Chapter 10
"A dream came upon me, as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life, and her betrayal, and her death."
—Spirit of Brona
Malcolm
As Malcolm watched his two children attempt to pummel each other with wooden practice swords in the sparring ring—empty of Wardens this late in the afternoon—he realized they were more evenly matched than he'd previously seen. Which, he also noticed, brought no end of irritation to both children. While Ava seemed to be a hair faster, Cáel was stronger. It meant that when he managed to catch her unawares, she usually tumbled into the dirt, the grass, or the mud, depending on where in the ring she fell. Then she'd bounce back, angrier than before, and redouble her efforts. Her goal, as it was obvious to Malcolm, was to knock her brother onto his own backside. Sitting across from him on the top rung of the fence, Líadan had already pressed her lips into a line as she braced for Ava to either triumph over her brother, collapse into a helpless heap of frustration, or entirely let loose her anger. No matter which, there would probably be tears.
The past month had been a pleasant break from the appearance of tears, with Cáel having been decent to his sister most of the time, and Ava's nightmares having faded to none at all. Sadly, there was no chance of it continuing for the months to come. Malcolm well knew that Cáel and Ava only had so much control when it came to being constantly nice to each other. Malcolm remembered that he and Fergus had been the same way growing up, and still weren't above such behavior, even as adults.
"I think," Nuala said quietly from near the door to the compound, "when she blows up this time, we might have to use one of Shianni's terms to describe it."
Malcolm glanced back at her. "You mean the one where she says that she's lost her sodding shit?"
"That's the one."
"Yeah, I think that's where we're headed." Then he returned to watching the sparring, just in time to see Ava get under Cáel's guard, get a foot on his instep, and pivot to finally throw him. Malcolm started to think they might get through the rest of the day without tears or bloodshed, after all. Which meant Cáel then swung wildly with his sword as he tried to keep his balance, and landed a lucky hit that caught Ava's unsteady shoulder, which promptly knocked her into the only patch of mud in the yard.
Cáel, to his credit, looked mortified instead of triumphant, because he certainly well knew that the point should have gone to Ava.
"Sovereign says she decks him," Fergus said from his seat next to Malcolm.
On the belief that maybe, maybe Cáel would choose to avoid a fight, just once, Malcolm took the bet. "All right. Maybe Cáel won't be so stubborn."
"Right, and tomorrow the Chantry will accept mabari into the priesthood."
"You never know."
Fergus chuckled softly, to which Malcolm grumbled under his breath.
"I'm starting to think he got more of the Theirin luck than she did," said Nuala. "And that he likes to push that luck."
Malcolm sighed, mostly because it seemed that Nuala was entirely right. Ava had also inherited tempers from both sides, and while it took a while to kindle, it showed at once as a roaring fire. Her practice sword forgotten, Ava ripped off her padded arming cap and threw it on the ground next to her wooden sword. Then she pushed herself to her feet and advanced toward her brother.
Cáel removed his arming cap and nothing else, and seemed torn over whether to retreat or stand his ground against his younger sister.
Cheeks flushed rosy from exertion and most certainly anger, Ava yanked off her gloves and tossed them behind her.
"Oh, gloves off. Time to intervene." Malcolm slid from his perch on the fence and started toward the children. Ava had moved well beyond her ability to keep her temper, and her fists had balled up as she closed in on Cáel. She didn't seem set on physical violence, however, because Malcolm felt the tingle of magic and knew it wasn't from Líadan. Which, really, was far more worrisome than a fistfight.
"Please don't hit your brother with lightning," he said to her once he was within range to catch either of them by the shirt, or to smite, if absolutely necessary. Líadan had promised not to kill him if he had to smite their daughter, but she hadn't discounted other methods of retaliation should a smite occur. Added that Malcolm really didn't want to smite any child, much less his own, the current situation had him praying that he wouldn't need to do it.
Ava's reply was courteous enough to inform her father that she had, indeed, lost her temper. "It won't kill him."
Of course she would think that a perfectly reasonable response. "It would still hurt. And lightning can kill. I've seen your mother use it to kill darkspawn." Along with templars and bandits and all sorts of Thedas' unsavory, but his six-year-old didn't need to know that.
"Can I hit darkspawn with lightning?" She did, at least, stop advancing on her brother.
"I'd prefer you'd run away if you see darkspawn."
"You don't run away when you see darkspawn."
"That's because I'm a Grey Warden. You aren't. You're six. Why am I even having this conversation with you? Look, no hitting anything or anyone with lightning. Ever."
Her lips turned down slightly in her disappointment, even as she angrily flicked away a hank of hair that had blown into her eyes. Then she looked up at him and asked, "Ever?"
Her mother's child, through and through, he decided. "Not unless you're being attacked by something that could kill you, and you can't run away. Your brother, to reiterate, doesn't count as said attacker."
A sigh, one sounding as distinctly haughty as a small boy could muster, came from Cáel's direction. When Malcolm looked over at his son, he found him standing with his chin held high and arms crossed determinedly over his chest. "She can't hurt me," said Cáel.
"That," Líadan said from the other side of the practice yard, "was all Morrigan."
Malcolm certainly couldn't deny that one. While Cáel didn't resemble Morrigan physically, taking after his Theirin side instead, there were moments when he said or did things that were distinctly similar to his natural mother. It wasn't often when he got indignantly haughty, but in the times he did, it made both Malcolm and Líadan mostly fondly remember Morrigan. Mostly.
Cáel sighed. "She can't, really. Not yet. Spell isn't strong enough."
Líadan raised an eyebrow at him as she strode across the yard toward them. "Just how do you know that?"
Apparently stricken by a moment of sibling solidarity, Cáel glanced at Ava, and then looked quickly away. "Guessed."
Today wouldn't be a tattling day, it seemed. Malcolm figured he should be more grateful for it than he felt, but the mystery of Ava's magic needed solving. And if she was using magic outside her lessons, or when he or Líadan weren't around, then it needed to be stopped. But to stop it, the happenstance needed to be acknowledged.
Líadan had already knelt in front of Ava, placing ungloved hands on her slim shoulders. "What happened?"
Fright sapped the color from her cheeks, her disagreement with her brother as long forgotten as the wooden practice sword at her feet. Her small foot scuffed at the trampled grass as she studied the ground. "I didn't mean to."
"Didn't mean to what?"
Ava shrugged and kept her eyes on the grass.
Líadan moved one of her hands and tucked a finger under Ava's chin, gently drawing her daughter's head upward to meet her eyes. "You need to tell me what happened." Despite the firmness of her words, there was no anger behind them, only concern.
"It was my fault," said Cáel. "We were playing hide and seek with Dane, and Ava was 'it,' and I caught her by surprise before she could find me. I know you aren't supposed to surprise mages, but I forgot that she was one, right until then. She yelped and hit me with lightning. Just a little! Didn't really hurt. But it wasn't her fault. I shouldn't have scared her."
As Cáel talked, Ava had moved closer to Líadan, ducking into the protective space within her mother's arms. The burning Malcolm had thought he'd left behind after the calm of the past month returned to his chest. He glanced worriedly over at the main part of the palace he could see just beyond the roof of the compound, and then looked at his son. "Did Dane see?"
Cáel looked absolutely stricken, swallowing several times as he tried not to say what he knew he had to. "Yes."
There was a thump as Fergus slid from the fence to plant his feet on the ground. Readying himself, Malcolm knew. He wished he were wearing more than a brigandine, but one really didn't require full armor to give arms lessons to small children. "When?" he asked Cáel.
"Right before we ate at midday."
It was nearly suppertime, which meant there was no possible way Alistair and Anora did not know. Which meant that at any time, one of them, probably Alistair, would be paying a visit.
He wasn't wrong. Barely minutes had gone by—minutes spent with Nuala cursing, Líadan helping a quaking Ava out of her practice padding, Cáel doing the same with his own padding, Fergus pacing along the fence, and Malcolm scrabbling for a single way to make sure their lives wouldn't be irrevocably changed—before the door from the compound opened. It shut quietly, and then Malcolm recognized Alistair's footsteps.
"Malcolm, Dane told me—" Whatever Alistair had been about to say went unsaid when he reached the fence and saw his niece and Líadan. "Maker, I'm sorry."
Malcolm traded looks with Fergus, who was next to the fence and within reach of Alistair, and then Fergus grabbed Alistair's wrist. It was just in case Alistair had strange ideas about which meant more, family or kingdom. Revas growled lowly from her spot next to Nuala.
With shock and hurt in his eyes, Alistair slowly looked down at Fergus' hand, and then over at Malcolm. "I'm not here to take her, and there's no one coming for her, either. Maker's blood, she's my niece. I'm not going to just pick her up and throw her to the Chantry."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because we have to figure out what to do. They were playing in the palace, within earshot of ten different guards and staff. We don't know how many heard or saw, or if any did at all. We think no one did, because there aren't any templars banging on the palace gate and demanding entrance, but we can't know for sure. But you and I both know that it's only a matter of time before something gets back to them. Days or weeks, at best. We need to strategize, and quickly."
"That last part sounds like something Anora would say," said Fergus.
"It is what Anora said. She's keeping Dane entertained to prevent him from accidentally telling anyone else."
After a nod, Fergus let him go.
Maybe there was a chance, then, thought Malcolm. The need to strategize meant they weren't automatically expecting Ava to be handed to the templars. Maybe Cauthrien's last report on the status of Ferelden's army and navy had been remarkably good, meaning they could risk thumbing their collective noses at the Chantry, and more importantly, not be asked to turn Ava over.
"Uncle Alistair," Ava said from where she hadn't moved from Líadan's arms, "am I going to be taken away?"
"No," said Líadan. "Never."
"Absolutely not," said Malcolm.
"Of course not," said Fergus.
Alistair said nothing.
His brother, his very own brother, said nothing, and the tiny hope Malcolm had let live shriveled and died. It wouldn't be so much a strategy meeting as it would be a negotiation. He wanted to hit his brother. Hard. Many times, because this was family and decent people didn't even begin to think about handing their own nieces or nephews over to the Chantry when they knew exactly what could go wrong in the Circle. But he didn't hit Alistair, because the example he'd be setting for his children by hitting his brother while outside the sparring ring would be a bad one. He didn't hit Alistair, because Cáel and Ava were already going through enough, and to see their father hit their uncle in earnest would make everything that much harder to understand.
Fergus didn't let the silence go unchecked. "No answer is the same as condoning it, Your Majesty." His steady look toward the King—normally as close as a brother to him, but his use of Alistair's title signaled that it might not remain so—gave no quarter. "You might want to rethink your lack of one."
Alistair blinked, as if the idea hadn't crossed his mind. Then he turned from Fergus to answer Ava directly. "I'd never send you to the Chantry or give you to the templars. Not ever, I promise. I was just… I was trying to think of a way to resolve this and I kind of got caught up in my thoughts. I still don't think anyone else saw, because I think we'd have seen the templars by now, but I don't want to risk being wrong about that. It would get… messy."
"You mean bloody," said Cáel. "There would be a fight. A real one."
"Yes," said Alistair.
"People could die."
Malcolm shifted in discomfort at Cáel's statements, but addressed them. "Yes."
"I don't want anyone to die," said Ava. Which, given the murderous intentions Ava had shown toward her own brother earlier, seemed a bit disingenuous. Since she was only six, Malcolm gave her a pass and did not mention it.
"Neither do we," said Alistair. "That's why we're trying to come up with other ways."
"And why you and Cáel are going to stay here in the compound until we know the templars aren't coming for you," said Malcolm.
Alistair hopped the fence and started toward the center of the practice yard, from where Líadan and Ava hadn't yet moved. Halfway to them, Alistair stopped. "You all right if I come closer?" he asked Ava.
"I think so," she said.
Malcolm felt a little better. Normally, Ava and Alistair shared a good relationship, and seeing her even remotely afraid of her uncle was unsettling.
Alistair looked over at Líadan, who'd yet to budge from where she crouched, her arms still encircling her daughter. "You aren't going to… do anything to me, are you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Not in front of the children, I won't." Mostly, Malcolm could see, she was kidding. But the threat was there, too. Either of the children were more important to her than Alistair, and she wouldn't hesitate to use force to stop him if he ever became a threat to them. Despite wishing he didn't, Malcolm felt the same way.
"You're more than a little scary right now," said Alistair.
"With good reason, Your Majesty," said Nuala. Her use of Alistair's title while in private said as much as Fergus' decision to do so—Alistair somehow held the potential of being a threat, and they used titles to put distance between them and him.
"I know that," said Alistair. "Doesn't stop me from being scared."
After giving Alistair a long look, Líadan moved her arms back to give Ava the choice about approaching her uncle. Alistair crouched down to Ava's level. The little girl hadn't yet moved as she fixed Alistair with nearly the same measured look her mother had given him. "You're the King," she said, sounding remarkably solemn. "Can't you stop them?"
"I'll use every bit of my kingly power to do so," said Alistair. What the other adults knew, and Alistair didn't say, was that his power as king might not be enough.
His answer mollified Ava, and she darted over to give Alistair a hug. She let go rather quickly, and then stepped backward until she bumped into Líadan, who had stood up. Líadan put her hands on Ava's shoulders, and that seemed to reassure her.
Alistair nodded, and then straightened to his full height. "Let's meet in my study within the hour. Sooner the better, but I know you'll need… time to arrange things, in case everything goes pear-shaped." Then he left as quietly as he'd appeared, the seriousness of the situation dampening even Alistair's spirits.
"This is bad, isn't it?" Cáel asked after the door closed. "And don't lie to me because I'm a kid. It isn't like I can't see what's going on. It's worse if you don't tell me."
"It's bad," said Malcolm.
Cáel looked to Líadan for confirmation.
She nodded.
At first, he seemed calm as he took in their answers, but then his face fell. "Maybe you should have lied."
With one hand guiding Ava in front of her, Líadan used her other hand to draw Cáel to her side. She gently squeezed his shoulder as he leaned against her, using her as a crutch as he limped along with the realization that nothing would be the same as it was. "We need to get both of you inside the compound," she said as she brought them toward the door.
"The Wardens will protect me?" asked Ava.
"Of course they will," said Malcolm. "They're family." Then he picked her up, not caring if any mud got on his brigandine. She wound her arms around his neck and let her head drop to his shoulder, her hair just barely touching his chin. She smelled like dirt and grass and a rainy day that had sunshine at the end and maybe a little like wet dog. She was his daughter and he'd be damned if he let the templars take her.
Cáel hadn't moved from Líadan's side, even as they stood in the corridor leading to the compound's main hall. He'd grabbed one of his mother's hands, and though he held still, his grip was tight enough to blanch his knuckles white.
Bethany and Perran appeared at the end of the corridor, Oghren right behind them.
"I saw Alistair come in," said Bethany, "and then leave, and he looked—"
"Like he'd eaten the arse-end of a bronto and was trying to keep it down," said Oghren. "He only gets that look about one thing, and that's about them templars. We going to fight 'em again? I'll go sharpen my axe."
"Alistair knows," said Malcolm.
"Big sodding deal. He's her uncle. No problem there." When none of them agreed, Oghren's eyebrows crept upward. "Do I need to set the pike-twirler's priorities straight?"
"No, not this time," said Líadan. "It was a close thing, but you won't need your axe for him."
"I take it the templars aren't out of the question?"
"Not yet," said Malcolm. "Líadan, Fergus, and I need to meet with Alistair and Anora to figure out where to go from here. Alistair doesn't think the Chantry knows, mostly because they haven't showed up. Since it's so soon, it's probably better safe than sorry. So, don't let any templars in, or even any Chantry representatives at all."
"We'll guard the nuglets like they were our own," said Oghren. "Where's that big sodding dog of yours, elf?"
Revas nosed through the crowd of people, Nuala right behind her. "I'll watch over them," she said to Malcolm and Líadan. Then she motioned to both children. "Come on. We'll go find some heartwarming books in the library. Then we can eat supper with the Wardens." Cáel switched from holding Líadan's hand to holding Nuala's, and then Ava slid from Malcolm's arms to take Nuala's other hand while Revas stayed right next to the children. Perran went to step toward them, and then paused to trade a silent look with Líadan before he trailed after Nuala and the children.
Malcolm and Líadan watched them go up to the stairs, and didn't leave the compound until the children were out of their sight. Just in case.
"It's hard, leaving them to be protected by others," said Fergus as they walked through the compound's storeroom.
As he opened the door leading to the palace proper, it took Malcolm a second to see where his brother was going with it, because the pain of event in question had faded over the years. "Maker, Fergus. Why don't you just hit me over the head next time?"
"I simply meant that I understand, and I think they'll be all right. They've got Wardens protecting them in a Warden stronghold, and it isn't like the Wardens aren't able to be suspicious of everyone, even when it doesn't warrant it, but especially when it does. The compound is better protected than Highever, and if you could get to the Vigil, no one would ever to be able to—you know what I mean." Though Fergus had dropped his voice when they crossed into the palace, he gave up on specifics the moment the first guard came into view. By the time they passed the first servant, they'd resorted to silence for fear of letting anything slip. Malcolm was grateful to have Fergus there with them, for both his level-minded, steady presence, and his ability to reassure both of them even when there was little reassurance to be had. Also, because he was his brother, and though Líadan was only his sister-in-law, he treated her as a sister all the same.
"No matter what happens, little sister," Fergus said to Líadan as they prepared to enter the King's study, "the children will be kept safe."
Líadan gave Fergus a look that conveyed what Malcolm felt, as well. They wanted to believe what Fergus said to be true, but couldn't see how it could happen.
Then the meeting started poorly. Once the door had closed, no one, not even Anora, sat down. For the first few minutes, not one of them spoke.
Before the silence strangled them, Anora cleared her throat and took the initiative. "Standing here and gazing at our navels will not change what must be discussed. I will be honest: if we cannot find a suitable refuge, we may have to consider the Circle." No satisfaction appeared in her eyes when she made the pronouncement. Instead, there was a kind of regret Malcolm couldn't recall ever seeing in his sister-in-law. Even then, he had to remind himself that Anora was human, and that she and Alistair did have to consider the kingdom's well-being in addition to any of their family.
Still, it rankled.
"Then we had better find one," said Fergus, giving Anora a none-too-pleased look. "I have no problem with them staying at Highever. None at all."
Anora shook her head. "Like anywhere in Ferelden, once the Chantry discovered any noble or royalty harboring a known apostate mage, they would come. A few templars at first, and then when they are turned away, they will send more. Then they will send Seekers. We have seen for ourselves that they are willing to start a war over the fate of one apostate. Highever has already suffered for it. They cannot be allowed to do so again."
"That's my decision to make. My people would be willing to make the sacrifice. Malcolm grew up there. He's family, and so are his wife and children." Fergus gave Alistair a pointed look. "Family means a great deal in Highever, and Highever's banns and freeholders will do whatever they can to keep them safe."
Despite his brother's words, Malcolm knew the teyrnir would ultimately fall. There would be a siege. A siege would mean crops would rot in the fields instead of being harvested, if they even had the chance to plant them at all. The Bannorn had only recently begun to produce as much grain as they had before the Blight. For the Coastlands to halt their own production would be detrimental to the entire country. There would be no surplus to sell, which meant Ferelden's coffers would remain just barely sufficient. Whatever grain the Bannorn would be able to spare for the besieged Coastlands might not even make it through whatever lines the templars would set up. Eventually, the Chantry would win the fight. "They would," Malcolm said out loud, "but I can't see putting them through that when we would lose, in the end. Highever isn't the Vigil, and no matter how strong the rebuilt castle is, it would eventually fall."
Fergus leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "Then the palace," he said after a moment of glaring at the floor. "It can withstand the sort of siege Highever cannot."
"It would bring the Chantry down on all Ferelden, and Ferelden cannot stand against them," said Anora. "The Circle—"
Líadan bristled from where she stood next to Malcolm. When she spoke, her tone was firm, yet held the note of anger ready to be loosed. "I am not sending my daughter to be kept prisoner by a barbaric shemlen institution."
Malcolm had opened his mouth to add his own dissent, but snapped it shut after hearing Líadan. She hadn't used the word shemlen in a very long time. He looked over at her in surprise.
She met his gaze, but her eyes held no apologies. "I won't."
"Then we are at an impasse," said Anora.
Alistair kept looking between his brother and Líadan, as if searching for a cleverly hidden compromise. "I don't much like the Chantry's stance on mages, but—"
"If you end that statement with anything about handing your niece over, then you like them well enough," said Malcolm.
"You can't hide her abilities for any longer than you already have, and neither can we. The Chantry will notice. And unless we're prepared as a country to break away from the Chantry—"
"Then do that!" Malcolm refused to feel bad about the shout. "Do it. It's been coming for ages. No one will be surprised. Most would cheer."
"I can't. We can't." Alistair's eyes held a pleading desperation—a wish for a thing while knowing it out of reach. "We haven't the armies. Ferelden is still weak, even now, and you know that. We're lucky Orlais hasn't swooped down and scooped us up. Cauthrien believes we'll be ready in another couple of years. Then we can talk serious plans of doing what we can to protect our own in the ways we see fit. But that time isn't now."
"If we go to war with the Chantry," said Anora, "the outcome would be the same. Orlais would rule over Ferelden once again."
"Besides, even if we could, Ava would still need to be trained. And Líadan, I'm sorry to say, isn't strong enough to do so. Ava's connection to the Fade is too powerful, from what I felt."
"There are capable teachers other than those found in your Circles of Magi," said Líadan. "Perran and Bethany have already been helping."
Alistair sighed. "But they aren't teachers, not like fully harrowed Circle enchanters are trained to be."
Líadan's dark look toward Alistair wasn't missed by anyone in the room.
"What about Senior Enchanter Wynne?" Fergus asked before Líadan directly engaged Alistair in an argument about Dalish Firsts and Keepers. "She's had plenty of apprentices, and has taught classes."
Malcolm shook his head. "She'd tell us to hand Ava to the Circle."
"You can't be sure of that," said Alistair. "She's an Aequitarian, not a Loyalist."
"That doesn't matter. She handed her newborn son to the Chantry right after she gave birth to him," said Líadan.
"I think her son was more taken from her than given away, so—"
Anora stepped in between them. "Squabbling over these details gets us nowhere. We are looking for an equitable solution. If we are to move on, what we must do is acknowledge that such a solution is not available within Ferelden."
"I don't want them to leave Ferelden." Alistair seemed truly despondent as he said it.
"At this point, I believe our collective hands are tied on the matter, Alistair," said Anora.
She was right. And while Malcolm didn't like their limited options, either, they did at least have Hildur's offer in reserve. "So we'll go to the Wardens. Get assigned to one of their fortresses for however long it takes Ferelden to finish building up the army. A few years abroad, and then we can come home." It wasn't his favorite solution, but it seemed the best they'd get. Maybe it wouldn't be a terrible thing to travel for a little while. It would help the children gain more understanding of Thedas as a whole instead of only experiencing Ferelden.
"The Wardens don't have any mages who happen to be Dreamers," Líadan said in a remarkably subdued voice, given her earlier tone.
Alistair frowned. "I thought the only Dreamers known to be alive right now are Feynriel and Keeper Emrys. Why would you bring it up?" But there was enough willful disbelief within his question to indicate that he probably had a good idea about the answer.
Malcolm did have a good idea about it and he didn't want to hear it, yet he had to, because covering his ears was childish, and wouldn't change reality.
"Because a Dreamer is the only mage who can properly instruct another Dreamer," said Líadan.
"But there aren't any Dreamers in the Wardens, or in the Circle, or Ferelden at all," said Alistair.
"It seems," said Anora, "that there is now one in Ferelden who requires not only refuge from the Chantry, but a qualified teacher, as well."
Alistair did not hide his look of panic. "Which you can't find here, or anywhere, really."
Silence settled in as each of them avoided looking at each other. To look each other in the eye would mean acknowledging that the situation was far worse than any of them had really believed it could be.
Then Líadan said, "I'm bringing her to the Dalish."
"How?" asked Fergus. "I thought a Dalish clan wouldn't allow any humans, even children."
"Marethari is stubborn and stuck in her ways, but she wouldn't turn us away. Then we should be able to contact another clan, and we can travel with them to find Emrys and the Suriel."
Alistair raised his eyebrows. "Would he take her? I didn't think the Dalish—your grandfather in particular—were in the habit of teaching human mages, even if her mother happens to be Dalish."
"Emrys will agree if I bring her and…" Her jaw trembled, belying the tenuous grip she had on remaining outwardly calm. "And if Malcolm doesn't."
Malcolm stared at her, his mouth dry.
"You mean bring her there, right?" asked Alistair. "Ask the favor, stay for a visit, and then come back? Afterwards, the visits continue, because you'd both have to see her, and Cáel can't not see his sister. Maybe the Suriel could even camp close to Ferelden—"
"No," said Líadan.
As soon as Líadan had brought up the probability of Ava's rare talent, Malcolm had known this would be the result.
Alistair, however, had not been as clued in. "No?"
"I would be expected to stay."
Alistair's bewildered gaze shifted from Líadan to Malcolm and back. "How long?"
"The duration of Ava's training, which would extend through her childhood."
Malcolm's eyes widened. He'd expected lengthy, but not that. "It would really take that long?"
She looked up at him, her expression filled with a sad truth. "Training a strong mage the Dalish way is no small undertaking." Then she broke eye contact in favor of looking at the others, probably because it was slightly less painful. "Technically, Merrill, who is my age, was still a student when she was exiled, and she'd been Marethari's apprentice since she was four. Perran had been an apprentice since he was eight, and only once he became a Keeper with the Dalish Wardens did he leave it. With Ava being a Dreamer… I can't begin to predict how long training would be for her, aside from long and involved."
"So you would be leaving for pretty much forever is what you're saying," said Fergus.
She nodded, and Fergus let his head bump against the wall behind him as he took to studying the ceiling, muttering under his breath as he did.
"And there are no other instructors?" asked Anora.
"If they are, they're in Tevinter, which makes it less than an option," said Líadan.
Fergus ceased his study of the ceiling to engage in the conversation again. "What about Cáel? It couldn't be good for him to lose his sister and the only mother he's ever known."
Malcolm's mind kept shouting what about me? But his concern over his son, much like the same concern over his daughter, drowned out his unspoken pleas. "If the Chantry had even the slightest suspicion that Ava was taken to the Dalish because she's a mage, they would come after Cáel. It isn't like they haven't already proven they're willing to use a flimsy excuse for it before." He knew it, they knew it, and he was certain Morrigan would say the same. He also damn well knew Morrigan would be advocating for the same incredibly painful course of action. She had proven her will and ability to do so when she'd left Cáel behind in capable hands when she'd gone through the eluvian. For Cael's safety, Morrigan would wish for him to go with Líadan and Ava. Malcolm couldn't even imagine what Morrigan would do if the Chantry got their hands on Cáel, nor would Morrigan's response be much different if the Chantry got Líadan. Though Morrigan often denied the connections she had to a select few, she did have them, and she guarded them fiercely.
"I wish I could disagree, but after what happened with Malcolm and the Chantry years ago, I can easily see it happening again." Alistair gave Malcolm a level look. "I'm surprised you brought it up, because that means—"
"I know what it means." Every word of the sentence tasted bitter, and sounded the same. "But the life and happiness of my children are more important than my own."
"I'm sorry." The resolution had gone from Líadan's voice, leaving sorrow in its wake.
He shook his head, his mind too much a mess to say anything properly.
Before the silence stretched onward again, Anora asked, "How will this be done?"
Fergus cursed once before he said, "It'll have to look like Líadan's leaving him."
Malcolm practically whipped his head around to Fergus. "What? But I wouldn't—she wouldn't—"
At the same time, Líadan said, "No, I wouldn't—"
"I know you wouldn't," Fergus snapped, not unaffected by the turmoil. "Maker's blood, I'm not an idiot. I know you'd never, neither one of you, but not everyone knows you as well as we do. If you want any chance for the templars to not catch on very quickly, they'll have to think Líadan's left for a reason other than shielding two children from the Chantry."
"What do you propose?" asked Anora, somehow still shrewdly able to move their developing plans forward. Out of all of them, she had always been the best at being able to separate emotion from logic when it came to governing. It was a strength, and a necessary one, but Malcolm found it hard not to feel some resentment.
Fergus rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand before he dove in. "The Chantry's headed by Orlesians, we all know that. Like anyone else, Orlesians love stories, and they're especially fond of salacious stories involving nobility. Take that, and then add that we all have prejudices, even if we'd like to deny them. Those prejudices would allow for certain actions to be easily believed."
Malcolm could see where Fergus was going and he did not like it at all.
"This is going back to my being Dalish, isn't it?" asked Líadan.
"While Ferelden has been more open to viewing elves to be as civilized as humans or dwarves," said Anora, "even that openness has limits. One such limit is that the viewpoint does not extend beyond city elves to Dalish elves."
"People still tell stories. Not good ones," said Alistair.
"You mean how we prey upon hapless wanderers? Abduct naughty human children? Or are you talking about the stories where we practice dark magic and offer human sacrifices to our pagan gods?"
Alistair studied his feet instead of looking at Líadan. "Maybe some of those."
"Still?"
"It has much to do with the mystery," said Anora. "What one cannot see often becomes what one fears. Coupled with the story the Chantry tells of the Fall of the Dales, the fear many humans have of the Dalish is understandable."
"The Chantry started that war." Before Anora could muster a defense, Líadan flung the truth at her and the rest of the humans in the room like rocks from a hunter's sling. "Like Tevinter did to Arlathan and Elvhenan, Orlais did to the Halamshiral and the Dales. My people isolated themselves from humanity so we could regain the old ways. Our borders were protected by the Emerald Knights, who initially did not use violence to keep out humans. They were told of our disinterest in trade or diplomatic ties, and yet they continued pushing, in greater and greater numbers. So they sent missionaries instead of traders. The missionaries were thrown out. Then they heard we were worshipping our Creators instead of their Maker, and they began spreading lies among the border towns and villages—that we abducted children and sacrificed them to the Creators. Lies you humans apparently still believe today. Then came the templars. With them came the allegations of atrocities committed against the humans at Red Crossing, and they finally got their war. My people wanted to be left alone, and the Chantry wouldn't grant us even that."
"I don't dispute your account," Anora said, her demeanor still calm, and surprisingly not defensive. "Yet, how many have heard that version? The Dalish, and perhaps some of the city elves. In other words, not enough, and the Chantry's version is what many see as the truth. They know no other, nor will they hear it if told."
"It means most humans are afraid the Dalish wouldn't think twice about doing the same again," said Fergus. His regret came across in his soft tone, but didn't change the truth in it.
"We aren't the danger," said Líadan.
Malcolm very carefully did not look over at Líadan, because he knew what Líadan had done on the very same day that had ended with her becoming a Grey Warden—she and her hunting partner, Tamlen, had killed three humans they'd come across in the Brecilian Forest.
It wasn't fair for him to judge based solely on that, not with the additional details he had. The reasons she'd given for killing those humans were, in retrospect, very good ones, and based on a long history that Líadan had just explained. For every human who was permitted to leave came templars in return, which would inevitably result in elves being killed or driven away. It had happened so often, and for so long, that it was hard to argue against the actions Líadan and Tamlen had taken that day. Malcolm knew that, and yet part of him still wasn't entirely comfortable with it, possibly because other hunters in her clan had nearly killed him and those with him on the same day.
"We know you aren't the danger," said Fergus. "But others won't have known the Dalish as well as we have. So they'd see the Dalish not as civilized people, but as wild." He held up his hands at Líadan's glare. "Their words, not mine, and those same people would believe that the wild nature wouldn't just go away after, say, becoming a Warden or spending a significant amount of time around humans. In the end, those people would easily believe a Dalish elf having an argument with her human spouse, and then retaliating by taking the children and returning to the Dalish."
Fergus' idea had gone exactly where Malcolm thought it would. "So, what you're saying is that I do something stupid, and then try to right things and end up making it worse." Which, considering, wasn't out of the question. It'd already happened plenty of times during their relationship, but they'd always managed to work things out. "And instead of staying and letting me try to fix it, Líadan gets fed up, takes the kids, and goes back to the Dalish. Meanwhile, I'm left behind to think about what I did to lose what I had."
"That is an awful story," Alistair said to Fergus. "And not them, not really."
"To people who know Malcolm and Líadan, it isn't," said Fergus. "Sure, he's said enough stupid things and done enough stupid things, but he always figures out how to make things better. While none of us would deny Líadan having a temper, each one of us knows she'll sit or stand patiently and listen to whatever explanation or apology Malcolm has—to be honest, out of anyone, Líadan has the most patience with him. But other people don't know that like we do. If rumors can be started and spread, then the unwitting gossipmongers will have most everyone believing it, especially foreigners."
The stillness in Anora's face said much about the discontent she had with the entire situation, even though she hadn't spoken it out loud. "Incredibly painful a plan to implement aside, it is a cover that will not last forever."
"No, but it'll give Líadan and the children a head start." Fergus waved his arm toward the north. "Maybe they'll get not just to the Dalish, but all the way to her grandfather, and the Chantry will never find them."
"Right, but neither would Malcolm." Alistair grimaced as he said it, and then looked at Líadan. "Would he be able to visit? Ever?"
Her brows drew together. "Maybe. If the Chantry isn't actively looking or is distracted, then I think Emrys could be convinced. While he wouldn't agree to a human living with the clan who wasn't either a Dreamer or the blood of Asha'belannar, I don't think he'd be completely opposed to visits. But it would be years before…" Her eyes became distant as the realization hit. "Creators, it could be years."
"It sounds better than not at all," said Alistair, "but it's still awful."
"The Crown will have to act like it is conducting a search," said Anora. "If we do not, the Chantry would think us complicit. Seekers would be sent again to gain their answers. Perhaps if we put Kennard in charge of a supposed search, he could lead the Chantry on a merry chase."
"He'd agree?" asked Fergus.
"He would do anything to protect the children," said Anora. "His employ is the Crown, but his service has always been to them. He would do it, and gladly."
"And what about Dane? He's too honest a boy for him not to mention what he saw, even if he means it innocently."
"We'll have to convince him that it was a trick of light," said Alistair. "I bet Bethany could conjure something up that would convince any non-mage. "
Anora's eyes had narrowed as she went over their strategy in her head, examining it from every angle in order to uncover and repair the faults. "Nuala will have to remain behind. Líadan leaving with the children as well as their nurse wouldn't ring quite as true to such a tale."
"If she went," said Alistair, "it wouldn't be fair to Dane and Callum, either. Losing their aunt and their cousins already, and then to lose their favorite nurse."
Meanwhile, Malcolm thought, I'm losing everything in the name of keeping them safe and alive. But he said nothing of it to anyone, unwilling to complain when there wasn't a viable alternative to offer.
"How much are you going to tell to Cáel and Ava?" Fergus asked.
Líadan pressed her lips into a firm line, an obvious effort to stay in control. "Nothing until after we've left."
"You should…" Anora started to say to Líadan, and then she hesitated.
Hesitated. Malcolm stared at her, roused from his own troubled thoughts. Anora never hesitated when she spoke.
She shook herself, almost imperceptibly, and managed to go on. "You should leave as quickly as you are able. Unfortunately, the longer you stay, the higher the chance of discovery before you can get away."
Líadan gave them the pronouncement as she looked out the window. "We'll be leaving tomorrow, just after first light."
Fergus sighed and glanced over at the door. "I'll go speak with Nuala and try to find Shianni. See what we can rustle up for trustworthy gossips."
"Trustworthy gossips?" asked Alistair. "How would that even work?"
"The Warden compound's entire staff. They're the best example of trustworthy gossips anywhere," said Malcolm. "They would never do anything to hurt the Wardens. They never reveal Warden secrets. They also do not reveal secrets held by Wardens, even if the secrets have nothing to do with the Order. But anything deemed harmless gossip—such as who was found in whose bed or what couple had the most recent shouting match—is considered fair game. They're also incredibly loyal to the Wardens and their families, if they have them. They—"
"They've known about Ava," said Líadan. It was, really, the most succinct argument any of them could have made for the loyalty of the compound's staff. If any of them had leaked the information, the templars would've been knocking at the compound's door weeks ago.
"I suppose that takes care of that," said Fergus.
Líadan tried to hide her increasing distress by focusing on the details, but the façade fell once any of them looked her in the eye. "You should still go talk to Nuala. Let her know that it's safe for her and the children to be in the palace—the family wing, at least. If they stay in the compound much longer, they'll get even more anxious than they already must be. And talk to Shianni, too, if you can get her to the compound—if Nuala and Rhian haven't gotten her there already. When it needs to, she can help the pertinent information get out faster."
Fergus gave Líadan a nod. "All right. I'll just—I'll see you before you leave, right?"
She smiled faintly. "Of course you will."
Then Fergus was out the door.
Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck, a habit he'd had since the Blight. "Right. Right. Well, this is awful. Truly. And we can't let anything look out of the ordinary, which precludes any sort of gathering or real goodbyes, but we can't just leave it at this. How about… how about we raid the larder later? That's been known to happen on far more than one occasion. We can make our run before you're supposedly going to have that blow-out fight of yours. It'll be like the old days!"
"Alistair, the three of you raided the larder only five days ago," said Anora.
"There was Nevarran cheese in there. It needed to be liberated."
"To your stomach, you mean," said Malcolm.
"Oh, like you should talk," said Alistair. "You ate nearly as much of the cheese as I did, and don't even get me started on how you accosted the bread." He pointed at Anora. "You were there, too! I can never repeat how you acted with those lemon tarts." Then he was pointing at Líadan. "And you, you should really talk to someone about your little love affair with apples."
Líadan took an aggressive step toward Alistair. "Those were Brecilian apples! Do you know how hard it is to find them in human cities?"
"Very. And I happen to know there are some in the Palace's larder right now. So!" Alistair clapped his hands together. "I fancy a nice raid tonight. At the compound, given the situation, but I can grab some of the finer items from the Palace's larder to bring with me. How's an hour or so after the children are down for bed sound? I think that would work. It would…" His good cheer faded. "It would still leave you enough time to pack, get ready, whatever it is you'll have to do before… before you go."
"I think I'd like that," said Líadan.
"You could also procure food for your packs while you're there. I know you're a more than capable hunter, but one cannot overlook the necessity of reserves." Anora clasped her hands together in front of her dress. "Now, we must convince Dane that he did not see magic from his cousin this morning."
"We have to talk to Bethany, first," said Alistair. "You know, so she can concoct some sort of visual explanation. Maybe a potion or some sort of rune or scroll. That'd make him believe he didn't see anything."
"Then we should be on our way."
Alistair gave them an awkward smile as he followed Anora to the door. "Don't miss our date tonight. I heard there's some Tantervale cheese down there, too. Never tried that before." Anora reached behind her and took him by the hand to bring him outside, before he started to babble. It was a Theirin trait, where they talked without pause in an attempt to cover the awkward. It rarely worked, but they never stopped trying.
The door shut, and it was just the two of them. Malcolm took three steps away from the wall before he dropped heavily onto an armless chair and stared at nothing. Then Líadan was in front of him, slightly bent from the waist so that her face was level to his. She cupped his cheeks in her hands as she pressed her forehead to his. Even through the slight connection, Malcolm could feel the quavering in her chin, the same tremble he felt in his jaw, and the control it took to not give into it left them unable to say anything.
He wouldn't ask her to stay. It wasn't possible, and they both knew what they'd rather do over what they had to do. For him to ask would only serve to make a terrible situation worse. And yet he wanted to, for the faint hope that maybe she would, and he wouldn't have to watch his family leave in order to keep them safe.
It wasn't fair. It was terribly unfair and before he could stop, his objections spilled out in place of the things he wanted to say. "This isn't—we fought others and life and everything so hard to get this far, to be together in the first place, and even that was after fighting with ourselves for months. And now we have to be apart because that's the way it has to be." The whisper was harsh, even to his own ears.
He wanted to close his eyes against the ugly truth around them, but he didn't want to squander any of the time he had left to see his wife. Bondmate, because she was Dalish and it was only one thing of many he loved about her. He wanted to see her eyes of a green color only a shade darker than what she'd given their daughter. He wanted to see her lips quirked in a smile when he said something she shouldn't find amusing, but did. He wanted to see the vallaslin framing her face, enhancing her scowls and smiles both, the Dalish tattoo as much a part of her as anything, something that made her so very her. Then there were all the things he couldn't directly see. Bright and engaging, prickly and loving both, the woman he loved and the mother of his children and he did not want to let her go.
And yet he had to, for the sake of those very children.
"This sucks," he said out loud.
Her lips quirked just like he thought they would. "Your eloquence continues to amaze me." Then she stepped back, moving her forehead away from his. Her hands dropped from his face, but she took one of his hands with one of hers, as unwilling as he was to entirely let go, not before they had to. "I wish there was another way."
"I think if there was, we would've found it by now."
"We would have, if Ava wasn't…" In her eyes, pain quickly gave way to the fear they both shared over what would happen to Ava if she didn't receive proper instruction.
"So you think the dream you had was true?" She'd told him the morning after she'd had it, and how she needed to think, very long and very hard, about the possibility of it being true. Both their instincts had said yes, given how quickly Ava had become the target of demons, but Líadan wanted to be as sure as she could possibly be before she did anything.
"I don't think I can convince myself that the disappearance of the demons was a coincidence. They haven't returned in the month since that night, and it's not like she could hide it from us if they had remained. And if she isn't and I bring her to Emrys, then he'll tell me the truth, and we can all take refuge with the Wardens, instead." Her tone didn't indicate she had any hope for that at all, but she said it nonetheless. They had to put forth the effort.
"Strange how that seems the happier option, now." They'd gone from preferring to stay in Ferelden to preferring to stay together as a family. Now both those options had been taken from them.
"More that it's slightly less painful than the worst alternative." Her thumb moved back and forth over the ring on his finger. In the Dalish tradition, she'd given it to him before their bonding. In return, he'd given her the bow she still used to this day, and Fergus had supplied one of the traditional Cousland family betrothal gifts—a necklace of a single ethereal silver strand, finely and delicately forged, and so old that no one knew who had forged it. He caught sight of it at the base of her neck only when the light touched it at certain angles. Otherwise, it was difficult to tell it was there. The chain that held her Warden amulet was much more prominent.
The necklace glinted in the light as she leaned slightly over to examine the ring, manipulating his fingers as she did. "You'll have to take this off."
"I'm not taking it off. It was the betrothal gift you gave to me. It isn't like you're going to stop wearing your necklace or using your bow."
Her eyes lifted to give him an irritated glare. "I meant from your finger. You can still wear it, but next to your amulet."
She was right, and he knew she was right, and yet he still had to hold back the urge to convince her otherwise. He sighed. "Better than the alternative, I suppose."
"You're impossible," she muttered as she removed the ring for him. "Honestly." Ring in hand, she moved behind him and untied his leather necklace, her fingers brushing across the nape of his neck as she did. Once the knot was undone, she threaded the ring onto the necklace, where it clinked dully against the Warden pendant, and then retied the leather string. One of her hands stayed on the back of his neck for a moment before she draped both her arms over his shoulders, and then her hands settled on his chest. Then she perched her chin on his shoulder before whispering, "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "No. No apologies. No one's at fault, at least no one here, so you don't need to apologize for anything."
Her ensuing quiet was agreement enough. They both stared out the window, neither registering the view of the city as they tried to convince themselves that it would be all right, in the end. That this wasn't permanent. That this was only a brief interruption, and they would all be able to reunite after the danger had passed.
The lies they told themselves were so thick that it was like being suffocated.
Then Líadan spoke, bringing the air of distraction they needed. "Do you remember the first time we were nearly together?"
Despite everything that waited for them on the other side of the door, Malcolm smiled at the memory. "The one Oghren inadvertently interrupted?"
"I was mad at him for days."
"I thought you hadn't planned it?"
"I hadn't. Doesn't mean I didn't like where it was going before it was cut short." Then her lips were delightfully close to his ear. "And I would like to finish it."
He wanted to. Maker, did he. But common decency toward his brother, considering their location, demanded at least a token objection. "We're in Alistair's study, you know."
One of her hands cupped the back of his head as she maneuvered around the chair to sit on his lap. "I don't care. Do you?"
In answer, he splayed his left hand over the small of her back, while the other went gently to the back of her head, as she was doing to him. Then he pulled her closer, leaving their mouths only a hair's breadth apart, and whispered, "No," before he kissed her.
She was instantly as demanding as he was, driven by the same frantic restlessness of putting to good use what moments they had left. He worked at the buckles near the top of her brigandine, determined reveal whatever skin he could. Then he gave up on that and went for the buckles at the bottom in order to reach the laces of her breeches underneath, which he then loosened enough to delve inside her smalls. Maker, she was ready, she was more than ready, and she only half-stifled a moan as he explored. Then she responded in kind, shoving his arms out of the way to untie his breeches, jerk down his smalls, and find him as insistently ready as her. She stepped away just long enough to tug her own breeches and smalls entirely off, while he hurriedly pushed down his own, not wanting to waste more time than they already had.
Then she returned as fast as she'd gone away to sink down onto him, her warmth as familiar as home. When she tilted her head back as their hips settled together, her throat was bared to him. He kissed a line up the crosshatches of her tattoos there, then along her jaw to return to her mouth when she straightened enough for him to reach it. The kiss didn't last long, not as it was punctuated by the ragged gasps of a fast-approaching end. He could easily tell she wouldn't need anything else to help her along, not with how quick and purposeful her movements had become. His weren't much slower, his fingers pressing into her hips as he sharpened the angle and increased the lovely friction between them. He continued to match her pace even as she increased it, and then she whimpered and tipped forward in a release so strong that it immediately brought his own along with it. He pulled her hips to his as he rode it out, the intensity forcing his eyes shut as his head fell to her shoulder, where her brigandine thankfully muffled his groan.
Equally as muffled was his whispered, "I love you." Then followed a hushed plea he fought to leave unsaid, yet it refused to do so: "Don't leave me."
Her body completely still, her answer came in a string of Elvish that took him a few moments to decipher. "Abelas, emma lath. Ar din'nuvenin ven, dar nadas vir. Ma'arlath, abelas." I'm sorry, my love. I don't want to go, but it has to be this way. I love you, I'm sorry.
The silence returned, their best efforts having failed to drown it out.
"I'm not going to cry," Líadan said, her head still pressed into where his neck met his shoulder.
"Please don't," he found himself saying, "because then I'd have to question my performance."
She laughed, and her breath against his neck made him shiver. But it broke whatever held them to inaction, clearing their heads as much as they could be, letting them set themselves to rights—along with Alistair's study—and leave to make preparations. If any of the guards outside gave them strange looks, they didn't care enough to notice. More important things, more important people, held their thoughts captive as they headed for their rooms, and then the Warden compound and their waiting children.