Chapter 8
"What hath man's sin wrought?"
—Chant of Light, Verse Unknown
Malcolm
Until it was gone, Malcolm hadn't realized how much Corypheus' call had been bothering him. It'd reached a dreadful crescendo right before the magister died, but by then it had become a rather loud background noise. Current circumstances aside, it was pleasant to be free of it.
With the storm gone, healing could be done without fear, which meant Bethany dropped her arcane shield and ran for her brother. Though Fenris and Sebastian's wounds were clearly painful, they didn't possess the same danger as Carver's did. However, it wasn't like they only had one mage capable of healing.
They just had to get Anders back, yet Justice seemed to be reveling in his victory. Hesitant to engage him lest he lash out with leftover wrath, the others cast Justice wary looks as he stood over the sarcophagus. But they desperately needed another capable healer, because Marian wasn't the greatest, and Líadan just plain could not heal. In an obvious attempt to be useful, Marian left Bethany to work on Carver, and then went to check on Fenris and Sebastian.
After only a few minutes of trying to help the wounded, Marian handed the poultice to Sebastian and stood up. Then she walked right over to Justice. "Give Anders back."
"There is more to be done in this realm."
"Not right now. People are hurt. I know you saved them, but it won't mean much if they're permanently injured or die."
"There are more important—"
"No, there aren't!" The tip of her dagger pressed against Justice's throat. "You either give Anders back to us, or I will put you down. I won't say it twice."
Anders slumped and tumbled to the ground. Justice had abandoned him so quickly that Anders wasn't given time to gain full control of his legs. "I'm sorry he—"
Marian didn't give him a chance to finish as she crouched to his level. "You don't need to apologize. I asked you to let him come out, and it was my responsibility to deal with the consequences. And I did. Lucky for us, he listened, which means now we have our friend back, who also happens to be our best healer."
He nodded and glanced around, assessing where he would be most needed.
"Come help Carver," Bethany said. "I can heal the others, but Carver will take some delicate work that you're better with."
The healers fixed up the wounded while the recovered and the mostly uninjured searched for any clues regarding Riordan's fate. The taint remained below them, a mass of darkness and darkspawn, but Malcolm couldn't feel anything separate from it that would signal Riordan.
"This place is like a Nevarran mausoleum," said Sebastian.
"Yet, it was built before there was a Nevarra," said Bethany.
Malcolm peeked over the edge of the supposed mausoleum, trying to see if maybe Riordan had jumped or fallen to his death. It was a futile effort, considering the distance to the ground, but they didn't have many places to look. Searching for Riordan also gave him something to do other than consider what Líadan had told him during the battle. The one thing he didn't feel was any animosity toward her for keeping it to herself for so long. If he were honest with himself, he'd have done the same. The threat had precipitously dangled over them for years, and while they'd been allowed to mostly ignore it for a time, the blissful quiet was clearly over. And he didn't want to think about it, because if it were true, there wasn't a solution that wouldn't end up with pain. It would be a sodding mess and he desperately hoped it wouldn't be true.
And he was thinking about it. Damn.
If it were true, they at least had the means to hide it for a while without it becoming dangerous. Bethany would certainly agree to helping Ava, as would Rhian, since they both had been raised as apostates, entirely free of the Chantry. They wouldn't want to see the templars take her, either. Given what had happened with Connor during the Blight, Ava would have to be taught actual control, and not merely how to hide her magic. That particular route led to the magic festering until a demon could take easy advantage of it, and there was no way Malcolm would let a demon harm his child.
He would also not let his child harm others through a demon, but that was a possibility he never, ever wanted to contemplate.
No sign of Riordan jumped out at him. No blood on the stones, nothing. Occasionally, he heard whispers, almost like echoes from Corypheus. Remnants, he supposed, maybe like how ears rang after a loud explosion.
Sigrun stepped up beside him, taking a look downward of her own. "I can take over this part," she said quietly to Malcolm.
"I've got it," he said.
"Except I know another Warden who probably isn't thrilled about you teetering on the brink of a very long way down."
And with the other anxieties that had been plaguing Líadan, it was no wonder that her fear of heights had been extended to him. "I'm an ass."
Sigrun gave him a smile. "Happy to help."
When Malcolm turned around, he saw that Marian had given up on aiding the healing, and while Anders was still working on Carver, Sebastian and Fenris were back on their feet. The three of them, along with Bethany, stood over Corypheus' body, but not in triumph—more in confusion than anything.
"What do you suppose we do with it?" asked Marian.
"Darkspawn," said Bethany. "We burn it."
Marian gave her sister a sly grin. "Why do I think you'll enjoy this part?"
"Only because he burned me enough times that he and I won't be even until he's less than ash."
Anders sat back to rest as Carver tested out his arms in various forms. He rolled his eyes once at the young templar, and then joined the others in studying Corypheus. "You know, if he really is one of the ancient magisters, then I suppose the Chantry fable is more right than I thought."
"Perhaps you mean to say that it's not a fable?" asked Sebastian.
"I'm willing to go as far as not entirely a fable."
"Take it," said Marian. "You'll get nothing better, and by the time we're back in Kirkwall, it'll be all fable to him again."
Anders stared into the flames consuming Corypheus' body. "This one might stick a while, given the very tangible evidence."
Sebastian seemed troubled as the magister's corpse continued to burn in front of them. "Do you think something should be said?"
"Good riddance," said Fenris.
No one disagreed.
Then Fenris started for the bridge. When no one followed him, he asked, "Are we expecting to spend the night in this place? I would rather not."
"Much as I agree with you, without any rest, I'm not sure we could survive another run through the entire prison just to get outside," said Marian.
"We'll do it the Legion way," said Sigrun. "You find a couple decent rooms—because you never want to have the privy where you sleep—block all the entrances, keep a paired watch, get some rest, and move on in the morning."
Malcolm frowned. "I thought the Legion had way stations."
"It does, but we couldn't always get to one. Sometimes it seemed we always marched right past them during the day, and then when we needed to bunk down, there'd be nothing in sight." Sigrun shrugged. "Best thing I can think of, unless someone's really good at jumping and can get across that chasm."
"Spending the night it is!" Marian said when Carver started eyeing the gorge.
As soon as Corypheus' ashes had been carried away by the wind, they went below. With the number of mages they had and the amount of stone at their disposal, blocking off exits was easier than they had originally assumed. Sigrun even instructed them on where and how to leave a hole for the smoke to go through, if they wanted a fire.
"Maker, yes," said Anders.
No one faulted him for it. Malcolm suspected they all felt the same way. There'd been too much darkness during the day and into the night. Any light was welcome, and certainly the warmth of a fire and hot food wouldn't hurt. Bedrolls were spread out in various corners or alongside walls in the room, leaving the center for the makeshift fire, and lending the illusion of privacy to the various members of the group. Sebastian showed a surprising talent at camp cooking, and managed to put together a decent stew from dried herbs, various root vegetables, the dried meat they'd carried in their packs, water from the dwarven waterskins, and a touch of good ale from a flask he happened to have.
"You would be good at this," Carver said once he'd gotten a sizable helping of his own.
"If you don't want yours, I'll take it," said Bethany. "Because that sounded like complaining."
Carver paused to glance over at his sister. "It used to be that I'd eat your extra food."
"Warden thing," said Sigrun.
"What?" asked Marian.
"Increased appetite. Don't ask."
"Oh, no. I'm asking. Anders?"
As Anders began a long explanation of the effects of the taint, Malcolm settled back against the wall, wanting to let his mind wander, but half-afraid to do so. Líadan was next to him, starting into her empty tin bowl as if divining answers. She'd been unnaturally quiet, and since he understood why, he hadn't tried to get her to talk. With Corypheus dead, all they had left was returning to Kirkwall, quickly followed by returning to Denerim to deal with whatever Líadan had seen. It was clear to him she was getting anxious about it, and it wasn't something she had to carry on her own any longer.
At times, getting her to talk about what bothered her was like trying to help an injured wild animal without startling it. One wrong move and you'd get bitten. While they could share part of the burden of what Ava might be, there was one he could never truly help her with—her guilt he knew she'd be feeling if she'd given magic to Ava. The Gift, the Dalish called it. It was supposed to stay with the People, and not be passed on to elf-blooded humans. It had been hard for Líadan to relieve herself of the majority of her guilt for just having Ava. The addition of the very real possibility of her having passed magic to their daughter was an entirely different measure of guilt that he'd never truly comprehend.
"Did you want to talk about Ava?" he asked, taking care to be very quiet. Fenris might have heard them, but he was the silent enough type to pretend he hadn't.
"No."
"Oh, so you're that kind of upset."
Líadan tapped the bowl against her drawn-up knee. "Which is another reason I hadn't told you my suspicions."
"Out of curiosity, did you ask her not to hit her brother with lightning? Or, you know, not do any sort of magic again while in front of anyone, ever?"
"Of course I did. Not that Cáel didn't deserve some sort of retaliation. She'd put up with his teasing all day until she got even."
He idly looked up at the ceiling. "I wonder where she got her patience from."
"My mother was very patient," said Líadan.
Malcolm chuckled, struck by the memory of Fiona snapping at both him and Líadan when they'd visited Weisshaupt years ago. "Certainly not mine. Not my natural mother. The mother who raised me, though. She was. I think only Andraste had as much patience as she did with what Fergus and I put her through." He missed her. He missed both of them, and there'd been so many times he'd wanted them in the lives of his children. They both would have enjoyed being a grandmother, and both of them would've had good advice about what to do concerning Ava. He also realized that Líadan still missed her own mother in an almost painful way. It would've been hard for him not to see it, and now would be one of those times when she'd acutely feel the pain of her being gone. When the slight laugh she'd shared with him was quickly smothered, he knew the direction of her troubled thoughts.
He wished he had an answer. Better yet, he wished he could somehow produce her mother so she'd find the comfort and advice she needed, things he couldn't provide in the same way. Since he couldn't, he worked with what he had by putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She leaned into him, relaxing slightly as she used his body for support. They were both too awake to fall asleep immediately, yet they were both too mentally exhausted to talk about what needed to be.
It could wait.
Given the considerable effort it had taken them to get through the prison the day before, getting out was remarkably easy. The darkspawn seemed to have wandered to locations elsewhere in the Deep Roads, the Carta hadn't returned to their hideout, and they never did find Riordan or his body. They set a good pace through the Planasene, grateful for Varric's ability to break up the monotony of a long march. He mostly told stories, ones that filled the group with laughter. A few times, Varric managed to find subjects he'd believed fine for good-natured teasing, yet turned out to be anything but.
Those times, Malcolm wasn't entirely convinced Varric hadn't done it on purpose. The dwarf had remarkable insight when it came to people in general, and cared enough about his friends to address issues they otherwise wouldn't. He also had enough decency to not bring up the topics when in public. A group of friends, however, didn't count as public. And so it went.
"So," Varric said to Marian as the afternoon stretched into early evening, "when will we be hearing the pitter-patter of the sneaky feet of many Starkhaven and Amell heirs?"
Marian groaned. "Maker, Varric, you sound like my mother. I'll tell you the same thing I told her—take it up with Sebastian."
"Tried that," said Varric. "He told me to take it up with Andraste. I told him I did, and that Andraste said to get it on. He didn't believe me. Can you believe that?"
"Yes," said Carver.
Sebastian looked toward the sky before he addressed Varric. "Andraste would not encourage one of her followers to 'get it on.'"
"How do you know? Not everything Andraste ever said is in the Chant. Maybe she liked colloquialisms."
The comment drew a sigh from Sebastian. Then he asked, "Did you know that I have already been verbally accosted over this very subject?"
Marian perked up. "By whom?"
"Your mother."
"That isn't news."
"And Isabela."
"Wait, together?" asked Varric.
"Yes," said Sebastian. "Together. Which meant I had to sit through an entire talk regarding the importance of heirs—that was Leandra—and the importance of grandchildren in one's life—also Leandra—and then a long, involved, and explicit talk about how heirs are made, courtesy of Isabela."
"And?" The slight hopefulness in Marian's tone reflected in her eyes.
"If I am to assume Starkhaven's throne from Goran, I've been made to see the necessity of heirs. Despite what vows I may have made to Andraste before, it is not equitable to enforce them when I have made vows to another."
"Thank the Maker," said Marian. "Can we start now?"
"No!" said Carver.
"We could catch up later, if you're worried about us falling behind."
"Maker, no!" said Bethany. "That's not why we're out here."
"You'll have to reign it in, love," said Sebastian. "There are… topics that must be addressed, first."
Marian raised an eyebrow at Sebastian. "Why do I get the feeling this will be less about favorite positions and more about certain talents a child could inherit from my side?"
"Because it is," Malcolm said before Sebastian could attempt to wriggle out of a direct answer. "Whether you want it to or not, there are problems that come with bringing magic into a royal line."
"The Maker wills as He wills," said Sebastian. "Your line is healthy, given it has many heirs compared to just a generation ago, even with the amount of magic in it."
"I don't think the Theirin line is a good comparison. We've a lot more magic in it than you would with Marian. Cáel has the most potential to show it, which is just one reason of many why we're hoping he doesn't inherit. Dane and Callum would be closest to what you'll have."
There were a few steps empty of talking before Sebastian replied, "You did not mention your daughter."
"She isn't in the line of succession, so there wasn't a point." For Sebastian to bring up Ava was a low blow. If she ever had children, they and their heirs wouldn't be in the line of succession, either. Bringing up Ava wasn't about discussing the potential of magic in a royal line, because she wasn't in the line, not the one that mattered when it came to assuming thrones.
"Yet, she is a mage."
Malcolm gritted his teeth as he shoved down choice words that would only make things worse. "Might be. Might."
Líadan made no effort at keeping the peace, immediately confronting the former Chantry brother with a deadly stare. "Are you going to tell the templars when we get back to Kirkwall?" Her implication was clear—if he was going to, she wasn't going to allow him to return.
Not even Anders or Justice felt the need to lend an additional threat, while Sebastian halted and turned around to meet Líadan's steady look.
Varric took measure of the entire group while managing to roll his eyes without actually doing so. "I suppose it's a good time to stop and find a good place to camp. Since we've stopped." He pointed at a clearing just beyond the edge of the trail. "Over there looks nice. How about we go there?" Without looking back to see if the others followed, he headed for the clearing.
No one argued his decision, and despite the tension straining the friendships amongst them, they followed Varric without exchanging any further words. They silently prepared a camp, and only once the sun had set and a quiet meal eaten did anyone talk.
It was Sebastian who took up the matter hanging over them. "I could not go to the templars on the mere supposition that a child is a mage. There is no proof, thus there is nothing to tell." For a moment, he glanced over at Marian, who was giving him a glare heavy with expectation. Realization at how he'd not cleared anything up lighted in his eyes, and he turned to address Líadan and Malcolm again. "Even if Andraste herself told me that your daughter was a mage, I would do nothing to put her in harm's way. The Circle, such as it exists now, is not a safe option. If a young mage already has responsible, competent instructors—such as the daughters of Malcolm Hawke—there is no need to remove a small child from the very arms of her parents."
"Also," Marian said from beside him, "I'd have to hurt you if you did. And I'd have to beat our friends in a footrace to get to you first, and I can't even imagine what Isabela or Merrill would do to you if they got to you before I did."
Sebastian had the decency to look abashed at his missteps, even though he'd meant well.
Líadan looked at Carver. "And you, templar?"
Carver gaped at her as he held up his hands to show his innocence. "Are you kidding? Mother would kill me. I'm not saying a sodding word."
"If it is true," Fenris said from the opposite side of the fire, "can she be taught the strength required for proper control?"
"I'll teach her myself, if need be," said Bethany.
Fenris nodded. "And you are not weak. If you believe it can be done, then I will trust it."
"We don't need to plan anything yet," said Malcolm. "Nothing is certain."
"No, it never is," said Fenris.
Next to Malcolm, Líadan visibly relaxed, the tension of preparation for a fight leaving her limbs as she settled into a comfortable position.
"You may not believe it," said Sebastian, "but there are those who wish for peace to exist. There are those who believe the magi are as much the Maker's children as any of us, and not to be treated as if they are not worthy of the Maker's love. You've even met one of them in Grand Cleric Elthina."
Marian shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she tried to hold in her objections. Then she gave up. "She doesn't do enough. She advocates peace, yet won't step in to curtail either side. Meredith is too harsh, and at the same time, Orsino too reactionary." She pointed at Anders without looking at him. "Not one word out of you." When it was apparent that Anders would keep quiet, she added, "It isn't going to end well if Elthina continues to do nothing."
"Which is why you wish to leave Kirkwall," said Sebastian.
"The writing is on the wall. I'm not going to ignore it, and neither should anyone else. Meredith will not change of her own accord, and neither will Orsino. There will be a time when one or both of them goes too far, and by then it will be too late for Elthina to intervene. Blood will be shed, and I don't want to be there when it is. I don't want my friends or family to be there, either, but not everyone has a way out of the city. Fenris has agreed to help us in Starkhaven, sure. And maybe Carver could get a transfer. Isabela has her ship. But others don't have ties loose enough to undo. My mother certainly won't let go, no matter what I say. Anders has his clinic. I can't expect him to leave those who need a healer most without one. Aveline is Captain of the Guard. I can't expect her to just walk away, especially when we have no work to offer her in return."
"She might," said Malcolm. "All the officers from Ostagar who are alive, but thought dead, are being offered back their commissions. Aveline should be getting a letter soon, if she hasn't already."
"Even then, I don't know what she'll say," said Marian.
He shrugged. "If she says no, the offer won't disappear. Ferelden could use good officers, and if she ever wanted to return, she'd be welcome."
Marian tapped her lips with her finger, and then turned to Varric. "What about you?"
"Me? I go where the stories take me. Don't you worry about me, Hawke."
"And Merrill? If we all go, she'll be alone in the city. She still has her eluvian, and her former clan is still on Sundermount, so it isn't like she can just pick up and leave."
Líadan straightened from where she'd been leaning against Malcolm, presumably for reassurance and not comfort, since the Planasene was rather warm in late summer. "Emrys offered her a place with his clan as his First. He approves of her work with the eluvian, so she could bring it with her. A shard of glass isn't that hard to carry." For her to voluntarily mention what Emrys had said to Merrill said a lot about what she also saw brewing in Kirkwall. She was only an occasional visitor, like Malcolm, and it seemed they both saw what Marian did.
Varric chuckled. "It isn't just a shard of glass anymore. Our Daisy's been hard at work. It looks like a real mirror now, even if it doesn't quite reflect."
"Still, it could be transported." Then Líadan broke off and glared into the forest, a glare meant for Merrill, and not the innocent trees.
Malcolm knew Líadan's frustration with Merrill and the eluvian gave her something else to focus on, so he didn't try to bring her out of it. That frustration was much preferred over the worry that would otherwise take over. The others continued chatting about how they could leave Kirkwall, with Marian and Sebastian finally deciding that nothing could really be done until they were back from Starkhaven and knew what the timetable there would be. It would also give Marian more time to spend convincing her mother to leave. While she didn't believe it could be done, she couldn't stop trying. It was her mother, after all. But Malcolm only partly paid attention, his thoughts on other things since he would be leaving Kirkwall in a matter of a couple days. What waited for him at home wasn't exactly an easy situation, but at least it wasn't Kirkwall.
Then again, maybe Kirkwall was the easier of the two, since people could just leave the city, and the problem would be over. He supposed leaving could be a solution to his and Líadan's problem, but then they'd be leaving a significant amount of family behind. He'd be leaving his home, and highly unlikely to be able to return. The lack of amenable solutions had served to keep him awake for his watch the night before, and he hoped his tiredness would force him to sleep tonight. Or maybe a way out would be dropped in his lap.
In their tent, as Líadan pulled blankets around them, Malcolm asked, "Did you want to talk about it yet?"
Her movements didn't cease. "No." She sounded far more confident than he believed she felt. It was in her sleep that her true feelings showed. When it became stuffy and overly warm in the tent, as usually happened sometime in the night when their confines were tight, she didn't roll away to escape the additional heat of another body. Since she never slept well when hot, she rarely stayed against him when it was. So when the warmth didn't chase her away, and she instead draped an arm over his chest and pressed closer, he knew she was far more worried than she'd let on. Sleep eluded him as he stared up at the canvas of the tent, searching for a solution.
The next day, when they reached Kirkwall and had washed off the dust and grime from the road and battle, it was Líadan who suggested a visit to Merrill. Bethany was the first to give her a questioning look, knowing full well how Líadan felt about the eluvian and Merrill's involvement, and Malcolm gave Líadan the same look.
"I'm not so sure I want to bring you down there," said Bethany.
Líadan scowled at her, not doing a good job of making a case for herself. "I'm not going to do whatever it is you think I'm going to do to Merrill."
"Maybe you think you aren't. You might change your mind when you get there, and I don't want responsibility for it."
"Fine. We'll go by ourselves."
Malcolm widened his eyes in panic. They'd end up at the docks, if they were lucky. If they were unlucky, they'd end up in a fight in Darktown. Neither place was where they wanted to be.
"You'd never get there."
Exactly, Malcolm mouthed to Bethany from behind Líadan.
Isabela, who indeed had been waiting for them all when they got back, straightened up from where she'd been reading various notes and letters left on Marian's desk. "I'll bring them. Wouldn't want them wandering into Darktown. I'm not sure the Coterie could sustain the damage they'd take by trying to steal from two lost Wardens. Besides," she said as Bethany tried to voice her objections, "I haven't checked in on Kitten in a few days, so I'm going there. If these two choose to follow me, who am I to stop them?"
Bethany threw her hands over her head as she walked away, absolving herself of the responsibility. Isabela only laughed.
Her good humor accompanied the trio as they took the many steps down to Lowtown. Isabela told them about her most recent escapade—something involving Estwatch and evading other pirates who wouldn't have known the proper star charts to use even if said charts had been rolled up and smacked them in the face—and the gossip she'd managed to wrangle from Varric practically as soon as they'd entered the city.
Then she quirked her lips, mulling over a new idea as they descended the last few sets of stairs leading to the alienage. "You know, if what I heard from Varric is true, you both realize this just means you'll have to send your girl to me to be my apprentice?"
Malcolm chuckled, genuinely amused by the thought. He could easily see his daughter being perfectly happy out at sea. "She'd probably like that."
"I bet she'd make a great sailor. With her mother's agility and her father's rather exceptional sailing skills, she could take over as Queen of the Eastern Seas when she's of age."
"I'm almost tempted," said Malcolm.
"I know! That's what makes this so fun." Her eyes brightened more as she ran with her idea. "I could probably even talk Sunshine into signing on."
"We'll consider your offer," said Líadan, who sounded rather serious about not intending to consider the offer at all.
"Oh, don't talk like that. Where did my lovely pirate Warden go?"
"Isabela, I've never been a pirate."
"More's the pity, I say. Your whole family could take to the seas. It would be a thing of beauty. You with wind-blown hair, a treasure at the sea—"
"If you stop right there, I'll consider it."
"Really?"
"Really."
Isabela hugged her close from the side. "That's my girl."
When they passed the vhenadahl, Isabela announced that she'd be waiting outside. "There's a lovely hat shop around the corner. I should see if they got in anything new while I was away." Before they could object, she was gone.
Merrill invited Malcolm in after Líadan. He felt overly large in the small home, cramped to the point where he had recollections of the aravels he'd once tried to fit inside. Shelves filled with books dominated one wall of Merrill's apartment, most of which had been added in the years since the Qunari tried to take over Kirkwall. Maker, but there were a lot. He'd gotten so preoccupied with staring up at them that he was left behind by the other two people in the home.
"It still doesn't work," he heard Merrill say to Líadan as he stepped around the corner. "But I don't dare finish it until I deal with the spirit that offered its help. All spirits are dangerous, so I can't know its true intentions. There could even be some way it could escape through it. It has to be clean; it's the only way to be sure."
To Malcolm, the eluvian looked finished. Its base was a curious contraption of curling wooden vines, but the mirror itself looked much like what he remembered. It reflected light so dully that it might well as not have reflected at all, and he felt pushed away from it, like it was telling him not to touch it. Not that he would. Sometimes, he recalled when he'd had to fire that bolt into a blighted, twisted creature that had once been Líadan's friend Tamlen. And it'd been Tamlen who'd touched the eluvian—this eluvian in particular. It wasn't like the one Morrigan had found and traveled through. That one had been a portal. This one was wrong. Not as wrong, but still wrong in some indescribable way.
"The spirit in the statue? Wasn't that Justice?" asked Líadan. Her expression had already turned dark when she first gazed at the nearly-complete eluvian, and it only grew darker as explanations became more muddled.
"There were several more. I might need to deal with them all to be sure it's safe. Others will have to come with me. Maybe Anders, so he can find out from Justice which spirits need to be killed. All of them, probably, which won't be easy. Hawke will—"
"Has it occurred to you that it might be difficult for a reason?" Líadan stood and stepped away from the eluvian. Then she held one of her arms towards it, as if the ward it off should it attack her. "That all these barriers are there to keep people from getting hurt? And you just go leaping over them, thinking of only the history you can save, thinking of what it will be when it's completed, and not thinking—just not thinking! I'm afraid that you aren't afraid enough. You're talking about going up to Sundermount to confront several spirits, like you're going to come out on top from a battle like that."
The level of Líadan's anger was astonishing; Malcolm hadn't seen her like this since the Blight. Yet, Merrill seemed untroubled, standing up straight, never looking away from the friend practically shouting at her.
Meanwhile, Líadan hadn't stopped. "You might as well just tear a hole in the Veil and fight everything that comes out for all you'll be able to survive. You're about to open a door that should never have been opened in the first place. Look at—"
"What are you really afraid of, lethallan?" asked Merrill.
Líadan stopped mid-sentence.
Merrill continued to speak softly, a counterpoint to Líadan's raised voice from before. "You act like you're angry, maybe even feel like you're angry, but it's only a disguise for your fear."
A silence passed between them, as Merrill waited while Líadan stared at a clanmate who dared to say what she truly saw. Then Líadan seemed to crumple inward, slumping to the floor to lean against the side of Merrill's small bed. The anger had been keeping her upright, and when she let it go, her strength went with it. "I think Ava has the Gift."
Merrill went to her side and took one of Líadan's hands in hers. "I'm so sorry."
Malcolm felt like an intruder. He was the reason why Merrill consoled Líadan instead of congratulating her. In a Dalish clan, a child manifesting magic was a happy occasion. Only in the world of the elf-blooded, of humans and the Chantry, was it a curse. He wondered if he should go outside.
"You don't need to leave, lethallin," said Merrill, as if she'd known what was going through his head.
"No, don't leave." Líadan sounded remarkably calm, given the events that'd happened only moments before. "It's fine. I'm fine. It's the eluvian. It's like it focuses our tendencies, like it did to Tamlen's curiosity—and to mine. Maybe to Merrill's, too." She remained seated, but she straightened a little.
"If you say so," said Malcolm. He'd noticed that Merrill hadn't let go of Líadan's hand.
"Neither of you believe me, I know." Líadan cast a meaningful look at Merrill's hand, and then raised her eyebrow at Malcolm. "I just came here to get Merrill's opinion about what to do, if… if it's true."
He tried a smile. "There's always Isabela's offer to consider."
Her stare at him rivaled the one she'd given Merrill. "Malcolm. We are not apprenticing our daughter to a pirate."
"But that would be so fun for her!" said Merrill. "I could go, too. Isabela told me I'm always welcome on her ship."
Líadan sighed.
Merrill let go of her hand and gave it a pat. "It'll work out. If you don't want to send her to Isabela, then maybe the Dalish, like Emrys did for Feynriel. Or maybe another clan, like the Ra'asiel, if you can find them. The Mahariel, maybe. It will depend on Keeper Marethari." Then Merrill's lightheartedness slipped away, replaced by a solemnity Malcolm saw a lot with Dalish Keepers. "No matter what you decide to do, you should consider Cáel's safety, as well, if it's true. The Chantry knows he's Asha'belannar's grandson. If they discover his sister has the Gift, I don't think they'd leave him alone, not if any of them are like Knight-Commander Meredith. But he will always have safe refuge with the Dalish. No clan would leave kin of Asha'belannar unprotected."
At their despondent expressions, Merrill lifted her hands, as if she could lift their spirits with them. "But we don't really have to assume anything. Maybe it isn't magic. If it is, you've got a teacher, don't you? Bethany's quite good and patient. So long as your daughter's magic stays hidden from the templars, there's no need to be so down."
"I want to believe you," said Líadan.
"I'll believe for you," said Merrill. "I can hold onto hope when no one else can."
Líadan took in Merrill's statement, and then looked over at the eluvian in the corner. After she studied it this time, the rancor she usually reserved for it was absent. "You're missing two pieces, Merrill." She pointed to each side of the eluvian. "There should be a statue of Falon'Din on one side, and then a statue of Dirthamen on the other, like they're guarding the eluvian."
Merrill hopped to her feet and circled the eluvian. Then she stopped to face Líadan. "How do you know?"
After releasing a long breath, Líadan stood up. "Years ago, while we were looking for Morrigan, we went back to that cave in the Brecilian Forest. You'd already taken the glass by then, but the frame was still there, along with the Tevinter statues. Outside the room, we came across the statue of Falon'Din, and I started to wonder where Dirthamen was, because—"
"The brothers are always together," said Merrill.
Líadan nodded. "Right. So, some of us looked for his statue, while the two dwarves in our party studied an oddity they'd noticed about the bases of the statues. They figured out that the Tevinter statues weren't the ones that had originally been there, and they were able to show where the Falon'Din statue had been cut at its base and removed from the eluvian. We assumed the same had happened to the Dirthamen statue, but the statue itself was lost or destroyed."
"You're certain?"
"When Tamlen and I went in the room the first time, there was a bear, and the bear was tainted."
"So even with Dirthamen gone, his favorite kept watch over his artifact," said Merrill. "This helps! Except I don't know where I'd get statues of Falon'Din and Dirthamen. I'm not very good at carving."
"Master Ilen should be able to help you," said Líadan.
"He might not. The clan has changed."
"Do you know where the clan's statues of the Creators went? It isn't like the clan's using them."
Merrill's eyes lit up, even though the words that immediately followed didn't match the sentiment. "No, not ours. But when Keeper Emrys visited with Oisín, they brought new statues. They were never set out like they should be, just like the others that disappeared, but the donated ones are still in the aravel that carried them to Sundermount. If I invoke vir sulevanan, they'll have to give them to me. I should kill the spirits first, though. Just in case."
"I think…" Líadan took measure of Merrill, and then nodded. "I think that would be for the best."
"I wish you could come with me. I know you can't. You've too much to deal with, but that doesn't change what I wish."
"And if I had the time, I'd go with you," said Líadan, which took Malcolm entirely by surprise. He'd thought that if Merrill had ever asked Líadan for help with the eluvian, Líadan would've told her clanmate to do something anatomically impossible with it. And now she was actively helping, and actually had said she'd do more, if she could.
He idly wondered if Líadan had picked up some sort of passenger while they were at the prison.
Merrill seemed to be having the same kind of thoughts. She tilted her head to the side as she studied her clanmate. "Why've you changed your mind?"
Which, Malcolm figured, was a better question than his would have been. "Have you lost your mind?" would have ended painfully.
For just a moment, Líadan's decent mood departed. "After what I might have taken from them, the Dalish deserve something good. Maybe you can do that." Then Líadan returned to her normal self, and cast a determined look at Merrill. "Just promise me that if you can't be sure the eluvian won't pose a threat, you'll leave it be."
"I promise, lethallan." Merrill briefly glanced down at her toes before she asked her next question. "Would it be all right if I brought it to Keeper Emrys, if this plan doesn't work?"
Líadan opened her mouth, shut it, mulled over the question, and then attempted another answer. "If it meant you leaving Kirkwall, yes."
"You can feel it, too? Like something's building to an end? It's very oppressive."
If Merrill had anything else to add, it was cut off by Isabela's voice from the front door. "Come on, you lot. We've got a date at the Hanged Man for another round of Diamondback."
Malcolm groaned.
"Oh! You aren't very good at cards, either?" asked Merrill.
"He's awful," said Isabela. "My aim is to take him for all he's worth, and then put him to work on my ship. In my cabin. In my bunk. Without the clothes and armor I would've won from him before that."
Malcolm looked to Líadan for help. "You don't have anything to say about this?"
She flashed a grin at him, and nothing more.
Maker. They would be the death of him.
As they headed for the Hanged Man, Malcolm reasoned he felt somewhat better—despite Isabela's rather detailed plans for debauchery—and it was obvious that Líadan was back to herself. Their last night in Kirkwall was enjoyable, with Malcolm even narrowly avoiding the loss of his armor and clothing, as Isabela had practically promised. Líadan was up half the night winning back the coin he'd lost. The wee hours brought the match down to Marian and Líadan, and in the end, they called it a draw and rewarded themselves with sleep, much to Isabela's disappointment. To make up for it, Isabela informed them, she'd bring them home, but on the condition they add another week for her at the Pearl on their tab.
"Remember what I said," she told them when they disembarked in Denerim. "I meant every word." Then with a wink and a wave, she was off to the brothel, while the four Wardens headed for the compound to meet with their Warden-Commander.
With the Warden compound in Denerim possessing of a full complement, it meant that they had to wait for Hildur to finish a session with a batch of potential recruits. The small meetings were Hildur's way of weeding out recruits with stars in their eyes, yet no skills in their hands. She also tended to use the opportunity to scare the potential recruits, if she could. A squad of four veteran Wardens returning from a long trip to the vicinity of the Deep Roads clattering through the front door and into the main hall certainly provided one. Though they'd had the chance to clean up in Kirkwall, it always took a while to truly rid themselves of the stink of darkspawn. Coupled with the smell of salt from their days at sea, one could easily tell they hadn't been for a nice stroll around Denerim.
"Sweet Ancestors!" Hildur said as soon as she noticed them. "What happened to your shield? I've seen arse-ends of brontos that've looked better."
Malcolm scowled, the rather battered state of his shield having slipped his mind. He offered Hildur a rueful grin. "Turns out there's alpha versions of genlocks," he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant, because that tended to unnerve potential recruits more.
"We ran into it," said Sigrun. "Literally."
Bethany frowned. "I think it ran into us. Well, it ran into someone else first, and then into Malcolm. It's a little blurry with the rest of the darkspawn that attacked with it."
"Emissary was a nasty piece of work," said Malcolm.
"Emissary?" asked one of the potential recruits.
"Darkspawn mage," said Hildur. "Crushing prison spell is their favorite. Feels like all your bones are ground together while still inside your body."
Two of the five potential recruits got up from their seats and left the building.
"That was just mean," said Malcolm.
Hildur lifted her hands up in an innocent shrug. "I'm only telling it like it is. You've been caught by how many of those spells?"
"More than I'd like to count."
"And was my description not apt?"
"Mostly. You forgot about the part where it lifts you up in the air, so that when the spell lets go, you land on the ground pretty hard. And if you're really lucky, it won't be on your head."
A third potential recruit left.
Hildur faced the other two. "All right, if that didn't scare the pants off you, come back tomorrow morning and we'll put you through some drills." After the last two departed, Hildur glanced over at her veteran Wardens. "Sovereign says only one comes back in the morning."
"I'll take it," said Sigrun. "I say none of them do."
Bethany hadn't taken her eyes off the closed door. "Maker, they get younger every year. Have any of them even reached their majority?"
"Hey!" said Malcolm. "I hadn't reached mine by the time we ended the Blight."
Hildur laughed as she stood from the bench. "And you only just now started to look your age. Maybe."
"Don't remind me," Líadan said with a sigh.
"All right, let's get this report business over with." Hildur waved in the direction of the stairs. "We can use Malcolm's study, since I took it over while he was gone." She gave him a smile. "Don't worry, you can have it back, and it'll be in better shape than what you left it in, and not destroyed, like when you leave it to Oghren."
Malcolm was still finding items and stains of dubious origin from the last time Oghren had been left in command.
Having been away from home for almost a fortnight, none of them were eager to stick around to deliver a lengthy report to their commanding officer. Fortunately for them, the Grey Wardens had never been big on official methods of delivering reports. So long as the report was given verbally, and then written down in a legible, literate script, there were no other requirements, which meant a debriefing by a Warden-Commander wasn't a huge deal. Consequently, they tended to also take very little time.
Malcolm did feel a bit awkward to have Hildur sitting behind his desk instead of him. While he hadn't been used to having a study at first, he'd accepted his role over the years, and came to like running the Denerim compound. It was a far sight better than doing princely things. Here, there was a lot less bullshit, both thrown and tolerated.
"So, how did it go?" Hildur asked as the other Wardens found chairs.
Malcolm gently tossed the journal on the desk before taking a seat. "Corypheus is dead. Prison had a lot of darkspawn. Ran into Janeka. She wouldn't listen to reason—I know, I was shocked, too—and attacked us. She came around to our side mid-fight when she figured out we were the Wardens who ended the Blight. So, she started to help us kill the revenants she summoned—"
"Bloody revenants," muttered Bethany.
Malcolm resisted a smile, because after their trip, she had more than enough reason to hate revenants, obvious reasons aside. "And then Anders' passenger decided to kill her, because she was a blood mage. Or something. Then the Wardens with her took exception and attacked us, while the revenants attacked everybody, and it was looking bad until Justice—the same spirit that got us into the fight—got tired of it and killed everything but us."
Hildur stared at him for a minute. "Go back to the bit about Anders."
"The spirit he took in, Justice? He's an—"
Bethany helped him out. "Uptight, unreasonable, high-strung, intolerant—"
"I get it," said Hildur. "What I don't get is how Anders lost control of him."
Malcolm shrugged. "Could've been plenty of things."
"Just two," said Sigrun. "Either the calling Corypheus did unhinged the spirit along with Anders' control, or—"
"Or Justice is taking over," said Bethany.
The partial explanation only served to make Hildur more concerned. "Do we need to send a group to help him regain control? If he's a danger, either to himself or others or both, we need to bring him home. And it isn't just something we'd do to protect the Wardens from backlash, either. He's one of ours. If he's lost, we need to find him."
"I'm not sure he can be," said Líadan, without any force to her voice at all, as if illustrating the futility of trying to rescue Anders.
Hildur raised an eyebrow at her, questioning her pessimism. While Líadan wasn't one to be overly optimistic, her outlook wasn't usually quite so dark. Even Sigrun shot her a confused look. Then Hildur shifted away from Líadan and to the others. "We still owe it to him to try, if he needs it."
"I wouldn't say he needs it right now," said Bethany. "My sister's watching over him. If she thought someone needed to intervene, she said she'd tell me, as long as it wasn't an emergency. In that case, she'd send a letter… after the fact." Each of them knew exactly what 'after the fact' meant: Anders being killed, because he wouldn't have been Anders anymore.
Hildur nodded. "Sounds like a decent enough plan for now, but it bears watching. I'll at least send him a letter from me, just to check in." She glanced down at the journal Malcolm had returned to her. "I know the reports from the early Wardens talk about Corypheus' calling, and you just mentioned it, so looks like that part's true." Then she looked directly at Malcolm and Líadan. "What are your thoughts on it? Like the Archdemon from the Blight?"
"Different," said Malcolm. "The Old Gods have a musical quality to their call, but unless you're darkspawn or a ghoul, it doesn't compel you to do anything. Corypheus was irritating, and he thought he could control us like he could the ghouls and other Wardens. The only one of us who had to actively resist obeying him was Anders."
"Differences between the old and new Joining potions, I think," said Hildur. "Makes it all the better reason for every Warden to use it, like we do here, and not some optional thing, like every other country." She closed the journal and set it aside. "Is there anything else? If not, you're free to go."
Bethany halfway stood, but rest remained seated. Then Sigrun looked expectantly at Líadan. "Well?"
"Riordan was there," Líadan said after glaring at Sigrun.
Hildur jumped a little. "Our Riordan?"
The smile Líadan gave her was weary and rueful both. "I don't know any others."
"And?" asked Hildur.
"He talked," said Malcolm.
"I think he was a darkspawn the whole time," said Sigrun. "Not really Riordan, just a ghost of him. He heard Corypheus' call and followed it through the Deep Roads to the prison. We saw him a few times, and he sounded fairly rational when he talked, but…" She shrugged.
Malcolm sighed. "In the end, he helped free Corypheus, forcing us into a tough fight. Then he disappeared while we were in battle."
"Did you find him afterward?"
"No," said Sigrun. "No sign of him, not even when we retraced our steps as we left."
Hildur's furrowed brow told them the news still troubled her. "I'll put a note in my report. Weisshaupt will probably want to investigate further. I know I do, but they're better equipped." She opened up the journal, jotted a few notes, and closed it again. "Any other surprises?" When no one answered beyond shakes of the head, Hildur waved them out of the room. But then she held up a hand as they stood. "Wait." She pointed at Bethany and Sigrun. "You two can go." Her finger moved to Malcolm and Líadan, pointing first at them, and then the chairs they'd just abandoned. "You two stay here."
As they left, Bethany and Sigrun gave them confused, but sympathetic looks.
Hildur waited until the door closed before she leveled her gaze on Líadan. "What's with you?"
Líadan raised her eyebrows. "What's with me, what?"
"You're never this quiet. You've never been this quiet, not in all the years I've known you."
"It was a long trip. I have a lot to think about."
Hildur scoffed. "Right, and dusters live in the Diamond Quarter. Try again, and don't even think of telling me it's Riordan, either."
Líadan crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. She said nothing as she continued to meet Hildur's steady look.
After a long moment of staring each other down, Hildur sighed and turned to Malcolm. "Tell me."
His eyes widened. This wasn't even fair. Putting him on the spot, knowing full well he couldn't lie to literally save his life. But, he had to at least attempt to avoid spilling everything, because Líadan might very well kill him if he broke right away. "There isn't—"
"Try again."
Like it wasn't now perfectly clear what Hildur's motive had been in keeping him back along with Líadan when it came to confessions. And they said he was the transparent one. "Nothing's—"
"Tell me another."
Maker, this was awful. He was a grown man, and yet Hildur had him pinned with a glare rivaling ones his mother had given him when he was a boy. Normally, he'd have broken by now and told Hildur everything in a rush to get it over with, but if Líadan didn't want to tell Hildur, he had to go along with with her decision. The issue with Ava was too important to be anything but united.
Malcolm threw his hands in the air, feigning outrage. "I haven't gotten a chance to tell you anything."
This time, Hildur didn't say a word. She just stared at him.
He let his gaze wander over to the window behind Hildur, calculating if he could get over there and jump out before she could catch him. Hildur was deceptively fast.
"We think Ava might have magic," said Líadan. Then she briefly touched Malcolm's arm, telling him that she'd spoken in order to save him. Which was nice of her, he figured. She'd also probably noticed him eyeing the window and decided she'd rather not have him with broken legs.
Hildur settled back in her chair, the hardness that had been in her eyes immediately gone. "Nuglet's a mage, huh? I'm not exactly surprised, but one out of two isn't bad, considering." She leaned forward and picked up the quill she'd dropped earlier. "I'll send a message up to the Vigil to have Perran come down. She'll need a teacher, and while Bethany's good, I'd be more comfortable with Perran as primary instructor since he trained under a Dalish Keeper before he became one. Bethany will be a good secondary teacher." She snagged a piece of paper, but didn't write on it yet as she tapped the quill against her chin. "The Wardens and the staff here will know, of course, but no one will pass it on. I've made sure of that."
Líadan stared at her. "You've thought about this."
Hildur seemed genuinely surprised. "Of course I have. Odds were pretty damn high for at least one of the nuglets to turn out a mage, and we needed to be ready for that. Just like with Anders, you're family, and so are the children. That means we take care of you. From what I'm told, kid mages need teachers. And, based on what I've seen and heard, any family of mine going to the human Circle is out of the question. That means we find one or more of our own to do the teaching. Perran agreed ages ago, and the staff and Wardens have been thoroughly vetted to make sure they won't go running off to fetch templars—not just for little mages, mind you, but also because the Wardens have blood mages, and we don't want templars killing them."
They both continued giving her bewildered looks.
She half-rolled her eyes before she tried again. "What I'm saying is, we'll keep her safe. If we have to, we'll send the lot of you to another post. Vigil or the Peak, ideally, but if you have to leave the country, I'm sure Georg will find a good place."
Malcolm hadn't expected anyone to be so unbothered by the possibility of magic, and certainly hadn't foreseen anyone being so prepared to harbor and school an apostate. "What if they come for her?"
"The Chantry? Let them. They can't dictate to the Wardens, and if they try to bully us, they won't succeed. If the Chantry thinks they can outfight us, then they'll need to be taught otherwise. It isn't just me saying this, either. Georg holds the same view, as do his advisors, even the devout Andrastians."
While Malcolm understood why Fergus felt this way, he couldn't quite grasp the same about Hildur. "But Ava isn't a Warden."
"No, but you've both seen the records regarding children who happen to have two Warden parents. Those records are important to keep up to date. Especially when this augmented Joining potion counteracts a lot of nastier side effects of the Joining, including fertility. There could be more kids like yours, so we all need to know that these kids turn out all right. Chantry interference would make that difficult, to say the least. If they could take away a mage child of two Wardens, they might get ideas about what they can do to actual Warden mages." She quickly scratched something down on the paper, and looked up at them again when they didn't say anything. "All that aside—don't forget the family part. Wardens protect their own. Of course, unless it's darkspawn to be fought, most would prefer to avoid conflict. Makes it easier and better for everyone involved. However, if it becomes necessary, we won't back down."
"Thank you," said Líadan, sounding as astonished as Malcolm felt.
Hildur gave her a friendly smile. "Not a problem at all. Just let me know when you find out for sure if she is or isn't. Regardless, I'll send for Perran since it'll take a few days for him to get here." She drummed the fingers of her free hand on the desk. "And I know you dread the truth that she is one. I understand it, as well as any dwarf is able. And I know you'd rather stay as you are, here in Denerim, with friends and family. I'd prefer that, too. But if that option isn't available, you don't need to dread the worst possible outcome. No one from our Warden family goes to the Circle. Not on my watch."
When they kept staring at her, she resorted to shooing them out. "Go on. Go see your family. I heard you've been missed."
They left the compound in a bit of a daze, but Hildur had managed to brighten their prospects, if just a little.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with family, stories of Wardening relayed to a jealous Alistair, along with censored versions of events told to rapt children who were up far too late in the evening, yet far too excited to settle down for sleep at a reasonable time. Callum was the first to succumb, falling asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. Alistair rolled his eyes and picked him up, the boy staying asleep even as his father put him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
"I suppose this is good night," Alistair said to Malcolm and Líadan. Then he gave the remaining children a salute. "And I am impressed with your ability to remain awake, young sers. Alas, it's time for bed." With that, he walked out the door of the solar.
"Come along," Anora said to Dane when he showed no sign of following. "There will be plenty of stories tomorrow. If your father and your aunt and uncle don't have enough, the other Wardens have plenty more, provided you ask nicely." Dane dragged his feet, but he obeyed, and Anora bade the others good night as she herded her eldest out of the room.
"Right then," Nuala said as she stood up. "Off with you two. Past your bedtimes, and I know neither of you will sleep in when you should. I'm right behind you, so you'd better wash up properly." Then she chased the children to their rooms, with Malcolm and Líadan following slowly behind.
When they reached their family quarters, Líadan asked Nuala to supervise Cáel, and told her they would help Ava. Before he ducked into his room, Cáel gave them both a look telling them he knew exactly what they were doing. Malcolm could only give his son a wan smile, having nothing reassuring to say, especially when he knew that his son already knew what the truth was, and they didn't.
The door had hardly closed before Ava had perched herself on her bed. Her legs dangled off the edge as she idly kicked the mattress with her heels, and she took quick looks at them only to return to looking down at her hands that she'd placed in her lap. She was hardly the picture of the normal scamp they were used to, a child more likely to be building forts with her blankets to wage imaginary battles than she was to behave at bedtime. "I know why you're here," she said, her tone almost pleading.
Líadan hesitantly sat beside her, as if Ava would shy away.
Malcolm stayed between the bed and the door, and held his breath.
"It was magic," said Ava.
Something inside Malcolm tore, the ragged edges leaving little chance for repair. His chest burned because he wouldn't stop holding his breath, the breath he'd held for that last chance for hope. If he let it go, it would be gone. Except it had already fled, and so he breathed. And he used the time between those breaths to figure out what they could do, because Merrill's grasp on hope didn't extend as far as Ferelden.
Líadan had gathered Ava into her arms, tears brimming in her own eyes when they so rarely did. She held her jaw set against the tremors the sadness brought, the guilt she felt for betraying her people in having passed the Gift to an elf-blooded child, and the despair only a mage living in a world with the Chantry could know at discovering their own child had magic.
"I'm sorry," Ava said into Líadan's shoulder.
"It's not your fault." She'd had to unclench her jaw to say it, releasing the strained hold she'd kept on her emotions, and it rendered her feelings transparent. It was easily enough seen where Líadan believed the fault to be—herself.
Malcolm caught her eyes with his. "It isn't yours, either." He didn't need to remind her that his own mother had been a mage. It wouldn't matter either way, because it was clear that Líadan wouldn't believe the blame didn't rest directly on her shoulders. Yet Malcolm knew that if blame belonged to anyone, it belonged to the Chantry and its ilk, for forcing this desperation on mages and their families. "It isn't anyone's," he said out loud. "Except for the Chantry, and we don't have to get them involved. If it's magic, Perran and Bethany said they'd teach you."
Ava pushed away from her mother. "I don't want to learn."
"You have to learn." Líadan reached out and took Ava's hands in hers. "You have to learn to control it, or it could hurt people. If you can control it, if you can make sure that no one but us or Perran or Bethany see it, we can all stay home."
"What if someone else sees?"
"I don't know. What I do know is that the Chantry will try to take you away, and we won't let that happen."
Ava looked up at Malcolm for confirmation.
He gave it. "We won't. No matter what it takes, they won't take you." Yet he'd seen the shadow of fear the Chantry had cast in his daughter's eyes, and there was nothing he could do to remove it. She would always be afraid, and there was nothing he could to do reassure her.
The Chantry would always exist. It was the way of the world.