Chapter 16
"Nothing can escape Falon'Din's reach, when it is their time."
—Dalish saying
Líadan
Nights were the third hardest.
Líadan sorely missed the heat Malcolm put off while they slept. The coldness of the autumn nights crept into the tent she shared with both children and her mabari, yet even with the body heat generated between the four of them, it wasn't enough. Even this part of him couldn't be replaced, and of the two of them, she was the luckier because she had their children as a reminder of the other.
It wasn't enough. She missed how he understood her without needing explanation, she missed his ability to crack the worst jokes at the worst times, she missed how he said so much but always ended up saying the right thing, she missed his easy grins, and she missed the tiny thrill that still went through her when she caught his look from across a room. She loved him and she missed him and she'd been so caught up with keeping the children safe that she hadn't given herself time to comprehend it. She hadn't, not until he wasn't there in the fabric of the life she'd patched together between two peoples. A hole had been cut out, one in the shape of a big human—human—man who'd always been there. And now he wasn't and it hurt more than she'd let herself believe it could.
It was hard, but it wasn't the hardest.
She had the children, but they couldn't fill the gap left by her missing bondmate. Yet her bondmate had nothing to even attempt to fill the gap left by his missing family, and that was probably the hardest for him.
Revas kept watch just inside the flaps of the tent, and Líadan took up the other end, mabari and Dalish elf safekeeping the two sleeping children between them.
The second hardest were their questions.
"We can't go back, can we?" Ava had asked earlier.
"Why do you keep asking?" Cáel had replied. "Mamae already explained. Asking over and over again doesn't change anything."
"I forgot my doll."
Cáel had rolled his eyes. "It's a spider, not a doll. It's wrong. No one should like being anywhere near a spider of any kind. Even a stuffed toy."
"But I forgot her. And we can't go back."
Líadan had dug out the halla from her pack that night and given it to Ava. It seemed to help. Even now, in the deepest of sleeps, Ava hugged it close to her chest.
Morning found them facing the edge of the Brecilian Forest as Líadan packed up and the children ate a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and a couple of the Brecilian apples Alistair had snuck into Líadan's food supplies. The Nevarran cheese had been from him, too. But it was the note he'd included in his pristine Chantry-learned handwriting that had drawn a tremble to her fingers holding the scrap of paper. Your family will be together again. I promise. His handwriting was so familiar that he hadn't even needed to sign it. Though he had signed it, she was sure, out of habit.
Forcing the memory away, she finished lashing the pack containing her Warden armor to the grey courser she rode. The mare had been trained as a hunting horse before the Wardens bought her, and her trainers had been rather unoriginal with their naming, which meant she went by Hunter. Líadan hadn't minded. In fact, it had been what'd drawn her to the horse in the first place. She and Revas had taken a liking to Hunter, and the mare had taken a liking to her and the mabari, and Líadan had become Hunter's usual rider. She hoped she'd be able to bring the mare all the way to the Suriel. Hunter was the first horse she'd truly gotten attached to during her time with humans.
Her Warden armor had been packed away in favor of her Dalish leathers, the leathers more suitable for hiding in the forest, and to stay as low-profile as possible. Once they got to Kirkwall, she'd switch, because she didn't want to risk the templars there getting overzealous and trying to capture her before she could tell them—and prove—that she was a Grey Warden.
Once Hunter was saddled and ready to go, Líadan turned her attention to the two ponies the children rode. Out of necessity, each child had started riding lessons at five years old, yet they were far from experienced riders. It meant Líadan had needed to bring the ponies the children already knew, who were both familiar with the children and well-tempered. The terrain would be rough in places, and while Ava was an exceptional rider with a great deal of confidence, Cáel was less so. He was decent, but he did fall off every now and then, and tended to blame it on his chestnut gelding. While Cáel hadn't named his pony, he'd come with an appropriate name, given his rider: Boot. It helped that Boot was also affectionate and incredibly patient, which meant he would stand and wait whenever Cáel went tumbling off him. Líadan finished with Boot's saddle, gave him a fond rub on the muzzle, and moved on to Ava's pony, Sid.
Revas gamboled around them, once again excited about traveling like she had when she'd only been a mostly grown pup. The ponies, being proper Fereldan ponies, as Fergus had called them, paid no mind to the mabari. The hounds were trusted by Fereldan horses, not feared.
"Are we going into the Brecilian today?" Cáel asked from behind Líadan.
"Yes. You'll have to ride even more carefully."
"I know," he said. "I've just heard stories about the forest. This forest. That it's dangerous."
On hearing the note of fear in his voice, Líadan turned to look at him, where he sat on a rock. "Just what stories have you heard?" She'd been careful to not repeat any of the stories about the Brecilian Forest. Mostly because the legends of late had more to do with the Dalish being a danger to humans than they did spirits crossing the thin Veil.
Cáel's eyes flicked over to the forest and then back to Líadan. "Um, about the trees. Sylvans, I think they're called? Possessed trees that move."
"And who told you that story?" Líadan knew it wasn't Nuala, because Nuala was a lot smarter than that when it came to these two children and their overactive imaginations. They certainly didn't need any hints of real dangers to inspire nightmares.
The sudden dejected look in Cáel's eyes told Líadan exactly who'd been telling the children stories: Malcolm.
"I—nevermind." She grimaced at tripping over her words and ran her fingers through her hair. "We should be fine. I grew up in this forest, and we should be able to find the Dalish who live here now. Even if we don't talk with them, they'll chase away any creatures from wild tales." Líadan wasn't about to tell them that sylvans were actually real. It was likely they'd never voluntarily go near a tree ever again, which could prove very problematic when they had to travel through a decidedly vast forest.
"Are you mad at Papa?" asked Ava. "Is that why we left?"
Líadan wondered how long Ava had been holding in that question. She'd been certain it would've been one of the first ones Cáel or Ava asked, but this was the first she'd heard of it. "No, I'm not mad at him. I miss him very much, but we both decided we needed to keep you and your brother safe. Keeping the two of you safe means we have to be apart for now."
Ava looked over Líadan's shoulder at Dragon's Peak, toward where Denerim lay beyond. "Will we ever go back?"
"I don't know."
"She means no," said Cáel.
Líadan frowned at him. "If I'd meant no, I would have said it. Instead, I told you the truth. I don't know if we'll go back, because I don't know when or if circumstances will allow us to return."
"That means me not being a mage." Ava, apparently having decided that half her apple was enough, tossed the rest to Revas. "We could do that, and then we could go home."
Cáel shot to his feet as he hurled the core of his apple into the grass. "No! I know what happens if you take away a mage's magic. I've seen them, the Tranquil. They aren't real anymore. They look like they're alive, but they're filled with ashes inside, where their soul used to be. You can't let that happen to you." He swung to look at Líadan, his eyes panicked and pleading. "Mamae, don't let her do it!"
"I would die before I'd allow it."
Her statement relaxed Cáel, but sent Ava into a panic. "Is it that bad?"
"Worse," said Líadan, doing her best to soften her tone—talking about Tranquility tended to make it harsh, and harsh was the last thing either of the children needed. "I would rather die than be made Tranquil, and so would every other mage I know. Your brother is right. When the Chantry makes a mage Tranquil, it rips something from them other than magic, and kills them all the same, even though they still walk and talk. It's horrific, and I would never let that happen to you."
"But if I keep my magic, how will we go home?"
The hardest was that Líadan couldn't simply make everything better. She couldn't change their situation. She couldn't change the influence of the Chantry. She couldn't change the human and Andrastian opinions of magic. She couldn't change the intractable dislike and distrust her people, especially her grandfather and her clan, had for humans. She couldn't reunite their little family until those things changed, and her inability to do something meaningful about it was the worst of all.
"I don't know," she said, and she wished she did. When neither child had a reply, she motioned them toward their ponies. "Come on. I'll help you up. We need to get going. We've got a lot of travel ahead of us."
"Where are we going?" Cáel asked as he balanced himself in his saddle. "You said the Dalish, but that's really it."
Líadan waited until she was certain he had his balance before she completely let go. "First to the Mahariel clan outside Kirkwall, and then another clan will meet us there after a little while. Then we'll go with them to my grandfather's clan, wherever they've set up camp, far away from the rest of civilization."
"I didn't know you had a grandfather," Ava said as Líadan helped her up.
Cáel rolled his eyes. "Everyone has one. Just some of them are alive and some aren't."
Ava made a face at her brother before returning her attention to their mother. "Why are we going to see him?"
"He agreed to be your teacher."
"But Keeper Perran was my teacher. He said I was doing all right."
Líadan let go of Ava and waited for her to be settled before she went to her own horse. "He doesn't—Keeper Perran is a good teacher, but he isn't the best teacher for you, specifically." She hoisted herself into her saddle, and then headed into the forest. Cáel and Ava followed behind her, and Revas took up a rear guard position. Ava must have been thinking over Líadan's words, because they rode in silence for quite some time. Enough that Líadan began to scan for signs of Dalish hunters, while at the same time looking for reliable sources of water and game. She hoped they'd come across Dalish hunters that day so she could speak with them. There were a lot of clans in the Brecilian Forest, though they would be starting the process of packing up to head to warmer northern lands for the winter. If she could speak with various hunters, she believed she'd be able to gain permission to set up her tent within the bounds of a clan's patrols. It would make sleeping at night easier, knowing a watch was being kept.
Given that she'd worn Dalish hunting leathers instead of her Warden gear, and that anyone could plainly see her vallaslin, she knew if hunters spotted her riding through the forest, they'd more than likely greet her. The closer the clans followed the edict declaring Dalish Grey Wardens to be a clan of their own—Perran had even been made their Keeper years before—the easier time Líadan would have asking for protection as she traveled. While her having two human children with her would add some difficulty, she could at least hope they'd allow the basic protection of a simple camp.
"It has to do with the demons disappearing, doesn't it?" Ava asked. If Líadan hadn't already been familiar with this habit of her daughter's, she'd have thought the question asked out of nowhere.
"Yes," said Líadan. "It does."
"Why were they after me?"
"Because of what you are."
"Demons go after any mages," said Cáel. "Right?"
"Yes and no. They like strong mages because they crave their power. Mages with weaker magic, they really don't care about. But why they're after Ava isn't only because she's a mage. She's a special kind of mage that almost no one knows how to teach."
"And your grandfather does? How?" asked Cáel.
"Because he's the same kind of mage, and he's the one who figured out that Ava is like him. He's the reason the demons stopped going after her."
"He is?" asked Ava.
"He's protecting you from the demons," said Líadan. "Long enough until he can teach you how to properly protect yourself."
"That's awfully nice of him to do for someone he hasn't met."
Líadan couldn't help her quiet laugh. "Oh, he's met you. But that's a story for another time." Telling Ava about her peculiar birth wasn't a story to be told on horseback. "Maybe tonight, after—" She fell silent and drew her horse to a stop. Behind her, the two ponies followed the mare's lead and halted. Líadan snatched her strung bow from her back and nocked an arrow as she continued to search the underbrush along the faint trail they'd been following. "Ar inan ma. Tu na'bel ena," she said, her voice pitched to a command. I see you. Make yourselves known.
A party of four Dalish hunters emerged from the trees, which caused Ava to gasp softly. She hadn't known they were there, but Líadan had. The hunters had strung bows in their hands, but none had a nocked arrow. The lead hunter was even amused, greeting her with a smile and a chuckle. "Aneth ara, Líadan Mahariel," he said to her. "We wondered how long it would take you to notice us. Not long. Your skills have not dulled."
She slipped her arrow back into the quiver, and then re-slung her bow. "You were expecting me?"
"For the past month, our Keeper has told us to be on the lookout for you on our hunts. The clan is half a day from here, and we welcome you to stay for your night's rest. Just follow the trail. You know the signs for a Dalish camp. We'd go with you, but we haven't caught enough game yet for our winter journey north. Dareth shiral."
Then, as easily as they appeared, they were gone, once again part of the forest.
Ava stared after them in awe. "Can you do that?" she asked Líadan after a few moments.
"Yes. I was a hunter before I was a Warden."
"That's… really cool," said Cáel. "Also creepy."
She almost told him that he sounded like his father, but refrained. A comment like that made right now would only remind them of what they'd lost. "Maybe you'll learn one day." Líadan stared into the brush for bit longer. She'd assumed there would be some degree of difficulty in gaining permission to camp with a clan's bounds, and now it appeared she'd been invited. Not that she minded having one less thing to worry about, but it felt strange, like it'd been too easy.
"Maybe," said Cáel. "But I'm not really the quietest."
"No, but you aren't Dane, so there's hope for you, yet."
"I'm not Dalish, either."
"You're still my son. If you ever want to learn, I will gladly teach you." She glanced over at Ava, who'd shifted her attention to her mother and brother. "Either of you."
Ava pursed her lips, her thoughts churning as she considered Líadan in a different way. "I keep forgetting you're Dalish."
"What?" asked Cáel, eagerly jumping on the chance to turn the heavy conversation away from him. "How can you forget? It isn't like it's right there on her face, except that it is."
She scowled at him. "I meant the…" Ava took one of her hands from the reigns and waved it around, as if summoning her answer from the air. "The Elvish. We don't hear it very much."
"I don't really have much occasion to speak it while in Denerim," said Líadan. After having Ava say that hearing it from Líadan took her by surprise, Líadan decided she'd speak it a whole lot more. Then again, there wouldn't be much choice in the matter soon. The Suriel used Elvish more than any other clan, and wouldn't change their ways for two human children. Thankfully, children had an easier time when it came to learning new languages, and doubtless they'd be fluent after a year, maybe less given that they'd hear it all day. Part of her was happy that they'd at least carry that much of the Dalish with them.
When they arrived at the camp as the sun dropped below the trees, Líadan's confusion only grew. Not only did this clan's Keeper greet her warmly, but she invited them to set up their tent within the cluster of aravels, and for the children to join the clan's children when the hahren told her stories. And it all happened without a single question leveled at Líadan. Nothing about why she traveled, nothing about why she had the children with her, and nothing about the lack of her human bondmate at her side. At first, she assumed it a strange quirk of that first clan, the Iahmel.
Then, within days, the same happened with another clan, and another clan after that. Some greetings were less warm, a mere granting of the original permission Líadan sought, for the hunters' protection as she and her children slept. Yet, most followed the example set by the first Keeper who'd welcomed them.
It didn't take her terribly long to figure out why: Emrys. It seemed her grandfather had somehow communicated with enough Keepers that they knew he expected her to be granted safe passage as she traveled to his clan. It made her at once grateful for her grandfather's interventions, and yet resentful of the special treatment. But she endured it, for it meant her children's safety.
Camping nights within the view the Dalish didn't bring Líadan any comfort. This was a dream from long ago and equally as long given up, living with her family amongst the Dalish. But this wasn't a fulfillment of that dream. Her children weren't elven, nor were they one of the People. Their father wasn't there. Líadan's bondmate wasn't there, and part of the dream had been somehow sharing this life with him.
Tonight they were a little separate from the clan they were staying with, Líadan going through a simple magic lesson with Ava as Cáel played a game of tug-of-war with Revas. Líadan would be grateful to hand Ava's training off to a more competent mage. Ava's raw power far exceeded her own, and while in theory she knew how to control such power, she'd never had to put it into practice. The quickness with which Ava learned to summon a spell wisp was astonishing. Within minutes, Ava could summon one with barely a thought, convince it to do practically anything she wanted it to, and then send it back to the Beyond with just as little an effort.
Líadan could barely get the wisps to appear in the first place, and once they did, they never obeyed her. "Well," she said to Ava, "Keeper Perran was right. You're exponentially more powerful than I am. I can toss some lightning now and then, but not much more. I don't think I even qualify as a battle mage, not after seeing what the other Wardens can do. Or what you'll be capable of doing, once you've learned it."
"What kind of mage am I?" Ava asked. "Could I be a healer like Wynne?"
"Maybe. Most mages have an aspect of their magic that comes easily to them. For healers like Wynne, it's creation magic. For you, I think it will be a little more complicated."
Cáel let Revas take the now-shredded sock. While Revas trotted about to revel in her victory, Cáel stood up and turned his attention to the others. "Complicated, how? I thought specialties were one of the uncomplicated parts of magic." He frowned slightly. "Or the only one that isn't complicated, really."
"Maybe it's lightning, like what happened with you," Ava said to Cáel.
Líadan raised an eyebrow. "That's what happened?" Ava's statement was the closest thing to a confession anyone had gotten from either child.
Cáel gave his sister a withering look and then scuffed his feet on the grass. "I was teasing her. All day."
"I knew that much," said Líadan.
"I couldn't hold my temper anymore," said Ava. "So I pushed him, and there was lightning in my hands. What sort of magic is that?"
"Primal. But it isn't always the first bit of magic that shows that is your specialty." Líadan glanced over at the Dalish clan beginning to gather around the central fires, and then back to her children. "For instance, when Wynne showed magic for the first time, it was to set a boy's hair on fire." She looked pointedly at Cáel. "Because he'd been teasing her."
He rolled his eyes.
Líadan returned to Ava. "But Wynne is a healer, and a very good one. With you, it's even harder to predict what you'll be. Your particular affinity for a certain type of magic is more an inherent trait than specialty. While most mages can do each type of magic, just with different levels of skill, your kind of ability is one that almost no other mages can do. My grandfather is the same kind of mage. That's why he's protecting you, and why, instead of Keeper Perran, he's going to teach you. And before you, he and his apprentice were the only people who had the same ability as you do." She held Ava's gaze so she could see how serious a subject it was. "You're what's called a Dreamer. Eventually, you'll be able to control the Beyond like a spirit can."
"I don't want to be a Dreamer," said Ava.
"We didn't want you to, either," said Líadan. "Not only will spirits come after you more aggressively than they do other mages, but the humans and their Chantry will seek you out, too."
"That's why we're hiding, isn't it?" Cáel's frown grew deeper. "I know Ava has to be hidden, but why do I? Why did we all have to leave Papa by himself?"
Líadan sighed. It seemed the two of them were determined to ask all the hard questions tonight. "Because of who your first mother was. She's an incredibly powerful mage, and before she left Thedas, the Chantry pursued her. They sent an entire legion of templars after her. And, once, when you were less than a year old, the Chantry tried to take you, too. If they found out that your sister is a mage, or Creators forbid, a Dreamer, they'll not only come after her, but they'll come after you." She alternated looking at each child. "Aside from the Dalish, neither of you can tell anyone. Under no circumstances can you ever tell a human or anyone who's part of the Chantry. If there are any exceptions, I will be the one to tell you, and I will tell you directly. I won't tell someone else to tell you it's safe. If someone says that, they're trying to trick you. So don't tell anyone."
Cáel's frown had fallen away, driven off by his escalating worry. "What would they do?"
Líadan knew she had to be entirely honest. It was the only way to be sure she got through to them how important it was for the Chantry not to know. "They would probably put Ava through the Rite of Tranquility." Even saying it caused a pain she couldn't describe.
Ava's eyes widened. "They'd make me Tranquil? Why?"
"Out of fear. Fear makes people more dangerous than anything else ever could."
Ava moved to sit on Líadan's lap, which was a clear sign of how scared she was. Líadan tucked her daughter's head under her chin, and then put her right arm around her middle to hold her close. Then Cáel found his own seat next to Líadan, looking like he wanted to protect his sister as much as their mother did, and Líadan put her free arm around him. Much as he tended to want to protect Ava, it was Líadan's job to do so. He was just a little boy. She was a Dalish hunter, a Grey Warden, and their mother.
As they'd talked, Revas had ceased her trotting about and spread her bulk across the ground at their feet. Cáel's eyes were distant as the three of them looked over at the flickering fires in the middle of the Dalish camp, where more of the clan had gathered and were telling tales. Their laughter sometimes drifted over to the small, broken family sitting beyond the cluster of aravels.
"I miss Papa and Nan," said Ava. "I hope they're okay."
"Do you think Papa is lonely?" asked Cáel.
Líadan felt a slight tug of a smile, knowing that Malcolm would try to be lonely, but his brothers wouldn't let him. "Probably. But he does have your uncles, at least."
"Not the same."
"No, not really."
"Like you have us, but it isn't the same. And we have you, but it isn't the same as having you and Papa."
"No, it isn't."
"You miss him, don't you?" asked Ava.
Líadan held both of them a little tighter. "Very much." And that empty pain of missing returned. Had she even told him that she loved him before she'd left? It was just something she'd assumed he knew, that it didn't need to be said repeatedly, that her continued presence at his side, living among humans, said as much. Except she'd left his side to protect their children, and she wasn't sure if she'd reassured him, out loud, that she loved him.
She hoped she wouldn't live to regret it, that she would be able to see him again and tell him.
In the days of travel that followed, to distract herself from the tearing in her heart, Líadan began to teach the children how the Dalish hunted. She taught them how to recognize the presence of deer, then rabbits, pheasants, and other small game, how to track them, how to move in silence, how to make snares and find the best places to set them. Given their father, they both proved better at it than she'd expected. The new activities served to distract them as much as they did her, and they were better for it. Líadan managed to convince one of the bowyers from a host clan to let her barter for two small bows made for the youngest of hunter apprentices, along with equivalently-sized quivers and a good supply of arrows. Both Cáel and Ava had been delighted with their prizes, and paid even more attention to learning fieldcraft.
Revas did well at keeping the horses quiet and safe whenever Líadan took the children deeper into the woods, where a horse would be too loud for them to effectively track quarry for dinner. But they were careful to remain within the range of as many Dalish hunting patrols as possible, where they would pass unbothered, yet safe from many dangers, including humans. Still, Líadan never let her vigilance drop, not where humans or the Brecilian were concerned.
Over a cold breakfast the morning before they entered Gwaren, Ava asked how Líadan's grandfather knew her. "I don't remember meeting him," she said.
"Of course you wouldn't," Líadan said as she double-checked their supply of coin. "You'd just been born." When Líadan glanced over at her, Ava looked even more impossibly confused than before, and Líadan gave her a reassuring smile. "Emrys saved your life, da'len."
"How?"
"Magic, probably," Cáel said absentmindedly as he tested a nearby rock to serve as a mounting block.
Ava glared at her brother before turning to Líadan again. "How?"
Líadan tucked the coinpurse into her belt, and then made sure it was carefully covered with the plain woolen cloak Nuala had sent with her. While Líadan was quick enough to catch pickpockets in the act—Sigrun had also taught her how to recognize them in crowds, and how to recognize if they were actively trying to take her purse—she didn't want to deal with the hassle of running one down. "I'm honestly still not sure how," she said to Ava. "Your brother's right about it being magic. Healing magic of some sort, but something more powerful than I've ever witnessed, both before and after. You didn't take a single breath when you came into this world, and somehow, he helped you take that breath."
"If he saved my life, why haven't we seen him since?"
Líadan barely knew how to describe to herself the rather complicated relationship she had with her grandfather. She doubted even he could properly describe it. But she had to try. "Emrys is… very old. Older than anyone else you know. And—"
"Older than Wynne?" asked Cáel, not looking the slightest bit sorry for interrupting.
"Much older," said Líadan. "Compared to him, Wynne is a child. What I was going to say was that his clan is very traditional, and—"
Again, Cáel couldn't hold in his observation. "Meaning they don't like humans."
She let out a small sigh. "No, they really don't. But you two are different from the usual sort of human, and even the usual kind of elf-blooded humans. You," she said to Cáel, "are blood of Asha'belannar." She switched to Ava. "And you are a Dreamer. As it happens, Emrys' other apprentice, Feynriel, is an elf-blooded human. So, I suspect they've learned some tolerance since I last saw Emrys and his clan."
"But you're not human. You're Dalish," said Ava. "Why haven't you seen him?"
Líadan held in her sigh. "We disagree more than we agree."
"I don't think that was a real answer," said Cáel.
"And, sometimes, you're too clever by half," Líadan told him. When he didn't relent with his questioning look, she decided she'd try to explain further. "He and I disagreed over something that happened many years ago, and we've never really reached agreement since then. Unless it's necessary for Emrys and I to work together, we go our separate ways."
"Do you even like him?" asked Ava.
"I suppose I do." Líadan helped Ava onto Sid as she did her best to answer. "But I think sometimes I love him more than I like him. He's my grandfather, and nothing will change that. When he saved you, he even proved to me that he cared about my children, even though you're both human. But there are times when I still don't like him." She didn't tell them that it was most of the time, and that she'd really taken a disliking to him lately. He was part of the reason why she would be separated from Malcolm for the near future. Yet, Emrys was also the reason why Ava wouldn't be chased down and destroyed by spirits or the Chantry, why Cáel would be kept safe, and so she loved him for that.
"I guess it makes sense." Cáel had brought Boot over to the rock he'd found, hopped up on it, and was eyeing his saddle for an attempt to mount the horse. "Sort of like how Ava and I am, or how Papa is with Uncle Fergus or Uncle Alistair."
Líadan nodded. "Exactly." Mostly exactly, because she believed there was a lot more like between her bondmate and his brothers than there was between her and her grandfather. But those were nuances she really didn't want to get into. The explanation seemed to satisfy both children, and they started for the coastal town.
Gwaren presented no problems for them, and no pickpockets, either. They took ship that afternoon, having found berths on one bound for Cumberland. She'd chosen to leave from Gwaren because it would've been assumed she'd head for the Wardens in Amaranthine, along with the port they ostensibly controlled—and because the trip via sea would've been shorter from Amaranthine. Líadan still hadn't gotten over her seasickness.
In her supply of health poultices and potions, Bethany had thoughtfully included ones against seasickness, enough for Líadan and both children, if need be. Luckily, it seemed neither child suffered from Líadan's problem with illness at sea. It certainly gave more credence that had Ava not been a Dreamer, they all could've taken sail with Isabela. Cáel and Ava had made themselves quite at home on the ship, the both of them often climbing out on the netting of the bowsprit, which tended to scare her and the sailors both if they didn't climb back to the deck when the waves became rough.
They scampered about the deck, somehow managing to keep out from underfoot of the crew. And since they stayed out of the way, the captain hadn't yet scolded them like he'd done to several of the other younger passengers. Every day had gone like this one during their passage, with Cáel and Ava out from belowdecks and hanging off the rails or perched on the bowsprit netting, faces gleefully pointed into the wind and spray. It was the only time since they'd left Denerim that she'd seen them truly happy. With night returned their sadness and fear, but in the daytime on the ship, they were happy souls.
The ship had been at sea for eight days, with one or two more set before them, and the children still hadn't gotten bored. Though Líadan couldn't quite identify with liking sea travel, watching them have such joy aboard a ship gave her memories of Malcolm and how much their children resembled him in these moments. Their smiles were reflections of his, and seeing them this happy was something she could watch all day. It even warmed her enough that she used naval terms without complaint. Malcolm would've been astonished.
"We'll be taking harbor probably tomorrow, give or take a sudden squall," the ship's captain said as he walked up to her. "Those wee ones of yours will be a might sad."
"They will, yes." She did feel a little bit bad that she couldn't let them stay on a ship until they could be with Malcolm again.
"They took to the sea pretty well, I'd say. They seem to like it, but you, I think you just tolerate it."
She gave him a half-smile. "Their father was the sailor, not me." It helped that it was mostly true. Had Malcolm not been a teyrn's son and later a prince and Grey Warden, he'd have become a sailor. She had no doubt whatsoever about that.
"Ah." The captain nodded. "Who'd he crew for, before he passed?"
Líadan only knew the name of one ship captain, which meant it was the only one she could give. "Captain Isabela."
He stared at her for a moment. "Queen of the Eastern Seas? That Captain Isabela?"
"I'd heard she was called that from time to time." It was easy to forget that so many of the people she knew weren't exactly ordinary people. Some of them, such as Isabela, were even legends.
The captain's laugh was loud and rolling and oddly fond before he turned somber. "Your husband must've been aboard when she lost the Siren's Call. I know I don't sound it, but I am sorry for your loss. You just didn't strike me as the type who'd've been married to a pirate, is all."
"Neither did I, until I met him." Granted, it was more she hadn't thought she'd bond with a human, and it'd taken her quite a bit of time after she'd met him to admit it, but it was close to the same.
"That's the way it goes, isn't it? Never what you'd expect and only when you aren't looking. You wouldn't think it to look at me, but my wife's Orlesian."
Líadan swung her head around to see him. "Really?"
He guffawed. "Sure is! After we leave Cumberland, we'll be putting in at Jader. She'll be waiting for me there. It'll be good to see her. Been a while."
Since the captain had such a soft touch, Líadan found herself truly curious. "Do you have children?"
"I do." The smile on his face was one Líadan had seen on Malcolm countless numbers of times—a proud, loving father given the opportunity to talk about his children. "Three little girls. Oldest two are just like their mother. Very Orlesian, but Maker love 'em, just like I do. My littlest one, though… I think she'll be taking over for me when I can't sail anymore. She's never happier than when she's in a ship on water. Something in the blood, I think, gives her that. Like with your two, particularly the wee girl."
Despite the situation, Líadan laughed. "Captain Isabela said almost the same thing. She offered to take her as her apprentice."
"She's a good woman, you know. Even with the piracy. Does good by her crew. All she asks is loyalty in return." The captain glanced over to where Cáel and Ava were climbing back onto the netting. "I hear tell she's got a ship again. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to see if her offer still stands for your girl. Considering how happy she is out here, it might be the best thing for her."
"I'll think about it," said Líadan. She would. She'd even wish that she could accept Isabela's offer, but not with Ava being a Dreamer.
"Good luck to you," said the captain.
"Have a lovely visit with your family," she said in return, and she meant it.
They disembarked in Cumberland a day later, for Líadan didn't want to go directly by sea to Kirkwall. She preferred the safety of the Planasene Forest and the likely presence of Dalish clans there. If no clans were around, then just as if she hadn't encountered any clans in the Brecilian, she knew how to keep herself and the children hidden. While she vastly preferred having hunters watch over them, she wasn't without the lessons she'd learned in keeping a clan's whereabouts unknown from human passersby.
No Dalish clans were within the Planasene Forest, not that Líadan saw. Even if hunters had never approached them, she would have recognized signs of a nearby clan or a Dalish hunting party. She and the children camped well away from the main trail, went off trail as much as they could, and remained vigilant. Revas ran her own patrol, making great loops around them as she investigated smells and sounds. In an effort to further distract herself, Líadan resumed teaching Cáel and Ava how to hunt. Even the nine days aboard a ship hadn't lessened their enthusiasm, nor had it lessened the skills they'd already learned. Only two days into their trip through the forest, both of them could recite the Vir Tanadahl.
Watching them take so well to arts she held so dear brightened her mood, and part of her even began to look forward to seeing her clan, no matter how they might be received. Fenarel would probably object, but she could fend him off like she always had. It would be good to see Cammen again, and Ava would probably like to meet the person who'd crafted her stuffed spider. Keeper Marethari would be, well, Marethari, but no matter how much the older elf frustrated Líadan, Marethari was still the Keeper. Maren's daughter Saraid was probably a proper hunter apprentice by now, unless she'd leaned more toward tending the halla like her mother. Saraid had been very open as a young child, and would probably help Cáel and Ava adjust in the time they were to spend with the Mahariel. Master Ilen, gentle soul that he was, would guide all three of them as best he could. He'd be able to tell even more stories to Cáel and Ava about Liadan's parents, so they could know more of their Dalish heritage. And if Líadan managed to get Merrill to come with her out of Kirkwall, it would be Sylaise's blessing in helping to get everyone smoothly adjusted to the change.
"What did you and your grandfather disagree about?" Ava asked from her perch on Sid, walking shoulder to shoulder with Líadan's horse. "You never said."
"No, I didn't." They'd resumed riding for the day after a speedy midday meal, eager to reach the Dalish camp at Sundermount and have a chance to truly rest while others kept a good watch.
"Oh, come on," said Cáel. "You complain about us not giving real answers."
He sounded so much like Malcolm that her breath caught. Then she shook it off and focused on her children. "We disagreed about a lot of things. Which thing are you asking about?"
"The one that made you not like each other, I guess," said Ava. "What was that one about?"
"That one was about my parents."
Cáel grumbled under his breath. "And?"
She sighed and then told them a shortened, edited version of the story about how her parents had been killed by templars while protecting her from them. "Afterward, when he showed up after their burial, I thought Emrys would bring me back to his clan since he was my blood kin, but he didn't. He believed I should stay, but he didn't tell me he thought it would be better for me to stay with the clan I'd known my whole life. Since he didn't bother to tell me, I believed he blamed me for what happened to my parents."
"It was the templars, though," said Cáel.
"I didn't say it was a rational belief. Minds are funny like that."
"Couldn't he just say he's sorry?" asked Ava.
Laughter bubbled up in Líadan's throat and she desperately fought to keep it in. Ava wouldn't understand the context, and hearing laughter as an answer to her earnest, valid question would hurt. "I doubt Emrys would ever voluntarily apologize," she said.
"But what if he did?"
"If he did…" She wasn't certain. She believed so strongly that Emrys never would that she'd never considered what she'd do if he did. "I don't know. It would be a start. You'll have to ask me again after he does apologize, but I wouldn't get your hopes up that he will."
"Maybe I can change his mind."
"Maybe you can." After all, she had once before. When Ava didn't seem inclined to continue the conversation, Líadan used the free moment to take stock of their surroundings.
From the closeness of Sundermount dominating the horizon, Líadan knew they should have run into some of the Mahariel's patrolling hunters. She hoped Junar would be leading the patrol, since even if he disagreed with something, he tended to be quiet about it. A hunting party led by Fenarel would set exactly the wrong tone for her children's introduction to the clan that had raised her. Yet, they hadn't run into a single patrol.
Maybe they'd finally come to their senses and had left, escaping the danger of living near the thin Veil of Sundermount. If that turned out to be the case, Líadan wouldn't be able to stay there with the children alone. She decided she'd get Merrill, and then return to one of the clans in the Brecilian, to see if any of them knew where Emrys' or Lanaya's clans were. Then she could travel to them herself.
If it meant the Mahariel had freed themselves of Sundermount, she didn't mind the extra time she'd have to spend traveling, especially if she could convince Merrill to come with them.
"Sundermount is getting big," said Cáel.
Líadan glanced back at him, allowing her amusement to show. "If you want to ask if we're there yet, just ask. You aren't going to fool anyone by making observations that say the same thing."
He huffed. "Fine. Are we there yet?"
"We should be able to see their camp after the next bend."
Líadan felt the Veil thin as they rounded the bend, and cold fingers of apprehension slipped down the back of her neck. If they were still there, she'd have to get Marethari to move the camp into the Planasene. With the Veil this dangerously thin, the Beyond might even start to be visible in some places soon. But she assumed the clan had gone, since they'd still yet to meet with any hunters.
As they rode through the clearing to approach the main entrance of the camp, Líadan could see the aravels, their sails up and waving in the moderate wind. But only half the sails were raised—hoisted, Malcolm would've said on a human ship—and those were in tatters. Apprehension took full hold as she slid from her horse. After tying Hunter to the pole bearing the clan's banner, she did the same for Boot and Sid before she took the children off them. Líadan glanced up at the camp, and then down at Cáel and Ava. She wasn't sure what she'd find in the camp—and wasn't sure she wanted to—but she didn't want to leave them here alone with Revas, not with the Veil so thin. A mabari could only do so much.
"I need you to stay right next to Revas," she said to them. "And when I tell you to stay put, you stay put. Understand?"
They both nodded, their eyes reflecting the graveness in her own. Revas barked her own acknowledgement, and then moved to Ava's side. The mabari knew which of the children would be in more danger from the thin Veil, it seemed.
Líadan's apprehension churned into outright dread once they walked into the middle of the camp. The clan's aravels, their homes, their possessions—they were all there, but broken apart and scattered. The people were gone.
"Where are they?" asked Ava.
"I don't think Mamae knows," said Cáel.
She didn't. She tried to ignore the dark foreboding rising from the panic in her chest. "Both of you, stay right here with Revas. Unless something attacks you, don't move. Something is wrong." That was possibly the biggest understatement she'd made in her entire life, but she couldn't tell Cáel and Ava what she herself didn't yet know.
Once the children agreed, Líadan first walked from one aravel to another, and then ran, aravel to aravel, but all she found were scavengers, rodents and nesting birds. Her throat constricted as the panic and darkness rose, nearly stealing her ability to speak as she returned to the center of the camp. "Follow me," she told the children.
The four of them, Líadan in the lead, the children behind her, and Revas guarding from the rear, headed for the next bend. She wanted to run, and then she didn't want to walk at all, her fast walk slowing to a hesitant step as they passed the trailhead to Sundermount and turned toward the small field where the Wardens had once camped.
A fledgling forest greeted her.
Standing in what had been a meadow on her last visit were saplings upon saplings, light green leaves whispering in the dulling wind, voices from the dead. A gasp came from behind her—Ava putting together the lesson she'd learned recently about Dalish funeral rites and what she saw before her—but Líadan didn't turn. The dread and darkness together blurred her vision as she looked at the graves of the Mahariel.
"They're all dead," Cáel whispered.
All of them. Líadan didn't even need to count to be sure, the saplings so many to be evidence enough. All of them, down to every child. How had they all died at once? She hadn't thought Sundermount's danger would take everyone like this.
"Stay here," she told Cáel and Ava, and then walked carefully through the young forest, her hands touching every well-planted tree. Whoever had buried them had cared enough to address at least one painstaking detail Dalish custom called for with their dead.
Her only plausible answer was Merrill. Andrastians would have lit a massive pyre, and qunari would have left the dead where they'd fallen. Maybe Merrill already knew. Maybe she'd come up for an item only Master Ilen would've had, like the carvings of Falon'Din and Dirthamen, and found worse than what Líadan had. Maybe she'd gotten Marian and the others to help with the burials, to help plant the trees and find the proper branches. Maybe she'd been the one to finally set out the statues of the Creators to watch over the clan as they went on their last journey into the Beyond. Maybe Merrill was alive, one last living member of her mother clan.
As she brushed her fingers over the bark of the last tree, Líadan whispered a prayer to Falon'Din for her fallen clan.
Then the Veil twisted, and Líadan could feel it readying to sunder. Her sword thrummed with energy, taking in what it could from the Beyond. She turned to the children. "Get to the horses. Go straight there."
Ava's eyes had already been wide; she'd probably felt the change, too. Líadan took each of their hands and ran with them, pleading to Mythal that they could escape the camp before spirits from the Beyond began to hunt there. They managed to reach the horses, and Revas stood between them and the camp's entrance as Líadan put the children in their saddles before she untied the horses. "Revas, take the lead to the trail. Cáel, Ava, follow her. I'm right behind you."
All three did as they were told, without question or argument. By the time they neared the first bend, the Veil around them had thickened. Líadan took one last look at the destroyed Dalish camp behind them and saw countless numbers of crows landing to roost on the trees around it. Their cries followed them as Líadan switched with Revas and led their small party towards Kirkwall. They needed to reach the city. They needed to reach Merrill and be certain she was safe and alive.
Their ride along the Sundered Coast was quick, uninterrupted by enterprising bandits. Líadan brought them through the lone entrance by land, stopping long enough past the gates to have their horses stabled and supplies stowed with them. It cost an obscene amount of coin to assure the safety of their gear, but she had enough, and didn't have the time to haggle. She had to find Merrill. She had to make sure that whatever had killed the Mahariel hadn't taken Merrill. That she wasn't the only one of her clan left alive.
The street from the city's entrance dumped them into Lowtown, and Líadan did her best to navigate to the Alienage by using the harbor as a landmark. Cáel and Ava followed close behind, gawking at the buildings rising around them, while at the same time wrinkling their noses at the peculiar Lowtown smell.
"Is that a real person hanging up there?" Ava asked as they passed the Hanged Man.
"No," said Líadan. "Only a sign. That's the name of the tavern. The Hanged Man."
"Are there hanging men in there?" asked Cáel.
"I believe it's a metaphor. Idiom? I don't know. It's a human term for being drunk, I think."
"Maybe we should ask inside," said Ava.
"We will." Líadan had already made a note to herself about the Hanged Man's location, so she could find it after she found Merrill, or if she didn't find Merrill. Either way, Varric would know what to do. He might even know what'd happened at Sundermount. "After we find Merrill."
Down another set of steps and she thought she could possibly see the tip of the Vhenadahl, and kept heading in that direction.
Then she halted and looked up sharply when she felt the gathering of energy, one she hadn't felt in a long time, not without knowing the immediate source. Somewhere nearby, a templar was summoning a smite. Líadan's eyes roved the area, searching for the templar while a cold knot of fear formed in her chest that the smite could be intended for her. But she was a Grey Warden. She was exempt. She was supposed to be left alone. She'd made sure to wear her cloak while—she hadn't. Her cloak and other Warden armor were in storage, where she'd stabled the horses.
In the blindness of her grief, she'd forgotten to put on the cloak. She hadn't considered what templars or other humans would assume if they saw a Dalish elf with two human children in tow. And the sword she wore on her hip still occasionally pulsed with the energy it had picked up at Sundermount, which meant the templars would feel it. They would know she was a mage, even as her magic went unused.
Líadan spun and crouched to Ava and Cáel's level while Revas looked on. "I need you to run. No question. Run to—" As the pressure of the smite's building energy filled her with urgency, she struggled to think of a place where they could go. "Go to the Hanged Man. Ask for Varric. Tell him who you are, that your mother was Merrill's clanmate. Tell them the templars came after me. He'll know what to do. He'll protect you. Now, go."
"Was? But—" Ava reached out a hand.
Cáel took it, always a child to recognize and not question deadly seriousness. "We have to go." He pulled his sister by the arm and ran in the direction of the Hanged Man, up one of the many staircases in Lowtown. After giving Líadan a quick, concerned look, Revas understood her unspoken request, and bounded after them, ready to protect both children.
Then Líadan took out her bow and strung it.
The two children and the mabari were turning the corner when the smite finally hit Líadan, driving her to the ground and stealing the scant magic she might have called on. Then the templars were out in the open, even jumping down from rooftops to surround her as they advanced.
They didn't know she didn't require magic to fight. It would be her advantage, until pure numbers overwhelmed her. Her sword could channel magic, but it didn't need magic to be a sword. It would cut all the same. And before even that, they would have to dodge arrows shot by a Dalish hunter.
She nocked an arrow. "Do you realize I'm a Grey Warden?"
One of the templars scoffed. "Sure you are, missing all that fancy armor they wear. You're an apostate, elf. Magic's crawling all over you. You belong in the Gallows and we're bringing you."
"Then come get me."
Her first arrow caught the closest templar in his unprotected throat. Her second and third arrows caught two more templars in the eye. Her fourth and fifth pierced through two more exposed throats. The rest closed in, too many and too fast, and she abandoned her bow for her blade, sword light and quick as she dispatched as many as she could. One dared to get within her reach, and she tripped him before she drove her blade through the gap in armor between his shoulder and arm. She twisted before she wrenched out her sword, assuring that he would be too busy bleeding to try attacking her again. She exploited every weakness she could find in the templars' defenses, moving between them so quickly she couldn't even see faces or bodies, only a blur of targets. Too soon, her lungs began to burn, her blows landed a hair slower, her legs lagged a step behind, and the templars pressed in. They overwhelmed her, robbing her of room to move, room to breathe. Still, she kept on, driven by instinct and desperation, knowing that the longer she held here, the better the chance her children had of escaping the Chantry's hands.
Then she had no room left at all. Her blade was stripped from her hand. A hit to her shoulder drove her to one knee.
At least she'd taken out a good many of them before she died.
The hilt of a Sword of Mercy crashed into her skull. As she fell, darkness wrapping around her, she heard the one thing she did not want to hear.
"Mamae!"
Shouts from both Cáel and Ava calling for her, terrified and afraid and they weren't supposed to be there. They were supposed to be safe, and instead they were crying and yelling as they watched their mother fall to the templars. Revas' barks and growls should have accompanied their cries, yet there were none.
After landing hard on her back on the paved stones of the Kirkwall plaza, she half-rolled toward her children, arm out, reaching through the encroaching shadows to help them. A templar's boot stepped into her field of vision, followed by another.
Then she saw nothing more.