Saitada told the rest of her group to take a well-deserved break when they reached Redcliffe. She took herself to the castle library, and noted almost absently that Sten fell into step with her.

"You are not quite as callow as I thought," he said, glancing down at her. "That is... unexpected."

"Um..." She shrugged. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome."

"What were you quoting earlier?"

"The writings of the Ashkaari Koslun. The Qun. It is the path to wisdom."

She looked up at him. "What is the Qun, exactly?"

He looked surprised, and then pleased by the question. "Ask a tamassran: they know how to explain things to children. It is not for me to teach the Qun."

She nodded, and walked into the library. "You can read the King's Tongue, yes?"

"I can."

"I'll start here, you start there. Ferelden history, last decade. Ferelden law. I can't plan a battle unless I know the field."

#

Isolde rushed to Lenore the moment she entered the room. "I see you have returned. Connor is upstairs and remains quiet, for the moment." She wrung her hands. "Have you made a decision?"

"We brought the mages. We'll need a space to work."

"Of course. Anything."

Lenore gave her a few instructions, then waited for the others. Irving entered a minute later, followed by the other mages. Matthias led the templars with them. He gave her a friendly smile when he saw her, and touched Irving's arm.

"Ah!" Irving said. "There you are." He gestured. "We have brought lyrium and begun preparations for the ritual. We can start anytime."

"Do you have any last-minute advice?" Lenore asked him.

He considered. "It truly depends on the manner of demon. It sounds like a spirit of greed and desire, one of the more powerful in the hierarchy. It will likely engage you in dialog and tempt you with an offer. Avoid it. Making deals with demons never turns out well."

"Let's do this now," Lenore said. She didn't have to add 'before I lose my nerve'. He saw that in her eyes. The confidence she'd felt when suggesting this plan had vanished when she'd been so trapped by the illusion she'd tortured a friend.

"Very well. I assume you are going into the Fade." He gave her a concerned look. "Or did you have someone else in mind?"

Wynne was no combat mage. Morrigan... the swamp witch would probably sell them all out. "I will go."

He smiled at her, his face proud. "Good. Let us get the ritual underway, then."

#

"Why did you decide to come to Ferelden?" Brehan asked.

"My mother was from Denerim and I consider myself a Ferelden. Mother served an Orlesian noblewoman who lived here when Orlais ruled." She shrugged. "When Orlais was defeated and the common folk began to resent the presence of any Orlesian, the lady returned to Orlais. She took my mother with her. I was born in Orlais, and did not set foot in Ferelden till much later. Mother was always telling me stories of her homeland; I think she missed it."

"What happened to your mother?"

"Mother died when I was very young. Lady Cecilie let me stay with her. I had no one else. She was quite old then, and she had me study music and dance to entertain her. It is unfair, that I have more memories of Cecilie than my mother."

"You were young, it's understandable." He couldn't even call up the face of his own mother.

"Strangely, the only thing I really remember of Mother was her scent. She kept dried flowers in her closet, amongst her clothes. Small, white Ferelden wildflowers with a sweet fragrance. Mother called them Andraste's Grace. They were very rare in Orlais."

"Ashalle, the woman who raised me, said my mother used to wear a crown of them in her hair."

"Tell me of your mother."

"I don't remember her. She was a hunter from another clan. My father was the keeper then, but her elders did not approve of the match. They used to meet in secret." He leaned against the wall. "Bandits, shems and flat ears, caught them alone in the forest. My father was killed. My mother was wounded, but made it to his clan. She never recovered, from the wound or grief." He sighed. "One night she walked into the woods and never returned. I was still an infant."

Leliana laid a hand on his arm. "She abandoned you?"

"Ashalle said she couldn't carry on without my father. I had received my vallaslin before any would tell me the true story. They did not wish it to poison my heart." He set his hand on Leliana's. "Ashalle raised me as her own. And Hahren Paivel was like a father to me. He wanted me to take over for him as the clan storyteller one day." He saw the sadness in her eyes, and decided to change the subject. "You were a traveling minstrel. Do you have tales to share?"

Children, and then no few adults, began trickling over as he and Leliana began exchanging tales.

#

Lenore made her way through the fade. It was dizzying, wandering past versions of the Arl and Connor as she sought the demon. "How did Jerath manage this?" she asked herself before shaking her head.

Yet another fake version of Connor tried to send her back. When she refused, it turned into a demon and sent shades after her. She caught one with fire, but had to resort to pure energy for the second as it closed quickly. "He probably just stabbed things until they got out of the way. Maybe I should let Brosca give me another lesson on knives." She sighed. "And now I'm talking to myself. I bet he didn't walk through the fade talking to himself."

She found the demon. It manifested before her, a beautiful, purple skinned woman. "No more illusions." The demon's voice sounded slightly amused. "Now we meet face to face. You see my true form and stand in my domain." She gave Lenore a sultry look. "Perhaps we should converse instead?"

"And I'll bet he didn't talk to demons either," Lenore said to himself. She tightened her grip on her staff. "There will be no discussion," she said as she called her power to her.

"Alas, that is sad." The demoness split into multiple versions of herself, forcing Lenore to divide her attention as she attempted to pick out which was the real one. It felt good though, hitting it over and over again. Finally, it floated, motionless. Around her the fade shifted and bent, and finally dissolved away.

#

"Are you all right?" Irving asked her.

"I'm fine. Connor?"

"Asleep. I believe he will be alright. Given the circumstances, I will leave him here a while longer. Matthias has agreed to remain, and will escort the boy to the tower when things are less..."

"Mad?"

"Should such ever occur," Irving said with a small smile.

Lenore stood, and wobbled slightly. Matthias caught her arm as she regained her balance. "Perhaps you should rest?" the templar asked.

"I think I should eat," Lenore said. "I was too nervous for breakfast."

He nodded. "I'll walk with you to the kitchen. There was a dwarf who was quite adamant he be informed the moment you woke up."

Lenore leaned on him as they made their way down the stairs. "Thank you for looking after Connor."

"I owe you my life twice now," he said to her.

"I don't think the first one counts," she said. "I was partly responsible for you being injured in the first place."

"Either way, looking after this boy you were willing to risk yourself for seems the least I can do." He gestured to one of the servants as he led her to a table. "I will let your dwarf know. Take care of yourself."

"You too." She sighed. "And... take care of Cullen?"

"We will."

#

Lenore hesitated a moment before entering the room. She walked to where Jerath sat in the windowsill, and settled herself down on the chair next to him. For a moment, they both sat there in silence.

"I... thank you," Lenore said quietly, not looking at the elf. When he did not respond, she continued, "you came for all of us, in the fade. We'd have been far too late to save the others, perhaps we'd even have been lost entirely, if you hadn't come. I... I'm sorry I hurt you."

Jerath made a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. "It's alright, Lenore. You weren't in your right mind."

"No. No, it's not all right. Nothing about that was alright. I tried to kill you, I nearly killed you, and then we made it all the way back to Redcliff before I even remembered to thank you for saving me." Lenore brought her fists down on her legs in frustration. "It's not all right. It's not..." she buried her face in her hands as the sobs came.

After a few moments, she felt his hand on her shoulder. "The ritual for Connor? I take it that it worked?"

Lenore nodded. "He'd made a bargain with a desire demon. She tried to make me an offer to let her keep him. Blasting her face in... ugh, it felt good." She smiled at him. "I truly am sorry, for the spell."

"At least it wasn't a fireball." Jerath shrugged. "I think I've had my fill of being set on fire."

"Thank you, Jerath." She looked up at him. "In the fade... it was so confusing, trying to find another's dreams. I just... I just kept thinking, you did it for all of us. Did you have to fight demons? I mean, other than the despair demon?"

"A few."

"Maker." She shook her head. "If you weren't a warden, you should be a templar."

"You grew up there, at the tower?"

"Yes. I was sent when I was seven." She shrugged. "That's when my magic manifested."

"Did you know an apprentice named Varla?"

Lenore smiled. "Yes. We took some lessons together. She was really good with ice magic." Her voice became fond. "She could take a glass of water, and form it into an ice sculpture. It was amazing, but it took a lot of concentration. I never managed to form more than a circle." She looked up at him, then realization slowly dawned in her eyes. "She said once she had a baby brother, back in Denerim."

He nodded, then looked out the window for a moment before turning back to her. "Do you know if they caught her?"

Lenore shook her head. "Not that they ever told me. I can ask, if you want." She considered. "Matthias or Irving might know."

He shook his head. "If she's gone, better she remain that way."

#

Wynne found her buried under a stack of books. She'd let the woman fill her in on what happened with Connor before setting her to research as well. Teagan had helped her narrow her search once she'd told him what she hoped to find, but he'd pointed out that as a mere Bann, his options were limited. He'd already antagonized Loghain, it seemed, and Zevran had mentioned that Howe had insinuated that Teagan was to be the Crow's next target.

Lenore's templar friend, Matthias, seemed a solid warrior, and Lenore swore he was trustworthy. She'd mentioned the potential of assassins to him, and he'd stated he could find some excuse or another to remain at the castle. The Crows seemed a bit leery of the Chantry's gaze turning on them.

At another table, Sten was going over a map of Ferelden and the reports Teagan had given them regarding Loghain's troop movements. Ferelden was on the brink of civil war, at the worst possible time.

Saitada closed a book, and shoved it aside irritably. There was really no way around them needing Arl Eamon. Or possibly Cathiel's brother, if he'd survived.

Wynne looked over at her, and set down her quill. "I must ask: What does being a Grey Warden mean to you?"

Saitada leaned back in her chair. "It means I've been chosen to do something important."

"There's that, of course, but there's more to being a Grey Warden than killing darkspawn and saving the world from the Blight."

"Of course. We are the front line, the ones that lead the fight, who shed their blood so that no other blood need be shed. I remember Trian, telling me about what it meant to be a military commander in Orzammar. 'We must not forget that we too, are warriors, and that the only way the enemies will ever reach Orzammar is over our corpses'."

"Who is Trian?"

"He is..." She sighed. "He was my brother."

"I am sorry. He sounds like a wise man."

"He could be that, sometimes. Perhaps he could even have become a good king, if he ever mellowed a bit."

"Pardon, did you say king?" Teagan's head came up from where he'd been going over a report.

Saitada gave a small laugh. "Ah. We never really did do formal introductions, did we? Before I became a Grey Warden, I was Saitada Aeducan, second child of King Endrin Aeducan. I had just been given the rank of military commander when I was exiled."

"Exiled?" Wynne's face showed her surprise.

"Let's just say Orzammar could teach Loghain a lesson or ten in backstabbing politics. My younger brother wanted the throne. Trian and I were in the way. Trian was killed, and I was blamed for his death."

"I'm sorry," Wynne said, her voice sympathetic.

"I lost one family." She shook her head. "But, becoming a Warden has given me another." Then she laughed. "A surprisingly more functional one, in spite of their differences."

"They seem like good people."

"And look, we've even added a grandmother to the mix."

"I am not sure I am quite old enough to be your grandmother, young lady." Wynne folded her arms as Teagan laughed.

#

Brosca noted the assassin walking down the hall. He shrugged, and caught up with him. "Care to answer some questions?"

"Oh? This should be good. Go ahead."

"You're from Antiva?"

"Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you?" He laughed. "The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there." His voice became fond. "It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva, it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes."

"And it has assassins."

"Every land has its assassins. Some are simply more open about their business than others." Zevran shrugged. "I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?"

"I am from Orzammar, of course." Brosca shrugged. "Not the glittering part."

"Ahhh, yes, the city of lava and stone. It, too, is beautiful in its way. Sad that it will never see sunlight or smell the salt of the ocean, however." Zevran's eyes grew wistful. "Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most."

Brosca chuckled. He found himself rather liking the way the elf talked. "Is that some kind of euphemism?"

Zevran laughed. "It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates." He shook his head fondly. "I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complaned of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else."

"You sound like you've been away from home forever." He wondered if the day would ever come that he actually missed Orzammar, rather than just missing Rica and Leske.

"Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly." He gave a regretful shrug. "Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship... AH, but I was a fool to leave them." He smiled ruefully. "I thought, 'Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward for a job well done!'. More the fool I, no?"

Brosca grinned. "Your home is still there, Zevran."

"True, and it's a comforting thought." He winked at Brosca. "One simply never knows what is to come next. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a handsome Grey Warden, a man who then spares my life? I could not."

"Handsome?"

"Hm... Perhaps that was a poor choice of words, true though it is. Do you object?"

"Not at all. It was just unexpected."

"And glad I am to hear it." Zevran stretched his neck from side to side. "Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal."

"Tavern has some decent ale. Was thinking of finding Lenore and dragging her out for a congratulatory drink. Join us?"

"I would be delighted."

#

They'd been in Redcliffe two days before Jerath finally got a chance to leave the room without someone fussing over him. There had been a few moments when he'd considered leaving by the window. He found Morrigan in a tower, one with a view of the lake.

She glanced at him, and actually smiled. "You have escaped your jailors."

"I was starting to consider gnawing my leg off."

"Their concern was not wholly unjustified. The fade is dangerous enough for a mage to traverse." She gave him a considering look. "I am impressed."

He offered her the tome he'd found in the First Enchanter's office. Her eyes widened. "What? You found Flemeth's grimoire?" She took it from him almost reverently, her eyes revealing her amazement. "When I spoke of it to you, I did not truly hope... ah, but this is a most fortuitous event!" She smiled. "You have my thanks. I will begin study of the tome immediately."

"What do you hope to find within it?" He considered telling her about the rage, and what had happened in the fade, and then decided against it. It was still raw.

"Secrets. My mother has many of them, and this tome represents the one time that they were able to get away from her." She opened it, her eyes scanning the page eagerly. "I do not intend to squander this opportunity to learn more than Flemeth wished me to know. This should be... interesting."

He nodded, then started to walk away. He turned back after a few steps. "How did you become a shapechanger?"

"I was not born such. 'Tis a skill of Flemeth's, taught over many years in the Wilds. The Chasind have tales of we witches, saying we assume the forms of creatures to watch them from hiding. When a child is alone and separate from his tribe, that is when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured. A most amusing legend."

He shook his head. "Seems a rather impractical way to hunt. I truly doubt children would be worth the effort. So many of them are filthy, smelly things full of tears and snot and trouble."

She laughed. "I cannot speak for the tastes of my mother. She has, after all, lived a very lengthy time in the Wilds and done many things I know nothing of."

"Your mother has been doing this for a long time, then?"

"Change her form, certainly. Devouring lost children, I cannot say. She has not done it in my experience, though in truth my lifespan is but a fraction of her own. Why do you ask? Is there something specific you wish to know?"

He thought back to the fade, and how he'd managed to change his form. "I've never heard of magic like that before."

"No? Tis not unheard of, in remote corners of the world. There are traditions of magic outside of the Circle of Magi, despite what those mages would have you believe. Some of these traditions are old, indeed, passed down as carefully-guarded lore from one generation to the next. The zealots of the Chantry would uproot all such practitioners if they could, but as luck have it some still exist. My mother is such a one."

"That's good. Such traditions need to be preserved."

"I am surprised you think so. Still, 'tis a pleasant thing to hear."

"Can anyone become a shapechanger?"

"Anyone with sufficient will. But the act of transformation is a magical one. 'Tis a spell, and thus requires a mage's talents. If you had a notion to learn such a skill for yourself, sadly you must remain disappointed."

He leaned on the windowframe. "Do you spend a lot of time as an animal?"

"There were nights when the Wilds called to me, 'tis true. You look upon the world around you and you think you know it will. I have smelled it as a wolf, listened as a cat, prowled shadows that you never dreamed existed. But my life is as a human. I am under no illusions to the contrary."

"Thank you for indulging my curiosity." He started to walk away again.

Her voice called him back. "Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch?"

"I find myself envious." That much was true. Even the time he'd spent as a mouse had been exhilarating in its own way. "Your abilities sound quite useful."

"Oh? You're simply full of surprises, little man, aren't you?" Her smile actually reached her eyes. He nodded, and left her to her tome.

#

Cathiel clutched the item to her. She'd spent most of the morning prowling around the castle, seeing what she could find. It was too much like home for her to be able to relax. She kept expecting to see her father walk around the corner, or hear Oriana calling after Oren. If she kept moving, she could almost stay ahead of the memories.

Alistair was engaged in battle against a practice dummy. She watched for a few moments. He spun, then caught her eye and smiled. He really did have a great smile, she thought to herself. She walked towards him. "Got a minute?"

"For you, I have days," he said, setting the sword aside.

"Here." She placed the item in his hand.

He gave her a confused look, then looked down at it. "This..." His voice choked slightly. "This is my mother's amulet. It has to be. But why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?"

"I found it in the castle, in the study."

"Oh." He looked at it again, then back up at her. "The arl's study?" He shook his head. "Then he must have... found the amulet after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired it and kept it? I don't understand, why would he do that?"

She set her hand on his arm. "Perhaps you mean more to him than you think."

His face softened. "I... guess you could be right. We never really talked that much, and then the way I left..." He looked into her eyes. "Thank you. I mean it. I... thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity." He looked back up at the castle. "I'll need to talk to him about this." His face fell a little. "If he recovers from his..." He shook his head and closed his hand around the amulet. "When he recovers, that is. I wish I'd had this a long time ago." He put it around his neck, then looked back at her. "Did you remember me mentioning it? Wow. I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

She blinked at him. "Sorry? Did you say something?"

"Ho, ho, ho. See this gesture I'm making. Can you hear that?"

She smiled at him fondly. "Of course I remembered. You're special to me."

He blushed. "I don't know what to say. You're special to me, too. Thank you again." He shuffled his feet. "Is this the part where the music starts and we begin dancing? Because I'm game. Where's the minstrels?"

"I think they got dragged to the tavern by some of the locals who wanted to buy them drinks. We could head over, find out if Brehan can hold his liquor?"

"Ooh, now, that does sound entertaining."

#

The next morning, Saitada sent a runner around to gather her companions. Brehan and Leliana were quite clearly nursing hangovers under the disapproving stare of Wynne. Brosca sat on a bench, with Lenore next to him, plaiting his beard while Zevran offered up a few suggestions. Cathiel and Alistair were deep in conversation. Morrigan and Jerath sat tucked away, apparently engrossed in some sort of board game. Sten waited for her by the door.

"We need a Landsmeet," she said as she looked around the room. "Without one, we've no way to get Ferelden behind us. So our next destination is Denerim, to see what we can do to either get Eamon back on his feet, or find some other way of calling one."

"We could talk to Arl Urien, in Denerim," Cathiel suggeested.

Saitada shook her head. "He died at Ostagar."

"Then Vaughan is Arl. He won't be much help."

"He's dead too," Jerath said.

"Which leaves Denerim without an Arl." Cathiel tapped a finger to her lip

Saitada rubbed her head. "Actually, it seems Denerim does have an Arl. Howe."

"I..."

"Cathiel, I know you want him dead, and I agree. But we need allies before we can move against him directly. He gets in the way of one of your arrows, that's fine, but we can't go hunting him right now."

Cathiel sighed, and nodded. "Okay."

"There is this urn of Sacred Ashes business, and a Brother Genitivi. Teagan is going to see what he can do for us on his end. For now, Redcliffe is our base of operations. Brehan, any way to send a runner to your people?"

Brehan considered, and then shook his head. "Things the way they are, I'd have to go myself."

"Let's table that thought for now." She sighed, and then looked at Brosca. "Pack up, people. Denerim awaits."