That night she emptied her jewelry box and most of her wardrobe into two canvas bags. Sneaking out once her family was asleep, she hid them next to the house, under a bush.
"Running away, then?"
Leandra jumped, spinning around. "Gamlen! You scared me half to death."
"Well?" he said. "Are you?"
"Yes," she replied, not seeing any point to lying. "Are you going to tell mother and father?"
He sighed, sitting against the wall. "No," her brother said after a moment. "I think you're insane but… I can't say I'm surprised."
"Thank you," she said, sitting with him.
"So… I'm going to be an uncle, then?" he looked over, smirking. "I guess the magic fingers were more interesting than you thought."
"How did you…?"
"You've been drinking water at dinner," he said. "And you just admitted it." Gamlen looked over at her, glancing down.
"I'm not showing yet!" she said. "You don't need to check!"
"Sorry, sorry," he said. "Couldn't resist." After a moment he grumbled. "I suppose you want me to break it to them once you're gone?"
Leandra leaned over, giving him a hug. "Thank you," she said.
"I'm sure they'll find a way to make it my fault, you know. Leandra can do no wrong, all that."
She laughed. "Gamlen, I'm unmarried, pregnant, and the father is a soon to be apostate. And we're fleeing the country. I don't know if you could top that if you tried."
"Ah, so now it's 'Leandra is better at everything?'" he said.
Grinning, she elbowed him. "We're going to Ferelden. It should be far enough they can't track him, so we just need to make sure none of the templars there catch us."
"Good luck," he said finally.
"I'll write, once we're settled," she promised.
He nodded and returned inside.
The next day Leandra felt torn between joy and misery. She nearly sobbed at dinner, looking at her parents and knowing it could be the last time. When her father left to meet a friend for drinks and cards she was sure to say she loved him.
"I'm going out," she said to her mother, who had been watching her all night.
"Where?"
"Chantry," Leandra said. It was the first word that came to mind. Her mother only nodded.
After putting on her heaviest cloak over a plain dress, she set out. Her mother confronted her at the door. "Don't do this," she said.
"…do what, mother?"
"Whatever this foolish plan is," she said. "With that… mage."
"I have to," she said.
"No, you don't!" Elizabeth sighed. "You don't have to marry the Comte. You don't have to marry anyone. Just… don't do this."
"I have to," Leandra said. "I'm sorry."
"No, you don't," she repeated. "If you do you know your father will disown you. And Maker help me, I don't think I'll have it in me to disagree."
"Yes, I do," Leandra said. "I love him. He loves me." She took a breath. "And my child deserves to know her father."
"Your…?"
"Yes," she said.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "I suppose there's nothing more to say, then," she replied. "You'll have to live with the mess you've made."
"I look forward to it," Leandra said. "Goodbye, mother. I love you."
When her mother didn't answer Leandra couldn't stop the tears that escaped.
Making sure to grab her hidden bags before leaving the estate grounds, Leandra stopped in the market to trade as much of it for coin as possible. Coin would be more helpful to them than silk gowns and precious stones.
Once she had made her way to Lowtown, she began to look for the tavern. Leandra tried not to stare at the people; she had never seen such poverty. Glancing a young couple, smiling at each other despite their ragged clothing, she wondered if that would be her life from now on. Her feeling of confidence brought on by their happy mood was shattered two blocks over, when a woman her own age stopped her, one thin hand on her sleeve as she begged for money to feed the scrawny toddler behind her skirts.
Nothing to be done, she reminded herself. Poor here, poor in Ferelden. My family won't feed a mage's bastard.
At last, after several wrong turns, she found a building with a wooden cutout of a man suspended by his leg from a rope above the door. After a moment of hesitation, she entered.
Malcolm was nowhere to be seen. Scanning the crowd, she waved off a waitress who offered to bring her a drink.
She looked around again, finally spotting him. "Mal," Leandra called, waving. He looked up and, on seeing her, stood. Removing the worn cap from his head, Malcolm quickly pulled a chair out for her. A few patrons, observing them, snickered.
"I've never been in a tavern before," she admitted quietly.
"Me neither," he said. "It's... um... it's more rustic than I expected."
She giggled. "Well, you look the part. Where did you get the clothes?" In addition to the cap he was wearing a rough once-white shirt and coarse trousers. From the way he sat, legs apart, she could tell he was distinctly uncomfortable.
"Stole them," he admitted. "Figured robes would get me caught faster than we could blink. Although with the way I want to tear them from my legs I think I may give myself away."
"Good plan," Leandra agreed. "Except for the tearing part. I suspect even in Lowtown running around in your smalls would attract a good bit of attention."
They both laughed. "What?" he asked a moment later. "I know that look."
"Just... If our daughter ever asks about our past let leave the theft out of the story."
"Agreed," he said. "It's a boy, though. And I want to name him after me."
She laughed. "No, a girl. I just know. Don't ask how."
Malcolm put a hand on her stomach. "Nope. A son. My son." He leaned closer and winked. "Once were alone I can find out for sure. I know a spell."
She shook her head, saying, "I'd rather wait and see."
"Suit yourself, Leandra," he said. Seconds later he nodded towards her stomach and said "Prove her wrong, Malcolm Junior!" She could only chuckle, feeling certain it was a girl.
That night they slept in a rough bed on the second floor. When Leandra couldn't stop worrying long enough to cease her tossing and turning Malcolm curled up beside her, brushing her hair back with one hand. She suspected he was casting a spell, but her eyes finally drifted closed before she could say anything.
He was already awake when her eyes opened. "Morning, love," Malcolm whispered, running his fingertips along her side.
"Morn— Oh!" without another word Leandra darted to the pot in the corner.
Malcolm was quickly behind her, hands glowing. "I'm so sorry," he said. "This is my fault."
"This is nature," she replied once her stomach had quieted thanks to whatever he had cast. "It will be worth it in the end."
"It will be," Malcolm agreed. "When we see our son."
"Daughter."
He snorted. "You'll see."
She slowly began getting dressed. "Why are you so insistent that we're having a son?"
"We can't very well name our daughter Malcolm," he replied. "That would just be silly."
Leandra worked a brush through her hair. "And our child needs to be named after you… why?"
He sat across from her on the bed, red hair still sticking up wildly. "Because," Malcolm said, "I have been told since I was eight years old that I would never have a family. I never really thought much about it… but now that I am? I feel like I want the whole world to know. And if that means I have to stamp my name on the boy so everyone knows he's Malcolm Hawke's son, then that's what I'll do." He fell to his side, propping himself on one elbow. "Not that I would love a daughter any less. But following her everywhere screaming 'hey! That's my kid!' would probably get tiresome quickly for all of us."
"Agreed," she said. "Get dressed. I'm starving."
"All right, all right," he said. "Is this that 'eating for two' thing?"
"For two?" she said. "I haven't even eaten for one today!"
He made a face at her, laughing as he pulled his clothes on. Before they left Malcolm pulled a small drawstring purse from his pocket, emptying it on the bed. "So… um…"
"Yes?" she asked, eyeing the small pile of coins.
"How much is food?" Malcolm asked, blushing. "I sold a few things to get this but… I have no idea what anything should cost."
She picked through the pile, removing one silver. "This should be enough." Before Malcolm could respond Leandra scooped up the rest of the coins, adding it to her own stash.
"Hey!" he said.
"You don't know what things cost," she said. "You want to stop and ask me before everything we buy? We'll get robbed blind!"
When she slid the coin across the table downstairs and the waitress snorted, saying "silver? Where are we? Hightown?" Malcolm only smirked at her.
The door opened halfway through their meal. Leandra glanced up, gasping. "Mal!" she hissed. "Don't look over, but a templar just came in." When he turned his head anyways she grabbed him. "Mal! He's looking around for someone!" She glanced back towards the stairs. "We need to hide!"
"No," he said, waving his hand. "This one's a friend." Standing up, he waved. "Carver!"
The man glanced over, removing his helm and smiling. "Mal!" he called, walking over.
"How goes the hunt?" Malcolm asked once the templar had joined them.
"Oh, frustrating," he said. "Last I knew you were seen boarding a ship bound for Minrathrous. Slipped right through my grasp, you did."
"A real loss for the Circle, to be sure," Malcolm said.
"Indeed," he agreed. The man reached into a pocket of his armor's tunic. "Here you go. Two tickets for Ferelden, leaving today. Have fun with the dog lords, Mal."
"Hey now," he replied, grinning. "Remember who you're talking to."
"The guy who managed to screw up his first assignment so badly they'll be talking about it for years?" the templar said with a grin. "Really, Mal? The Lord's daughter?"
Malcolm smiling, taking Leandra's hand. "Can you blame me?"
"I'm not answering that," he replied. "I say no, you get jealous. I say yes, you get offended." Carver shook his head. "No winning there. No matter what I'll just sound rude."
Both men laughed, Malcolm suddenly cutting himself off. "Maker, speaking of rude. Leandra, this is Ser Maurevar Carver. Carver, this is Leandra Amell."
"My lady," the templar said, nodding. "Don't mind us, Mal and I have been friends for nearly ten years now, ever since I was assigned to the Circle as a templar's squire." He looked back at Mal, adding "although I think I've more than paid back a few lifetimes worth of favors with this."
"We can't thank you enough," Leandra said.
"Just… don't tell anyone who helped you if this goes bad," he said. "I don't relish the idea of losing my head." He paused, grinning. "And hey," the templar added, "if it's a boy, you could name him after me!"
Later on, Leandra glanced over at Malcolm as they packed quickly to catch the boat. "I am not naming any child of mine Maurevar."
"Maker's breath," Malcolm said, sounding horrified. "I wasn't about to ask you to! That's just mean."