Chapter 22

"The templar came to Lothering, where the world gathers at the edge of the Wilds. There he met a woman, a mother that had been telling her child of the dangers of the great forest. 'Yes, I know of her,' said the mother. 'She is a creature of legend, a cautionary tale of the limits to where man should go. Not even a powerful templar can kill a warning, ser.' But the templar was sure that the Witch was more than just a symbol, and so he continued his quest.

And then the templar entered the Korcari Wilds, home to the savage Chasind people, and he found a village elder, a cracked and bent old woman who was willing to speak in his language. 'She steals men's souls at the end of the green,' said the crone, 'where hearts turn to ice and blood runs blue. Even a templar dare not go after her, for the land bends to her will, and that templar's life will be drawn before his sword.' But the templar bristled against such doubt of his skill and the Maker's glory and he charged off to find the witch."

—excerpt from The Witch of the Wilds, as told by the minstrel Ensuelo

Líadan

One of Líadan's morning instructors had gotten the idea that he could teach her how to heal. This led to several mornings of frustration as the healer insisted he could teach her, and she proved that he could do no such thing.

"You're not applying yourself," Gratian declared after Líadan's fifth attempt to heal a small cut on the Senior Enchanter's finger.

"I'm applying plenty. None of it will change the fact that I can scarcely heal."

"Perhaps you haven't had the right teacher."

She raised an eyebrow. "No? If you don't think a Dalish Keeper a good instructor, then how about Wynne of the Fereldan Circle? If not her, then Anders, from the same Circle? Both have tried their hand at teaching me. Neither of them succeeded."

Gratian ran his hand over his cut finger, leaving behind a swath of healed skin. "Well…" He frowned, and his black eyebrows pressed together enough to resemble one single brow. "Those would be very good teachers." He tapped his hand on the table a couple times then shuffled his feet; Gratian never sat down for lessons. "What sort of magic are you good at?"

She shrugged. "Lighting a campfire, I suppose. Though I can light one just as easily without it, even in incredibly damp conditions. I've got lightning that shocks instead of damages, most of the time. If I'm with other mages, it'll do some damage, but I'm better for strengthening their casting. That's about it. There's a reason why I use a bow. Several, actually. One for each arrow."

"That is… very unlike your daughter."

"I'm aware."

And still, Gratian wouldn't believe her. He tilted his head to the side, his brows looking to Líadan like a furry black caterpillar over his eyes. "And you're certain this isn't because of a lack of motivation on your part?"

Líadan imagined picking up the basket of elfroot and upending it over Gratian's head. She wouldn't because she wasn't a child, but imagining it helped her keep her temper. "I don't know," she said out loud. "Is your inability to teach me a lack of motivation on your part?"

With a scowl, Gratian pushed himself away from the table and dismissed her.

Her session with Senior Enchanter Pauline went no better. Pauline had been given the responsibility of teaching her the basics of magic and spell-casting, which was both ridiculous and insulting. Pauline preferred to give her lessons in a small solar a floor above the dormitories. She would sit cross-legged in the middle of the lush carpet, serene as all the world and Líadan hadn't yet been able to crack the woman's peaceful exterior.

Today was wisps. Today might be the day that Pauline broke, because while Líadan could certainly summon them, that was about as far as she got. It'd been useful during the Blight with darkspawn and bandits, and she'd used that trick before and after, summoning wisps to draw off unwary foes. The wisp led them off cliffs and into freezing cold rivers, but only because it wanted to, not because it listened to anything Líadan asked of it.

It was the lesson Pauline learned that day.

"You did not keep control of your wisp," she said as another flounced through the open doorway.

Ser Keran had been startled the first time. Afterward, he took their appearances in stride.

"Really?" asked Líadan. "Is that what happened?"

"This is the third time you've let one flit off."

Líadan glanced pointedly at the door. "You should probably track them down, lest they lead some poor mage into a wall in a dark corridor. Could lead to a broken nose. But they won't be led off a cliff or forever lost in the forest while they're in a Circle, so there's that."

Pauline gave her a flat look, and then sighed. "You are most infuriating. Your scholastic knowledge of magic is impeccable. However, your ability to wield magic falls short of your intellectual ability by a considerable amount."

"Now you know how my Keeper felt when she was my teacher." It wouldn't do much good to explain how incredibly outclassed Líadan had felt with Merrill as the only other student. It'd taken her a while to get over her frustration and somewhat bruised ego, and she hadn't quite worked it out even by the time she'd left the clan and joined the Wardens. But she had worked it out when she saw Merrill again for the first time, in Kirkwall.

She hoped her clanmate was still alive and well.

"What did your Keeper do with you?" asked Pauline.

"Once I learned proper control, she let me go back to being a hunter."

"A hunter." Pauline clasped her hands together and rested them on her legs. "You're a mage."

"I'm a better hunter."

The Senior Enchanter pursed her lips, either showing distaste or that she was perplexed. Líadan could never figure out which. "Is that how you killed all those templars?"

"I'm sure being a Grey Warden also had something to do with it."

"Why are you here?"

"Because I made a stupid mistake and Meredith capitalized on it rather quickly. Or were you talking about here, wasting our time? That's because Orsino and Meredith thought I should be treated as an apprentice, which means having lessons like any other apprentice."

"Not that I want to sound negative, but… I think I might agree with you on this being a waste of our time." Pauline glanced down at her hands, where she'd summoned a tiny wisp and had it darting about her fingers. Then she sighed and sent the wisp back to the Beyond. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be a better teacher."

Líadan had already gotten to her feet, feeling a bit better at someone finally having agreed with her. "I've heard that a lot of times. It doesn't bother me, especially when someone's finally understanding what I'm saying." She took a step toward the open door and then stopped. "You still might want to track down those wisps, though."

When she reached the corridor, Ser Keran gave her a curious look. "You didn't do that on purpose, did you?"

"Which?"

He gestured with his hand. "The thing with the wisps, where they kept taking off down the hall. You weren't lying to Senior Enchanter Pauline, were you?"

"If I could control wisps, templar, I would've done way more fun things with them than send them down the hall." Did they think she had no imagination? They might, she admitted to herself. She hadn't been very forthcoming, nor had she really indicated much of her true sense of humor. But it wasn't like they made it easy, since they kept her locked up, not even letting her outside at all.

Keran nodded. "All right, that was a stupid question."

Líadan smirked a little, but didn't rub it in any further. She headed for the dormitory, really having nothing better to do except wander the corridors and become even more restless. Right after they turned the corner into the large common area that served as a major intersection, Líadan saw Cullen starting to enter from the corridor to the right. Líadan bolted from Ser Keran, swung into the other hallway, grabbed Cullen by the sides of his breastplate and heaved him into the wall—she seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, but they weren't letting her outside, much less practice weapons forms or even just run.

"Where are they?" she asked.

Cullen took the manhandling in stride, only letting out a weary sigh as he carefully pried her hands from his cuirass. "I promise you that they are safe. The templars assigned to them are ones I would not only trust with my own life, but Marian and Bethany's lives, as well. Carver would agree with me, were he here." When she didn't reply, he took the initiative. "Some of those templars told me you tried to run right after you woke up."

"And you were expecting something else?"

He squinted as if in thought. "Well… no, now that you mention it. Even then, you need to listen to me. Please don't try to escape."

"No? Watch me." Or not, rather, but the implication was the same.

"Do you really think you could get away? I'm a templar. I'm the Knight-Captain and even I can't get out. If you try, even once, Knight-Commander Meredith won't hesitate to make you Tranquil."

Líadan was tempted to roll her eyes. "She's already threatened it, yet I certainly don't look Tranquil."

Cullen massaged his forehead with his fingers, as if trying to chase away a burgeoning headache. "Believe it or not, she is giving you time to change your mind. Her patience is not infinite, however. Sooner or later, she will make you choose. If you try to escape, that choice come much sooner. And by 'much sooner,' I mean she will immediately make the choice for you and you will not like it."

"What about—"

"There's nothing we can discuss." His eyes shifted to the throng of mages in the intersection. "Not right now."

"Right. Of course."

He nodded. "Be on your way, apprentice."

Líadan walked away without argument.

In the dormitory, she found a blissful silence with the other apprentices still being in their lessons. It felt like the first lengthy silence she'd had for days, and she told Ser Keran to be as unobtrusive as possible. "Keep your questions to yourself and just let me think." He half opened his mouth to ask a question—he asked a lot, and Líadan was always reminded of Alistair—but thought better of it and nodded. She strode down the aisle between the lined up bunks until she got to the one at the end, where she'd been given a bottom bunk. She'd also been given a trunk that she hadn't bothered locking, either mechanically or with a spell, because it was for her belongings. Anything she had now was from the Circle. It was not hers, and so she did not care if it was stolen from the wooden trunk. The only possessions she had left were the ones worn around her neck.

The blanket on her bunk was scratchy—didn't these people know about soft wools?—the pillow flat, the mattress underneath nothing more than a straw tick. But none of those things mattered at the moment because it was so wonderfully quiet. She sat down on the bunk, drew up her legs and crossed them, and then let her mind wander toward an actual plan of escape.

Which meant that apprentices started to return from their lessons minutes later.

She kept her eyes closed, hoping it enough a hint for them to at least leave her alone.

It didn't work.

The young and excessively outgoing human mage who slept in the bunk above hers scrambled up, and then stuck her curly, dark-haired head over the side to look at her. "Líadan."

Líadan ignored her.

"Líadan."

She kept ignoring her. Maybe, for once, Sylvie would get the message.

She didn't. Sylvie poked Líadan's nose. Líadan snapped out her hand and caught Sylvie by the wrist. "I do not like to be touched uninvited."

Sylvie remained unaffected. "Your tattoos look funny upside down. What are they for?"

"To set my people apart from the humans and the city elves." That she did not say 'shemlen' and 'flat-ear' said a lot about how far she'd come since she'd been the young hunter who'd first received her vallaslin. "It reminds us that never again will we surrender our traditions and beliefs. It means," she said slowly as she opened her eyes and released Sylvie's wrist, "that I am Dalish."

"Oh. I'm sure I knew that. Read it somewhere." Sylvie's face was slowly turning red as she insisted on remaining upside down. She tilted her head to the side. "Have you ever killed a human?"

Líadan contemplated telling her the story of the three humans she and Tamlen had encountered in the Brecilian Forest years ago, and the fates of those humans, just to get Sylvie to leave her alone once and for all. Yet, she didn't want to continue perpetuating the false myths that circulated about the Dalish. But she couldn't resist putting the other woman off balance. "How else are we supposed to sacrifice human children to the Creators?"

Sylvie's eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth. "I thought that was a myth!"

"Because it is." Líadan sighed. "Yes, I've killed humans. Mostly bandits."

"With your magic?"

"Arrows."

"Oh." Sylvie, now disappointed somehow, flipped herself around and dropped to the ground. "Do the Dalish do a Harrowing with their mages?"

"Of course not. It's useless and barbaric." What bothered Líadan most about these older adolescents—some practically adults—was the heavy fear blanketing all of them, a fear directly driven by the Harrowing awaiting each one.

"So… the Dalish really treat their mages like regular people?"

"For the most part. Usually, they're Keepers or Firsts, but they have the same rights and privileges as any other elf."

"That means you could marry, right?"

"Yes."

"Are you married?"

Creators. It never ended. Even Cáel and Ava hadn't been this persistent when they'd been in the 'why?' phase of toddlerhood. "Yes."

She smiled, seeming honestly glad. "Mages aren't allowed to marry, not here or any other Circle. They annul it if you do, and take away any children." Her smile disappeared, her mouth gaining a frown and her brown eyes becoming somber. "Will they annul yours?"

"Only a Keeper can annul a bonding. Last time I checked, the Chantry didn't have one at their disposal."

"Oh!" The smile returned, wider this time. "What's his name?"

Líadan raised an eyebrow. "How do you know it's a him?" Despite everything going on, Sylvie's blush made Líadan laugh. "Fine. It's a him, but I'm not telling you his name. Now, you've reached your limit of questions for the day. So, go."

"But—"

"Go."

Sylvie huffed, and then trotted through the room and out the door, to do whatever it was young mages did after their lessons. Líadan preferred not to think about it, given the gulf in between their ages, and because she had no idea when she'd see her bondmate again. It'd been too long already, and would only be much, much longer.

And so it went. Each day brought a new peppering of questions from the apprentices, frustrating lessons with frustrated teachers, missing her bondmate, missing her children, frantically trying to find a way out, trying to determine for sure if her children were safe, and every one of those days began with a meeting with Meredith. And on each of those mornings, Meredith brought with her some sort of revelation that Líadan didn't want to hear.

Líadan watched the dust motes dancing in the shaft of morning sunlight shining through one of Meredith's windows as Meredith again implored her to be reasonable. Surprisingly, she managed not to sound condescending or angry; she pulled off concerned rather well. It was one reason of many why these meetings with Meredith left Líadan in a state of confusion. Sometimes, she found herself almost respecting Meredith. Rarely did the Knight-Commander level insults, rarely was she impolite or uncivil. Their discussions were often sharp and always charged, but Líadan never felt immediately threatened, nor did she believe Meredith had once lied to her. Yet, setting all of that aside, Líadan was still trapped. She never fully respected Meredith, but the occasional compulsion to do so left her puzzled.

"I see that I have yet again lost your attention," said Meredith.

Líadan blinked and drew her eyes away from the dust. "You were repeating yourself."

"So I was." Meredith drummed long, slim fingers on the dark, polished wood of her desk. "Tell me," she said slowly, "would you like to know who murdered every single person in your clan?"

She wanted to know. Meredith knew she wanted to know. Yet, Líadan's need to know fought with letting this woman be the one to tell her, because she damn well knew the information would be wielded like a weapon. "Not from you," she said out loud.

Meredith smiled. It was the slow, calculated expression of a hunter who'd found their prey. "Then it pleases me even more to enlighten you: the killers of your clan were the captain of Kirkwall's Guard, Aveline; the Grey Warden apostate, Anders; the storyteller, Varric; and the last living member of your clan—Merrill, I believe her name was."

Líadan stood and pressed her hands down on the desktop. "You're lying."

"No." Meredith shook her head in a slow parody of sympathy. "No. I've not yet lied to you and I am not about to start. I told you the truth about who is responsible for your clan's demise. Ironic, isn't it? The one survivor you were so desperate to find, leading you to make the mistakes that brought you here, turns out to be the perpetrator you wanted to exact revenge upon. It's so twisted, it's almost delicious."

It was true. It couldn't not be, not with how rigorously Dalish burial customs had been followed. Not with how the camp hadn't been looted. But how? How could Merrill have done that to the clan? Why would she have done it? And Líadan couldn't figure out if she loved Merrill because she was the last surviving member of her clan, or hated her for being part of the group who'd killed them.

"You are free to leave my office," Meredith said after a moment. "And take those heavy thoughts of yours with you. Sets a bad tone for the day."

It left Líadan in a state where she wanted to deal with Orsino even less than usual, which wasn't much in the first place. While Líadan didn't mind mornings nearly so much as Malcolm did, she wasn't very keen on them, either. Coupled with Meredith's daily chat and Orsino's daily not-so-hidden plea to submit, Líadan really had started to understand why Malcolm hated mornings so much. All Líadan wanted to do was be left alone to think on whether or not Meredith had told her the truth, and if she had, what could possibly have driven Merrill to do such a thing.

Instead, Orsino wanted to chat, launching into what he was determined to talk about before they'd taken a step away from Meredith's door. "I'm having a different teacher assigned to you for basic magic," he said rather cheerfully, as if this were a good thing.

Líadan gave him a sidelong look. "You're fond of wasting other people's time, aren't you?"

"You give up too easily. I'd thought better of the Dalish."

"And you don't like to face reality. We all have our faults." Líadan didn't directly react to the insult. If she gave up too easily, she wouldn't have attempted any sort of lessons in healing after her unproductive ones with Marethari. If she gave up too easily, she and Malcolm never would have made it through their first year together. If she gave up too easily, she would've resigned herself to never seeing him again. Instead, she planned on returning, or having him join her and the children, but she had to escape this Creators-forsaken prison first.

"Reality," Orsino said sharply, "is being denied freedom simply for what we are."

"Then we agree on something. Unlike you, however, I intend on regaining mine, because I do not give up too easily."

"That would be unwise."

"I'm not going to become complacent and docile, penned in and cowering—"

"It's called living. Many of us are fond of it." Orsino's eyes flicked toward where Ser Ruvena trailed a few steps behind them, as if reminding Líadan of the templar's presence.

She didn't care, because she was fairly certain they didn't much care, either. Cullen knew perfectly well what she was trying to plan, and beyond counseling caution, he'd done nothing else to stop her. "You are only fond of this because you know nothing about what living really is."

His head snapped around toward her, his anger causing his brows to slash downward, and his deep fear widening his eyes. "Do you want to find out what it's like not being alive? Then keep refusing to undergo the Harrowing."

"The Dalish do not submit."

Orsino returned to looking forward as he let a long breath out. "Why? Why would you risk the end of Meredith's patience and Tranquility for a quaint belief of a people who chose to wander forever?"

"At least we aren't condemned to live and die on a single slab of cold stone."

"Just because you wander in circles doesn't mean you don't end the same as we do—nowhere, which is the same place as you started. That is exactly where you are taking yourself. She will make you Tranquil if you don't change your mind. What must I say to get through to you?"

"I'll die first."

Orsino laughed, a single, short bark that effectively communicated how preposterous he believed her claim to be. "Oh, that isn't a choice she'll leave up to you."

Her fingers curled into fists and she refused to look at him. "I'll find a way."

"For someone so insistent on living, I would be surprised if you could find death as easily as you assume."

There was no reply for that. Not a single one that didn't sound like an unhinged rant.

He shook his head slowly. "If nothing else compels you, then you should consider your children."

"They're not up for discussion with you." She had no idea why Orsino was so focused on Meredith's threats, or why he was so desperate to convince her to jump into the Beyond and an eagerly waiting nest of demons.

"How do you think they would feel to find out their mother was no longer a person?" Orsino asked.

Sometimes, it felt like he ignored her wishes more than Meredith did.

Abandoned, Líadan knew, a hurt twisting in her heart at the thought. They'd feel like orphans, really, if they remained here, if Malcolm couldn't free them. Deciding to go through the Harrowing seemed a simple thing to most, one with a forgone conclusion of success because she'd already faced many demons already. A quick Harrowing, refusing another demon, be given Enchanter status, moved out of the dormitory, and no longer subject to morning talks with Meredith. A simple, easy thing. Yet she would not be who she was if she submitted to a Harrowing, and her children would know that, and it would set a poor example for what they should do during their time here. No. They should not submit, and she would not submit. She wouldn't do it no matter how easy a decision it seemed to others. She could not submit.

"They would understand," she said out loud. They would hurt, but they would understand. But there was a nameless hurt in her own heart at the thought of leaving them.

"I am not so sure they would," said Orsino.

Líadan said nothing, because she could not promise control of her temper if their conversation continued.

What she discovered later was that Orsino had neglected to tell her exactly who had replaced Pauline. So when Líadan entered the small solar Pauline had preferred, she was more than a little surprised to find Betrys sitting comfortably in an overstuffed chair, knitting needles clacking away.

"Have none of you anything else to do but waste your time?" Líadan asked.

Just outside the door, Ser Ruvena did little to cover a quiet laugh.

Betrys stopped her knitting long enough to raise an eyebrow at Líadan. "And what else would you be doing with your time, pray tell?"

Líadan gestured at the room around them. "Not… this. Not trying to learn something that I'm never going to learn to do. I can tell you all about it. I can outline every single step. I can guide another mage into doing it, but I can't do it myself."

The needles went back to their clacking. "Still doesn't explain to me what you'd be doing, otherwise."

Líadan gritted her teeth, frustrated at how it seemed like every single mage in here was perfectly fine with being caged, as if it were a normal state of being that needed to be maintained, when it was very much the opposite. "Planning escape? Fomenting rebellion? Plotting the downfall of the Chantry? Figuring out a way to see my children? Finding a way home? I'm sure I can think of more. How are you all so content here, locked up, rarely going outside? I'm crawling out of my skin."

Betrys nodded. "You want to fight."

These were a very strange sort of people. Every indication of a war going on around them, involving them, and yet they went on without participating. "Of course I do. Don't you? Doesn't everyone in here?"

"No, we don't want to fight. We just want everything to be normal. No Harrowing, no Tranquil, and no one dying. It isn't much that we ask."

"You aren't getting it by asking nicely. Fighting might be your only option."

"That would lead to more dying, which we're trying to avoid."

Something was seriously wrong with these people, it was all Líadan could figure. "You're dying anyway, even if you don't know it."

Betrys halted again, her eyes lifting enough to look straight at Líadan. "And you're just bursting with life, are you?"

"No. I'm dying, too. The difference is that my eyes are open to see it." She knew every moment spent restrained in here was a death to part of who she was, the very definition of herself that she carried. She wasn't going to just let that part of herself go without a fight, and so she fought, and she wouldn't stop until death forced her.

"Yet your daughter flourishes. She's quite a gift."

"That's what my people call it. The Gift. And she got it."

Betrys chewed on the information, a finger running up and down a knitting needle. "Your son does not."

"No, no magic at all. None." Cáel not having magic, Líadan knew, wouldn't horrify Morrigan if she ever found out. Cáel's dislike of magic, however, could possibly leave Morrigan speechless. It would be worth it to see, if it could ever be arranged.

A small smile tweaked the corners of Betrys' mouth. "Then you'll be happy to know that he informs his instructors—myself included—about it several times a day."

"Good." A flare of pride curled Líadan's lips into a brief smile. "Good."

After giving Líadan an exasperated look, and then letting out a sigh, Betrys returned to her momentarily abandoned knitting. The clacking of the needles followed Líadan out the door.

The next morning, Meredith told Líadan that she was thinking of having Cáel made a templar initiate. She gave the pronouncement without even glancing up from where she wrote notes on a sheet of paper, nor did she look up when she dipped the tip of her quill into the inkwell, nor did she look up when she returned to her writing. Before Meredith had said anything, Líadan had watched Meredith's actions while thinking of Malcolm. He'd grudgingly taken to doing paperwork in the earlier part of morning, just after everyone broke their fasts. Except he tended to write using the graphite sticks Hildur kept him supplied with, because they were quicker and easier to deal with than quill and ink. The graphite left dark smudges on his hands, particularly where the stick rested in the space between his thumb and forefinger. He often forgot and rubbed at his face or forehead as his thoughts deepened, leaving dark streaks of graphite behind. For some reason, even as Líadan looked at Meredith's clean hands, the ink not leaving a mark on her, all she could see were Malcolm's hands. Then when Meredith finally looked up, her face entirely neutral, Líadan could only see Malcolm's brilliant smile when he looked up from his work and realized that Líadan was there.

That she could see such a thing in a place like this sharpened the pain of just how much she missed him.

"I had thought you would have a strong opinion over the fate of your son," said Meredith.

The Knight-Commander's voice finally jarred Líadan out of her memories. "I do."

"I would like to hear it. Perhaps you've thought of an objection I have not." Meredith carefully set down her quill and sat back.

This was one of the things that confounded Líadan about Meredith's meetings. For all Líadan could determine, Meredith truly did listen. Líadan couldn't fathom why Meredith would care so much to hear whatever she had to say, and knew she should suspect a trap. But part of her, a small part, refused to suspect such a thing, which confused the rest of her. Líadan settled on honesty in kind. "You've bought this up before and discarded it as an option. What's changed?"

"I had not believed the blood kin of the fabled Morrigan would not manifest magic, and yet he has not in all the time he's been here. Not on purpose, and not by accident. I am coming around to the fact that he might not prove a mage at all, yet he remains in my custody, as the child of a Circle mage."

"I am not—"

Meredith held up a hand. "But you are. Circle mages are not allowed to keep or raise their children. Commonly, they are not allowed to even meet. Apostates brought into the Circle with children are a slightly different matter, but the outcome is the same: the children remain in Chantry custody. If they have magic, they are trained at a Circle. If they do not, yet have the potential for martial skill, they are sent to the templars to become initiates. If they present with neither of those skills, they are trained to enter the Chantry's clergy. Given your son's aptitude for the blade, he presents as a good candidate for an initiate."

"He'll never be a templar." The most she could see for him if Meredith forced this route and it was never stopped was for Cáel to end up like Alistair: a warrior good at templar abilities, but an awful templar.

"That isn't your choice to make. Nor is it his. Along with not possessing magic, your son encourages acts of rebellion among the children. He is, to put it lightly, a bad influence on the others. He would do better with other outlets, I believe. Exhaustion from time spent training and sparring will leave him too tired to incite rebellion. It is a choice I may have to exercise."

"He won't do it." Líadan also knew that her son would never be too tired to incite rebellion where he believed it necessary.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me before: he does not get to make that choice, and neither do you. You have one choice left to you, and that is whether or not to undergo a Harrowing. See that you make that decision in a timely manner."

The dismissal rang clear, and Líadan left Meredith's office.

Unlike with previous mornings, Orsino was not waiting for her outside Meredith's door. Nor was Ser Keran there, even though he'd escorted her here earlier. Neither of them, but still a templar waited: Knight-Captain Cullen.

Líadan used all of her restraint and waited to ask her first question until they were halfway down the corridor. But when she started to ask, he gave a quick jerk of his head to silence her.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

Sadly, he didn't appear threatened. He half-rolled his eyes in exasperation, and then gestured toward a slightly open door that led to—Líadan actually had no idea where it led to, but she imagined it was a safe place to converse. So she went in.

As soon as he'd shut the door behind him, she asked, "Are my children all right?"

He took a glowstone from the pouch at his belt as he nodded. "They're still safe. I check on them myself. The templars who guard them will not harm them—Knight-Commander Meredith has threatened them with death, should anything happen. While there may be templars who don't care about a mage's life, they do care for their own lives. It is never wise to call the Knight-Commander's bluffs. She doesn't bluff. She tells you the truth and then carries it through." He sighed. "She did give them a mercy and did not separate them. Ava, as I'm sure you've heard, has been a surprisingly good student. Cáel, as I'm sure you've also heard, is thoroughly bored and does not use his time wisely."

"Of course he's bored. He isn't a mage. And since he isn't a mage, the Knight-Commander told me this morning she was thinking of making him a templar initiate."

He raised his eyebrows. "That would be news to me, and I traditionally decide whether or not an applicant becomes an initiate, not Knight-Commander Meredith. She recommends them at times, but since I oversee all training, the final decision rests with me. No matter. I suspect she was attempting to get to you. As far as I've heard from her, it's merely a matter of time before his magic appears. She's mentioned in passing the idea of sending him to the Chantry until it does manifest, but she decided against it, last I heard."

"Why?"

"She believes it would be cruel, honestly. Cruel to separate brother and sister after recently being separated from the rest of their family."

It sounded so sympathetic that Líadan thought it couldn't possibly be true. "Do you believe her?"

Cullen rolled the glowstone in his palm as he thought over his answer. Then he said, "I want to. I know her history, about why she became a templar. I know she does, in fact, feel very strongly about family ties. And I have never once witnessed her being cruel to a child, mage or not. But… I also do not doubt that she wants Cáel close. If he were remanded to the Grand Cleric's custody, it wouldn't be long for word to get out that you're here."

"So you haven't been able to yet."

His soft huff of laughter was more scoff than amusement. "You aren't the only one who's trapped. The Knight-Commander will not allow me to leave the Gallows—or allow any like-minded templars to leave, either. The only reason I haven't been reassigned like Ser Carver is because I'm the Knight-Captain, and it would bring more questions than she'd like. Every method I had for getting information in and out of here has vanished, for all intents and purposes. There used to be contraband everywhere, and now it isn't, nothing at all, and the mages are just as bewildered. I'm searching for whatever outlet I can, but I've yet to meet with success. I'm sorry."

Líadan stared into the shadows, willing them to produce an exit. "There's a way out. I'll find it."

"I'd rather you not—"

She spun and knocked the glowstone from Cullen's hand, and then grabbed the dagger from the sheath hanging from his belt. As the glowstone skittered into the darkness, she used her shoulder to push the templar into the wall, and then brought the stolen dagger to his throat. "I will find it, and you will not stop me."

Cullen slowly looked down at the dagger, and then right at Líadan. "I'd rather you not try unless we're certain you'll get out, because you'll have one chance. One. If you fail, the Knight-Commander will make you Tranquil right then and there."

Líadan didn't move the dagger. After what felt like ages left at the mercy of others, she had a weapon, and with it, she could regain some control. She didn't want to let it go, no matter the truth she heard in Cullen's words. "You said Meredith's patience wouldn't last forever."

"It won't. But Maker knows it will last much longer than if you attempted escape and failed. She's treating you like an apprentice, and you are cooperating, to an extent. For that, I can see her patience extending as far as it needs to. She has time, and you do not. She believes she can continue with this pressure until it breaks you and you try to escape. Then she will catch you, make you Tranquil, and blame you for it."

She shifted her thumb on the leather grip as she mulled over his warning. It did a lot to explain why her meetings with Meredith were so confusing, and why Orsino kept pushing teachers on her after others gave up. It did a lot to explain why Meredith kept threatening to make Cáel a templar initiate. It was a game. Líadan didn't want Meredith to win, but she didn't want to become complacent, either. She almost felt certain that Cullen was her ally and not her enemy, but she couldn't be absolutely sure. What she did know was that killing him would not help her. She sighed and stepped away from Cullen. Then she held up the stolen dagger. "You wouldn't let me keep this, would you?"

He extended an open hand, even as he chuckled, which was remarkable considering that she'd just threatened him.

"Right, wouldn't want people to think I'm an ineffective blood mage." She handed over the dagger, the grip slapping against Cullen's gloved palm with more force than necessary.

"Patience will see you through this," he said as he slid the dagger back into its sheath. "Be patient."

Already, Líadan fought a near constant rage at being held behind human-built stone walls. The energy had nowhere to go, and it remained trapped and writhing within. She could be patient. She was patient when she'd taught apprentice hunters in her clan. She was patient with Malcolm. She was patient with her children. But all of those times, she'd chosen to do so. She could come and go at her own will, pausing to gather herself when needed. Here, the pressure did not relent. She'd been thrown into this cage and its absurd game against her will.

"I don't know if I can."

"You'll get out of here, I promise. I just can't promise quickly."

"If I can't even plan, if I can't even hold the hope of escaping, I don't know how long I can last."

"Then plan, if it will help you. But whatever plan you make, you need to remember that it has to get you to the Grey Wardens or Ferelden as quickly as possible. Otherwise, you'll be tracked down using your phylactery and dragged back." Cullen frowned. "If you don't provoke them into killing you first, which is probably the more likely situation if you manage to get entirely out of the Gallows."

She'd forgotten about the phylactery. It piled on, one more insult on a stack of them, and served to infuriate her more. And her blood wouldn't have been the only blood they took. They would have created phylacteries for her children as well, and that created within her an emotion beyond fury. And she could do nothing.

Cullen was giving her a wary look, but wisely did not ask. "For those reasons, don't act on it until we're absolutely certain it will work."

She could do that. Planning would give her a small amount of control. Not a lot, but perhaps it would be enough to keep her from giving in to her anger and the encroaching desperation. "Contrary to almost every experience I've had with templars before, I'm trusting you." Almost trusted him, she amended in her thoughts. She still didn't trust him enough to alert him to Ava's ability. What would let her trust him with that, she didn't know.

"I will not see your trust broken," said Cullen, and then his eyes flicked to the door. "Yet, back to duty I must go. I'll give you a moment to gather yourself. Ser Ruvena will be waiting outside."

After she gave him a slight nod, he exited, closing the door behind him. In the far corner of the storeroom, the glowstone had guttered out. Líadan preferred it. In the dark, she couldn't see the walls. She could pretend, for just a moment, that there were no walls at all.

Just for a moment, she was free.