Chapter 4

"I was wrong. We cannot control the creature Corypheus. Even our most powerful mages hold no influence with him. In truth, it is they who have been most vulnerable.

A dozen times, those assigned to guard or study the creature have sought the key to free him. When they are removed to a safe distance, they remember little. They speak of a voice in their minds, a calling like that of the Old Gods, but it wanes outside Corypheus's presence.

Darkspawn have attacked as well, seeking him. I can only assume they are summoned the same way. Somehow, his magic lets him speak through the blight itself, affecting any who bear its taint.

This same power stays the hand of any Warden who approaches to kill him. I must recommend that we seal this prison over and conceal its very existence. Corypheus must not be allowed to go free."

—from Warden-Commander Daneken to the First Warden in Weisshaupt, 1014 TE

Líadan

Their group started for the Vimmarks as the sun tinged the horizon pink. Horses weren't brought, because they wouldn't have a safe place to keep them once they got to the prison, which meant they were on foot for the entire trip. Líadan and Sebastian traded off scouting ahead in the area immediately outside Kirkwall, where they were most likely to encounter bandits. None were found, or the bandits who were around were smart enough to leave Wardens alone. By and large, most of Thedas knew that attempting to rob a Grey Warden—especially a group with significant numbers of them—tended to result in a grisly death.

Líadan emerged from the tree line that hugged close to the trail through the Planasene. At the questioning looks from the others, she shook her head. "Nothing but game," she said. "We should be fine without scouting, I think. I didn't see signs of anyone passing through recently."

"It would be wise to scout again before we set camp for the night," said Sebastian.

"Of course it would." Líadan paused, wanting to say more, but managed to hold it in as she fell into step next to Malcolm. "I'll set a false trail or two if he pulls that again," she whispered to him. "Trying to tell a Dalish hunter how and when to scout! Let him go on a wild sylvan chase and return with nothing but dirt on his boots to show for it."

Fenris chuckled from behind them, his elven ears letting only him overhear.

"How old are you again?" Malcolm whispered back to her.

"Not so old that I'll let the likes of him get away with insinuating that I don't know what I'm doing."

"Stamp your foot when you say that and you'll be just like Ava."

For that, she elbowed him in the ribs. It only made him laugh and draw her closer as they walked. She didn't mind. The ability to use her hunting skills in a forest as ancient and deep as the Planasene put her in a better mood than she would have guessed. She hadn't been able to truly do this for years, and she hadn't quite understood how much she missed it until she was able to do it again. Creators, she needed to get out into the forest more often.

While she did miss her children, and she knew Malcolm did, too, there was a certain freedom in not being immediately responsible for them for the next week, at the very least. It was a momentary reprieve from the drudgery of daily duties. While the impending battles with the Carta and darkspawn were certainly a downside, they hadn't yet overrode the feeling of freedom. Though, that freedom never escaped the tinge of worry, considering the situation waiting at home.

Malcolm, apparently also enjoying the countryside, took in a deep breath of air, which earned him a sneezing fit from the dust the others ahead of them had kicked up.

"You know," Anders said once Malcolm's sneezing had stopped, "I'm surprised the Warden Commander assigned both of you to go on a mission together. Where are your children?"

Líadan frowned at Anders' back as Malcolm did the same from beside her. It hadn't been an innocent inquiry, not with the judgmental tone behind it—far different from the tone Sebastian took when he spoke words that would normally sound judgmental, but rarely were. It was odd that Anders had become more insufferable and stuffy than a man of the Chantry. And to imagine, Anders used to be lighthearted and possess an actual sense of humor.

"At the palace with their nurse, also their bodyguard and my mabari, not to mention the Royal Guard and the City Guard," said Líadan. "They're fine. Hildur had to send us both because of the peculiar circumstances of the mission." For the time being, she ignored Anders' unspoken condemnation, and smiled instead. "I miss them, but this has been kind of fun. I know they're well cared for and protected, and I get to do things I haven't been able to do since before we had them." Maybe if she said it out loud enough, she'd be able to set aside the worry. It had yet to work.

"You haven't done much Wardening?" asked Varric.

She shrugged. "Some. Missions here and there, training newer Wardens, brief trips into the Deep Roads to keep sharp. But nothing this involved, not since before Ava was born."

Varric had slowed in order to walk beside them. "Same thing for you, Princeling? I've noticed you seem to be in great spirits as we trudge through the woods. Meanwhile, it makes this city boy wish for home."

Malcolm grumbled. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" asked Marian, who sounded far too amused for it to be an innocent question. "What've you been doing?"

"They've been making me do prince things."

"Prince things?"

"Helping my brother out, sitting in on meetings, occasionally being asked for input, learning everything Alistair knows. 'Just in case,' Anora told me, and Alistair agreed. Why? Because my brother is a jerk, that's why. He named me as Dane's co-regent with Anora if anything happens to him."

"That would be standard for any monarchy," said Sebastian. "I'm not sure why you are surprised by it."

Líadan glanced back and saw Sebastian's brow furrowed, as if he were truly confused about why Malcolm complained. It didn't help her perception of him, since this prince had insinuated that she didn't entirely know what she was doing in the forest. If he couldn't see why Malcolm would be unhappy with the duties he'd had in Denerim, then Sebastian had been too long in the nobility, and not enough time spent outside the court, such as scouting in a forest.

While she hadn't been in too many forests lately, not of the Planasene's size, she had at least done scouting in the Deep Roads. Visits to Cadash thaig had been nice, as had been seeing Shale.

"Not surprised," Malcolm said with resigned sigh. "Displeased. I don't want the throne anymore than Alistair did. While I technically wouldn't be on the throne, I'd be doing everything but. Hence doing prince things when I'd rather be doing Warden things."

Varric gave him a nod. "Spoken like a true younger brother. Better killing Thedas' unsavory than it is running the company or country your elder sibling has to."

"Exactly. Glad you see my point, Varric. Now, if you could convince Alistair's advisors of the same, I could be left in peace."

"My tongue can work miracles, Princeling, but that is beyond my ability."

"Maker!" said Carver. "Did you have to put it that way?"

"Junior, that was the least offensive way I had of phrasing it. Want to hear the other versions?"

"No!" Then Carver actually covered his ears and hummed to himself.

"And you implied that I was behaving like a child," Líadan said to Malcolm.

"Changed my mind. In comparison, you're the picture of adulthood."

Once the day started to close in on evening, they all had to venture into the forest to find a suitable place to set up camp for the night. Being near a source of water was ideal, as was being out of sight of the main trail. Líadan decided that she'd hunt right after they picked a site, because fresh meat was far preferable to dried, and they may as well conserve dry rations for when they needed them. Since it would be near dusk by the time they'd gotten camp settled, it didn't make sense to let the chance for game pass by. There were signs of both deer and hares, but she preferred taking a decent number of hares over a deer for a night's camp. It helped that Planasene hares tended to run on the large side, a fact she'd learned from other Dalish hunters.

When she announced her plans to the group after they'd taken off their packs, Sebastian spoke up in favor of them. "I would like to accompany you on your hunt. It isn't something one gets to do in Kirkwall, and I rather enjoyed it in Starkhaven."

She stared at him. There was a certain amount of civility that needed to be maintained while their group traveled together and fought at each other's sides for an extended period of time. Therefore, she couldn't say what first popped into her head. Nor could she say the second or third or probably the fourth.

Marian said it for her. "Do you really think that if you go with a Dalish hunter on an actual hunt that you won't be in the way?"

Due respect to him, Sebastian took Marian's criticism seriously. He fell silent and rubbed at his chin while he glanced out into the trees. Then when he chose to speak, it was to Líadan. "Could I be of any use to you on a hunt? Or is Marian right?"

It was Líadan's turn to contemplate the forest. Rarely did Dalish hunters go out on their own. Pairs were normal, but parties of up to four hunters worked well. If they were hunting for hares, half could flush them out while the other half took their shots. Sometimes, they brought deerhounds for flushing out birds or hares, but hunting partners worked just as well. As long as Sebastian could move silently in the forest and remain still when told, she could use him like she would a new apprentice. Plus, it would be quicker if someone did the flushing and the other did the shooting. She finally turned to look at Sebastian. "I suppose I could find something for you to do. But the first time you make a sound, I'm sending you back."

He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Thank you. Let me get my bow and string it and I will be yours to guide."

To Líadan's surprise, Sebastian didn't start any mindless chatter as they hunted. He kept quiet and held still when she signaled for him to. The only time he spoke was to ask what they were targeting.

"A deer would be too large, I gather?" he asked as they started out.

"Most. There are roe deer in the Planasene, so one of those would be all right. Hares would be quicker, though, and less prone to waste."

"I agree. I take it I will be chasing them from the underbrush, as we don't have any hunting dogs with us?"

"Hope it isn't work below a prince, because you're doing exactly that, which is a hunting apprentice's job."

"I think any human would be the equivalent of an apprentice when compared to a Dalish hunter. Marian was not wrong in her assessment."

Líadan was starting to see how Sebastian could have been the charming rake his sister insisted he'd been before he'd entered the Chantry. Creators, he was still charming now, having said exactly the thing that would placate her annoyance at him asking to come along. She didn't reply out loud. Instead, she gave him a slight smile, shook her head, and kept walking. Sebastian did exactly as he was told, and in the end, they returned carrying four braces of hares. They would have settled for less, but with the number of Grey Wardens in the party, it seemed wise to take extra when the opportunity arose. Sebastian had even impressed Líadan when he'd started to field dress the hares once they'd decided they had enough. More impressive was that he did the job well.

Their triumphant return to camp was greeted with cheers—if subdued in order to not draw attention to their presence. As they all ate their fill of the roasted meat, plus cheese, apples, and bread brought from Kirkwall, Líadan glanced around the camp that'd been set up in her absence. They were short a tent, and her first thought went to Sigrun. Maybe she and Fenris had elected to share for the time being, but Sigrun tended to focus on the job when they were on a mission. That meant no tent sharing for her. Líadan frowned. Maybe someone had forgotten theirs.

"What?" Malcolm asked from next to her. "You've got that furrow you get between your eyes when you're trying to figure out a puzzle."

"There aren't enough tents."

He blinked. "I hadn't even thought to count."

Varric chuckled. "There are exactly as many tents as needed."

"Who's sleeping under the stars, then?" asked Sigrun. "Because I'm not. I have enough trouble with the sky during the daytime. I need a reasonable roof over my head if I'm going to sleep."

"There's something Hawke and Choir Boy aren't telling you," said Varric.

Carver rolled his eyes. "If they went through that chaste marriage bullshit, I'm not interested."

"Well, I am," said Bethany, who then threw a curious look in Marian's direction. "Sister? Care to explain?"

Marian gave a heavy sigh, which Líadan took to mean that it was the chaste marriage that she'd spoken of ages ago, and not a fully shared one. Though, if they were sharing a tent—and that also explained how Sebastian had already been at the Amell estate when they'd woken up—and a bed, it was a testament of will that their marriage remained chaste. There was temptation, and there was temptation, and sharing a bed would pretty much be the tipping point for her. It often was. Marian's will had to be extraordinary, since Líadan knew that the chaste part was largely Sebastian's choice, much to Marian's lament.

"We decided it was prudent," said Marian. She managed to make prudent sound like a swear, like Oghren did to duty.

"Once I had made my decision to fully leave the Chantry—with Grand Cleric Elthina's blessing—I needed a place to live. Marian offered her estate, but if I were to be taken seriously by the citizens of Starkhaven, I needed to not in the least resemble the young man I had once been. It meant not living with Marian while not married in the eyes of the Maker and Andraste. So, we had a small ceremony with the Grand Cleric for our chaste marriage, and will have a larger ceremony once we retake Starkhaven."

"Sister! That's wonderful!" Bethany gave a little shout, bolted from her seat on the ground, and practically tackled her sister with a joyful hug.

Meanwhile, Carver groaned and glared at Sebastian.

Marian smiled, but while it was mostly enthusiastic, it was missing some of its usual cheer. "We're going to Starkhaven after we've sorted out this kidnapping problem." She put her arm around Bethany, who'd remained at her sister's side. "Not a long visit. Just long enough to figure out the nuances and logistics of changing the rule."

"Seems a remarkably easy plan you have for taking back a principality that has a seated ruler, even if the ruler is a pretender," said Malcolm. "I recall regaining the throne for Alistair required a lot of fighting."

"Wasn't it mostly done through the Landsmeet?" asked Bethany.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Where do you think most of the fighting was?"

"So you mean you fought with words, and not real fighting," said Carver.

Varric outright laughed. "Junior, when it comes to the Fereldan Landsmeet, even I know that sword or fistfights or both are the usual. It's only a remarkable Landsmeet if there isn't. He's talking about actual fighting."

"With Andraste's guidance, we should not face the same in Starkhaven," said Sebastian. "Goran has already written me to ask how he could hand the rule over to Meghan or myself."

"And you don't think it's a trap?" asked Malcolm. "Because that says trap. Written all over it. I mean, I know you're idealistic, Sebastian, but Marian tends toward practical, because it keeps you from being dead."

"I had my people check it out after the offer. It's apparently genuine," said Varric. When Malcolm didn't look convinced, Varric held up his hands. "I know! I was as surprised as you, Princeling."

Marian stretched her legs toward the camp fire, presumably to warm her toes. "I'm trying to get Mother to agree to moving. Hopefully she'll join us in Starkhaven once everything is settled. Kirkwall is a mess and will only get messier, and I don't particularly want to stick around for it to fall down around my ears. The Qunari were enough of that for me, thank you. But every time I ask Mother, she goes into the whole, 'I'm an Amell, of the Kirkwall Amells, and I won't leave Kirkwall again,' routine." Marian pantomimed her mother, even imitating her voice as she retold what Leandra had said. "For what reasons, I don't know. I mean, she left the city for Father. Carver, you could get a transfer." She frowned. "Maybe."

"Don't get your hopes up about that." Carver said nothing further as his scowled deepened.

"All right, probably not." Marian sighed.

"Why couldn't you?" Bethany asked Carver. "Templars are transferred all the time."

Carver lifted his head from its contemplation of the dead leaves underfoot to meet his twin sister's gaze. "Knight-Commander Meredith is… I don't know. She's been strict, even for her, which is saying something. Knight-Captain Cullen does what he can to mitigate the worst of it, but since she's treading right on the line for legal interpretation of Chantry law, his hands are tied. I can't tell you how many mages he's just barely saved from being made immorally—maybe even illegally—Tranquil. It's only supposed to be for unharrowed mages or actual, uncontrollable threats, not really anyone else. But the Knight-Commander wields it like a parent would a switch. There have been some no one's been able to stop, but she's silenced the uproar with outlining how those people were threats, yet didn't deserve death."

"Tranquility is worse than death," said Marian.

"I know!" Carver's reply was sharp enough to approach shouting. "I know," he said in a more normal tone of voice. "I keep thinking about leaving, but I'm trying to do what I can from the inside. The Knight-Captain has been doing the same thing, and we're trying to work together. But it isn't like anything I thought it would be, and not even like anything it was after I first joined. And, Maker, the tension between the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter Orsino."

"Oh?" asked Varric.

Carver shot him a look of distaste. "Not like one of your serials. I'm surprised that she hasn't gutted him, or he hasn't lit her on fire yet. If things keep going like they are, it'll happen. So, I wish I could leave my post in Kirkwall, but I don't think I'll be allowed."

"I, for one," said Marian, "will be happy to get out of Kirkwall. I just wish Mother would do the same."

"She will be in good company," said Sebastian. "Grand Cleric Elthina is also refusing to leave. After death threats were directed her way, she mentioned she was offered safe haven by the Divine, but she turned it down."

Líadan frowned. "Grand Clerics leave their posts often? My impression was that they lived as long as possible and then some, all while clinging to their offices while others don't bother to strip it away. Well, if your Divines are anything to go by."

"You know, I do believe you have some latent bitterness directed toward the Chantry." Marian held up her hand and illustrated with a tiny gap between her thumb and forefinger. "Just a little."

She mostly tolerated its presence, so long as it didn't interfere with her life. It was enough. "It's less than it was."

"What, you mean like someone took a tiny bucket out of your whole sea of bitterness?" asked Malcolm.

For that, Líadan shoved him off the dead log, sending him onto his back behind it, where he just laughed to himself.

"How are you even still alive, much less married to the same woman?" asked Marian.

Instead of getting up, Malcolm remained on his back while resting his feet on the log he'd previously been sitting on. "Charisma."

"Líadan, you must have the patience of Andraste," said Sebastian.

"Am I the only one who sees something wrong with that comparison?" asked Varric.

Malcolm rose, dusted himself off, and cautiously retook his seat. "Which one of the Creators has the most patience, do you think?"

Honestly, had it not been asked in this particular context, Líadan had to admit it was a good question. "I don't know. I can tell you which ones don't have it. Mythal, for instance. Or Elgar'nan. Or Fen'Harel. June, possibly, since crafting can take patience and diligence. Oh, you know what? Has to be Sylaise. She's the one who insists everyone keep the peace amongst themselves, even when asses like you decide to tease their bondmate."

The smile Malcolm directed at her when he briefly traced her vallaslin was one reason why she remained with him—she wasn't sure she could silence what she felt when she saw what lived behind that smile. "Wouldn't Andruil be the patient one? Hunters have to be patient when stalking their prey. You've said so more than once. So there you go. That's how you keep resisting the urge to kill me, because you're devoted to Andruil."

And that was another reason why she stayed with him—aside from the fact that she loved him—because he did his best to understand her culture and where she'd come from. For as much work as she did to understand humans, he did an equal amount trying to understand the Dalish. Sometimes, like he just had, he demonstrated the understanding he'd gained. However, admitting such a thing with an audience listening in, especially when one person present told stories like anyone else breathed air, wasn't something she was willing to do. "Mostly, I think I resist the urge because Cáel and Ava seem awfully attached to you."

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Of course. I totally believe you."

Then Marian turned the conversation serious with the question of keeping watches over night. Even though they hadn't run into any trouble during the day, they all agreed that keeping a watch was a necessity. Pairs, so that the danger of falling asleep was mitigated somewhat, and not pairs who were together, because though they were professionals, there could always be a lapse in judgement.

Líadan ended up on midwatch with Anders. Anders and Justice, she supposed. It was disheartening to witness her friend slipping away, losing him in parts and pieces like a clan elder falling prey to the fog that sometimes took their minds before their bodies stopped working. Each time she'd been to Kirkwall for a few brief visits with Merrill—though she'd stopped a few years ago, when Kirkwall became too dangerous for unaccompanied mages—there had been less and less of Anders left. Like with the elders, it was difficult to figure out what to talk about, the gaps in their memory easy holes to catch a foot in while trying to reach the person they'd been for so long. Too many times, it ended with both parties upset, and neither able to place a solid finger on why.

The first part of their shared watch went by quietly. Líadan sat with her back to the banked embers of the fire in order to preserve her night vision, which was already leagues better than a human's was. Anders sat on the other side of the log, facing the fire while scribbling away in a journal. Half the watch passed before either of them spoke. Though Líadan was fully alert, the suddenness of hearing a voice—even a familiar one—nearly made her jump.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" asked Anders. "That Merrill chose to keep working on her mirror instead of coming to see you."

"It bothers me that she's working on it at all, and you know that. Why even bring it up?"

"I was just thinking that I'm glad we didn't bring Merrill."

If she hadn't been preserving her night vision, she'd have turned to glare at him for being ridiculous. Creators, Justice was an ass. He seemed to want to save Merrill from herself and blood mage ways, and yet at the same time, Justice disliked her for being a blood mage. Anders, in turn, did care about Merrill and her well-being, unlike Justice. "Why wouldn't you want her along? If you think her feverish dedication to the eluvian would distract me, it wouldn't. Especially since she'd be away from the eluvian, which is my goal. So that brings us back to me not knowing why you wouldn't want her along."

A couple more scratches of his quill were heard before he said, "I would be uncomfortable."

Obviously it was Justice. Líadan didn't want to keep watch with Justice; she wanted her friend. She decided to treat Justice like Anders in the hopes that it would chase the uptight spirit away. "Uncomfortable? Do you like her or something?"

"No! Of course I don't like her."

"How could you not like her? She takes care of Ser Pounce while living in an alienage. From what I've been told, that's actually fairly hard to do." The stories Nuala, Rhian, and Shianni had told her still made her shudder.

"She's a blood mage."

Definitely Justice. "While that's true, I don't think that had anything to do with taking care of Ser Pounce."

"That isn't what I meant." Anders' tone became snippy, even as he stepped over the log to sit next to her. "She might be fine right now, but that could change at any moment, simply because she is a blood mage."

"Is she possessed? An abomination?" Which, truly, was an absurd conversation to be having with a man currently hosting a spirit in his own body. She could even see the tinge of blue glow under his skin again.

"Not yet. It's just a matter of time."

"The same could be said for any mage. Well, any somewhat powerful mage. I don't count."

For a moment, Anders didn't say anything. Líadan slid a quick glance over to see him looking like he felt compelled by good manners to disagree. Then he let out a small sigh, and with it, the blue glow winked out. "No, you really don't. Justice… he says he doesn't see any demons after you. Or near you. Or that care about you anymore than they'd care about a non-mage. He can barely see your connection to the Fade, for that matter. The sloth demon was an aberration, and the pride demon was only trying to show up the sloth demon to prove it could accomplish what the lesser demon couldn't."

"Told you I wasn't a good one." She didn't bother with hiding the smugness at being right.

"You're good when you augment another mage's ability, but otherwise, it's mostly parlor tricks unless the connection entirely opens up. Which has happened how many times?"

"Twice, I think." Anders' expression asked for elaboration. "Both times, family was threatened or killed, or I was threatened."

"That could be your weak point where the demons could get in."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not sure what a spirit could offer me that'd tempt me. I've got other skills at my disposal that suit me well enough, so why would I make a deal with a spirit? If I didn't with that pride demon, I don't see how I would otherwise."

"And you don't think Merrill will, either?"

"No." It was one of the few things Líadan was absolutely certain about. "Making a deal with a spirit, she'd have to give up being elvhen. And that's the most important thing to her in her life. I think it gives her more strength of will than anyone realizes."

"I had not taken into account her devotion to the Dalish."

Back to infuriating Justice again. "Most people don't, considering she's living among humans. But for all the work she's done for the People, I believe she also sees her friends in Kirkwall as a clan, as well. Even you, even when you're being an ass."

"I'm fine with her," said Anders, the inflection of his voice assuredly him. "It's Justice who's conflicted. One minute he's railing on about her being a blood mage, and the next, he's defending her because she's a friend."

"I know. I can tell when it's him, even without the blue glow."

"How?"

"Your speech patterns change. Justice speaks differently than you do. It's hard to explain, but I can usually hear the difference. Do you even know when he's taking over?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes not. I'm not sure how long I have left until I'm just gone."

"I'll miss you, you know."

"I miss me already." He sighed again, and then shifted, his emotional discomfort manifesting in a physical one as they sat in the dark. "How about we discuss happier things? For instance, how is the child I delivered doing?"

Líadan rested her chin in her hand, searching the night for an excuse not to answer the question. If it were just Anders—the Anders she'd known years ago in Ferelden—she would've answered without hesitation. Putting Justice into the mix made it hard to trust him, but this was most certainly Anders now, and he was in control. She really did want to talk to someone about it, especially since Merrill hadn't wanted to visit. "Setting the world on fire," she finally said out loud.

There was just enough of a pause from Anders to show exactly where his thoughts went before he took a stab at optimism. "Not literally, I hope?"

"Maybe."

"A trick of the light, perhaps?"

"She might have tried to set her brother on fire, and there might have been lightning involved. But I can't be sure because Cáel got rid of the evidence. I still don't know where those shoes of his ended up, and he wouldn't say. Nor would he tell me the entirety of what happened, and Ava was even more resistant, and there wasn't enough time to really talk before we had to leave to come here. So, I'm not entirely certain what's going on, but it's enough to fill me with dread." It didn't help that she couldn't get rid of the memory of what she'd witnessed.

Though she'd had the trip from Denerim to Kirkwall to convince herself she'd imagined things, it hadn't worked. She couldn't shake the images of Cael's surprise or Ava's panic. All it had done was convince her that she'd seen exactly what she'd thought she'd seen, and she was kidding herself to believe otherwise.

"It'll be a problem, won't it? Bigger problem than the usual discovery of magic in a child?" His tone was gentle—the same tone he used when he told a patient they had an illness or injury that even he couldn't heal.

"Yes." She wasn't sure what they would do if it were true, and she didn't like to think of what might happen, because none of the scenarios were pleasant ones.

When Anders spoke again, his words had a hard edge as Justice slipped in. "You will not send her to the Circle."

"Go away, spirit. I need to talk to my friend, not you." Not that she had an argument with what he'd said. She agreed. What she did not like was that it hadn't been a question; it had been a command.

"It is not just, how the Chantry treats mages."

Her hands curled into fists at the frustration the spirit brought her. "This isn't about the Chantry. This isn't about your campaign against the unjust Chantry or your movement to free the mages from its control. This isn't about Thedas or political consequences or anything like that, not now. It—"

"Every mage is part of the battle, whether they acknowledge it or not. You must—"

"This is about my child, my daughter. It doesn't involve you, and if you were truly just, you would respect my wishes and let me talk to my friend."

There was silence for a time, interrupted only by the brief flap of an owl's wings as it took off from a nearby tree. Líadan recognized that Anders was fighting Justice, and could only hope that Anders would prevail. If he didn't, she couldn't be held responsible for what she'd do to the interfering spirit.

"I'm sorry," said Anders. "Justice, he… he doesn't get human emotion. He can only understand the world for what it is, and what parts have to be fixed because they're not just. It's about institutions and groups of people to him. He's still working on grasping the concept of individual people and how their emotions about a subject aren't going to be rational, no matter how much he decides to point out that they're being irrational. He's still got a long way to go."

"He's an ass." And it was the nicest thing she could think to say about Justice.

"I've called him worse. Doesn't really bother him, unfortunately. I'm sorry that he hurt you. I was shouting at him to shut up, but like he did with you, he ignored me. I know it's about Ava, and not really anything else at this point. You're afraid, and it's warranted."

"Obviously." If Justice had never butted in, she would have shared more, but she didn't feel safe speaking with Anders, not any longer.

He let out a sigh, indicating that he knew exactly why she'd become reticent, and that there was nothing he could do, unless he kicked out the spirit. "Does Malcolm know?"

"Not yet. I figured at least one of us shouldn't have to worry for a little while longer. I'll tell him after this mission is over." She knew he'd have done the same if he'd been the one to witness the fight.

There was another shared silence, the gap where everything she would have discussed with her friend remained trapped inside out of fear of what the spirit might say to hurt her.

Then Anders said, "I'm sorry. I know you didn't want this, even more than most."

She didn't reply, because she couldn't trust herself to talk without every worry tumbling outward.

Then Justice said, "This is not the way this world should be—"

Líadan stood, unwilling to listen to the spirit. "Our watch is over. You wake the others. I'm going to go sleep." Without waiting for acknowledgement, she started for the tent she shared with Malcolm.

"Líadan." It was Anders, but she didn't look back. She didn't want to see the broken expression of a lost friend who couldn't be saved.