AN: Thank you so much for the reviews! And sorry this is a day late, I've been traveling a bit this month. In this chapter, we check in with Beenie and Liam.

9:35 Dragon, Winter

The Hundred Pillars are aptly named. The terrain is steep, jagged, and most paths lead to dead ends, often plateaus with vertical drop-offs. And it's cold. Bitterly, menacingly, deathly cold. My knees nearly touch my chest as lift them up and down, trudging shin-deep through snow that feels more like sand, powdery on top but dense beneath. The wind is a blustery hell, stinging my cheeks and propping me up as I slosh through. I'm pitched so far forward that it seems like I should fall, but it's like there's a river of air streaming through these mountains. Like if I went over a cliff, the wind would simply hold me up like a boat in water.

Liam's fur-bundled hands are permanently attached to the rope that I've tied about my waist, his trek a little easier as he follows the path that I am plowing through the mountain's terrain. Whenever I feel the rope go taut, I look back to see if he's collapsed, and when that happens, I carry him. We are both so tired that sometimes I can't believe we're still moving.

We've hiked deep into this mountain range mostly on foot because we had to let the horses free a month ago. They would never have survived this place. Wedged between Antiva and Tevinter, it now seems clear to me how these two nations have avoided each other; the mountains are not only a natural barrier, but an extremely effective one. Three months into our journey and I've started to wonder if there's a way out.

I'm a little surprised that he's stuck with me this long, even after my decisions to take us into the mountains. But he is young, terrified, and he watched me kill a man. He asked me about my adventures once – he thought I was some adventuring swordarm! Like I would choose to live like this! He's seen his share of horrible things and I don't want to add to that, and so I tell him that I had to leave my home to save a friend, but it's always been my intention to return. It's hard to have a conversation with him sometimes, because he always wants to know why – why, why, why? – and, aside from the horrible things that have happened, I don't think the details of my life are good to share. Those kinds of things could only get us in trouble should the wrong people find us. Of course, he doesn't buy it. He still thinks I'm some Champion, some Cavalier, some super-human hero. Maybe I'm his hero. Maybe I'm okay with that.

I crane my neck back as far as it will go, which isn't that far considering all the fur that I have wrapped around me, and I squint into the biting wind. The stone mountains blend in with the overcast sky, and it would look like a long endless void if not for the menacing grey shadow that stretches into the horizon. The clouds are swirling, and snow is beginning to pelt us again – I swear, this is the only place in the world where snow falls like rain. I've been dreading this moment, but we have no choice now; we have to stop traveling and find suitable shelter.

My feet are round mounds of fur and animals skins, and yet I haven't felt my toes in hours. My body is so cold that I don't feel cold anymore. I think the snow has soaked through my furs, because I can feel the leather jerkin that I took off the dead slaver's body stiffening up. I want to keep moving, and maybe I would, but I'm not really getting anywhere, and besides that... I have Liam to think about now.

Liam, I say, but I can't hear my own voice for the blustery conditions.

I look over my shoulder, and the furry skins of the dead animals that we've lived on envelope his entire body, only revealing his little round face. I yell his name this time, stepping back to grab him by the patchwork-fur coat. With chattering teeth and a bright red nose, he looks up to me.

It infects me like a sickness, rolling over my shoulders and settling into my stomach. It's so heavy, so thick... My eyelids droop with the weight of responsibility and the journey ahead. Thoughts of survival are the fireflies in my periphery, taking up space in the blackness that splotches across my field of vision. I'm so cold. I'm so hungry. We're going to die out here with the wind in our ears and the snow in our shoes.

It takes all the energy I have to close my eyes and look away. I really don't like looking at him.

Sorry, he whines in complete misery.

This has become our custom. I avoid eye contact and he apologizes. He can't control this thing of his, though he knows exactly how he affects me – how he affects nearly everyone. But I don't blame him. He can't help it. It's not his fault. I tell myself that a lot.

I have to yell for Liam to hear me. I tell him that we need to find shelter, and he seems confused. I point to the sky and the swirling mass of clouds in the distance, and explain that there's a storm coming and that we won't survive it out in the open. We may need to stay for a month or more until winter passes.

He just nods to me in resignation. He's so miserable; I can feel it without looking at him. He's a mage, a killing machine, and at any moment he could give himself away to a demon to escape this frostbitten hell, but he's also just a little boy. And I hate to admit this, but I need him. When we hunt, he makes our prey feel calm and I don't have to work as hard to bring them down, which is both good and bad. I rely on him too much, and consequently I am not as strong as I need to be. But he relies on me, too. As scared of the world as he is, sometimes I think he is scared of himself even more. I am sure the fear in my eyes every time I look at him doesn't help. If he gets scared enough to consider a demon's offer, I need him to say no.

But if I'm being honest, that's not all of it. I know that mages are dangerous – I know it. But... he's just a boy. If something happens to me, he could die. I don't want him to die.

Surprisingly, it's not that tough to find shelter. There are natural alcoves everywhere. The rock of these mountains juts upwards as though offended by the empty space, but the ice has created pockets everywhere. The only real issue is making sure the caves are uninhabited. The first cave is home to some kind of large bird that squawks at us in irritation, trying to peck our limbs away and we scramble out, skidding through the snow. The second and third caves are infested with mountain rats, giant rodents half Liam's size that will attack us in the middle of the night, infecting us with disease. No, thanks. Finally, we find something suitable. It's not that big, but that's okay. A small space is actually better – less area to heat.

Liam rubs his little fingers against some wet wood, and it sparks to life, the flames licking the greyness of the world away. Ahh, blessed warmth. Survival means finding happiness in very small things.

In an effort to keep us both from freezing, I peel the skins from my body, which I haven't done in many days. I feel like a furry onion. Liam peels back his furs as well, and now I see why he's so cold: his ratty tunic has gotten wet, and it's partially frozen. It cracks when I pull it from his body. Bloody fantastic. We don't have much, but what we do have needs to sustain us, and losing something as small a tunic is a big deal when you have nothing.

I pull his body to mine, placing him on the ground between my legs. I am so big compared to him, my legs stretch twice as far as his. He's still shivering, and so I rub his little arms and chest to warm him. I think about how this stirs the blood inside the body. That's how we stay warm, by keeping our blood moving through our veins. But within his blood courses something entirely different from mine, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how badly I want to, I can't not think about how that blood could kill me at any second.

I wrap the furs around our bodies, and I feel his shivers lessening. Liam doesn't talk much that night, and only stops trembling entirely when he sleeps, his head against my shoulder, his small body curled up to mine. The night takes my consciousness, too, but before that happens, I curse the Maker for forsaking us all. Andraste, you're wasting your breath.

We arise in the belly of our cave, and I crawl between the enormous teeth-like icicles that have grown around its mouth. When I return with some wet wood, Liam has a pair of cave rats in his lap – he likes animals and as a result, they like him, too. They huddle against his belly, squeaking contentedly in his warmth, but they aren't our friends. They're our breakfast. The last time Liam watched me kill something was when I thrust a knife – the knife that I'm holding – into the guts of a slaver. He hasn't watched since, and though I never force it, someday he'll need to watch. It'll prepare him for the realities of the world. It'll prepare him for what he's capable of. Maybe it'll dissuade him from using his magic to harm others.

We talk about magic sometimes. I tell him what I learned growing up, which is that magic runs in all families, but most still don't understand it. He tells me what it feels like, which he says is like being tickled and scratched at the same time. He's getting better at controlling his emotions, too. We've been trying to work on shutting them off so that I am not affected at all, but he is a long ways from mastering that. He gets frustrated easily, but is persistent. Maybe he won't succumb to demons after all. Maybe that's just wishful thinking.

This morning, over the roasted cave rat, for no particular reason, I tell him the story of Halden and Branian: the only reason to fear a mage is if the mage fears you. He listens like he's never heard a story before, like the whole world is waiting for me to finish.

And then out of the clear blue sky, he says, I was at a Circle once. He rubs his little nose, which is still red from the cold. He adds: I ran away.

Why? I ask.

He whispers his reply. They locked me up. They said I would infect others. They said if I couldn't stop it, they would kill me.

He's talking about Templars. About his ability. The way he influences the emotions of others based on his own. I think of Innley. I think of the Circle. How is my experience with slavers any different than the mages experiences with Templars? Is housing the only difference between the Crows and the Chantry? I look down at the skinned and cooked rodent in my hands, half eaten and turned cold. The world isn't majestic. It isn't beautiful or welcoming. It's a cold mother, distant and preoccupied with itself.

Then he asks me: Where are we going? Once we are out of the mountains?

We. Always with the we stuff. I say, I could take you home. When he shakes his head, a bout of panic slams into my chest, the wind knocked from my lungs. I raise my hands up defensively, gasping his name and say, I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go.

He's a child, emotionally volatile at times and unpredictable at others. It's been a while since I've been around children. I forgot how difficult it can be.

I say, I'm no Templar. It's not my job to bring rogue apostate children to the Circle. I would never want that job.

This relaxes him, but I can tell that he's still not entirely convinced. He does bring up an important question, though: What am I going to do with Liam when I get to Starkhaven? As a mage, he's supposed to go to a Circle to learn magic. He's not supposed to be an apostate, and he certainly can't survive the world on his own without turning demented. But aside from that, I have no idea where I shouldn't take him. His home might be anywhere for his accent is so strange, an odd mixture of dialects and accents from all sorts of places. Sometimes he pronounces words with Antivan or Orlesian inflections, but he speaks the common tongue so well that I assume he's from elsewhere. Ferelden? Free Marches? Anderfels? I have no clue. But I am not his keeper. Ultimately, it's his choice, but it's also my choice whether or not I want to help him get to wherever he decides to go. I know for certain that I hope he doesn't choose Tevinter. Their version of life is completely backwards from the rest of the world. The mages govern themselves – and everyone else – and the Chantry essentially does nothing.

So, I take a breath, hoping that he doesn't say Tevinter, and ask him where he wants to go. But, of course, he's just a kid and knows nothing about the world. He shrugs his little shoulders and mutters something that sounds like I don't know right before he asks, Can I stay with you?

A blanket of hope falls over me, and I can't help wondering if it's from him or if I truly want to take him home with me. I should say no, and not just because a life without magic is less complicated, but because I don't think the people of Starkhaven would be too pleased if I came back home with a little apostate and declared that he was going to live in the palace with the Vaels. That would probably not go over well.

But I also don't want to make him mad – the last time he got mad was at the slaver camp where he caused some kind of explosion. I wonder if the Circle ever saw him do that. I don't know how he did it, and I don't know what caused it, but I don't want him to think on it, either, just in case the memory invokes the same reaction. I would rather keep all my body parts where they are.

So, to save his temper, and also maybe to spare his feelings, I don't give him an outright no. Instead I say: I am not sure. We'll have to see.

Momentarily hurt, he just nods and I feel guilty. He's helped me in more ways than I can imagine. He was responsible for getting us away from the slavers and he makes it possible for me to survive in this winterish nightmare. He's saved me twice now. Twice, I owe him.

And it's for that reason that with a great sigh and instant regret, I say: But I won't let anyone hurt you or take you away. I won't leave you.

His smile turns my insides bright, warmed with enough hope to infect the entire world. I welcome the waves and ride them willingly. Once, I took an Oath which still means more to me than my own life, and now I've given my promise again. What good is one if I can't honor the other?

Over the weeks, we create a routine of sleeping, eating, and hunting. We're prey more often than we are the hunters, and it takes all the cunning I have to evade death on a daily basis. Strange beasts survive in these unholy conditions. There is pack of mountain hyenas that stalks us. We have to regularly change the path we take on our hunts to keep from being herded. They are systematically figuring out our hunting patterns, and I worry that the spring thaw can't come fast enough. One hundred pillars. One hundred ways to die.

Most nights, we listen to their howling, and it's almost like they are communicating in some way. The echoes of their lament bounce off the rock and get absorbed into the snow bank before they begin their nightly song again. One night Liam asks me what the hyenas are always howling about, and, since I'm half asleep, I mumble something about how they howl to keep in touch with their pack, their family. He likes that. Sometimes during the day, he howls at me, and tells me he has to keep track of me. It makes me laugh, but the hyenas' guttural groans of torment seep into my bones deeper than the cold, and it's on those nights that I always think of my Sammie.

When we aren't evading the natural elements or wild animals, we are hiding from people. Sometime in the late winter, Liam and I hear an unnatural rumbling. From above a deep trench, we spy a small caravan: some covered carriages and a decently-sized contingent of guards. They must have coin to have a caravan like that – which is probably the only type of people who would travel through these mountains at this time of year. No way am I going to announce myself to them. They're either magisters from Tevinter who will make me a slave, or aristocrats with Crow connections from Antiva who will sell me as one. I think of my family when I see the caravan, remembering our trips through the mountain passes of the Vimmarks. My mother would sing Goran to sleep in the back of the carriage while my father and I would talk or sometimes read, the driver steering the horses along. I wonder if they've taken any more trips. Do they think I'm dead? Do they think about me at all?

The spring thaw comes in fits and starts. The icicles partially melt, creating puddles, but then another cold night will freeze everything over again, remaking the mountain into an ice slick. It's maddening to be trapped like this, and I stir like a caged beast. In Starkhaven, spring is a beautiful time of year. Flowers burst from their bulbs triumphantly, trees populate with leaves and birds, and the sky turns vividly blue. Here, spring is simply a different shade of grey.

Finally, one morning we wake up to rain. But one step outside our alcove reveals that it's not rain, it's the mountain melting. We have to move otherwise an avalanche will make all these months of waiting fruitless. I know that the faster we get down, the easier it will be to find a route out of this place. The only problem is that the mountain passes are all open now, and a lot of travelers have taken to them. I stick to my assertion that I don't want to be seen, convinced that the fewer people notice the scrawny man and the little boy, the better off we'll be. We do a fairly good job of avoiding any attention on the road, hiding when we hear a caravan or see a group in the distance. We try to stay off the paths, but it's difficult. There's a reason the paths are used, and it's not because the other routes are longer. It's because there are no other routes.

The mountains have helped me regain my strength, but I am not in top shape. My feet hit the ice-hard earth and my breath is labored, but I know that we can't stop moving. We jump over rocks and skate across pebbles while a thick fog hangs heavy in the air throughout the morning.

It's the fog that foils us.

We are climbing over big boulders, trying to move parallel to the southward path when we hear voices. Instinctively, I stop moving, and Liam crashes into my leg. I look down at him; he looks like a small bear; furs and skins cover every inch of him except for his face, and those large eyes turn up to me like beacons. Worry infects me, upsetting my empty stomach, and I turn away, closing my eyes to steady myself. I hear him mutter a sincere apology. I place my hand on his furry head. It's not his fault.

The voices are too close. I hear a woman. No, two women. I crouch down, pulling Liam with me and press us up against a rock. Andraste, if you're still up there, please let us go unnoticed.

One of them says: This is just perfect. What are we going to do now?

The second one says: Would you relax? I can't think with your incessant whining.

Both of their accents strongly ring of Tevinter. Their affect is stiff, every syllable enunciated and pronounced. Speaking that way sounds laborious.

What about the Anderfels? The first one asks.

Too many Wardens. And darkspawn. I don't want the sickness in me.

We have to go somewhere, Nes, the first woman says. That must be the second woman's name: Nes.

It's won't work. Even with Desh, we can't possibly... The second woman's voice fades out, as though she is turning away from us.

The first woman scoffs loudly. You're still thinking too small! Your little loan shark ring in Kirkwall wasn't big enough. We owe too much! The second woman, Nes, mumbles something, but the first woman ignores her and continues: We can't go back to Tevinter, not with Halcinus on us, which means Starkhaven is out.

The name of my home rings in my ears, and I feel Liam tugging on my fur sleeves. I bat at him a little, straining to hear.

The first woman continues: Antiva, Orlais, Rivain – all out! You refuse to go back to Kirkwall—

Nes cuts the second woman off: That place is a bomb waiting to go off! We're lucky we got out when we did.

We need coin! the first woman says emphatically.

I feel something sharp stick into my shoulder and I turn abruptly, irritated at Liam for poking me only to see the tip of a sword buried within my fur coat. I jerk my head upwards and see the cold hard stare of a grown man.

He's wearing a bundle of furs so thick that all I can see, besides the long sword poking into my arm, is his square jaw and his tattoos which curve around his brow like a mask. But the way he stands, the way he relaxes his shoulders and plants his feet tells me that he's an adept fighter.

The women are still bickering, and I glance down at Liam nervously, trying hard to control my own anxiety without his affecting me.

The man gestures with the sword – he wants me to stand up. Very slowly, with my palms facing him, I rise to my full height. His stature surprises me. I've been around nothing but Antivans and Liam for more than a year, and they are all pretty short – well, short next to me – but this man and I are at eye-level with each other. He must not be Antivan, though it's impossible to tell right now, because every inch of him is covered with fur. Just like me.

He grabs Liam by the scruff of his collar, and shoves the whimpering boy in front of me, wordlessly instructing us to move towards the women. Never turning my back to him, I have no choice as I carefully step around jagged rock to where the women are still arguing.

I know the instant I get close enough for them to see me, because they stop talking. The man maneuvers us right into their camp, and I can only assume that he and these women are together somehow. The women are wearing heavy boots and thick fur-lined coats with their hoods tight around their heads. They have a campfire going, and even at this distance with the cold wind whipping around our heads, the heat feels wonderful.

One of the women gapes, her gaze flickering back and forth between me and Liam. When she speaks, I recognize her voice. It's Nes. She says, What is this?

Spies! the other woman hisses.

I keep my palms raised, instinctively taking a protective step closer to Liam and say, No. Just travelers.

Nes looks at the man with the sword and asks: What were they doing?

The man's voice is hardened, and he never looks away from me when he says: They seemed surprised to have come upon us.

Great. The man saw us approach and then snuck up on us. I am so rusty with my skills, it's embarrassing.

What're your names? Nes asks.

Liam says nothing, as I've always instructed him to do. He keeps his eyes cast downward and his small hand grips the furs on my leg. I like that I can feel him, that I don't need to look down to know he's there. I can also feel that he's working hard to keep calm. I think of the explosion at the mine. The only reason to fear a mage is if the mage fears you. Things are easily put into perspective when you have a long time to look at them.

We only wish to pass unmolested, I say, glancing back and forth between the women, the man, and the man's sword.

Nes steps closer to me and the man raises his sword a little to match her threatening posture. She says, I asked your name, idiot, not your story.

Alex, I say, giving her my middle name, because my name is my story, but I'm not stupid enough to tell it.

Lies, she hisses. I hate liars.

I step closer to Liam and he huddles behind me. I won't let these people harm him, but I won't let them provoke him into harming us all, either. We are not your enemy, I say evenly. My—brother and I are just out here... hunting.

The man smirks, obviously seeing straight through the lie, and the as-yet-unnamed woman growls in agreement. She says, Let's kill them. They heard us!

I have lived with fear and anger for years. I have lain in the dirt while looking into the eyes of my jailers. Men who would slice off a hand because of some meager slight one morning, and your head the next, because without your hand you were useless. I was a meat sack, filled with useful muscle but nothing else, hauling rocks and carts and people. I was nothing to anyone for a long time until Liam came along. My family probably thinks I'm dead. I cannot have escaped all of that, survived the demon, the swamps, the slavers, and mountains, to be cut down by crazed idiots hell bent on protecting their useless secrets.

I let out a breath of air, a stream of opaque frost hovers in my eyes before thinning out. I wonder if I have been saving that breath, maybe for years. Maybe for this moment. I lower my hands. Then I say, It doesn't matter who I am or what I say. I care not for your petty troubles or your secrets. I only wish to pass through these mountains, and I had hoped to pass unmolested. Obviously, my plans will have to change now.

I feel something from Liam. Is it surprise? My voice changed, and I recognized it again. It was me. Corbinian Vael, the Marquess of Starkhaven, inheritor of the all the land north of the Northern Gate to Starkhaven and just south of the marsh, future Captain of Starkhaven's Royal Militia, and heir to the Golden Torch of Corin.

Something else happens to me in that moment. Clarity wraps around me like a warm blanket and suddenly the world seems absolutely in order. I see these two women. I really see them. I remember their conversation; they mentioned the phrase "loan shark". There's something about them that reeks of desperation. My mind starts replaying their conversation, running through a list of places they can no longer go to, their need for coin. They feel trapped. The decision is made so quickly, it's like it was made for me.

But..., I say with a newly formed grin. You sound like you could use coin. I happen to know where you can get it.

The unnamed woman scoffs, You? Know where we can get coin? You?

Nes evaluates me carefully, her beady eyes piercing right into mine, gauging whether or not I can deliver. Why would you help us?

I stare right back at her and say, My brother and I—I grip Liam's hand tight—We have a long journey ahead of us. We could use an escort at least part of the way.

You could lie to us, she replies, and the man with the sword takes a step closer.

Yes, I answer confidently, sounding more like myself in years. I could. But I won't. Because I have an axe to grind as well.

The women exchange a glance. The unnamed one says, You want us to do your dirty work, do you?

I feel myself gaining momentum and say sardonically, It's not that dirty. I happen to have information that certain interested parties would pay for. I give this information to you, and you use it to get paid.

I know how to trade information! The unnamed woman claims angrily.

Well, it's not exactly loan sharking so I wasn't sure, I say.

When she draws her daggers, they ring from their sheaths like bells. She takes a step towards me and I reactively pull Liam close, but Nes grabs one of her wrists, bringing her to a stop. The man with the sword doesn't back away though. Riling up the unnamed woman may not be wise, but something tells me that as long as I am valuable, they won't hurt me. But, one day, I know that I will no longer be valuable.

Nes finally asks, What kind of information?

I don't hesitate with my answer: What if I could tell you the location of six Antivan slaver mines? What about the names of all the slaver guards, the captains, and the sergeants? Maybe their wives, too? What would that be worth?

Her eyes sparkle. You were a slave, were you? Or perhaps a guard?

I was wronged, I say, and even I am surprised at the edge in my voice. Imagine all those who were taken away against their will. What would their families pay to get them back? What would the slavers trade to free them?

She regards me carefully and asks, How do we know you have this information?

I think about how long it will take to get out of these mountains, to cross the terrain of the Marches to get to the closest Tevinter city and I say, The easternmost slaver mine is just north of Treviso, about a day's walk. You have to abandon the main route about halfway through, but there's so much travel off that main road, that a new path is formed. It runs east. You can't miss it. The foreman's name is Antonio and he has a son named Benny. I'll give you another name every week. A location every month—I take a deep breath and as calmly as I can say, All I want is an escort out of the mountains. And a sword.

The unnamed woman scoffs so loudly that I actually jump. The closest city is Perivantium, and since you said you overhead us, you know we can't go to Tevinter, fool!

I remember my studies of geography and history. Perivantium is a very small city, but a city nonetheless. Their roads are paved and there are about half a dozen inns. I've read that most of them double as brothels. Even though technically, she's correct that it's in Tevinter, it's on the southernmost border, which shouldn't be too bad.

So I say, I wouldn't call the border city of Perivantium exactly in Tevinter... Then I shrug. But I would bet that you have your ways of getting in and out without being seen.

The unnamed woman sneers at me. She hisses out the words: And how convenient that you've given the location of a mine so deep inside Antiva that we'll never see it.

That's smart, Nes says, much more in control than the other woman. He knows we'll need the other locations to get there.

I repeat my demand: Out of the mountains and a sword.

The women exchange a meaningful stare, whisper a few things to each other, and then give the man a small nod. He lowers his weapon and appraises me appreciatively.

Nes says: You'll get your damned sword when we get the rest of the names. And then that's it. Then our business is through.

Deal, I say.

She lays a hand on her chest. I'm Senestra. This is my sister, Theadosia. And he—she points to the man—is Desh.

The man sheaths his sword but never looks away.

Nes is Senestra. The loan shark from Kirkwall. Theadosia looks at me carefully and I can tell that this information means a lot to her. They must be in some pretty serious trouble to need coin this badly. To trust a complete stranger.

I clamp my hand on the boy's shoulder and lie through my teeth when I say, This is Max. Liam shoots a wary look to me, and in that moment, Senesta and Theadosia also look uneasy – until I also say: He stays with me no matter what.

Lies upon lies. I hope that I can keep them all straight. It's probably best not to tell so many, and keep to vague truths. Details will only get me in trouble anyway. The only real issue is if they find out he is a mage, and his special little talent is going to make that difficult. We will have to work hard to hide that. Liam shifts uneasily, and I give him a small smile. I need his trust to make it to Perivantium, which isn't a place that I really want to go, but if they can get us out of these mountains, then spending a night inside a small city in some anonymous inn wouldn't be that bad. A bed. A bath. A hot meal. Liam and I can get supplies there, possibly find a horse or a carriage, ride south to Starkhaven and then to wherever he wants. He and I have been through a lot and I gave him my word.

Well, Alex, Senestra says, you'd best deliver on your promises. If you don't, Desh here will slit your throat.

My sarcasm returns with my confidence when I say: You know, that's not a very good way for us to begin our relationship.

Theadosia scoffs loudly and says: Andraste's blistered ass! We don't want a relationship with you!

Liam stifles a giggle, and I find that I am suddenly in good spirits. They need me, and I can see in Theadosia's eyes just how much. She desperately wants to believe me, seemingly frantic for a way out of whatever mess she and her sister are in. Desh evaluates Liam with a scrutiny usually reserved for criminals and apostates. An apt analogy, and I realize that this warrior is who I need to worry about, a lot more than the two women.

But I don't want to think about that right now. Right now, I am thinking of Perivantium. I am thinking of my next destination after that. Perivantium is on the edge of The Silent Plains, which is another story entirely, but Nevarra City is much closer to Tevinter than Starkhaven.

Nevarra City! My aunt and my Pentaghast cousins that taught me to survive!

For the second time in my life, I am on the road to the city that has become my saving grace. The city that is home to the family that will save me once again.

Mother. Father. Goran.

Sammie...

I am coming home.