Chapter 12
"The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea,
And is whittled away by each wave.
It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.
Stubbornly, it resists wisdom, and is transformed.
If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you."
—excerpt from The Tome of Koslun, the Soul Canto
Malcolm
Wade stared down at the battered shield Malcolm had handed to him. "What did you do to this?"
"There was a huge genlock," said Malcolm. "With an even bigger shield. The shield had spikes. The genlock really wanted to get past me, and I couldn't let him. Then there were spikes of ice. Magical ones, falling from a pretend sky, and I really didn't want them to kill me."
Proof of Wade's extensive experience as armorer for the Grey Wardens was that he didn't bat an eye at Malcolm's description of events. "No dragon this time?"
"No, actually. No." He wouldn't have been surprised if they had come across the dragon in the prison, but thankfully they hadn't.
"Isn't this of dwarven make?"
"Yes."
Wade sighed and ran his fingers over the front of the shield. It was more dents than anything else, really. He flipped it around to the back, wincing as he got a good look at it. Then he lifted his eyes to look at Malcolm. "I'll be honest with you—there are only so many dents one can repair before a shield is weakened permanently, no matter what the metal. With how extensive the damage is to your shield, I'm not sure it can be restored to what it once was. At the very least, I'm certain the necessary repairs will break the enchantments. Even then…" Wade sighed again. "You might have to consider getting a new shield."
Malcolm was tired of changes, and he really liked his shield. "That one was a gift from King Bhelen."
"And it served you well. The damage it took certainly would have killed you."
"Well, yes." That was the main point of his shield—to keep him from getting killed. The other point of it was to keep others from getting killed.
"How long have you had it?"
"Six, seven years. Somewhere in there."
Wade nodded and set the shield down on the counter. "I can repair it enough so that it will look the same as it did, but it will not be strong enough to withstand the abuse you routinely put your shields through. You'll have to get a new one."
Malcolm looked up at the ceiling to keep calm, reminding himself that getting a new shield wasn't a big deal in the larger scheme of things. One did not have temper tantrums over needing to retire a shield. He brought his gaze back down to Wade. "You're sure?"
A look of annoyance briefly crossed Wade's face, but he shook off the understandable irritation quickly. "You and your order have been patrons of mine for years. If I could fix this shield properly, I would, and I would tell you. If I were to tell you so now, it would be a lie. I will not send you into battle with inferior arms, which this shield is in its current condition, and it won't be much better after it's repaired."
Malcolm sighed.
"Yes, it is tragic," said Herren.
Wade spun to look at his partner in aghast. "Tragic would have been the shield coming apart and him being killed. While it's sad to see the shield be—"
Herren waved him quiet. "No, not the shield. However, I'm sure his abnormal attachment to it has to do with the tragic end of his marriage."
"Could we not discuss that?" asked Malcolm. "Please?" Because it seemed it was all anyone wanted to discuss, not just his friends and family—though they meant well—but also everyone else. Maker, he'd heard enough chatter about it just walking through the marketplace to get to Wade's shop.
Herren looked vaguely hurt. "I simply wanted to say that I didn't think it would end in tragedy, or that it would end at all." Then he crossed his arms. "So, what was it that you did?"
"Pardon?"
"What did you do to make her leave?"
He was killing him, Malcolm thought. Herren was killing him. Of course he'd take Líadan's side, even when there wasn't a real side to be had. "I was stupid. Let's just leave it at that."
"You should apologize," said Wade. "That's what I do. Usually works, too, if you're sincere."
"It does," said Herren. "He's quite good at apologies."
"I'd have to find her, first."
Wade glanced up from his second examination of the shield. "What's stopping you?"
"Their Majesties," Herren answered for Malcolm. "Haven't you been listening outside? The King and Queen forbade him from going after her. They sent out search parties of their own, instead. It's been a fortnight, and they haven't turned up a thing. I don't know why they think they stand any chance at all to track a Dalish hunter. You don't find them. They find you."
"Can we please, please not talk about it?" asked Malcolm.
"I'll get your shield restored as best I can," Wade said as he straightened. "In the meantime, you find yourself a new one." Then he pointed toward Malcolm's collar. "And you might want to think about buckling that. I know it's warm out, but I can see the ring I forged, plain as day."
"Thank you." Malcolm fixed the top buckle as Wade had told him. "I'll stop by next week to see if it's done." Then he hurriedly went to make an escape before the two of them asked more questions.
"Maybe not a tragedy, after all," he heard Herren say as he closed the door.
Malcolm hadn't taken five steps from Wade's shop before he came face to face with Oghren and Teyrna Cauthrien.
"Good, there you are," said Oghren.
Andraste only knew what Oghren looking for him could lead to, or what kind of news would bring Oghren to the market. "I take it you were searching for me?"
"Got a message from Aeducan while you were out. Said it'd be a couple more weeks before she could get down here. Told me to keep you busy." He chucked a thumb at Cauthrien. "Ran into her here at the market, invited her to join us."
"We're not…" With no small amount of dread, Malcolm glanced between the two others. "You don't expect me to spar, do you?" He shot Cauthrien a look of apology. "You, in particular. Wynne would kill me herself." Then he turned to Oghren. "And she'd kill you, too."
"Bah. Wynne hasn't been here in ages. You'll be fine. Run around in giant circles, that's my advice."
Though she'd gotten to lightly laughing, Cauthrien took pity on Malcolm. "He meant a drink at the Gnawed Noble."
"Thank the Maker."
"If we did spar," Cauthrien said as they set off for the tavern, "I wouldn't hurt you."
"I know. I mean, I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose, but I'm sure I'd end up with my ears ringing, even then. Best to avoid it." However, if Cauthrien hadn't been made privy to the real story behind Líadan's departure, Malcolm wasn't so sure Cauthrien would be exactly diligent about not hurting him. Anora had made it a point to tell her half-sister the truth as soon as she'd arrived in Denerim last week, because Cauthrien could be very protective of her friends.
"I know I wouldn't relish facing the disapproval of Senior Enchanter Wynne," said Cauthrien.
Oghren scoffed. "Shows what you know. Mage wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Says the dwarf who's resistant to magic," said Malcolm.
"Hey, you can't all be winners like me. Too bad."
Malcolm's second walk through the marketplace went about as well as the first, and he did his best to ignore snippets of whispers he overheard. He'd actively avoided the marketplace for the past couple of weeks, but he'd set out after midday knowing that he couldn't hide forever. It'd surprised him how many people expressed anger with Líadan, which didn't seem fair. In the story, he'd been the ass, not her. But it was like Fergus had said, with the Dalish elf thing. Most took his side because he was human, like them.
The inside of the Gnawed Noble wasn't much an improvement over the market outside, but at least the patrons were more discreet about their gossiping. Cauthrien found them a table in a darker corner, though their presence still managed to draw more than a few curious looks. Malcolm ignored them, as did Cauthrien, though Oghren tended to stare them right back down.
The only person who wasn't stared down by Oghren was Bann Shianni. She noticed them as soon as she entered and walked straight for their table, which meant she'd probably been looking for them. Most likely, someone had run from the tavern to let her know they were there. Shianni had connections like that, given that most of the city's messengers were elves. Without asking, she plunked herself in the free chair at their table.
After nodding to Oghren and Cauthrien, she focused on Malcolm. "In case my cousin hasn't told you, you probably shouldn't go wandering through the Elven Quarter for, oh, probably the next age or so."
He slumped, leaning on his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his hand. "Nuala had mentioned in passing—and I seriously mean 'in passing' because I've barely seen her lately, and…" Then he realized that he really needed to look past himself and what was going on with him, because it was sodding obvious why Nuala was avoiding him. "She's probably grieving, too," he said slowly.
Shianni shared an empathetic look with him. "Your family, especially the children, took the place of the family she lost to the dragon attack in Highever. And now she's lost them, too. She's strong, but even the strongest of people need time to recover." She attempted a reassuring smile, which mostly worked. "Don't worry, she's still your friend. It's just that you remind her of them, so she needs a bit of time to steady herself."
"Last time I talked to her, she did say that the Elven Quarter wasn't particularly happy with me, but I didn't realize it was bad enough for me to need to avoid the area entirely."
Shianni sat back. "She saved the Alienage during the Blight. It isn't something we'll ever forget."
"I was there, too." It was a pitiful appeal, really. It wasn't like he didn't know exactly why Shianni's people had taken Líadan's side, because it was the same damn reason why humans took his: she was one of their own. He was human, they were elves, and even though Líadan was Dalish, she was still an elf, and that won over everything else.
"Don't make me say it," said Shianni. "If they knew what I know, it would be different. But they don't."
"Nor can they," said Cauthrien.
"Sadly true." Shianni stood as quickly as she'd first sat down. "I hate to drop warnings and run, but if someone from the Elven Quarter sees me sitting here with you, well."
"Right, got it."
"Don't let him drink too much," she told Cauthrien and Oghren.
While Cauthrien merely nodded, Oghren met Shianni's eyes for a long moment before giving her a solid, "Aye."
Malcolm had no idea at all what that meant.
Shianni gave him a smile to tell him she didn't hold anything against him, and then moved to another table on the far side of the room. Malcolm slumped further in his chair, wishing he were anywhere else. He played with his mug more than he drank the ale, because he knew if he started that he wouldn't want to stop. Then he sighed and directed his attention toward Cauthrien. "Could I help train the army? Preferably somewhere not in Denerim?"
She gave him a flat look in return. "Is that a real question?"
"It wasn't rhetorical, if that's what you're asking."
She shook her head. "The Wardens already help. The recruits who leave Warden training for one reason or another usually end up joining the army. Gives them a rather sizable advantage over other army recruits, and a significant head start on training there, which means you're already helping to train the army."
"Oh." He did nothing to hide his disappointment. Helping to train soldiers for Ferelden's army would've felt like taking real steps toward getting his family back.
"It will only be a couple more years," said Cauthrien. "By then, the numbers and the training will have both caught up, and the Orlesians will no longer be a threat to us."
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean the Chantry?"
"Aren't they one in the same?" There was a twinkle in her eye as she asked, and it was enough to make Malcolm laugh. Cauthrien showed her sense of humor less than Anora did, but it was there, dry and sparing. "Your request to help clearly indicates you need something to do. Has the Warden-Commander not provided you with enough work?"
"Hopin' she will once she gets her arse down here," said Oghren.
Malcolm ignored him. "There isn't much to do, aside from what we've been doing. Active recruiting hasn't been as necessary since we've a full complement of Wardens at every outpost, even Orzammar. There's training, but unless we go into the Deep Roads or have the odd darkspawn sighting to investigate, it's all the same." He shrugged. "I'm busy, but I'm not, which really makes no sense whatsoever."
In other words, he had plenty to keep him occupied during the day. The amount of time he spent physically training with others, especially Thierry and Oghren, had done remarkable things to improve his already good swordsmanship. If he could get Alistair in the ring, he was fairly certain he could knock his brother on his ass. It was the evenings that got to him, when he went back to the rooms he'd shared with his family and found them empty.
Maybe he should move back into the compound, surround himself entirely with Wardens. It'd make Alistair jealous, if nothing else.
"It does make sense," said Cauthrien. "When you stop training is when your mind can wander to things you'd rather it not. I have some experience with it." She drained what was left of her ale and stood. "I'll see what projects are available, if Hildur can't come up with anything for you."
"Thank you."
"You have no need to thank me. I lead Ferelden's army." She opened her mouth to say more, and then recalled where they were. "I will let you know. If you would excuse me."
Oghren watched her leave before he looked at Malcolm. Then he reached out and pulled Malcolm's tankard over to himself.
"That was mine, if you hadn't noticed," Malcolm said. "If you wanted more, all you needed to do was ask."
"Confiscating it."
"Why?"
"Shianni got me to thinking." Before Malcolm could comment on that revelation, Oghren kept talking. "You might try to start filling up that hole inside with ale—or liquor or wine or any other of your fancy surface drinks—but that'll just be lava building up to burn you from the inside. So I can't let you do it, you see, which means I get your ale."
"So what do I do?"
Oghren shrugged. "I dunno. Hit stuff? I went with the ale."
"I've already been spending large chunks of my days hitting things."
"Hit more stuff. All I know is I can't let you become me." Oghren lowered his voice to a barely audible grumble. "Elf'd sodding kill me." He raised it again. "Any rate, that means I'll just have to help you with the hitting."
The days afterward passed in a haze of swords and shields and papers, bruises and sleepless nights and looks of pity cast his way. In an effort to get some sort of sleep, he spent his nights at the compound and rarely visited his own rooms in the palace. The insomnia lifted somewhat, and so he remained with the Wardens. He did notice that other Wardens, especially the newer ones, avoided him a lot. Malcolm wasn't quite sure why, because while he hadn't been the happiest Warden, he'd been polite, never rude, and definitely had not wallowed in anything. Just a lot of work, both in the office and out. It got to the point where he started to believe he honestly would've killed for a reason to go on a darkspawn patrol.
Then Fergus came down from Highever again, Meghan with him this time. Both of them were serious due to what had happened with Malcolm's family, yet they seemed otherwise content in some indescribable way.
They invited him for dinner, but when Malcolm went over, it was Meghan who greeted him, for Fergus was still caught up in a meeting at the palace. From what Malcolm had overheard, it had something to do with an upswing in banditry around Amaranthine City and Waking Sea, and both Banns Delilah and Alfstanna had about had enough of it. They'd gone to Fergus, as their teyrn, and Fergus had brought the whole matter to Alistair and Anora to try to figure out. Malcolm did not envy any of them, and was happy enough to have those tasks fall to other people. Being a Warden, thankfully, involved far less politics. Usually.
"Fergus told me what happened," Meghan said once they'd gone into a parlor to wait.
He and Fergus had discussed what would be shared with Meghan before Fergus had left for Highever again. It hadn't been that they didn't trust Meghan, but that anyone they told took the risk of running afoul of the Chantry. For Meghan, the impact could extend up to Starkhaven, and over to Sebastian, if the Chantry knew she was complicit. But Fergus had explained that Meghan would've gone along with him harboring Malcolm and Líadan and their children in Highever, if that had been an option, which meant there would be no point in keeping information from her.
Still. It felt strange to hear yet another person expressing condolences. "I thought he might," Malcolm said quietly, trying to find somewhere to look that wasn't at his sister-in-law and didn't make it obvious that he was avoiding eye contact. He chose the window and looking out across Denerim. It was a clear evening, so maybe he could catch sight of ships' masts in the harbor.
Meghan cleared her throat. "I wanted to tell you… I think you made the right choice. I know I've never spoken much about what happened to me during the time I was between Starkhaven and Denerim, but…"
He glanced over at her when she trailed off, and saw that she was wringing her permanently injured hand with her good one. It was enough of a departure from her usual composed self—the only person he knew who was more composed than Meghan was Anora—that he dispensed with preoccupying himself with the window and actually gave Meghan his full attention. "But what?"
She looked down at her hands, grimaced, and then returned to him. "It opened my eyes to what the Circle and the Chantry are really about. Both sides can be quite ugly, and innocents are too often caught in the middle. I wouldn't want a child of mine there, either."
"Even with the…" He slightly inclined his head toward Meghan's hand. "You know, the problem you sometimes have with mages?"
"Even then." A blush touched her cheeks, and she gave him a tiny, rueful smile. "It's been a few years since my experience, and my outlook has gotten better from what it was. I admit, I do still have issues, but I know quite well that one does not require magic to do bad things, and having magic does not predispose one to take such actions. And no one deserves to be treated as anything less than human." She frowned at the wording. "Or elven. Or dwarven? Oh, I don't know. We have the expression, but since having gained more friends who aren't human, it keeps surprising me how exclusive people other than humans some sayings are."
Malcolm chuckled. "I doubt the elves would like to become human." It was, after all, one of the main reasons he and Líadan hadn't had more children. Human plus elf meant human children, which meant elves slowly wiping out their own people if they interbred too much. "They do appreciate being treated as equals, so there's that."
"It also stands to reason that if humans were a little more like the Dalish, your family could have stayed together."
"Sort of. Ava still needs to be taught by Emrys, at least in the beginning. Maybe Feynriel could've taken over after a little while. I mean, I could've gone with them if the Chantry wasn't the way it is, but even if I had, Emrys and his clan wouldn't have allowed me to stay with them. We'd be a lot closer, though. I'd at least know where they are."
"You don't know?"
He shook his head. "No. I know where they initially went, and what their end goal is, but I have no idea where that clan is camped, nor do I know what route Líadan will take to get there, or how long it will be before any of us hear from her again. Safer that way."
"I would say that you seem very lonely, but that would be a silly observation for how terribly obvious it is." She let out a soft sigh. "I gather Fergus has told you that you're welcome to stay at Highever for as long as you wanted, if you wished?"
"Yeah, he has. But I'm not sure if it would make things better. When I think about everything to do with Líadan that happened there…" His thoughts went wistfully to Highever and its grounds standing vigil over the Waking Sea. "No. But thank you." He had seriously considered going, at first. Considering the home he'd made as an adult had been taken away, retreating to his childhood one seemed like some sort of comfort. But then he'd realized how intertwined Highever was with him and Líadan, and how so much of what he would've seen there would remind him of exactly what he was missing. It was where he'd told her he'd loved her and where she'd told him the same in a language he actually spoke. He'd proposed there. They'd had their bonding ceremony there. Tied up in Líadan as it was, it was too much a reminder of her and the people he missed to serve as a comfort.
"I understand," said Meghan.
And he could see that she did. Fergus really had married a lovely woman. A woman that Malcolm still couldn't believe was related to Sebastian, even when they had the same vivid blue Vael eyes. "Still glad you married Fergus instead of me?" he asked, wanting levity instead of the serious topics he was tired of thinking about.
"Very. You're too much like Sebastian for me to have wed."
His hand went to his chest. "Oh, you wound me, dear lady. You'll have to take that back. I don't invoke Andraste, the Maker, or vows nearly enough to be even remotely like Sebastian."
"You invoke them, little brother," Fergus said from the doorway, "just not in the same way." He clapped his hands together. "Now, I don't know about you two, but after the go-around I had with the banns, I'm rather hungry."
Yet, even after the levity they'd found, the meal was awkward where it had never been before, simply because of the number of empty seats that should have been occupied.
Meghan did her best to fill the resulting quiet by pressing for gossip about her brother. "Last I heard from Sebastian," she said, "he and Marian had entered into a chaste marriage."
"Wait, that wasn't a joke?" asked Fergus.
"No," said Malcolm.
"I think he's too stubborn for his own good," said Meghan. "Should someone talk to Isabela? Have her arrange for Marian to have her way with my brother so he'll come to his senses?"
Malcolm stared at her, desperately trying not to laugh. She couldn't possibly have used those words inadvertently, right? But Meghan tended to speak cleanly, and her immediate thoughts often did not devolve into juvenile humor, so it stood to reason that she hadn't meant what she'd said in the way Malcolm heard it. He glanced over at his brother to see if he'd heard the same. The moment they made eye contact, Fergus started laughing, which caused Malcolm to dissolve into giggles.
Meghan's cheeks reddened as her lips twisted into a scowl. "Oh! Both of you, don't be so childish. You know what I meant."
"Then you'll be happy to know," Malcolm said once he'd gotten a proper breath, "that Sebastian changed his mind. Or had his mind changed for him, however it works. Isabela, as it happened, had much to do with it, but she had an unlikely ally in Lady Leandra." He paused to to think it over. "The marriage was probably unchaste by the time we left Kirkwall, but I didn't ask."
"I'm sure Sebastian and Marian appreciated your show of restraint," said Meghan.
Malcolm laughed again. "Marian wouldn't have cared. She wanted to consummate the marriage right then and there when Sebastian told her he'd changed his mind."
"They… they didn't, did they?" asked Meghan. "I mean, Marian can be very persuasive."
"The way you say it, you make Marian sound positively Antivan." Fergus tore a hunk of bread from the loaf on the table. "Then again, she had been waiting for a very long time, with the prospect of forever, so I suppose one could forgive her if she pounced on him before he decided against it. Literally pounced, mind."
Malcolm would never get that image out of his head. He might not even be able to look Marian or Sebastian in the eye ever again. "You're horrible," he said to Fergus. "Truly." Then he looked over at Meghan. "I apologize for my brother, and offer you my sincere condolences for being his wife."
Meghan smiled at Fergus before adding her own laughter to the mix. It was the first of many almost secretive smiles Malcolm saw pass between them that evening and over the days afterward.
When they finally announced they were expecting an heir, it came as no surprise to him.
He was truly thrilled for his brother. Not only would the Cousland line be secured once more, but Fergus was a good father. He'd rather enjoyed it with Oren, and now he'd be able to do so again with another child, even after the painful loss of his first wife and their firstborn child. Yet, days later, when he expressed this sentiment to his brother as they walked from the marketplace to the Warden compound, he knew his face didn't convey how he truly felt.
His brother's inquisitive look told him so.
Malcolm sighed and looked away, presumably at the ships at the mouth of the Drakon river. It was a cover for his attention while they walked over the Central Bridge, and a poor one.
"You're either the happiest sad person or the saddest happy person I've ever seen," said Fergus.
"We'll go with both." It seemed a decent enough answer.
Not to Fergus, however, who proceeded to poke him in the arm. It drew a wince from Malcolm and a raised eyebrow from Fergus. "Bruise?"
"Yep."
Fergus poked him again, this time in the side, which also drew a wince. "Another one?"
"I've got lots. If you could stop poking me in some sick attempt at locating them all, that would be nice of you."
Which meant Fergus jammed a finger in between his shoulder blades, and of course, there was another bruise there.
"What? Do you want me to take off my shirt so you can see them all?" Malcolm asked. "I'd much rather that than you prodding at me to find them all, you ass."
Fergus pointedly glanced at a few of the young women walking toward them, headed to the opposite side of the bridge. It was clear they'd heard Malcolm's last comment, and their looks toward him were at once appraising and predatory.
Because of course they were, because if his wife had left him, it meant he was fair game once again.
"Why do I even put up with you?" Malcolm asked Fergus.
"Because Alistair is worse."
Malcolm wanted to argue the point, because he didn't want Fergus to win any points, but there was no argument to be made. "All right, you have me on that one."
He chuckled and then clapped Malcolm on the back, which caused Malcolm to curse not quite under his breath. The blunted wooden blade of Oghren's practice axe had caught him there at full speed. Fergus made a show of scratching his chin before he said, "Little brother, I don't know if anyone's told you, but your bruises might have bruises."
Malcolm grumbled under his breath as they stepped onto the street that would lead them to the compound. He didn't want to have this conversation with anyone, much less Fergus, because Fergus always saw way too much. "Oghren won't let me drink." Which was true. Tragically true.
"I'm not even sure how to reply to that," said Fergus. "Since when is Oghren not an enabler?"
He dismissed the question with a wave. "He thinks I'd head down the same path he did when Branka went into the Deep Roads without him."
"Is that the path where he drank as much as he could to forget about her taking off for places unknown and leaving him behind? That path?"
"That's the one." Technically, Branka hadn't headed for places unknown—she'd been heading for the Anvil of the Void, which the dwarves believed they knew where it might be located.
"You know, he might be on to something there. Doesn't explain the bruises, though."
"Lots of time hitting and getting hit with practice weapons." The part of him that wasn't his taxed and bruised muscles crying out for mercy was fairly proud of how good he'd gotten.
"Have you tried getting hit less? I've heard ducking works."
Malcolm gave him a withering look.
Fergus shrugged, entirely unaffected. "Hey, thought I'd offer some friendly advice. But keep getting bruised, if you like. Arms training is constructive."
"Can we talk about something else?"
"No. You're not any fun right now and I'd like you to be."
"I'm working on it."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But you're sucking at it, so it's time for others to step in. You need a distraction. Maybe a vacation. Do Wardens take vacations?"
"I already told Meghan that Highever would make things worse."
"No, no. Not Highever." Fergus cheerfully waved to the guards posted outside the compound and stepped through the open door before Malcolm could. "Other places, like, say, maybe some sort of mission to keep your mind and body occupied."
Malcolm halted in the middle of the main hall. "Who have you been talking to?"
"You'd like to know that, wouldn't you?" Fergus grinned before glancing down the hallway. Then he smiled even wider. "Wynne! It's been months!"
Oh, so there'd been a plan, obviously. One involving his closest friends and family, even more obviously, and he suspected this would have something to do with fixing him. But he'd been fine. Sure, he'd been sparring a lot, but he'd been doing his job. He hadn't sulked or wallowed in whatever losses he felt. He hadn't let himself mire in what'd happened. He hadn't been the boy he'd been during the Blight, which meant he did not need any saving, no matter what the others thought. Certainly, better distractions would have been nice. It'd make forgetting a whole lot easier. But he really didn't like the idea that they'd been conspiring behind his back instead of just talking to him about it.
Well, aside from his whole avoidance of talking about it, but they could've just been more persistent. After all, Fergus and Alistair had pushed the matter with him not proposing to Líadan all those years ago by literally sitting on him to get him to agree. Direct application of brute force did work with him, he'd admit that much.
As Fergus and Wynne exchanged pleasantries, Malcolm did his best not to glower. Besides, he was happy to see Wynne around again. Her lectures were the closest things he had to the memories of his mother's lectures, so he missed them when she was gone. Then when she was back and lecturing him again for one thing or another, he realized he shouldn't miss them. At least Wynne would be around to talk about—oh. No, she wouldn't. They couldn't tell her the truth about Ava and why Líadan had to leave with her and Cáel, because Wynne stood a good chance of going to the Circle about it, possibly even the Chantry. More than once, Wynne had made her opinions clear about how mage children needed to be instructed: namely, at Circles.
His glower turned into a frown, and that was the moment when Hildur walked into the main hall, apparently having chosen right then to finally arrive from the Vigil. At this rate, he was going to get sent to Soldier's Peak, or even worse, Weisshaupt.
Then Wynne was standing in front of him, a slight frown pulling down the corners of her mouth, but concern in her eyes instead of disapproval. "Malcolm, you really are thoroughly unpleasant to be around right now," she said. "I thought Oghren had exaggerated, but for once, he hadn't."
"Nice to see you, too, Wynne." He put on the best smile he could because it was nice to see her, though he had some things to say to the tattling Oghren the next time he saw the dwarf.
"And that's why I'm here." Hildur gestured toward the stairs. "Come on, let's go meet in my office."
"That's my office," Malcolm said as he followed her. "Your office is at the Vigil. The one here is mine. I've even got a nice painting up in there and everything."
"It is a lovely painting, isn't it?" said Fergus. Which, of course he would say, because the painting had been a gift from Fergus.
Yet however much Malcolm protested, Hildur still took the chair behind the desk, leaving him to pick out another one. And to his surprise—or not, given his suspicions—both Fergus and Wynne also accompanied them into the room.
"I think," Hildur said to Malcolm as soon as everyone had gotten situated, "that you miss your family more than you thought when you first found out."
It was true; he couldn't deny it. He'd assumed them being safe from the Chantry would help him through their absence, but he'd been woefully wrong. He also took note of how Hildur had worded her statement—altering the circumstances of their disappearance so as not to ruin the narrative Wynne would have been told.
And from the mutters of complaint coming from Wynne, she absolutely did believe what she'd heard about Líadan leaving with the children, and from the words Malcolm could make out in those mutters, Wynne was incredibly angry at Líadan for it. She sounded almost as angry with Líadan as Líadan had been with Morrigan after Morrigan had left right before the Battle of Denerim.
Right, so he'd be avoiding Wynne during her visit to court.
When Malcolm didn't answer out loud, Hildur gave him a long look. "I think you need a distraction. Fergus agrees with me, as does Alistair and pretty much everyone else you know, so don't argue with me." When he kept silent, she nodded. "Good. Now, as it happens, Wynne needs a Grey Warden."
"Lucky for her, we've got lots," said Malcolm. "I bet Oghren would love to help her."
Wynne sniffed. "As fond as I am of Oghren, he does not bathe nearly enough. He also doesn't need the distraction of a mission like you do."
"I don't think anyone needs a distraction like he does," said Fergus.
Malcolm suppressed the urge to argue and sighed instead. "Why do I get the feeling the three of you worked this out before I even stepped into the compound today?"
Hildur grinned. "Because we did."
"All right, I'll bite." He looked over at Wynne. "So, why do you need a Warden?"
"I am in the middle of aiding in research that I had believed would be of some interest to the Grey Wardens. When I told Warden-Commander Hildur about the research, she agreed."
"More than," said Hildur. "See, she's helping a Tranquil mage research Tranquility. Mainly, if Tranquility can be reversed. The other o is if Tranquility can be done in such a way that the mage doesn't stop being themselves, but the Wardens as an organization don't care about that part so much. But reversing it? My Ancestors' stones, the Wardens would be all over that."
Malcolm started at what the ability to reverse Tranquility could mean to the Wardens. It would be a large boon, significantly increasing the mage recruiting pool, a pool that would be teeming with mages who'd have huge incentives to leave the Chantry far, far behind. "That'd be a lot of recruits."
"Yes, it would. And so I think the Wardens have a vested interest in providing whatever aid we can to help it along."
"What am I to be doing, exactly? Is the research not Circle-sanctioned? Is there a need for protection? Because, if you haven't noticed, I'm not so good at the magic thing, being non-magical as I am."
"The research is sanctioned by the Circle," said Wynne, "though its existence is known only to a select few, due to its rather sensitive nature. The research has primarily taken place at Adamant Fortress, because of its rather thin Veil, in addition to its distance from Thedas' population. The other researcher, a friend of mine named Pharamond, is there now, but it's been two months since I last heard from him. I need to see how he's doing."
Malcolm looked from Wynne to Hildur. "Isn't Adamant a Warden fortress?"
She shrugged. "Eh, sort of. I mean, it was. The Wardens built it and held it, but after… Stone, I can't remember which blight, but after one of them, the Wardens abandoned it. Others have used it since then, and they haven't seemed to care. Last I heard, there was a small population there, but not much else."
"In fact, there is a small population still there," said Wynne. "The people living there mostly consist of folk who rather like life far away from the main areas of civilization, and prefer to keep it that way. They have been quite helpful to myself and Pharamond, however. While they like their solitude, they are quite nice."
"Am I to be protection, then?" It really did seem like he'd be the equivalent of hired muscle. Not that he minded, but he wanted his role to be clear.
"In a way." Hildur tossed him another leather-bound journal, similar to the one she'd had him take to the Vimmark Mountains. "There are some notes in there for you to read, and a lot of blank pages for you to write more. If it turns out that Tranquility can be reversed, and the Wardens take advantage of it, the Chantry will be very unhappy with us. Since we won't be backing down from gaining a large number of capable recruits, we'll have to maintain more fortresses, especially ones off the beaten path, like Adamant. I need you to record how viable a fortress Adamant still is, and if the people there now would be willing to work with the Wardens should we return. They won't be kicked out, mind you. They'll be allowed to stay, and hopefully work for us, either as staff, guards, farmers, merchants, or tradesmen."
Malcolm imagined a map of Thedas in his head, gained from years of looking at them, though his knowledge of Ferelden and its environs was a lot more reliable than the rest of Thedas. In spite of that, he believed he did recall where the fortress in question was located. "Isn't Adamant on the Abyssal Rift? Or is it the Abyssal Reach?" Maker's breath, if he didn't know better, he'd say they were banishing him. "Either or, they're both across the Western Approach, best I remember."
"Why, yes, it is," said Fergus.
Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Why is he even here? He isn't a mage and he isn't a Warden."
"He said he'd sit on you if you wouldn't listen," said Hildur. "Since you could probably manage to throw Oghren, I took your brother up on the offer."
"My thanks," said Malcolm. When the others didn't relent, he shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Fine. Sounds like a really good distraction and a really long trip, all in one. Who else is going? Not Fergus, I take it."
"We'll be picking up some others along the way," said Wynne.
"We're not going straight there?"
She crossed her arms and fixed him with that look. "You have somewhere else to be afterward?"
Before Malcolm could answer for himself, Fergus said, "No, he doesn't."
Hildur stood up, effectively ending their meeting. "There we go. Wynne said you'd be leaving the day after tomorrow. The Wardens will be providing the supplies, including horses, and you've got tonight and tomorrow to pack. Your job, Malcolm, is to provide protection, since you'll most likely encounter darkspawn somewhere in the Western Approach, to make a survey of Adamant, and do whatever else Wynne tells you do."
Fergus chuckled. "That leaves the door wide open."
"It certainly does," said Wynne.
Malcolm groaned, and then Fergus put an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, little brother. It's the last night I'll see you for a while. Drinks are on me."
Though he'd assumed he'd have taken full advantage of Fergus' generous offer, Malcolm only had a couple drinks over the course of a large meal and more than a few hours at the Gnawed Noble. Others had joined them, close friends, Wardens, even Teyrna Cauthrien, and then some banns who were in Denerim for various reasons. But when the night wound down, Malcolm was remarkably sober and equally as thoughtful. After dropping Fergus off at the Highever estate, Malcolm opted to return to his room at the palace instead of the small room he'd taken to sleeping in at the compound.
In his family's sitting room, the place on the high shelf where the one-horned halla had been was empty, and a slim book about Dane and Hafter was conspicuously missing from the smaller bookshelf. Items, he knew, taken by Líadan and their children as they'd left.
He couldn't begrudge them the memories.
Beckoned by his own, he wandered into the children's rooms. The staff had only made the beds, and left the rest alone. He wandered from Cáel's room to Ava's, where he accidentally scared Nuala half out of her mind, and his surprise at seeing her caused him to let out a yelp.
As she jumped, Nuala had clutched a stuffed toy to her chest. When Malcolm saw it what it was, he raised an eyebrow.
"She left it," said Nuala.
Malcolm gave her a crooked smile. "That's because she took that halla, instead."
"Maker's blood, she'll poke her eye out with that horn. It's like she's determined to. Girl thinks she's invincible."
He outright laughed. "I recall feeling fairly invincible myself at six. Also ten, twelve, sixteen, eighteen, and probably up until the Blight, really."
Nuala made an effort to smile at his humor, but it didn't reach her eyes. Then she glanced down to contemplate the toy she held before looking at him again. "You know what I think?"
"I don't, but I suspect you'll tell me, regardless."
She did. "I think you need to leave."
He hadn't seen that one coming. "What? Why?" Aside from startling her, he couldn't think of anything he'd done wrong, but he didn't experience life from the viewpoint of a woman or an elf, so there could've been something he'd inadvertently done. "Is this about me scaring you? If I'd known you were here, I'd have made more noise while I walked. If I did do something wrong, this would be a 'teaching moment,' as Shianni calls them." Shianni had done a lot of teaching with him, since he was a tall, strong human male and often didn't realize how intimidating he could be, even when he was intending to be anything but. Of course, now all that work was out the window because of the cover story for Líadan, and the Elven Quarter pretty much hated him.
"Not a teaching moment, no," said Nuala. "Neither of us knew the other would be here, and you shouted as loudly as I did. So, no, not that."
"Then why do I need to leave? I mean, I'm okay if you take all the time you need here. You're as much family to them as any of us. Maybe more, considering."
She shook her head, eyes blinking rapidly as she clutched the toy a little tighter. "No, it's fine. What I meant was that you need something to do to keep your mind occupied."
"Oh, not you, too!" He drew his hand over his face to keep himself from pointing at her. "Just for the record, your cousin, along with Oghren, shot down my original plan of remaining marginally drunk until the army's ready."
"I doubt you ever seriously considered that a valid plan."
"Well, no, but I hadn't thought of much else."
"And that's why you need a project."
"No! Not falling for that, either. When I was younger, my mother and my sister-in-law said the same thing. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in an overstuffed chair being lectured on the finer points of embroidery."
"Yes. That's exactly what I was getting at. You taking up needlework." She rolled her eyes. "I meant you need work that will actually distract you instead of the work you do here, which you could do in your sleep at this point. Keep up like you are, and soon enough you'll be wallowing."
"I will not." Not immediately, but it wasn't like he was going to admit it.
"Oghren's got odds three to two on you'll be doing so by next month."
"Of course he does." Before Nuala could start in on him again, he said, "Anyway, don't worry about me needing something to do. Hildur beat you to it. I'm supposed to go with Wynne on some trip of hers into the Western Approach."
"That… seems a little extreme. I'd thought the Free Marches, maybe." She glanced down at the stuffed spider, and then back up to him. "When do you leave?"
"Day after tomorrow, I was told."
"Good." She nodded, more to herself than him. "Good." Then she extended the stuffed toy toward him. "You should take this with you. And before you say no, let me tell you that I'll find some way to get this into your pack if you do say no. So take it."
He did. He'd learned not to argue with Nuala. The toy was soft and careworn after years of being toted around by a small child, and he hoped that Ava hadn't been terribly upset by leaving it behind.
As Nuala headed through the doorway, she paused to ask hesitantly, "Have you heard anything?"
Now he was the one holding the toy close to his chest. "No. I haven't."
"You'll see them again."
"I hope so."
Then she walked away, leaving Malcolm standing alone in his daughter's empty room.
He left before the emptiness smothered him. After he strode into his bedroom, he thought better of it and went back to the common room. There, he found the book Cáel had been reading before he'd had to go with Líadan. Malcolm pulled it from the shelf, its weight heavy with the memory of his son's inquisitiveness. Then he dragged out his pack and tucked the book and the stuffed toy safely away in the bottom.
Carrying them wouldn't return what had gone missing in his life, but it would help.