Chapter 19
"Once there was a great templar, shining and proud, righteous in his faith in the Maker's will. So proud was he that, upon hearing legends of Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, he embarked on a quest to find and slay her on his own, leaving his home in Redcliffe behind.
On his way to the Korcari Wilds, the templar came to the village of Rossleigh on the western roads. There he spoke to a young woman that had heard tales of the witch from the Chasind wilder folk. 'She is a monster,' said the woman, 'terrible in her temper and wild in her beauty. She is the hand of the cold, the wet, and the dark. Above all these things she is a myth, and not worth any man's pain to find.' But the templar would not heed such hearsay, and so he pressed on."
—excerpt from The Witch of the Wilds, as told by the minstrel Ensuelo
Líadan
Someone was humming.
Somehow, she'd never thought Falon'Din to be one to hum a vague tune as he led elves through the afterlife, which made her fairly certain that the humming wasn't coming from him.
Someone was humming a song she couldn't identify and it was annoying. But Líadan kept her eyes closed, refraining from alerting the other person to the fact that she was conscious. Now was the time to assess her situation, especially since she hadn't expected to awaken anywhere but next to Falon'Din. Unless this was some sort of trick—which would implicate Fen'Harel rather than Falon'Din—she wasn't dead. Captured, but not dead. Captured and in need of escape, and so she listened. Many things could be discerned just by listening.
Not today.
The humming stopped. "I can see that you're awake," a woman said in a voice worn by a lifetime of talking. "You might as well open your eyes."
She did. The room holding her was small, its walls bare, and the single, tiny window barred. Outside, she caught a glimpse of the city of Kirkwall, topped with the Viscount's Keep and the chantry high above. Needing to test the strength of the bars, she sat up and flung off the rough woolen blanket so she could do so.
They had her in a robe.
A stupid mage's robe like Anders used to wear, the one Líadan had made fun of him for wearing due to its impracticality, especially while traveling or in combat. And here she was, clad in one. Naked would've been less vulnerable, because at least her legs wouldn't have been encumbered.
Much as she wanted to test for weaknesses right then, other matters needed to be taken care of. The mage caught her look and pointed at a small, practically hidden door. "Privy's there. And don't try to escape through it. You'll end up dead and covered in shit, which is one of the worst ways to go."
Líadan acknowledged her with a scarce nod. When she returned, she tried to find her belongings. Her weapons were nowhere in sight, which meant they'd taken them. She had no idea where her bow—the gift from Malcolm—had gone. Nor did she know the whereabouts of her sword, which had been entrusted to her keeping by her grandfather. Her armor wasn't hanging from a stand or stacked in a corner. It was gone. Her hand went to her neck, fingers hooking under the collar to see what else they'd dared take.
The Warden amulet and the silver thread necklace she'd gotten the night of her bonding were still there.
What wasn't there, who wasn't there, was glaring and painful. None of those other missing things mattered when compared to what else they'd taken away: her children.
She'd been wrong. The hardest thing hadn't been her inability to fix the problem. The hardest thing was that she'd failed them. She'd failed Cáel and Ava, she'd failed Malcolm, she'd failed herself, and she'd even failed Morrigan.
She would see them all freed. She would not fail them again.
Her eyes finally slid over to the source of the humming, a sturdy-looking older woman with iron gray hair, settled into a wooden rocking chair, and knitting. Knitting, of all things.
The woman nodded once at Líadan, and then looked over at the templar standing next to the door. "You, young man. Fetch something for her to eat."
The templar's bright blue eyes widened. "But—"
"Ser Ruvena and Ser Hugh are on guard outside. I doubt we'll be conducting a daring escape while you're in the kitchens."
The man—who did look remarkably young, even to Líadan—nodded so deeply it almost resembled a shallow bow, and then trotted out of the room.
Líadan was mildly impressed. However, she wasn't so impressed that she didn't immediately take advantage of the templar being gone by testing the sturdiness of the iron bars in the window, and then the door right afterward. Neither had any give. She'd have to find another way, and she squeezed her hands into fists to keep from hitting the wooden door in frustration.
"Looking to escape?" asked the woman.
"Of course I am."
"You won't find it here. This room's made especially for people like you."
"People like me?"
"Yes." The woman slowly glanced up from her knitting. "Fighter, aren't you?"
"You can tell these things just by looking at someone?" Líadan plucked at the offending fabric that was now her clothing. "Even while wearing this?"
"There are times when that it is true, but this is not one of them. No. You, dear child, killed a lot of templars when they captured you. We stopped counting after eight."
"Wasn't enough." If she'd managed to kill them all, then she and her children wouldn't be trapped.
The woman raised an eyebrow after her knitting needles paused ever briefly. "Enough for what? To delay the inevitable? To satisfy some sort of vengeance you wish to exact from the templars?"
"No." She hadn't cared about delaying capture for herself. She'd fully intended on dying before that, but as long as she delayed the templars enough for her children to escape. In the end, it hadn't been enough. She should have killed more of them. Held out longer. Something.
"No?" The woman sounded genuinely surprised. "You thought you'd win, then? You're that sort?"
"No." She'd even said to Ava to tell Varric that her mother was Merrill's clanmate. Was, past tense, as if she'd already gone to journey with Falon'Din.
"I hear tell you fought like a cornered she-wolf against those templars."
"I did." She should've fought like a varterral. Next time, she would.
"Hardest capture in years, some say."
"Wasn't enough." It was still a capture, after all.
"For?"
"To—" She stopped, disturbed at how easily she'd engaged in conversation with this woman whose name she didn't even know. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled, a smile that radiated friendliness. "Betrys. I'm often called Senior Enchanter Betrys, but I've never stood on it. More immediately to you, I'm the one who healed you after they brought you in." The more Betrys spoke, the more Líadan thought she heard something familiar in the cadence of her words, but she couldn't place it. "You weren't in the best of shape when I first saw you. Fixed you right up, so you're fine now. The templars wouldn't shut it about how hard a fight you gave them."
Líadan's jaw tightened on an outburst, on shouting her frustration at being caged here, and her children not only caged as well, but not with her. But her building tirade wasn't meant for this healer. "It doesn't matter. It still wasn't enough."
"You haven't told me what for."
She briefly glanced over at the door, making sure it was closed and that templar hadn't returned. "To protect them. To buy them time, keep them safe, keep them away from the Chantry, but it wasn't enough, and now they've got my children."
Betrys' slow nod was one of understanding, as if she knew exactly the sort of desperation that had driven Líadan. Perhaps she'd had one of her own, and had managed to put up her own fight when the Chantry took that child away. "Ah, not a cornered she-wolf," said Betrys. "A mother bear. Trite sort of comparison, but no other does it justice."
When Líadan didn't answer, the older mage kept up the conversation, such as it was. "Mages?"
"One of them." Líadan looked up from the ground. "Were they hurt? Did you heal them, too?"
"If they needed healing, I wasn't the one doing it. I haven't seen any new apprentices myself, but I've been here with you for the past day. No time to catch up on the gossip."
Líadan spun to glare at the door. "I need to know."
"The Knight-Commander might never tell you."
She could scarcely breathe at the idea that she'd never know their fates. That if she couldn't escape, if she couldn't find them and bring them with her, they'd be forever lost. The thought of never seeing them again threatened to shatter her control and loose the panic surging in her chest.
When the door opened to admit the young templar, now carrying a tray burdened with food, she shoved past him. The tray flew out of his hands and clattered onto the floor as he shouted with surprise. Before Líadan could clear the doorway, a templar stepped in front of her. Without directly engaging, she bounced off him, taking the his dagger from the sheath on his belt, and then used her momentum to get past him. By the time she'd taken three steps, the other templar with him had called a smite on her. It drained her magic and threw her to the ground, but she got right back up, dagger still in hand.
"Pax! Paxley!" yelled the templar who'd tried to stop her. "Moira! Come help!" Then he turned his full attention to Líadan. "Are you going to use blood magic?"
Líadan gave him a withering look.
"I think if she were going to use blood magic, she'd have done it when they captured her," said the female templar.
Footsteps came from behind Líadan, presumably the summoned templars, Paxley and Moira. She set her feet and loosened her limbs as much as she could, readying for the fight to come.
The templar who'd been assigned guard duty inside Líadan's cell stepped out of it, looking genuinely upset and torn. "She's holding that dagger like she knows how to use it, Hugh," he said. Then he looked at Líadan. "Please, please don't make us have to use force. None of us here, right now in this hallway, are that sort of templar. We're on your side, much as we can be. We've all seen the worst of both sides. Someone has to be the better."
He sounded so earnest that she wondered if it was some kind of trap.
When she didn't respond, he grimaced. "Really, please, stand down. You could kill all of us here, but you won't make it out of the Gallows alive if you did. Someone would cut you down and you'd be dead with nothing to show for it except being dead."
"Real eloquent, that," said the female templar.
"Shut up," said the inside guard. "I'm on the spot. I doubt you'd do any better."
"Also," added a templar from behind her, who sounded no older than the rest, "the Knight-Captain would be highly pissed if something happened to you. As in, we'd all regret the day we were born sort of pissed. Each of us has instructions to ensure that you aren't harmed, and woe unto us if you come to harm under our watch."
Líadan wondered if the Knight-Captain was still Ser Cullen, the same templar who'd not killed her while she fought off a demon trying to forcefully possess her. She'd briefly appeared to be turned, and he'd stayed his blade to see if it was permanent or not before he acted with finality. He was a fair man, at least back then. Aside from that, the younger templar was right. Standing her ground right now would get her nowhere but dead, and she'd certainly not be able to free her children then.
She growled and tossed the dagger on the floor, where it clanged and then slid along the stone to come to a stop against its owner's boot.
"Thank you," said the young templar from the room.
"Now," came a templar's voice from behind her, "if you could please go back to your room, that would also be nice."
"I will, but don't you dare touch me," said Líadan.
"Deal," said the templar in front of her before any of the others could disagree.
They all watched her warily as she walked between them, and Líadan wondered if they were more afraid of her or their Knight-Captain. Considering they were templars, it was likely the Knight-Captain. Her Dalishness might have a small effect on them, but not much. Not as much as she'd like.
The young templar from the room fell into step next to her. "I'm Ser Keran," he said. "In case you wondered, which you probably didn't, but that's all right." He chucked a thumb at the female templar who'd been standing outside the door. "She's Ser Ruvena, and next to her is Ser Hugh. And you probably figured out who Sers Moira and Paxley are."
"Is there a reason you're telling me this?" She didn't want to care about the information, but she did, because the more she learned, the more it would aid her escape.
"Yes? I mean, yes." Keran rubbed at the back of his neck. "We're your guard detail, for lack of a better phrase. The Knight-Captain chose us himself when you were brought in yesterday. One of us will always be near you."
"Really?" She glared at him, refusing to feel sympathy just because he looked so youthful and honest. "You say it like it's a good thing. Let me tell you something—it isn't."
"It is, in a way. We're witnesses."
"You're bungling this horribly," said Ser Moira.
Keran scowled at her. "You explain it, then."
"We're the good templars," Moria said to Líadan. "We stick around because we're a pair of eyes that'll keep the bad templars from doing anything, well, bad."
If they properly ran their stupid Circles, they wouldn't have to go this far with any mage. "Am I supposed to feel grateful?"
"Um, no?" Keran practically whined. "I don't know what you're supposed to feel, actually, nor does it matter, I suppose. It is what it is, as they say." Then they stepped into Líadan's room—cell—and Keran immediately took up his guard post again. Behind them, the other templars closed and locked the door from the outside.
"That wasn't unexpected." Betrys was seated in her chair, watching them with a bit of humor in her eyes, which became even more amused at Líadan's overt exasperation. While the argument had gone on outside, it seemed Betrys had picked up the scattered food and replaced it on the tray. It now stood on a small wooden table, alongside a sweating ceramic jug of water and a pair of tin cups.
Líadan didn't want to eat, because it would feel like giving in further, giving this place some permanence. Her appetite said otherwise.
Betrys quickly picked up on Líadan's conflicted thoughts. "Not eating doesn't do you any good. Makes you weak." She waved her hand at the food. "Eat."
After another half-moment of indecision, Líadan cautiously sat on one of the two plain chairs and started to eat. Ser Keran let out an audible sigh relief.
Had Líadan's situation not been so dire, she would've laughed. Instead, she turned her attention to sustenance before she became too immersed in questioning herself, and not her situation. Once she'd eaten enough to quell her complaining stomach, she set to obtaining more information. "Where are you from?" she asked Betrys. "You don't sound like you're from Kirkwall."
"Neither do you."
"Yes, but I wasn't—I'm Dalish, obviously."
"Yes, obviously. But Dalish from where?"
"A Dalish clan."
Betrys folded her arms over her chest. "I'll wager a guess myself," she said, her light tone at odds with her posture. "You've got that Dalish lilt going on, but there's a touch of Fereldan in there, too."
Líadan didn't answer.
"Ah, so I'm right. Why the embarrassment? An accent is an accent. A reflection of where you've been in your life. I'm sure that after six years here, I've added some Kirkwaller to my Starkhavener."
Which explained why Betrys sounded familiar, being from the same city as Meghan and Sebastian. "I'm not embarrassed."
"No? Why the reticence?"
This woman seemed intelligent, but Líadan couldn't see how Betrys couldn't see the danger. "I don't know enough of what's going on to be telling people who I am and where I'm from."
"For starters, I know you're a Grey Warden."
Líadan raised her eyebrows. It wasn't something one could exactly tell, not from looking, and not even when healers examined them. The only exception was if a Warden's Calling approached and had begun to manifest on the skin.
Betrys pointed at Líadan's neck. "Your amulet there. I've treated a few Wardens in my day, and they've all got that same one. The wee griffons engraved on it are confirmation enough. They even convinced the Knight-Commander to leave it on you, along with the necklace entangled with it."
"I…" Líadan's hand went to both. She was so used to having them there that she rarely felt them, and at their mention, needed to reassure herself once more that they were still there. "Thank you." Aside from her memories, Líadan realized she would have had nothing else left as a reminder of her bondmate if the necklace had been taken. He wasn't here, and their children were here in this Circle, but not here, not where she could see them and hug them and reassure them that they'd get out of this. When she got word out, she could barely imagine how Malcolm would feel once he knew. She could barely even predict what he'd do. He could organize and plan, or he could revert to how impulsive he'd been—how impulsive they both had been—years ago. Neither of them had lost anything of this scale in a long time. And she knew it had been her actions that led to this, not his. Not his at all.
"I suspect that if the Wardens hear, they'll be coming to get you out?"
She certainly couldn't imagine Georg or Hildur not gathering up a contingent of Wardens and paying Kirkwall's Circle an unkindly visit, especially not after Hildur's declarations when they'd returned from the Kirkwall mission. "Of course they will." The question, really, was how long it would take once she got a message to them.
"Mmm." Betrys picked up her knitting. "They'd have to hear. I reckon there'll be some trouble making that happen."
Líadan frowned. If the Knight-Captain was still Cullen, he'd probably already sent word. At the very least, he'd have mentioned it to Marian or Sebastian. Or there was Carver, too. Or maybe even the Grand Cleric. He had to be here somewhere. There was no way he wouldn't tell his mother. "I thought there were ways to—"
"There were, but not anymore." She inclined her head toward Ser Keran. "The templars like him, the decent boys and girls, the Knight-Commander keeps as locked up as the mages they presume to guard."
"Haven't seen my family in weeks," said Keran.
Sad as he sounded, she wasn't interested in his plight. "I haven't seen my bondmate in weeks, my children have been taken from me, and I don't know when I'll see any of them ever again." Too agitated to stay in her chair, she rose and walked to the window, and resumed testing the sturdiness of the iron bars. While being separated from Malcolm hadn't been easy, and hadn't looked to be getting any easier, there had been an end in there somewhere. She would have seen him again. She could've prevailed over Emrys to at least let Malcolm visit. She would've known how long Emrys believed Ava would be his apprentice. Perhaps eventually he could have passed Ava over to Feynriel as an apprentice, and Feynriel might have considered returning to human lands. There had been something of an end, and now there was nothing. "So," she said out loud, not bothering to look at the templar, "forgive me if I really don't care about what you're going through."
"I'm sorry," said Keran. "I was just helping to prove… I was…"
"Ser Keran here has a good soul," said Betrys. "Because he's a good lad, he's one of the ones whom the Knight-Commander keeps on the tightest of leashes. All those templars you just met—the ones who didn't lay a finger on you in anger even when you tried to escape and stole a dagger on the way—they're like Keran. And they all take after the Knight-Captain, who is kept on the same restrictions they are. What does that say to you?"
"That there aren't many good templars. That this Circle is a deathtrap. That this system of imprisoning mages simply because they can use magic is stupid and barbaric."
"None of that is anything that a mage of the Circle hasn't said before," said Betrys. "But keep going, if you'd like. Maybe you'll add something to the list of things we haven't thought of yet."
Líadan couldn't decide if she was supposed to like or hate Betrys.
There was a sudden, loud rap on the door, and then Ruvena poked her head in. "Just had a messenger. The Knight-Commander wants to see you."
"If I say no, how much trouble would it be?" asked Líadan.
The color drained from Keran's cheeks. "Please don't."
"I'll go," said Líadan. It wasn't like she didn't have questions to ask of Meredith, or demands to make, and possibly some threats.
Through hallways remarkably empty, the grey stone walls reinforcing the dreariness of the Gallows, Ser Keran and Ser Hugh brought her down to the Knight-Commander's office. The door was open, allowing Líadan to see the Knight-Commander sitting at her desk, practically lounging in her chair, with the pommel of her sword visible from where it was leaned against her desk. It amused Líadan to see the same iron bars in her windows were just as present in Meredith's study, though Meredith could leave the Gallows whenever she wished, unlike Líadan. Between the two windows, Meredith had mounted a templar shield with two crossed swords behind it. Unfortunately, it was too far away for Líadan to grab a sword, and so it was not the opportunity she was looking for.
The two younger templars led her into the office, and Líadan could immediately tell that Meredith hadn't changed much in the six years since Líadan had last encountered her. She still carried that powerful presence resembling Asha'belannar's, and it tended to fill a room so much that anyone else in it felt diminished. Líadan projected back as much as she could, and bolstered it with the strength and confidence of her own that she'd gained over the years since.
Meredith dismissed the two templars, only telling Líadan to sit down once the door had closed.
Seeing no point in trying to intimidate the Knight-Commander—one didn't intimidate her so much as keep up—Líadan picked the chair directly across from her, and waited.
And so Meredith waited.
Líadan met Meredith's gaze, even as she searched out other makeshift weapons. There was a silverite statuette of Andraste—she was mostly sure it was Andraste—being used as a paperweight of sorts. There was a quill pen. An inkpot that could be splashed in someone's eyes. Another chair, maybe. Not much. Not enough.
A smirk briefly touched Meredith's lips, and then she was the first to speak. Yet, it didn't feel like a victory. "I see that you are well. Senior Enchanter Betrys has proved herself one of our finest healers."
Líadan had no inclination toward small talk. "Do you not realize that I'm a Grey Warden?"
"Of course I do. That is the only reason why you yet live."
"When am I to be released to them?" Perhaps Meredith would see reason. Perhaps Meredith would see that eventually, most likely, the Wardens would find out that Meredith was keeping her prisoner, and the Wardens would rectify that situation with force, and then Meredith would stop being stupid and release her. Once Líadan was out and under the protection of the Wardens, she could see to getting her children. Ava had to be here in the Gallows; she couldn't have possibly been moved to another Circle already. Cáel, she wasn't sure about, not when he wasn't a mage. He could still be held here, but the chantry was a strong possibility, as well. Yet, if they knew who she was, knew who Cáel's birth mother was, they might keep him all the same, like she and Malcolm had feared. It was why he'd come with her when she'd left with Ava for the Dalish. And everything had gone wrong when they had found the Mahariel.
The Mahariel, who were all dead, save her and possibly Merrill. After all this, she'd never even found out the fate of her last clanmate.
Meredith straightened slightly as she pressed her mouth into a thin line, her lips blanching white. Then she spoke in a measured tone, one lacking the arrogant bite from before. "You killed nine of my templars. Nine. The life of a tenth hangs in the balance. You will be tried for their deaths."
"If they had left me alone, they wouldn't be dead. It's not my fault they were ill-prepared to deal with a Grey Warden."
The arrogance returned, and Meredith went back to a relaxed posture. "They were not prepared to deal with a mage who doesn't require magic in order to be deadly, I will admit to that."
A pointless concession. "Where are my children?"
Meredith lifted her eyebrows. "Oh, they are yours? I had wondered, considering they're human."
It was an attempt to jab at an old wound, one that barely bothered Líadan any longer, not in this context. "Their father is human. I'm surprised you've lived this long and have yet to learn that the children of elves and humans are human."
"Yes, I realize. However, they often have some vestiges of elven traits. Fineness of bone structure, slightly larger eyes, ears a little pointed compared to a typical human's. Your children exhibit none of these. If one were not told, one would not know."
"Their father's line is particularly strong in the traits it passes on." It was. Both Alistair and Malcolm carried traits that strongly painted them as Theirins, as did their children in turn. Ava's Theirin features were decidedly finer compared to her brother and cousins, but they'd been strong enough to override anything elven from Líadan's side. She did, however, have hair closer to auburn than rust of her brother's or the shockingly blond of her two cousins, and had a smattering of freckles splashed across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, something that no other children of her father's family had. While Líadan's own freckles had faded as she'd grown older, she still had them on her shoulders, so there were at least some things about Ava that marked her not only as Malcolm's daughter, but her own, too.
But that was neither here nor there. "Tell me where they are."
If Líadan's phrasing of her question as a demand bothered Meredith, she didn't outwardly react to it. "The girl couldn't control her magic," Meredith said, as if delivering a particularly dull report. "She tried to use it on my templars—don't worry, while they were barely capable of subduing an adult, they had no issues with a child. She was just as easily drained by a smite, picked up, and carried here. No violence, not a scratch on her, but she did yell a great deal. The boy proved more difficult after he managed to slip a Knight-Corporal's grasp."
Líadan stood up, on her feet before she realized she was doing it. "If you've hurt him—"
"You'll do what, exactly? You can hardly kill me with your bare hands, much as you might wish to, not when I wear armor and you do not." Meredith dismissed Líadan's half-spoken threat with a wave of her hand. "You've no need for concern. Aside from a few scrapes when a templar knocked him back to keep the boy from getting himself run through, he is otherwise unharmed." Meredith's smirk returned in brief moments, as if she relished retelling some aspects of the tale. "They were very protective, the pair of them. The girl immediately tried to use her fledging magic, while the boy wriggled free, picked up a fallen sword, and went right after the templars closest to you. His form, I am told, was very good, but the sword was simply too heavy for him to wield effectively. Perhaps we'll make a templar out of him."
Líadan took a step toward Meredith's desk, her hand beginning to move toward the Andraste statuette she'd eyed earlier.
"Go ahead." Meredith didn't bother with rising from her chair, merely straightened again, just by a hair. "Attack me, if you dare. Just know that if you do, and you aren't killed in the process, you will never see your children again."
As Líadan had started for the statuette, Meredith's hand had drifted toward the grip of the sword next to her. Líadan noted that Meredith was much more observant than she'd assumed, and that Meredith had the power to ensure Líadan would never so much as catch a glimpse of her children if Meredith so chose.
She took a step back, but did not sit down.
"They are safe," Meredith said once Líadan had moved away. "For now."
Líadan didn't drop her eyes, holding Meredith's look as she retook her chair. "They aren't safe if they're held here or anywhere by the Chantry." Her taking a seat had changed the dynamic once again, and almost felt the meeting of equals, but not quite.
"According to you," said Meredith.
"According to many."
"Are you going to tell me who you are?"
"Are you going to insist on playing this game? You know very well who I am. You know exactly who their father is. You risk much by continuing to hold us."
"Your daughter is a mage. Surely you must know this, even if you did not see her little display of magic with my templars."
"I'm not blind." Yet, if she hadn't happened on the fight between Ava and Cáel, she had no idea when she or Malcolm would have picked up on it.
"One wouldn't think you stupid, either, and yet you leave her untrained."
"I was bringing her for training with the Dalish. If it hasn't escaped your notice, I am Dalish."
Meredith laughed. "And you found the clan that long camped at the base of Sundermount, massacred down to the last one, did you? And you came into Kirkwall, looking for their murderers?"
Líadan crossed her arms and glared. She would not dignify Meredith with an answer. Her silence would be taken just as much an answer as any, but she would not tell Meredith the truth, that she'd been looking for Merrill.
"Ah, so you were." As quickly as it had appeared, the laughter left her voice, and it descended back to the seriousness at hand. "I see it must have been overly strong emotions that caused your temporary stupidity. A common fault, human or elf." She shuffled some papers about on her desk, skimming one and then another before she looked at Líadan again. "The Fereldan Crown will not know you are here. Someone would have to tell them, and none of my templars will so much as breathe a word. Every witness to the brawl has been rounded up and taken care of. You are in the Chantry's hands, and I daresay you will not escape them. Not you, nor your children."
"Ferelden will come looking." They would have to know, somehow. Sooner or later, at least a rumor would start. Something. She couldn't be left here to languish. Her children couldn't be allowed to grow up prisoners.
Meredith raised an eyebrow. "Why would they? They will simply assume you are with the Dalish and refraining from contacting them out of anger or safety." For a moment, amusement brushed her eyes again. "I assume it was a cover, your leaving of your prince?"
Líadan decided that question also did not dignify an answer.
"It was a good one, I will say. Up until how you chose to act when you discovered the fate of the Mahariel."
She didn't want to hear Meredith speak of the Mahariel any longer. "Where is my mabari?"
"I regret to inform you that she died while defending your children from my templars. If it's any consolation, your dog killed three of them before she was put down."
Put down.
She would not cry. She would not show any weakness, not in front of this woman, not in front of anyone. She would not allow this woman to see how she had failed. She had failed Revas, she'd failed herself, she'd failed Malcolm, she'd failed Morrigan, and most of all, she had failed Cáel and Ava. They would suffer the most.
She—they—needed to escape. They had contacts in Kirkwall, all they had to do was reach them. Surely all the witnesses couldn't have been killed, not with that big of a confrontation in Lowtown. Bethany's brother was a templar here, in the Gallows. Líadan had heard him mention before that he wasn't as enthusiastic about being a templar as many others were. He'd done it to form an identity separate from his sisters. That part, he'd only told Bethany and Marian a year ago, which was when Carver and Bethany started writing regularly.
As if Meredith could see the direction of Líadan's thoughts, she said, "And your Ser Carver will not be able to help you, if that is what you believe. He has been reassigned for the duration of your stay here."
"And how long will that be?" Maybe they'd transfer her somewhere else. Another Circle could offer more routes of escape, or she might even be able to get away during the transfer.
Meredith offered a half-shrug. "It depends on what is decided. It may be for the rest of your life, a mage living here in the Circle as Andraste intended. Or, perhaps, you will be executed for your crimes. At the very least, you must undergo a Harrowing, being unharrowed as you are."
"No."
"I must warn you, should you refuse, you will be made Tranquil. I will see to it myself."
Líadan stared right back at Meredith's level gaze, refusing to back down.
Meredith sighed, and it almost sounded sincere. "Since this must be…. quite a change for you, I will allow you some time to come to your senses. Do not mistake my mercy for weakness. I grant you this time only because my Knight-Captain has insisted you are in no danger of possession. It appears he witnessed you fight demons, as a Warden, and that you were never tempted. However, I cannot wait forever for you to come to your senses, and I will meet with you each day until you do." Meredith set aside the sheaf of papers she'd been looking over. "One more thing. Because you are not Harrowed, you will be treated as an apprentice, and live in the same dormitory as our older apprentices."
"I'm not a child."
Her smile was quick and infuriating. "You are to the Circle."
She quickly made good on her promise. Templars escorted Líadan out of the Knight-Commander's office and to the apprentice dormitory instead of the room Líadan had awakened in. Her magical skills were assessed, and she was assigned lessons and classes like any other apprentice would have been. In an incredibly short order, Meredith proved to Líadan that she truly would be treated as any other mage. It was infuriating and insulting, especially because it meant Líadan was treated as no more than a child, as was promised.
On meeting Orsino, Líadan had decided she didn't like him. The more interactions she had with him, the less she did. There was something about him she couldn't place, but it made her skin itch when she was around him.
Because he and a templar were her escort after every morning meeting with Meredith, she saw him far more than she preferred.
After another of many morning visits with Meredith, Orsino's mouth had immediately descended into a frown when Líadan walked out of Meredith's office, some mornings later. As if she truly were a recalcitrant apprentice, he shook his head slowly. However, he did save his lecture for farther down the corridor.
"She will make you Tranquil if you continue to refuse, do not doubt that," Orsino said to her.
"I'll kill her first," said Líadan.
Orsino looked back at their templar tail.
Ser Ruvena rolled her eyes. "Every mage here says that one time or another. If we brought everyone in for it, it'd never end. I'll pretend I didn't hear it, like I usually do. Unless you two start slitting your wrists or directly summoning demons, I have no shits to give about what you say or do."
Orsino studied the templar for a moment more, nodded, and turned to Líadan. "You'll have to give in. Are you afraid? If what I've heard is true, you've successfully fought demons in the Fade before."
Líadan raised an eyebrow. "A mage who isn't somewhat afraid to fight a spirit in the Beyond is a very foolish one. I've fought them before, and won, but that isn't why I refuse."
"Then why?"
"I don't need to be Harrowed. I refuse to submit to a barbaric shemlen ritual that does far more ill than it does good. I've proven my ability to remain unpossessed, time and time again, and I will continue to do so by staying unpossessed by any spirit. What I will not do is submit, either to Meredith's threats of Tranquility or going through a Harrowing. The Dalish do not submit." She bit down on the 'flat-ear' epithet that nearly came out, stopping it when she remembered that Fiona had been raised in a place such as this, and her courage had proven her no flat-ear. But she didn't want to look at or speak to this First Enchanter anymore, that much was certain.
Her last line filled the space between them, and they took more than a few steps without saying more. Then he asked, "What about your children?"
She whirled around and shoved him against the wall, knocking one of the mage lights from a sconce. "Do not bring them up again, unless it's to tell me that they're being brought to me, or that they've been released to their father's custody. Otherwise, do not speak to me of things you do not know." Then she let him go, turned on her heel, and walked away. She gave the mage light a good kick as she did, feeling a little satisfaction when it broke against the smooth stone wall.
Ser Ruvena did nothing to interfere, and followed Líadan without an additional word.
Living amongst the older apprentices had turned out to be not as insufferable as Líadan had believed. They really were older, some at the end of their teens, and others nearing their majority, with no young adolescents among them. Even then, it was somewhat galling to know she had over a decade on the next eldest apprentice. And, of course, none of them had children, which marked her as even older. While it did bother her, it didn't bother her too terribly much aside from when she was reminded. What did bother her, most of all, was the noise.
It was like they were entirely incapable of using inside voices, or refraining from chatting about every little thing that crossed their minds. If she could at least see her children, she would've dealt better. But they were considered younger apprentices and lived in the dormitories reserved for that age group, and the two were separated by several floors. In addition, Meredith had templars ensure that they did not come across each other during the course of the day.
Líadan would have retreated to the library, but she wasn't allowed, because too many of the younger apprentices used it, and those apprentices could include her children. Sometimes, she had to laugh, almost without bitterness, at thinking of Cáel and how he must be reacting. With him not being a mage, he was either bored out of his mind, engaging in tiny rebellions, or both. Likely both, which would only increase his tendency to rebel. While Ava wouldn't be happy, not separated as she was, and not while knowing she had to keep hidden her true ability, she at least would be benefitting from her lessons. Ava had been an eager and attentive student with Keeper Perran, and had delighted in what she could learn from Líadan while they'd traveled. Her daughter genuinely getting a better opportunity to learn was the one good thing Líadan could find in their predicament.
However, it was far overshadowed by the fact that they were in a Circle, and the pall of its imminent threat that never seemed to lift. She could only hope that Emrys and Feynriel had managed to keep protecting Ava in the Beyond. Yet, even if either one of them could speak to Ava in the Beyond, she wouldn't believe them. She hadn't met them yet, and she'd think them a spirit. It was good, because she'd be resisting possible spirits, and yet bad, because there was no way to communicate with her grandfather and his apprentice.
The noise assaulted them as soon as they walked into the large room.
"How can you stand it?" Líadan asked Ruvena.
"There's more than one reason why we guard in shifts. We'd lose our minds, otherwise. Speaking of, Ser Keran will be with you this afternoon."
Ser Keran was the one who insisted on trying to apologize all the time, presumably so that Líadan would tolerate him or be nicer to him. But he reminded her of what Alistair had probably been like as he'd neared his knighthood. It was a painful reminder, and so she remained brusque with Keran. "Wonderful," she said out loud.
"You've lessons this morning, I assume?"
"More like torture sessions, but yes."
Ruvena thought about it for a moment. "Wait, torture for you or torture for them?"
"Both, I imagine." Líadan did not make it easy on any mage who was assigned as her instructor. She'd had instructors already. She'd had good instructors, and she'd learned to do everything her magic was capable of. Her time would have been better off spent doing practically anything else. Even a brief walk outside would be nice.
She missed the sun and the forest, more keenly than she ever had while living in Denerim, because she wasn't entirely certain she would ever see them again.