Hello everyone, and thanks for reading! I originally posted this story on AO3 but decided to cross-post it here as well. More readership, right?

This story involves major canon divergence for DA2. Just how divergent that is, you'll have to see. But it's definitely divergent that Hawke has a three-year-old child with Anders upon entering Kirkwall, which is the premise of this story.

This story is not going to be a retelling of all, or even most, of the game quests—it'll just include the ones that are important to the plot, and not in blow-by-blow detail either unless something is AU for this story and very important. And after a certain event occurs in Part II, the story is going to go highly AU. It's basically a fix-it of the personal outcomes of Hawke/Anders and the Mage-Templar War, but a fix-it that does not prevent Asunder or DA:I from occurring. The story is going to conclude just before DA:I begins, so it will encompass a period of time beginning (in Alternate Universe) in 9:27 Dragon and encompassing Awakening, DA2, and the Mage-Templar War—which, here, will have a much more significant role for Anders and mage liberationist Hawke than canon!

This is going to be a very long story. On AO3, I'm posting it as a three-part series by the name "Spells." Here I'm posting it as a single fanfic. The text is identical between the two, however.

If you're reading my F/F Cousland/Leliana DA:O fic Sanctification, this one occurs in the same world-state.

Finally, I should note/warn that Hawke and Anders will be separated after their first, AU meeting, and have brief other relationships before they meet again. For her that'll be with Leliana; for him it is his canon one with Karl.

"Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster...

For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

~Friedrich Nietzsche

Spells

Book One: Spells of Healing

Chapter 1: The Brutal Southern Winter

Wintermarch, Dragon 9:27, Lothering.

"Out."

Anders glared back at the stout innkeeper. "You must be joking. Look at the sky—look at the snow coming down! This is going to turn into a blizzard soon."

The innkeeper pointed resolutely at the open door. "If you got more coin, then you can stay. Otherwise, well, the weather ain't my problem."

He clenched his fists, trying not to let magic explode out of him. "A blizzard! People can die in that, and there are free rooms here! You aren't losing any money from paying customers by keeping me an extra night. This is just cruelty for the sake of cruelty."

"Rules are rules. If I let you stay for free, word will get out. I'm running a business here, understand? I can't do that. If you're looking for somebody to put you up for free, the Chantry's that way."

Oh, yes, a wonderful idea, going to the Chantry for shelter. That would work out great for a runaway mage. "Could I just... sleep in the common room? On the floor?" he ventured. "All I want is a roof over my head tonight—"

Exasperated, the innkeeper shoved Anders out the door and slammed it in his face. Fat snowflakes instantly covered his blond head as he stood at the threshold, and an icy wind blasted his face in the night air.

For a second, Anders was tempted by a violent urge of revenge. A tiny flame formed in the palm of his hand, and he had the dark thought of setting the inn ablaze with it—but no, that wouldn't get him a roof over his head, and there were innocent people inside who had done nothing to him. Still, what was wrong with some people? Why were they so cruel to each other? He couldn't actually think that people would assume a charitable act in a deadly snowstorm was his new business practice, Anders thought contemptuously as he stalked away into the rapidly intensifying storm. It's just a petty abuse of power because he can. There are people who like to do that. Apparently not all of them join the Templars, either.

He passed by the Chantry without a moment's thought. It simply was not feasible to ask for shelter there and out himself as an apostate mage. As it was, he'd had to bring the shortest staff he owned that was still useful and wrap it up to disguise what it was. The priests would know—and more to the point, Templars would be at the Chantry who would oh-but-definitely know. No, that was not an option.

This was not his first escape from the Circle, but it was the best-planned one—up to this point. He had chosen a time in the dead of winter, when the sky was cloudy and threatening to snow, in the hopes that the Templars would be dissuaded from a search by unpleasant Fereldan winter conditions. He had even pulled the mad stunt of diving into the water of Lake Calenhad, freezing cold though it was, in the hope that if anyone saw, they would presume he died of hypothermia quickly. He had avoided that death by warding every article of clothing he wore with cold-protection runes, though it had still been utterly miserable, and some amount of cold had still seeped through. And before he left the Circle Tower, he had gathered up everything of value that he could. When he finally reached a village, he had sold everything he couldn't stand to part with, leaving him with an amount of coin that had lasted—up until now.

He was so close to his goal, the Chasind. That was part of his plan too, head south to their tribal lands rather than east to Amaranthine or Denerim, as most people would expect. Just two more days, surely, would have put him in their path. There were some things about the Circle that he had liked, especially the books, but freedom was non-negotiable for him. Being a free barbarian was better than a lettered, cultured prisoner. He could bring broader culture to the Chasind, after all. They respected mages. If he recommended learning magic from books, they might listen to him. The Alamarri, after all, had once been barbarians too, and now their descendants were modern Fereldans...

But none of his plans would matter if he froze to death in a blizzard.

What an irony it would be if my final escape was successful, in that the Templars never brought me back, but only because I died, he thought darkly.

He was on the outskirts of the village of Lothering now. There would be no more buildings on the road for a long way, possibly until Ostagar—which he could not reach tonight. Another wave of snowy wind blasted him in the face. He shivered, pulled his coat close, and raised his shoulders a bit to burrow his head into the feathery mantle surrounding his neck, looking extremely like a bird in winter himself if he'd known.

One thing is certain—I don't need to be in an unprotected, wide open space in this weather. I'm getting the full brunt of it. He gazed to one side; a forest loomed beyond. The trees will block some of the wind, he thought, and probably prevent snow from accumulating as thickly. They might even provide some warmth. Maybe there is even a hollow tree I can use as makeshift shelter. It's a chance, anyway. If nothing else, there's wood I can use to build a fire. Shivering again, Anders took his staff off his back and turned off the road to enter the woods.

The wind did seem to be stifled by the trees, especially where there were large areas of pine, of fir and juniper, but snow continued to fall thickly. Anders trekked through the woods, grimacing at the sound his feet made, though there was no one to hear it. Surely no wild animals would be out in this either? He realized he didn't actually know much about wildlife. Bears hibernated, didn't they? He seemed to recall being taught that as a boy. They found caves and hibernated.

The only thing I have to fear is the weather, he thought as he searched in vain for a hollow tree that was large enough to shelter him.

At last he realized, with alarm, that his footprints had vanished, covered up by new snow. He had no idea how far he had traveled into the forest, but he did know that he could not get back to the road, at least not at night. By day, if the sun came out, he could navigate using it, but that meant surviving till the sun came out. Giving it up for the night, he finally began to pull branches off trees for kindling and eventually selected a spot behind an oak with a very large trunk.

Using his staff, his back to the tree to avoid setting it aflame, he cast fire. Although snow continued to fall, the intense heat melted the existing snowfall away, leaving a hole in the snowpack. Anders stepped into it, took out the branches he had gathered in his pack, and started a fire in the middle of the clearing.

It was not ideal. The snow-saturated air threatened repeatedly to put out the flames, and kept them from getting as hot as they could have been, but the fire did generate enough heat to keep the little clearing mostly snow-free. Anders took off his gloves and warmed his hands and face. He felt a prickly sensation in his nose and cheeks and realized, with alarm, that they had been in danger of frostbite. The snow walls in front of him were turning to ice as the fire melted the snow and the frigid air refroze the water at once, but that was all right.

"I'm going to make it through the night," Anders finally said aloud, feeling confident of that for the first time since the innkeeper had shoved him into the elements.

He had almost relaxed when the first pair of eyes emerged from the gloom, bearing down from atop the snowy walls of his little cave. Several other pairs soon followed. Anders scrambled to his feet, his staff in hand, as he gazed out in horror.

A large, strangely distorted wolf raised its head and let out a bone-chilling howl, a howl that cut to the very soul of the mage who now gazed upon an entire pack. He was cornered. His fire had drawn them to him.

What in the Void are these things? he thought. Wolves, but—something is wrong with them. It hardly mattered. They saw him as prey. One of them, the biggest one, was already advancing on him, growling.

Summoning every bit of his magical reserves, Anders let loose a tempest of lightning upon the pack, felling two and stunning most. He gazed up at the tree. No branches were low enough for him to climb. If he got out of his little hollow in the snow to try to run, the wolves would have the advantage, because his feet would get bogged down in the heavy accumulation, and he had no idea where he would go anyway. No—he would stand or die where he was.

He had brought a bit of lyrium when he had left the Circle, but he had used most of it to heal himself after that hideous swim in frigid Lake Calenhad and sold the last of it on the black market days ago. Whatever he did, he would have to do with his own innate magical strength.

The wolves he had merely stunned were getting to their feet again. He had no time and he knew it. Quickly he cast a fireball, noting with satisfaction that it took out the alpha, and rallied his strength for a fight with the remaining wolves.

On the other side of the woods, the appalling howl broke the silence in the Hawke cottage. The inhabitants had spread across the common living-dining room after dinner. Bethany put down her embroidery, Carver glanced up from his bowl of leftover stew, and Leandra set down the charcoal pencil she was using to draw a domestic scene of the family. Across the room, Malcolm and his eldest child Caitlyn glanced at each other in alarm. Instinctively they gazed to the nearest window, which overlooked the edge of the forest.

"That... did not sound right," red-haired Caitlyn said to her father, eyes wide.

"Was that a wolf?" Bethany added, eyebrows knitted together on her forehead.

"It sounded like one, but... wrong," said Caitlyn. She glanced at Malcolm, who was standing up, his staff in hand, staring out the window. "Father?"

"It's a blight wolf," he said, his voice as grim as she had ever heard it.

"Blight wolf?" Leandra repeated in alarm. "But how? There is no Blight..."

"It's a harbinger of one," Malcolm said.

"Father, how do you know—" Caitlyn began to say, but she instantly gasped at the sight out the window, her question unfinished. Lights began to flash in the woods.

"There's someone in the woods!" she exclaimed, reaching for her mage's staff and leaping to her feet. "A mage, from the look of it! How..."

Malcolm was already at the door. "Damn fool, whoever it is! Why would someone be out in this weather?" He jerked the door open and noticed that his daughter was right behind him, her staff in hand. "Cait, are you—"

"I'm going with you, Father," she said at once, her tone brooking no disagreement from him.

Behind her, Leandra wailed. "It's dangerous!"

"There is a person out there fighting off blight wolves," Malcolm said. "We're going. We'll be safer if we both go! We'll be back, Leandra, I promise." He pulled the door behind himself and Caitlyn, closing off her miserable, fearful expression from his sight.

At once, father and daughter began to make for the spot where the flashing lights were focused. As she trod through the snow, Caitlyn reflected on the fact that her father did not argue with her or attempt to stop her from joining him in this, even though it was very dangerous. They had a lot in common and a certain bond, she thought, which even her mage sister Bethany did not quite share with them. Her non-magical brother Carver was certainly closer to their mother, though he wouldn't ever admit it, but the truth was that so was Bethany. While Carver's bond was based mostly on the fact that their mother was not a mage either, Bethany's seeming preference for this parent was more that they shared domestic, artistic interests. Caitlyn and her father, on the other hand, shared a kind of reckless intensity, stubbornness, fascination with pushing the limits of magic, and more than a bit of a temper—as the stereotype for their shared red hair color always claimed.

The frequency of the flashes of light seemed to decrease as Caitlyn and her father found themselves getting slowed down in the woods by the snowpack. Alarmed, Malcolm cast a spell on himself and his daughter that suddenly made her feel a burst of energy.

"Haste," he said in an undertone. "We still have to cast fire if we're going to reach this person in time. Together."

They worked together so perfectly, she thought, as she cast streams of fireballs with her father, running through the clearing snow with the aid of the Haste spell. In a few more seconds, they reached a huge oak tree, at least as wide at the base as Malcolm was tall. It blocked their sight of the cornered mage, but behind it, at least three blight wolves were growling and snapping. Several bodies of dead wolves lay in the snow.

Caitlyn did not hesitate. Raising her staff, she cast three fireballs in quick succession, one for each of the wolves. A battle cry rang from her throat, carried on the wind.

The wolves yelped as the fire struck them, setting their coats aflame. Malcolm cast quick, lethal entropic spells to speed their deaths as the unknown mage at last emerged from around the tree, staring at his rescuers in absolute shock. Caitlyn gazed at him. He was dusted heavily with snow, but she could see clearly the contours of grayish feathers on the shoulders of his brown coat, and beneath that, a mage's robe and boots. His hair, though snow-dusted too and whipped about by the wind, was clearly light in color. He looked young, probably only a few years older than Caitlyn herself, if that.

"Are there more?" Malcolm called out to him roughly, having to raise his voice to be heard.

The mage shook his head. "That's all of them that I saw."

Subtly Malcolm moved closer to Caitlyn, slightly behind her, so that the stranger could not see his hand as it moved toward the dagger he kept on his belt. "Did they bite you?"

The blond mage shook his head. "I kept them off."

Malcolm relaxed and moved his hand away from the blade. "Good. They are Tainted with the Blight sickness. I couldn't have done anything for you if they'd got you."

Caitlyn gaped at the harshness of her father's words and realized what he had intended to do with the dagger if the mage had been bitten. So, it seemed, did the stranger. He glowered back at the Hawkes wordlessly.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing in this weather? Haven't you got any sense?" Malcolm shouted, gesturing at the snowstorm that continued to rage around them, even though the trees lessened its worst effects slightly.

"I had nowhere else to go." The blond mage gripped his staff tightly, staring back. "I was out of coin and the innkeeper threw me out."

Something suddenly occurred to Caitlyn, and it seemed that it occurred to her father at the same time. "Are you... did you escape the Circle?" His voice was much softer with this question.

The stranger nodded. "I made it all the way here. I didn't think Templars would pursue me south in the middle of a blizzard, especially after I swam through Lake Calenhad in the winter—in runed robes, of course, or I'd have been dead from that within minutes. It must have worked, so far. I haven't seen or heard of any Templars on my trail." He paused. "You're mages," he remarked, stating the obvious. "Do you... live nearby? Did you see my spells?"

Malcolm seemed to be considering something for a moment, perhaps whether to trust this mage with the truth. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes to both. You're closer to our cabin than you realize."

"Evidently, since you saw my magic. Unless it was just that impressive." He gave Caitlyn a smile and wink.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows at the man's sudden change of tone and inappropriate levity. What kind of person would... flirt... in the middle of a blizzard, after she and her father had just saved his life?

"Don't be cocky, you idiot," Malcolm said gruffly. "Your plan to run from the Templars in a snowstorm was a good one except for the small complication that you almost died. All right," he said, breathing, calming himself from the adrenaline rush of the fight. "I was... once in your shoes, many years ago. I did reckless things too in my bid for freedom. I've kept my daughters from the Circle by teaching them myself. I can offer you shelter."

The blond mage nodded at once. "Thank you. I don't believe I caught your names..."

"You didn't say yours either," Malcolm said at once as they began the trek back to the Hawke cottage.

"It's Anders."

"That's it?" Malcolm said.

The mage glowered as he stomped through the snow. "My father didn't want me. I stopped using his surname after he turned me in. I'm just Anders."

Malcolm did not press it. His face softened further at this, and the lights of the cottage came into view once again as they approached the edge of the forest. "My name is Hawke—Malcolm Hawke. This is my eldest, Caitlyn. My wife and twins are in that cottage. I'll introduce them when we arrive."

Anders fell behind Malcolm, walking side by side with Caitlyn and shooting her quick glances that he must have thought were subtler than they really were. She understood exactly what he was doing and huffed, unimpressed, as he brushed the snow off his head with a flourish.

"In case you haven't noticed, snow is still blasting against us," she said as they bared their faces into the wind. "That was utterly pointless if your goal really was to remove it from your hair."

"What else would my goal have been?"

She did not deign to answer that, but huffed again as they exited the forest. The Hawke cottage was in a clearing only a few yards away. Caitlyn pulled her coat close and shivered as they reached the house. Her father paused, pressed his palm to a metal plate beside the door, and, after a moment, opened the door, holding it for them.

Leandra, Bethany, and Carver leaped up. "Oh, Malcolm!" Leandra exclaimed as he hung his coat on the rack near the door. "You did it! You and Cait did it." She glanced at the third person, awaiting introductions.

"This mage is Anders, late of the Fereldan Circle," Malcolm said. "And by 'late' I mean that he left a few days ago, with a storm threatening, and chose that time on purpose. That's why he's here."

Bethany glanced up in interest at the mention of the Circle. Carver scowled.

"My wife and younger children, Bethany and Carver," Malcolm said to Anders. "Now—when did you last eat?"

"Breakfast," Anders said. "You don't have to—"

Malcolm took him by the shoulder and marched him to the table, where Carver was slurping down the last of his stew. He picked up an empty bowl, filled it with stew from the pot that was still warm, and placed it in front of the mage along with a soup spoon. "Yes, I do. Eat."

Anders did not argue any further, but obediently started to eat the food. Carver glared hotly at his unwanted table companion and moved away. He eyed his older sister, then Anders, suspicion radiating from his blue eyes. Caitlyn met his stare with her own, unconcerned.

Anders was oblivious to the glares. He immediately found that he was a lot hungrier than he had realized, and within a few minutes, the stew was gone. He took a deep breath as Malcolm placed a cup of water in front of him, then downed that too. This was really a very pleasant domestic scene, he thought—the gruff but kind father, the quiet mother, the fireplace, the hearty food. He tried to remember what Hawke had told him about his family. He said he kept his daughters from the Circle, Anders thought. That meant that both girls—well, Caitlyn was a woman, really—were mages, but Carver was not.

It was perfectly clear to Anders that Carver disliked and distrusted him. He supposed he was a stranger in their house, but none of the others had that reaction. Bethany, the dark-haired younger daughter, was staring at him in interest, but it seemed to be simple curiosity about something. She had looked up when her father mentioned the Circle; was that it? I can tell her all about the Circle, he thought darkly. If she thinks she's missing out on something good, I can disabuse her of that notion quickly. He then considered the eldest, Caitlyn. As soon as he looked at her, she glanced away immediately—though not a trace of hostility was present on her face now.

Hmm...

She had appeared like a living flame, long red hair whipping in the wind, and then had cast flames at the wolves for him. She had scoffed at his attentions so far, but not in a hostile way. Instead she had seemed exasperated because because it was inappropriate in the middle of a snowstorm... which was fair, he thought. Now that he had some food in his stomach and a roof over his head, he was able to think a bit more rationally, to look beyond immediate survival and focus on the details of his situation.

And speaking of which...

"Messere Hawke," he said to Malcolm, "I can't think the Templars who have my phylactery would pursue me on a night like tonight, and I don't think they are anywhere near here anyway... but since there are three mages in your family, I wouldn't want to bring them down upon you."

Malcolm sat down and studied him. "I'll respond to that in a minute, but I have to ask... what was your plan? Your goal? Or did you have a particular one?"

"I was going to seek refuge among the Chasind," he said. "Or the Avvar... but I don't know anything about mountain climbing, so probably the Chasind."

Malcolm's eyebrows went up. "It seems I owe you an apology for calling you an idiot, Anders. Your plan was risky, but it was actually well-conceived. Most mages who manage to escape just run, unable to navigate, until the Templars pick them up a mile from the Tower. The clever ones make it to Denerim or Amaranthine and live as hedge mages, constantly on the move."

Anders chuckled. "This isn't my first time to escape. I have some experiences along those lines too. I learned from them."

Malcolm nodded in approval. "Ferelden has a treaty with the Chasind. You'd be protected if you reached them. Now, did I hear you say earlier that you swam through Lake Calenhad?"

"I runed everything I'm wearing against the cold," he explained as Bethany gasped and even Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. Had she not paid attention earlier? Perhaps not; she had just slain the blight wolves...

"All right, then, that was incredibly dangerous, but no, you're no idiot. Do you think they saw you make it to the other side of the lake?"

"I don't know. I didn't look back. I hoped that they'd assume I would die quickly."

Malcolm nodded again. "You may have bought yourself a lot of extra time with those runes. Now, as for my house—they can't sense you in here. They could be right outside that door with your phylactery in hand and they couldn't tell you were here with the door closed."

"Really? What kind of magic is that?"

"You may not have noticed, but I had to put my hand to a metal plate to gain entrance to the house. The only people who can do that are members of the family. My daughter cast the wards, so as to let my wife have access too." He gave Caitlyn a nod and a smile. "The magic is based on something I did years ago... a job... but there's an additional feature I developed. The wards on this house obscure the blood call of anyone inside, family or not."

Anders did not know what to think. A ward that only allowed members of a family to enter a building sounded very much like blood magic to him, for how else could such a thing work? The fact that Caitlyn Hawke had had to cast it in order to let her mother enter, strongly implied that it was blood-based as well. She would share blood with everyone in the family; Malcolm wouldn't. And a ward against external blood magic—or what the Templars did with phylacteries—had to be blood magic itself, didn't it?

This is obviously a decent family, he chastised himself. I shouldn't question this magic, because it's keeping me safe. Those wolves might have killed me if this family hadn't found me, and if they weren't mages—or at least sympathetic to mages—they might have turned me out. Or planned to turn me in to the Templars as soon as they could.

He found himself becoming drowsy and attempted, without success, to suppress a yawn.

"Hmph," Malcolm said, noticing. "I was wondering when that would happen."

"I'm sorry," Anders said at once.

"Don't be. It happens. Now... this blizzard is not going to subside yet, and it wouldn't surprise me if it continues all day tomorrow too. You shouldn't seek the Chasind until the weather improves. As you said yourself, Templars won't be hunting for you in the middle of a snowstorm—and even if they did work out that you didn't die in the lake, they won't know where you are as long as you remain inside this cottage. In fact, they'll probably presume you died in the storm, since they won't be able to get anything, any direction whatever, from your phylactery."

"Once I step outside, though, couldn't they detect that I'm alive and in the south?"

He stared ahead. "If they happened to have it in hand, using it, while you went outside... yes. They could." He patted Anders on the shoulder. "But I don't think they'd pick it up again after it 'went dark,' so to speak. They'd assume you were dead. And frankly, as long as this storm continues, you are better off staying inside with us than going hunting for the Chasind. You're definitely spending the night tonight. Carver," he said abruptly to his son, "what did we do with that dog bed? No offense," he said to Anders, "but I don't have an extra pallet. We... don't have guests often."

Anders had surmised that from the ward—blood ward?—and the fact that the cabin was so remote. It made sense for a family with three apostate mages. "I don't mind," he said.

Carver had instantly risen from the table to go to the back of the cottage. He emerged soon, dragging a lumpy, rag-stuffed mattress.

"Poor old Grump," Bethany said at the sight. "Can we get a mabari puppy in the spring, Father?"

"If your sister says yes."

Carver threw the dog bed onto the floor in front of the fire with a contemptuous scowl, then stalked away. Anders wondered what in the world was his problem. Did he just dislike magic? Was he jealous of his sisters?

It doesn't matter, he thought. I'll only be with this family for a short while anyway.

Caitlyn had been stricken at the sight of the dog bed. The mabari she'd had since childhood, Grump, had died of old age in the fall, and she still felt the pang of his loss.

"I'm a cat person, myself," Anders told the family, "but pets are always good." He glanced at Caitlyn. "I'm sorry you lost your dog."

"He had a long life," Caitlyn said, her voice strangely thick. She stared at the mage, holding his gaze. The flippancy and frivolity in his expression were gone. "They let you have a cat in the Circle?"

"I... there was a cat at the Circle, a mouser. I liked to think he was mine. He seemed to like me best." He sighed. "He's gone too."

"I'm sorry."

"Got possessed by a demon and took out several Templars."

Caitlyn scowled. Could he be serious about anything? "That can't be true..."

"It was, though! It happened! They have minds too, dogs and cats, so demons could get at them..." He gazed at her. "I'm not having you on. I wouldn't do that when you're talking about a pet that died. That would be cruel."

He seemed sincere, she realized. The irritation she had felt at the idea that he was making a joke evaporated. "I hope that you can have a cat of your own someday, now that you're free of the Circle."

He smiled back, but a yawn threatened again. Anders forced his mouth closed, nostrils flaring and eyes widening as the yawn dissipated over his face. Caitlyn found herself unable to look away from his eyes. She hoped she wasn't staring... she hoped he didn't notice... though the pointed look he gave her once the yawn had passed suggested that he did.

He sat down on the lumpy pallet and drew up his knees, the fireplace on his right side. He could smell dog, but it wasn't overpowering. It wouldn't prevent him from sleeping. As he began to unlace his boots, Caitlyn found herself suddenly feeling too warm. She stepped back from the fireplace for some cooler air...

She glanced at Bethany, remembering that her father had told her sister that getting a new puppy depended on her approval. Grump wasn't coming back, so perhaps it was time for a new dog. "We can see about a new mabari puppy. If one of us imprints, then certainly."

Bethany was surprised at the sudden change of subject. A grin formed on her face as she realized why her sister had abruptly addressed herself to her.

Caitlyn suddenly felt a surge of irritation. "All right. It's been a long evening for everyone."

"You're right," said Malcolm. "It has. We should all get some sleep, especially our guest."

That was true enough, thought Anders. The mattress beckoned... He felt his leg muscles collapsing, ready to relax... Malcolm left, and the family dispersed to their beds.

Caitlyn and Bethany shared a small bedroom. Caitlyn climbed to the top bunk and opened a book of magic to read. Across the room, Bethany took her seat in a chair and continued the embroidery that she had begun that evening.

"He likes you," Bethany remarked.

Caitlyn scowled. "He barely knows me. Don't be ridiculous."

Bethany stabbed her needle into the coarse fabric, lowering her head to hide the grin. "It has to start somewhere."

"Don't be absurd," she said again. "He's going to join the Chasind once the snow clears, anyway."

"That was his plan," Bethany agreed. "But plans change." She sewed another stitch. "Imagine what it must've looked like to him. Snow and wind all around, wolves nipping at him, and then suddenly there you are to save him with your fire magic."

Caitlyn slammed her book shut. "This discussion is at an end, little sister."

"All right," Bethany said airily.

"He is a Circle escapee passing through," she said, teeth clenched. "A chance meeting. I am glad that Father and I saw his spells—I'm glad we could save a life, help another mage—but it was a chance meeting. We're not going to see him again once he is able to continue south."

"All right," Bethany said again.

Exasperated, Caitlyn growled to herself and flung her body down on her pillow.

As Malcolm had predicted, the snowstorm continued unabated the next morning. Snow had drifted several feet high. Since there were three—no, four—mages in the cabin, they could clear the snow if they wanted, but it was high enough that they basically would be clearing tunnels in it, and it was still blowing and falling anyway. It would be extremely dangerous to leave the house for any purpose other than to gather firewood or something else that they could do close by. Navigation itself was difficult with most features obscured by snow and the sun hidden by dark clouds.

Anders was standing by the window, gazing at the snow that completely blocked his view. "Well," he remarked, "I guess it's safe to say I wouldn't have survived this even if I had managed to kill the blight wolves by myself." He turned to Malcolm. "Thank you."

"Told you it would continue," said Malcolm. He pulled up an extra chair to the table. "And, seriously, consider staying here at least until this clears. You're safe in this cabin."

"I was wondering about that," Anders ventured hesitantly. "That ward... is it... well... blood magic?"

In the corner, Carver tensed. Caitlyn emerged fully from her bedroom. "No, it's not," she answered, walking into the common room. "I did have to cut myself—but it's not blood magic. I didn't use my blood to fuel the spell. It just... recognizes family."

Malcolm was grimacing and looking down at the floor, but neither his daughter nor Anders noticed. For his part, Anders thought this still sounded like blood magic... but then, it wasn't that different at its core from what Templars did with phylacteries. If one was blood magic, so was the other, he thought mutinously.

No. Don't think about Templars right now, he scolded himself.

"You said last night that the innkeeper threw you out because you ran out of coin," Malcolm said to Anders. "How... if I may ask... did you come by your coin?"

"I brought some things with me and sold them as soon as I could," he explained. "I didn't earn it by doing magic, if that's what you're concerned about."

Malcolm nodded. "I was concerned about it, to be quite honest. There is always a bounty for reporting magic. It's why... well, we've been settled in this cottage for a while, but for the first several years after my escape, my wife and I had to go on the run a lot for that very reason. People I had helped reported me."

Anders sat down at the table and faced the other mage. "I made that mistake the first time I managed a lengthy escape. I'm a Healer, and... I wanted to help people." He glowered at the table. "I didn't think they would turn on me."

Caitlyn stepped closer to the table, hovering to one side of her father, interested in the conversation.

"Desperate people will. They hate themselves while doing it—they know it's wrong; they know it's a betrayal—but then they tell themselves later that they're just following the law, whether of the kingdom or the Maker."

"The law is unjust," grumbled Anders. "I saw it. You must have too. If we did, so could they. I don't excuse them. They're complicit. If enough people wanted this changed, it would happen."

Malcolm patted his shoulder. "You can't spend your whole life railing against everything you think is unjust," he said. "Just some advice from an old man who has walked in your shoes before." He glanced up at Caitlyn, whom he finally noticed. "Have a seat."

She sat down, not quite wanting to meet the eyes of their guest. Her behavior last night, as he had been getting ready for bed, was fresh in her mind and she was seeing it with clear eyes now. She really, really hoped that he had not remembered...

"Good morning," he greeted her. "It looks like I'm stuck here for a while—and I wanted to thank you for those magnificent fireballs last night. Thanks to both of you," he amended. "I might have been able to kill those wolves myself eventually, but this..." He gazed at the snow-encrusted window. "This would have killed me." The smile faded from his face. "I left the Circle so that I could die free, but it wasn't really my intention for that to happen so soon. So—thank you."

"What were you able to bring with you?" Caitlyn asked him, her voice surprisingly gentle. "I heard you say that you sold things for coin. What do you still have?"

He opened his pack and dumped its contents on the table. Caitlyn examined the objects. A flask of elfroot... a book of some sort that appeared to be bound by him, perhaps a diary or grimoire... a small slab of smoked, cured meat, wrapped in cheesecloth... a little embroidered pillow... a printed book, presumably taken from the Circle, about healing magic... a guide to edible plants...

"In winter?" she said, raising her eyebrows at Anders as she smiled teasingly.

"You never know," he defended himself. He picked up the book, revealing the last item. Caitlyn's green eyes went wide as she stared at a tarnished, antiqued silver ring set with a small blue sapphire.

"You didn't sell that?" she burst out, though her father shook his head at her, apparently realizing something.

"It was my mother's," Anders said defensively. "It was sent to me after she... died two years ago." He began to put the items back into his pack. "This and the pillow are all I have of her. I wasn't going to sell that unless..." He broke off. Apparently, he realized suddenly, he couldn't have sold it at all.

Caitlyn felt abashed. "I'm sorry, then," she said. "I understand, I think. But... she wouldn't have wanted you to die for her ring, I'm sure."

"And I didn't, thanks to you and your family."

"Cait," Malcolm said quietly, "you don't know what you would have done in the same situation. Don't be so hard on him."

She paused, then nodded. "Well, I'm glad that we were there, then." Summoning her courage, trying to suppress her own embarrassment, she forced herself to meet the mage's eyes with hers. "It's so incredibly unlikely that you would have stopped, and made camp, so close to a family of apostates, of all people. I think you were meant to escape successfully this time."

He nodded, smiling. "I think so too."