Nine: Disarm


"The killer in me is the killer in you."
--Smashing Pumpkins, "Disarm"


Kathil:

That night, she let Cullen go back to his room alone.

The afternoon's dalliance had been delightful, but she could tell that the idea of continuing it was something that Cullen was going to have to think about for a bit. It would be all right if it never went beyond where they had left it; perhaps it was just a temporary madness.

She rather thought that there was going to be a repeat, and likely more. If she were to wager, that was.

Kathil sat at the desk in her room, staring at a blank sheet of paper, trying to collect her thoughts. Zevran was sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading the letter that she'd gotten from Irving earlier. "You are right," he said now, frowning. "Something has happened. Are you certain you wish to investigate? The Circle may not appreciate it."

"The sodding Circle has no choice, Zev," Kathil said, frowning deeply. She pushed her chair back and turned it around so she was sitting facing him. "I need to know what's going on there, because if the Tower comes apart at the seams, we could be facing yet another crisis. Best find out sooner rather than later."

"As you say." He set aside Irving's letter, and held out a hand to her. "Come here, little bird? I have a gift for you."

She abandoned her chair and scrambled onto the bed. Lorn, lying curled on his big pillow at the foot of the bed, lifted his head, then apparently decided that his human was just being strange in that human way she had and tucked his nose back into his flank.

"You found something in the market for me?" she asked. "New quills, I bet."

Zevran chuckled. "Not quite." He reached behind him and handed her a shallow box made of dark wood, a bit larger than palm-sized. The wood was polished to a finish nearly silk-like, and warmed in Kathil's hand as she took it from him.

She glanced at Zevran, and opened the box.

Inside it were loops of glittering metal chain, studded with gems. She sucked in a breath and gently slipped her fingers beneath the chain and lifted it.

It was a necklace made of some of the finest chain she had ever set eyes on, in a metal that looked like silver but didn't shine quite like it. The gems were sapphires in varying shades, from nearly green to almost black, set at the intersections of woven chain. There was one slightly thicker chain, from which the woven chains fell, anchoring it. "It's beautiful, Zev."

"Ah, but I have not told you what it is for," he said, and she saw him smile. "See the center, where there is a space between the chains? That is for your Oath. The smaller chains detach when you do not wish to wear them."

She could see the clasps now, where the draped chains that held the gems would detach from the thicker chain. After laying the necklace back in its box, she pulled her Warden's Oath off of her neck and undid the chain, sliding the battered vial off of the chain she had worn every day since that night she had become a Grey Warden.

There was a clasp on the necklace for the vial, and she attached it and held it up. "Help me put it on?"

He did, lifting her hair away from her neck and fastening the clasp of the necklace. The woven chains settled against her throat as if they belonged there, as if they had always been there. "Do you like it?" he asked, and took advantage of her bared neck to drop a kiss just below her ear.

"Zev, I love it." She twisted around so she could look at him, saw a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, eyes glinting. "Where on earth did you find it?"

"Ah, that would be telling, would it not?" Now the smile was decidedly present. "The sapphires, I have been holding on to since Orzammar, thinking I would eventually find a use for them. The rest…it is possible to find almost anything in the market district, is it not? Rare metals, a dwarf skilled in the finer points of jewelry making…you see, yes?" He traced a finger from her jaw down to her neck. "It simply seemed a shame that you had nothing beautiful to set your Oath into."

She touched her Oath, felt how anchored it was with the metal weaving surrounding it. She pulled Zevran's mouth to hers, kissing him lingeringly. "You are an altogether terrible man," she murmured. "You let me think you were sleeping your way through the King's Guard and half of the nobles, but that is exactly what you were not doing, was it?"

Zevran smiled. "Only a little," he admitted. "Mostly, I was parting them from their money."

"Wicked," she muttered. "Very wicked, Zev." She set her forehead against his, the ends of their noses touching. "And I mean that in the best possible way."

She claimed his mouth again, and for a long time there were no words between them at all.

The next afternoon, she headed to the library to start in on some work she had been neglecting. Cullen was off showing Fiann various parts of Denerim, and Zevran and Leliana were sparring with some of the Guard. Lorn was with her, at her side with his claws ticking against the stone.

She dropped down in her chair, the familiar mess of her work around her. She pulled three books from her stack: a thin tome that was largely made up of charts and maps, a thicker book about the distribution of plants along the north shore of the Waking Sea, and one bound in dark red leather that was, as far as she could tell, the most accurate book about the first Exalted Marches currently extant.

Kathil went to drop them in the middle of her workspace, and paused. There was something on the table that hadn't been there the last time she was here. After setting the books to one side, she picked up the object—a small metal box with a clasp.

She flipped open the clasp and lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of parchment. Frowning, she picked up the note, opening it to see Cullen's now-familiar handwriting.

Saw these at the market and remembered you talking about wanting some. Hope I got the right ones.

C.

Beneath where the note had lain, there was a set of four steel nibs and a pen and holder made of horn. The nibs were plain, but the quality of the work was unmistakable. The four nibs each had a different type of end, one broad and three pointed.

They were every bit as fine as the ones she had seen in Orzammar and dismissed as a frivolous expense. She dropped down in her chair abruptly, and the wood creaked beneath her assault. She wondered where he had come up with the money for them. Grey Wardens didn't precisely get a salary—and neither did Templars. In the Tower, at least, there was nothing to spend coin on anyway.

She would have to ask him. For the moment, though, she took an oddly satisfying pleasure in testing each of the nibs against her finger, picking the one that felt the most like the quill tips she usually cut, and fitting that nib into the holder and the holder into the pen with a click.

Not a jeweled necklace. But just as thoughtful, and just as precious. And both made something flutter in her stomach and just beneath her breastbone.

Kathil opened her books, pulled out and arranged her notes, and got to work.

The metal nib was a little difficult to get used to at first, but the horn pen was comfortable and warmed nicely in her hand, and she soon was writing almost as quickly as she would with a quill. She cross-referenced descriptions from the book about the Exalted Marches with the herbal, trying to match mentions of plants in one book with listings in the other. It was work that required a lot of flipping through the herbal, trying to find common plant names that might be listed in unexpected places.

Lorn stirred and rumbled, and Kathil heard footsteps approaching. She wiped her pen on the ink cloth and looked up.

The person who approached her looked—familiar.

He was dressed as a messenger, plain clothing and sturdy boots. He had a hat pulled low over his eyes, but under the hat his hair was dark, and he wore a full beard that hid much of his lower face and blurred the outline of his jaw. But—that slouch. And the way his hand was reaching out—

Jowan.

But Jowan was dead.

"Kathil," the man said, and it was Jowan's voice. Maker's Breath. Beside her Lorn had picked up on the sudden turbulence in her and was growling, low and steady. "Please, Kathil. I need to speak with you."

"You're dead," she said, but her voice was a breathy squeak. "They executed you." She had told Bann Teagan to kill him. It was far less cruel than what the Templars would have done to him once they'd gotten their hands on him, and even after everything that had happened, after Jowan had betrayed everything she thought they had believed—she could not bring herself to turn him over to the Templars.

He had broken her heart not once but twice and he was standing there asking to talk to her.

Merciful Andraste, I am a fool.

She stood abruptly, and next to her Lorn was on his feet. The warhound's ears were flattened. Was this a bad man?

"Maybe," she muttered. "This way." There was a study off the library that would be empty this time of day, and the walls were thick. If it came down to a shouting match—or a fight—nobody would be alerted until it was over.

She showed Jowan into the study and shut the door behind them. "Explain," she said, and her voice was low and murderous. "Now."

Jowan pulled his hat off, revealing black hair matted to his head with sweat. "I escaped," he said sourly. "Or maybe Teagan let me go. Hard to tell. All I know is that there was a moment where the key was in reach and the guards were distracted. So I ran."

"You do know that Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde are in Denerim right now, yes?" From the startled look on Jowan's face, he had not. "What do you want, Jowan?"

He held his hands out to her, palms up. His hands had once been her favorite part of him. Now, they were scarred, white lines crisscrossing the palms, winding around the fingers. "Conscript me, Grey Warden," he said in a low voice. "I volunteer."

She stared at him, and she saw the little line appear between those raven-sharp brows that was always there when he was trying to talk her into something. "No."

"But—"

"No, Jowan." She turned on her heel and took three steps away from him, coming up against the window that looked down into the large courtyard on the castle interior. "You do not get to do what you've done and then come crawling back to me asking to be conscripted. Putting the whole maleficar issue aside—" because really, did she have much room to talk there?— "you nearly killed someone who I consider a friend. Forced me to go on a two sodding month side trip to one of the creepier ends of Ferelden to find something—anything—that would bring him back, because without him I didn't stand a chance of uniting this country." She turned to face him. "Not to mention that you betrayed me. You insisted you weren't a blood mage, Jowan."

"And is that all you see when you look at me, Kathil?" he asked, and his voice was steady. "Only a blood mage? Just like you are only a Grey Warden? I told you that I wanted to put things right. I can't do that if I'm dead." He took a breath, and he closed his eyes. "I am so sorry, about everything. You have no idea just how sorry. If I could go back and fix everything, I would. But I can't, and we—"

"We," she echoed quietly. "There is no we any more. We were friends, once, and all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. But you got Lily sent to the Aeonar, and me conscripted into the Grey Wardens, and then you showed up like a bad copper in Redcliffe. You're supposed to be dead, Jowan. Why aren't you?"

There was little humor in his eyes. "Because you and I are very good at one thing. Surviving."

And by the Maker, it was true.

Jowan was a year older than her, but he'd arrived only a little while before she had. They had been lost in the halls of the Tower together, a pair of skinny children who crept along the walls as if their hands on the stone could make sense of this, could make sense of the way everything from before the men in armor and the lake melted and twisted together. As they'd grown up and learned how to use their talents, they had gotten in trouble more times than Kathil could count.

The Senior Enchanters had spoken of trying to separate the two of them, but there was really no separating two apprentices in the Tower. They always found each other again, whispering behind doorways, climbing to the tops of bookcases and lying along the dusty tops, their heads touching.

Jowan was the only person she'd ever told about her friendship with Cullen.

They had stolen for each other, lied for each other. She still remembered Jowan claiming that homework had required them to sneak out of the Tower and to the shore of Lake Calenhad, where they had been discovered by a Templar on outside rounds. All they had wanted to do was go wading, but the Templars had acted like the touch of lake water on their ankles meant that demons were about to take their bodies and go on a rampage.

Miraculously, the Templars had believed Jowan's lie, and had even gone and given the enchanter who'd given them that supposed homework a talking-to. It wasn't the first time, or the last, that Jowan would get the two of them out of a tight spot.

They'd survived.

Until they had grown up, and grown a little apart. And then had come her Harrowing and Jowan had asked her for a favor, that favor, and all she had ever wanted was that he be happy, even if it meant that he was going to leave the Tower forever. And she couldn't stand the thought of him being made Tranquil. So she'd helped him and hadn't even considered going to Irving about it.

Then everything had exploded in her face, and when it was done her life in the Tower was over and Jowan was gone.

Now, he was here.

"I should kill you," she said, her voice low and cold.

That was such a familiar expression on his face, though the beard hid how one corner of his mouth lifted and curled upward. "You could try." His voice was equally low. "I'm more dangerous than I look, Kathil."

She snorted gently. "So am I. And the answer is still no."

Jowan shook his head. "You're going to need me, I think."

"And why is that?"

"Because I know what's going on at the Circle Tower. Why they've suddenly had a bunch of mages and Templars leave for the Grey Wardens." He glanced at her hands, and she realized that she'd curled her fingers into fists, and there was lightning sparking along her skin.

She swallowed and steeled herself, and the sparks went out. "How do you know?"

Jowan shrugged. "Because I was there. Sort of. And I…well, I suppose you could say I started it."

Kathil managed a strangled, "What?" before the sparks along her skin were back, and she gritted her teeth and yet again got hold of herself.

Then the door slammed open and Maker's Balls there was Cullen standing there with his sword in his hand and Fiann doing her best intimidating puppy bark behind him and Lorn had moved, ears flattened and head held low, advancing on Jowan.

And if she didn't do something this was going to end altogether badly—

*****

Cullen:

It had been a pleasant day.

He'd walked around Denerim with Fiann in tow, carrying her when she got tired. She was getting almost too big to carry comfortably; fortunately, her stamina was also improving. They had gone to the Alienage and Fiann had flirted her way through the entire place. They'd gone to the market district, and to Wade's Emporium (where Wade, the smith, had been delighted to see them and inquired as to whether Fiann was going to need an armored collar; Herren, his shopkeeper, had just groaned) and to the Wonders of Thedas. They had stopped by the Chantry and then come back to the palace.

He'd thought to stop by the library and then go back to the kennels so Fiann could have a well-deserved meal and nap. But when he'd gotten to the library, Kathil wasn't immediately apparent, and there was the feeling of the Veil shredding coming from behind a study door.

He hadn't even thought before his sword was out of its sheath and he was bursting through the door into the study. Kathil was standing there, with her shoulders set and lightning on her fingertips, Lorn was growling, and the other person in the room—

The messenger.

But his hat was off now and Cullen could see his eyes. Shock washed over him. It was Jowan.

The blood mage.

I thought he was dead—

Templar training kicked in, and Cullen focused his will and released the cleansing. Jowan staggered; Kathil's lightning went out. Cullen shifted his grip on his sword and stepped forward, intending to run Jowan through.

"HOLD, Cullen! Lorn, stop!"

And that was discipline too, the way the barked word froze him in place for a moment, and Kathil was in front of him with a hand on his chest. "Don't kill him, Cullen." She glanced over her shoulder with a dark look for the blood mage. "Not yet."

He lowered his sword. "Why is he still alive? I thought they'd executed him."

"So did I," she said. Her mouth twisted. "He's alive for the same reason I am, Cullen."

Because I have done what I had to, to survive.

She didn't say it, but he saw it on her face. "Fine," he said as he sheathed his sword. "Just let me know when you want him dead."

Because he remembered this mage.

He and Kathil were rarely apart, physically dissimilar (she the bright and he the dark) but two of a kind in how very much trouble they were capable of being. You had to keep a close eye on the two of them, and assume whenever you saw one alone, the other was somewhere about, unseen. They'd been caught trying to escape once, wading into the lake, and had managed to spin some story about homework that he would never understand why anyone had bought.

(And the lake was deep and cold and had unexpected currents, and mages were not taught how to swim. He'd wanted to shake her and yell at her that she could have drowned. He hadn't. But he'd wanted to.)

He hadn't been there when Jowan had escaped. He had seen what happened after, the stunned look in Kathil's eyes and the blood spattered on her face, hauled through the entrance hall by the Grey Warden's mailed hand on her arm.

Then she was gone, and then the news of what happened at Ostagar came, and he couldn't help but blame Jowan for her death.

Then, Uldred had happened.

It had all started with Jowan. And from the look on Kathil's face, this was not something she was going to forget easily. Good.

"You, sit." She stabbed a finger at Jowan. "Lorn, leave him alone. Cullen, Jowan was about to tell me how exactly he's managed to break the Circle. Again."

There was a rueful look on the blood mage's face, and he dropped into a nearby chair. Kathil leaned against the desk, and Lorn settled at her feet. He heard Fiann move, and she came to lie down next to him, the hair on her back still standing on end.

Cullen stayed where he was, one hand on his sword hilt.

Jowan took a breath, and began to speak.

*****

Jowan:

When one had a pair of angry Grey Wardens (and a Mabari who looked distinctly unfriendly) staring at one, it was always prudent to choose one's words carefully.

Even if one of those Grey Wardens was a friend. Maybe especially if that Grey Warden had been one's best friend, once upon a time.

Maker's Breath, how was he going to explain this?

He'd had in his head a picture of the girl he'd once known, a picture that didn't at all match the woman who was staring at him, her arms crossed. Same nearly-white hair, same black eyes, but everything else was different. That scar on her face, the way the bones pressed against her skin, how she stood, how she moved like a warrior, planting her feet. He'd been confident that if he could just get to her and explain, she'd understand.

He'd forgotten that almost four years and a war had passed, and neither of them were going to be the same.

"After Redcliffe…" he began, and faltered as Kathil's eyes narrowed. "All right, after I escaped the execution which, yes, I richly deserved, I ran as far as I could get. That happened to be to the south, into the Korcari Wilds. I stayed there for some months, and I made a friend or two while I was down there. One of them was an apostate, a shapechanger. Batty old woman, but she did teach me some things while I stayed with her." He spread his hands. "She sent me off on a trip south to some Chasind she wanted some supplies from, and when I got back I found that someone had come along and killed her while I was gone."

Kathil looked aghast. "You were staying with Flemeth?"

He blinked. "You knew her?"

She fisted one hand and put her forehead against it, an expression he couldn't name twisting her face. "I was friends with her daughter. So. Flemeth died. Then what?"

"I left. Figured it was prudent, after all, that whoever had done for her might come back one day. I traveled a lot, practicing the shapechanging. Trying to figure out how I was going to fix everything. I finally settled down in the foothills of the Frostbacks, after I heard the Blight had been broken. Spent about three years there, trying to at least not cause any more damage. Figuring out how to live with the blood magic." He saw Kathil's mouth firm, and shook his head. "It's just another school of magic, Kathil. It has terrible applications, but so does every other school. You can do useful and good things with it. It's just…it does strange things to your mind, is all."

"Makes you want to do things like turn all of the Senior Enchanters into abominations?" Kathil asked, and her voice was not without an edge.

Jowan shook his head. He'd imagined this conversation so many times, and this was always the part where he never knew what to say, or how to say it. "Remember using to learn lightning, how we were so aware that lightning is everywhere? Blood is everywhere. In me, in you, in everyone. Blood stains everything it touches, permanently. It makes noise. It takes time to learn how to tune it out, just like we tune out lightning's crackle, fire's song. I haven't made any pacts with demons."

Not that there hasn't been ample opportunity.

He took a long breath. "So. I started traveling again about half a year ago. When you're an apostate, you have to keep moving. A couple of months after I left where I'd been living, I came to Lothering. They're still rebuilding, and they were looking for men with strong backs to help. So I hired on for a bit and helped build barns. I was thinking about moving on when a squad of Templars arrived in town. I recognized a couple of them from the Tower. I probably should have just taken my leave, but I was curious. So I arranged to listen in when they went to talk to the Revered Mother. They mentioned that they were collecting more Templars for Tower duty, since they had recently lost twenty men due to some attack on the Tower. Something to do with the Grey Warden who had so recently returned there. So…" He spread his hands, feeling scar stretch. "I went looking for you, Kathil."

"And you didn't think that someone would have noticed that you'd come back?"

He shrugged. "Shapechanging. Flemeth thought the fact that my favorite form was that of a mouse was funny, but mice have sharp ears and noses, they're tiny and agile, and nobody thinks too much about it when they see a mouse. Unlike, say, a giant spider or a bear. I hitched a ride in a crate coming over in the boat, and went looking for you. Unfortunately, you'd been gone for months. And even more unfortunately, there were…tensions between the mages. The various factions have gotten even more fractious, and a sizeable number of the younger mages have broken off into their own faction, claiming that mages are meant to serve the world—and that means running off to join the Grey Wardens."

He could see the light of understanding coming into Kathil's dark eyes. "Petra was one of those?"

"One of them? She led them. Anyway, Petra and a handful of other mages tried to leave. Some of the Templars tried to stop them. Some of the rest defended the mages trying to leave. Greagoir was in favor of killing them all. They kept invoking your name, which as far as I can tell won them no points at all with Greagoir. Irving finally intervened and convinced him that as long as the mages had Templar escort and went right to Amaranthine, they didn't have a whole lot of call to stop them."

"And why did you say you started it?" she asked.

He grimaced. Cullen shifted, and he glanced at the Templar (former Templar, and out of armor he looked so strange), receiving a cold glare in return. "I spoke to Petra," he said, keeping his voice low. "I needed to know where you'd gone, and she seemed the least likely to try to kill me out of hand. She told me Irving had gotten a letter from you, saying you were in Denerim. Then…she started asking me questions. About what it was like to be out of the Tower, what it was like to travel. The next day, she's there shouting at the Templars on the doors."

"Ah, Maker, she has been utterly spoiling to get out of the Tower," Kathil said, and shook her head. "She was always Wynne's pet. Between Wynne's stories, and the stories she got out of me, I was half expecting her to demand to come with me when I left for Waking Sea. I think she was only still there because she's terrified of Templars."

"Well. She isn't quite so terrified these days," Jowan said. "Anyway, Irving gave Petra a packet of letters and told her to find a messenger at the docks to go to Denerim with them. I volunteered to carry them the rest of the way. Had to admit I was surprised when she told me that yon Templar was traveling with you."

And there.

There it was, a glance between his old friend and the former Templar, and there was something soft and sweet on both their faces. Just a flash, and abruptly he understood why Cullen had come banging in like he had.

Who would have thought that madness was catching?

"If you're going to try to set things right with the Circle, you're probably going to need my help," he said. "I have every reason to hate the Tower, Kathil, but…you weren't there. You didn't see what happened. There is something altogether strange happening at the Tower. I can't really explain it."

He was a blood mage, and the Tower was bleeding.

Blood makes noise.

"The Tower's a necessary evil," Kathil said, her voice quiet. "You've always known that, Jowan. So have I. I might not be a part of it any more, but I also can't let it fall if there's something I can do about it. Of course…there is the possibility that it may have to die in order to change." She raised her chin a little and fixed him with a dark gaze. "I really do not think I need your help. I have quite enough strays as it is."

Jowan clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth together. "Do the Grey Wardens reject blood magic, then?"

"No," she said. "We use whatever we can in the service of what we are made for. This isn't about your magic, Jowan. It's about you. And me. And a perfectly sweet sister-in-training who is in the Aeonar because of you. And a little boy who should have been sent to the Tower instead of trained by an apostate—or, at least, that apostate should have secured his books a bit better. And a good man who nearly died. And sodding war I had to fight. Because of you, and your selfishness."

Now he had his arms crossed, as well. Cullen was shifting where he stood, but Jowan spared barely a glance for him. The dangerous person in the room right now was Kathil. "I am not asking for forgiveness. Just a chance to do what I can to remedy my mistakes. To serve something greater than myself. I will do whatever you ask of me, Kathil, as long as I am allowed this."

She drew a sharp breath. "Anything?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I want a phylactery from you, Jowan." Her voice was measured and inexorable. "A vial of blood, to be enchanted and then stored at a place of my discretion. And should you ever betray me, or the Grey Wardens, know that I will use it to personally hunt you down and kill you. No mercy. You will be under my direct command until such time as I think you might be trusted out of my sight. Understood?"

He felt his whole body sag. Ah, Maker, another phylactery, another leash, another noose. But it was necessary. "Understood, Warden."

Kathil stepped forward. She approached him, stopping only when she was close enough to him that he could feel the hairs raise on the back of his neck from the cold lightning that was threatening to surround her just on the other side of the Veil. She bent down a little and put a hand on his cheek. He felt electricity run along his skin, just a little, under perfect control. "We are not friends," she said in a voice distant and chill as wind across snow. "Remember that, Jowan. Because I surely do."

Then she dropped her hand and stepped away. "We need to find Zevran and Leliana," she said to Cullen, and the warmth was returning to her voice. "Time for a darkspawn hunt. I'll give our apologies to Alistair. Do you think we can be ready to leave in a few hours? I don't want to have this one—" she pointed her chin at Jowan—"in the palace any longer than we have to have him here. Eamon is here, and I don't want to have to explain until after we know whether Jowan's going to survive the Joining. When we get back, I can get someone to tell me why exactly nobody saw fit to mention that Jowan was still running around the world."

Survive? Joining? But the look on Kathil's face forestalled any questions he might have, and he was abruptly distracted as a small, furry form hurtled into his shins. He looked down to see the puppy that had been following Cullen plant her enormous paws on his knees and give a sharp, demanding bark. Scratches now?

He obliged the pup. Well, at least someone likes me.

He wasn't here to be liked. Fortunately.

But it had been nice to hope.

*****

Alistair:

"I have to go," Kathil was saying. "We should be back in a week or so to finish out the season here."

He shook his head. "Is it something I can help with? I could send some men with you."

She had appeared in his study, walking through the wall, and from the way her body was nearly thrumming with tension there was something happening. Something big. "No," she said, and there was something about that singular word that set his teeth on edge. "Alistair, I swear I will explain when I return. But right now…we have to go hunt down some darkspawn." She put her hand into her pocket, and then held it out to him, slightly cupped.

In it lay a Warden's Oath. The vial was new, unscratched, the engravings still bright and clear. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.

He understood. And he knew better than to ask who, because if she wasn't telling him, it was a sure bet that he was not going to enjoy hearing the answer.

"Be safe," he said. "Come back whole."

Unexpectedly, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him. He stiffened and then, awkwardly, returned the hug. "Thank you," she said into his shirt. "For not asking."

Then she released him and was gone, and he was left to rake his hand through his hair and wonder if this was some new disaster about to be dropped onto his head. It wasn't his Warden-sense tingling this time. It was the sense that a storm was gathering, and he was only dimly aware of what it contained.

He hoped beyond hope that they would be equal to whatever approached.