "You can't be serious about this," she cried. "Velanna is a risk. She's a liability. She's short-tempered, prejudiced, and incredibly sodding dangerous!"

"You can't think of anything nice to say about her, can you?" Riordan asked in his ever-calm tone of voice.

"Those were the nice things," Líadan answered.

Malcolm opened the door and stepped inside, making sure to close the door before he spoke. "Actually, I think those were the nicest things she's ever said about her."

Líadan threw him a look that was half-glare and half-exasperation.

Riordan sighed. "And I take it you disagree with allowing her to join, as well?"

"Yes, I do," said Malcolm, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the commander's desk. "I would've said pretty much what Líadan said, too. Except probably not as nicely. Plus, Velanna hates me."

"You once thought the same of someone else." Riordan shot a pointed look at Líadan. "Turns out she doesn't." Líadan snorted and he amended, "Well, most of the time."

"To be fair, Velanna hates all humans, not just you, Malcolm," Líadan told him, and then turned to Riordan. "That's the whole prejudiced thing I was talking about. She doesn't trust humans. Any humans. Aside from that, she was exiled, and we still don't know what for. It takes something... pretty bad for someone to be expelled from their clan, much less formally exiled. Like we told you before, we ran into some members of her clan on our way back from the Wending Wood. Even after hearing that others with Velanna had died, they still rejected her as a clanmate. They didn't invite her to rejoin the clan. It's practically unheard of. Even if you leave to join another clan for a bondmate, or even for some reason leave to live in a human city, you can always go back. Velanna can't, and her clanmates even made doubly sure that she knew it."

Malcolm wondered if Líadan could go back to her own clan. His gaze wandered from Riordan to the elf, and he saw that she was already looking at him. She easily caught the question he wanted to pose, but didn't play along. "What?" she asked, a verbally aggressive challenge to get him to back down from the question, her eyebrows falling into a glare.

He met her challenge. "Can you return to your clan?"

She sat back in her chair, arms folding across her armored chest. "I suppose. If I wanted." Her eyes darted to the window. "I don't know if I wish to. They did cast me out."

"No, you were conscripted, not cast out," Malcolm said. "You weren't exiled."

"It felt like it." She took a deep breath and returned her gaze to him. "And sometimes, it still does, even now." The elf held up a hand to stop Malcolm's objection. "I know. It was for my own good. I was sent away so that I could be cured of the illness brought by the taint, so that I wouldn't die. As an added bonus, I lost everything I'd ever known and was thrown into the Wardens against my will. Don't be surprised that it would still hurt, even after all this time."

Malcolm looked away, pulling at the fraying edges of the gambeson under his heavy chainmail."You don't have a monopoly on that kind of pain."

"I know that!" she snapped.

"Whatever Velanna's status is with her former clan or her feelings about humans, she's undeniably skilled," said Riordan, steering the conversation back on topic and away from the danger-fraught subject of the two younger Wardens' conscriptions. "Her hatred of the darkspawn for what they did to her sister is a strength, in this instance. It can be put to good use instead of allowed to fester. She can be put to good use instead of handed over to the Dalish, if that's even possible. If not..." he trailed off and shrugged. "If the Dalish wouldn't hear her case, I would have to hear it, or Fergus would. Maybe even Alistair. But that's academic, as I'm going to let her join."

"You still don't even know what she did to get exiled!" Líadan shouted, rising to her feet. "There's any number of horrific things she could have done! What if she killed children? What if she—"

The door opened. Malcolm cursed to himself in his head. Knowing people around this place, he should've known better and locked it. Velanna, apparently having no better manners than the rest of them, strode into the room in her proud and haughty manner. "I am no child killer. You know, if you want to know what happened, I will tell you," she said. "All you had to do was ask." She sat on the bench near the window, but didn't relax her body one bit.

"Oh, you heard me, did you?" said Líadan.

"I think everyone in the Fade heard you," Malcolm told her, without a prior thought given to his safety. She fired him a venomous glare, far worse than what Velanna was giving him, or had ever given him, if he thought about it. "Right, shutting up now." Archdemon was looking even better. At this point, given the choice between a nice, jaunty battle with a tainted Old God or remaining in this small, enclosed space with two angry Dalish elves who also happened to be mages? Nice jaunty battle it was. He glanced over at Riordan, who still remained seated, entirely unperturbed, behind his desk. For the love of the Maker, how was that man so calm? Not the slightest hint of worry or concern for his own safety. Of course, this was the same man who blew off the rumors of conspiracies against his life, so Malcolm knew he really shouldn't have been surprised.

"Yes, I heard you," Velanna said to Líadan. "And I felt I should make sure you and everyone else knew that I would never hurt a child." She studied Líadan carefully. "Do you really think I would harm a child?"

"No," Líadan immediately answered. "I just... well, that's the first horrible thing that popped into my head. I think because of recent events. I apologize."

Malcolm figured she wouldn't be attempting to kill any child with the soul of an Old God anytime soon. He wondered if he could—and knew instantly that he could not, no matter what the danger. If it looked like a child, sounded and acted like a babe, he wouldn't be able to do it. It wasn't in him, no more than he could kill a woman with child. He wondered if the templars could do it. He suppresed a shudder, realizing that they probably could. And most likely, they planned on it when they found Morrigan, having officially named her a maleficar.

"That's good to know, I suppose, that you don't truly think that of me," said Velanna, who then primly folded her hands in her lap. "As for my exile... the humans near the Wending Wood, from shemlen town of Navan, they were trying to drive my clan away. Then they tried to burn us out. They would have destroyed the entire forest just to keep us from their farms. The night they set the forest near our campsite on fire was when we lost Rósín. When morning dawned, and Seranni and I learned that she was missing, I told Seranni to go look for her right away, to not bother taking any hunters. Once we had finished dousing the last flames and could see what the farmers had wrought against us, I saw that the others were afraid. They were too afraid to even help find Seranni and Rósín. Ilshae was convinced Seranni would return, her child in tow, and then we would depart the Wending Wood. She expected us to bow and scrape and then run away from the shemlen threats with our tails between our legs! We waited for days for Seranni to return, but she never did, and I became convinced that she and my niece had been kidnapped by the traders we occasionally saw on the Pilgrim's Path. I wanted to get even."

"We knew about the getting even part," Líadan said.

Velanna ignored her. "Keeper Ilshae said that if I wanted to fight the shemlen, then I would fight them alone. I think..." she trailed off with a sigh and looked down. "I think Ilshae expected me, wanted me, to back down." Velanna looked up again, giving the others a small, self-deprecating smile. "But I was too proud and too angry. Plus, I called Ilshae a coward." Then the smile twisted and fell away. "And I turned away from the clan, before Seranni had even returned. I would fight the shemlen and I would find my niece and sister. A few others wanted what I wanted and followed me. They are dead now, killed by the darkspawn in their ruse." The Dalish elf stood up and braced her arms on either side of the window, staring outside. "And you know what happened with the templars and my niece."

"No, we don't," said Malcolm. Not everything. He knew there was still more left to that story. There was the time between the fire, when the girl had gone missing from the clan, and then later when Seranni had found her with the templars, that had yet to be explained. As much as he disliked templars, he did remember that his brother had been one, and had Alistair come across a lost Dalish child, he'd have tried to bring her home. As angry as templars made him, he had to remember that they weren't all bad, even if they were all out hunting Morrigan. Because, pretty much, at this point, if he hated everyone out hunting Morrigan, that meant hating practically all of Thedas, including himself.

Velanna spun around and glared at him. "Yes, you do! They kidnapped her and took her away! Creators know what they were going to do with her before they were all killed by the darkspawn."

"Take her to the Tower, most likely," Riordan said. "Or to the Chantry, if she turned out not to have magical talent. While I'm not a fan of templars myself, it stands to reason that they didn't kidnap the child. Didn't you say she was lost? They could just have found her and were taking her somewhere they thought would be safe. It's not like a group of humans, especially templars, can just go waltzing into a Dalish camp. Hunters would have confronted them and, given the situation, most likely have killed them before they got even close enough to realize they had a Dalish child with them."

"Or they would've killed them for having a Dalish child at all, assuming that she had been kidnapped," said Líadan. Then she turned to Velanna. "You can't deny that. My clan wasn't nearly anywhere near as touchy as you are and had they seen that, they probably would've killed them outright. I guess we couldn't expect the templars to try and return a Dalish child to her own people."

Malcolm nodded. "Your clan almost killed my brother and me when they found us carrying you, and you're a grown woman. It was very much almost a 'shoot the shem first, ask questions later, maybe' kind of situation. Had we been carrying a child, I don't think any of us would've lived."

"You let these shems carry you?" Velanna asked the other Dalish elf, disgust spread throughout her words. "Why did you not fight them? You truly just allowed them take you?"

Líadan rolled her eyes. "I was sick and unconscious at the time. I didn't have a choice." She sighed. "And, in the end, they saved my life."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard her admit that before. At least, not out loud, and not to him. Líadan shot him a look telling him she didn't want to hear a word from him, and that if he dared to speak, she would flay him alive. He stayed quiet, as he quite liked having his skin covering his flesh. Just a personal preference, really.

"Is that why you stay with these shems? Because you owe them?"

"No. I stay because..." Líadan glanced over at Malcolm and quickly looked away. His brow furrowed. What was that about? The elf looked back at Velanna. "Because I gave them my oath."

"I don't believe you."

The comment brought a newly incensed Líadan to her feet. "I gave them my word as a Dalish that I would stay, and so I do."

Malcolm wondered when that promise had taken place. He didn't remember hearing anything like that. Well, she had taken the Grey Warden oath and she was Dalish, so he supposed that counted. Or maybe she'd actually given some other oath as a Dalish to Alistair during that time when she refused to speak to him. He'd have to ask his brother.

Velanna smirked at Líadan. "Ma ven'din inna shemlen lath, seth'lin."

"Mahala! Manan'din, len'asha lath'din!"

"That was particularly colorful," said Riordan, the hint of a bemused smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Zevran was right, your best swears are in Elvish."

All three of the other people in the room turned to gape at the Warden Commander. Malcolm recovered first and asked, "You speak Elvish?"

He shrugged. "One Warden Commander I had for ten years was Dalish. I speak the language well enough."

"You never said anything," said Líadan.

"You never asked, lass," he replied. "Besides, I didn't think it was terribly important. You rarely use Elvish and you speak fluent, unaccented Fereldan."

"And yet, her Orlesian is atrocious," Malcolm mumbled.

"I swear to the Creators, if you bring that up again, I will end you," Líadan told him.

He gave her a cheeky grin, finding courage because now he had an unbiased person to run whatever Elvish phrases he heard by. If only he could remember what he'd heard when he'd been injured, he'd be in an ever better position. However, at least he could find out what that Elvish phrase he'd come up with while wearing Morrigan's ring was. That meant he didn't have to endure Líadan's grumbling about Morrigan if he'd asked her to translate.

"I hate you," she said, dropping into her chair again.

"Arinan navhenan'ara, Líadan," said Velanna, in a nearly sing-song tone.

Líadan didn't bother to look at the other Dalish elf. "Mahala!"

Though Malcolm couldn't speak Elvish, and had no idea what Velanna had said, he was fairly certain that Líadan had just told her to shut up. And shut up Velanna did, but not without a self-satisfied smirk.

Riordan's own smile almost broke through his composure as he looked at them. Then he took a moment to entirely dismiss the amusement before saying, "Velanna, I offer you a place in the Grey Wardens."

"I accept, Warden Commander," said Velanna.

Both Malcolm and Líadan groaned and immediately set to renewing their protests, their statements and objections overlapping one another.

Riordan allowed them to go for a minute or so, and then cut them off with a raised hand. "Neither of you are to argue about this any longer," he said to them once they fell respectfully, if grudgingly, silent. "I've heard your reasons, and I've made my decision. In addition, you will both be guiding Velanna as she acclimates to her place in the Grey Wardens. You will help her prepare for her Joining, and she will travel with you on your missions afterward until she has settled in."

"Are you sure that that's the best—" Malcolm started.

"You can't really expect me to—" started Líadan.

"No arguments," said Riordan, silencing them. "I've made my decision, and you will abide by it."

His declaration met with outraged silence and murderous glares from both Wardens in front of him, and from Velanna, an almost-relieved smile.