"Many are those who wander in sin,
Despairing that they are lost forever,
But the one who repents, who has faith
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,
And boasts not, nor gloats
Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight
In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know
The peace of the Maker's benediction.
The Light shall lead her safely
Through paths of this world, and into the next."
—Canticle of Transfigurations 10
Chapter 51
Malcolm
"Hide your face better," Astrid said, irritation making her tone sharp. "You Theirins are too easily recognizable."
"I suppose that's how the Orlesians so easily killed most of my ancestors at the start of the Occupation," Malcolm replied, but he drew the hood of his cloak lower over his head anyway, allowing the shadow to fall more fully over his face.
"Slouch, as well. Your posture is too good. People will notice you otherwise."
Scowling from under the hood, Malcolm slouched, and immediately felt the disapproving eyes of Eleanor Cousland burning into him all the way from the Fade for such poor posture. "You know, that is the exact opposite of what my mother always told me. This goes against years of hearing 'straighten those shoulders, young man' every time I forgot about my posture. And that was a lot, in case you were wondering."
"I wasn't wondering."
"Well, you should have been."
Astrid muttered something under her breath in Anders, but Malcolm was fairly certain it was a string of curses and considered it a victory. He would cooperate and go with this woman to see the Divine, but he wouldn't go quietly and he certainly wouldn't be pleasant, at least what pleasant was for her. Instead, he would channel his older brother's ability to babble, an ability he was certain ran strong in the Theirin line. He would do his best to keep up an endless stream of inane chatter what would hopefully drive the dour Anders woman absolutely insane. Judging by her reactions to him within the last five minutes, he was off to a decent start. Then he discovered that he couldn't much talk her to death while they were walking through the city of Highever, as many people would recognize his voice since he'd grown up here. So he kept his silence as they made their way through the quiet streets and to the docks. She brought him directly to one of the many merchant ships creaking alongside the piers. At one point, Malcolm thought he caught a glimpse of the old woman who'd given him the information on the Tevinters, but when he looked back at where she was, she was gone.
As Astrid spoke with the sailor on duty at the gangway, Malcolm surveyed the darkened sky, wondering if the clouds he'd seen out there earlier would end up being a storm out at sea. Then the Anders Warden was prodding him to move onto the ship and stop gawking at the sky like a new surface dwarf. After Astrid showed him a bit of paper, the sailor waved them onto the ship and didn't give Malcolm a second glance. Even the mabari didn't warrant much more than a quick raised eyebrow. "I guess you aren't as recognizable as I thought," Malcolm said quietly to his dog.
The mabari huffed and shot a baleful look at Astrid. Malcolm muffled a snort. Astrid sighed just loudly enough for Malcolm to hear, and then motioned him to the lower decks. "Have you eaten?" she asked after she'd closed the door. They had a tiny cabin she'd secured with two narrow bunks and not much else.
"No." He looked around for something to sit on, but the only thing available was the lower bunk that Astrid had already claimed. Unwilling to be any closer to that woman than he had to be, he leaned against the rough bulkhead. "The rest of them probably are right now."
"Will they be searching for you tonight?"
He shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe. If they think I'm brooding, they might not even look until some time tomorrow. I, um, sort of have a precedent for wandering off at times." For some reason, he felt embarrassed to say it, even though he thought he had no reason to want this woman's respect. He knew he shouldn't care what she thought, since she'd abandoned her duties and Weisshaupt's directive in going straight to the Divine. Except she'd been the one to point out that Wardens were dying because of his stubborn, prideful actions, so perhaps she wasn't as much in remiss as he'd assumed.
"I am aware."
"I figured you were, seeing as how you worked everything out about getting me out of Highever without alerting everyone immediately."
Astrid retrieved a pack from under the bottom bunk and started to rummage through it. "You must stay in this cabin until the ship is underway," she said, and then handed him some rather unappetizing trail rations of jerky and hardtack.
He made a face, thinking of the good food he could've had at the castle. Even here it didn't have to be this kind of awful. They were in port. The food she'd given him was stuff you ate in the middle of a war when you didn't have access to a supply train, or you were months out at sea. Not food you ate while still in port. His stomach growled, and he accepted the food anyway, though with a tight, somewhat grateful smile. "You could at least have let me eat dinner."
"And risk you getting recognized in the city? I think not. Or did you mean let you return to the castle and sneak out later? I think one of your many perceptive companions would have figured out something was going on. Perhaps your brother the king may not have picked up on it, but your Dalish friend would have. By not leaving the city immediately, we're in enough danger as it is at being discovered. But this was the first ship leaving in the morning. As it is, its first port of call is Cumberland, and not Val Royeaux. I think—"
"Her."
Astrid blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"
He motioned towards the walls with his hand. "The ship. You refer to a ship as a you would a woman. So it's 'her first port of call' and not—"
Her confusion shifted into a glare aimed at him. "I get the point. There's no need for you to belabor it."
Malcolm thought there were plenty of reasons to belabor his point, especially if it irritated Astrid, but he decided not to say so. He sighed, removed his sword and propped in the corner closest to him. Then he slid down the wall to sit on the floor, offering some of his food to Gunnar after he was seated. The dog took the jerky and ignored the biscuit. "Just thought I'd mention it since we'll be on a ship for at least two days. Wouldn't want you to look foolish in front of the crew or anything."
"I'm sure I'll look foolish enough vomiting up everything I've eaten for the past few days into the ocean, so no need to worry about not using the proper form of pronoun for the ship."
"Oh, you get seasick. Unfortunate."Malcolm almost managed to sound sincere. "You know, if we'd traveled with a mage, they could've relieved you of your shipboard illness." He leaned his head on the bulkhead behind him.
"You're speaking of Líadan?"
Guilt trickled through him at the mention of her name, reminding him that he'd already broken the promise he'd made to her for him not to leave. "No. She still can't heal. I was talking about Anders. He's another Fereldan Warden you don't know. A damn fine healer. I daresay even better than Wynne. She—in case you were wondering, which you probably aren't, but I'll tell you anyway—was the Circle mage who traveled with us during the Blight." Not that he'd ever tell Wynne that to her face. Despite Anders being her student years ago, he wasn't quite sure how she'd take to being informed she had a better in the healing specialty. "Doesn't matter anyway. No healing mage. You'll just have to suffer."
"Apparently so."
His eyes narrowed slightly at the unspoken insult, but he didn't look in the woman's direction. "You hear about Marius?"
"That he's missing and probably dead?"
"You have, then." Maker, this woman was making the very air in the cabin awkward, and he had no way to escape it. He stretched out his legs in front of him and Gunnar dropped his head onto Malcolm's right knee. "I think he's dead. I saw him in the Fade, during the Harrowing. He said some really strange things, too. I mean, there's no telling if it was really—"
"What did he say?" There was a note of urgency in Astrid's voice that Malcolm hadn't heard before, or ever suspected the Anders woman could even feel.
He shrugged. "What does it matter to you?"
"Whatever I may have done, I am still a Grey Warden, and so was Marius. If he is truly dead and in the Fade and told you something, it might be of great importance. Other, more experienced Wardens might even be able to decipher it if it was a message or not. Or would you let his death be in vain, as well?"
Malcolm chuckled ruefully as words his brother had spoken at Ostagar came to mind."The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army." The description Alistair had employed for the Revered Mother could also apply to Astrid quite well. He'd never thought guilt could be such a finely-honed weapon, but Astrid had proven a master at wielding it. "No, I suppose not." And for a woman whose actions had appeared to be deserting the Grey Wardens, she seemed to harp an awful lot on being a proper one. "He told me he had a message for someone important, and that maybe I could pass it along. Never told me who the person was though, because he said I'd figure it out." He felt Astrid's glare without needing to look in her direction. She wanted him not to ramble, to state everything quickly and correctly and without decoration. He, however, preferred to ramble when it suited him, like it did now. "I still haven't figured out who the message was for, though. Ha, maybe it's you. But probably not, as I think I would've known on by now if it was."
Another muttered swear in Anders, and then Astrid asked, "Are you going to tell me the message or not, Warden?"
He mostly hid the smirk plying at his lips. "I was getting to that. He said, now, mind you, he was more than just a bit crazy-looking, so I'm not sure how much of the message you should take to heart—"
"Just tell me the message."
"Yes, I'm nearly there. Anyway, so he said to me, 'One of my children will soon be reborn, Beauty in a little wolf, twinned with a wolf king.' And then he kind of just stared at me for a second before he grabbed me by the shoulders with really bloody hands, and got it all over my armor." Malcolm reflexively looked down, but the bloodstains on his armor were covered by his cloak. The stains were there, though, all the same. Velanna's blood. "I was trying to get him to tell me what he was talking about, and then he says, 'From this, change will come to His world, and vengeance will be mine.' I've no idea what it means. Maybe he was talking about the people who got him killed. Maybe he was talking about the Wardens." Malcolm slid a glance in Astrid's direction. "Maybe he was talking about you."
She scoffed. "I'm certain it had nothing to do with me."
"Maybe he knew your plans. It's the Fade. You never know."
"Did you tell Riordan about this?"
"And when exactly would I have told him that? While I was in the Fade? While I was staring at the dead body of a fellow Warden? While I was out looking for a place to bury her ashes? While I was leaving with you for Cumberland?" He made as if to stand. "Shall I run back to Highever right now and tell him?"
The hint of him trying to leave sent Astrid to her feet. "You will stay right here."
Malcolm held up his hands in innocence. "I was kidding. I told you I would cooperate. I gave you my word. I don't want any other Wardens to die. I'd go with you now even if you weren't forcing me." With a little difficulty, he broke the rectangular biscuit in half. Maker, were these the kind that got baked four times instead of two, the kind made for extra-super-long journeys? He held in a sigh. Probably. Gunnar ignored the piece Malcolm set aside for him. Smart dog. "So you just assumed the templars would fail? And, what, went with them to watch?"
She slowly sat back down on her bunk, but kept a wary eye on him the entire time. "Since they had already failed at their task more than once, I felt it was safe to assume they would be unsuccessful in securing your help yet again. I followed them at a distance, without them or the Divine knowing, as I doubt they would appreciate my doubt in their abilities."
Malcolm pursed his lips and turned the piece of hardtack between his fingers to avoid looking at Astrid. "If you had so much doubt in the Chantry in the first place, then why disobey Georg and go to them at all?" He threw the bit of biscuit in his hand across the tiny room and into the planks of the opposite bulkhead. "Why put me through this? Why put everyone through this? Why let Velanna die?" He willed himself to calm down, and then turned to face her.
Astrid sat uneasily on the edge of the bunk, a blank expression on her face as her eyes focused on the bulkhead across from her. "When I left Weisshaupt, I did not doubt the Chantry's abilities. The Grey Wardens are many things, but we are not mage hunters. That is a job left for the templars, the Chantry's knights. I felt that, as a Warden, we needed the people best trained to catch mages to find Morrigan. Little did I know that Val Royeaux and the Grand Cathedral would be so... decadent. Soft. Orlesian." Tinges of sadness and disappointment mixed with the disgust in her tone.
He didn't bother trying to muffle his small snicker at the woman's expense. "I could've told you that. A lot of Wardens could've told you that, actually. The Chantry, this far south, is pretty much synonymous with Orlais. It's how Kordilius Drakon intended it to be when he built the Grand Cathedral and had himself crowned Emperor straight after. Andraste was born in Ferelden, but the Chantry is pretty much Orlesian. However, while they might appear soft to you, that isn't exactly what they are. In fact, they're quite ruthless, but they won't say it to your face. They far prefer backstabbing over open conflict."
"If that is how you truly feel about the Chantry, then why did you insist on protecting its templars from Morrigan for so long?"
"Because I'm tired of people dying. If you hadn't picked up on it, that's why I'm here with you right now. If templars—or anyone, really—stay away from Morrigan, they won't get killed. Well, at least not by her. I can't vouch for any other job-related hazards. But I see your point. Wardens are a more rare and important resource than templars." It was a point he wished he'd seen earlier, before Velanna had died in their attempt to prove to the Chantry that he wasn't a mage. His attention drifted back to the remaining hardtack he had in his hands, wondering if he was hungry enough to try eating it. Then exhaustion from the day's activities crept into his mind and body and he pushed it away as much as he could. It wasn't very far and tiredness continued to pull at his eyes.
"I do not believe your heart was in the wrong place in the matter," Astrid said after a moment. "Not in regards to the templars, or even what you chose to do with Morrigan."
"I don't need your—what?" He snapped his head around to look at her. "You scolded me over and over for not killing her. I distinctly remember that. Hard to forget that sort of condemnation, especially after Marius and everyone else changed their minds."
"I've had time to think. Yes, I think you chose poorly when you didn't kill her when you had the chance, but you did at least manage to refuse her offer. That is something, and indicates that you will one day make a good Warden. If my ploy with the Chantry had ended with your death, I would have mourned the loss of a decent, young Grey Warden."
"I'm touched. Really." He patted his cuirass, just above his heart. "All warm and fuzzy."
"Sarcasm does not suit you."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Really? I thought I was rather well-suited for it. Damn. I'll have to find something new, then."
"I would suggest seriousness, but I doubt it would take." A shadow of a ghost of a smile, Malcolm thought, might have flitted very briefly over Astrid's mouth.
"Was... was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?"
"Of course not." She considered him for a moment. "I have to say, I'm pleased you cooperated. I hadn't wanted to tell the Divine about your and Alistair's parentage, as it would have destabilized Ferelden."
Malcolm rolled his eyes, and then realized how nice it would be to close them and go to sleep. "I didn't know you cared so much about Ferelden." He tugged off his gauntlets and his boots as he waited for Astrid's answer. The call of that upper bunk and sleep had gotten far too loud for him to ignore any longer.
"I care about the Grey Wardens and our mission. As such, that means Ferelden needs to stay politically stable during the Thaw period and preferably for long afterward, given that a strong Warden presence must be established there. Keeping the Divine from exploiting the information about your parentage would have proven difficult. I couldn't even afford to leave the insurance of a letter behind at the Grand Cathedral just in case something happened to me. Information like that getting out in an uncontrolled manner would result in catastrophe, especially during a Thaw, and especially with Morrigan and that unborn Old God child free on Thedas." She stood up from her seat on the lower bunk. "I will leave you to change and rest, if you'd like. We have a few days. If you... if you have any other questions about the Grey Wardens, feel free to ask."
He looked up at her from where he was fussing with a particularly uncooperative buckle on one of the leather straps of a pauldron. "You're inviting me to ask you to talk? You? Seriously?"
"Abuse it and I will rescind the offer."
"Ha. We wouldn't want that, now would we? But thank you for the offer. However, I think I'll just take advantage of that bunk up there and sleep. For a very long time, if possible. Days. Maybe even the whole trip. You'll have to leave the door a little open, though, in case Gunnar wants out. Don't worry about him otherwise. He knows his way around a ship, good Highever mabari that he is."
Astrid nodded then left the cramped cabin. Malcolm let out a long breath after she left, and then quickly stacked his armor in a corner with his sword. That done, he climbed up into the top bunk to think and eventually sleep. Something bothered him about what Astrid had said, but he couldn't place it. His brain was going fuzzy with the tiredness and he could barely remember his own name, much less try to figure out anything important. He was aware enough to realize something was up, but that was it. The exhaustion from the Harrowing, coupled with the slight rocking of the ship, lulled him to sleep.
He awoke to a storm.
Malcolm sat up quickly, almost hitting his head on the ceiling in his haste. He must have slept for nearly an entire day if they were far enough out at sea to catch a storm of this size. The ship heaved underneath them, wallowing in the shallows of the troughs before being carried onto the crests of waves. He slid off his bunk and checked for Astrid—her bunk was empty. Most likely, the Anders woman was in misery on the top deck and heaving her guts over the side while trying not to get blown off the ship in the process. Gunnar let out a low whine from where he cowered in a corner. "Oh, stop being such a baby," Malcolm told him. "You're supposed to be a wardog, you know. That means not being scared by a little storm." He drained a nearby flask of water.
The mabari gave an indignant huff.
"Right, a mabari good at land war and not meant for sea. Fine. Be a big baby." He ruffled the fur on the dog's head, and then started pulling on his armor. While it wouldn't really be a help if he fell off the ship or if the ship started to sink, wearing only the thin clothing he wore underneath the chainmail, even with the gambeson, didn't seem wise. As he threw on his cloak, he decided he'd just have to take extra special care not to fall off the ship, and to avoid the bowsprit for the time being. While one could be retrieved from falling into the sea in calm weather, if you fell in during a storm, that was pretty much it for you. Man overboard drills didn't work so well in the height of a storm.
Thunder boomed through the sky after a loud crack of lightning. Both Malcolm and the dog flinched at the sounds. "I hope lightning doesn't hit the mast."
Gunnar whined at the comment.
"Yes, I know. I'm so very optimistic." He buckled his sword around his waist. "All right, you stay here and... cower, I suppose, since there's not really anything for you to guard. I'm going to go see what's going on topside." After giving the mabari a final rub behind the ears, Malcolm headed for the main deck. The things Astrid had told him earlier rolled through his head as the deck rolled under his feet. While he easily balanced himself to the movement of the ship, he wasn't having such an easy time sorting out his head. At first, he'd gone with Astrid on this trip to Val Royeaux because she'd threatened his brother and Ferelden, and because he didn't want to see any more Wardens die due to the Chantry's attempts to get him to cooperate. After, he'd thought he'd understood that he was going to keep more Wardens from dying, to keep his brother and his country safe, that he didn't need to be threatened to be made to go. But there was something in what Astrid had said... something about not even leaving anything behind at the Grand Cathedral in case something happened to her.
He'd thought that a bit strange, to assume something would happen to her. Maybe a shipwreck, he supposed. Or maybe she thought he wouldn't see reason at all and would just try to kill her outright. Not that it hadn't crossed his mind when he'd run into her at Highever, but still. The deck lurched again, enough to throw him against the bulkhead as he climbed up the ladder—they were stairs, but the sailors called them ladders—to the top deck. He cursed under his breath, and then popped open the hatch and clambered onto the deck. Full night greeted him with howling winds, swearing sailors, rumbling thunder, and intermittent lightning. Decent sized storm, it seemed. Malcolm properly secured the hatch behind him, not wanting water from the larger waves to wash into the hold.
He squinted against the lashing rain as he tried to locate Astrid, wondering if she knew enough to stay closer to the center of the ship, even if she was sick. With alarm, he noticed she figure leaning over the side of the railing near the bow, close to the bowsprit. She was going to get herself...
Killed.
Oh.
Would that be a bad thing?
Astrid was the link the Chantry had to the knowledge about him and Alistair and their true relationship to Fiona. She hadn't left anything behind with the Divine to look at in case she didn't return at a specified time. She hadn't told anyone she was leaving, much less where she was going or what she intended. If she died, she would no longer be a threat. Ferelden wouldn't be threatened by her knowledge and her willingness to use it to further her own ends. Ends she claimed were in the purview of the Grey Wardens, but weren't sanctioned by the Wardens. His problem—and Ferelden's problem—stood miserably at the railing of a ship heaving at the mercy of an autumn storm, and ignorant of everything else around her. The sea might simply swallow her up of a large enough wave hit the ship. And if that didn't happen... he had the drop on her.
I could do it.
He hated himself for even thinking it, and then hated himself even more for not pushing away the idea. The solution to his problem and the problem that plagued Ferelden and his brother had presented itself to Malcolm practically wrapped in a shiny bow. The sailors were too busy in their own tasks of keeping the ship upright and staying on board the ship to pay attention to any wayward passengers. People fell off ships during storms all the time. His own natural father had been lost at sea. Astrid could simply become one of the lost and no one would be the wiser.
And everything that Malcolm had sought to protect by going with Astrid would be even better protected if he went about it this way. He just had to help in the matter. No. Not just help. He had to kill her. He would have to kill another Warden and hope that it would be the last one to die through his doing. But this wasn't like fighting darkspawn or bandits. Yet while the danger she presented in being alive was different, it was still very real. When Malcolm realized that he would have to kill Astrid, he discovered that he didn't really hate her, and he didn't exactly wish her dead. But it was something that had to be done.
He exhaled slowly and tried to calm the hammering of his heart. Then he made his way to the bow of the ship, staying close to the center and keeping tabs of where all the lines and other possible handholds were in case they got hit by a huge wave. In a storm this size, it wasn't an 'if' so much as it was a 'when.' Soon enough, he was standing at Astrid's side as she vomited more bile into the dark ocean. "Regretting not bringing a mage?" he asked over the wind when she straightened.
Astrid wiped at her mouth with a corner of her cloak and groaned in reply. The ship heaved again, and so did she. Her hands gripped at the railing while she leaned over half her body out so that none of her bile would hit the ship. Malcolm felt some true pity for her plight. Lightning shot behind the clouds as the ship plunged downward in a trough. Then the sky went dark again and Malcolm could barely see the woman on her tiptoes next to him. He felt the ship reach the bottom of the trough and start to raise up on the next wave. Seizing the darkness and the momentum, Malcolm reached out and pushed Astrid up and over the railing.
She plummeted soundlessly into the sea, tumbling over and over before hitting the rough surface. Lightning flashed again, and thunder covered the sound of her struggles as she slapped at the water. As he stared down in shock at the flailing woman far below, Malcolm realized that Astrid couldn't swim. Her face was pallid in the light, eyes and mouth open wide in surprise until the water rushed into them. Then the light was gone and everything plunged into darkness again. By the time the next round of lightning arced through the sky, Astrid was gone.
Malcolm stared at the foamy water that gave no sign of his fellow Warden. Then he wondered what part of him had drowned with Astrid in the Waking Sea.
He remembered then that he had to do everything properly, as if it had been an accident that Astrid fell overboard, and he shouted that there was a man overboard. Sailors who could spare the effort raced to the railings, but none were able to see Astrid. They couldn't give the standard heave-to order for retrieving someone who'd fallen overboard. Within minutes, the ship's captain let him know that he didn't think they would see Astrid again. "Unless she washes up on a shore somewhere," the grizzled man added. "But even then, she won't be alive." He clapped Malcolm on the back. "Cheer up, lad. At least she paid for the journey in advance and I won't have to make you one of my crew."
"Ha." Malcolm wasn't entirely sure the man wasn't kidding and his voice was strained as a result.
"You should get back belowdecks. Don't want to lose two Wardens in one journey. I can't imagine your Order would think too kindly about that. We'll be another day out to sea, long as we can weather this storm, and then we'll be in Cumberland." A strong hand on Malcolm's shoulder guided him back to the hatch.
By morning, the storm had passed and the ship continued to Cumberland. The calm sea showed no sign of Astrid, and the captain insisted on a brief memorial for the Grey Warden, as it was a 'respectable thing to do for the people that end Blights.' Or something like that, as Malcolm hadn't been paying as much attention to the man's words as he should have. Soon after, they were mooring in Cumberland, the ship offloading and loading cargo and passengers before it continued on to Val Royeaux. Malcolm chose to disembark instead of stay, Astrid's pack on his back and his mabari at his side, and guilt for what he'd done a constant shadow.
It wasn't until he was off the pier and in the docks district of Cumberland that he realized he had no coin. He hadn't brought his coinpurse with him when he'd left Highever Castle, and when he'd searched through Astrid's pack, he didn't turn one up. That meant she'd been wearing the damn thing when she'd gone for her impromptu swim in the ocean. And, since he was new to the whole murdering people in cold blood thing, he hadn't the wherewithal to pick her pocket before killing her. All of which, put together, meant he had no coin to get home.
Fantastic.
Malcolm spun around and stared out at the harbor. He couldn't exactly swim across the Waking Sea and back to Highever. Perhaps he could stow away on one of the ships, but if he got caught, that meant they'd either toss him from the ship, middle of the ocean or not, or press him into their service right then and there to pay for his passage, and then some. No, no, that wouldn't do. He knew that with his luck, he'd be caught fairly easily.
A bird call from behind him caught his attention.
He slowly turned in its direction, knowing he'd heard a crow, but not particularly wanting to confirm it. Yet confirm it he did, as a crow stared at him with glittering yellow eyes from a perch on a nearby shed's rooftop. As the crow studied him, he studied it back, and then he remembered where he was on Thedas. Cumberland was just west of the Planasene Forest and the Vimmark Mountains. And just north of both of those places was where Morrigan had last been seen in the Free Marches. Closer to Morrigan than he'd been while in Ferelden. Closer to finding her, if he just went and looked.
The crow called again, throwing in its opinion as Malcolm considered the choices happenstance had given him.
