A/N: It doesn't apply to this particular chapter, but trigger warnings can be found on my author profile listed by story and chapter. I will keep them updated as the story goes forward. I currently warn for character death and consent issues, but if any readers need warnings for anything else, just let me know—no explanation needed—and I'll accommodate. Also, a thank you for LeliMor29 for the betas! (Which are still ongoing!) Thanks for reading, everyone.

Chapter 3

"The creature can speak. It has a name, Corypheus. We have encountered darkspawn before who use words, but none individual enough to have chosen a name. This Corypheus appears unique among darkspawn, and has gathered many of its brethren to follow it.

It would be wasteful to kill such a creature. If it can be captured, tamed somehow, its unnatural influence over the darkspawn could perhaps be turned to our favor. It is clear the darkspawn will never bow to human commands, but this Corypheus seems at times more human than beast. I have conversed with it, and though its thoughts are disordered and inhuman, it speaks of the Old Gods by their Tevinter names. I have wondered if perhaps he is no darkspawn at all, but a ghoul, so corrupted by the taint as to have become a new creature entirely.

I recommend we find a way to capture Corypheus, hold it somewhere safe from both men and darkspawn, and study its unique nature. This will require magic, however, for Corypheus's own abilities are powerful. It uses spells both human and tainted, and has a strength that would shame any magister. We must muster our best mages to face it and to hold it."

—from Warden-Commander Farele to the First Warden in Weisshaupt, 1004 TE

Malcolm

"Why did we agree to come with you, again?" Malcolm asked Bethany. Because now that they were on a ferry from the Gallows to Lowtown, with sights on Hightown and the Amell estate, he remembered how much Kirkwall bothered him. It made him itch under his skin, uncomfortable and wrong, yet too vague to track down.

"Because Hildur told us to, that's why," said Líadan.

"Oh, right. Orders." More like orders and then some, Malcolm thought. They'd barely had time to make farewells and assure Cáel and Ava that both their parents would be returning before they'd been ushered onto a ship. It hadn't helped that there had been some sort of anxiety within his children that wasn't normally there. He'd attributed it to them never having had both their parents gone for so long, but it still bothered him.

"You know, someone—more than a few someones—did try to kidnap me," said Bethany. "You could have some sympathy." It wasn't like Bethany had let them forget that she'd been attacked, either. She hadn't been in danger, not really. People who picked fights with Grey Wardens or the Silver Order tended to lose horribly.

He couldn't say that, though. Well, he could, but it would make him more of an ass than Carver, and he preferred letting Bethany's twin brother keep that particular honor. "I do have sympathy, I promise," he said out loud. "It's just that it's crazy at your sister's place and I just remembered."

Bethany huffed. "Ava was born here, you know."

"I realize. Please don't remind me." After all, Ava was Fereldan, and it was just a strange happenstance that she'd been misfortunate enough to be born within Kirkwall's city walls.

But Bethany wasn't going to let it go, because she never did. "Because my sister and her friends helped you."

When Malcolm heard Líadan quietly laughing behind her hand, he decided he was going on the offensive before the two of them ganged up on him, as they often had during their short trip. "They're my friends, too. Well, Anders is. And Merrill. And I think that Varric fellow is everyone's friend."

"He is," said Bethany. "Took him a while to warm up to Sebastian, though."

"Only the Maker's grace lets anyone warm up to Sebastian."

"Merrill thinks he's nice," said Líadan.

"Yeah, but she also thinks he's daft, and coming from Merrill, that's saying something."

Líadan landed a solid blow to his side. The brigandine did surprisingly little to protect a person from the sharp elbow of an irritated spouse. As Malcolm made a show of rubbing where he'd been hit, Líadan said, "Merrill isn't daft."

"I don't know, there have been times I've wondered," said Bethany.

"Keep up like that and I'll go right back home and not help you at all, Hildur yelling at me when we get back or not. I grew up with Merrill. I assure you, she's not daft." Líadan paused and looked to be thinking it over. "A little odd, I'll admit."

"Do you think she should come with us?" asked Malcolm. While it was hard to picture Merrill in the Deep Roads, he had to admit that her magic would be great to have in their corner down there.

"Maybe," said Bethany. "She might not want to go, though. Marian's last letters have mentioned that Merrill's been holing up in her place in the Alienage, working on that mirror of hers."

Líadan growled. "She should have thrown it into the Waking Sea years ago."

"Which was why I hadn't mentioned it before now," said Bethany. "You know, because you get particularly grumpy when it's brought up. I'm not sure if anyone's told you, but you can be a bit frightening when cranky."

The ferry rowed alongside one of Lowtown's piers, which was a welcome opportunity for Malcolm to change the perilous subject. "Oh, look! We're here," he said, purposefully making his tone sound more cheerful than he felt. Without looking back to see if they followed, he headed for the dock. There were a lot of stairs to climb, and the mid-morning sun was already hot in Kirkwall. That, and he really didn't want Líadan to start in on the eluvian. She'd be too tempted to march down to the Alienage and try to give Merrill what-for again, and that hadn't gone well the past couple of times she'd done it.

"I can't wait to meet these people," Sigrun said as she hopped onto the dock. "They sound exciting."

"That's one word for it," said Bethany. "Come on. Let's go see my family so we can tell them of the impending danger they're in. Not that they aren't in Kirkwall, which means they're always in danger."

Leandra Hawke, Lady Amell, gave the small party a warm welcome. Marian was out, but would be returning at any time, and she would send for Carver. "If the Knight-Commander will let him go," she said as she and Bodahn hustled the group inside. "She's been quite restrictive lately about how much the templars are given leave from their duties at the Gallows. We see him so little it's almost like he's a mage of the Circle." Once everyone had settled in and Leandra had sent Bodahn to fetch refreshments, she seated herself in an overstuffed chair before her friendly look turned serious. "I take it you're here because of the attacks on Marian and Carver?"

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. One could easily forget that Leandra Hawke had once been married to an apostate and spent half her life on the run and reading every detail she could from every situation, because anyone could be a threat to the apostates in her family. Leandra hadn't lost her ability to notice the smallest detail. "Bethany, too," he said.

She nodded. "And it has to do with the Wardens and their prison in the Vimmarks, doesn't it?"

He frowned. "Did Hildur sent you a letter or something? Because she hadn't let on that you knew anything about it."

"I certainly didn't," said Bethany.

"The task your father did for the Wardens enabled us to leave Kirkwall and settle in Ferelden." Leandra sat back, but hardly looked relaxed. "Beyond saying where he'd been and who he'd been working for, your father refused to say anything else about it. He—" The clatter of the front door opening and closing, followed by laughter and chatter, cut short Leandra's explanation. "That must be Marian," she said as she stood up.

With Marian trotted in her overenthusiastic mabari, Guto, who remembered everyone he'd met before and greeted them with slobbery exuberance. Sebastian trailed slightly behind Marian and Guto, and crowding behind him were Varric and Fenris. "Bethany!" Marian shouted, and then flung her arms outward before wrapping her younger sister up in a hug. Though his smile was honest, Sebastian's greetings were more reserved, and did not involve the happy hugs that Marian insisted on giving everyone, Sigrun included.

"Sunshine!" said Varric. "Princeling! Princess! Good to see you!"

"Varric, I'm not a princess," said Líadan. "We've talked about this."

He grinned. "In my story, they made you a princess, Princess."

Líadan rolled her eyes and looked over at Sebastian. "Could you please set him straight?"

"I gladly would, but it would be an exercise in futility. I would advise you to ignore it the best you can, as I have."

"I'll remember that, Choir Boy," Varric said to Sebastian, and then turned to the Wardens again. "What brings you to our lovely quagmire of a city?"

"Warden things," said Malcolm. "They happen to also relate to the attack on Bethany, which Leandra tells me also happened to Marian and Carver."

Marian shook her head. "The Carta should have known better. It isn't like they're really going to be able to get anyone successfully out of the Gallows, especially when they're very-not-secretly attacking a templar. Then coming for me? Honestly, I'd thought my problems with them were long over. I leave them alone, they leave me alone, and I don't have to kill any of them. Until a few days ago. Now it's game on, I say."

"Good to see you're a true champion of peace, sister," said Bethany.

"Peace is boring. Also less bloody, as a rule, but still boring."

Sebastian sighed. "Andraste help you, Marian."

She threw a bright smile in his direction. "She does! You say so all the time." As Sebastian shook his head in resignation, Marian turned her attention to the Wardens in the room. "I take it you'll want to speak with the others, as well? Because wherever you're going, I'm coming with you. They attacked me in my home, they attacked my baby brother and sister, and so I'm going to see for myself they will never do so again."

"That takes care of the asking," said Líadan. "We'll need other volunteers to go with us, though. We aren't going into the Deep Roads, but it's close enough, and there will still be darkspawn. Any non-Wardens need to be volunteers. Anders, however, won't get a choice."

"I've already sent for Carver," said Leandra.

Marian looked over at Varric. "Varric?"

He grinned. "Give me a few minutes and I'll have everyone on their way." Then he hurried out the door, presumably to find some of his many messengers.

Slowly, the rest of Marian's friends and family joined them at the estate. Anders was first, given he happened to be the closest due to the route through the estate's cellars. As soon as he saw the other Wardens, he heaved a huge sigh. "You lot are going to make me go to the Deep Roads again, aren't you?" he asked.

"Hello, Anders, nice to see you again, too. How are you doing? Is the clinic going well? I'm doing all right, thanks for not bothering to say hello before you started complaining." Líadan finished off her statement with a glare that was only partly playful. Mostly not, such was her clear irritation with him.

Anders at least had the decency to look somewhat sheepish, but even that didn't change his attitude. "Are you dragging me to the Deep Roads or not?"

Well, that certainly wasn't the Anders he'd seen last time he was here, Malcolm thought. "We'd prefer it if you walked. Packs and weapons are enough a pain in the ass as it is," said Malcolm. "And technically, we aren't going into the Deep Roads. Well, unless we take a wrong turn."

"Because you've never done that. Remember when we ran into the Architect? Wrong turn." It sounded much more like the Anders he'd known for years, but as Malcolm hadn't missed the flash of blue in Anders' eyes, and judging by Líadan's suspicious frown, she hadn't missed it either.

Malcolm sighed. "That was Oghren's fault. Not mine. We flipped a coin. He won the toss, and that's why we went left. I think it was left."

"It was left," said Líadan.

"Why the debate and the flipping of coins? I thought Grey Wardens had maps," Marian said from where she'd flopped into a chair. Then she rolled her eyes as the door slammed and Carver's grumbling voice could be heard.

"Only sometimes." Sigrun shot a questioning look in the direction of the entryway, but went on. "Usually not. Legion's got plenty of maps, but the Deep Roads change all the time with the darkspawn tunneling, so even those are only moderately helpful. Way's been cleared from Orzammar to Kal-Sharok, but the darkspawn still hold pretty much the rest of the Deep Roads. No point in serious mapping till they're gone."

"One day, we'll take the Deep Roads." Carver stomped through the doorway and into the room, jaw jutting out in pride. "Do what the Wardens can't seem to get done."

Bethany sighed and glanced between the other Wardens in the room. "One of you want to punch him, or should I?"

"We're limited to one?" asked Líadan.

Bethany tilted her head, thinking it over. "For now. We might need his brawn against some Carta or darkspawn."

"You know," Marian said, "I think his brawn might be his only good attribute."

"You should have more charity, Marian." Sebastian nodded at Carver, and then turned to Marian. "Follow Andraste's example and find the good in every person."

"I did. He's a big lout. Good for deflecting people who want to hit a delicate flower of a mage, but not much else."

"I love you too, sister," said Carver.

Again, Sebastian took measure of Carver. "Your brother is quite loyal."

"Did you forget he's a templar?" asked Bethany. "I thought the Sword of Mercy on his breastplate was a dead giveaway."

"You know what? I'm just going to go back to the Gallows if this is how you lot are going to treat me when I visit." With that, Carver turned on his heel and headed for the front of the estate.

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!" Marian called behind him.

"Marian!" said Leandra. "That's enough, both of you. Carver, come back in here. This business with the Wardens has to do with all three of you, not just your sisters."

Malcolm barely resisted smiling at another reminder of Teyrna Eleanor Cousland. Leandra gave as good as she got, just like his own mother had, adeptly wrangling three willful adult children. While Teyrna Eleanor had only dealt with two hot-headed, stubborn children, her approach had been much the same. Personally, Malcolm had enough trouble managing his two small ones. He had no idea what he'd do when they were older. They were difficult enough as it was.

"With brothers," said Varric as he walked back into the room, "the best you can hope for are those few times when they aren't insufferable. As for our friends, what you see is what you get. Aveline's busy rounding up a couple of her guards who partook of a little too much wine at the Rose, Rivaini's on a run of hers to Rialto, and Daisy is still shut in at her place, probably staring into that sorry excuse for a mirror of hers. Maker, we're lucky if we can get her to eat lately." He turned to Líadan, a slightly hopeful glint in his eyes. "Think you could get her to come around? You've known her the longest."

"Probably not. She's more stubborn than I am." Líadan seemed slightly perturbed, and even more hurt that Merrill hadn't bothered with coming up for a visit. It wasn't often she had the chance to come to Kirkwall, Malcolm knew, and every other time, the two Dalish had made it a point to see each other.

"And your obdurate nature is part of legend, Princess, so maybe we'll just have to keep slipping Daisy some food to see that she eats and call it a day." Varric sat in the empty seat Marian motioned to. "So what have the Hawkes to do with Warden adventuring? I mean, aside from their predilection for descending into the Deep Roads more than disgraced nobles."

"Their father." Leandra had become uncharacteristically subdued, her voice tinged with sadness. "Thirty years ago, he was approached by the Grey Wardens for a task they promised would pay well. They also offered him leverage with my father, so that I could leave Kirkwall with Malcolm uncontested. All they needed, they said, was a strong mage who was untainted with Warden training to reinforce a few magical seals in a Warden prison. Once he was done, they promised never to bother him again. He agreed. He was gone for nearly a week, and when he returned, all he said was that in addition to the ancient rune they'd given him to use to strengthen the seals, he'd had to use his blood. He was angry about it—angrier than I'd ever seen him at that point in our lives—and never said one way or another if he meant blood magic or something else. I never asked. The Wardens told him to keep the rune, calling it a key, and said it had to stay out of Warden hands, for safekeeping. We never heard from the Wardens again."

"What's it to do with us?" asked Carver. "We're not Father, obviously."

"Even the best magic fades, brother. The magic currently holding the seals together is laced with our blood. It's part of how the seals are strengthened." Bethany, to her credit, did not so much as glare at her brother.

"They need our blood? They can get stuffed if they want my blood to do their dirty blood magic."

"You can get stuffed and let them finish their explanation before you storm off to sulk," said Marian.

Varric ignored the bickering as he focused on the details of the job. "How would that even work? The whole mechanism is clear as mud."

"It wouldn't," said Malcolm. He still barely understood it, and believed it a flimsy method that really shouldn't have worked for as long as it had. "I know because I asked Hildur the same question. It isn't like you can guarantee that whatever mage you coerced into strengthening the seals would have children who could re-do the seal. Turns out that if you want to strengthen them, you need the rune, and the mage who uses it also incorporates their blood into whatever ritual they use. If you want to break the seals, that's when you need the blood of the mage who sealed it, or the blood of his kin. Someone wants to free what's in there, and that's why they attacked the Hawkes."

"I will ask what no one else has the courage to," said Fenris. "What is contained in this prison?"

"A darkspawn who's around a thousand years old," said Malcolm. "The Wardens think he's an ancient Tevinter magister, twisted into an abomination on a level we've never seen ourselves. Possibly—possibly, because the Wardens won't say one way or another—one of the magisters who tainted the Golden City."

"It should have been destroyed. Allowing it to survive all this time was folly."

Varric grinned at the declaration. "Never change, Broody." Then he turned to Malcolm. "I still need help understanding. So the Grey Wardens of old believed this thing they imprisoned needed an absurd amount of security to keep it locked up. Why are we breaking those seals? Shouldn't we be trying to fix them? You know, to keep it locked up?"

Líadan let out a huff. "Because there's a stupid Warden leading a party of other stupid Wardens who think they can control the very not-stupid darkspawn kept there."

"Oh!" Marian leaned forward in earnestness. "Oh! Oh, wait. Let me guess. You disapprove, don't you? I couldn't tell from your tone."

"I think the lack of Daisy's presence during one of her few visits to Kirkwall has made her cranky," said Varric. "Stupid Wardens might be a close second."

Malcolm sighed, already tired of that particular part of the mission. Hunting darkspawn was what Wardens were for, not for hunting down other Wardens. None of them had any believable illusions that they wouldn't have to kill them. He wanted to believe they wouldn't, and would keep insisting up until they had no choice. "We have to break the seals to catch up to the other Wardens quick enough."

"So you can kill them?"

"Yes," said Líadan.

At the same time, Malcolm said, "We might not have to—"

"No, you'll probably have to," said Marian. "Wardens are a special kind of intractable. Works well against darkspawn, not so well when dealing with other folk." She looked over at her mother. "Do you know where the rune is? Gathering dust in a box somewhere? Added to a stave he never used again? We're really screwed if it got left in Lothering."

As if the weight of her memories held her down, Leandra stood up slowly. "I believe I do. There was a stave your father had used quite often before his trip. He even took it with him. Afterward, he put it away and never used it again, even though it was his favorite."

Marian stared Leandra. "Are you talking about the one you insisted on bringing when we fled? The one I didn't like because it has a naked woman carved on the top?"

"Wait, really?" asked Malcolm.

"No word of a lie," said Marian. "Naked as the day the Maker made her, whoever she is."

"I never wanted to know," said Carver.

Bethany winced. "Please don't tell me it's Mother."

"For the Maker's sake, you three, it's Andraste, the Maker's bride. Your father was quite good at wood carving."

"So, Carver was named after his dad's favorite hobby?" asked Sigrun.

Even though they'd barely met, Carver shot her a dark look, to which Sigrun only smirked. Served him right for making those comments about Grey Wardens, Malcolm thought, and figured Sigrun believed the same.

Leandra fetched the stave, which really did have a remarkably well done sculpture of a woman on the top. Malcolm took the journal Hildur had given him, and compared the rune in the stave to the sketch in the book. It was a match. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad about it, and when he told the others, they seemed to feel the same.

Except for Marian.

She was already up and bouncing on her feet. "When do we leave? We could go now. It isn't even suppertime yet. We could be halfway there by nightfall. Or at least partway. Closer than we are now."

"You haven't even asked how we're supposed to get there," said Varric.

Marian turned an expectant look on the Wardens. "Well?"

"Not the Deep Roads, as we've said," said Líadan. "Hildur told us about a route that cuts through the Vimmark Mountains instead of going underground. Because of increasing numbers of darkspawn in the years since the Blight, it's quicker to travel on the surface. We think it should take two or three days to get there, depending on if we run into anyone on the way."

"Plan on it," said Varric. "I don't think Hawke is capable of going anywhere without running across resistance. I can be ready by sunrise."

"As can I," said Fenris.

The others said much the same, and then quickly returned to their homes to rest and prepare. Though Malcolm, Líadan, and Sigrun had planned on taking rooms at an inn, both Marian and Leandra asked that they stay at the estate, which still had more rooms than it did occupants, and neither of them liked seeing them go unused. Leandra also insisted on feeding anyone who would stay for dinner.

"All right, but I'm bringing them for drinks and Diamondback at the Hanged Man afterward," said Varric.

Marian raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you had things to do."

"I do. But I'm not going to turn down a free meal, or the chance to divest another prince of his coin." When Malcolm scowled, Varric added, "I'll even let you and Princess play as a team."

"If you want me to play Diamondback, you'd better not pair me with him," said Líadan. "I don't like losing, and he'll lose."

"Way to point out my shortcomings to potential adversaries," said Malcolm.

"Princeling, I had you pegged before you even knew I was going to suggest Diamondback." Varric inclined his head toward Sigrun. "You, however, don't seem to be an easy mark."

She smiled. "I tend to be the one doing the marking."

In the end, Malcolm did lose, though Líadan managed to win back most of the coin he'd surrendered. Fenris had proven surprisingly good at the game, and even more surprisingly, pleasant company. Malcolm still wasn't keen on the smell of the Hanged Man, nor the quality of the ale, but the atmosphere was comfortable to him. He couldn't be entirely relaxed, not with a tavern full of questionable figures, drunk longshoremen, and possessing the constant potential of breaking out in a bar-wide fight at any moment. The abundance of Fereldan accents did help. While Marchers didn't speak like Orlesians, they didn't speak like people from home, either. Between the dirt, the chance of a fight, and the dry, cutting remarks flying between card players, Malcolm felt remarkably content. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd attempted to play cards, and then ended up waiting as Líadan wiped the floor with their opponents after he'd been dealt out.

At the palace, there was always one thing or another that kept them from spending this sort of time together. Even when they did manage to scrape together time enough to go out like this, the next morning loomed over them, and with said morning came two completely energized children who had no forgiveness for an adult who might have had a little too much ale the night before. When it came to going out, drinking, and playing cards like other adults of their age, or staying in and sleeping, sleep often won out.

Especially if there was to be a meeting with advisers in the morning. Especially when Alistair was there, because he had even less mercy for hangovers than Cáel and Ava. Alistair had never had a hangover, not once, and Malcolm felt it a cosmic injustice. Coupled with Alistair waking early and liking it so much that he was cheerful, Malcolm made an effort to not even contemplate drinking with Oghren the night before, lest he be driven to commit fratricide the next morning. The royal guards were well aware, and generally gave him the side-eye as he walked into early morning meetings. He couldn't blame them.

"Oh, his eyes do get shiny when he's buzzed," he heard Varric say.

"I told you," said Líadan. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he loses on purpose so he can just relax and drink a bit, but I've seen him play in earnest. Same result."

"At least he's a happy drunk. Not tearful, overly touchy, or keen for a fight."

"Not drunk," said Malcolm. "Really. Relaxed and comfortable, yes, but not drunk. I can walk, think mostly clearly, and probably still defend myself if there's a fight on the way back to Hightown."

"Considering most Grey Wardens could destroy common thugs in their sleep, I'm not sure how much a measure of sobriety that last part is." Varric's eyes flicked over to Fenris, and then back to Malcolm and Líadan. "You should probably go with someone to Hightown, though. Not because I think you'll get into any trouble, but because you'd get lost otherwise. Kirkwall isn't exactly intuitive when it comes to getting around."

Fenris nodded. "I must go to Hightown, as well. I will go with you." He half-smiled at Varric as he stood. "And my debt to you is down by three sovereigns. I told you I was good for it."

"Still have another two to go, Broody. Besides, who knows when you'll have another change at fleecing a prince?"

"You're horrible," said Malcolm.

What none of them missed was the look passed between Fenris and Sigrun. Malcolm had thought he'd heard the two of them discussing Isabela. It seemed Fenris had some sort of arrangement with Isabela, and since Sigrun had the same sort of arrangement, they were of the same mind. At least that was what Malcolm seemed to divine from what they'd openly chatted about.

"Rivaini will be jealous," said Varric.

"Only that she missed out on joining in," said Fenris.

Varric grinned. "She might be here when we get back."

"Then we'll have to arrange to stay another night," Sigrun said to Malcolm.

He groaned. "Yes, because that's exactly the sort of thing we're here for, and Hildur won't question at all why we stayed any extra time."

"Only for gossip. Oh, and to make you squirm." Sigrun grinned at him, and then headed for the door.

Lowtown at night, the same as the daytime, was filled with a suspicious haze mixed with the fog rolling off the harbor. Through air laced with smoke from the smelters, Malcolm thought he could smell the sea. That's what he told himself it was. The hazy fog diminished as they went up the steps to Hightown, leaving a hot, clear night in the upper reaches of the city—certainly not the rainy summer they'd left behind in Ferelden. When they were done with the stairs and on level ground, Malcolm slung his arm around Líadan's shoulders and pulled her close as they walked. Fenris bid them farewell at the Amell estate's doorstep before he headed for his own place, Sigrun following him without a word to the others.

Malcolm watched them go. "Isabela really will be sad that she couldn't join in."

"She'll make up for it when everyone gets back. We'll probably hear it from here."

"Maybe I'm more tipsy than I thought. I should have seen that one coming." He grimaced. "Or not seen or even imagine, because—"

Líadan faced him, smiled, reached up, and cupped his cheeks in her very warm hands. "How about you imagine other things?"

"Oh, I could do that." He did. And then he wasn't imagining once they got to their room, and morning arrived far too soon.

Orana had already set breakfast out by the time they were dressed, packed, and stumbling down the stairs—all right, he was doing the stumbling, Malcolm admitted, while Líadan still moved with a hunter's grace, even while half-asleep. Marian and Bethany were already eating, and to Malcolm's surprise, Sebastian was already there, too. Maker, what time had he gotten up? Had it been anyone else, he'd have assumed the person in question had spent the night, but this was Sebastian, the same man who insisted on living like a Chantry brother even though he'd been released from his vows. Since he was Chantry, it must've been that he shared the same happy habit of rising early, like Alistair, the former templar.

Sodding Chantry. No person ever should be this happy this early. The Maker-damned sun wasn't even up yet.

Marian's glares at Sebastian's cheerful chatter communicated that she felt the same as Malcolm. Meanwhile, he was happy to have another ally in the fight against rising early.

The meal was eaten quickly, the others arriving in ones and twos: Fenris and Sigrun first, both of them looking insufferably pleased, to which Marian rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about Isabela's influence; then Anders, stone-faced and not sharing even a hint of a smile with Sigrun, though he'd always done so years ago, with the Fereldan Wardens; Varric, who melted the iciness of grumpy not-morning people with his stories; last was Carver, who brought an altogether different sort of grumpy with him. But that was Carver, Bethany insisted. He'd never change.

"We could lose him in the Planasene," Marian said a little too brightly for the time of day. "Mother might mind, but I think everyone else would be all right with it."

"Andraste implored us to love our sisters and brothers," Sebastian said without even looking up from his food.

"I know! I'll love him more when he's lost in the woods and no longer my problem."

Malcolm was beginning to see that it was almost a game between Sebastian and Marian. He'd lament over or comment on her behavior, and she took it as encouragement, twisted it, and flung it right back at him. And so Sebastian kept commenting in an attempt to rise to the challenge Marian presented. The undertone of caring, possibly love, was certainly there, and absent was actual scolding. Which was good, Malcolm thought, because he had a feeling that Marian would take exception to that, as would her family.

"Oh, stuff your problems," Carver said to Marian, already tromping for the door. "I'll be outside waiting. If no one comes out after five minutes, I'm going back to the Gallows."

"Ten," Varric called after him. "Need to grab our gear, and some of us have short legs."

"Not a minute more!" Then the door slammed.

Leandra sighed. As the others grabbed packs and weapons, she waited in the entryway. "Do be careful," she said as they left, one by one. "And please don't lose your brother, or yourselves, either accidentally or on purpose."

"Fine," said Marian, "but this makes me your favorite child, being as benevolent as I am with not throwing him to the darkspawn, or the Carta, or the scary trees."

"Maker guide your steps, all of you." Leandra closed the door to the estate, and the group headed for Lowtown, the sun rising from behind the horizon to watch their progress.