Chapter 36

"The people of the far northern and eastern reaches of the Imperium rose up against their powerful overlords in rebellion. The Tevinter magisters summoned demons to put down these small rebellions, leaving corpses to burn as examples to all who would dare revolt. The Imperium began to tear itself apart from within, throngs of angry and disillusioned citizens doing what centuries of opposing armies could not. But the magisters were confident in their power, and they could not imagine surviving a Blight only to be destroyed by their own subjects."

—from Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar

Líadan

When Líadan saw Thierry slip into the Landsmeet chamber at Somerled's signal, she thought the former templar appeared quite pale. Judging by his posture, it wasn't because he was frightened. Then she remembered Oghren had led the poor man away last night, flask of dwarven ale already in hand. So he had stayed up drinking with Oghren. She truly felt sorry for him. No one deserved that.

Thierry greeted her quietly as he moved to stand near her, and she nodded at him instead of glaring. His time of following her constantly was almost over, and she'd heard and witnessed enough guff he'd gotten from Bethany the night before. She hadn't realized how bitter Bethany was in her assumption that Thierry was placed at the Denerim compound to watch over the mages. She'd tried explaining, more than once, that Thierry wasn't a templar plant, but Bethany either continued ignoring it or didn't believe her or anyone else who assured her of the same.

A grumble made its way through the gathered crowd of the Landsmeet, and Líadan turned expectantly toward the main doors for the Divine's entrance. But the doors were shut, so she had no idea what had generated the complaining this time.

As always, a Fereldan noble announced exactly what was bothering them. "What's he doing here?" asked Bann Teagan.

"Him, who?" asked Alistair.

Teagan pointed at Thierry. "Him."

Alistair blinked, attempting to appear the picture of innocence and failing. "Oh, him? That's Thierry. He's a Warden, now."

The bann gave Alistair a flat look that said, Really? and then waved off his own unspoken question. "Nevermind that. What I mean is, what is he doing here right now? New Grey Warden or not, he's an Orlesian, and this is a Fereldan Landsmeet. He has no business being here."

"He does at the Divine's request." Alistair said one thing, but his tone conveyed how very not committed to the decision he was.

"Why would the Divine request his presence?" asked Bann Alfstanna.

Still feeling somewhat sorry for Thierry having to deal with the Landsmeet's accusations while in the throes of a dwarven ale induced hangover, Líadan decided to speak up. "She believes me a danger." She did not, however, tell them the reason the Divine saw her as a danger. No need to remind them that she happened to be a mage.

Teagan snorted in disbelief. "A danger, truly?"

Líadan was almost insulted. Almost.

"She's one of the heroes of the Blight!" said a bann Líadan couldn't recognize.

"She defended Denerim against the darkspawn!" Shianni had shouted that one.

"And she fought the Archdemon alongside our King!" said Arl Wulff.

Bann Sighard nodded at Wulff, and then said, "The Divine can issue commands and requests all she wants in Orlais or on Chantry business anywhere on Thedas, but she has no right dictating anything to our Landsmeet."

Líadan had no wish to see the Divine again, and especially did not wish to see the Divine's perpetual companion, the Knight-Vigilant. "I can go. Thierry will go where I do."

"No," Teagan said with a sharp shake of his head and a cutting motion made with his hand. "We will not allow the Divine to determine whom we allow into our Landsmeet. You will stay, Warden Líadan. Your actions have earned you a place as a representative of your Order. Your Chantry-appointed guard, however, is not welcome. Leave at once, Warden Thierry."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Thierry muttered, heading down the short flight of stairs from the upper gallery and straight for the doors. The main doors, Líadan noticed. Thierry stopped halfway between the landing of the stairs and the doors, as if remembering that he most likely needed the permission of the monarchs to leave. "If I may, Your Majesties?"

Alistair swept his arm toward the doors. "The Landsmeet has spoken, Warden. Your presence is not required."

Thierry gave them a deep bow. "For that, Your Majesties, I am most grateful." He paused, eyes twinkling with sly humor even with a hangover, and then said, "I will be sure to let the Divine know of the termination of my duties on my way out. I am certain Her Perfection will be most grateful to know she is in no danger."

And despite Thierry being Orlesian by birth, most of the Landsmeet recognized the dig, and chuckled accordingly. A couple banns even clapped in appreciation. With that, Thierry exited, his posture much improved from when he'd entered, and his steps light.

As she watched him go, Líadan realized two things. First, the Landsmeet had defended her. Second, Eamon hadn't said a word in participation of said defense. She wondered if he believed her more a threat than even the Divine. If he did, it was ridiculous for him to think so, considering she was one person—one person who did not have an army at her beck and call, like the Divine did.

"Captain Somerled, if you will," Alistair said to the guard.

Seconds after Somerled disappeared through the doors, they opened again to admit first two nameless templars, followed by the Knight-Vigilant, and finally, the Divine. She wore robes of fine make, yet they were subdued in color. However, that strange wedge still rested upon her head. Also like before, at the docks in Highever, every person in the chamber not in the Divine's entourage went to one knee and bowed their heads, save one.

Líadan barely kept herself from gaping in astonishment. This, out of the same people who were practically calling for this woman's blood, who had been advocating open disagreement with the Chantry she headed, this subservience. It made her angry once again, to witness such a thing.

Then she remembered that their hands were tied, as had been explained to her, that the Chantry controlled so much that they could ill afford to truly defy it. The history of Líadan's own people did a fine job of illustrating what happened when the smaller, weaker peoples went against the Chantry. They were utterly destroyed, rendered non-persons, and cast out if they did not pay obeisance, if they did not turn from their Creators. She did not forget that Ferelden was weak from the Highever battle, the civil war, and the Blight. Ferelden dared not remind the Chantry or the rest of Thedas of their weakness, lest one or more nations decide to take advantage and annex the entire country.

The least she could do was to remain standing, the only person in the room who could openly defy the Divine and what she stood for without too much backlash. It wasn't like that dispensation would ever be granted, if they even chose to bother applying for it. And from what she'd seen of the Chantry so far, it wasn't worth it. The Creators knew of her bonding, and that would have to be enough.

The two nameless templars noticed and glared up at her. She lifted her chin and glared right back. Ser Renaud followed the gaze of his templars and saw Líadan. He gritted his teeth; she could see from the flex of his jaw. Then he whispered to his templars to let it go, there were more important things to watch for than a single Dalish elf who had yet to pose a true danger. "Assassins," he whispered even more quietly, but not too quiet for an elf to hear. "You must be vigilant for assassins who would seek to end Most Holy's life."

"Her templar is missing," one of the lower-ranked templars whispered back.

"There are three of us here. If we three cannot keep Her Perfection safe from a single mage, we do not deserve our positions in her personal guard."

As the whispering side conversation continued, Líadan saw Malcolm raise his head slightly, his eyes briefly flicking to the templars before glancing up at her. Then he winked. Before she could do anything more than stare, he lowered his head once more.

The Divine ignored, or did not notice, the small events transpiring around her. Instead, her gazed drifted over the Landsmeet before she nodded to herself. Then she raised an open hand. "As we bow our heads, let us look toward the example of Andraste as we seek to forgive, and as we ask for forgiveness for what each of our actions has done in the committing evils done in our past. And as we humbly beg for forgiveness, let us remember to forgive those who have wronged us, following the path of our prophet Andraste as she forgave those who transgressed against her, as is written in the Chant. So let it be."

"So let it be," the Landsmeet responded.

Líadan wasn't an expert in human customs, but she was fairly certain an apology needed to contain an actual apology. Thus far, the Divine, in her flowery language, had practically blamed Ferelden for what had happened at Highever, perhaps even what had happened in what Ferelden called the Occupation. And yet, here the Fereldans were, accepting the Divine at her word. More and more, she understood why her ancestors had chosen defeat and exile over submission to an organization like the Chantry.

"You may rise," said the Divine. Then she remained silent until the shuffles and sighs and creaking knees of a large crowd of people standing up passed. She looked over at the dais from where she stood before it. "Your Majesties," she said, and then returned her attention to the nobility gathered in the chamber, "lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, and the freeholders of Ferelden, I journeyed from my seat at the Grand Cathedral to Highever to consecrate the land where a terrible battle had taken place, where a terrible battle had taken many lives, the majority of which were the lives of my Chantry's knights. When I saw the battlefield, the scorch marks of burned-out pyres, and the stacked, burned armor of my knights, I crossed my heart with shame. The hunt I had conducted through my knights was a war waged on one woman that turned into a war on an entire nation. Once again, we waged wars."

There she paused, and fixed a heavy gaze on the people in the chamber. Alistair stood stiffly, almost at attention. Beside him, Anora's lips were pressed into a firm line, her look on the Divine rife with suspicion and indignation. Malcolm's hand had drifted to rest on his sword belt, just next to his sword's grip. Around the chamber, Ferelden's nobles shared many of the same looks, many of the same stances, many of the same expressions. They were catching on to the blame the Divine was placing on them in the guise of an apology for her own actions.

Regula continued after a nod toward the Landsmeet. "I felt fooled by Ferelden for harboring such a dangerous maleficar," she said, her tone rising in the anger she must have felt, and perhaps still did at being so fooled. A flush rose in her cheeks, betraying her anger even further. "I believed I saw deceit take flight on the blackened wings of the Grey Wardens, as a Warden whispered in my ear where I might find the maleficar, or from whom I could gain the information needed to track down the maleficar. I could do naught but hold fast to the Chant. I held fast to Andraste's precepts. 'Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world, or beyond.' And so, I believed this maleficar could not be granted rest, that my knights could not rest until she was captured and put to death, her danger forever removed from this world." Her hand cut through the air, a gesture of finality, of the execution she'd intended. Then it fell to her side, and her expression fell with it, the anger disappearing, the flush blooming into shame.

Líadan waited for the expected, and I was wrong, but it never came, not so plainly spoken.

"There were truths spoken that I did not hear," said the Divine. "Truths within myself that I ignored. I am mortal. I am human. I am not without fault. I am as capable of willful blindness as any other. Because this woman was so quickly declared a maleficar, I believed nothing else. I was not willing to see other possibilities, that she might not have been the danger we believed her to be. That she might not have been a blood mage."

More than a few gasps were heard when the Divine paused to take a breath.

Then she resumed her speech, her next sentence spoken softly compared to the self-assurance and volume from before. "With her lost, I suppose we shall never know." She paused again to look up at the ceiling, perhaps thinking she looked toward her Maker and her Andraste. "There is one truth I know," she said, slowly bringing her gaze back down. "All things are known to the Maker, and he shall judge our lies. Knowing this, I shall not lie to you in what I have done. Because, our Chant says, it is the one who repents, who has faith, who is unshaken by the darkness in the world, who will know true peace. I wish to know this peace, yet I was shaken by what I perceived as darkness. In the shadows of my dogged pursuit, I had lost my direction. I had lost my faith. For this, I ask forgiveness." Her voice, though it had become louder, was roughened by what sounded like true regret. Her eyes, when they looked upon the people in the chamber, were watery.

Was this the same woman who'd been in Highever? The same woman who'd made demands and expected them to be fulfilled? The same woman who carried herself like she were a god?

And this same woman knelt before the Landsmeet, her robes billowing on the floor, and bowed her head. "When I arrived here, I came to look upon what pride had wrought, and despaired. The Chantry waged war; I waged war. Fire was our punishment, fire from a great dragon in this Age of dragons, a great sign of wrongdoing. I humbly beg forgiveness for the despair I and my Chantry and my knights have wrought."

The Divine raised her head, but remained on her knee, a mirror of how the humans had given her their respect at the beginning. "I saw only the maleficar, what I believed to be one hated and accursed by our Maker. I believed it my holy and solemn duty to carry out the Maker's work in Andraste's name, and wipe this abomination from the face of Thedas. I had to protect Andraste's people, Her legacy. Despite whatever other evidence was brought before me, I saw nothing else. I felt nothing else.

"As the maleficar continued to evade capture from my Chantry's finest knights, as those who knew her evaded our questioning or gave false testimony, I was consumed. And then spite ate away all that was good, kind, and loving, till nothing was left but the spite itself, coiled 'round my heart like a great worm."

Shocked whispers hummed through the crowd, though Líadan didn't know why. She recognized the Divine must have been quoting more from the Andrastian Chant, but it wasn't something she hadn't done before in her speech—even Líadan had recognized lines she'd heard the chanter outside of Denerim's chantry recite. From the bottom of the gallery stairs, where Renaud had chosen to stand guard, Líadan heard him inhale sharply before walking toward Regula. His steps at first were slow, and then sped up as it became clear that she wasn't done with her speech.

Almost in a world of her own, the Divine ignored the whispers and carried on. "Andraste laid her hand on Maferath's heart, purifying him, granting him forgiveness. I ask of you, good people of Ferelden—"

The Knight-Vigilant had finally gotten to the Divine and touched a hand to her elbow, which seemed to jolt her out of whatever trance she was in. Líadan had no idea why Renaud would dare interrupt the leader of his religion, but the increasing volume of the Landsmeet indicated the others might know. Her elven hearing allowed her to discern Renaud's whispers to the Divine about a dissonant verse, whatever that meant.

Regula paled at her Knight-Vigilant's words, and stumbled as if stricken. Only Renaud's solid presence kept her from losing her footing entirely. After attempting to hide a grimace and not entirely succeeding, Renaud addressed Anora and Alistair. "Our Most Holy has exhausted herself with the delivery of her apology, Your Majesties. I offer my own apologies, but I must escort her out so that she may rest and recover."

"Go ahead, Knight-Vigilant. See to your duty." Alistair's voice held no rancor, and as he watched Ser Renaud help the Divine out of the room, concern tinged his gaze.

Once the two of them were through the doors, the other two templars following, Líadan heard Regula quietly ask Ser Renaud, "Am I forgiven?" There was a pause, and she asked again, her voice cracking. "Am I forgiven?" She sounded so impossibly broken that Líadan saw her as mortal for the first time.

Then, with finality, the doors to the Landsmeet chamber swung shut.

Silence followed.

Malcolm interrupted it by clearing his throat, and then looking over at Alistair. "Was there an apology in all that? Because I'm not sure. I'm really not. She sounded sincere, whatever it was she said."

"I don't know." Alistair still hadn't taken his eyes from the door. "Frankly, I'm starting to think she's either gone or is going 'round the bend. She used quotations from the Dissonant Verses! For Maker's sake, she's the Divine! The Chantry's official stance is that those verses don't even exist. Must be why the Knight-Vigilant stopped her, is my guess." He sighed and faced the Landsmeet. "Little hard to hold a grudge at this point, honestly. If she's not in her right mind, who knows how long she's been mental?"

"The Knight-Vigilant, I suspect," said Sighard.

"That would be true if the current Knight-Vigilant had held the position previous to the battle. But he's relatively new to the position. The Knight-Vigilant before him happened to be the general of the templar forces that marched on Highever—Valeria. She may have known the Divine's condition, but she's a bit beyond us to put to questioning." Alistair crossed his arms and surveyed the gathered nobility. "Is the Landsmeet satisfied with the Divine's overtures?"

"Wasn't half-bad, for an Orlesian," said Alfstanna. "Not backhanded, just muddled."

Wulff grunted, very forthright in showing how much he no longer cared for any of the proceedings. "I'll accept it, if it gets the Orlesians out of Ferelden."

"Will they take Lord Hilaire?" asked Fergus. "We could make our acceptance contingent upon his leaving."

Alistair rubbed at his chin, considering it. "I suppose we could." Then he nodded. "All right. So there we have it? Are we done for today, and we'll move onto the mundane things like apple trees, mabari names, and blood feuds on the morrow?" None of the nobles disagreed, and the King declared the day's assembly to be over.

Like Alistair, Anora, and Malcolm, Líadan waited for most of the gathered nobility to leave the chamber before heading down from the second-floor gallery. Malcolm met her at the bottom of the steps, but Alistair and Anora stood at the bottom of the dais, addressing various banns and arls who were too impatient to wait for Alistair's official time for granting audiences, held the day after the end of the entire Landsmeet. Usually, it lasted three interminably long days, so they had two days left before Alistair was scheduled to see nobles individually, or in small numbers for cases needing mediation. Alistair would most likely be tied up for days.

"Don't look that relieved," Malcolm said when she emerged from behind the group of nobles going down the stairs. "There's still at least a day, probably two, left of this." He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Neither one of them will be as exciting today, though. Unless there's a duel. Or a riot."

She smirked at him, smug that she wouldn't have to endure. "Except I'm not the Senior Warden in charge of the compound, and therefore Hildur's representative. Since you aren't doing special prince things for the rest of the Landsmeet, guess who has to be here, and who doesn't?"

He scowled. "You're not very nice."

"You only say that when I'm right."

His scowl remained, deepening when he glanced across the Landsmeet chamber. "Eamon's giving me a look. That look. Time to go." He started out, and she followed, only for Nuala to meet them just outside the chamber. A full, once again content Cáel observed the goings-on from his perch on her hip. Malcolm grinned and practically swept the boy from Nuala's arms, and then swung him up and around. "You're safe now," he told him. "Secure as you can be, at least according to the Landsmeet. Well, that could change with the next Landsmeet, but we'll take what we can get."

"Eh, I reckon the lad won't come to question for at least three Landsmeets, maybe four," said Arl Wulff as he exited the chamber. "He'll have to hit the terrible twos and terrorize the palace before the Bannorn will wonder if they should have voted differently." He gave Malcolm a genial slap on the shoulder. "He's a good-looking boy. Keep doing right by him, lad, and he'll turn out well." With that, Bryland continued down the corridor, intent on whatever business of his own he had.

"See, there you go, the easiest approval from a Fereldan noble you'll ever get," Malcolm said to Cáel, and then spun him around again. Cáel, on his part, seemed at first perplexed about being whirled about, and then a cautious smile erupted into giggles.

That was a sound, Líadan decided, that she could stand to hear a whole lot more.

"Keep up like that, Your Highness," said Nuala, "and you'll end up with his lunch on your face."

Malcolm balked, stopped the spinning, and quickly handed the child to Líadan. "Here, he might have a present for you."

Though she scowled at Malcolm, she did take the boy. Cáel's eyes immediately settled on her face. His look became serious again as his hand patted at her vallaslin, first on a cheek, and then her forehead. As he'd grown, the designs had drawn his notice more, as if he were seeing more of the details of them, and had become a source of fascination. Her attempts to keep him from poking her eye with his small fingers caused her to look through the open Landsmeet chamber doors. Through the open doors and straight at Arl Eamon, who glared in her direction, and seemed to have been doing so before she'd turned. She supposed Eamon could have been glaring at Cáel, but considering the pressure Eamon had constantly put on Alistair and Malcolm to produce heirs, it didn't make sense for the arl to be resentful of an actual and legitimate Theirin heir.

The dark thunderhead that was Eamon's expression said otherwise, if it was directed at Cáel. Directed either at her or her son, it did not bode well.

Líadan could not, would not, forget Eamon's stone-faced expression and complete silence while the majority of the Landsmeet had decried the Chantry's requirement for her to have a templar escort. It was almost like Eamon had been willing to let the Orlesians win, so long as it meant anything or anyone he deemed a threat to Theirin blood on the throne was put down. She couldn't see any other reason for it. As far as she knew, he had no other reason to dislike her that wasn't directly connected to her being a Dalish elf and with Malcolm. And while she knew Alistair, Anora, Malcolm, Fergus, and many others, would keep Eamon from moving openly against her and her presence, she couldn't stop the dread from creeping in to freeze the warmth she'd gained from hearing the Landsmeet speak up in her favor. Even recalling Eamon's expression caused a shiver from cold fear of what he could do. As Alistair had pointed out more than once, Arl Eamon still held quite a bit of power in the Landsmeet.

If it came to it, he could probably force a decision from the Landsmeet regarding her status. If he found out about her child this soon, if he knew, it would get very ugly, and she could be compelled to leave. If their bonding had been sanctioned by the Chantry, her banishment would be much harder for Eamon to accomplish, and it was that realization that allowed her to contemplate applying for the dispensation. Then she remembered how strange everything had gone with the Divine's apology, the interruption by Ser Renaud, the murmurs of shock, the Divine stumbling out, leaning heavily against the Knight-Vigilant's stalwart shoulders. If the woman had succumbed to the fog of confusion seen in some of the elders, there would be no predicting her decision on the matter of a dispensation.

"I see you're getting the look, as well," Malcolm said, jostling her from her thoughts.

Líadan sighed. "He's been looking at me like that for well over a year. I'm used to it."

"Liar."

She didn't bother replying. She didn't need to.

"He's certainly got his knickers in a twist, hasn't he?" said Nuala, pitched low enough that she wouldn't be overheard by passersby, but loud enough to disrupt the pause.

Kennard, however, standing near them as he ever was, chuckled softly. "You might want to recall that's the Arl of Redcliffe you're talking about. Most powerful holding in Ferelden after the teyrnirs."

Nuala was unfazed. "I'm perfectly safe. My employer outranks him. And," she said, beckoning for Cáel and settling back on her hip once Líadan handed him over, "I'm the nurse for the heir-presumptive. In some ways, I outrank him." She brightened. "I could get to like this." Then she nodded, and motioned Kennard down the hall. "Come on. I've got to get this wee boy in for a nap."

When the nurse and guard strode down the corridor, heading for the back hallways, Malcolm and Líadan followed. It wasn't until they were nearly to the Warden compound and well away from any of the nobility before Líadan felt safe asking him, "What's a dissonant verse?"

His brows came together for a moment before he worked out why the question would've come up. "Canticles stricken from the Chant of Light when the Chantry decides it no longer suits their world view, such as Maferath repenting."

"Why would they take that out?" Humans made no sense, sometimes. How a person who'd betrayed a bondmate could repent and be forgiven not being something good to include in a religious volume of text, she wasn't sure. "What's wrong with Maferath being forgiven?"

"Because then they'd be left without someone to be mad at for Andraste's death, I suppose. The Archon repented first, so Maferath was the only one left to take the fall and keep it. So."

She glanced over at him, curious as to why he'd stopped there. "So?"

"So... I was hoping you'd jump in, because I ran out of witty things to say."

Líadan put an arm around his waist—she couldn't do the same with his shoulders from this position and keep walking at the same time—and briefly drew him closer to her side. Then she leaned in and said softly, "Malcolm, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but... you ran out of wit ages ago. In fact," she continued saying even as he began to pantomime a mortal chest wound, "I'm not sure you ever had it in the first place."

"Oghren was right. That's just mean. You're just mean."

"Truth hurts." As Malcolm continued to act indignant over her jab, Líadan considered the conversation they'd just had. "I've noticed something."

His look toward her was understandably wary. "I'm afraid to ask, but, what?"

"The Chantry, humans, by extension, if they have no one to blame, their blame becomes indiscriminate until they hit on something they can hate. Maferath, for instance. Or the elves, even though we helped Andraste. The mages, even though I've heard more than just you theorize that Andraste had been a mage herself."

"Oh, blasphemy. My favorite. Do go on."

She rolled her eyes. "It isn't blasphemy if a non-believer speaks it. It's conjecture."

"You know as well as I do that the Chantry would see it differently. They can be bullies in how they pick fights." His face darkened into a frown, surely recalling the struggles he'd had in the recent past with the Chantry. And yet, there he remained, fully Andrastian like every other human.

"If you have such problems with your Chantry, why do you still act as if you believe?"

The question brought him up short, and he nearly tripped in how quickly he stopped. "Because I do."

His answer brought Líadan up short, and she made a small motion with her hand for him to explain.

He did, or rather, in his way, tried. "Not in the actual Chantry as it is now. Maybe even not the Chantry when it was founded. But in Andraste, I think I do. I've been to her temple. It was during the Blight, before we picked you up. There were things that happened there that can't be explained, not by any magic I've heard of. And the ashes we brought back to Redcliffe managed to cure Eamon when nothing else could." His mouth twisted in a half-frown. "All right, maybe I'm starting to regret that part a little. Even so, in the person who was Andraste, I think I believe in her. She was a slave who rose up, gathered armies, and rebelled against unjust, unworthy rulers." He smiled at her. "She also got along fairly well with elves, and was most likely a mage, like you said."

Líadan crossed her arms, still not satisfied with the explanation. "And what about the Maker? What about her betrayal of Maferath? He was her bondmate, and yet she somehow became the Maker's bride? She had children with Maferath—I read it in a book Wynne lent me—and yet she's venerated for leaving him for another. In Dalish clans, that's highly frowned upon behavior, not celebrated. Doing things like that weaken a clan."

"I certainly don't venerate that part." He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe the Chantry made that bit up. They wipe canticles from the Chant when they no longer suit them, so I don't see why they wouldn't add in what they need to justify their actions."

"At times, it seems like they'd go to any length to justify whatever actions they feel necessary."

"See, now you're catching on like any doubting, blaspheming Andrastian."

"You remember at Sundermount—"

His eyes took on a dreamy look. "Do I ever."

She ignored his implication, mostly because she didn't want to think about its current consequences, and kept speaking. "—when you mentioned that Andraste might've been possessed when she visited the mountain?"

"I do. I tend to remember when I say something heretical."

"I'm starting to think it has merit. Even a very powerful mage would've had trouble doing what Andraste is said to have done. But a mage possessed by a spirit of the Beyond driven to change the unfair state of the mortal realm? That could be devastating. It was to Tevinter."

He rubbed at his chin as he mulled over the idea, having become serious. "Were that true, it makes me wonder where another such spirit is now, if another would intervene with the Chantry and right its wrongs." Then he sighed. "Wouldn't want to delude myself into thinking there's anything more than false hope." He started for the heavy doors of the Warden compound, and then stopped with his hand on the knob. "However, remind me to never take any mage up on Sundermount's slopes ever again, should a spirit decide they want to right the world's wrongs. It would just be a mess if they did."

"Because things aren't a mess as they are?" she asked, but then waved off him needing to answer when it was so obvious, and they were so tired. If there was to be change, they needed time to rest and regroup before dealing with it. Of course, the world had a way of working in the opposite way of their favor.