Chapter 13
"You have seen the greatest kings build monuments to their glory
Only to have them crumble and fade.
How much greater is the world than their glory?
The purpose of the world renews itself with each season
Each change only marks
A part of the greater whole.
The sea and sky themselves:
Nothing special. Only pieces."
—Tome of Koslun, the Soul Canto
Malcolm
Denerim was two days behind them before Malcolm realized he'd underestimated a little when it came to how Wynne felt about Líadan.
She was pissed. Royally pissed, if he were to use a term, and since he'd witnessed some of Alistair's epic fits of pique, Wynne's outrage was right up there. Except her outrage wasn't loud and energetic like his—a great burst of anger that burned brightly and fizzled out once it'd gotten its say. No, Wynne's wasn't like that at all. She snapped. She snarled. She made comments and observations and grumbled a lot.
Maybe the snarling was a bit of a hyperbole, but still.
Wynne had made it incredibly clear that she did not approve of the course of action she'd been told Líadan had taken. Then again, Malcolm didn't think she'd agree with the actual situation, either. If she knew the real story, she'd be pissed at Líadan and him. Instead, she was partly outraged on his behalf, which made the situation all the more awkward because he did not need anyone outraged for him. He also couldn't ignore Wynne, because it was only the two of them, and she was the kind of person who immediately picked up on when she was being ignored.
He did his best at redirecting the subject to what they'd be doing and where they were going. Mornings were the worst, because he wasn't entirely awake and she tended to catch him off guard, no matter how alert he tried to be.
This morning was no different. He got through lashing his pack to his saddle. Then, as he started to fasten his shield on the other side to balance it out, he heard a tsk come from Wynne behind him.
"What happened to your other shield?" Wynne asked before Malcolm could address her disapproval. "Did Líadan take it as some sort of keepsake?" She said 'keepsake' like she'd really meant 'war trophy,' which she probably had.
He played dumb. "Hm? What?"
"Your shield." She stepped around him to tap a finger on it. "This isn't the one you normally use."
"It took a beating the last mission we were on, and Wade couldn't repair it to full strength. I grabbed one from Warden stores."
"It isn't as good as your previous one."
"Well, no, but I haven't exactly had time to visit Orzammar to see if King Bhelen wants to give me another one, or at least direct me to the smith who forged the first one. Aren't we going through Gherlen's Pass? I could take a side trip while we're there to find out."
She shook her head. "No. We haven't the time. We need to go to Kinloch Hold before we go to Jader. There's a young spirit healer I'd like to bring with us."
"You just randomly decided this?" Because she hadn't bothered to mention it before, and it seemed the kind of thing that needed mentioning.
"You have an argument against having another healer along?" She moved out from behind him and lifted her own pack to her horse.
Malcolm resisted rolling his eyes, because Wynne never responded well to that. There would be passive-aggressive comments for days. "Of course I don't. I was just curious."
"And where has your curiosity taken you, young man?"
"You're mean in the morning." Not that she wasn't right, but she didn't have to rub it in.
By midday, as they ate their meal while still in the saddle, Wynne finally relented and gave him a little more information. "The ritual Pharamond is developing requires spirit healers. At least one, but with it just becoming finalized, the more, the better. Aside from myself, the young man at Kinloch Hold is another."
"Spirit healers aren't exactly common, are they?" He'd thought it for a long time, and believed he'd heard it mentioned before. However, he'd also assumed it coincidence that the two strongest healers outside of Tevinter—no one knew anything about Tevinter's healers—were also spirit healers.
"No. Our way of healing can be difficult to master. Many healers are afraid to learn it, and with good reason."
Considering the two spirit healers he knew were also technically possessed, he could see why. He didn't say it out loud. "We aren't going to Kirkwall, so Anders isn't an option. Do you have any others lined up?"
"I… may."
"That was wonderfully mysterious."
"Yes, it was."
Malcolm gave her the side eye, but she provided no other explanation, the thump of hooves the only break in the quiet. Wynne seemed to be more infuriating than usual, and he wondered if it was on purpose, or if it was just him.
He tried one more time for details. "Have I mentioned to you that I don't like surprises? Because I don't."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Which was no answer at all, really, and they passed the next hour in silence. It gave Malcolm the chance to appreciate the mildness of Fereldan summers and autumns, because his armor did nothing to repel the heat from the hot sun. The Free Marches had been miserable enough, and Varric had told him it was a mild summer for them.
Malcolm wondered if runes could be added or woven into clothing or armor to cool off the wearer—or warm up, in the winter months. He didn't look forward to being in a desert, not armored as he was, but it wasn't like he could go without armor. What he did look forward to was the change in scenery. While he loved Ferelden and its lush greenery in a temperate climate, he had to admit to being curious about what the Western Approach looked like. He'd traveled through the Silent Plains before, but that was an altogether different kind of desert. It was the kind that a blight left behind. He'd heard the Western Approach had sand dunes, and the description of them had been fascinating. Maybe he'd get to walk through them, or over them, or however it went with sand dunes. The not knowing was part of the excitement, and his curiosity did not take him to unhealthy places. Not always.
"I imagine you did not like the surprise of waking to find your family gone," said Wynne.
He groaned. Sweet Maker, but could she be persistent. "Wynne, please."
She turned to face him, concern for him wiping away some of the anger she'd been expressing toward Líadan.
When she looked him in the eye, he said, "Just stop, all right? Stop bringing it up. I don't want to be…" He waved a hand as if that would explain.
She raised a knowing eyebrow. "Like you were during the Blight?"
"Yes, that. I don't want to be that person again. I'm older, I have things to do, and dwelling on it serves no purpose." All of which was true, so he didn't break eye contact as he said it.
She harrumphed. "I suppose it would be for the best. You accompanying me on this trip is to be a distraction for you. My bringing it up would defeat that purpose."
He'd been thinking that the whole time, but he'd been loath to point it out when she was currently his sole traveling companion. Suddenly, Kinloch Hold didn't seem too bad an option for a stop, because it would mean another person accompanying them.
It wasn't until they'd stepped into the vestibule and the templar guards opened the main doors that Malcolm recalled that he hadn't been to Kinloch Hold since the Blight.
His first impression was that it was a lot less fleshy than last he'd seen it. No lumps or bits of mysterious flesh-like things scattered about made for a better introduction. Knight-Commander Greagoir's welcome was genuine, and First Enchanter Irving seemed downright happy to see them. Still, the memories of what Malcolm and everyone else had gone through in the tower wouldn't let him shake off his vigilance.
"You seem on edge," Wynne said quietly to him as they followed Irving down the hallway.
"Last time I was here, it was overrun by demons." He kept his voice close to a whisper so none of the young apprentices nearby would hear. Some didn't even look old enough to have been born before the Blight.
Wynne looked at him in surprise. "You haven't been back before this?"
"Hildur does the recruiting with the Circle, so no, I haven't." He dodged an overexcited apprentice who was barreling down the corridor, and watched closely as she bolted into the dormitory. She couldn't have been much older than Ava, and he couldn't stop the unbidden image of his daughter in the child's place, wearing an apprentice's robe, and at the rather lacking mercy of the Chantry. The chill that ran down his spine reaffirmed the choice he and Líadan had made in her taking their children to the Dalish. Better they were with them and safe rather than constantly at risk of being taken by the templars—or worse, being taken by the templars and locked up in the Circle. He missed them terribly, but they were safe.
It also didn't help his outlook in the tower when he kept expecting a demon to jump out at every corner. But Wynne was giving him one of her looks, having finished frowning at the rambunctious apprentice, and Malcolm thought it best to say something positive. "The bridge is nice, though. I bet that helps with people coming and going, like the mages who've gone to work in the Bannorn."
Wynne's look on him was still cautious, but she nodded. "It does."
He frantically sought a better topic. "Hildur's been talking about upping how many recruits she pulls."
"She's mentioned it to me. She wanted to get my opinion on the matter."
"She tell you that she wants anyone and everyone who'll volunteer?"
"Yes, she did."
"And?" Maker, this was like trying to get details out of Líadan.
"And I told her the Chantry wouldn't approve, but I'm sure Irving would, and that Knight-Commander Greagoir might be convinced, depending on the volunteers."
Of course she'd had the perfect answer. "Do you ever not give diplomatic answers?"
"Not within your earshot, dear."
He sighed. As the years had gone by, it had become clearer that Wynne viewed him and Alistair as grandsons of a sort. It was awkward sometimes, aggravating other times, and endearing on some occasions. Today wasn't one of the endearing ones. Maybe awkward trending toward frustrating, at best.
As they continued through the hall, they caught snippets of conversations from various apprentices. One he overheard nearly knocked him over—some sort of rumor that one of the Wardens from the Blight had taken a pirate woman and three greased nugs to bed.
With Zevran, it seemed, anything was possible.
Wynne noticed his discomfort. "Do you think that particular rumor is about Zevran?"
"I don't want to think about it at all. Ever. How can you even ask that?"
"I take it from your pleas that the rumor does not involve you?"
"No! How could you—no! You're trying to kill me using embarrassment, I know it."
"The flush on your cheeks really is quite adorable."
This was going to be a long trip. Worse than the trip he'd taken to Weisshaupt, and Líadan had appeared halfway there for the sole purpose of torturing him. And torture him she had.
Ahead of them, Irving let out a chuckle.
They stopped outside the library and briefly introduced him to Knight-Captain Hadley, who stood guard just inside the door. He seemed a nice enough fellow, having opted not to wear the bucket helm most templars wore in Circles, and also not possessing the contemptuous glare most templars rested on mages in their charge. Malcolm still didn't feel like holding an entire conversation with him, and hoped it wouldn't be expected.
"Irving and I have things to speak about before you and I leave with the new healer," Wynne said to Malcolm. "Find yourself something to do."
He glanced around. It wasn't like he was compelled to be cooperative when people were trying to ditch him. No need to make such things easy. "Like what?"
"You enjoy books, don't you? Why don't you go wait in the library?"
"You could just be honest and tell me to run along and play," he grumbled. Then he headed for the library before Wynne could do something else terribly embarrassing, like ruffle his hair. Because she would.
He'd forgotten how large Kinloch Hold's library was, probably because on his last visit he'd been preoccupied with killing rage demons who wanted to kill him. Without the rage demons roaming about, it really was relaxing. The shelves holding the books were so tall that ladders were required to get to the upper reaches, and he couldn't keep count of how many shelves there even were with all the hidden alcoves they created. Desks and tables were set up for studious mages, and he saw here and there a weary apprentice surrounded by stacks of tomes, their face nearly planted in an open one, ready to fall asleep at any moment.
Malcolm empathized with that sort of weariness.
Shifting his attention from the apprentices, he wandered through the library, scanning the spines of the books for something that looked interesting. There was no telling how long Wynne would be, so he aimed for more than one book before he settled in at a free table. Some books he wanted to take just to show the people who should read them. Anders, for instance, could have done with reading Guarding Your Mind: How to Prevent Possession. Then again, Justice would probably have objections to it and express them with violence.
He left that book on the shelf. He did grab the book about griffons, though. Wynne needed to see it, and if it meant he borrowed it for the duration of their trip, so be it. He'd return it eventually. Then there was a book about lyrium bombs, which he didn't know were even possible to make, and decided trying to would most likely get him killed. Almost as quickly as he had the possession book, he returned it to the shelf and continued on.
When he passed Bathing Practices of the Orlesian Monarchy, he quietly laughed out loud. Only Orlesians would have an entire book about how their monarch bathed. Maker, it wasn't complicated to keep oneself clean. After that delightful book, he happened on one about Elven relics. His curiosity wouldn't allow it to go untouched, and his emotions insisted on reminding him of Líadan. So, he pulled it from the shelf and tucked it under his arm with the griffon book. The relic book wouldn't be good for the distraction the trip was supposed to be, but Wynne had left him to his own devices. He wanted to sit down and look through it immediately, but while his written Elvish was leagues better than his spoken, if he wanted to get anything out of the relic book, he'd need a lexicon to refer to. Other times, he'd had Líadan to ask, but she wasn't here, which was part of why he was here, needing distraction.
Right, lexicon. It took a while to poke around to find the language section, but once he did, he found the Elvish book easily enough. Then he found a seat at a vacant table, stacked his prizes on it, and started flipping through the relics book. Eluvian caught his eye, but not even a sentence in, he needed to look a word up in the lexicon.
While a rather awkward position, using his elbow to keep the relic book open let him use his hands to search the lexicon for the word.
"Whoa!" came a loud—for a library—voice from behind him. "What are you doing? Be careful!"
Malcolm turned to give the offended mage a withering look. "What?"
The young mage with copper colored hair had crossed his arms over his chest, and was doing a remarkably good impression of Wynne. "You're bending the book too much. It'll crack the spine and cause all the pages to fall out."
Malcolm rolled his eyes. "I am not. And they will not." Then he went back to searching for the word he hadn't recognized. Though he could feel the mage's outrage looming over him, Malcolm hoped the intrusive mage's silence meant he'd be left alone.
His hope was quickly crushed as the mage turned conversational. "Browsing the chapter on eluvians? No one knows of any intact ones left."
"So I've heard." Malcolm wondered if he should make a sign telling others to let him be. Then he'd have to use a trick of Aveline's that Merrill had invented and hit them with it. That'd get his point across.
"Do you even know what eluvian means?"
"Mirror." He didn't turn around and he couldn't find the damn word because the mage kept talking.
"Seeing-glass. It isn't just any mirror! It's a special kind—"
Malcolm gave up and turned. "I know what it is."
"Really."
Oh, for Maker's sake. Now the mage was haughty and that needed to be fixed. "I've seen two intact ones and three broken ones. Well, the third broken one was pretty much bits of sand. And the first two broken ones were the intact ones before they got shattered."
The mage let out a strangled shout that caused the others to glare at him, but the mage near Malcolm ignored them. "You broke eluvians?"
"Me? No. That was my brother." It was true. Alistair had done the actual breaking both times.
"But you've seen one with your own eyes?" Now the mage sounded like a child eager for a story.
Malcolm didn't feel like telling one. "You got me. I've been lying to you. I used someone else's eyes."
The mage sniffed. "There's no need to be rude."
"You accused me of accosting the books."
"Those books are in Elvish. It isn't like you can read it."
"Not quickly, no."
"You can read it?"
"You don't have to look so astonished. Just because I'm a Warden doesn't mean I haven't a brain in my head. And it isn't like I'm going to page through a book just to stare stupidly at squiggly marks on pieces of paper."
Before the mage could answer, Wynne approached them. "Good," she said. "I see you've already met our new companion."
"What? You're serious?" asked Malcolm. "Wynne, he starches his robe." Honestly, the robe could've stood up on its own.
"There is nothing wrong with cleanliness," said the other mage.
"There is on the road," said Malcolm. "Mud, dirt, rain, streams, rivers, horseshit, blood—"
"I get the point, Warden."
Malcolm scratched at his chin as he closed the books. Clearly, his reading was over for the time being. "Maybe you should enchant your robe to not get dirty."
"What makes you think I haven't?"
"The look on your face when I told you about the horseshit, for one. You wouldn't have looked so horrified if you had."
The mage frowned. "I thought this would be exciting when Irving told me, but now I'm not so sure."
Malcolm grinned at him. "Can't change your mind, now."
The mage appealed to Wynne as a small child would a parent. "Does this Warden have to accompany us?"
"Yes, because we are going to a Grey Warden fortress," Wynne said to him, "and we may encounter darkspawn on the way. Ferelden's Warden-Commander thought it best to send a Warden with us." She extended a hand toward Malcolm. "Finn, this is Senior Warden Malcolm." Then she moved her hand toward Finn. "Malcolm, this is—"
"Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire," said Finn.
Malcolm raised an eyebrow as he resisted a chuckle. "That's… quite a name." The title meant that Finn's mother or father—or any of the generations before them—had been a knight, and the eldest sons and daughters from thereon were esquires. No one really followed the custom anymore, but it was technically still accurate. Pretentious, though, especially when Wynne hadn't bothered using any of Malcolm's titles, however much he really didn't want to be reminded of them at the moment.
"I shortened it because everyone called me Flora."
Malcolm didn't bother hiding his amusement.
Finn huffed, and then his brow furrowed in thought before he looked at Malcolm again. "Were you one of the Wardens who—"
"Kept the templars from invoking the Right of Annulment here during the Blight? Yes. You're welcome."
Finn waved him off. "I wasn't talking about that. I mean, thank you, but I was talking about you being one of the Wardens who accompanied the King during the Blight. I think he had a companion with your name at the time."
"Yes, I'm one of them, too." Maker, but it was fun when someone didn't recognize him. While Finn's idiosyncrasies were a little annoying, it was refreshing to be treated like anyone else.
Finn peered at him. "Which one are you?"
"The dead Antivan, obviously."
"For Maker's sake," Hadley called from his post by the door, "he's Prince Malcolm. Finn, you're the smartest person in this tower. Did you seriously not recognize him?"
"It's the nose," Malcolm said to the templar. "Always a dead giveaway."
Irritated, Finn had straightened in opposition to the indignity and glared over at Hadley. "I merely wanted to confirm it."
"You could've just asked," said Malcolm.
"And you simply could have introduced yourself."
"Why would I introduce myself to someone who scolded me before they even said hello?" He was fairly sure even Morrigan had been more polite.
Wynne sighed, sounding remarkably like Riordan. "Both of you, let's go."
While Malcolm left the Elvish lexicon and the tome of Elven relics on the table to be re-shelved by the Tranquil who staffed the library, the griffon book went into his pack when Finn and Wynne weren't looking. Hadley saw, but he only smiled and nodded.
"Have a nice trip, Senior Enchanter," Hadley said to Wynne on their way out. "May you have the patience of Andraste to survive it."
"I heard that," said Malcolm.
"It does not change that he is right," said Wynne.
Before they left the tower, they had to wait in the reception hall while Finn gathered his belongings from where he'd stashed them in a storage room. Then they were gone, traipsing down the long bridge to the shore, which really was a nice change from the tiny boats they'd had to use before. Finn got distracted as they walked, his eyes wide as he took in the sweeping views of the lake and its backdrop of the Frostback Mountains. It seemed it had been quite some time since Finn had left Kinloch Hold. The mage became so entranced that he halted to look at everything, and not having anticipated the sudden stop, Malcolm plowed right into him.
The impact sent the gangly mage spinning before he tumbled sideways onto the paving stones that formed the surface of the bridge. His stave clattered against the ground as he landed, and then Finn rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. His cheeks red with his outrage, he waved angrily at Malcolm with palms welling with dabs of blood from where they'd been scraped.
"Look what you did! Look at my hands! I'm bleeding!"
"You're a healer. Heal them. Problem solved."
Casting dark looks Malcolm's way, Finn did so, and then unslung his stave to give it a once-over. When he found a scratch, his frown deepened before he focused it on Malcolm. "You hurt Vera!"
"I… what? Who's Vera?"
"My staff." Finn held his stave up to eye-level as he continued to inspect it.
"You named it?"
"Of course I did." Finn raised an eyebrow and directed his look toward the sword riding at Malcolm's hip. "You didn't name your sword?"
"No. Why would I?" He didn't mention that it would've been Maric's responsibility to name the sword, not Alistair's or his.
"I thought you warrior-types named your weapons." Finn almost sounded a little sad.
Feeling slightly bad for knocking Finn over, Malcolm cooperated a little. "Some do. I know a guy who named his crossbow, so there's that. Oh, and Calenhad wielded a named sword. Nemetos. But when King Venedrin was killed in an Orlesian ambush in the Blessed Age, it was lost."
"Lost? Your family lost a sword it held for ages?"
"We do that. We lose things. Swords, heirs, pivotal battles, thrones, and there was one Theirin who lost his mind and drooled a lot. Not Alistair, in case you were wondering. Might've been Arland. I'm not sure."
"There is something very wrong with you." The anger had completely vanished from Finn's eyes, and he now merely seemed perplexed.
Malcolm shot him a smile. "If you figure it out, be sure to tell Wynne, because she's been trying to figure it out for years."
Stymied, Finn went back to ogling the scenery around them as they approached the shore. Malcolm changed his mind about not wanting to travel with this new mage. It was like he was the older brother for once, the one doing the teasing instead of being the one teased. They might drive Wynne crazy in the process, but sacrifices would have to be made.
"I didn't see Connor there," Malcolm said to Wynne. He'd half suspected that their healer would've been him, even young as he was.
"He'd been given a pass to visit his uncle. He'd passed his Harrowing, and Irving thought it a nice gesture of good will and a reward for him doing so. Once he's done with his visit, he's being sent to Tevinter to undergo a formal study of the Fade." Wynne's tone became warmer. "It gladdens me that we saved him. He's a talented young man."
"Good." Malcolm looked south, in the direction of Redcliffe, and nodded to himself. "Good."
The sun was setting behind the Frostbacks as they reached the bridge's intersection with the Imperial Highway. From there, one could choose to take the gently sloping ramp down to the Spoiled Princess, or to continue on the highway. Since Wynne and Malcolm had left their horses at Kinloch Hold's recently built stables, they took the ramp.
"Can you ride a horse, Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire?" Malcolm asked as they approached the Spoiled Princess. He put special emphasis on the 'esquire' part.
"Of course I can."
"Irving has agreed to lend us one of the Circle's horses for the duration of our trip," said Wynne. "I would not have asked if Finn could not ride on his own."
"Where are we staying for the night?" asked Malcolm. "I could do with a real bath and not the washrag and water from my flask kind. Hot food I don't have to make myself would be nice, too. Oh, and ale. Come on, Wynne. You know you'd like some good ale." When she didn't answer, Malcolm upped the temptation. "Look, if the Circle or Chantry or whoever doesn't have deep enough pockets for you, I'll spring for it. Also, warm beds not on the ground. Fresh linens."
"I'm already sold," said Finn.
Wynne's soft laugh meant she'd already been planning on it before Malcolm's begging. "All right, I suppose I've been convinced. One night here, and we'll set out come morning."
In the time since the Blight, the Spoiled Princess had flourished, becoming highly popular once the bridge to Kinloch Hold had been completed. They were lucky enough to get two rooms for the night, much less three. Malcolm ended up sharing with Finn, because Wynne claimed the eldest deserved her own room. He'd wanted to pull rank on her, but the single look she sent him daring him to do so kept him quiet. There were two beds in the shared room, at least, so it would be fine, as long as Finn didn't snore.
Besides, being at the inn was nice in the first place. Wearing standard Warden issue meant Malcolm stood a good chance of going unrecognized. Considering the gossip, he thought it best. Hopefully, once they were in Orlais, he'd go entirely unrecognized and be treated like any other Warden.
Their server turned out to be Felsi, Oghren's wife. The pair had an interesting arrangement, with Felsi living a week's travel away with their son, while Oghren kept his post at the Denerim compound. They'd tried living in the same house before, and after that, the same city, but they'd always ended up at odds. The solution of living on opposite sides of Ferelden had served to make their marriage surprisingly stronger. Malcolm found himself almost envious that Felsi and Oghren were only separated by five to seven days worth of travel. Meanwhile, he and Líadan might as well be on opposite sides of Thedas with how little he'd know of her location.
Felsi smiled at them as she approached their table. "You lot are looking well." She jerked her chin towards Finn. "Who's the new guy?"
"Another healer," said Malcolm. "We requisitioned him for a while. Promised to give him back, but we'll see."
"Please let me go back," said Finn.
Felsi raised her eyebrow at him. "You're a strange one."
"How is your son doing?" asked Wynne.
"Growing like a bad weed, according to my boss," said Felsi, her smile growing broader at the mention of her child. "Oghren says he's about ready to learn to use an axe properly, but the kid's only four. There's still time to convince him to be something useful, like a smith."
"Oghren would sooner eat an anvil than let his son become a smith," said Malcolm. The reason was Branka, Oghren's first wife, who'd been a brilliant smith, but unstable in every other aspect.
"Perhaps a happy medium could be agreed upon," said Wynne. "Zeke could be a brewer. A profession dear to Oghren's heart, and one far safer than becoming a warrior, especially a berserker like Oghren is."
Oghren had wanted to name his son after the Warden who'd died so they could kill the archdemon, but hadn't been able to stomach a dwarf bearing an Antivan name. Hildur had suggested 'Zeke' as a compromise, insisting there was an Aeducan bearing that name in the Shaperate's memories. Malcolm was pretty sure she hadn't been telling the whole truth, but Oghren didn't question it, and Zeke it was.
Before Felsi could answer, a bard who'd set up in the corner near the fireplace started up on his lute. Malcolm braced himself for a satire or song about what'd happened with him and Líadan, but he learned quickly enough that everything wasn't about him. The bard sang the tale of the Black Fox, and mentioned nothing of current events.
Felsi noticed Malcolm's stiff posture. "He already covered your tale in his rendition of the latest gossip, so you won't have to hear it tonight. Sounded rough, though. Want a drink?"
"Please." He considered his choices for a moment, recalling their last visit to the Spoiled Princess and the rather questionable sources of their ale and liquors. "What's safe?"
"Rum is from Nevarra instead of Rivain, so I'd stay away from that. Brandy's still turpentine. Oh, we've got mead. Good mead, too, not that bitter stuff from the Chasind."
All three of them requested the mead, as well as whatever was on hand for the evening meal. Then Wynne bundled them off to bed after the bard had gone through the tale of Aveline the Knight, claiming she intended an early start and she didn't want either of them to argue about it come morning.
They did, anyway. Their early rising time, coupled with the boring road, meant Malcolm and Finn got to know each other through bickering. Wynne managed to put up with it for an hour straight, ignoring them entirely and refusing to participate in their conversation, such as it was. After one particularly vehement exchange, Wynne whipped around with a ready glare and silenced them both.
"Not another word. Not until after midday or I will petrify both of your mouths shut."
They took her seriously, and the rest of the morning was even more boring. Malcolm had forgotten how much time seemed to stretch on forever when traveling great distances. It had been a little easier during the Blight, since they'd had more people with them. It meant more conversation, which in turn also meant more bickering, but it got to the point where they had resorted to anything to pass the time.
Wynne slowed to a stop near a field with an outcropping of boulders. After Malcolm staked out the horses, he clambered up the boulder to sit where he could observe their surroundings as they ate. They'd already reached the opposite side of the lake from Kinloch Hold, and he could see the spire from where he sat.
Then his seat moved.
Malcolm shouted in alarm and skidded off the rocks to land on his rear in the grass. Cracks and rumbles came from the boulder as it stood, and soon enough, Malcolm was looking up at his golem friend, Shale.
He glared at her, his heart still racing. "Scaring a man like that could lead to death, you know."
She raised her stony eyebrows in genuine surprise. "I doubt the insipid prince could squish me."
"I meant my death, Shale."
"It would pain me to lose such entertainment, should it die. It should endeavor not to do so."
"Then you shouldn't scare me like that."
"It should be more observant. It has traveled with me often enough to tell me apart from a common boulder."
His glare faded due to Shale being very right. She was no common boulder and he should've recognized her before using her for a chair. "I'm sorry. I was preoccupied."
"Yes, I imagine it was. The elder mage told me the news."
From what Shale said, Malcolm realized two things. One, for all Shale's dry, scathing remarks about beings of flesh, she had a heart of gold. Maybe literally, under all that rock, but she did actually care, though she remained absolutely incapable of not giving everyone shit. Two, Wynne was an incorrigible gossip. He should have seen it sooner, but there it was.
He frowned at Wynne. "You don't have to tell everyone, you know."
"I have not. However, since Shale will be traveling with us, I felt it pertinent she be aware of your situation."
"Do not worry," Shale said to Malcolm. "I will not gossip as the elder mage does."
Wynne huffed, but did not deny the accusation.
"You're a golem!" Finn said as soon as their was a break in the conversation.
"Really?" asked Shale. "Am I? I hadn't realized."
Finn paid no mind to Shale's words. "A real golem."
"It has encountered fake ones before?"
"Little ones. Tiny statues used as playthings for children."
"Has it considered that those golems may be real, and that their tiny control rods have long gone missing?"
Finn's eyes went wide as he considered the possibility, and then he stroked his chin as he continued to think it over. Shale, on her part, looked delighted that the new mage had taken her seriously.
"Shale," Wynne said in warning.
"What? It is gullible, it seems. I shall enjoy a bit of sport with it."
If Finn heard, he didn't indicate it. Instead, he inquired about how Shale would travel, and Shale answered by showing how quickly she could run. Faster than a horse, Malcolm had learned years ago. Golems really were quite amazing. Too bad their construction had required killing dwarves using excruciatingly painful methods in order to trap their souls within the rock. When they'd found that out from Caridin during the Blight, they'd destroyed the Anvil of the Void right quick.
By the time they made camp that night near the bluffs at the mouth of Gherlen's Pass, Finn hadn't given up on wrenching more knowledge from Shale. His fascination extended to the composition of Shale's crystals, which meant he wanted to touch them so he could understand them better.
Shale put up with it for only a few minutes before ending it. "If it touches my crystals again, I will crush it."
"But I didn't mean…" Finn sighed, and then lighted on a solution. "What if I buff them? They'd look even better if they were shined up properly. That slight blue will show quite nicely through the frosty white."
"Would I glitter? I would like to glitter."
"Yes, you would."
Shale nodded. "A fair trade. It may study my crystals as long as it buffs them in return."
"What?" Malcolm said from where he sat on the opposite side of the fire. "Is that how it works? You shine your stones together and now you're best friends?" Then he frowned. "'Shine your stones together' sounds like something Oghren would say."
"I believe I have heard him use that euphemism before," said Wynne.
Meanwhile, Finn had taken the same rag he used for polishing his stave and started on polishing Shale's crystals. Malcolm rolled his eyes and hunted for one of the books he'd brought with him. He'd just go into his tent and read using his glowstone. He set aside the griffon book as he looked for the myth book, and then thought better of it. "Wynne, I picked up some light reading for you. I think you'll enjoy it."
Wynne turned to see what Malcolm had extended to her. "You stole a book?"
"Borrowed." He was almost offended. "Next time I'm at Kinloch Hold, I'll return it."
"This stealing of books from the Circle of Magi seems to be a habit of yours."
"Borrowed!"
She'd yet to relent on her scolding look. "And the first one?"
Andraste on the pyre, Wynne hadn't even forgotten about Morrigan's book. "Sort of stolen. They stole it first, and I stole it back at the behest of the original owner's daughter. Anyway, I didn't steal this one. I'll either bring it back with me or give it to Finn to bring back with him when he returns." He sighed, truthfully a little disappointed that Wynne hadn't even bothered to glance at the book. "Do you want it or not?"
She sighed right back at him. Then she extended a hand and he placed the book in it. As soon as she read the title, she started chuckling. "Shall I read you one of these tales before I tuck you into bed?"
"If you wouldn't mind." This was the humor he'd been intending when he borrowed the book.
"What?" asked Finn. "Are you a child?"
"The insipid prince has always been much like a child," said Shale.
"I love you, too, you big hunk of rock," said Malcolm.
Wynne placed her hands protectively over the book she held. "Books and the stories told within them are to be treasured."
"I'd sooner eat a book than read it," said Shale.
"Then you stay away from my books."
"As long as the fussy mage does not attempt to force me to read its books, then the books shall be safe."
Their trip up through Gherlen's Pass and into Orlais went pretty much the same as their traveling had the first day. Finn alternately gaped at his surroundings while complaining about the dust, Wynne and Shale traded jibes, and Malcolm participated in both conversations. As they descended into Orlais after the chill of the mountain pass, the Orlesian countryside felt like midsummer instead of early autumn. It didn't help that the road to Jader clung to the foothills of the Frostbacks, reminding Malcolm of the comfortable temperatures they'd just abandoned. The mages with him seemed unbothered by the temperature change, their robes free-flowing and rather breezy. Shale, of course, wore nothing at all, and being made of stone, did not sweat.
Malcolm couldn't wait to bathe when once they stopped at an inn, and if the ride went well today, they'd make it to Jader and said inn by nightfall.
Which meant right when they reached Jader's outskirts, Shale heard the deep, gurgling call of a raven and tore off after it in the forest.
"Where's she going?" asked Finn.
"Oh, just part of her ongoing mission to exterminate every bird from the face of Thedas," said Malcolm.
Finn turned to Wynne for verification. "Really?"
"She's quite serious about it," said Wynne.
Malcolm readied to jump back into the conversation, but figures down the road caught his eye. "Armed men in the road. Is anyone surprised?"
"I am," said Finn.
"You've been holed up in that tower of yours," said Malcolm. "That's the only reason you're surprised." As Finn muttered under his breath and Wynne shot an irritated glance in Malcolm's direction for riling Finn up, Malcolm took a closer look at what waited for them ahead. It wasn't promising. "Might want to ready those staves of yours. I can see two chevaliers on horseback, and at least four soldiers on foot. The chevaliers have lances couched under their arms while the others have swords at the ready. Pretty ballsy to be standing out there in the open like that."
"I suspect chevaliers are accustomed to being obeyed without question." Wynne sighed and pulled her staff out of its sling. Then she rested it on her thighs as they rode forward.
The trees around them were too far from the road to let them slip into the woods without being noticed, and even if they managed that, the foliage was too thick to ride properly through. There'd be too many branches flying back and into faces, which meant they couldn't go around the soldiers on the road.
So they rode on until the chevaliers shouted at them.
"You there," said one of the chevaliers as he pointed at them with his lance. "Come with us quietly and no one will be harmed."
"Not so good at quiet," Malcolm said to the chevalier with the silver mask. "I won't be going anywhere."
The other chevalier wore the same type of full-face mask with etched facial features, but his had a golden frond as a crest at the top. "You are not our quarry, Fereldan. We want the mages. They will be pressed into the service of Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons."
"I do not wish to be pressed into anyone's service," said Wynne.
There was a joke in there somewhere. Oghren would've cracked it. But Malcolm refrained from commenting, because he could feel Wynne readying a spell, even though she remained still in her saddle. Then she flicked her hands and the spell swept out, knocking the two chevaliers off their horses and into their men standing below them. While the chevaliers and three foot soldiers rolled in a flailing pile of armored limbs, lances, and swords, one kept his footing. He brought his two-hander up to shoulder level and charged for Malcolm.
Which really made no sense in Malcolm's head, because the mages were a bigger danger than he was. Malcolm would have to get close enough before he could do any damage to them, while either mage could set them on fire without stepping foot into sword range. Maybe it was honor of some kind, choosing to charge the armored man first. Malcolm wasn't really into that sort of honor, because it was stupid. Either that, or the soldier had no idea of the danger mages presented in combat.
When the soldier got close enough, Malcolm engaged his blade to bring him closer and get the sharp tip away from his horse's body, and then kicked him in the face. The Orlesian went down and made one futile attempt at getting up before he decided to stay there. Good for him.
"Finn, take over with either paralysis or ice," said Wynne.
"I could, but I can't cast from horseback," said Finn.
"So get off your bloody horse," said Malcolm. "Preferably before they're on their feet and coming after us."
With a grumble, Finn slid off, and then hit the pile of swearing bodies with a paralysis spell.
And that was that. "Anyone else?" Malcolm asked. "Come on, let's get on with it. We haven't got all day."
Wynne sighed. "You don't have to tempt fate."
A crossbow bolt zipped through the air to tear a hole in Finn's robe as it barely missed its mark.
"I believe my point is made," said Wynne.
Malcolm scowled. He'd be hearing about that for weeks. "There's no way you could've seen that coming."
Before Wynne could say anything more, Finn cried out, "I have a rip in my robe! Am I bleeding?" Then he promptly fainted.
Maybe they should've left him at Kinloch Hold. "You still want him?" Malcolm asked as he surveyed the forest along the road. "Not so great a battle mage."
Three crossbowmen and another chevalier emerged from the trees. Malcolm now suspected there were more. If they came out, he was pretty sure they could take them. If they remained hidden, they would be in a sizable amount of trouble.
"Perhaps aggressive diplomacy would be the wiser option," Wynne said as the chevalier approached them.
She was right. He'd be hearing about that for days, too. The new chevalier pushed the visor of his helm up—a proper helmet, Malcolm realized, though the falcon crest on the top had to be unwieldy—and did not remove his sword from his sheath. "Come now, Warden," he said as he squinted up at Malcolm. "Don't make this difficult. Give us the mages and you'll be on your way, not a mark on you."
"And get my commander pissed at me for losing two mages? No. And before you get violent, taking them by force would be a bad idea. One, they're on a mission for the Grey Wardens, and the Wardens wouldn't take kindly to having a mission of ours delayed. Two, golem." Malcolm hoped Shale had stayed nearby and hadn't trotted too far off, leaving them to their abductions or deaths at the hands of the chevaliers. Also, Shale not appearing would make him look really stupid.
The chevalier scoffed. "Have you a griffon in your pocket, as well? That is as likely as you having a golem."
There was totally another Oghren comment in there. "No," Malcolm said out loud, "it's just what happens when a Warden is happy to see you."
He didn't acknowledge the joke. "Where is your supposed golem, Warden?"
"If it would like a demonstration of my presence," Shale said as she stomped into the road, "I will gladly squish its nattering head."
The chevalier seemed mildly impressed. "It appears you did not lie." Then he took another good look at Shale, which resulted in him taking measure of his own men. With a nod, he returned his attention to Malcolm. "I find your argument compelling, Warden. You and your mages may go."
As the chevaliers gathered, and then mounted their horses and rode off in the opposite direction of Jader, Finn sat up and shook himself. "I'm alive? We're alive?"
"You would've been alive regardless," Malcolm said to him. "Dead mages aren't much good to them."
"Yet they had no issue with dead insipid princes," said Shale.
As Finn struggled to get back in his saddle, Malcolm glanced over at Shale. "In Orlais, you should probably refrain from calling me that, or they'll figure out pretty quickly who I am. And since my coming on this mission is partly to get my mind off everything not Warden related, it'd be better if no one knows."
"Others will not remain ignorant of it forever," said Wynne.
He sighed. "I know. I just need some time."
"I shall call it the insipid Warden, instead," said Shale.
Malcolm sighed, nudged his horse, and resumed their trip to Jader. When they took ship at Jader's port and started across the Waking Sea, he took great delight in Shale being seasick. Alistair had been right. Golem vomit was awesome.